Mars, Luna, and Milky Way
đȘŒ
Keni
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Andulka
Cosmic Funnies

Kiana Khansmith
tumblr dot com
i don't do bad sauce passes
Acquired Stardust
Today's Document
taylor price
YOU ARE THE REASON

Discoholic đȘ©

@theartofmadeline
d e v o n
$LAYYYTER
AnasAbdin
we're not kids anymore.
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
cherry valley forever
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh

seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan

seen from TĂŒrkiye
@rumrummonkey
Mars, Luna, and Milky Way
NGC 2264, Christmas Tree
(230714) D.O. â CREAM SODA
mingi 241103 x
tfatws bucky barnes đ«¶đŒđ€ my husband
i want him so bad
going to show cas and dean with full penetration.
Sebastian Stan â killing all the ladies
Chris Evans as Steve Rogers & Sebastian Stan as James Bucky Barnes Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)
little black dress đ b.b
pairing: new avenger!dom!bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, rough sex creampie, possessive!bucky, bathroom sex
summary: you and bucky have always danced the line between desire and something more. but he never made his move, so you showed him exactly what it looked like when john does.
word count: 4.8k
author's note: hii my darlings! i had this fic in mind for a while now, and it took me a few days to finally get to writing it! and, honestly, john's growing on me đ„č i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! thank you for your support <333 love ya guys and stay safe out there! đ
The dress was barely a dress at all, if anything it was more suggestion than fabric, clinging to your body like a second skin.
Black silk, paper-thin, and cut like it was designed to destroy restraint. It slipped over your curves without resistance, the kind of fit that made strangers stare and men lose their footing.Â
The back plunged low, scandalously soâbaring the line of your spine, the dip at the small of your back, the parts of you that longed to be touched. The hem itself was short enough to provoke imagination, short enough to turn heads.
You hadnât even considered a bra, the silhouette just didnât allow for one, but truthfully, that wasnât the reason. The absence was part of the appeal, it made you feel unrestrained
The silk whispered across your thighs as you moved, every step practiced and purposeful, it caught the light in just the right places, teased your skin like a loverâs touch.
You could feel how the dress made you watchable, the kind of thing people noticed and couldnât look away from. Every inch of exposed skin became a silent challenge and every shift of your hips, a calculated dare.
You stood at the mirror, sliding in one earring, then the other, your lips were slicked in a soft, gleaming gloss that caught the light every time your mouth curved.
Yelenaâs voice carried through the doorway, amused. âWow. You trying to kill Bucky?â
You didnât flinch, just met her eyes in the mirror as she leaned lazily against the frame, one brow arched in mock accusation, a knowing smirk tugging at her mouth.
âMaybe,â you murmured.
âHe doesnât stand a chance.â
You turned slightly, letting the dress shift like a ripple down your thighs, your mouth curving into a knowing smirk. âHeâs had chances,â you said, voice lower now, almost thoughtful. âHe just never took them.â
Yelenaâs grin widened. âDonât let him off easy. The manâs been blue-balling himself for months.â
She disappeared down the hallway with a lazy wave, leaving only the soft sound of her boots against tile and the muted thrum of your own heartbeat.
The tension between you and Bucky had always lived in that thin space between too much and not enough. Flirting had blurred into something else long ago, something darker, slower, heavier.
It lived in the way his eyes tracked you across a room like you were a threat to him. In the way his touch lingered a second too long when he helped you up off the mats. In the way your breath caught every time he leaned close enough that you could practically feel his restraint.
It had become a game, a slow-burn stalemate of low voices, shared glances, and touches that hovered right at the edge of indecent. Heâd press you down during training, thick thighs caging you in, vibranium fingers wrapped firm around your wrist, and the heat between you would spike.Â
He never moved. Never let himself fall.
And you were tired of pretending not to notice the way his hands tightened when you teased. The way his jaw clenched when your laugh came too close to someone elseâs ear. The way he looked at youâlike he wanted to devour you, and somehow hated himself for it.
Your heels clicked softly against the concrete as you stepped out of the compoundâs elevator, each step deliberate.
Ava was already by the SUV, one hip cocked, gaze flickering between her phone screen and the cluster of the others around her. Bob nodded along absently to the pulse of whatever bass-heavy song Yelena had commandeered for the aux.
Alexei stood beside them, sipping something clear from a paper cup that definitely hadnât been cleared by protocol, honestly, nothing he had been drinking since the team moved into the compound had been, not that you were complaining though.Â
But all of them stilled, for just a second, when you walked out into the warm, electric hum of the night.
John let out a low whistle, his gaze unfiltered and unhurried as it raked down the length of you. âIf I knew you were wearing that,â he said, voice warm with amusement, âIâd have taken longer to get ready.â
You smiled, slow, confident, a little cruel, and breezed past him with a smirk that felt like the start of trouble. âToo late, Walker.â
As you passed, your fingers brushed Buckyâs. Barely. A whisper of contact, just enough to feel the static crackle between you. It couldâve been dismissed as accidental, if not for the way his fingers twitched, the almost-imperceptible flex, like he was fighting the urge to catch your hand and hold it there.
He was leaned against the SUVâs doorframe, arms folded across his chest. Stil, watchful. The tightly-leashed expression he wore wasnât new, it was the same one he wore during missions, when the objective was in sight but the timing wasnât right. Controlled tension, that coil of restraint wrapped tight beneath the surface.
His black tee stretched obscenely across his chest, the sleeves clinging to biceps that seemed to be sculpted from Adonis himself. His jeans were broken-in and low-slung, worn soft in all the right places, he looked lethal, almost unbothered. Except he wasnât.
His gaze droppedâfrom your eyes to the slope of your bare back, pausing there before trailing lower. You caught the subtle shift in his jaw, the clench and release that gave him away.
He didnât say a word. He didnât have to.
And you didnât look back.Â
Inside the SUV, it was chaos, the kind that came with too many personalities jammed into one vehicle. Alexei and John were already halfway into an argument over the playlist. Both men reached for the center console like it was some kind of atomic bomb they were racing to defuse.
âI pick! You picked last time,â Alexei snapped, clearly offended.
âThat was the gym,â John countered, cocky and unbothered. âThis is clubbing. Different playlist.â
âItâs still music, ĐžĐŽĐžĐŸŃ (idiot).â
Bob, ever the neutral third party, tried to mediate with a calm voice and a poor sense of timing. Yelena, predictably, told him to stop touching her mirror, and he did, again.Â
You climbed in last, taking the only seat left, right beside Bucky. It was tight, deliberately so. Your thigh pressed flush against his, the heat of his body seeping into yours through denim and skin, a slow, smoldering current that made your breath hitch.
He didnât shift. Didnât lean away. Didnât lean in, either.
He sat like heâd been poured into the seat and frozen there, every muscle drawn tight beneath his skin, jaw ticking, eyes fixed on the window like it was the only thing keeping him together. His stillness wasnât calm, it was restraint, sharp-edged and suffocating, the kind that only lasted until something snapped.
You could feel it in the air between you, thick and heavy. You knew that silence, knew what it meant when Bucky went quiet like that.Â
So you moved instead. Slow. Intentional.
You crossed your legs with a fluid, unhurried motion, letting the silk of your dress slip higher on your thighs. The fabric whispered against your skin, you knew what you looked like, knew how little the dress left to the imagination.
And you knew he was watching. Even if he wouldnât look directly, you could feel the way his focus narrowed.
The effect was immediate, barely visible, but you saw it.
The twitch in his jaw. The subtle exhale through his nose. The slow, unmistakable flex of his gloved fingers against his thigh, the leather creaking ever so slightly as his knuckles tightened.
You turned your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral vision, your voice dipped low and syrup-sweet.
âSomething wrong?â
He didnât speak at first. Just blinked, once, as if clearing a fog, his throat worked around the words like they tasted dangerous.
âYou know exactly what youâre doing,â he said, low, hoarse, like it scraped its way out of him.
Your smile curled, wicked and slow. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep it from spreading too far, too fast, but you were glowing with it. Thriving in the weight of his unraveling.
That wasnât denial. That was surrender, dressed in defiance.
And you hadnât even touched him yet.
Tonight was going to be fun.
The bass hit first, low, pulsing and thick enough to feel in your chest. It vibrated up through the soles of your heels as lights strobed across the club in rhythmic flashes, bathing the dance floor in a kaleidoscope of heat and haze.
Everything smelled like sweat, smoke, and sex, bodies pressed too close, perfume clinging to skin, desire hanging thickly in the air.
The boys peeled off toward the back, claiming a booth near the edge of the floor wall, Bucky didnât even look at you as he passed, didnât acknowledge the dress, the skin, the sway of your hips. But you felt him clock every inch, felt his gaze dragging behind him like smoke.
Let him look.
You, Ava, and Yelena made a beeline for the bar, heels clicking against sticky tile, hips swaying in easy confidence. The kind of entrance that wasnât loud, but undeniable. The three of you moved with practiced grace, synced like predators on the hunt.Â
Ava leaned her elbows on the counter, tipping her head just enough to catch your reflection in the mirrored back wall. Her mouth curved in a smirk, âSo⊠what exactly do you have up your little sleeve tonight?â
You took your time answering, sipping your margarita first, your eyes went wide, mock-innocent, voice featherlight. âNothing. Just drinks, dancing.â
Yelena snortedâelegant and completely unamused. âRight. And I only wear red lipstick when Iâm feeling shy.â Her accent slipped ever so lightly as she raised a brow, tipping her glass at you. âGame on.â
You laughed into your cocktail, the rim cold against your mouth, the liquid burn sliding smooth down your throat. âCome on. Iâm overworked and underfucked. Let a girl have her fun.â
Ava raised her glass in mock salute. âHereâs to that.â
Yelena clinked hers against both of yours and deadpanned, âTo sins we donât plan on confessing.â
You grinned behind your glass, letting the moment bloom in your chest, the ache, the buzz, the sharp sparkle of anticipation. The burn of your drink was satisfying, but it was nothing compared to the heat unfurling low in your belly, thick and steady, pulsing with every beat of the music.
This wasnât about about playing coy or waiting for someone else, him to make the first move. It wasnât about almosts, and it damn sure wasnât about patience.
Yelena finished the last sip of her drink with a dramatic sigh, setting her glass down, âalright,â she said, turning toward the dance floor. âLots of bad decisions on the floor tonight,â the blonde added, gesturing with a tilt of her chin to the sea of bodies moving, looking like they were chasing sin.
Ava grinned and looped her arm through hers. âPick your poison.â
They disappeared into the crowd, a blur of glitter and limbs, swallowed up by pulsing lights and sweat-slick rhythm, leaving you at the bar with a half-full glass and the slow, deliberate thrum of possibility building beneath your skin. You didnât follow.
Not yet.
Instead, you leaned against the counter with one elbow, the condensation of your drink trickling down your fingers. You drew slow, idle circles into the damp ring left behind, a flick of your nail here, a swirl there.
The music surged, thick and pulsing, you sipped slow, lips parting just enough to let the burn slide over your tongue.Â
John walked up beside you like a storm rolling in off the coast, easy grin, crooked charm and amused timing. He moved like heâd known youâd be here, like he was already in on the joke.
Two drinks in hand, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair a little too perfect not to be deliberate. He looked you up and down onceânot subtle, not rushed.
âThey abandon you already?â he asked, lifting a brow, offering the second drink with a tilt of his wrist.
You smiled, slow, sly, just the curve of your mouth like the lift of a weapon. âStrategically separated.â
He handed you the drink, and your fingers brushed his, just enough skin to spark. His gaze dropped, the way your dress hugged your hips, the bare line of your shoulder. He sure as hell wasnât trying to hide it, and you didnât ask him to.
âWhatâs the angle?â
You met his eyes, calm and unblinking, lashes dipped low. âWanna help me with something?â
He huffed a soft laugh, low and almost fond. âYouâre always up to something, arenât you?â
You gave a little shrug, sipping slowly. âMmhm.â
He leaned in a fraction, close enough that you could feel the heat of himânot touching, just there.
You tilted your head, eyes glittering, voice smooth. âI need a little distraction. Something that'll get under his skin.â
You didnât say jealous, you didnât need to. It was all over your posture, the way you lingered in the doorway between control and provocation. That got you a full pause. A low whistle through his teeth as he set his own glass down on the bar behind him.
His eyes narrowed. âYou trying to get me killed?â
You smiled almost sweetly âMmm. Maybe.â
Johnâs gaze dragged over you again, slower this time. Appraising. Heat in every pass. His tongue wet his bottom lip before he spoke again, voice dropping an octave. âYou know,â he murmured, âwith you looking like that, I donât think itâll take much.â
You said nothing. Just held his gaze, thenâstill watching himâreached down and slid your fingers through his. A small tug. No force.
An invitation.
And he followed, just like you knew he would. Because of course he did.
The bass swallowed you whole the moment your heels touched the floor.
It pulsed through the soles of your feet, climbed up your spine, sank low into your stomachâall rhythm and thudding pressure. Lights slashed through the darkness, catching glances of skin and sweat, painting the crowd in strobe-lit temptation.
The air was thickâmuggy with lust and music, electric with the scent of alcohol, perfume, and too many people pressing too close. You could feel the pulse of it against your ribs, in the backs of your knees, deep between your legs. It was visceral, almost alive.
Bodies moved in waves, hands where they shouldnât be..
You led John into the center of it, into the heat and chaos and everything youâd been simmering with all night. You didnât ask, you didnât wait. You turned, pressing your body flush to his, and started to move.
It wasnât subtle and it wasnât meant to be.
You rolled your hips into his slowly, deliberately, letting the music guide your rhythmâthe kind of movement that left no room for interpretation.
Johnâs hands found your hips easily, like heâd been waiting for the cue, his fingers tight, almost possessive, but not quite. He moved with you, his body catching the pace of yours, letting the friction build, letting the fantasy settle into reality.
His touch dipped lower, tracing the shape of your waist, down the curve of your hips, then sliding furtherâover the swell of your ass, where he squeezed once, firm and unbothered.
You arched into him instinctively, feeling him hard against you, and felt the heat of his breath against your neck when he chuckled, voice thick with amusement and something darker.
âShit,â he murmured near your ear, half-dazed. âYou really want him to kill me, huh?â
You didnât answer.
You just turned in his armsâslow, like silk unrolling, until your back was pressed against his chest. Your ass ground into his crotch with no shame, no pause, no hesitation. You wanted him to feel it. Wanted everyone watching to see it, to see you.
You moved with intent, liquid and hot, your body matching the beat in slow, deliberate waves. Letting the music pulse through your hips. Letting every roll say watch this. Watch her choose someone else.
His hand spread wide across your lower back, holding you there, fingertips pressing just hard enough to feel. The other settled on your waist, fingers splaying low beneath the hem of your dress, riding the curve of your body like heâd earned it.
Your hand slid behind you, fingers skating up the back of his neck, slipping into his hair, tugging him down until his mouth hovered just behind your ear.
You didnât speak. Didnât need to.
Because across the dance floor â through the haze and the lights and the pounding bass â he was watching.
Bucky hadnât moved.
He was still sitting in the booth, drink untouched, his shoulders stiff, coiled like wire. Elbows braced on his knees, hands loose but twitching, almost as if he was holding something back. Like if he gripped any tighter, the glass in his hand would break.
His jaw was locked, the muscles working hard beneath his skin.
But his eyesâthose fucking eyesâthey were locked on you.
Cerulean. Burning. Blown wide. He wasnât blinking, hell he probably wasnât breathing. He was consuming you with nothing but a stare, tracking every shift of your hips, every breath you took, every inch of your body pressed to someone elseâs.
And when your eyes finally met his, it felt like something cracked open between youâa tether stretched so tight it sang with tension.
You smiled.
Coy. Dangerous. Just the corner of your mouth, like you werenât thinking about him at all when every second of this performance was for him. Like he wasnât the reason you wore the dress. The fuck-me heels.
Then you turned your headâslow, deliberateâjust enough for Bucky to see your lips ghost against Johnâs cheek.
Your fingers slid from the back of the blondeâs neck to his jaw, tilting his face toward yours with a kind of practiced care.
And you kissed him.
Full, slow and intentional. Lips parted. Breath caught. Not rushed and definitely not for fun.
Not for John. Not even for you.
Just for the man across the club who hadnât taken his eyes off you since the moment you stepped onto the floor.
The man who hadnât touched you.
You didnât break the kiss right away.
You let it linger, just long enough for Bucky to watch your lips part against Johnâs, your fingers curled lightly in the fabric of his shirt. Just long enough for him to feel the choice in it.Â
The defiance. The line being drawn in real time.
You werenât playing anymore. You were showing him what it looked like when you stopped waiting.
He was already watching, and he hadnât looked away once.
And across the club, where the music drowned everything but the pulse in his jaw, Bucky sat like a man seconds from detonation.
Yelena leaned in, loud and unapologetic. âYour girlâs with Walker now, huh?â she said, nudging him with the sharp edge of her elbow, eyes tracking the slow, obscene way your bodies moved.
That did it.
The brunette stood, fast and sharp, like a wire finally snapping and shoved past Alexei without a word, shouldered Bob hard enough to make his drink spill.
And he came for you.
Bucky didnât care. Didnât slow down. Didnât speak.
His boots pounded against the floor, direct, unrelenting, cutting a path through the crowd like he was built for one purpose only: you.
People moved before he touched them. Stepped aside like they could feel it coming off himâthe possessive edge carved into every clenched muscle.
You didnât see him until it was too late.
Until his hand wrapped around your wrist. His touchâfirm, hot and unmistakable.
Your body jerked back instinctively, caught off guard by the sudden contact. His grip wasnât rough, but it was tight. Claiming. As if letting go wasnât even an option.
Your head snapped around, startled, mouth parted. âWhat the fuck are youâ?â
He didnât answer, didnât look at John, didnât acknowledge the beat still hammering around you.
He just dragged you.
One hard tug and you stumbled into him, your heel skidding against the floor, the front of your dress catching against his jeans for half a second before you found your footing again.
John called something behind you, your name, maybe, or just a startled, amused curse but it was swallowed by the music and the crowd.
Bucky didnât stop. He pulled you through the writhing bodies like they werenât there, cutting a clean line across the chaos. His grip on your wrist never loosened, not once and you didnât resist.
Not really.
Not when your skin was flushed, your breath caught somewhere between panic and arousal, and your pulse was thrumming like a war drum in your throat.
He turned down a narrow hallway, cool and dim and lined with flickering wall sconces, and barely slowed before slamming his boot into a door. It flew open with a sharp, echoing crack, and thenâ
You were inside.
The door slammed shut behind you with a force that made the wall shudder, and then his hands were on you. Everywhere. Hard palms on your waist, his body pressing into yours, his mouth already devouring.
He pinned you against the door with the full weight of his body, all chest and heat and barely leashed violence. His mouth crashed into yours like a punishment, and it was filthy. Hot breath. Tongue. Teeth dragging across your bottom lip until you gasped. He kissed like he wanted to bruise, like he needed to stake a claim from the inside out.Â
One hand fisted into your hair and yanked your head back hard enough to make you moan; the other gripped your thigh, shoving it up around his waist as he ground his cock into you through his jeansâthick, hot, already hard.
âYou think I didnât see what you were doing?â he growled into your mouth, voice ragged and ruined. âGrinding on Walker like that? Kissing him like you wanted me to fucking lose it?â
You couldnât answer, too breathless, too far gone, and maybe that was the point. He didnât want words. He wanted surrender.
He spun you hardâchest to the door one second, then bent over the sink the next. The mirror caught your wide eyes, your flushed cheeks, your mouth already parted in anticipation as he shoved your hips forward and flattened his hand between your shoulder blades.
You barely had time to breathe.
His hand yanked your dress up in one swift, brutal motion, baring you to the air.
No panties.
Just slick, swollen heat between your thighs.
The gasp that tore from your mouth wasnât just shockâit was want. Need. Desperation.
He froze for half a beat.
Then, âFucking knew it.â
The sound of his voiceâshredded, possessive, starving made you clench around nothing. Your knees almost buckled, but he caught you, of course he did. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other slid down, fingers slipping between your thighs without hesitation.
He groaned. Deep. Raw. âYouâre soaking.â
He didnât ease in, didnât test the waters. He shoved two fingers inside you, knuckles deep, while his thumb circled your clit with tight, filthy pressure.
You jerked against the counter, legs straining, hips rocking helplessly into his hand.
âFilthy little tease,â he hissed against your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. âYou walk around with this dripping cunt and expect me to stay quiet?â
You whimpered somethingâhis name, or maybe pleaseâbut it didnât matter. He was already undoing his belt with one hand, jeans shoved down just enough, cock springing free, heavy and thick and leaking. He lined up behind you, ran the tip through your folds, groaning when he felt how wet you were.
Then he slammed into you.
One brutal thrust, all the way to the hilt.
You cry out, not from pain, but from shock. From the stretch, from the sheer depth of him. He was thick, perfectly shaped to ruin you, and he didnât give you time to adjust. He pulled out halfway and slammed back in harder.
Again. And again. And again.
Your hands clawed at the counter, your thighs trembled. You were already splintering.
He fucked you like he didnât care who heard. Flesh slapping against flesh, deep and punishing. He didnât hold back. Didnât slow down. He knew exactly what he was doingâgrinding his hips into your ass, hitting the spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes with every stroke.
One hand fisted in your hair again, wrenching your head back so he could watch your expression in the mirror. The other found your clit and didnât let up.
âSay it,â he panted, fucking you harder. âSay youâre mine.â
âBuckyââ
Another thrust. Vicious.
âSay it.â
âIâmâfuckâIâm yours,â you sobbed, eyes glassy.
âDamn right you are.â
Your orgasm hit like an explosionâa scream dragged from deep in your chest, your body locking up around him, pulsing, shaking. Your legs gave out and he held you up, fingers digging into your hips as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release.
But he didnât stop.
Didnât slow. Didnât let you breathe.
âThatâs it, princess,â he groaned. âGive me another one. Come on. You can take it.â
You were drenched. Shaking. Fucked-out and trembling. Your body tried to fight it, twitching and jolting with every thrust, but his hand on your clit kept movingâtight circles, never breaking rhythm.
You came again with a broken screamâyour second orgasm ripping through you, thighs trembling violently as your body begged for mercy. Your cunt spasmed around his cock, pulsing so tight it dragged a strangled sound from his throat.
âFuckâfuck, Iâm gonnaââ
He slammed into you one last time, deep and final, his hips jerking hard against your ass as he came with a growlâa raw, filthy sound buried in the curve of your neck as he spilled inside you, thick and hot, his cock pulsing with every wave.
He didnât move for a moment, just held you, breathing ragged, his hand still gripping your hip like he thought you might vanish.
Eventually, he pulled outâslow, careful, your body still fluttering from aftershocks, his cum slick and warm as it slid down your inner thighs. You swayed a little, overstimulated and trembling, and he caught you instantly.
âEasy,â he murmured, voice rough as gravel. His hands steadied your hips. âIâve got you.â
You let him turn you gently toward him, your heart still galloping in your chest, legs jelly-soft. His fingers were shaking as they fixed your dressâtugging the fabric down over your hips, smoothing it over your thighs like it mattered now.
You looked up at him, lips kiss-bruised, eyes dazed, makeup smudged.
His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. He didnât speak for a momentâjust stared at you, pupils still blown wide, jaw still tight, like he was trying to figure out how the hell he let it get that far.
âTell me,â he rasped, âdid it work?â
You blinked, throat still too dry to laugh properly. âYou mean the jealousy plan?â
His mouth twitchedânot quite a smile. âYou trying to drive me fucking insane?â
You tilted your head, kissed his thumb. âJust needed a reaction.â
He leaned in, forehead resting against yours. âYou want a reaction, princessâ His voice dropped to something low and lethal. âNext time, you ask. Iâll give you everything.â
You swallowed, heat sparking in your belly again despite everything. âThat a promise?â
He kissed youâsofter this time. Still deep, claiming.
âYeah,â he whispered against your lips. âYou can bet on itâ
Finally, you opened the bathroom door.
And stopped short.
A paper sign, written in black sharpie and taped crookedly across the door, flapped in the hallway breeze:
OUT OF ORDER â DO NOT ENTER
Laughter exploded a few feet away at the booth.
Yelena and Bob were doubled over, howling. Ava leaned against the wall like sheâd been waiting. John stood smugly sipping his drink, clearly proud of himself. And Alexei, hands in his pockets, gave Bucky a once-over and shook his head with faux disappointment.
âWas it worth it, Barnes?!â Yelena hollered, absolutely delighted.
Alexei sighed. âI owe Walker twenty bucks. Told him heâd snap before midnight.â
You groaned, burying your face in Buckyâs shoulder as he groaned under his breath.
âOh my god.â
You laughed into his chest, muffled. âTold you Iâd get your attention.â
He slid his arm around your waist again, pulling you in tight.
âYouâve got all of it now,â he muttered. âHope you know what the fuck to do with it.â
And you did. You just grinned.
a/n: i hope you enjoyed this fic! if you did, please consider dropping a comment or even a reblog đ it keeps me motivated! thank you my loves
- 'I gotta deal with the fact that now I know you.' - 'Well, you don't really know me.' - 'Doesn't matter. I know you enough.'
Everytime I see this........omg....the way he looks at her is the sexiest part of this GIF.
No matter how many times I see this it always affects me in the same wayâŠ. just the look on his faceâŠ.the lust..the longing in his eyes⊠the way he grabs her face when he kisses herâŠ. it is just one of the hottest makeout scenes in a movie that I have ever seen.
lined up đ b.b
pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x reader
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sexual tension, dry humping, dominant!bucky, teasing, rough flirting, dirty talk
summary: bucky teaches you how to play pool. based on this request
word count: 995
author's note: pool is such a hot game, i love it, though i honestly suck at it.
The recreational room was quiet for once. No Alexei bellowing about rematches, no Yelena complaining about the vending machine, no sarcastic commentary from John. Just dim, flickering lights above, the low hum of some old speaker system, and the pool table that sat dead center like an unspoken challenge.
You shouldnât have lingered. Shouldâve kept walking when you saw him there, Bucky in a tactical tee with the sleeves pushed up, his forearms flexing as he chalked the cue with quiet focus.
But you didnât walk away. Not when his rare good mood hung in the air like smoke. Not when his smirk was already loaded with trouble.
âEver played before?â he asked, twirling the cue between his fingers so effortlessly it made your pulse skip.
âOnce,â you replied, breath catching. âI sucked.â
His smile was slow, knowing. âIâll teach you.â
Now you were bent over the edge of the table, cue in hand, trying not to squirm under the heat of his stare. You focused on the balls as hard as it was, instead of the way his shirt clung to his chest or how that muscle ticked in his jaw every time you shifted.
âWiden your stance,â Bucky murmured behind you, the sudden closeness making your breath hitch. âYouâre too stiff.â
You obeyed before your brain even caught up, spreading your legs just slightly, only for him to step in behind you, boots heavy on the floor, presence unmistakable. His hands landed on your hips, strong and certain, the kind of grip that made your stomach twist with want.
âHere,â he said roughly, âlet me help.â
He guided you forward until your body touched the table, the cool felt brushing your forearms as his front pressed against your back. You could feel him, heat and muscle, that dense, coiled strength that made him lethal on the field and devastating off it. The brush of his cock against your ass was unmistakable, and he didnât even try to hide it.
âBucky,â you breathed, voice catching.
âShh,â he said, mouth near your ear, voice barely restrained. âJust showing you how itâs done.â
His metal hand slid down your side, cold against the heat of your skin, until it reached your hand on the cue. He adjusted your grip with slow, practiced movements, but his hips never moved away, if anything, he pressed in harder, grinding just enough to make your pulse stutter.
âNow bend over a little more.â
You obeyed, and that earned you a low, guttural sound. It wasnât a word, it was need.
âYou gotta stop doing that,â he murmured, grinding against you in a slow, filthy motion that made your thighs clench. âYouâre making it real hard to focus.â
âI thought you were supposed to be teaching me,â you said with a faint, teasing lilt.
âOh, I am,â he whispered, hips dragging against you again. âLesson one: let me fuckinâ focus.â
Your smirk faltered when he pushed forward again, cock thick and hard through his jeans, grinding against your ass with agonising control. You gasped, hands tightening on the table.
âThat part of the game?â you managed, voice shaking.
He chuckled darkly. âOnly when you bend over the table like that, sweetheart.â
The cue was taken from your hand and dropped behind you without care. His flesh hand ran up your spine, then pushed gently between your shoulder blades until your cheek nearly touched the felt.
âBucky-" you started, but he cut you off with a quiet growl.
âIâm not gonna fuck you here,â he said, grinding into you harder, his cock sliding exactly where you needed him. âNot yet. Just wanna feel you like this.â
You whimpered as he rocked against you again, the friction obscene. He was fully hard now, thick and heavy, and you could feel every inch of him through both layers of fabric. Your body arched instinctively into him, and he let out a dark, broken groan.
âYou like teasing me?â he growled. âWearing those tight little pants? Bending over like this? Think I havenât noticed how you look at me during training?â
Your thighs pressed together without thinking, your whole body burning. Then his hand slid between your legs and pressed against your core. Even through your jeans, you knew he could feel how wet you were.
âFucking soaked,â he muttered, his fingers pressing harder. âAnd I havenât even touched you properly.â
âYouâre insane,â you choked out, barely holding on.
âNo,â he murmured. âIâm patient. If I wasnât, your pants would already be around your ankles and this table would be shaking.â
The words made you clench, dizzy from the arousal pulsing through your body. His lips found your neck then, hot, rough, biting, the kind of messy affection that left no question about what he wanted. His metal hand squeezed your ass, fingers digging into the flesh with a possessiveness that made you moan.
âYou think Iâm not dying to fuck you right here?â he rasped. âRight now? But Iâm not gonna. Not until you beg.â
You arched against him with a sound that was half whimper, half plea.
âSay it,â he growled. âSay please.â
You shook your head, panting, defiant even as your body screamed for him.
He froze behind you. Then, again, voice edged with steel.
âSay. It.â
Your voice trembled. âPlease⊠Bucky. Please.â
The growl that rumbled from his chest was primal. His hips gave one more brutal grind into you, enough to make your knees buckle. And then, he stepped back.
The loss of contact was immediate and devastating. You spun to face him, trembling, wide-eyed, flushed with need.
âWhy-?â
âYouâre not ready,â he said smoothly, retrieving the cue like nothing had happened. âNot yet.â
âYou bastard,â you muttered, voice wrecked.
He leaned in again, lips brushing your ear like a promise youâd never forget.
âLesson twoâs gonna be about patience, sweetheart.â
And then he lined up his shot, cue tapping the ball like he hadnât just left you soaked and shaking.
a/n: also after writing this, i asked my boyfriend to teach me how to play pool properly ;)
high for this đ b.b
pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x reader (sex pollen trope)
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sort of dub-con (bucky and you under the influence of the gas), loss of control, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, regret, angst
summary: during a mission, you and bucky are exposed to a gas meant to strip away restraint. he resists, and well, you try. but when the heat fades, itâs not the mission that haunts you both, itâs what happened behind that door. based on this request! | requests are open
word count: 3.8k
author's note: hi everyone! i've been wanting to write a fic with this trope and i got a request for it so yay! i hope you enjoy it, and if you did, please drop a comment or reblog, thank you my loves!
look at him, oh my god
The air in the underground lab hung heavy and stale, thick with the sharp metallic tang of rusted machinery and decades of neglect. Fluorescent lights flickered sporadically overhead, casting a sickly, pale glow across the cavernous chamber.
You and Bucky moved through the shadows with practiced precision, each step deliberate but silent, your boots barely whispering against the cracked concrete floor.
Around you, the vast expanse was filled with obsolete equipment, dented metal tables, shattered screens, and tangled wires like forgotten veins pulsing beneath the surface. The hum of distant generators mixed with the faint drip of water somewhere deep in the tunnels.Â
âKeep it tight,â Bucky whispered in your ear through the comms, his voice low and steady, though you could feel the sharp edge of tension beneath his calm breath. The subtle hitch in his tone told you he was bracing for whatever was lurking just beyond the next corner.
The mission itself was deceptively simple: locate and retrieve experimental tech that had been developed in secretâa weapon rumored to be devastating in its scope.
But simplicity was a lie, twisted by every step you took deeper into the compound. You could feel it pressing down on you, the weight of what might go wrong.
Ahead, the vault door loomed like a sleeping beast, slick with grime and age, its steel surface cold and unforgiving. The locking mechanism was an intricate, ancient system, blinking red lights and mechanical clicks that echoed faintly in the vast silence.
You crouched down beside the control panel, fingers trembling ever so slightly as they danced across the cracked screen, searching for an override.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, each beat a hammer strike against your ribcage. You could feel Buckyâs eyes on your back, scanning every shadow, every inch of the room, the quiet intensity radiating from him like heat.
âIâve got your six,â he murmured, voice barely audible.
âDoorâs locked tight,â you muttered, frustration pricking beneath your calm facade. âTrying to bypass it⊠come onâŠâ
The screen flickered, the system stubbornly resisting. Then, suddenly, the entire room shifted, an ominous metallic groan echoed off the walls, and a sudden blast of air slammed into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs.
âShit.â Buckyâs voice snapped, sharp and urgent.
Before you could react, a faint hiss whispered from the vents above. It was thin, almost imperceptible, like a silent breath but the moment you inhaled, a strange sensation exploded inside your chest. Your lungs clenched painfully, as if something inside had turned razor sharp.
The air was saturated with a scent that was disarming in its sweetness, floral and delicate, like jasmine petals crushed beneath a gentle hand. But beneath that softness lurked something far more dangerous and intoxicating.
Your heart lurched in your chest, thundering wildly.
âGas,â you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth instinctively, your fingers trembling as you tried to keep your breath shallow.
Buckyâs hand was on your shoulder in an instantâfirm and grounding. He yanked the collar of his tactical jacket up over his nose and mouth, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his. âHold your breath,â he ordered, voice low and rough.
But it was already too late.
A sudden, searing heat flared beneath your skin, blooming like wildfire beneath the fabric of your suit.
Every nerve ending ignited, the heat crawling along your spine, pooling low in your belly with sharp, urgent hunger. Your body betrayed you, trembling uncontrollably with the unfamiliar ache that twisted deep and raw inside.
You swallowed hard, throat tight, fighting to keep your voice steady.
Buckyâs eyes locked onto yours, those pretty cerulean blues now dark, blown wide, fierce, flickering with a storm he was desperate to hold back. His jaw clenched tightly as he fought the invisible pull clawing at him, every muscle taut beneath his black tactical gear.
âWeâre locked in,â he said finally, voice tight with frustration and warning. âThis is a trap.â
You swallowed again, heat pooling heavier now, your thighs pressing tightly together as you tried to contain the growing ache spreading between your legs.
âWe need to find a way out. Fast.â Bucky added. But the walls seemed to close in on you, the air thickening with something more than just the gas. Your hands slick with sweat, trembling slightly as they brushed the cold, unforgiving metal of the walls for balance.
Bucky paced like a predator caught in a cage, jaw clenched, muscles coiled and ready to strike. He fought the pull dragging at him, every glance between you charged with a raw, electric tensionâtoo close, too volatile.
You could see it in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his breath hitched just slightly when you shifted too near. Neither of you wanted to admit what was coming.
Neither could deny it.
The silence in the sealed lab wasnât still anymore.
It hummed.
Low and thrumming, like the room itself was breathing heavier. The air had thickened, heady, warm, wet. A weight pressed down on your chest as your body rebelled against you, desire twisting deep and low, hotter by the second.
Your skin tingles, flushed with fever. Every breath burned down your throat. Every shift of fabric made you ache.
Bucky stood a few feet away, frozen mid-movement.
His hand was still gripping your shoulder from when heâd tried to shield you. But he dropped it now, like touching you had scalded him. His metal fingers flexed once, twice, before curling into a fist.
ââŠYou okay?â he asked roughly, though his voice already knew the answer.
You swallowed. âNot really.â
He nodded once. Barely.
You could see the war raging inside him, written in every tense line of his body. His jaw was locked tight, muscles twitching beneath his stubble, as his gaze darted, your face, the floor, the wall, anywhere but the place he was dying to look.
But then his eyes dragged back to your chest, lingering just a moment too long, and you saw it, the unraveling. The want. The fight that he was losing, second by second.
âFuck,â he muttered, turning away.
He was pacing again, but slower this time. Almost as if he was trying to bleed something off. Shake it loose.
Sweat shimmered at the base of his neck, catching in the hollow of his throat before trailing downward, disappearing beneath the clinging fabric of his black tactical shirt. You watched the slow, measured rise and fall of his chest, controlled, but only just.
His fingers twitched, betraying him as he tugged at the collar like it was strangling him, like air itself had become too thick to breathe. There was a tremor in him, small but unmistakable, and it wasnât from exertion.
It was restraint. Barely contained. Ready to snap.
âItâs not just pheromones,â Bucky said, his voice low, rough around the edges like it hurt to speak. âThis shitâs tactical. Weaponised. Hydra created it back in the day to override judgment. Strip you down to the parts of you that canât say no.â
He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard. âIâve seen it before. They used it in field tests, watched how soldiers broke,â his eyes finally met yours, heavy with something close to shame. âIt wasnât about pleasure. It was about control.â
Your stomach flipped.
You leaned against the wall, heart pounding. âHow long until weâre not?â
He paused. Didnât answer.
His fists flexed again.
âBucky?â
He didnât turn.
âI donât know.â
That was when you saw it, the change. Not just restraint. No, this was something else. He was coiled, like a wire stretched to its limit, every muscle taut beneath his skin. His shoulders curled inward, not in defeat, but like the very weight of his body was suffocating him. When he finally drew a breath, it shook on the way in and left his chest more like a growl than air.
âI can feel it crawling under my skin,â he muttered. âItâs not going away.â
He braced both hands on the metal table at the center of the room, head bowed between them. His back heaved with the effort of staying still. You could see the sweat pooling between his shoulder blades, the veins in his arms standing out.
âI canât stop thinking aboutâŠâ he cut himself off, slammed a fist into the table.
Metal dented under his knuckles.
His head snapped toward you, and this time he didnât look away.
âI shouldnât be thinking about you like this.â
You stepped forward slowly, drawn by gravity. âBut you are.â
He let out a sharp breath, jaw ticking, lips parted like he couldnât get enough air. âYou have no idea what this is doing to me.â
âThen tell me.â
âI canât.â
He turned again, pacing tighter now, like a predator testing the edges of its cage. And every time he passed, you felt it. The heat radiating off him in waves. The tension rippling beneath his skin.
His eyes dragged over you, your mouth, your chest, the curve of your hips, each pass lingering longer, darker, more dangerous than the last.
âItâs like⊠like my whole bodyâs screaming for it,â he hissed. âMy skinâs burning, my fucking senses are haywire. I can hear your heartbeat from across the room, and I can smell you."
He was unraveling. And so were you.
Your thighs pressed together, instinctively chasing even the slightest relief from the ache building low in your belly. It wasnât subtle. He saw it, caught the motion with sharp eyes and his jaw locked tight. A low, filthy curse slipped from his mouth, barely audible but ragged, like it had been dragged straight from his chest.
âWe have to wait it out,â he said, but his voice was more plea than order. âWe just have to, fuck, fuck, donât look at me like that.â
You hadnât moved.
But your lips were parted. Your eyes wide, dark, matching his hunger.
His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered, then dipped lower, much lower. His jaw worked once, twice, before he turned and slammed both hands into the wall.
âWeâre not doing this,â he snapped. âNot like this. You donât want me. Itâs the gas talking.â
âIâve always wanted you.â
That stopped him.
He turned, slow, like he wasnât sure if heâd imagined the words. His chest heaved, a muscle twitching at his temple, sweat trickling along his jawline. He looked wrecked alreadyâand you hadnât even touched him.
âYou donât mean that,â he said, voice raw.
âI do.â
He swallowed hard, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he was trying to keep himself from lunging. âYou say that now, but if I lose control-â
âThen lose it.â
That broke something in him.
He looked away, hands curling at his sides like he was trying to anchor himself to something real. But there was nothing real left in this roomâonly heat, the smell of your arousal, and the sound of your name caught between his teeth like prayer and curse.
âWeâre not gonna make it,â he said softly. âNot withoutâŠâ
His voice trailed off.
But the implication hung thick in the air, like smoke after a fire, suffocating and inescapable. His eyes found yours again, and this time, he didnât look away.
They were no longer the cold steel-blue youâd grown used to. They burned. Not with restraint. Not with discipline. But hunger. Raw, untempered need. And something darker beneath it, something primal and barely held together by the thinnest thread.
This wasnât the Bucky who stayed silent in briefings, who watched you with veiled eyes and clenched fists. This wasnât the careful man who always pulled away before his hands could linger too long.
This version of him was stripped bare, instincts flaring in a space where consequences didnât seem to exist.
And yet, he hesitated. Chest heaving, jaw tight, voice a rasp: âFuck⊠I canâtââ
âYou can,â you whispered, throat dry, mind drowning beneath the ache between your legs. âPlease Bucky⊠I need you.â
That was all it took.
His restraint shattered like glass under a hammer.
Bucky surged forward and crashed into you like a wave, hands grabbing, mouth consuming. Your back slammed against the wall, but you didnât feel the impact over the way his lips crushed yours.
There was no finesse, no caution, just teeth, breath, heat. He kissed like a man starved, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away to bite down your jaw, your throat, the pulse hammering beneath your skin.
His metal hand twisted in your hair, forcing your head back so he could taste you deeper, tongue leaving the sweat from your collarbone as a groan vibrated against your flesh.
âBeen tryinâ to hold back,â he growled into your neck, his voice fraying at the edges, broken and desperate. âBut you, fuck, youâve been killing me.â
You could barely think. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, pulling at his gear, desperate to feel more. You arched into him, gasping when your thigh brushed the heavy bulge straining against his pants.
âI need you to fuck me,â you breathed, shaking. âPlease. I need to feel you-â
âYou will,â he bit out.
His hands were merciless, stripping your gear away with a speed that spoke of long-suppressed fantasies. The moment he pulled your suit down and dragged your soaked underwear to the side, the cold air hit your swollen, dripping core, but nothing could compare to the blistering heat of his fingers pushing between your thighs.
âJesus,â he hissed as he slid two fingers through your slick folds, coating them in your arousal before thrusting them inside in one hard motion. âYouâre fuckinâ soaked.â
Your knees buckled, body lurching into his chest with a whimper as he fucked you on his fingers, deep and fast, curling just right to make your eyes roll back. His thumb rubbed circles over your clit, slow and deliberate, like he wanted you trembling before he even gave you his cock.
âYou that wet for me?â His voice was low, thick with lust. âOr is that gas still makinâ you a mess?â
You moaned, barely able to breathe. âItâs you. Itâs always been you.â
That made him groan, from deep in his chest, his mouth crashing against yours again, swallowing your whimpers as he fucked you harder with his fingers, the metal hand at your hip bruising with how tight he held you in place.
âYouâre so goddamn tight,â he snarled, voice muffled against your lips. âThis pussyâs begginâ for me.â
He yanked his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed and leaking at the tip. You barely had time to register it before he grabbed your thigh, hiked it around his waist, and lined himself up.
âYou want it?â he demanded.
You nodded frantically, breath ragged, nails sinking into the kevlar on his shoulders. âYes, god, fuck me like you need it.â
âI do need it,â he growled, and then he buried himself inside you in one brutal thrust.
You cried out, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs. He was so big, the angle so deep, your body clamped around him like it didnât want to let him go. The pain and pleasure blurred, and all you could do was hold on.
âFuck, sweetheart,â he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. âYou feel like heaven, feel like you were made for me.â
He started to move, fucking into you with unrelenting force, fast, rough, each thrust shoving you against the wall with a dull thud. It was messy, desperate, your slick coating his cock, dripping down your thighs.
You couldnât stop the moans pouring from your lips, each one higher-pitched than the last as his hips snapped harder, deeper, relentless.
âYou like this?â he hissed into your ear. âLike being used?â
âYes,â you gasped. âFuck, yes, I love it.â
He growled again, one hand wrapping around your throat, not tight, just firm, his other bracing against the wall. His thrusts grew erratic, hips slamming into yours with bruising force as he drove you higher, closer, the pressure building fast and sharp at the base of your spine.
âGonna come inside you,â he groaned against your neck, voice wrecked and shaking with restraint. âGonna fill you up so deep youâll still be leaking days from now.â
You whimpered, barely hanging on, the pressure inside you coiled so tight it hurt. âPlease,â you gasped, eyes brimming, breath catching. âI want it, want all of it.â
His pace faltered just enough to press in deeper, harder, his body trembling with the force of it. âYou donât get to beg for this and not fucking mean it,â he snarled, every word rough and fraying at the edges. âSay it. Tell me what you need.â
Your head fell back, voice hoarse and breaking. âWant you to cum in me,â you choked out, every word laced with desperation. âWant you to fuck it into me, wanna feel like you own me.â
Bucky groaned at your words. He thrust once, twice, then held himself buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled into your cunt with a growl so guttural it vibrated through your chest. Hot spurts of cum filled you, leaking down your thighs as he trembled, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.
You were a mess, panting, shaking, skin flushed and damp with sweat. His body was still pressed to yours, breath ragged against your neck, his cock twitching inside you even as he softened. His lips dragged along your jaw, your temple, soft now, almost apologetic.
âYou okay?â he whispered, softer, voice thick.
You nodded, barely able to speak. âYeah. Are you?â
He didnât answer.
Just stayed there, holding you, forehead pressed to yours, while the silence thickened again, and the weight of what had just happened started to settle over both of you.
The silence that followed wasnât peaceful. It was thick and deafening, a heavy weight that pressed in from all sides. You were still against the wall, your body cooling far too fast, thighs sticky with his release and your chest rising and falling beneath your half-unzipped tactical suit.Â
Buckyâs body hadnât fully left yours, his forehead was still resting against yours, breath hot and shallow, jaw clenching like he was physically holding something back.
But his hands had already dropped from your waist. Like heâd realised what heâd done. What you both had done. What it meant.
He wouldnât look at you.
You swallowed the rasp in your throat and whispered his name, barely a breath. âBucky. Are you okay?â
He flinched like the sound of your voice cut through whatever fragile control he was clinging to. And then, without answering, he stepped away from you. Just a few paces, but it was enough. Enough for the heat to dissipate, for the air between you to feel cold and wrong.Â
He dragged a hand through his damp hair and adjusted his pants with sharp, efficient movements, his jaw tight. His eyes were dark with conflict, shame. Something he didnât want to name, but couldnât quite suppress. It was in his posture, in the stiffness of his spine.
âWe shouldn't have done that,â he said at last, the words raw and thick. âNot like that.â
The words hit you hard, cut deeper than they should have. You reached for something solid, something to hold on to. âYou didnât hurt me,â you said quickly, too quickly, as if easing his guilt might cut through the tension between the both of you.
But Bucky only shook his head, the bitterness in his voice almost enough to drown you both. âThatâs not what Iâm worried about.â He paused, eyes flicking to the floor like he couldnât bear to see your face. âYou were dosed. So was I. None of that was real.â
You could feel your breath catch in your chest, tight and painful. âYou think I didnât want it?â The question hung in the air like smoke, curling between you, dangerous and impossible to take back.
He didnât answer. Not with words. Just clenched his jaw and turned away further, the tension in his shoulders wound so tight you thought he might snap. His silence said enough.
And then the comms crackled to life, cutting through the atmosphere like a blade. Avaâs voice came through the staticâconcerned, clipped. âBucky, (y/n) report. Are you two clear?â
You froze. Your eyes met his for half a second, and he moved faster than you could react, snatching the comm piece and answering before you could even open your mouth.
âYeah,â he said, voice stiff, cold. âCopy that. Weâre fine. Situationâs contained. We were exposed to something, but itâs neutralised now.â
A beat of silence followed.
âYou sound⊠off,â Ava replied.
âJust prep extraction,â Bucky said, sharper now. Then he cut the line before she or anyone could ask anything else.
Silence returned. But this time it wasnât laced with tension or heat. It was suffocating. You pulled your suit back into place with shaking hands, not from aftershocks of pleasure, but from the sudden emptiness.Â
From the way he wouldnât look at you, wouldnât speak. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something that had already crumbled beneath your feet.
âDonât shut me out,â you said quietly, though it already felt like he had.
âIâm not.â But the words were flat, hollow, too calm to be true. He still wouldnât look at you. âI just need air.â
âYou mean you need to not look at me right now,â you murmured, the words escaping before you could temper them. They came out too sharp, too raw, but they were true. And they stung like hell.
His body stiffened. âI just donât wanna say something Iâll regret.â
That of all things hit the hardest, not because it was cruel, but because it was honest. You wrapped your arms around yourself as the chill of the room settled into your skin, as the weight of what he wasnât saying started to suffocate you.
âThat makes one of us,â you whispered, voice barely audible.
He turned away, moving toward the sealed vault door like it offered an escape he didnât deserve. Like if he just got it open, everything could go back to the way it was before.Â
But nothing had changed that vault more than what happened inside. You saw the tremble in his hands as he reached for the control panel, the way his breath caught in his throat. It wasnât over. Not even close.
The door would open. The team would come. They would ask questions. They would assume you were fine. But the real damage wasnât the mission. It wasnât the gas.
It was here, in this room, with sweat and skin and bitten-back moans, with words neither of you could say now without setting off the final detonation.
Because the real explosion, the one that mattered had already happened.
And there was no undoing it.
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY GOT7! âĄ
8 YEARS WITH GOT7 đ
ctto of the gifs âĄ



