Work Text:
The worst words in the history of the universe were the words that made up Steve Roger’s soulmate mark. They plagued him since the day that he was born, because they didn’t say something like “Hey, you dropped this!” like Sam’s did, or “You run that fast and no one’s ever gonna catch up with you,” like Pietro’s said.
When he was little, Steve could read the words, but he didn’t understand them. The words made more sense later, although by that time they made sense to bullies, too.
Steve’s words went like this:
I can’t say I mind being complimented on my dicks
The immediate problem that arose was the matter of Steve’s sexuality. He liked girls, of course he liked girls, but he also liked boys and he thought everybody felt the same way until some asshole kid shoved him around when they were ten and called him names. When he came home with scraped up knees and bruises on his arms and asked, “Mom, what’s a faggot?” Steve learned that not everybody liked boys, and some people thought liking boys was wrong.
Then, of course, right as everyone else noticed their body parts blowing up in weird places and hair where it definitely was not before, the sexual nature of Steve’s words struck him like a bolt of lightning to the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Whatever situation brought him to his soulmate, it was sexual. What else could it be?
And only after that, around the time Steve transitioned from junior high into high school, he thought about the fact that ‘dicks’ was plural. He would be complimenting somebody on two or more penises, which led to an enlightening internet search and the conclusion that either Steve’s soulmate was some kind of alien (which, being that the words were in English, made no sense), or had a condition called diphallia. Diphallia, the internet told Steve, meant that his soulmate was probably pretty freakin’ ill.
But the mark never faded, never vanished, so the two-dick guy never died.
Steve watched as soulmates collided, seeing the First Meeting happen over and over. They happened every day to somebody somewhere; it was only natural that Steve would witness it happening a couple of times. The first he saw happened in high school, when a girl stopped another next to Steve’s table and said, “Hey, just so you know, your dress is riding up.”
Red washed over the other girl’s face. She tugged down her hem and said, “Thanks for telling me.”
Then:
“Wait.”
“My mark –”
And embarrassment at a fashion faux pas melted into pure joy, joy like Steve had never seen before. He watched two soulmates kiss right in front of his lunch table – and later got in trouble because he forgot to finish his trigonometry homework. Who cared? He thought. He got to see something incredible. It happened three feet from his face and the First Meeting of those strangers made him almost as happy as if it had happened to him.
A year later, Steve witnessed a First Meeting at his first job, some crap minimum wage position working as a cashier at a convenience store. Two people reached for the same bag of M&Ms, bickered, and fell in love in a flat minute and a half. Steve spent the rest of the day in a dreamlike mood, happy because he got to see other people be happy.
He saw the First Meeting of two people walking their dogs.
He saw the First Meeting of two people in a park, one reading while the other threw a frisbee with his friends.
He saw the First Meeting of a restaurant hostess to a nervous customer.
Every single one was amazing.
Years passed. Steve graduated high school and pursued higher education with his best friend, Sam. Sometime around his and Sam’s sophomore year of college, Sam stopped dropping shit on purpose in hopes that he would encourage his First Meeting to hurry the hell up. Then in junior year, they were going to some frat event that Sam dragged Steve bodily from their house to attend, and they were late. Steve jogged to keep up, but both he and Sam stopped dead in their tracks when a smooth voice called out, “Hey, you dropped this!”
Behind them, a bulky blond guy with a thousand-watt smile held out the invitation to the party that Sam stuffed in his back pocket. Sam chanced a look at Steve and then said, “Holy fucking shit.”
Needless to say, after the guy (Riley, they later learned) lifted up his shirt to reveal the words Holy fucking shit on his abdomen, Steve and Sam did not attend the frat party. Sam leapt on Riley and disappeared to climb him like a tree someplace, while Steve took the keys and spent the night at home watching The Howling Commandos, his favorite TV show, a warm feeling lighting him up from the inside knowing that his best friend found the one.
Steve loved First Meetings.
With some wheedling, Steve would admit to spending maybe too much time on those websites where soulmates shared stories of their First Meeting, or witnesses shared theirs. He knew Sam wouldn’t put his online, so Steve asked if he could and typed up a flowery description of Sam and Riley’s First Meeting. The story got a thousand likes. It wasn’t as much as some, but Steve still felt proud.
The psychology of soulmate marks was fascinating, of course. But one didn’t need an expert to deduce that when a soulmate mark specified a skill or attribute, the bearer of the mark focused their energy on honing just that, like Pietro and his running (Steve heard he would be in the next Olympic games). Or, if the mark appeared in a different language, the bearer almost always studied, just in case – like Jane and her “Where am I?” in Swedish.
Technology naturally added a flavor to soulmate marks that didn’t exist before – dating websites notoriously aided tens of thousands of people in the hunt for their soulmate.
Steve didn’t know how his First Meeting would happen. He worried about it sometimes, like everybody did. He worried about two-dick guy being sick, worried that one day he would wake up and the words would be gone, worried that whatever corresponding mark was etched into his soulmate’s skin was equally as sexual as his. He felt a little bit bad about that, since Steve clearly was the one that would be speaking first.
(Was Steve’s soulmate a sex worker? But no, he’d never pay somebody for sex. He nixed the idea)
In the meantime, Steve dove face-first into his work and his hobbies and landed with a splash. After he graduated from college he took an entry-level position as an animator for Stark Animation. He loved what he did, even if his name flew by in the credits of their movies in a chunk of other names, equally as nondescript as his. When he made it home, he watched and rewatched episodes of The Howling Commandos, now one of the longest running television programs in history.
And okay, fine. He liked to write about the Commandos. He posted stories online, mostly First Meeting stories because he couldn’t help himself. He drew sometimes, too, but often exhausted his energy for drawing at work and did nothing at home. His exhaustion didn’t stop him from admiring other pieces of artwork. Steve followed blogs on tumblr that drew fanart for the Commandos, some of them for years and others brand new to their age-old fandom. Occasionally, he felt old, being twenty eight and interacting with folks much younger, but coming to his online friends after being at work all day felt like coming home.
Steve mostly wrote Gabe/Dernier fic. Sometimes it got sexual without him meaning to make it that way. His raunchier fics always got more attention than the sweet First Meeting ones, but he didn’t mind.
His friend Peggy wrote the best Gabe/Dernier fanfiction on the entire internet.
His friend Natasha didn’t write fic or draw art, but she did craft entire extended meta posts about almost every episode.
His friend Tony drew the most blatantly explicit Howling Commandos fanart available, and knew that people loved it.
So, yeah. Steve was content with his corner of the internet. Steve was content with his life.
One evening after work Steve kicked off his boots at the door, made himself an entire pot of tea, and sat down for a soothing marathon of the most comedic episodes of Howling Commados. He flicked on the TV and opened his laptop. Already a window on tumblr was open – he clicked to refresh his dashboard and scrolled while he drank Dragonwell (looseleaf, of course) out of a thrifted cup that looked like it belonged in someone's grandma's china cabinet.
A few people reblogged some of his fic he’d written a couple days ago, which was nice. He liked when people enjoyed what he wrote. But what got his attention more than that was a couple of NSFW Gabe/Dernier works that he’d never seen before. They were new, by somebody whose URL was howlingbucky.
Steve clicked to open the link to howlingbucky’s blog, scanned the page. The two pieces of art were the only things on it. His description read:
perpetual fandom lurker finally posting his art
Steve followed him.
He didn't dwell on it.
Weeks whipped by, Steve threw himself full-force into work as deadlines crept up on them and didn’t spend as much time on the internet as a result. He saw howlingbucky posting more and becoming more popular within the Howling Commandos tumblr community. Steve reblogged his art every time that he saw it. The guy deserved it. His art was gorgeous, if a little sloppy. Something about the sloppiness endeared Steve. Except, thing was, some parts of the drawings always seemed intimately detailed, like eyes and backs and well, penises.
howlingbucky drew some nice penises.
Steve figured he should say as much, since his policy on compliments was that if he thought something nice about somebody then he’d damn well say it to them. He sent off a quick ask and kept scrolling along his dash, too current for much to pop up every time he refreshed it.
Slow night, he thought.
Until:
captainsgrogers1987 asked: Is it weird if I tell you that I really like the way that you draw penises?
i can’t say i mind being complimented on my dicks
Steve froze, and then scrambled to send a direct message. He pulled up the window and fired off a rapid:
captainsgrogers1987
Holy shit
howlingbucky
ikr that’s one way to do it i guess
thx for the fuckin weirdest mark
captainsgrogers1987
I knew whatever I said had to be weird
Well shit
howlingbucky
i have drawn so many dicks
countless dick drawings
restless penis drawing nights
drew them fuckin everywhere
captainsgrogers1987
Yeah well
Up until now I just thought you had two dicks
howlingbucky
oh jesus
that makes sense oh man
that’s fuckin hilarious
i wish i could kiss you
captainsgrogers1987
How about we start with phone numbers
X
A week later, Steve thanked his lucky stars that his internet soulmate lived, incredibly, not forty five minutes away from Steve's apartment. They facetimed, agreed on a place to meet, and now Steve ducked into a coffee place he’d never been to before. He took in the unfinished, concrete look and the abstract artwork on the walls with labeled price tags below. In an armchair in the back corner, a guy with a face that had become familiar in the past days thumbed a paper cup of coffee. He looked up and met Steve’s eye.
Steve didn’t order coffee. Steve bolted from one end of the coffee shop to the other and planted a kiss on his soulmate’s lips.
Sometimes First Meetings were different than meeting for the first time.
He couldn’t wait to tell the internet.