Eden has someone they need dealt with? Convince the violent kid, he's good at it.
COI has a prisoner they need gone without the responsibility of getting rid of valuable manpower? Get the butcher, he's going to solitary anyway.
Need someone to blame for filament? The butcher has a kill count, blame him and run.
"Get him angry and it will be dealt with, no problem."
Trained by a mother he trusts, so it must be the right choice. Isn't it? To kill? The tree is salvation. It's got to be more peaceful than being alive. He's doing them a favour. That's what they said. They wouldn't lie, would they?
Summary: Frank doesn’t like asking for things he needs. Good thing you’re there to give them to him anyway.
Pairing: DDBAS1!Frank x gf!reader
WC/Tags: 529 / established relationship, Frank is bad at feels, hugging
A/N: for Frank Castle countdown 5/2 ‘hug’ by @darlingshane
Frank isn’t the type to ask for things he needs.
He’s hungry? He’ll make himself a sandwich. Needs to let off some steam? He’ll head straight to the shitty parts of New York and find folks doing wrong that he can straighten out with his fists.
If he wants something, he’ll do it himself.
Frank can’t hug himself though.
He’s tired. Between arguing with Matt about Fisk and the stress of keeping all of that mess away from you, his strength is worn. His beard wet from his shower, he braces his hands on the porcelain sink in your bathroom. It’s pale white, clean, the tiles a deep cream color that conveyed serenity. It’s the opposite of his home, all Sharp edges and smelling of gun powder.
His eyes flick up to his reflection, taking in the damaged expanse of his torso and his jaw ticks. He needs a shave. He needs a god damn coffee, he needs-
“Baby? You finished?” Your voice is light, lighter than his has ever has been, and he doesn’t answer, his chin dropping. The soft patter of your socks comes from down the hall and you peer in, your nails braced on the door edge. He straightens quickly, like you had caught him in a weak moment. His muscles tight, back straight, a mask quickly falling in place to cover the vulnerable man beneath. He watches you in the mirror, taking in your pajamas and messy hair.
“Frank?” You question, and he smiles but it’s tight, not meeting his eyes. You rub your lips together before moving to his back, peering at him from behind his shoulder. “You okay?”
His hands grip the edge of the sink a little tighter, knuckles whitening. “Yeah,” he grunts, voice rough. But the lie hangs heavy between you both; he knows it, and so do you. His reflection meets yours in the mirror, that stubborn jaw set like steel. “Just tired.”
“Mm,” you hum, and when you nod your chin swipes his skin. “You..sure?”
Frank doesn’t reply, and you sigh before slipping your arms around his waist, pressing your chest to his back, your cheek right between his shoulder blades. His skin is still damp and warm from the shower as you lock your hands on his middle.
You can feel the sudden tension in his shoulders fade at your touch, replaced by a deep exhale as he leans back into you. The feeling of you against him, the gentle warmth of your arms, it's familiar. Almost instinctually, his hand lifts, his calloused fingers closing around one of your wrists.
“I’m here,” you murmur, twisting your face and pressing a kiss to his skin. “When you need me.”
His thumb brushes slow circles over your wrist, his breath finally steadying. “Know you are,” he rumbles, voice quieter now, less tight. Then, with a sigh that sounds almost like surrender: “Just... stay like this a minute.”
“Sure baby,” your murmur against his skin, and you know there’s something he isn’t telling you. Things in his life that weigh on him but he won’t dare voice them, so you hold onto him a little tighter. “Whatever you need.”
viltrum mark grayson x reader. mark falls to earth, meets reader, they’re both madly in love and mark keeps his origin assignment/purpose hidden, afraid reader will leave him if he reveals the truth. but one day, somehow someway, reader finds out and confronts him. mark sees were this could lead and immediately starts to prevent it from happening by falling to his knees, grabbing readers legs and crying into their thigh. pathetically mumbling and talking about how ‘it was for the mission’ and ‘my love, i would never hurt you’ or ‘you are my girlfriend, soon-to-be-wife/queen (mark is delulu like that) please find it in your heart to forgive me 😢’
"IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE ANON!!! I loveee Mark variant fics. I hope I do this one justice for you." - JOR
Viltrum! Mark x GN! Reader
WORD COUNT: 887 / CHARACTER COUNT: 4,803
THIRD/SECOND PERSON POV:
When Mark first fell down to Earth, his mission was clear: conquest, subjugation, expansion of the Viltrum Empire.
When he first met you, you were working at a local deli — a family-owned business that had been thriving for years. You didn’t have a designated uniform, so you wore whatever you wanted.
Mark pretended to need things at first, asking you for help. For example, he claimed he couldn’t find something as plain and simple as chips. When you went over to help, they were on the top shelf.
“It’s up there… I would get it for you, but I don’t have my stool on me right no—”
He cut you off smoothly by grabbing the bag himself from behind you. His arm reached over your shoulder. He wasn’t uncomfortably close; he smelled faintly of debris mixed with a hint of cologne. Something about the interaction left you flushed.
When he noticed this, he decided you would be part of expanding the empire. That was all he saw at the time.
Mark became a regular at the shop and eventually asked you out on a date.
“Hey.” When Mark spoke, he always seemed so serious and stiff, his shoulders broader than stone.
“Welcome in again,” you greeted him with a warm smile.
“When do you leave this place?” he asked, staring at you intensely, arms crossed.
“Why?” you raised a brow.
“I want to take you to dinner.” He said it without hesitation — more like a statement than a question.
You were excited and accepted nonetheless. You should’ve noticed the red flags by then… but you didn’t.
“I want those… white tubes with white sauce on them.” He pointed at the menu.
You laughed, and it made something in his chest soften, though he pushed the feeling down.
“Chicken Alfredo pasta,” you said.
After the first date, the two of you somehow hit it off. Unbeknownst to you, you went from a weak part of his mission to… a lover in his eyes. He couldn’t help but adore the way you looked, the way you smiled, the way you laughed, and the way you dressed.
It got to the point where he genuinely worried about the secret he was hiding. If you knew, he believed you’d never forgive him. You were too empathetic and kind toward every fragile thing on this planet — everything Viltrumites believed needed to die.
After about three years, you two decided to live together. That’s when you started noticing how often he left with no explanation. Mark would say he was going to work, but when you asked where, he never answered.
He had been absent more often than not recently, and it concerned you more than he realized.
One night, you snooped in his room and found a white and gray suit. It was strange — he wouldn’t cosplay, and if he did, he’d have more than just one suit, right?
You rushed to get your phone, took a photo, and sent it to an AI program to identify whatever it was.
When you leaned down and read the answer, your eyes widened.
“Viltrumites… Viltrum Empire… their goal is… no.”
You wanted to throw up. Had Mark been lying this whole time? Did he actually love you? None of that mattered if he planned on killing basically everyone for some empire.
A loud gust of wind interrupted your thoughts.
“…Y/N… love.”
Tears welled in your eyes. “Don’t.”
He walked toward you slowly. “What’s the matter, hm?”
You tossed the uniform onto his bed. “I know what you are now.”
He couldn’t explain the feeling, but his heart sank.
He could twist his words, try to make this seem okay, but he knew you were smarter than that. You were such a bright, perceptive lover in his eyes. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing you to his assignment — to what he was destined for.
You rubbed your temple as you walked toward the window, holding back a sob. “You’re just here to repopulate and kill. I was never anything except a pawn in your game, Mark. Was this all fake?”
You turned to face him, and the moment your eyes met his, he stepped closer.
You backed up — all the way until your back hit the wall. He noticed, and before you could speak, he dropped to his knees.
“Please,” he whispered, grabbing your legs and holding on tightly.
“It wasn’t for me — it was for the mission. You have to understand—”
You were taken aback. “Get off me.” When you tried to pry him away, his grip tightened almost painfully.
“You’re mine. Please say it, Y/N.” He looked up at you, your expression filled with disgust.
“I would never hurt you…” His grip tightened again.
“You’re my future Empress, love. Mine. Just forgive me. Please forgive me.” He begged and begged.
</3
A/N: IM GONNA GIVE YOU ONE PATHWAY, only because if it went any other way he'd be delusional and obsessed. If you'd like that just drop a request guys/Anon..
You forgive him:
“…” The silence was deafening at first as he begged.
You cut through the stillness by running your fingers through his charcoaled hair. He melted under your touch like it was a lifeline.
“Don’t disappoint me.” It was a statement more than a request.
A/N: "I LOVEDDD writing this, I hope you like it, reader. REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN BTW!" -JOR
summary: After a show in Nashville, a night out turns into something much uglier when Bucky’s past collides with his present and you realize exactly where you stand in his life... or don't.
word count: 3.7 k
warnings: +18 MDNI! explicit sexual content, oral sex, multiple orgasms, rough sex, hurt/comfort, jealousy, miscommunication, situationship, Bucky Barnes needs therapy and it's a total evasive asshole in this part (!!!)
a/n; are people alergic to happiness or what? This was a request by my lovely Alice (@wintersoldier-gal) and I had to do some SERIOUS juggling to come up to this thing... fortunately is the last angst request I have for this series (yayy!!) still 2 parts more to go and then we're done. thank you for all the love you've given this series, I truly appreciate it. beta read by @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysdecaflove & Denice ilysm<𝟑 |
Week 6, Nashville TN
Bucky suggested going to the bar across from the venue instead of just going back to the hotel or the bus.
"Industry people hang out here," he says, hand on your lower back as you walk in. "It's good networking."
Networking. Right. Because that's what you do at 11 PM after a show: network.
The bar is nicer than the places you usually go. Exposed brick, craft cocktails, the kind of place where musicians come to be seen. You're on jeans and one of the band's tee, with Bucky's leather jacket covering your shoulders, and you feel underdressed. You should've stayed at the bus.
"Relax," Bucky says, reading your tension. "You look good."
He orders some drinks and you find a spot at the bar. You're halfway through the whiskey when you see her.
She's gorgeous. Tall, blonde, kilometric legs in a dress that probably costs more than your rent. And she's looking directly at Bucky with a smile that makes your stomach drop.
"I can't believe what my eyes are seeing," you hear her say as she approaches. "Bucky Barnes. It's been a minute!"
Bucky turns and something flickers across his face. Recognition, maybe. "Hey. Yeah, it's been what? Two years?"
"Tampa," she says, and her smile widens. "Two tours ago… I can't believe you remember."
"Course I remember."
Your hand tightens on your glass while you wait for him to introduce you. He doesn't.
"God, that weekend was insane," she continues, leaning against the bar next to him. Close, too close. "I think we left the hotel room maybe twice."
Your stomach twists.
"Yeah," Bucky says with a laugh. "That was a good time."
Still no introduction, still no acknowledgment that you're even there.
The blonde's eyes flick to you finally, assessing. Her smile doesn't waver but something in her gaze sharpens. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I'm Madison."
"Hi," you manage. You don't offer your name, neither does Bucky.
"And you are…?" Madison prompts.
There's a pause. A pause that lasts too long. You look at Bucky, waiting for him to say something: This is my girlfriend. This is my friend. Even just say your fucking name.
"She's with the tour," Bucky says finally and your heart sinks. "Travels with us."
"Oh," Madison's smile turns pitying. "Groupie?"
"No—" you start.
"Something like that," Bucky says at the same time and you want to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. Or maybe him.
Madison's laugh is light. "Well, good for you, Bucky's the best, isn't he? Absolutely insatiable." Her eyes are on you when she says it, watching for your reaction. "I could barely walk the next day, worth it though."
You feel sick. You should leave and walk away, but your feet refuse to move.
"That was a long time ago," Bucky says, but he's smiling, like it's something funny. Like this is just a fun trip down memory lane and not him letting another woman humiliate yo in public.
"Not that long." Madison counters. She touches his arm, fingers trailing down his bicep. "You still doing that thing with your tongue? God, I think about that sometimes."
Your face burns and you stare at your drink clenching your teeth.
"Madison—" Bucky starts, but he's still not pulling away from her touch.
"Sorry, sorry." She doesn't sound sorry. "I'm embarrassing you… it's just so good to see you." Her eyes cut to you again. "And you've clearly been busy. She's cute… very girl-next-door."
That was supposed to be a compliment, but her tone was suggesting otherwise.
"Yeah, well—" Bucky's hand lands on your lower back, but it feels performative, like he's just remembering you're there. "We should probably—"
"Oh, you should stay!" Madison says brightly. "Catch up, I want to hear everything you've been up to. Is the band still doing that thing where Steve writes all the emotional songs and you write all the dirty ones?"
And just like that, she's pulled Bucky into a conversation about music and touring and people you don't know. His hand eventually drops from your back… you might as well be invisible.
You sit there, nursing your drink, while Madison laughs at Bucky's stories and touches his arm and makes references to their weekend together. Little comments designed to remind that she's ben where you are, that she's had him first.
"Remember when we broke the headboard?" she says at one point, laughing. "The hotel charged you extra and your manager was so mad at you."
Bucky laughs too. "Oh shit, I forgot about that."
You want to throw your drink in both of their faces.
After fifteen minutes of this, you can't take it anymore and you stand up. "I'm going to the bathroom," you announce to no one in particular.
Bucky barely glances at you. "Yeah, okay."
Madison doesn't even acknowledges you've spoken.
You walk into the bathroom on shaking legs and lock yourself in a stall. You're not going to cry. You're not. You knew what this was. Knew he didn't owe you anything. You're not his girlfriend, he's made that very clear.
But fuck, it hurts.
You take a few deep breaths, fix your lipstick and head back out. They're still at the bar talking, Madison's hand is on his thigh now and he's not moving it.
Steve is there now too, standing slightly off to the side with a beer, watching the whole thing with an increasingly uncomfortable expression. The way he looks at you make something in you snap.
You walk up to them, and Madison turns to you with that same pitying smile.
"Oh, good, you're back," she says, tone dripping with false sweetness. "I was just telling Bucky about this amazing place in Austin. You should go sometime—oh wait." She laughs, and it's like she's pulling out a nerve. "I guess you've already been there, with the tour and all."
"Madison—" Bucky starts, but she's not done.
"It's so cute," Madison continues, looking at you like you're a child. "You traveling with them, playing groupie… I did that for a bit too, you know. It's fun while it lasts." She leans in conspiratorially. "Word of advice though, sweetie? Don't get too attached. These boys have a type and it's not 'girlfriend material'—trust me honey, you're nothing special, just someone convenient."
The slap echoes through the bar. Everyone stops doing whatever they're doing. Madison's hand flies to her cheek, eyes wide with shock.
"Don't fucking talk to me like that." Your voice is deadly calm.
"Are you insane?!" Madison sputters. "Did you just—"
"Yeah, I did." You step closer. "And I'll do it again if you say one more condescending thing to me, I'm not your 'sweetie', I'm not your 'honey'. And I'm sure as fuck not going to stand here and let you talk down to me like I'm nothing."
"Bucky, are you going to let her—" Madison turns to him.
You look at Bucky too, waiting… hoping he'll say something, defend you, claim you. But he's frozen, staring at you like he's never seen you before.
"You know what?" You grab his jacket from the back of the chair. "Fuck this, fuck both of you."
You turn to leave and nearly run into Steve.
"Hey—" Steve's hands are on your shoulders, steadying you. "You okay?"
"No," your voice cracks. "I'm really not."
Steve looks past you at Bucky and Madison, then back at you. His jaw is tight. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
"I can leave by myself—"
"I know you can, but I'm walking you out anyway." He keeps his hand on your shoulder and guides you toward the door.
Behind you, you hear Madison: "Bucky, your little groupie just assaulted me—"
And Bucky, finally: "She's not a groupie."
"Could've fooled me," Madison snaps. "The way you were introducing her—"
You can't hear the rest because Steve is steering you outside.
The cool night air hits your face and you realize you're shaking.
"That was fucking badass," Steve says.
You laugh, but it comes out wet. "I just slapped someone in a bar, I can cross that out of my bucket list."
"She deserved it." Steve's voice is firm. "She was being a complete bitch to you and Bucky just sat there and let it happen."
"He said I was just 'with the tour'," you're crying now, angry tears. "Like I'm just—like I'm nothing. Just some groupie he's fucking."
"You're not nothing," Steve looks genuinely angry. "And he's just an idiot for not shutting that down immediately."
"He was just sitting there, smiling, while she talked about fucking him, while she talked down to me like I'm—" Your voice breaks. "Like I'm just another girl, just… convenient, like she said."
You pause, then look at Steve directly. "Like when you two shared me back in Denver. That's what I am to him, right? Just another girl you guys pass around?"
Steve's face falls. "That's not—"
"Isn't it?" Your voice cracks. "You said you've done that before with other girls, and tonight he introduced me like I'm nothing."
Steve is quiet for a moment, his jaw tight. When he speaks, his voice is low and serious.
"That threesome was fucked up. I know that now." He runs his hand through his hair. "I asked Bucky if he wanted to do what we used to do on past tours… but back then I thought it was just casual for him. Just fun, I didn't realize—"
"That I mattered to him?"
"Yeah," Steve looks pained. "And I definitely didn't realize how much you were falling for him… I noticed it while we were—" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… treated you like you were just another hookup, when it was not like that to either of you."
"Well, he did treated me like I was just another hookup."
"Well, I don't want to play the devil's advocate, but… he's terrified." Steve says. "I've known Bucky for twenty years, I've never seen him like he is with you. He's scared shitless of how much you matter. So he does stupid shit like— like sharing you to prove to himself that you. Or letting another guy hit on you..."
"That's not an excuse."
"I know it's not. He's being an asshole, and you deserves better than how he's treating you." He looks at you seriously. "You deserve someone who doesn't pull these shitty stunts like letting other women disrespect you."
Fresh tears fall. "I don't want someone else. I know it's stupid… but I want him… and I want him to want me too… not just in bed, not just when it's convenient. I want him to really choose me."
"He has chosen you. He just doesn't know how to show it yet." Steve's expression softens. "But that doesn't mean you have to wait around while he figures his shit out. You're allowed to have standards and demand better."
"I shouldn't have to demand to be treated like I matter."
"You're absolutely right." Steve squeezes your shoulder. "Which is why I will personally drive you to the airport if he doesn't get his shit together."
"Steve—"
"I mean it, you're my friend now. And I'm not going to watch him hurt you just because he's too scared to admit what you mean to him." He pauses. "And I'm sorry again for Denver."
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
Back at the bus, Steve makes sure you're settled before heading back to the bar.
"You sure you're okay?" he asks at the door.
"Yeah, thanks for the talk."
"Don't mention it. Just take care of yourself, alright? And if you need anything I'm here. And Sam too. Even if it's just to talk or to hide from Bucky."
"I will, thanks Steve."
You hear Bucky stumble onto the bus, hear Steve's low voice saying something you can't make out, and then Bucky's there, pulling back the curtains.
"Hey," he says quietly.
You don't turn to look at him, just stare at the wall.
"Can we talk?"
"No."
"Baby—"
"Don't call me that." Your voice is flat. "Not right now."
He's quiet for a moment. "What you did back at the bar… slapping Madison, that was pretty badass."
You finally look at him. "You let her talk about fucking you, you let her touch you, you didn't introduce me. You just said I was 'with the tour' and now you want what? To come in here and fuck me and pretend it didn't happen?"
He flinches at your voice. "No, I—"
"Go sleep on the couch."
"What?"
"The couch, in the back lounge. Go sleep there." You turn away from him. "I don't want you in here tonight."
"Come on, don't be like that—"
"Like what? Like someone who has self-respect? Like someone who's tired of being treated like shit?" You sit up, looking at him directly. "You let another woman humiliate me, you sat there and smile while she talked about your sex life and called me a groupie and made me feel like nothing. And you didn't say a single thing to stop it."
"I know I fucked up but—"
"Yeah, you did… so go sleep on the couch and think about it."
"Can't we just—"
"No, we can't 'just' anything. I'm done for tonight, I'm done with you for tonight." Your voice cracks slightly. "Please just go."
He looks like he wants to argue, but the look on your face must stop him. "Okay… okay, I'll go—"
He leaves, closing the curtains behind him. You lie back down and stare at the wall, tears sliding down your face. You can hear him settling on the couch, the creak of the cushions, the rustle of a blanket.
Neither of you sleeps well.
The next morning you wake up to voices—Sam and Steve talking quietly in the front of the bus.
"He can't keep doing this to her," Steve is saying.
"I know." That's Sam. "I told him last night he's being an idiot."
"Did he listen?"
"Does he ever?"
You hear Bucky's voice, rough with sleep. "I'm right here, you know?"
"Good. Maybe you'll actually hear us then." Sam doesn't sound sympathetic. "You let that woman disrespect your girlfriend."
"She's not—"
"Don't." Steve's voice is hard. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, not after everything."
There's a long silence after that. You get up quietly, grab your toiletry bag, and head to the tiny bathroom to shower and change. When you emerge, the bus is quiet. Sam and Steve must've left.
You go to Bucky's bunk and start pulling out your things: your clothes, your toiletries, the book you've been reading. You fold everything methodically, packing into your bag. You're halfway through when you hear his voice behind you.
"What are you doing?"
You don't turn around. "Packing."
"I can see that, why?"
"Because I'm done."
"Done?" He sounds panicked now. "What do you mean done?"
"I mean I'm tired Bucky, I'm tired of being treated like I don't matter."
"You—"
"Oh, I matter now? Then why didn't you defend me last night?" You turn to face him now. "Why didn't you tell Madison my name? Why didn't you shut her down when she was talking about fucking you? Why did you just sit there and let her make me feel like nothing?"
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
"That's what I thought." You turn back to your bag. "I can't do this anymore, I can't keep waiting for you to grow the hell up."
"Wait." he moves closer. "You promised. After the Eli thing, you promised you wouldn't leave."
You freeze. He's right… you did promise.
"That was before you let another woman humiliate me in public," you say quietly.
"So your promises mean nothing when I fuck up? That's not how this works—"
"Don't you dare make this about me breaking promises when you can't even— you can't even treat me with respect."
"I do respect you—"
"You can't even say my name while introducing me. You let her call me a groupie! You sat there while she talked about fucking you like I wasn't even there!" Your voice breaks. "You promised you'd do better after LA and you didn't."
"I'm trying—"
"Well, you're not trying hard enough!" You're crying now. "I promised I wouldn't leave because you promised you'd be better. And you weren't, so yeah… I'm breaking my promise because you broke yours first."
He flinches like you've hit him.
"Please," his voice is rough. "Please don't go, I'll do better… I'll be better."
"You keep saying that, but nothing changes."
"It will, I swear it will." He grabs your wrist, stopping you from reaching for your bag. "Just give me another chance."
"I gave you another chance after LA, this was your other chance."
"Then give me one more." His voice breaks. "Please, just one more."
"How many chances am I supposed to give you, Bucky?"
"I don't know, as many as it takes for me to get it right." He's pulling you closer now, desperate. "I know I keep fucking up, but I'm trying, I'm really fucking trying…"
"Are you? Because it doesn't feel like it."
"I can't do this with words," he says quietly. "I don't know how to say what I feel. But I can show you, let me show you."
"Bucky—"
"Please, let me show you that you matter, that last night was me being a fucking coward…"
You should say no, should leave while you still have some self respect left. But his hands are shaking and his eyes are pleading, and you're so tired of fighting, that you let him.
He doesn't say much. He undresses you slowly, carefully, hands soft on your skin. When your shirt comes off, his mouth is immediately on your collarbone, your shoulder, the swell of your breasts.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin.
He doesn't lose time with your bra, unclasping it and sliding it off before his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peak. His mouth follows, sucking and biting gently, making you gasp.
When you're completely naked, he lays you down on the narrow couch and just looks at you for a moment, eyes dark and hungry. Then he's on his knees between your legs.
He kisses up your inner thighs slowly, hands gripping your hips to keep you still. When his mouth finally reaches where you need him, you arch off the couch. He takes his time, worshiping you with his tongue—slow licks, gentle suction on your clit, then deeper, fucking you with his tongue until you're writhing. His hands spread your thighs wider, holding you open for him.
When he adds his fingers and curl them just right, you cry out his name.
He works you methodically, thoroughly, like he's trying to prove something with every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers. When you come the first time, gasping and shaking, he doesn't stop. Just keeps going until you're oversensitive and pulling at his hair.
"Bucky—too much—"
He pulls back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, then your hip bone, leaving a mark. His hands slide up your body, palming your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers as he kisses up your stomach.
When his mouth reaches your breasts again, he's rougher—sucking hard enough to leave marks, biting gently, tongue soothing over each sting. You're still sensitive from your previous orgasm, every touch feels electric.
He strips off his own clothes quickly, and then he's hovering over you, one hand braced by your head, the other guiding himself to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, so slowly, and you're already so wet from his mouth that he slides in easily but the stretch still makes you gasp.
He bottoms out and stays there, forehead pressed to yours, just breathing… then he starts to move. It's slow at first—long, deep strokes that hit perfectly every time. One hand tangles in your hair, the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. His mouth finds your neck, sucking marks into your skin.
"You're mine," he breathes against your throat.
He picks up the pace, fucking into you harder now, the couch creaking with each thrust. His hand slides from your hip to between your legs thumb finding your clit and circling roughly. You come again, clenching around him, and he groans into your neck.
"Again," he says, and it's not a request.
He shifts the angle, hitting deeper, his thumb still working your clit, and you can't, it's too much—but your body responds anyway building again impossibly fast.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Come on my cock, show me."
When you come the third time, it's almost painful, pleasure crashing through you so intensely, you can't breathe. He follows seconds later, hips stuttering, your name falling from his lips in low whispers. After a moment, he pulls out carefully and reaches for the blanket that's fallen to the floor, draping it over both of you. He pulls you against his chest, arms wrapped around you.
"I'm really sorry," he says quietly. "For last night, for not standing out for you when Madison said all those mean things… for making you feel like you don't matter."
You're quiet, trying to catch your breath.
"It's just… I'm bad at this… at saying the right things." He pulls you closer. "But you do matter. You're—" He trails off.
"I'm what?"
"Important, really important…"
Not girlfriend, not love. Just important.
You close your eyes taking a deep breath. "That's not enough, Bucky."
"I know, but it's all I can give right now." His voice is rough. "I'm working on the rest, I promise I'm working on it."
"How long am I supposed to wait while you figure things out?"
"I don't know, but please don't leave… not yet."
It's not enough, you both know it's not enough, and you definitely know you should leave but his arms around you make leaving too hard right now.
"One more chance," you whisper quietly as you finally doze off against his arms.
Me: *a waitress, no work to do, has to stand in place and wait*
My whump-craving imagination: I am an opressed magical creature, taken in slavery by cruel humans. Now I have to obidiently serve my new masters who dine and drink, while I'm badly bruised and starving for anything to put in my stomach. I am ordered to smile and stand in place without a movement. And when my master leaves the room, I can finally lean over the wall for a moment. When will the days of my slavery end? Will my dear old friend rescue me? I don't remember my homeland anymore. I am nothing but a pawn to play as they wish.
