#ao3 links look so clunky and bad so I am not adding it to the post <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[unluckyprime]

doodle for my oakworthy fic bc i am cringe but free <3

[mattzerella-sticks]

Park Your Car in My Gay-rage

Castiel moved out West so he could live freely and with pride. However an anonymous act of bigotry chips away at his faith that he can live life without facing prejudice. And with each repair shop that turns him down the cracks keep growing. Why would Singer's Auto be any different?

Will his car ever be fixed? And could a certain mechanic restore more than just his car?

(Link to ao3)

           Castiel slumps against his car, snapping his cell phone shut in frustration. Banging his hand against the hood he grumbles out a string of expletives as he gives up hope. Meg, leaning against the hood, drums her fingers on the closed Yellow Pages while watching him.

           “So,” Meg says, “it a bust, too?”

           He sighs, tapping his phone on his forehead. “More than that. The mechanic laughed me off after I told him what I needed and had a few choice opinions to tell me.”

           Meg’s lips purse, and she steps back onto the sidewalk to stare at the rough scratches across her friend’s beige paint. The word was interrupted by the open driver seat’s door, but when closed all together the crude artist spelled out ‘FAGGOT’. “Maybe he knew the jackass who did this…”

           Castiel ignores her, chewing on his lip. “How am I going to get this fixed…? I can’t drive around town like this.”

           “And I’m sick and tired of looking through that thing,” she jerks her thumb at the offensive phone book, “Do you ever think searching for stuff will be easier? Like, I don’t know… all these names and numbers stored somewhere and it’d only take a few seconds to find exactly what you’re looking for?”

           Frown slashed heavily across his face, Castiel turns to glare at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

           She shrugs, “I don’t know… digging through that reminded me of this girl I went out with a couple’a times. Total geek, spent at least two dates going on and on about those huge, clunky computer things. Think she lived in an Internet Café… wait a minute!” She digs into her leather jacket pocket and pulls out her phone, flicking it open and clicking away.

           He hops off his car, stepping closer out of curiosity. “What are you doing?”

           “I just remembered,” she starts, not even looking at him, “she mentioned how she works at this garage –“

           “Meg, we’ve tried all the garages in the area –“

           “C’mon, trust me,” Meg continues, “place has to be good if they hired a lesbian.”

           Castiel rolls his eyes. “Forgive me if I don’t trust straight men’s views on lesbianism.” At that Meg stops staring at her phone to shoot Castiel a flat look. He hisses out a breath and runs tired fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I’m just tired and frustrated about all this… why is it so hard to find somebody for a body job?”

           “Because unfortunately most people today are ignorant, Clarence,” Meg tells him, holding her phone against her ear, “And we’re not going to see any real change for years… maybe not until we’re all old and shriveled and grey.”

           Huffing, Castiel crosses his arms against his chest and spins on his heel. He lets Meg talk to his back, done with their bleak conversation. Still, a part of him agrees with her opinion of the future for those like them. It wasn’t too long ago Castiel was trapped in his old hometown in Illinois, looking over his shoulder every weeknight to make sure no one followed him home. Fearful that one day his face would be a blip in the newsreel, another name to add to the wall like Matthew Shepard.

           “I moved here to escape all that,” he mumbles to himself, “but apparently hatred can grow anywhere… even in California.”

           Meg hops onto his back, interrupting his musings. She chokes him, forcing him to twirl her around until Castiel can pry her arms off of him. After wheezing in a good-sized breath, he asks what that was about.

           “They’d be happy to take a look,” Meg says, “Free of charge!”

           Castiel blinks at her. “What?”

           “I told you this was a good place, Clarence. Hurry up though, they’re not gonna keep the shop open for you.” She rattles off the directions, having to repeat herself once Castiel shakes away the dazed look in his eye. “…And when you get there you’re supposed to ask for Dean,” she finishes, “Dean Winchester.”

           “Why?”

           “Guy overheard us talking and said he’d take care of it personally.”

           “But… why?”

           She shrugs, “Who knows, but he’s waving his fees. Don’t look a gift mechanic in the mouth, my gorgeous unicorn.” Meg pockets her phone and skips backwards, waving goodbye.

           “Wait,” Castiel follows her, “you’re not coming with?”

           “Band practice,” she says, “I’ve gotta swing over to my place and pick up my bass. You’ll do fine!” With a loud smack of her lips she disappears behind a corner, off on her own way.

           Castiel waits a beat before he actually leaves. He starts the engine, idling some more to switch out the CD in the drive, so instead of blasting Indigo Girls he could drive to the music of the Cranberries. Skipping until he reached ‘Zombie’, Castiel nods his head along as he begins his journey over to Singer’s Auto Repair.

           It wasn’t too confusing following Meg’s directions. Halfway through her second explanation Castiel realized he was familiar with the route. He’s driven that way countless time to visit a small bookstore he loves. The only one he’d been able to find that stocks trashy romance novels of more diverse backgrounds. Perks of living near West Hollywood, Castiel always knows where to go to find shops catered to others like him.

           But he would have remembered seeing a car garage there.

           Rounding the final corner, Castiel slows down and crawls along the street, head swerving left and right while ‘Yeat’s Grave’ plays on. After passing his bookstore, he spots a faded sign a few storefronts down.

           “How have I never seen this before?”

           Unassuming from the front, with faded brick and rusted steel, Bobby’s Auto Shop sits next to a leather shop and spans all the way to the corner. A single rainbow flag hangs from a pole jutting off the side of the building. Castiel pulls into an open garage, parking near the front and cutting the music off before the next song could begin. He steps out of the car and looks around.

           There are at least five vehicles stationed inside the building at the moment. He sees one hefted up on a lift, a burly man inspecting it from below. Across from him two other mechanics argue over the exposed engine of a truck, long hair pulled back into tight ponytails. At a lounge area a black couple share a bag of chips.

           Looking to the other side at what Castiel expects to be only a blank wall he spies a cluttered corkboard.

           Castiel walks away from his car and over to it, scanning the different fliers tacked on. Notices for events like poetry readings and charity brunches to raise funds for AIDs research. A picture of a drag queen hangs next to an ad selling a lounger with a few of the tabs ripped off. There’s even a poster for Meg’s band, ‘The Demon Queens’ that he recognizes, having done the design for them.

           “You find something you like?” a rough drawl from behind startles him. Castiel spins, coming face to face with a man who shouldn’t look so handsome streaked with oil. He stares into sparkling green eyes, the color only highlighted by the dark marks on his cheeks. The mechanic smirks, cocking one brow higher than the other. “You all right there?”

           “Yeah-yeah-yes,” Castiel clears his throat, “Yes I am, sorry I… what did you ask?”

           He chuckles, running dirty fingers through his light brown hair, coloring it darker. “You here for some work?”

           Castiel nods. “I’m supposed to ask for a Dean… Winchester?”

           Mechanic’s gaze widens, glancing back at Castiel’s car before returning to him. “You’re Meg’s friend?” he asks, grinning.

           “Yes…?”

           “Hmm… not what I was expecting,” he says, holding a hand out, “I’m Dean.”

           Castiel flushes, cursing his luck. Of course the only mechanic who would work on his car would be the man who stepped off the set of a calendar shoot.

           Pretty boys have always been Castiel’s weakness. From high school when he first understood where his attractions laid to now, something about them makes his brain shuts down. His tongue works against him and sweat pours out from everywhere; thoughts bottleneck behind the embarrassing urge to blurt out ‘you’re pretty’. Castiel ceases to function normally when presented with a pretty boy.

           It’s been an uncomfortable amount of time where Dean’s hand hangs in the air. Castiel realizes it when the smile on his face slowly starts to fall.

           He jerks his hand out in a panic, latching onto Dean’s with as relaxed a face he can force. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean.” His handshake is tight and fast, quickly pulling away as if burned.

           Feeling something wet coating his palm Castiel prays Dean didn’t notice his sweat. However looking at it he belatedly remembers Dean’s hands were covered in oil.

           “Shit,” Dean says, “Totally forgot to clean up… that’s my bad.”

           “It’s fine,” Castiel tell him, “I’ve had worse… my hands are usually messy and covered in whatever.”

           “Really? Like what?”

           “Paints, clay… those types of things.”

           “You an artist?”

           “On my days off.”

           Dean motions for Castiel to follow. He does. “You do any galleries?” he asks.

           Castiel frowns, “I’ve been in one or two, but never on my own. Don’t have the money to afford a space.”

           “If you ever do, feel free to advertise here,” Dean says, stopping by a large sink, “As you already know we have a place for a poster or two.”

           “Duly noted.” He waits for Dean to turn on the faucet, letting him run his hands under the stream first. Once he finishes Castiel half-heartedly scrubs at the oil. There wasn’t much on his hand, and making any effort to wash it away wouldn’t fit with the cool façade Castiel tried to keep.

           “Y’know,” Dean starts, hands hidden in a fluffy towel, “when Charlie told me about you, I thought you’d look a hell of a lot different.”

           Castiel skews his head to the side. “How so?”

           “Well I figured you’d be a girl,” he shrugs, “friend of an ex from Charlie, nine out of ten it’d be another lesbian or at least bisexual…“ Dean tosses the towel to Castiel, “egg on my face, right?”

           He catches it haphazardly. “More like oil.” When Dean’s brows pinch together, Castiel mock wipes at his face with the towel.

           “Really?” Dean whines, “You probably think I’m a slob.” He hurriedly splashes some more water on his face and snatches the towel back.

           “Honestly?” Castiel says, “I don’t know enough about you to form an opinion.”

           Dean looks up from the towel and smiles, dimples clear on his freckled cheeks. “We’ll have to fix that, then.” Before Castiel can overthink what that means Dean walks away and over to his car, Castiel racing to keep up. “So someone marked up your car?”

           He sighs, “Yeah… I woke up the other day to find that – that word scratched on the side along with some… other things.” Castiel doesn’t dive in to the details of the torn up rainbow flag outside his apartment and the already painted over slurs carved onto his door. “That’s what I get for celebrating the first day of Pride, I guess.”

           Dean frowns, running a hand across his car’s ugly scar. “You know the person who did this?”

           Castiel shrugs. “Suspicions… but nothing concrete enough to make a claim or file a report.”

           “If it were me I’d do more than that. Bastard would be walking with a limp – if at all – if they messed up my Baby.”

           The threat brings a smile to Castiel’s face. He straightens out of the curled up posture he fell into. “Your ‘Baby’?”

           “My car,” Dean explains, turning to him, “older model in black. A ‘67 Chevy Impala.”

           “I must confess… I don’t know that much about cars.”

           “Really?”

           “I don’t quite know the model of my own car let alone what an Impala looks like.”

           “That’s a damn shame,” Dean tells him, “Going your whole life without knowing what true beauty is? I’d take you out to see her now if I didn’t have to park so far away today.”

           “You don’t have your own parking?”

           He shakes his head. “Usually I snag a spot on the block but by the time I made it out of bed they were all taken. So I’m about three down in front of this deli. Anyway…” Dean kneels down again, inspecting his car closely. “This shouldn’t be tough… probably have it ready by tomorrow if nothing comes up.”

           “Are you sure?” Castiel asks, “If you have other clients waiting –“

           “Nah I finished up my last appointment for the day already. Don’t stress about it.”

           “That’s very nice of you,” he says, “all the other places I tried wouldn’t help me and here you make it sound so easy…” Then, Castiel remembers what Meg told him. “And for no pay? I don’t mind, I have the money –“

           Dean reaches out for Castiel, grabbing his wrist to stop him from taking out his wallet. “I insist. I’m always looking for ways to give back to our community.”

           Castiel smiles, his skin burning from Dean’s touch. “Our – ah… our community?” he starts, “do you mean that in a friendly neighborhood sense or…”

           He rolls his eyes. “In a rainbow way.”

           “Ah.” Castiel glances around the garage, gaze unable to land on any one point for long. “I was wondering… this is a very progressive garage.”

           “Has been since the beginning,” Dean tells him, leaning against Castiel’s car, “Bobby’s been a staple here for a long time ever since he and his wife Karen moved in years ago.”

           “Bobby?”

           “Bobby Singer, the big ol’ boss of this place,” he explains, “He and Karen came here when things got dangerous for them back where they used to live.”

           “Why was that?”

           Dean launches Castiel back into the past, where a newly married Bobby and Karen were being threatened nearly every night when one of the women in Sioux Falls discovered Karen hadn’t always been called Karen. Gangs of men hung out in front of their house, dumping cigarette butts on their lawn. Every time they went out they were watched and followed, confronted on the days when people had a little more confidence than normal. Any room they entered became so silent a cough could shatter glass. Neither Bobby nor Karen was willing to move at first, until the first rock was thrown through their window. They packed their bags and left in the early morning, not stopping until their car broke down in California.

           Bobby pushed it all the way to the closest garage. “It was closing,” Dean says, “And the only one there was the owner – and he didn’t see why he should help. So Bobby grabbed a box of tools and set to work. Halfway through fixing his own car, someone pulled up and asked Bobby to look under his hood. He did and made the engine purr. Owner saw and demanded Bobby give him the money from that. Made a deal and bought the place with what was left of their savings.”

           “And he turned it into this,” Castiel says, “I wish I knew about Singer’s sooner… would have saved me a lot of guff whenever I needed my oil changed.”

           “I’ll admit we can do better in advertising,” Dean shrugs, “Mainly we rely on word-of-mouth… although we did get a lot of customers after Benny namedropped us in one of his shows.”

           “Benny?”

           Dean jerks his thumb over towards the burly man from earlier, chatting with the previously bickering mechanics by the truck. “He’s a drag queen. Performs over at the Roadhouse every Wednesday as ‘The Vamp’. I mentioned he should promote the garage in his act one night when I was helping him do his make-up.”

           Castiel recalls the picture of the drag queen he saw pinned to the cork board, notices the similarities between the figure captured and the one in front of him. “Is everyone who works here a… um, on the rainbow?”

           “More or less,” Dean shrugs, “Jo – the blonde – been on Estrogen for two years, has her first round of surgery coming up in a few weeks. Dorothy doesn’t conscribe to the binary but they still identify as a lesbian…” He swings his finger over to the lounge area. “Max is as gay as the next guy but his sister Alicia’s our token straight.” Turning back to face Castiel he says, “And Charlie you already know only goes for chicks.”

           “And you?”

           “Me?” Dean chuckles, “Why I’m bi as fuck!”

           Castiel laughs as well. “Are you trying to collect all the letters?”

           “Like queer Pokémon,” Dean nods, earning another round of snickers. “Nah, we all kinda drifted together. Jo and the Banes twins lived in the area – Jo’s mom actually owns the Roadhouse. But the rest of us… Bobby took under his wing in one way or another.”

           Storm clouds brew in the timbre of Dean’s voice, the shiny jewels of his eyes losing their luster. Castiel feels the temperature between them dip low by tens of degrees. Whatever Dean doesn’t say must weigh heavily to flatten the good mood he was in.

           It’s a familiar burden Castiel knows all too well.

           “Do you know what my name means?”

           Dean blinks, thrown off by the sudden shift in topics. “Uh… no –“

           “It’s a bastardized version of an angel’s name,” he explains, “Cassiel. They thought the extra ‘s’ was too… feminine. But I was born on a Thursday and…” Castiel trails off, grimacing.

           “Religious family?” Dean asks.

           He nods. “My dad was heavily involved with our local Church.”

           “So when you…”

           “It was not a fun time,” Castiel says, “I didn’t go home for the first two years after I left for college but… we learned not to speak about it. Although every now and then my mother sends me pamphlets for seminary school.”

           Dean barks out a rough laugh, biting his lip. A brief, charged silence stands between them where Castiel can’t breathe. He nearly backs away, tells Dean that it’s okay. They’re strangers – all he needs is a body job, not a life story. But then he sucks his lower lip under his teeth and starts.

           “My dad caught me fooling around with another boy when I was sixteen,” he says, “And after the punches kicked me out on my ass. Joke’s on him, though, because I managed to snag the keys to the car. Drove around for the first year seeing the sights until I found my way to Bobby’s. Picked up shifts part-time until he noticed me sleeping in my car. Cuffed me on the head and told me to take the spare room in the apartment above.”

           “Karen didn’t mind?”

           “Karen died years earlier,” Dean smiles ruefully, “Cancer. But she would’ve done the same thing. Wish I could’ve met her, though, heard she made killer apple pie.”

           And in that moment, Castiel finds himself wishing he had the chance as well. Dean talks about his family with so much love he wants to meet them all, or at least here him tell more stories about them. Knowing that this group of people have found each other and are happy gives Castiel more hope for the future for people like them.

           Dean Winchester’s gravitation is too powerful to resist, and Castiel falls into his orbit happily.

           A set of squeaky wheels interrupts their conversation, an older man in a trucker’s cap rolling up to them. “Winchester,” he barks, “I don’t pay you to stand around and flirt. Git to work on this poor boy’s car!”

           They break apart, both their cheeks bright red. Dean hangs his head, rubbing his hands against his coveralls. “Right away, Bobby.”

           Bobby shakes his head, leaving them. “Idjits…”

           Castiel shuffles his feet, wringing his hands together. He waits until the other man is far away before speaking again. “So… that’s Bobby.”

           “Yeah,” he huffs, “Bastard’s usually never this ornery… probably getting me back for walking in on him and his boyfriend the other night.” Dean scoffs, crossing his arms, “Not my fault Crowley didn’t lock the damn door…”    

           The past few minutes catch up with Castiel and he feels the awkwardness creeping back up his spine like a spider. “I… I should be going,” he stutters out, startling Dean.

           “Really?” Dean asks, his frown confusing to Castiel’s already addled mind.

           He nods, pacing backwards. “Thank you for your help and… and the talk.” Then before Dean could respond Castiel races out the garage door and doesn’t look back. Castiel makes it past the leather shop before he falls back against the storefront and gasps for breath.

           “Castiel,” he mumbles to himself, “stupid… ‘and the talk’. Why can’t you talk to pretty boys without losing your head.”

           He knocks his head against the brick latticework repeatedly, angry with how he blew his shot with the pretty mechanic. In between the heavy pounding she gives himself he hears a slight cough to his right.

           Squinting an eye open Castiel sees Dean watching him with an amused grin across his face. Throwing himself away from the wall, Castiel turns to face him. “Dean?” he starts, “What are… what are you doing here?”

           Dean steps closer, invading Castiel’s space. The smell of motor oil and cologne makes him dizzy. “You left in such a hurry, Cas, you forgot to give me your phone number.”

           His heart skips over itself as a sunny ray of hope shoots across his chest. Clouds return to cover it when he remembers past garage experiences where mechanics needed it to reach him. He deflates. “Right, so you can tell me when my car’s ready.”

           Dean juts his lower lip out, head bobbing as he considers Castiel’s statement. “Yeah for that, too.”

           “Too?”

           “Well I mean how else can I ask you out if I don’t have your number?”

           A stone lodges itself in Castiel’s throat. “You… you want to ask me out… on a date?”

           His eyebrows jump up. “I… I wasn’t misreading anything… was I?”

           That spurs Castiel into action. “No, no! You weren't… I am… I’m interested.”

           Dean relaxes, hand splayed against his chest. “Good, got nervous there for a second.” He looks to Castiel, waiting. “So…?”

           They exchange numbers, Dean handing Castiel’s phone back with a wink and a promise to call later. Then he heads back to the garage to smooth out the scratches on his car.

           Castiel stands there, outside the leather shop, too shocked to move. Somehow he gains control of his legs again and picks one up after the other.

           When he makes it to the bus stop, Castiel pulls his phone out and stares at Dean’s number. Butterflies flutter in his stomach as the largest smile blossoms on his face.

           It stays there all the way back to his apartment.

[tisfan]

Make his Mark

Title: Make his Mark Collaborator: @27dragons & @tisfan Link: AO3 Square Filled: O4 - Marking Ship: Bucky/Tony Rating: E Major Tags: Sex, Anal Sex, Semi-public Sex, Marking, not your father’s coffee shop AU Summary: When the tabloids report that Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes’ marriage is going to end in divorce any day now, the queue starts forming to ”comfort” Tony. Bucky wants to make sure everyone knows that Tony is his.

Everyone. Word Count: 2,880 Created for @mcukinkbingo

A/N: We would apologize for hijacking the People Magazine meme, but we’re not actually sorry. Also, this story takes place in the Communal Kitchen AU, somewhat after Long Winter, but you don’t need to know anything about it, except that Bucky and Tony are married.

Everything below the readmore, for smut

There was nothing finer than looking up at Tony, straddling Bucky’s thighs, glistening with sweat, each muscle outlined with golden candlelight, as Bucky very slowly pushed up into that heat. They had the penthouse to themselves, all the kids were gone, and half of the Avengers with them. With relative privacy and the assurance of no interruptions, Bucky had taken his husband to bed, with the intentions of staying there for most of the evening.

Tony raised up, then rolled his hips as he sank back down, shuddering with the sensation. He put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders to change the angle and rocked again, humming with the shifting position. “Article in today’s People says you’re not in love with me anymore,” he mentioned.

Bucky choked and spluttered, then groaned as that changed the way they were fitting together. “Tony, I am literally balls deep in your ass right now,” he pointed out. He flexed his hips, fingers gripping Tony’s thighs. He clenched his jaw in an effort not to spill over right away; his dick often seemed to have an urge to make a point, somehow.

“Mm, yeah, I noticed that.” Tony dug his toes into the mattress for balance and pushed back onto Bucky’s cock even harder than before. “But do you still like me?”

Bucky slid an arm around Tony’s back and before he could protest, rolled them over until he was on top, sliding even deeper with each thrust, as if he could permanently become one with his husband. He leaned in, until his mouth was hovering mere millimeters away from Tony’s. Until speaking brushed their lips together. “I am so into you, baby,” Bucky said, “that nothin’ gonna pull me out.” He demonstrated, by way of pushing Tony’s knees back until they were practically touching his ears.

Tony’s breath caught and his hands clenched in the sheets. “Glad to h-hear it,” he groaned. “Oh, Christ, yes, right there, more.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, rocking with him, stroking Tony with each heartbeat, kissing him thoroughly. He was going to come quicker; driving down into Tony’s lithe, beautiful body always drove him wild. “You know I love you.” He balanced on the metal arm, getting a hand between them to tease Tony’s dick. “Don’t you?”

“Course I do,” Tony panted. “‘M just sayin, the press is at us again. And you know-- oh! Oh, yeah, sweetheart, just like that -- you know what it means when that happens.”

Bucky almost snarled; settled for purring in Tony’s ear, instead. “Means some stupid, mislead idiots with delusions of adequacy are gonna come crawlin’ out of the woodwork, hopin’ for a bite of Tony Stark.” He nipped at Tony’s throat, down to worry at Tony’s collarbone, sucking up a red mark. He ran his thumb back and forth over the crown of Tony’s cock, smearing precome around.

“God, it should not be so hot when you get possessive,” Tony swore. “You know I don’t want anyone else, baby.”

“I know,” Bucky said, and he did, he knew that. Tony had never even had to prove himself to Bucky; they’d held each other’s lives and hearts and heads since they practically met. He didn’t have doubts. “Jus’ don’t like ��em circling around you like blowflies. You’re not someone’s prize.” He sucked in a breath, thrust in, and twisted his wrist at the same time. “You’re mine.”

Tony threw his head back on a cry and came, spilling over Bucky’s fist to splash across his stomach. “Yours,” he gasped. “Always.” He reached up to curl his fingers into Bucky’s hair. “And you’re mine. Moy soldat.”

Bucky arched, that squeeze and heat, so perfect… he gasped for air, everything clenching down, and then-- “Oh, god.” Deep and molten and shivering, Bucky let it go, pleasure zipping from nerve to nerve as he came, crying Tony’s name. He chased after his breath for a bit, heart throbbing painfully in his chest, practically squashing Tony while he recovered his wits.

“Do I like you,” Bucky said, rolling over and spreading out over as much of the bed as he could get, trying to cool down. “What idiocy. Of course I like you. Like you, love you, want you, need you. Everything. All of it. There aren’t even words.”

Tony sighed in satisfaction. “We might have to put on a show for the press again,” he said. “Since it seems to be a slow news week.”

Bucky rolled up onto his elbow. “What a hardship.”

Really, as Tony got older, you’d think the number of people trying to hit on him would decrease. Sure, he was pretty fit for his age, still a billionaire, still a celebrity superhero, and there were always going to be people who found that attractive; Tony had long since resigned himself to the occasional offer from a fan with little to lose. But since the latest round of the gossip rags proclaiming that Tony and Bucky were going to call it quits Any Day Now, it seemed every third person he met was trying to get into his pants.

Bucky hadn’t even left Tony’s side for five minutes at the last event they’d been at before some society darling had pressed up against Tony’s side and offered to help him through those lonely nights.

Honestly, the woman was lucky that Bucky had only flayed her with words on his return; Tony was pretty certain he’d been mentally doing much worse.

Tony didn’t know where the gossip sites got their speculation from. It’s not like they’d stopped being affectionate with each other -- the kids were forever complaining about it, actually. Which only made them do it more, because it was funny. But apparently, that was too subtle. They were going to have to take things a little bit farther to get the message across.

Bucky, who normally contained himself to shooting at bad guys, and the occasional knife fight when one got too close, switched it up a bit and picked up one of the Not-Quite-Doombots (Tony didn’t know what they were, but they weren’t Doom’s robots, those things were dangerous, these were more like knock-off, dollar store bots. Annoying, clunky, and prone to malfunctions. The Avengers were only called in because there were so many of them) and threw it.

The ‘bot crashed into a nearby coffee shop and sent patrons screaming away. The way Bucky glared at the shop, without paying the least bit attention to the scrap metal he’d just failed to recycle, made Tony wonder if the collateral damage was a little more directed than usual.

But that was the last one. Nothing was still standing that wasn’t wearing signature colors (and the bystanders, who were by-fleers). Bucky took two running steps, hit a park bench, and leaped, getting an arm around Tony and practically tackling him to the ground. It was a good thing Tony had all sorts of shock resistance built into the armor. As it was, the fall jolted his breath out of him and Bucky thumbed the helmet’s release and was kissing him before Tony could recover his air.

“Mph--” Tony tried to say, then gave up and kissed his husband. It was shorter than usual, because air was a thing, and Tony hadn’t started out with a full breath. “Fighting knockoff Doombots gets you hot and bothered now?” he teased.

“No,” Bucky said. He nuzzled at Tony’s jaw. “College girls daring each other to flash Iron Man when he flew by kinda pisses me off, though. That one in th’ blue shirt left her damn brassiere on the table.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “No subtlety at all,” he complained. “Think it’s time to do something about this mess?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky said. He rolled to his feet and offered Tony a hand up. Steve was squawking over comms about the cleanup. Bucky made a face, tugged his earpiece out and threw it over his shoulder. “Fight fire with fire.” He lifted Tony up, armor and all, kissed him again, like they were in some sort of romcom and the wreckage of the street was a field of flowers.

Tony returned the kiss, with interest. “Have I mentioned before how hot it is that you can manhandle me in the suit?” He grinned down at his husband.

“You an’ the suit don’t even weigh what Thor does,” Bucky said. At Tony’s dubious look, Bucky added, “we did ‘get help’ last fight. It was fun.” He turned and carried Tony right back to the coffee shop, which was abandoned and ruined. Bucky took particular pains to step on the lacy bralette laying, forgotten, on the floor. He pushed into the back office, depositing Tony on the desk and swept it clear of rubble.

“Really?” Tony asked. “This is your choice of location?” He didn’t waste any time unfolding himself from the suit. He glanced up at the security camera in the corner and shot it with an EMP blast. There was a limit to how much evidence he wanted the press to get their hands on.

“Smells better than a broom cupboard,” Bucky said with a shrug. “An’ if someone’s gettin’ naked about you in a coffee shop, it’s gonna be me.” He worked open his armor one handed. “Gonna be a quickie. Once I’m outta this shit, I don’t like t’ put it back on until it’s clean.” He licked his way into Tony’s mouth, one hand sliding down the underflight suit until he reached Tony’s hip. “But I’ll make you feel real good, baby.”

“Promises, promises,” Tony taunted, groping down the front of Bucky’s armor and generally interfering with Bucky’s attempt to get it opened, until he got his hand on Bucky’s cock. “Already hard for it? You sure it wasn’t the ‘bots?” Tony grinned impishly until Bucky growled and leaned in to kiss the smirk off his face.

“Maybe a little bit th’ ‘bots,” Bucky said. “It’s nice t’ cut loose an’ not worry about hurtin’ people.” He groaned, pushing against Tony’s hand. “Gonna be even quicker than a quickie if you keep doin’ that.”

Tony was pretty sure Bucky would be able to manage a second round if he did shoot off quick, but it was also a pretty good bet that Steve or someone else would come looking for them if they were missing too long, so they probably didn’t have time for two rounds.

Tony wasn’t completely hard yet -- he wasn’t as fast on the draw as Bucky -- but the warm press of Bucky’s body and the firm stroke of Bucky’s hand as it slipped into the suit was getting him there pretty easily. “RPF,” he murmured. “Coffee shop AU.”

“Look at you, baby,” Bucky crooned. “Love it when you’re all sweaty ‘n dishevelled.” He rubbed Tony’s shaft with the heel of his hand, fingers teasing at his balls while he taunted Tony with more kisses, his tongue flicking over Tony’s lips in quick, heated strokes.

Tony groaned and tipped his head back, tugging Bucky’s mouth toward his throat. “Oh, yeah, yes, Bucky...”

Bucky fastened his mouth on Tony’s throat, a sharp nip and flare of pain as Bucky sucked all the blood to the surface, tonguing the spot when he was done. He rutted against Tony’s thigh, hips moving urgently. He kissed Tony again, hard and quick, then pushed him a little higher on the desk until he was sitting on it, Bucky tucked in the vee of Tony’s legs. “Gonna eat you right up like an ice cream.” Bucky slid to one knee, matching actions to works and took Tony down to the root in a single motion. His mouth was a hot, slick inferno and his tongue worked at Tony’s skin with skill and agility.

“Oh Christ,” Tony gasped. Quick, indeed; there was no slow savoring here. Bucky worked him with raw, ruthless efficiency, proving just how well Bucky knew Tony’s body. He clenched his hands in Bucky’s hair, hanging on for dear life. “God, Bucky, yes...”

Bucky slid two fingers into his mouth, teasing at Tony’s cock, his tongue working in between them, then, slippery with spit, drew them back, along the crease of Tony’s thigh until he was pressing at the entrance to Tony’s body, a quick little caress and tease, circling and encouraging Tony to thrust up, into Bucky’s mouth. The noises he was making were obscene, slick and wet, moaning almost continuously.

Tony whined and pushed up into the welcoming heat of Bucky’s mouth and throat. He shuddered at the sensation, and Bucky pressed one finger into Tony’s hole, not far, just enough to stretch and burn a little. It was enough to tip him over the edge. He cursed and jerked and then came, shooting down Bucky’s throat in a warm wave.

Bucky licked and tormented him through the aftershocks, until Tony was weakly batting him away, overstimulated and jittery. Bucky licked at his lip, his mouth red and swollen and used looking, face pink, hair sticking to his forehead. “You are utterly, utterly wrecked, babydoll,” Bucky said, smug jerk that he was.

“You’re not much better,” Tony retorted. He gingerly tucked himself back into his undersuit. “Do I get a turn at wrecking you next?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, eyes flashing eagerly. “Wanna feel you, baby, your nice warm skin. Got a hand for me?”

“For you, sweetheart, always.” Tony dragged his hand over Bucky’s cock, teasing a little before wrapping firmly around it. He kissed down Bucky’s neck, sucking at the skin. “Think if I work hard enough at it, I can give you a hickey that’ll last long enough for some pap to get a picture?” he wondered. He sucked a little harder, pulling the soft skin between his teeth.

Bucky groaned, pushing into the pressure of Tony’s mouth, head falling back in supplication. “Don’t know that I even care,” he said, “damn, that feels good, Tony, oh, oh, yeah, like that, baby.”

Bucky might have started their tryst as a possessive marking of territory, but once he was into it, Tony was his sole focus. It was a little humbling, sometimes, the raw, naked longing that Tony could see in Bucky’s every movement. From the way he shuddered under Tony’s hand to the savage wantonness of his cries.

“That’s it,” Tony coaxed, working his hand faster, rolling over the tip to spread precome down Bucky’s cock. “So gorgeous, so perfect for me. Come for me, sweetheart, I want to feel you coming.” He licked at Bucky’s neck, the salty tang of sweat and skin, and if he hadn’t just climaxed, he’d be getting hard again.

Bucky rolled up onto his toes, fucking up into Tony’s hand. His fingers clamped down on Tony’s shoulders and he let his mouth drop open, all the stress and worries dropping off his features until they were smooth and relaxed. His eyes fluttered shut and then, “Oh, god, Tony.” His hips stuttered, pistoning wildly, two, three strokes. A soft sigh and he arched into it, painting Tony’s belly, hip, and the thigh of his flight suit with come.

Tony stroked him through it, peppering his face and neck with kisses. “So wonderful, so beautiful,” he murmured. He nosed at Bucky’s temple, dropping a soft kiss there. “Now who’s wrecked?” he teased.

“One ‘a these days,” Bucky said, huffing out a breath, “I’m gonna make you carry me.” He shuddered, resting his forehead against Tony’s shoulder for a long moment before yanking his tactical pants back up around his hips. He tucked himself in, belted the pants, but left the shirt open, showing off his chest, and a few round, red bite marks.

Tony found some napkins to wipe up the mess and then got himself back into the armor. He left the helmet off; the tender spot on his neck where Bucky had sucked a hickey would probably show nicely, and it definitely wasn’t a combat injury. “You want me to give you a lift back up to the ‘jet?”

Bucky took a step back, his knees obviously shaky. “Yes, yes, I would like that,” he decided, firmly. “You can sit with me on th’ way back to the Tower. I don’t think we need an aerial escort today.”

“Your wish is my command.” Tony caught Bucky’s hand in his -- he couldn’t feel it through the gauntlet, but it was nice anyway -- and led the way back out into the street. He caught Bucky around the waist. “Hold on,” he said. He waved at a returning bystander, giving their cell camera a bright press smile, and then took off, Bucky’s arms twined around his neck.

“Buck, you okay?” Steve asked, as they landed in the ‘jet.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky said. “Just needed a hand with somethin’.”

Steve took a step forward, as if concerned, then his nostrils flared. “Buck!”

Jessica Jones, who was stripping out of her armor with very little regard for modesty, looked up. “What?”

“You can’t smell that?” Steve grimaced. “Really? Really, Buck?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched until he was forced to duck his chin to hide a wide grin and flushed cheeks. “Really.”

Tony dropped onto the bench beside his husband. “No need to get excited about it, Cap,” he said, probably more smugly than he should. “It’s just a little territory marking.” 

[mage-cat]

Unbubbled, Chapter 2

This chapter would have been a lot easier to write if I didn’t think making it very clear some of the things Bismuth does and does not know going forward was so important. It also would have been easier if it didn’t feel like the world was falling down around our ears just now, too. Anyone who’s read any of my Steven Universe fic will be utterly unsurprised that there’s Amedot in my Bispearl story. I hope you enjoy them as an established couple

Chapter under the cut.

Chapter 1 here.

AO3 link here.

After a while, Garnet declared that she and Pearl had to leave on a mission, the remaining Crystal Gems staying behind at the temple. Amethyst said she was going for a walk, Peridot quickly stated an insistence on joining her, and Steven and Bismuth were invited along. Steven quickly agreed and went to grab his ukulele while Bismuth stared at the congealing brown ring at the bottom of her mug until Amethyst waved a hand through her field of vision.

“Come on,” she cajoled. “We can fill you in more on how things work around here now, and you can pay us back with stories about what Garnet and Pearl were like before they started trying to be good examples.”

“I'm not sure this is a day for telling war stories.” Bismuth's smile was returning, if looking a little tired.

“So no fighting stories. I know it wasn't all battles all the time.”

“We'll see what I come up with while we're walking.”

Peridot spoke up as they walked down the stairs. “I may need to apologize for a part in why you weren't unbubbled sooner.”

“Why's that?”

“Garnet was waiting for me to reform, under the understanding that you were unlikely to trust what I had to say while I was still wearing my old Diamond emblems. She didn't actually tell me that until afterward, but even if she had, it is unlikely that I would have volunteered to have my form forcibly dismissed to hurry the process along.”

“Well, I can't really argue with Future Vision, and I've seen what it takes to get a Peridot to poof. I wouldn't want to put myself through that either. Why did you switch sides anyway? I always love hearing those stories.”

Reaching the foot of the stairs, Steven steered the group in the opposite direction from where Biggs had momentarily been that morning.

“The Crystal Gems' attempts to thwart my original mission, while not being sure what that mission was, succeeded in leaving me stranded on this planet with no means of escape or communication while knowing that the whole place was a time bomb about to go off. By the time of my capture, I was desperate enough to work with them. There were many things I was willing to do for Yellow Diamond back then, but dying was not one of them.” Bismuth's smile was looking less tired now, turning into an approving smirk as Peridot continued. She had seen plenty of Gems who did not draw the line at dying for their Diamond.

“Around the time we completed the drill to reach the Cluster, I managed to acquire a Direct Diamond Line. I thought that, if I presented Yellow Diamond with some theories I had developed about how to extract resources from this planet without harming the biosphere, she would spare Earth.” A pained look crossed her face. “She wouldn't. She said she wanted the planet gone, that she didn't care about resources or potential. She's supposed to care. What's the point of a Diamond that doesn't care about the well-being of the Empire or the Gems created to serve her?” Peridot shrugged. “So I called her a clod, cut the connection, and she remote detonated the communicator. I am most definitely not welcome back even if I wanted to go, which I don't.” She held her hand up to her face, almost as if inspecting it. “I'm done with being lied to.”

“You called Yellow Diamond a clod? To her face?” Bismuth barked out a laugh. “I wish I could have seen that!”

“It was pretty impressive,” Amethyst said as she nudged Peridot's shoulder with her own. “Even if she did curl up into a ball right after and stay that way for a few hours.”

“So what's your story Deep Cut?”

It was Amethyst's turn to shrug. “There's not much of one. I was the last Gem to come out of the Prime Kindergarten. Five hundred years after everyone else with the war already over. That's why, you know...” Amethyst pressed the flat of her hand against the top of her head, emphasizing her lack her height. “Which I gotta say beats my alternatives. Still, it was just me and a bunch of lifeless rocks for who knows how long until Rose found me. I guess you could say I've been a Crystal Gem as long as I've been anything.”

“Now that is amazing. I always wondered what a Gem would be like who never heard all that upper crust nonsense about her proper place. You fight pretty good for someone who wasn't in the war. Who trained you? Ruby?”

Amethyst laughed. “Good one! Like Garnet was going to unfuse often enough for her to train me. I got some training from Rose. More from Pearl until we both got fed up with each other over it. Mostly I work from instinct. That's enough to get by when it comes to monsters at least. Now that we're looking at facing down soldiers again, sparing with this guy is really helping.” She jerked a thumb towards Steven, who added, “Pearl's done pretty much all my training, but fighting with Amethyst is fun!”

“But, ya know, as far as what a Gem's like without Homeworld influence, it mostly just means I ended up with different damage.”

Peridot linked one arm around Amethyst's, leaning into her. “Well I think you came out great. Especially for a first test case. The problems stem more from the neuroses of the Gems raising you then anything else.”

“Thanks, Per-bear, but you're biased.”

“I would not have formed my bias in the first place if I had not first logically concluded that you were an extraordinary individual.”

That got a small laugh. “You are such a nerd.”

“Yes, but that's what you love about me.”

“True,” Amethyst said as she leaned over to blow a raspberry into Peridot's cheek. After a moment of giggling they remembered that they had an audience, and Amethyst looked over saying, “Okay. Show's over.”

“Oh,” Steven said, “are we going to be seeing Fluorite soon?”

Peridot and Amethyst glanced at each other before Peridot answered, “Not today.”

“Yeah,” Amethyst added, “there's filling Bismuth in, and then there's introducing her to walking information overload.”

“Once Fluorite starts talking it's hard for her to stop,” Peridot explained to Bismuth.

“And she'll say whatever she's thinking, which could be, like, everything,” added Amethyst.

“She's like the Anti-Garnet!” Steven exclaimed. “Wait, that makes her sound evil.” He looked like he was trying to think of a better way to phrase it. Peridot broke his train of thought, saying it really was accurate enough.

“So, Peridot,” Bismuth said, “outside from fusion, have you been learning to fight, or are you sticking with a support role? There's always stuff to build, but what's the point of rebelling if you just keep doing the things you did before?”

“Mostly I've been working on getting my metal powers under proper control. With them I can occupy a ranged attack role that the team has been lacking up until this point.”

“Wait,” Bismuth stopped short to look at Peridot more carefully. “Getting them under control? How had you been working without having done that already? You can't be that new if they were sending you out on solo missions.”

Peridot scrambled up a nearby rock and sat on it. “It's an Era 2 thing. The story is that Homeworld is experiencing a resource shortage and Gems cannot be produced to the old standards, mostly characterized by lack of powers. For Peridots, this is counterbalanced with technology that is worn at all times. Arm Enhancers come equipped with tractor beams, which fill in for the missing metal control and then some, along with database access. I even configured mine to have a blaster function. I was a pretty fair shot.”

Amethyst chimed in, “Then there was the electrical feedback you shocked me with that time.”

“And a few other functions that led to the Enhancers being clunky enough that, to prevent them from dragging the ground, Leg Extenders were also required. After I was captured and they were…” she seemed to side-eye Amethyst, “discarded, it took me some time to even adjust to being this size. It didn't help that my mass was still distributed in anticipation of carrying the weight of the Enhancers. I overbalanced a lot. I really hope I'm going to fall on my face much less now.” At a gesture from the green Gem, a discarded soda can floated up to her shoulder height and began to move in lazy figure eights.

“Anyway,” she continued, “if what I had been told was completely true, I wouldn't be able to do this at all.” The can flew in a quick series of loops before coming to a still-floating halt. “I'm sure there really is some resource shortage, losing this colony did hurt Homeworld, but, as to how much it actually affected my potential...” She shrugged, the can raising and falling an inch or so with the motion. “If I ever figure out shape-shifting or weapon summoning, I won't be as shocked as I was the first time I moved metal.”

Bismuth looked slightly stunned, “I think that might actually be more twisted than the whole Corruption thing. I mean, how long have they been keeping that up?”

“Longer than I've been around. Which means more than 3000 years. And don't forget I was a Kindergartener. Lying to me means that they are mucking with the technical manuals regarding Gem formation. The more you think about it, the worse it gets.”

Bismuth looked down to where Steven and Amethyst were standing. “Remind me why shattering the Diamonds is a bad idea again.”

“Because desperate Diamonds are more dangerous than we can handle,” Amethyst answered.

“And it would be wrong,” added Steven.

The smith gave a half-nod of assent before turning back to Peridot. “Anyway, if you're sticking to that training regimen, could I make you some better ammunition? What have you been using?”

“I would actually appreciate that. This planet has plenty of scrap metal I can use, but I know there would be benefits to something more uniform. My skill with raw materials lags well behind my engineering abilities.”

Amethyst climbed up the rock to sit next to her. “I'm glad to have you watching my back, and to know that if we need an attack with more range that my whip and more punch than Pearl's laser blasts, we don't have to rely on Opal.” She rolled her eyes toward Bismuth. “Miss Pearl-fect and I don't always get along well enough to fuse, even if an archer would help.”

“I guess with so few of us, fusion is a more important tactic than ever, huh?”

“I guess. I don't really know how important it was during the war so I can't compare. You ever fuse with Pearl or Garnet?”

“I... uh,” Bismuth's mind stumbled over the memory. “Yeah, a couple of times. With Pearl. Never quite worked out with Garnet.”

Steven had pulled up a seat on one of the smaller rocks and begun tuning his ukulele. Bismuth took the hint and settled in, using Peridot and Amethyst's perch as a backrest. They passed a few hours that way, swapping stories. Peridot related the epic tale of scavenging materials for some attack drones she had made. Bismuth talked about how hard Pearl had been on her swords before Bismuth had perfected the design for them. Amethyst described her involvement in the local wrestling league, and the fight she and Steven had had with Garnet and Pearl over allowing her to continue. Bismuth learned a round that Steven had written and Amethyst and Peridot already knew. In the end, the three younger Crystal Gems did more of the talking than Bismuth did. She was more than willing to tell stories about Garnet and Pearl, but too many stories included the shattered and the corrupted. On another day, she might be able to tell those, but the pain was still too fresh.

The sun was just starting to tint the western sky a faint orange when Peridot said she would have to leave soon. “I told Lapis I would be back before dark. She's more stable than she used to be, but I still don't like leaving her alone for too long.”

“Lapis Lazuli?” The name conjured up some less pleasant memories, but mostly Bismuth wondered why they hadn't mentioned another Gem around. After all, what were the odds that they were talking about the same Lapis she was thinking of?

“A Homeworld loyalist who was mistaken for a Crystal Gem during the war and put in a mirror for interrogation. She was abandoned and cracked while still in it during the final evacuation,” Peridot explained as she descended from the rock and headed towards the Temple and its warp pad. The rest of the group went with her.

“I got her out and healed her,” Steven chimed in.

“Yeah, but between one and the other, she stole the ocean for a while,” Amethyst said, “because being so cracked your mind is too scrambled to be corrupted means you're willing to try out some really bad ideas.”

“She went back to Homeworld after,” Steven continued, “and sent us a message that Peridot was coming back with reinforcements after her scouting missions where we first saw her. If it wasn't for Lapis, we wouldn't have been ready at all.”

“'Reinforcements' makes it sound much more dire than one ship with me, Jasper as an escort, and Lapis as an unwilling informant. Anyway, that day ended with me on the run and Lapis holding Jasper captive in a fusion. It's rather amazing how long it was before Malachite split, longer than I managed to stay one step ahead of the team. That's when things got complicated. Jasper's bubbled now. I'm working on getting Lapis to convert. She's warmed up to me and would do just about anything for Steven, but she's civil at best to Pearl and Garnet.”

Amethyst said, “And she doesn't seem to mind me hanging around the barn. Of course, it probably helps that I usually bring books and interesting junk for her and Peri to use for art projects.”

“You've been doing art?” Bismuth asked Peridot, honestly curious.

“Apparently the exact human term for it is 'conceptual sculpture.' I still like the word Lapis came on for it, 'meep-morp.' Anyway, once the drill project had fulfilled its purpose, I found making things without concern for utility very freeing. Also, I find that creative endeavors aid in emotional processing, and everything I've found out since coming to Earth has given me a lot to process. Oh, do you want these,” she said referring to the now four cans she had floating beside her. “They're aluminum, very pure aside from the added pigment.”

“Humans figured out aluminum extraction? I'm impressed. That's tricky work on this planet.” Bismuth considered the offer. “You keep them for now. I'm going to do an inventory at the Forge.”

Once Peridot had used the warp pad to reach a point nearer her destination, Bismuth moved to do the same. Amethyst asked, “Are you really gonna leave right now?”

“Yeah, Pearl and Garnet aren't even back yet,” said Steven.

“Unless you need me for something. I've got an inventory to do and things to think about.” She stepped onto the pad. “You all know where to find me.”

Chapter 3 >