thank you so much for your fill for my prompt, that was so lovely!! 💕💕 not to overwhelm you, but since you reblogged that prompt list yesterday, stevetony + 16 or 47 if you want? 😊
Thank you so much for the request! Sorry it took me a while to finish this because 1) school, and 2) for some reason, this got way out of control and ended up being 4.5k words.
(I also ended up incorporating both 16 and 47 from the prompt list into the story. I hope you don’t mind!)
Sorry if the fic is too long for your liking! Also, don’t worry about overwhelming me. For some reason, getting fic requests like this really gets my creative juices flowing. :)
Without further ado, here it is! I hope you like it!
come build a home out of me
steve/tony, college au, fake dating, getting together, 4527 words
(16 and 47 from this list)
The first thing Steve sees when he walks into the apartment is Tony, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, staring hard at something on the coffee table.
Tony looks up at the sound of Steve’s voice, having been so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice Steve coming into the apartment.
“Oh, it’s just—” Tony shrugs, gesturing to the thing on the coffee table. As Steve nears the table, he notices that it’s an envelope. Steve looks at Tony in question.
Tony sighs. “It’s a wedding invite.”
“Someone you know getting married?”
Tony worries at his bottom lip. After a beat, he answers: “It’s my ex, Monica. She’s getting married.”
“Oh.” Steve inhales, trying to gauge the situation. Steve remembers him talking about Monica, the one girl he dated all throughout high school during one of their late night talks Steve is very fond of. They used to have late night talks that last until the early hours of the morning, until they struggle to stay up while lying in their respective beds situated at opposite ends of the small dorm room they had shared during the first two years of college before they decided to move into an apartment off-campus.
Of course, living in an apartment is a lot more comfortable than living in a cramped college dorm room. There is more privacy, for one. Sometimes, though, he misses having Tony’s face be the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing he sees when he wakes up, always just a few feet away from him.
“Yeah.” Tony sighs again, clearly perturbed.
“I don’t know. If I don’t go, people are definitely going to talk. If I go alone, people are also still going to talk. Everyone knows she’s the one who dumped me after all, not the other way around.”
Oh, yes. Steve knows that, too. Tony has told him about how Monica had dumped him on the night of prom and how very public and humiliating and depressing the whole ordeal was. Steve remembers the way he had felt irrationally annoyed at Monica, this girl that he didn’t even know personally, thinking about how dumb she must be for breaking up with Tony, because if Steve were ever granted the blessing to have those beautiful Bambi eyes looking at him and only him?
“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.
Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”
“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.
“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.
“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”
“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.
“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?
Steve Rogers, what have you done?
Tony’s eyes linger on him, like he is still trying to make sense of the utter nonsense that has come out of Steve’s mouth.
Thankfully, Steve’s brain suddenly decides to come back online. Coming back to his senses, Steve opens his mouth to retract all of his ridiculous suggestions, when—
Steve’s mouth snaps shut. Tony looks at him, expression unreadable.
“That’s a good idea. Thanks, Steve.” Tony stands up, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s this Saturday. Prepare a tux.”
With that, Tony enters his bedroom, leaving Steve sitting on the couch, stunned, dumbfounded, and wondering what mess he has gotten himself into.
The night of the wedding rolls around and the next thing Steve knows, he is standing in the middle of the wedding reception beside Tony, who looks absolutely stunning in his classic black suit.
They have come up with a simple background story on how they became a couple, just to make sure they are on the same page. They met because they were roommates in college (which is the truth) and they dated two months into knowing each other (which is not the truth, no matter how much Steve’s traitorous heart wished it was). The rest of the details, they figured, wouldn’t matter as much since they just have to keep up this charade for the night.
Steve is determined not to let Tony down. He has offered himself to be Tony’s fake boyfriend for the night, and he is going to deliver, goddammit. He is going to be the best fake boyfriend the world has ever seen, especially in front of Tony’s ex-girlfriend.
It all goes on fairly smoothly. Throughout the night, Steve has kept a respectful hand on the small of Tony’s back. Little touches here and there, completely immersed in the role of the doting boyfriend. And if his heart clenches just a little bit every time Tony welcomes his touches so naturally and even initiates some of his own? Well, no one needs to know.
The DJ plays something slow and gentle as the lighting dims in the ballroom. Steve sees couples all around the room step onto the dance floor, swaying along to the crooning of a popular love song.
“May I have this dance?” Steve offers his hand to Tony, holding his breath as Tony looks up at him.
Tony smiles, something soft dancing in his eyes as he accepts Steve’s hand.
They walk to the dance floor. Tony loops his hands around Steve’s neck and Steve’s hands settle comfortably on Tony’s waist.
Tony’s eyes remain trained on him throughout the dance, looking up at him from under long dark lashes, slightly obscured by his unruly brown curls. Steve reaches up to gently brush the curls aside, just so he can look at Tony a little bit better. Tony blinks as Steve touches his hair and Steve feels the flutter of Tony’s lashes tickling his skin, the movement bringing a smile to his lips. Something warm runs through his veins and he feels a lightness settle beneath his bones as they sway on the dance floor. Steve wonders what it would be like to really have this, to be able to hold Tony in his arms whenever he wants to, to have Tony smiling at him like Steve is his entire universe.
Tony licks his lips and Steve’s gaze falls on them. He thinks of how temporary this is—this dream he loathes to wake up from—and something breaks a little within him. He closes his eyes instead, rests his forehead against Tony’s, and lets himself drown in the moment. Resolutely ignoring all logic and reality, he lets himself savor the fantasy, the privilege of having Tony as his for the night.
When the song ends, Steve forces himself to pull away from Tony. It’s almost physically painful.
“I’ll get us something to drink?” Steve asks and Tony nods. Steve turns to head towards the bar, when Tony’s fingers catch his wrist.
Steve turns around to look questioningly at him. Tony takes a deep breath and swallows, squeezing his wrist gently. It might just be Steve’s imagination, but Steve thinks he sees something akin to sorrow bleed into his eyes. When Tony smiles, for some reason it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Don’t go too far,” Tony says, his voice unusually rough. Having Tony look at him like that makes Steve feel like someone has tied a knot around his heart and pulled.
He doesn’t know what came over him, but he finds his feet bringing him closer to Tony. He leans close to plant a soft and reverent kiss on Tony’s temple. He thinks he hears Tony’s breath hitching, but that might also have been his own.
“I won’t,” Steve promises, before really pulling away from Tony this time.
When he reaches the bar, he asks the bartender to make his drink extra strong before burying his face in his hands, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Tony is really doing an excellent job at this whole fake dating thing. Steve, on the other hand, feels like he needs to lock himself in a room and scream. He really dug his own grave when he suggested this to Tony, didn’t he?
When Steve finds Tony again, drinks in his hands, he notices a commotion a short distance away and realizes, with a sharp intake of breath, that the bride and groom are making the rounds. His heartbeat starts ringing in his ears when he realizes Monica and her groom—Jeff, his memory supplies—are heading towards Tony and him. He attempts to quell his nerves by taking a few sips of his drink before setting the two glasses down at a nearby table.
“Oh my gosh. Tony? I’m so glad you made it!” Monica shrieks, excited. She hugs Tony, planting a kiss on his cheek. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How have you been?”
“Congratulations, Monica, Jeff.” Tony smiles. “I’m doing fine. Uh, this is—”
Tony hesitates visibly and Steve steels himself before flashing the bride and groom his brightest smile.
“Hi. I’m Steve, Tony’s boyfriend. Congratulations to the both of you.”
“Thank you. Oh, wow. Look at you! How long have you guys been together?”
“Almost three years now,” Steve replies with contrived ease, a stab of longing shooting through him.
“God, you’re so lucky, Tony. He’s a looker.” Monica nudges Tony with a wink.
Steve smiles and curls an arm around Tony’s waist. He looks down at Tony and finds Tony already looking up at him. “Not really,” he says and feels his lips curl into an involuntary smile as he looks into Tony’s eyes, “I’m definitely the lucky one.” It’s the truth. Some days, Steve feels amazed at his own luck, thanking the universe for leading him to Tony, letting him have the privilege of even knowing Tony, albeit just as a friend.
Steve turns back to Monica. This time, the words roll off his tongue easily, having been pulled from the innermost recesses of his heart: “He’s beautiful, brilliant in spades, and the most kind-hearted person I know.”
“Aw, you guys are so cute together!” Monica gushes appreciatively.
“Is marriage on the cards? Are we going to be hearing wedding bells soon?” Jeff teases goodnaturedly.
Steve laughs. “Well, who knows what the future holds. But if I like it, I have to put a ring on it, right?”
Monica and Jeff laugh along, saying something about waiting for a wedding invitation in their mailbox sometime in the future.
Steve looks down at Tony, looking for approval, and feels his own smile drop when he sees the look on Tony’s face. He looks—and Steve can’t think of any other way to put it—sick.
“Darling, are you okay?” Steve asks with genuine concern. He doesn’t know where the term of endearment has come from but he doesn’t worry too much about it, especially with Monica and Jeff standing right in front of them.
Tony physically removes Steve’s arm from his waist, stepping back with a smile that looks more like a grimace. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I need to excuse myself. Don’t mind me, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Steve watches as Tony leaves almost immediately, heading towards the general direction of the restroom. Steve feels cold all of sudden, his heart sinking rapidly with dread. He can’t shake off the feeling that something is terribly wrong.
When he turns back to Monica and Jeff, they are looking at him with concern, clearly noticing the way he can’t seem to stop staring after Tony worriedly.
“You should probably go check on him,” Jeff says with a sympathetic smile.
“I— Yeah. I’m so sorry. I probably should,” Steve takes the time to apologize, even though he already feels frantic with the desperate need to go after Tony.
“Don’t worry about it. We can always continue our talk later,” Jeff pats his shoulder and with that, Steve runs to the men’s restroom.
When he bursts through the door, he sees Tony standing in front of the sink, bending over it, hands braced on the marble countertop. Steve draws closer and notices that Tony’s face is wet, a droplet of water hanging from the tip of his nose, the messy brown curls of his hair clinging to his forehead. His black tie is haphazardly loose, like he just pulled on it because he had felt suffocated.
“Tony, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Steve places a hand on his shoulder. Tony closes his eyes, drawing in a long breath like he’s in pain.
“You’re clearly not fine. Are you feeling sick?” Steve gently turns Tony’s body to face him so he can get a better look at him.
Steve fishes out a handkerchief from his pocket—something Tony always likes to make fun of, calling him old and “an actual grandpa”—and begins dabbing at Tony’s wet face with it, letting the fabric absorb the water. He makes sure to be thorough, drying the skin near his hairline and down to his neck, where the water droplets have travelled down to soak the collar of his white dress shirt.
All the while, he feels Tony’s gaze on him like a hot brand on his skin.
When he pulls back to examine his work, Tony is still looking at him with something inexplicably heavy in his eyes. He’s looking at Steve like Steve is the most difficult and impossible mathematical problem Tony has ever had to solve and Steve feels oddly overwhelmed. Tony looks pale and nauseous and something is definitely wrong.
Tony shakes his head and closes his eyes.
“I can’t do this, Steve.”
“This whole… fake dating thing.”
Oh. Steve feels something cold settle in the pit of his stomach. His mouth suddenly feels too dry.
“Was it something I did?” Steve asks as he tries to figure out what went wrong.
Tony stays silent. Steve’s brain is still hard at work, working through the events of the night, sorting through moment after moment, looking for something that could have tipped other people off on the real truth of their relationship, but he can’t seem to find anything.
“I think we did okay. People are buying the idea of us as a couple, don’t you think? Did I do something wrong?” He asks again, confused.
Tony lets out a sharp breath at that, his eyes still closed.
Steve swallows around the lump in his throat. “I did something wrong, didn’t I? Tell me, what did I do?”
“I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t do this,” Tony says softly, before pushing him aside and practically running out of the restroom.
It all happens so quickly that Steve’s brain struggles to catch up. When Steve processes what has happened, he runs out of the restroom and catches a glimpse of Tony running towards the staircase leading down to the hotel lobby.
Eventually, Steve’s long legs allow him to catch up to Tony outside of the hotel, just a short distance away from the hotel’s entrance. His fingers are gripping Tony’s wrist tightly, bringing both of them to a stop on the curb. Both of them are panting heavily and Tony is still not looking at Steve, his body freezing mid-stride.
“Tony,” Steve pants, “what the hell is going on?”
Tony’s wrist begins to struggle against Steve’s grip, trying to pull away.
“Steve, please just let me go. I can’t do this right now.”
Steve shakes his head, infusing every bit of frustration and confusion into his words as he asks, “Do what? I did something wrong, didn’t I? What is it, Tony?”
Tony finally turns around to look at him with cold and steely eyes. He looks like he just swallowed something bitter when he says, “I’m in love with you.”
All of a sudden, Steve forgets how to breathe.
“And I’m sorry, Steve. I thought I could do it—this whole fake dating thing—but it turned out to be a monumentally bad idea and I can’t— I can’t do this. Having you smile at me like that, look at me like that, touch me so easy and— and affectionate, and calling me beautiful and brilliant and it’s just too much right now, okay? Turns out this whole pretending thing? Having you but not really having you? Turns out it’s too much and, uh, this was a mistake, and you have to let me go because right now I can’t fucking look at you without wanting to throw up. I’m sorry for making things awkward between us. I need some time— away from you. Just— Give me some time and in a few days everything will be back to normal, okay? Goodbye, Steve.”
Tony wrenches his arm successfully away from Steve this time because it seems that somewhere during Tony’s speech Steve’s body has stopped functioning entirely. His brain is struggling to make sense of all of this because none of it makes sense.
By the time Steve comes to his senses, Tony is long gone.
That night, Steve comes home to an empty apartment.
Tony doesn’t come back to the apartment the following day. Or the next day. Or the day after that.
Steve hasn’t tried to contact Tony in any way since the incident. His memory of that day is still clear as ever and Steve remembers Tony asking him for space, for some time away from him. So, in spite of everything, despite the fact that he feels Tony’s absence like a lost limb, despite the fact that he’s going out of his mind with worry, he gives Tony what he wants.
Wednesday rolls around. Steve is lying on his bed, reading one of his textbooks for an exam he has next week. None of the information is sticking to his brain, since lately his mind has been fully occupied by a certain brown-eyed man.
He flips to another page mindlessly when he hears the sound of the front door of the apartment opening and closing. He sits up in an instant, heart in his throat. He exits his bedroom so quickly he nearly brains himself on the doorframe, just in time to see Tony setting down a bag of what seems to be Chinese takeout on the kitchen counter. Steve drinks in the sight of him greedily after days of not seeing him, watching Tony with baited breath, afraid that if he were to breathe too loud or create any sudden movements Tony would disappear again.
Tony looks up in surprise at Steve’s sudden appearance before smiling warmly.
“Hey there, I brought sustenance. Hope you haven’t eaten dinner yet.” His voice is light and friendly. He gestures towards the bag of food. He is behaving as if nothing happened at all, like what happened on Saturday night is all a fever dream.
“Where have you been? I was worried,” Steve asks. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Tony draws a loose circle in the air with his index finger pointed upwards.
“Just, you know. Around.”
Even through his light and friendly facade, there is something in the way Tony holds himself that feels too much like he has just finished patching up a raw and open wound, like a man being too careful and conscious of every movement that he makes, afraid that the stitches holding him together would rip open any second. He is walking on eggshells in his own home, around Steve, and Steve can’t stand it.
Steve watches quietly as Tony pours himself a glass of water.
Just as he is about to bring the glass to his lips, Steve blurts out the one thing burgeoning within him, the truth that he can no longer contain in his chest ever since he found himself standing alone on the curb on a cold Saturday night:
Tony freezes, his whole body suddenly rigid with tension. Tony stares wordlessly at the glass of water that is already halfway to his mouth for a few heartbeats, before sighing deeply and setting it down on the counter.
“Steve, you can’t just— You can’t just say things like that,” Tony says, lips curling into a tight-lipped smile, still not looking at Steve. He shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “You’re too nice for your own good, sometimes. You can’t just say things like that just because you feel bad. People are going to think you’re being serious. Be careful with that,” Tony advises, the tone of his voice drenched in wry humor. All the while, he is still talking to the kitchen counter, not sparing Steve a single glance.
“But I do mean it,” Steve protests, some of his nerves falling away to give way for indignation.
“Yeah, yeah. I love you, too. Best friends forever and all that, right?” Tony rolls his eyes, moving again to drink the water.
Tony finally drinks his glass of water, tilting his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every gulp. Steve stares at the smooth expanse of his neck and is overcome with an inundating wave of want.
Tony sets the empty glass of water on the counter. He stares down quietly at the glass for a few moments before taking a deep breath and turning to face Steve with a smile, the kind of too-bright smile Tony flashes to people he doesn’t know very well.
“I’m going to go shower. Rhodey’s shower gel is nice, but I kinda miss my coconut-scented one.” He is still smiling that too-wide smile.
Tony moves to walk pass Steve but as he is walking by Steve catches his wrist. It’s too reminiscent of the way Steve had stopped Tony on the curb a few days ago and Steve’s heart aches. This time, however, Tony and Steve are facing opposite directions, the only point of contact being Steve’s grip on Tony’s wrist.
From where his thumb rests on Tony’s skin, he can feel the silent staccato of Tony’s racing pulse.
“Tony,” Steve pleads, voice low.
“Steve, let me go.” Tony’s voice is cold, all the warmth from earlier gone in an instant.
“Not until you listen to me.”
Tony scoffs. “Stop mocking me, will you?”
“Don’t do this, Steve.” Tony’s voice drops even lower with warning.
“Let me go or I’ll fucking punch you—”
In a swift motion, Steve yanks at Tony’s wrist so Tony is forced to step backwards and become face-to-face with Steve. Tony looks up at him with shock and then Steve is grabbing him by the shoulders and backing him up against the nearest wall.
Eyes looking straight into Tony’s startled ones, feeling surer about this than he’s ever been about anything in his life, Steve enunciates his words clearly:
“Anthony Edward Stark, I am in love with you.”
Whatever Tony sees in Steve’s eyes must speak some degree of truth because instead of fighting Steve back, Tony falls silent.
Steve doesn’t know how he finds the words, but once he starts he can’t seem to stop.
“Not just the best friend kind, even though you are also my best friend, but more of the— The kind that makes me want to punch something when you flirt so openly with other people. The kind that makes me want to hoard you all to myself. The kind that makes me wonder if something’s wrong with me, because I’m not usually the jealous type.”
Steve draws closer, gaze falling down to Tony’s chapped lips.
“The kind that makes me wonder about what your lips taste like.”
Steve is so close he can count Tony’s eyelashes. He marvels at the way the shade of brown of Tony’s eyes turns lighter when they catch the soft yellow glow of the living room lights.
“I’ve been in love with you for years.” Steve can’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Tony. Maybe it was some time during one of their late night talks, talking about nothing and everything all at once. Maybe it was during one of the times Steve has had to tuck tired or drunk Tony in bed, his heart fluttering helplessly at the way Tony seems to cling to his arm just moments before falling asleep. Maybe it was during one of the times Tony took care of him when he had a bad day, settling comfortably beside him on the couch for a marathon of feel-good movies, or massaging Steve’s scalp soothingly as Steve vented to him about his problems.
Maybe his heart had already been stolen by Tony ever since he stepped into his new dorm room at college for the first time and was greeted by the sight of his roommate lying upside down on the bed he had claimed for himself before Steve arrived, waving at him with a goofy grin plastered on his face.
Tony blinks at him quietly, utterly stunned.
“I love you. I’ll say it as many times as you want. I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”
And then, because Tony continues to say nothing:
“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—“
“Okay,” Tony says breathlessly, covering Steve’s mouth with his hand, “I believe you.”
Steve smiles down at him, warm and pleased, fierce adoration taking over him. He kisses the hand covering his lips, just to further prove his point. To Steve’s delight, Tony yelps and pulls his hand away, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink. Steve catches his hand and brings it down, intertwining their fingers together. He wonders how low the blush travels.
“Okay. Can I kiss you now?”
Tony contemplates Steve’s lips with the wonder of someone stuck in a trance. He swallows, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from Steve’s mouth.
Steve closes the distance between them. He kisses Tony slow and sweet, savoring every drag of their lips. The way Tony kisses back just as fervently, gives as good as he gets, sends something pleasantly hot and heady coiling in his stomach, the warmth slowly travelling throughout his body until his skin feels like it’s burning wherever Tony touches him.
They break apart eventually, panting for air, just standing there with their foreheads touching.
“So,” Steve whispers, “you were saying something about a shower?”
Tony’s eyes widen and turn dark with desire, even as he barks out a surprised laugh.
Steve grins and leans in to steal another kiss, just because he can, just because Tony looks so beautiful when he laughs and it’s been too long since Steve last saw him.
Tony indulges him, lets him steal more than one kiss.
Eventually, they end up in Tony’s bedroom instead of the bathroom, but Steve figures Tony deserves that much for their first time.
After all, Steve thinks, as he kisses his way down Tony’s neck with Tony’s fingers planted in his hair, there will always be a next time.
