#thread: downtime

[demodraws0606]

People complaining about Tsukasa5 already are pissing me off, because like, it's so unbelievably obvious what this event is trying to do and the fact that people are so hung up on "urgh dur tsukasa strong why can't he do a wall climb".

Like, first of all, a lot of Tsukasa's strength has been used as comedy before and also it's never been said that Tsukasa could specifically do a wall climb before so people calling this a retcon or a stretch is really dumb to me.

Sure we can make jokes about it, but this is not like a serious writing problem or anything.

Also are we just gonna ignore the fact this event is literally just a reference to his 3rd event in a silly trenchcoat. Or the fact that this is obviously meant to be WxS's downtime and training arc to prepare them to face the loose plotpoints in the future?

His inner dialogue when chasing the ninja is very clearly a reference to the whole Pheonix thing, how he can't reach it no matter how hard he tries.

The wall climb is like an extremely fucking on the nose metaphor to him climbing over his issues as an actor.

THERE IS ALSO THE WHOLE THING THAT HINTS THAT TSUKASA CAN ONLY OVERCOME HIS PROBLEMS IF HE HAS HELP FROM OTHERS (AKA tsukasa would've literally BEEN INJURED, if it wasn't for the fact the troupe's leader was there).

In fact this literally followed an event aka Tsukasa 4 where he FAILED to do his role correctly.

It's almost like this event is meant to be a transition point between Tsukasa 4 and 6, where Tsukasa builds up the knwoledge on how to face his problems.

But no this is just mid event because it's very silly and "wow plot is stupid why can't tsukasa wall climb".

WxS fans are slowly just turning into VBS fans in terms of how whiney they're being i swear

[judassamara]

Sometimes, when he wanted to get away from things, he would visit Naz for a bit of quiet, and a bit of flirting too. She was nice, kept to herself and didn't mind who he was or what they did for work. They also respected how she had taken over her husband's work. She was tough, though he thought that of a lot of women he knew.

"Looks like business might be booming soon," They commented as they entered, noting that she was still working. With a killer on the loose, she might have more business than she could hope for, or even want. "You know, if you are looking for some extra security, I'm happy to start visiting you in the evenings, maybe even stay the night."

@naz-ulusoy

[vixenofcadmea]

Threads Between Us - Chapter 14 is up!

Read it on AO3 here -> Chapter 14: Abrázame

Chapter 14 Snippet (continued Solas scene):

“The Fade listens, especially when death is near.” He tilted his head, eyes catching the shadows between them. “And your mind…” His voice dipped, softer, colder than before. “…was very near.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs. She remembered it—the garden, the metallic scent of the blood leaving her, a barren chill sinking into her bones. Lucanis’s voice had been the only thing anchoring her to life, rough with emotion she’d never heard from him before. Stay with me, Artemisia. Words not meant for anyone else to hear.

“You heard Lucanis.” The realization tasted bitter on her tongue.

“I heard truth. Laid bare with care… and desperation.” There was a pity behind the words, one that made her blood run cold. “Names are not mere words here. They shape, they bind. Especially when spoken with such weight.”

“You had no right.” She spat the words like poison. “You of all people—Fen’harel. Solas. Dread Wolf. Spare me your talk of names.”

Solas stepped forward, as if to shift the chasm ever closer. “This is merely a chain, forged in folly. In time, this path will cost you all that you love and hold dear. Those who walk it as we do are not granted such mercies.”

The way he spoke, as if he understood. As if he were in a place to judge. As if his own choices hadn’t torn apart worlds and lives.

“This isn’t about him. Or me,” she snapped, grasping for solid ground in a conversation that felt more like sinking. Her voice rang hollow, even to herself, the lie too frail to stand on its own.

“This is about everything,” he countered, sharp and final. “You are but threads in a vast weave. Love does not alter the pattern.”

Her fury boiled over at that. “How dare you stand there and preach to me as if hearts are nothing but the price of inevitability—”

“I am not your enemy, Rook,” Solas interrupted, quieter now. “But you must choose with care what you bind yourself to.”

[voidclawing]

✿: Your characterization!!!! the way you portray Seox as the anxiety man that he is but not making it his whole personality but just something he lives with. Even then he can be mean, sometimes petty - overall everything from the way you handle him, his emotions and even explain his thoughs and the way he processes the world around him always leaves me with a nice taste - Always a delight to read all of it and revisit old threads as well just for a dose of Seox!!!!!

It can be fun to make him always soggy but the balance you achieve is always something I admire.

☸ — HEY MARRY ME

[thwipsthrown]

"Dere's a Saint Bernard," Remy starts, catching movement outside. He turns to focus on it better. A dog? At the mansion? "At de top'a the driveway. Ain't you always say you like dogs?"

@snkts liked this for a lyric starter & got shuffled in not a gamble. // saint bernard - lincoln (accepting!)

[iceiclehorned]

“Are you ready for the ride of your life!?”

Burnice was beyond happy, arguably purring out those words with an intent. Sparkling with mischief, her eyes would do nothing to hold back the bustling adventure thriving within her soul.

“Me and you… drinking our way through the desert.” A pause. “With that precious motorcycle of yours! It could be a good time out!”

One could say it’s about to get lit.

[gaolerdeathmetal]

Hey I have about 15 mil treasure I want to turn to gems, if anyone has gems they wanna trade for 1:1000 feel free to open a trade with Unsanctum :)

[highaver]

@ltnsingh. call.

ㅤ“ I've heard a lot about you. ” Balfour has decided that it can't hurt to get to know the people he's working alongside. Especially since they'll be working closely together for the immediate future. He smiles, a little awkward, as tends to be his way when he's really trying. “ The captain - he speaks quite highly of you. I'm glad we'll be working together. Though, I'm sure we both wish it was under better circumstances. ”

[hyaciiintho]

🌸｡*ﾟ+. Adriel Live Reaction to seeing their friend's threads where their muses are being flirted with and getting mildly saucy--

[more-than-a-princess]

There it was again: a use of slang that should've likely been terribly obvious to anyone that wasn't her. Sonia gave her boyfriend an awkward smile, doing her best to portray it as anything but. Maybe someone else wouldn't have gotten it wrong.

Maybe someone else would have introduced their boyfriend to their friends, their parents, their family. By now at least, considering how long they'd been dating. In secrecy of course, for her benefit and his. As much as Paranormal Quest's fans loved the legends explored and the ghostly experiences documented, Sonia wasn't naive. She knew quite a few of the fans tuned in partially for Minato, and to fantasize themselves as his partner. Hell, if she hadn't been in that exact position, she would've done the same. And it would have allowed for far less secrecy and a greater detachment from the reality they both lived in.

"Well, it was a semi-truck actually," Sonia confirmed for him, a bit embarrassed. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it was that he'd survived, albeit with quite a few bruises, scratches, and a scar or two. He'd insisted it made him look cooler to her, or at least appearing more like Gundham, but Sonia hadn't agreed on that opinion. "And no, it did not dissuade him. Rather, he likened himself to the boy I loved at the time but I took little notice. My heart was quite occupied at the time: I imagine yours was too, as a teenager."

That was a common trait for normal teens, wasn't it? To have an all-consuming love that ended with tears and broken hearts? Though Sonia suspected it was often due to changing feelings or schools instead of being thrust into a spotlight and role one's partner never asked for. Not when they fell for a girl and got a princess instead. Her heart hurt less now when she thought of Gundham Tanaka, but it still stung when she saw his smile. Not often bestowed, and even more poignant when it was directed at her so many years later. They'd never have a future together as a couple, but as friends they worked. But his disdain for the royal lifestyle, for being asked to give up his dreams and future to live in her shadow, forever several steps behind her for the rest of his life...Sonia couldn't deny that she feared Minato would react the same way. He, like Gundham, had built too much. Achieved too much. To want to let that go.

It was why her father had advised her in university to seek out a partner who was perfectly content to simply live in her light and success, to forge his entire existence in order to bolster her own. There were plenty of young men in high society up for the task.

If only she liked any of them even a fraction of how much she loved Minato Arisato.

Her hand fit easily in his as he helped her off the train. He didn't have to, they both knew it, but it was one of the few chances he could hold her and no one would question the gesture beyond it being polite. That, and seemingly the movie theater he showed her first. Sonia had to smile at that: he knew her well. It was a place she'd love even if it wasn't haunted. Movie theaters and bookstores, if just for the fact they contained all the stories she adored.

"I would like that, very much," She replied, looking up at the marquee and then to him. "It is a rare treat indeed to not only see a film in a theater, but with you." She followed him to observe the full list of titles and showtimes, her smile broadening at the list he read out.

"Goodness, our timing is impeccable then!" She exclaimed, seemingly forgetting what month it was and that many theaters were indulging in the genre the two of them enjoyed year-round. "That sounds like an excellent idea, Minato-kun," She agreed. Her eagerness overruled etiquette: she should've called him 'Arisato-san,' but if they were not to touch, or kiss, or even admit candidly how much they cared for each other, she'd at least call him how she wished to. "I have not seen them on such a large screen in many years! It is always a joy to watch them with you, but this time we shall be surrounded by like minded fans with some amount of privacy. What should we see in your hometown in the meantime, though?"

[{ 🦋 }] - "Oh, by cool, I meant just that it happened, I'm definitely glad no one was hurt. My school was mostly dull and boring, besides Magic Class and Kendo Club, which kept it at least, remotely interesting."

He quickly clarified, he didn't want it to seem like he was hoping that someone got hurt, but his gymnasium blowing up would have certainly made those boring assembly speeches from the then-principal of Gekkoukan High, the old man, had this unfortunate tendency to take a ridiculously extended amount of time whenever he was on the podium, his speeches always made Minato fall asleep, he tried not too, but the guy was always so slow with his words. At least it usually took up a chunk of the morning, which was the only good thing about these extended speeches.

As Sonia continued to go on about her friend, diving a bit deeper into this talent of luck--something he thought wasn't even considered a talent, since he only knew luck for being solely based on pure coincidence and random chance, when it came to luck for Minato, it was a bit different with him, but from all the details, he could tell this all definitely happened, it made him curious about her school, where talents determined one's destiny in life.

Although the concept of having someone who wasn't in total control of his powers, his late upperclassman Shinjiro Aragaki, someone Minato did think about whenever looking back on his high school days, especially since it was mid-October right now, the same month where his old senpai had tragically lost his life. But since this took place during the Dark Hour, he couldn't tell her about it.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Wow, a whole vending machine, huh? That's pretty crazy." When she mentioned her old stalker, despite quickly correcting herself, he did recall her mentioning this person before when he vented to Sonia about his over-obsessive, stalker fangirls who always spent time trying to look for him, so he could definitely relate to her on that.

[{ 🦋 }] - "A truck? Damn. Well, I guess if it were a pickup truck, there's at least a higher chance of survival. Although if it were a semi-truck, that would be a different story since the chance of survival for something like that is dismal, at best. At least he didn't die, I guess? Too bad it didn't knock some sense into him to leave you alone, though."

He added with a shrug, perhaps that was Kazuchi Soda finally getting his just desserts for all the times he bothered Sonia, he understood the strong uncomfortable that came on the rise when dealing with any kind of stalker. One of the many trials and tribulations of living a life in the spotlight, even a royal one.

Even though Minato had multiple stalkers, from all she had told him about this Kazuchi Soda guy, he sounded like five stalkers in one, if only the guy could actually take the hint and leave her alone. One would think that being hit by a truck would be the world's way of telling him to back off, but somehow he doubted it. At least it didn't sound like she had to deal with him anymore, at least not directly.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Nah, it'll be fine. Ken doesn't have too much going on right now, and he's the type of person who studies way ahead of time. So he's probably got lots of free time."

He answered back as they disappeared behind the final tunnel, their stop coming up next after granting them one final glimpse of the oceanside view, the late orange afternoon sky shining down and reflecting off the water surface. A soft chuckle at her slight embarrassment on her question, he found it rather adorable that she didn't know what a strip mall was, but he knew the kind of lifestyle she had, so he had never judged her for it once, even before he found out about her being an heir to the throne-- a topic that still made his stomach twist in knots, since it always reminded him of their immense distaste for him, something he would eventually have to face, it filled him with anxiety just thinking about it. But he would push away such troubling thoughts and return his focus to Sonia.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Hey, no need to be embarrassed, Sonia-Chan. You know I'm more than happy to fill in the blanks of the things you don't know."

He reassured, gently helping her up as they disembarked back on the tour of his hometown, quieting those bothersome thoughts for the time being. As the couple stepped off the train and onto the tiles of the train station, Minato pointed out the theater along the way.

A nod to show that he's listening when bringing up the topic of attending showings at theaters, he could understand the risks. There had been times when fans of his show would try and strike up a conversation with him inside the auditorium, which was a bit annoying; he didn't usually mind, just not if he was on a date or inside a place where absolute silence was required.

[{ 🦋 }] - "That's a shame you didn't get to experience much theater time. But I get it. Although the large television was definitely a good general replacement. Luckily, here, because of how old the building is, they have a few private seating areas. So if we wanna check out one of the marathons, we can definitely make use of those private seats." Hearing her say she wanted to check out the showings for this week, he nodded.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Alright, come on, the list is over here." He motioned with her hand to gently follow, the only alternative besides taking her hand again. As they approached the listings for the week, Minato read them out.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Oooo, says it's classic slasher month, today they got Texas Chain Massacre 1 to 3, but check out a few days from now, babe, Friday The 13th, 1 to 4. Maybe we can come check out in a few days?" He asked, not only was it her favorite slasher series, but the private areas would offer them a chance to actually be a couple in a theater; the thought of being able to put his arm around her in the auditorium without worrying about others filled him with excitement.

[needlenxggin]

Y'all really took this ask meme as an opportunity to try and dig into his fucked up little head and see what was wrong kdfjghdfg

[vunblr]

Threads and Timber

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky grapples with a questionable Christmas gift.

Word Count: 10k

notes: Roots and Branches AU

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of a slow-cooked stew, steam curling from the pot as she gave it a final stir. It had been days since she’d seen him properly, their interactions reduced to brief, tired phone calls that left her wanting more. Winter was a quiet season for lumberjacks, but rather than resting, Bucky had been keeping busy at Sam’s, taking on carpentry work to fill the downtime.

That morning, his voice had been a low rasp over the phone, thick with an exhaustion that tugged at her heart. She’d tried to coax him into a real conversation, hoping to hear more than his clipped responses, but the demands of the mayor’s big project had stolen him away yet again.

Sighing, she ladled the rich, hearty stew into a tupperware, tucking in a chunk of freshly baked bread alongside it in a bag. Bucky deserved more than just quick meals scarfed down between tasks. He deserved to pause, breathe, and care for himself. If he couldn’t come to her, she’d go to him.

Grabbing her coat and scarf, she bundled up against the cold December air and headed out. The drive to Sam’s workshop was quick, and the sight of the modest building came into view as she rounded a bend. Even from a distance, she could hear the faint buzz of saws and the rhythmic tap of hammers.

Inside, the workshop was a flurry of activity. The sawdust floated like golden confetti through the high windows and half-finished pieces of what looked like a massive table were scattered across the floor. Sam was barking orders from a workbench, his voice elevated over the chaos.

Her eyes found Bucky instantly. He was crouched low, with a pencil tucked behind his ear, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms dusted with sawdust. His hair was tied back, but a few strands had escaped, brushing against his face as he measured and marked a plank with laser-sharp focus.

“Y/n!” Sam’s voice jolted her from her reverie. He grinned, straightening and brushing his hands on his jeans. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Someone’s breaking the ‘no distractions’ rule.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at her name, and his eyes softened the moment they landed on her. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached in an unhurried but purposeful manner.

“What’re you doin’ here?” His voice was gruff, but the hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed his surprise.

“You sound so thrilled to see me,” she teased, holding up the bag. “I brought you lunch. Thought you could use something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.”

Sam let out a low whistle, winking at her. “That’s some first-class treatment, Barnes. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Bucky’s ears turned pink as he shot Sam a warning look before turning his attention back to her. “You know is not necessary to do this,” he muttered, though his eyes lingered on the bag with appreciation.

“I wanted to.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice as she met his gaze. “You’ve been working so hard, Buck. Let me pamper you, even just for a little while.”

He exhaled slowly, easing the tension in his shoulders as he nodded. “Thanks, sweetheart” he murmured with a softer tone. He reached out, brushing a gloved thumb across her cheek in a brief but tender gesture.

She smiled, handing him the bag. “Go ahead and eat before it gets cold. I’ll keep Sam company while you take a break.”

Bucky hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly. “Stay,” he said simply, but with longing.

She felt something tugging at her chest, and she nodded. “Okay.”

He led her to a quieter corner of the workshop, where he perched on a workbench and pulled out the container. She watched as he took his first bite, closing his eyes briefly as the flavors hit his tongue.

“This is good,” he said after a moment, going for the bread.

She grinned. “Good enough to make up for barging in on your workday?”

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that faint, heart-stopping smile of his. “Better than good.”

As the noise of the workshop continued around them, she leaned against the bench, content to simply be there, sharing a simple moment with the man she loved.

Bucky set the tupper down with a soft noise, brushing a thumb across his lips to catch any lingering traces of the stew. “Thanks, darling,” he said quietly but warmly.

“Always,” she replied, reaching out to straighten the collar of his flannel shirt. “You’ve got this, Buck. Just don’t forget to eat something other than coffee and frustration, okay?”

His lips twitched into that faint smile again, and he gave a small nod, brushing his fingers briefly over hers before she pulled away.

She was just gathering her things to leave when Sam appeared, wiping his hands on a rag as he strolled over, with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and amusement.

“Before you go,” he started, leaning casually against the nearest workbench, “I wanted to mention something. I’m hosting a little Christmas Eve get-together at my place. Just the crew and a few friends, nothing fancy. If you don’t already have plans, you’re more than welcome. Both of you.”

She paused, caught slightly off-guard but pleased by the offer since it was her first Christmas in the town. Her gaze flicked to Bucky, whose expression had shifted into something more guarded. His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

“We’ll see,” he muttered, with an unmistakable discomfort in his tone.

Sam raised an eyebrow, smirking as he straightened. “That’s Buck-speak for ‘I’d rather wrestle a grizzly than go to a there.’ But hey, maybe you can change his mind.”

Her lips twitched into a small, knowing smile as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “We’ll think about it,” she said smoothly, subtly offering reassurance with a light touch to Bucky’s arm.

Sam chuckled, tossing the rag onto the bench. “I’ll take that as a yes. You know where I live if you decide to come.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said warmly, before turning to Bucky. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, something unspoken passing between them before he gave a slight nod.

As she headed for the door, Sam’s voice followed her, teasing but good-natured. “Don’t let him talk you out of it, we need some holiday spirit around here.”

She glanced back with a grin. “I’ll do my best.”

Outside, the cold air nipped at her cheeks as she climbed into her car, stealing one last look at the workshop. Her heart ached a little at the sight of Bucky already back at work, his shoulders squared and focus returning to the task at hand.

The evening stretched as she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples after slogging through another chapter of the “gunslinger x damsel” novel. The sheriff’s daughter had just been kidnapped -again- and the hero’s smoldering intensity was only matched by his unrealistic ability to outshoot twenty bandits in the middle of a dust storm.

With a sigh, she saved her notes, muttering to herself, “Why is it always the sheriff’s daughter? Does anyone else in the town ever fall in love?”

Pushing her laptop aside, she grabbed her coffee and opened a shopping site on her phone. The homepage cheerfully proclaimed Winter Deals for the Holidays! in bold, glittering letters, and she clicked through out of idle curiosity. She scrolled past cozy knit blankets, sparkly ornaments, and slippers shaped like reindeer hooves, when something caught her eye.

It was hideous.

A sweater -no, the sweater- covered in garish Christmas patterns, complete with snowmen, reindeer, and lights embedded in a gaudy green tree. It was oversized, loud, and utterly atrocious.

She bit her lip, with a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she imagined Bucky in it. Her grumpy, reserved boyfriend, with his broad shoulders and no-nonsense attitude, dressed in something so absurdly festive. The mental image was enough to make her laugh, fogging the rim of her mug with her breath

It was their first Christmas together as a couple, and while she didn’t expect him to suddenly transform into the embodiment of holiday cheer, the thought of coaxing him into this sweater filled her with a mischievous kind of joy.

Her finger hovered over the “Add to Cart” button as she mulled it over. He’d resist, of course. He’d grumble, roll his eyes, maybe even cross his arms and give her that look that usually meant “not a chance.”

But then she thought about his small, reluctant smiles, the way his gruff exterior softened in private moments, and the way he always indulged her whims, even the silly ones.

Tap.

She placed the order, and her heart skipped with excitement as she leaned back against the cushions. Whatever resistance he threw her way, she’d make it work. After all, it wasn’t really about the sweater. It was about sharing this first Christmas, and maybe, helping Bucky feel like he belonged in this season of warmth and celebration.

As the confirmation email popped up on her screen, she whispered to herself, “This is going to be so good.”

The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting golden light over the frosted edges of the forest as she pulled into the clearing. Bucky’s cabin stood nestled against the trees, with smoke curling lazily from the chimney, but her attention was immediately drawn to him.

Unsurprisingly, he was outside, splitting firewood in a rhythm that spoke of muscle memory and focus. Each swing of the axe cut clean through the logs, with the sharp crack of the wood echoing in the stillness. Steam left his mouth in warm puffs with every breath, but he didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket -of course not- with the exertion keeping him warm. His fitted thermal shirt clung to his body, the fabric pressed across his shoulders and chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms flexing with every motion.

She bit her lip, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before stepping out of the car, with a festively wrapped box tucked under her arm. The crunch of her boots on the snow caught his attention. He paused mid-swing, lowering the axe and planting it firmly in a stump before turning toward her.

His breath fogged the air as he walked over, wiping his hands on his jeans, with a hint of a smile softening his sharp features. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm as his arms circled her waist.

“Hey,” she murmured, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back, slow and sure. When they broke apart, his brow quirked, his gaze flicking to the box in her hands. “What’s that?” his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

“I brought you a present,” she announced, holding it up.

His brow arched higher, though a faint flush crept up his neck. “You didn’t have to bother.”

She grinned, nudging him playfully. “It’s almost Christmas, Buck. Humor me.”

With a resigned huff, he tilted his head toward the cabin. “Come on, then.”

Inside, the warmth from the wood stove wrapped around her as they stepped in. “Alright,” he said, leaning back against the counter as he folded his arms. “Let’s see it.”

She placed the box on the table, and her grin widened as she gestured for him to open it. “Go on”.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tugged at the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper. The moment his eyes landed on the sweater, his expression shifted into a deadpan stare.

“No.”

She bit back a laugh, clasping her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “Oh, come on! You haven’t even tried it on yet.”

His gaze flicked from her to the offending garment, clenching his jaw. “Not happening.”

“Buckyyy,” she begged, stepping closer. “You’ll look so good in it at Sam’s party-“

“About that,” he interjected, standing straight and crossing his arms over his chest.

She paused, tilting her head. “What about it?”

His lips pressed into a line as he glanced toward the window, avoiding her gaze. “We didn’t really talk about going,” he said carefully. “I’m not exactly... eager to be around that many people. You know how I am with crowds.”

Her gaze softened as she closed the distance between them, and her hands rested lightly on his folded arms. “Honey, I get it. I know it’s not your favorite thing, and you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But it’s Sam’s party, and I think he’d really appreciate seeing you there, even just for a little while.”

He shifted uncomfortably, flicking his eyes to hers. “I just... I don’t know.”

She cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb over the faint stubble there as she smiled softly. “You’ll have me with you the whole time. And it’s not some big, formal thing, just a cozy night with friends. We don’t have to stay long, I promise.”

His eyes lingered on hers, weighing her words. Finally, he sighed. “Alright. I’ll go. But only because of you are asking.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss him gently. “Thank you. You’ll see, it’ll be fun.”

He huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Fun, huh?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. She stepped back, gesturing to the sweater still sitting on the table. “And everyone will love your sweater.”

His brow furrowed, and the faint flicker of warmth disappeared into another deadpan stare. “Not a chance.” he muttered.

“Just try it on!” she pleaded, laughing.

“Not. Happening.” he repeated, but his tone was less certain now as she stepped closer.

Undeterred, she smirked, leaning in, and placing her hands on his chest. “You’ll be the star of the evening.”

“That makes it worse,” he grumbled, but the faintest hint of a blush crept up his cheeks as her hands slid to his shoulders.

“Please?” she whispered, her voice soft and teasing as she kissed his jaw.

He let out a low groan, with his resolve clearly wavering, but he held his ground. “No.”

She leaned back, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Fine. Let’s try a different tactic.”

Before he could react, she grabbed his shirt and guided him backward, pinning him gently against the edge of the table. His eyes widened briefly before narrowing, his hands settling on her hips instinctively.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

She leaned in, brushing her lips on the shell of his ear as she whispered, with a low and sultry tone, “If you wear it for me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

The breath he exhaled was almost a growl, and his hands tightened on her hips as his head dipped forward, brushing his forehead to hers. “That’s not fair,” he muttered.

She tilted her head, curving her lips into a smug smile. “Life’s not fair, Jamie.”

His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened, they were filled with resigned heat. “Fine,” he grumbled, the word almost a sigh. “But you owe me.”

Her laugh was soft and triumphant as she kissed him again. “Deal.”

The sound of laughter and muffled music reached Bucky even before he opened the door. Sam’s house was alive with chatter, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses. He paused on the doorstep, squaring his shoulders, with his hand hesitating on the doorknob. He glanced down at the sweater -the ridiculous, awful sweater- and sighed deeply before stepping inside.

Warmth enveloped him immediately, the room was packed with neighbors, Sam’s crew, and a few familiar faces from around town. He quickly scanned the crowd, clenching his jaw as he spotted her near the fireplace, chatting animatedly with one of Sam’s friends. He didn’t make it more than a step before Sam’s booming voice cut through the din.

“Barnes!” Sam’s grin could have lit up the entire house as he pushed through the crowd, his laughter already bubbling up. His gaze landed on the sweater, and that was all it took.

“Oh, man,” Sam crowed, slapping his knee in exaggerated delight. “I knew you were coming, but I wasn’t ready for this. That thing’s a masterpiece!”

The room erupted into laughter and good-natured teasing, a few people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s “holiday spirit.” Bucky’s ears burned as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression was a mix of resignation and discomfort.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice low as his eyes darted around. “Get it outta your system, Sam.”

Sam wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “You’ve got to let me get a picture of this. No one’s gonna believe me otherwise.”

Bucky opened his mouth -likely to tell him exactly where he could shove his camera- when she turned at the sound of Sam’s laughter. Her gaze found him instantly, and her face lit up as she set down her drink and moved toward him.

“Buck,” she called softly, and her voice cut through the teasing like a lifeline.

She reached him quickly, and her eyes sparkled with amusement as they flicked over the sweater. “Look at you,” she teased, as she placed her hands lightly on his chest as if they were the only two people in the room. “You look so sexy in this.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes softened as he tilted his head toward her. “You’re the only one who thinks that, sweetheart.”

“I don’t care, I think you’re perfect,” she murmured, leaning closer as her hands slid up to his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You’ve earned it.”

He followed her toward the kitchen, his hand finding the small of her back as they moved through the crowd. The weight of people’s stares and Sam’s lingering laughter faded as she pressed a glass of cider into his hand.

“See?” she teased as they stood near the fireplace. “Not so bad.”

He took a sip of the cider. “We’re still talkin’ about this sweater, or somethin’ else?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Both.”

Their conversation eased, with her warmth drawing him out of his usual reserve. Then they talked with a few neighbors, her doing most of the chatting while Bucky offered the occasional quiet comment or nod. His hand never left her, though, whether resting lightly on her back or brushing her arm as he reached for his drink.

At one point, she leaned close, her voice dropping as she murmured near his ear. “You’re doing great.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Doin’ this for you, darling. Not Sam’s damn party.” The faint blush dusting his cheeks made her heart skip a beat.

She smiled and brushed her fingers lightly over his arm. “I know. And I appreciate it. You’re amazing.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips before he exhaled a quiet sigh. His hand at her back gave a gentle squeeze, and his gaze softened as he studied her for a moment longer.

“Be right back,” he murmured, leaning in to press a brief kiss to her temple.

She watched him slip away, seeing his broad frame disappear in the hallway toward the bathroom, and couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on her face. Cradling her glass of cider, she let herself enjoy the warmth of the moment, the chatter, the laughter, the glow of the lights.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice, low and smooth, cutting through the warmth of her thoughts.

She turned to find John Walker standing nearby, a charming smile playing on his lips, with a casual confidence that bordered on calculated. His eyes flicked to hers, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“John,” she greeted politely, offering a small smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he said, stepping just slightly closer. “You’re usually busy keeping Barnes out of trouble, right?”

She chuckled lightly, quirking her brow. “He doesn’t need much keeping. He’s more than capable.”

“Sure,” John replied, though the grin tugging at his lips tightened just a fraction. His gaze flicked over her briefly. “But I bet it keeps you busy. Still, I gotta say, you brighten up the place tonight. Hard not to notice.”

She smiled politely, shifting her weight slightly. “It’s a lovely party,” she said, deflecting without missing a beat. “Sam always knows how to bring people together.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though his focus remained squarely on her. “But some people stand out, you know? Like you. I mean, you’ve got this effortless way about you… easy to see why Barnes sticks so close.”

The compliment caught her off guard, and she laughed, more out of politeness than anything else. “Well, thank you, John. That’s kind of you to say.”

“Just honest,” he said smoothly. “Not every day someone like you walks into a room-”

Before she could respond, a familiar warmth settled at her side. Bucky’s arm slid firmly around her waist, his grip was possessive but subtle. His blue eyes locked on Walker, the barest flicker of annoyance crossing his expression as he took in the exchange. His tone, low and even, had a subtle edge.

“Walker,” he said simply, nodding in acknowledgment.

John straightened slightly, his charming smile faltering just enough to be noticeable before returning with a hint of stiffness. “Barnes,” he replied, his tone measured. “Didn’t realize you’d made it tonight.”

“Obviously,” Bucky said flatly, tightening his arm just a bit around her waist.

“Nice sweater.” The blonde complimented, with a tone dripping with sarcasm.

Bucky pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, clenching his jaw as he prepared to fire back.

But before he could get a word out, she interjected smoothly “I know, right? I picked it myself.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched slightly. Meanwhile, John’s grin faltered, and his eyes flicked between them as he tried to recover.

“Well,” he added after a beat, with forced cheer. “It’s definitely... festive.”

“Sure is,” Bucky responded dryly, his gaze never leaving John as his fingers flexed subtly against her waist.

The tension stretched for a moment before John cleared his throat, offering a polite nod. “Guess I’ll grab another drink. Nice seeing you.”

“Likewise,” she replied easily, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath Bucky’s stoic exterior as she turned to him with a soft smile.

Bucky waited until John had stepped away before letting out a quiet exhale, relaxing his grip just a little.

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “You okay?” she asked, brushing her fingers over his arm.

“Fine,” he muttered, though his gaze lingered in the direction John had gone. His voice softened as his hand slid to the small of her back, “Just didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Bucky,” she murmured, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips brushing the side of her head. “I know.”

For the rest of the evening, they remained close, sharing conversations with the guests and exchanging subtle touches. His thumb would graze her wrist when she reached for her glass, or her hand would linger on his arm during a laugh. Eventually, they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the room, with the chatter fading into the background. She tugged playfully at his sweater, curling her fingers into the coarse knit as she coaxed him to lean down. “Come here,” she murmured, teasing as she rose on her toes.

His eyes flicked down to her lips, furrowing his brows slightly as if to ask, Here?

“Yes, here,” she whispered, grinning as she tugged again.

With a low sigh that could have passed for reluctance -if not for the way his hand tightened at her back- he leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The room erupted in whistles and cheers, Sam’s voice rising above the noise. “Look at you, Mr. Christmas! Ugly sweater and public display of affection? Who even are you right now?”

Bucky pulled back just enough to shoot Sam an unimpressed look. “You done?”

Sam grinned, raising his glass in triumph. “Never.”

As the laughter subsided, Bucky turned back to her, his hand brushing against her cheek as he leaned close. “Later, darling,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with promise. “I’m gonna make you pay for this sweater.”

Her cheeks warmed as she tilted her head to look up at him. “Actually...” she murmured with a hint of mischief. “I was planning to atone for it sooner than you think.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, searching her gaze with his. “What-”

Before he could finish, she tipped her glass just enough for a splash of cider to land squarely on his pants, soaking into the dark denim with unmistakable precision.

“Oh dear,” she gasped with exaggerated concern, as she placed a hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry!”

Bucky stiffened slightly, clenching his jaw as he looked down at the damp spot, then back at her. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, low and wary, “what are you-”

“Let me fix it!” she interrupted, grabbing his hand before he could protest. She tugged him gently but insistently toward the hallway, lacing her fingers with his as she maneuvered them through the crowd.

He let her lead him, matching her quick steps with his long strides. He faintly intuited where this might be heading, but the thought didn’t fully land until they reached the bathroom door.

She pulled him inside with one smooth motion, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The lock turned with a finality that seemed to echo in the tiny space.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw ticked as he glanced between her and the door. “You really spilled cider on me just to get me in here?”

Her lips curved into a smile that was anything but innocent as she stepped closer, brushing her fingers on the edge of the ridiculous sweater he’d begrudgingly worn for her. “You look so handsome in this, Buck,” she murmured, in a sweet voice as her hands slid to his belt. “How could I resist?”

His body reacted before his mind fully caught up. His breath hitched as her fingers worked at the buckle, her deliberate slowness already driving him to the edge of reason.

“Darling...” he warned, though his voice had lost its edge.

“Shh,” she whispered, rising on her toes to press a soft kiss to his jaw. Her voice was a sultry murmur, “I told you I’d make it worth it.” She added, fanning her warm breath against his skin.

Her hands moved with deliberate intent, sliding down to his waistband. Bucky’s breath hitched as the sound of his zipper filled the tiny bathroom, and her fingers brushed against his already interested cock. She pressed her palm against him through his boxers, and he hissed, tilting his head back as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped again, his voice low and strained. “We’re at a damn Christmas party... what if someone-”

She silenced him with a quick peck, curling her lips into a playful smile. “We’re cleaning a vicious stain,” she corrected, teasing but unwavering.

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, while his hands hesitated on her waist.

She knew what he meant, knew the vacillation behind the words. In all their time together, he had always shied away from this particular kind of intimacy. He’d muttered something once about feeling it was degrading for her, some outdated notion she’d tried to challenge more than once. But tonight, she wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t,” she agreed softly, as her fingers stroked over the growing hardness beneath the fabric. She leaned in, her breath was hot against his pulse point, making his resolve fray with every passing second. “But I want to. And you know…” she murmured, punctuating her words with a kiss just below his ear, “that eventually, you always give up and agree to what I ask of you.”

His groan was low and guttural, and his hands tightened on her hips. “You’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, and his voice was a mix of frustration and surrender.

Her lips brushed against his neck, and her teeth grazed his sensitive skin as she whispered, “I know.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, stroking his length with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left him clinging to the last shreds of his control.

“Have it your way,” he muttered, as his head fell back against the wall.

Her triumphant smile was quick, giving him one last teasing caress before she sank gracefully to her knees.

“Good,” she said softly, sliding her hands up his thighs as she looked up at him, locking her gaze with his. ”Now, let me thank you for being so brave, coming to the party, wearing the sweater... indulging me.” Her hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, and with deliberate care, she eased them down, freeing his aching cock. The cool air of the bathroom hit his heated skin, and he hissed softly, curling his fingers into fists at his sides.

“Jesus, darling,” he muttered, feeling his blush creeping past his collar, tinting his neck and ears. He was already hard, and the veins along his length stood out as his body betrayed his restraint.

She smiled, curving her lips with just a hint of mischief as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly to let him adjust to the intimacy. “You’re so beautiful, Buck,” she murmured, brushing her thumb along the tip, spreading the bead of precum already glistening there.

He cursed under his breath, and his head fell back again against the wall with a low thud. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained.

“No,” she whispered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the base of his cock, her lips warm against his skin. “I’m going to make you feel good.” She started slow, using her tongue to trace along the underside of his length, with one hand still pressed at his thigh, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

His hand came to her shoulder, not to guide her but to steady himself as his breaths turned ragged. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

She took him deeper, stretching her lips around him as she sank down, swirling her tongue with each movement. His hips jerked instinctively, and he muttered a soft apology, a blush deepening on his cheeks.

“Relax,” she soothed, pulling back slightly to run her tongue along his tip before taking him in again. Her hands slid along his thighs, and her touch was grounding and gentle as she worked him with a rhythm that had him trembling.

“Shit,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his head tilted back again. His fingers flexed against her shoulder, and his free hand gripped the counter behind him as if he were afraid he might lose control entirely.

As the heat coiled tighter in his core, he exhaled sharply, “Open your blouse.”

She paused, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then her hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, slowly undoing them one by one. She shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing the soft curves of her bare skin beneath.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his eyes roamed over her.

She smiled again, brushing her fingers lightly over his thighs before leaning forward, and taking him back into her mouth. Her movements were more purposeful now, her tongue pressing in just the right spots, drawing out a chorus of curses and low, desperate groans from him.

He could feel himself nearing the edge, the pleasure building so quickly it left him dizzy. “Darlin’,” he choked out, pulling back slightly with a groan.

His hand slid to himself, with a firm grip as he stroked quickly, and the tension snapped with a guttural moan. Warm ropes of his release spilled over her breasts, painting her skin as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm. When he finally stilled, his eyes met hers, and he let out a shaky laugh, the blush still high on his cheeks. “Gonna need more than a minute to recover from that,” he muttered, his voice thick but laced with awe.

Her lips curled into a sly smile, with her chest still rising and falling as she caught her breath. “Oh, we have time. Cider can be very tricky to clean.”

That earned her a soft, breathless chuckle. “Speaking of which,” he said, straightening as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief -because, of course he had one- and wet it under the stream of warm water from the sink. Turning back to her, he knelt slightly and gently dabbed at her skin. His movements were slow and deliberate, and his touch reverent as he cleaned her chest.

“I told you that you didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth, focusing his eyes on her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “But damn if I don’t appreciate it.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, but she didn’t shy away from his gaze, watching him as his fingers brushed against her skin.

“You’re unbelievable,” he added softly, shaking his head as he continued. “Always finding ways to take care of me... and knock me on my ass in the process.”

She laughed softly, and her hand rested on his wrist, stilling his movements for a moment. “I’ll always take care of you, Buck. That’s what we do.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the teasing energy between them morphed into something deeper, more intimate. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough as he cupped her cheek with his free hand, brushing his thumb lightly over her skin. “That’s what we do.”

He finished cleaning her with a few more light touches, his gaze lingering a little more before he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Standing, he folded the handkerchief and set it aside, offering her his hand to help her up.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s get back out there before Sam decides to come lookin’ for us.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile, buttoning her blouse again as they prepared to slip back into the party.

The noise of conversations and laughter swallowed them up as if they’d never been gone. Bucky’s hand rested at her back, his touch was light but reassuring as they maneuvered through the room together. They stopped to chat with a few neighbors and some of Sam’s crew, and the warmth of the gathering lulled Bucky into an unusual state of ease. She noticed how he leaned into the conversation more, even throwing in the occasional dry comment that earned a laugh or two.

At one point, Sam passed by with another drink in hand, flicking his gaze to Bucky with an exaggerated look of appraisal. “Barnes, you’re still rockin’ that sweater. I think it’s startin’ to grow on me.”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “Enjoy the view while it lasts, Wilson. This thing’s gettin’ torched tomorrow.”

“Not if I get a picture first,” Sam shot back, winking at her before moving on to talk with another guest.

She laughed softly, squeezing Bucky’s arm as she leaned close. “Look at you, doing so great.”

“Don’t push it.” he muttered, though the affection in his tone betrayed him.

The night carried on, and the crowd began to thin as people trickled out into the chilly evening, leaving the room quieter but no less warm. She was mid-conversation with a neighbor when she felt it, that unmistakable sense of being watched. Her gaze flicked up, and there he was, standing near the door. When their gazes met, he tilted his head ever so slightly, the gesture was subtle but clear.

She excused herself with a polite smile, weaving through the remaining guests to meet him. His hand found hers as she approached, and the rough warmth of his fingers squeezed lightly before guiding her toward Sam, who stood by the doorway, chatting animatedly with a couple of friends.

“Sam,” she called softly, earning his attention as she offered a warm smile. “Thanks so much for inviting us. We had a wonderful time.”

Sam grinned, and his gaze was warm before it shifted to Bucky with a mischievous glint. “Always a pleasure,” he said smoothly. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he held up his phone, displaying a photo he’d clearly taken earlier in the evening.

The image showed Bucky mid-conversation, the atrocious sweater at full display as he stood with his arms crossed, looking far too good for such a ridiculous outfit.

“Buck, this one’s goin’ in the memory books,” Sam declared, laughing as he turned the screen for them to see.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his deadpan stare fixed on the photo “Delete it,” he said flatly.

Sam only laughed harder, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nope. I already sent it to the work chat.”

She bit her lip to hold back her laugh, slipping her hand into Bucky’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Take it as a compliment,” she teased softly.

Bucky sighed, already steering her toward the door. “Let’s go,” he muttered, with the faintest flush creeping up his neck as Sam chuckled behind them.

The cold night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and she instinctively leaned into him for warmth. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as their boots crunched against the snowy path.

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” she said lightly, glancing up at him. “We should walk to my place instead of drive.”

Bucky huffed, slipping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close as they started down the snowy path. “Guess we’re walkin’, then,” he said, with a dry tone. “Not like I needed my dignity tonight anyway. This damn sweater saw to that.”

She laughed, leaning into him. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s exactly that bad,” he replied, but there was no real heat in his voice. His fingers splayed across the curve of her back as he spoke, before dipping further to give her ass a deliberate squeeze.

“Bucky!” she gasped, her eyes darting around to check the empty street, her face flushing hot against the winter chill.

“What?” he asked, his tone perfectly deadpan. “You made me wear the damn thing. Seems fair.”

She swatted lightly at his chest, and her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “Someone could’ve seen.”

“Let ‘em,” he said simply, his voice was low and gravelly as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear. “I’m the socially awkward one, remember?”

A laugh bubbled out of her, the mix of his teasing and the warmth of his voice making her cheeks burn even hotter. She loved how he could be grumpy and endearing, awkward yet somehow confident, all wrapped in the absurd charm of an awful Christmas sweater.

The warmth of her house wrapped around them as they stepped inside, starkly contrasting the frosty night air they’d left behind. She slipped off her coat and hung it by the door, turning to see Bucky doing the same. His movements were unhurried, and his broad frame was still slightly stiff from the cold, but his eyes already warming as they met hers.

“Tea?” she asked, smiling softly as she walked toward the kitchen.

He nodded, following her with slow, deliberate steps. “Something warm sounds good.”

She moved through the space, setting the kettle on the stove before reaching for the cabinet overhead. Standing on her toes, she stretched to grab the box of apple-flavored tea tucked near the back.

Bucky watched her intently from where he leaned against the counter. The sight of her body arching as she tried to reach the tea was all the invitation he needed.

“Here,” he said, as he moved behind her.

She stilled as his hand reached past hers to grab the box, and his chest brushed against her back, pressing his body against hers just a moment longer than necessary. His warmth sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. When he handed her the tea, she turned slightly, offering a quiet, “Thanks.”

His gaze lingered on her, heavy and thoughtful, as his thumb reached out to trace her lower lip. The touch was featherlight. His eyes darkened, and his expression was unreadable as his thumb lingered there, brushing softly.

Her cheeks heated as she wondered if he was thinking of what transpired at the party, the moment they’d stolen away behind closed doors.

“Buck-” she started, but her words were lost as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was soft and searching.

She sighed against him, resting her hands on his chest, feeling the coarse knit of the sweater. His lips moved gently at first, coaxing, before the kiss deepened, growing messy and heated as his hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer.

She gasped softly when his tongue brushed hers, trailing her fingers upward to tangle them on his long locks as the kiss grew more fervent. The kettle whistled faintly in the background, but neither of them moved to address it.

When they finally broke apart for air, her lips were swollen, her breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps as she looked up at him. His own breathing was ragged, and his chest rose and fell as his gaze dropped to her lips again, undecided, as though torn between kissing her once more or letting his hands venture where his mouth hadn’t yet dared.

“Tea can wait,” he murmured, his voice rough with want as his thumb brushed over her lips once more. Then, he kissed her again and in one fluid motion, he lifted her, setting her on the kitchen counter with effortless strength.

She gasped softly, wrapping her legs instinctively around his hips as he positioned himself between them. Her hands trailed up his arms, skimming over the firm muscles of his biceps and shoulders eliciting a low growl deep in his chest.

“You really like this ugly sweater, don’t you?” he asked, breathing warmly against her cheek.

She smirked, tilting her head to nip gently at his jawline, grazing the faint stubble. “Not the sweater,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his skin as she spoke. “I like the present wrapped inside it.”

It was all it took. The last thread of his control snapped like a frayed rope.

With a low growl, his hands moved to her blouse, and in one swift motion, he tore it open, sending flying buttons scattering across the wooden floor. His hands were on her instantly, rough and insistent, covering her breasts, squeezing and kneading as his lips sought hers again.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against her mouth, with rough and strained voice, “how patient I’ve been after your little performance at Sam’s? After what you did in the bathroom?”

“I was just trying to make up for the sweater,” she said breathlessly, curving her lips into a teasing smile even as her body arched into his touch.

“Oh, you’re gonna make up for it,” he muttered, sliding his hands to her back to unhook her bra. He pushed it aside, and his mouth descended to her collarbone, then lower, his words rumbling against her skin. “Every last bit of it.” His lips found her breasts, and his tongue traced lazy circles around her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently at first, with more intent later. She gasped, curling her fingers in his hair as he alternated between soft licks and sharp nips, grazing her with his teeth just enough to send sparks through her body.

“Bucky,” she breathed, tilting back her head as she moaned under his ministrations.

He didn’t stop until her skin was wet and tender, nipples flushed from his attention. Satisfied with his work, he lifted his head, with his lips glistening as he met her gaze with a wicked smirk.

One hand slipped to the waistband of her pants, tugging at the elastic as his other arm encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly. With a quick motion, he rid her of the fabric, panties and all, and the cool air against her bare skin made her shiver.

He set her back on the counter, kissing her again, with one hand steadying her by the waist while the other reached out. She heard the faint clink of glass and broke the kiss just in time to see him holding a jar of plum jam he’d spotted earlier on the counter.

His smirk turned darker as he unscrewed the lid, locking his eyes intently on hers. “I fancy something sweet with the tea,” he informed in a low tone.

Her cheeks burned as the realization dawned, moving her hands to stop him. “Bucky-”

But he was faster. His fingers dipped into the jar, scooping up a generous amount of the sticky preserve. Before she could protest again, he smeared it against her wet folds, and the cool sensation made her jerk.

“Cold,” she gasped, and her body twisted slightly.

His hands settled on her thighs, as he dropped to his knees in front of her, curving his lips into a smug smile. “Not for long,” he murmured. Before she could form another thought, his mouth was on her, the contrast between his warmth and the cool jam sent shockwaves through her pussy. His tongue moved deliberately, savoring every inch of her as he spread her thighs wider, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. His lips latched onto her clit without warning, and his tongue delivered a hard flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She gasped sharply, jerking her body in response, trying to close her thighs instinctively against the overwhelming sensation.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, tightening his grip as he steadied her, with his broad shoulders keeping her legs apart. His voice was low, almost a growl, as he glanced up at her. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, darling.”

Before she could form a response, his tongue resumed its assault, alternating between firm flicks and languid strokes that left her trembling. Her nails dug into the counter’s edge as her head tipped back, with a mix of soft cries and breathless gasps spilling from her lips.

As her pleasure built in, he added two fingers, making her body arch, and turning her breathing erratic.

“Perfect holiday dessert,” he murmured against her, his words were muffled but dripping with mischief as he picked up the pace lapping the last traces of jam on her heated skin.

She cried out, and her hands flew to his hair, clutching it as if it were the only thing anchoring her. “Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice was high and shaky, and her body nearly unraveled under the relentless pressure.

Her legs trembled as the heat inside her coiled tighter, as his tongue and fingers drove her closer to the edge with every precise movement. She could feel him groaning softly against her as if savoring her reactions just as much as her taste, and it pushed her closer to breaking.

“Bucky… Jamie, I-” she tried, but her words dissolved into a broken cry as her body tipped into release, her thighs quivering around him.

He didn’t stop, working her through every pulse of pleasure until she was trembling and utterly spent. Only then did he pull back, with his lips glistening, and an utterly satisfied smirk.

“Best tea pairing I’ve ever had,” he said amusedly, as he kissed the inside of her thigh and locked his gaze with hers before standing up.

Her body was still trembling as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, and her breaths came in soft, uneven pants. She clung to him, curling her fingers into the fabric of his sweater as she tried to catch her breath.

And then it hit her.

“The kettle,” she said, a little breathless, with a mix of urgency and disbelief. “The water’s probably about to evaporate...”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, brushing her temple his lips before he reached out with one arm. Without even looking, he turned off the burner with a quick twist of the knob.

“Handled,” he murmured.

When he turned back to her, his other hand was already moving to unbuckle his belt, and the sound of the metal clinking made her stomach flip.

She leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along his neck. Her lips trailed up to his jaw while her hands slid to the hem of his sweater, curling her fingers under the edge as she began to tug it upward.

Before she could get far, his hands shot out, grabbing her wrists in a firm but gentle grip. “The sweater stays on,” he said, commanding but with a teasing edge that made her breath hitch.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, with her voice caught between incredulous laughter and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m serious,” he said smirking as he leaned closer, holding her in place by her wrists. “You went through all this trouble to get me in this thing. Now you’re gonna enjoy the full experience.”

She felt her cheeks grow warmer as his hands slowly guided hers back to the counter, pinning them there for a moment as he kissed her. His lips were hot and demanding, leaving no doubt that the sweater wasn’t going anywhere.

Bucky’s hands slowly released her wrists and shifted his focus back to his pants, deftly undoing the buttons and sliding the zipper down. He toed off his boots one by one, and the sound of them hitting the floor was muted against the sound of their shared breaths. His pants followed, pooling at his feet as he straightened, towering over her.

Her hands found him instantly, sliding down to grip the firm curve of his buttocks through his boxers, and pulled him closer, tightening her thighs around his hips as her she urged him forward.

His clothed erection pressed against her heat, and she moaned softly into the kiss. Bucky hummed appreciatively, as his hips shifted slightly, grinding into her and catching the unmistakable warmth of her slick staining his boxers and the hem of the sweater.

“Darling” he muttered against her mouth, his voice thick with want. “You’re makin’ a mess of me.” His hands slid up her thighs, parting her legs farther, exposing every inch of her need to his gaze. His thumb pressed gently through the wetness, gathering it before bringing it to his lips. He sucked on it intently, as he let out a low, satisfied hum. “Better than the jam,” he said, with a wicked smirk as the heat climbed up her cheeks.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he hooked his thumbs into his boxers, pushing them down and letting them fall to the floor. His cock sprang free, warm and heavy, the tip already glistening as it brushed against her wet pussy. The sensation made her gasp, and her body jerked slightly in response.

“Jesus, Bucky,” she breathed, clutching at his shoulders.

He grinned faintly. “Thought you liked the present inside the sweater,” he rasped, stroking himself once, slow and deliberate, flicking his blue eyes to hers.

He didn’t waste any more time. With one hand gripping her hip and the other guiding himself, he pushed forward, and the slow stretch drew a soft cry from her lips. He groaned and his forehead dropped to her shoulder as he filled her, gripping her thighs to hold her steady.

Her hands flew to his back, and her nails dug lightly into the sweater's fabric as she clung to him, wrapping her legs tighter around his hips. The movement urged him deeper, and he began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust pulling a gasp from her lips as her head tilted back against the cabinet.

The force of his thrusts escalated quickly, and one of her hands slid from his back to his hair, tangling her fingers in the dark strands as she gave a firm tug.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and his rhythm faltered for half a second before he picked up the pace, snapping his hips forward with a growing urgency.

He pushed her closer to the edge of the counter, and the shift in position drove him deeper. His hands adjusted instinctively, one sliding beneath her leg to lift it from behind her knee, angling her hips just enough to hit a spot that made her cry out.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she tried to accommodate herself, scrambling for the counter’s edge. But it was no use. The force of his thrusts rocked her body, the roughness of his movements leaving her breathless and teetering on the brink.

“Hold on, darling,” he murmured, though there was nothing gentle in his tone now, only raw, unrestrained need.

His other hand left her hip, moving to cradle the back of her head. His palm pressed firmly, steadying her against him to keep her from hitting the cabinet as his thrusts became punishing, each one hitting deeper, harder.

Her nails raked down his back, clutching desperately as his cock drove into her, and the sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the kitchen. The angle, the strength behind each thrust, the way his grip held her in place, it was too much, and yet not enough all at once.

And then, something shifted. The coarse fabric of his sweater pressed against her clit with every hard thrust, and the friction sent a jolt of pleasure that left her gasping. Her eyes flew open as a new, dizzying layer was added to the spiral of pleasure inside her. “Don’t stop… oh God, don’t stop!”

He growled low in his throat, tightening his grip on her as his movements became sharper. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured roughly, his lips brushing her ear. “Show me how good it feels. Come all over my cock.”

She complied with a loud cry, dragging her nails down his back again, and her thighs trembled as she mewled his name, in a breathless and broken voice.

He cursed roughly and pressed his forehead against hers as the orgasm hit him. The hot rush spilled out between them, mingling with her slick as he pumped into her a few more times, chasing the last shreds of his pleasure.

He held her steady for a moment, the air was thick with the scent of sex and the sound of their uneven breaths. As the haze of his climax began to fade, he pulled back slightly to look at her, with dark and heavy-lidded eyes. A smirk tugged at his lips as he became aware of the mess coating her thighs, the counter, and the sweater's hem.

“Guess is even uglier now,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, with a flicker of satisfaction.

She bit her lip, and a soft chuckle escaped her lips as she slid her hands up his neck. Her fingers brush against his stubbled jaw before cradling his cheeks. Her touch was gentle, coaxing him to meet her gaze.

“Maybe,” she whispered, her smile growing as her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. “But you look sexier.”

A scoff escaped his mouth, quiet and incredulous. The flush that had crept up his neck during their encounter flared again, coloring his cheeks and ears as his gaze darted away. When his eyes returned to hers, they carried a mix of awkwardness and disbelief.

“I think you’re the one who drank plenty at the party,” he mumbled, the boldness of just moments ago slipping away as his usual reserve crept back in.

She smiled, unfazed by his deflection, and leaned in to pepper light kisses across his face. First his temple, then his cheek, and finally the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering with quiet affection.

“Bucky,” she murmured, trailing her hands trailing down to rest on his chest. “You don’t have to downplay it. You’re everything I want.”

He sighed deeply, as if her words had pulled something loose inside him. His hands slid from her waist, brushing her bare thighs as they fell to his sides. “We should... clean this up,” he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of shyness and practical retreat.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she pulled back slightly, holding his gaze. “Alright,” she agreed, sliding her arms around his neck and letting him lift her gently off the counter. Her feet hit the floor, but her hands lingered on his shoulders. “But I’m still going to call you sexy.”

He groaned, and the flush crept back to his ears as he glanced away, shaking his head slightly.

She leaned up to press one more kiss to his jaw before stepping away to grab a towel. “Now, let’s see if your sweater survives this mess.”

“Sadly, I don’t think it will,” he replied dryly, as the corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk. “We’ll have to put it down. Mercy killing.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she dabbed at the counter with the towel. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s worse,” he shot back, and his smirk widened. “Now I’ve got another reason to torch it.”

Her laugh grew louder as she glanced back at him, and her heart skipped at the sight of the teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you made me wear that” he countered, stepping closer to pluck the towel from her hands. “Guess that makes you just as bad. Maybe next year I’ll buy one for you too, so we can share the suffering.”

She froze for a beat, then quirked a brow, a slow grin spreading across her lips. “Oh, look at you, already planning matching sweaters. You’re such a sweetie,” she cooed with mock sweetness as she looped her arms around his neck.

“That wasn’t the point of-” he started, his ears burning red as he stumbled over his defense.

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted, tilting her head with a grin. “You know, I already like the idea.”

He groaned, letting his head fall back slightly. “God help me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She laughed as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, delighting in his flustered expression. “You’re adorable when you’re cornered.”

“Maybe in a year,” he grumbled, pulling her closer despite his groaning, “you’ll forget this conversation, and I can go back to non-blinding, low profile shirts.”

“Not a chance,” she quipped, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “Now, where’s that towel, matching sweater boy? We’ve got a mess to clean up.”

His lips twitched into a reluctant smile, while he settled his hands on her hips. “You’re lucky you make all that misery worth it.”

She laughed softly, grabbing the towel and bending to wipe at the counter while he watched her, with his hands still resting lightly on her hips.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head with a faint smirk as he picked up a stray button from her torn blouse that had fallen to the floor. “We really made a mess this time,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She glanced over her shoulder, curving her lips into a mischievous smile. “Oh, I don’t know,” she teased, tossing the towel into the sink. “I think it turned out just fine.”

He chuckled, standing straighter as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Her body fit against his perfectly, and her head rested on his chest as the coarse fabric of the sweater brushed against her cheek.

Outside, snow began to fall in soft flurries, and the flakes swirled lazily in the glow of a nearby streetlamp.

“Merry Christmas, darlin',” he murmured, brushing his lips at the top of her head.

She tilted her head up, tracing her fingers along his jawline, in a soft path as she gazed up at him. “Merry Christmas, Bucky,”

Ps: Reader gets a present too, in another fic I'm working on 😉

dividers by: @/saradika

[lov3lycosmos]

https://www.tumblr.com/lov3yv4mps/777490547533283328/send-in-smut-requests-im-desperate-like?source=share

Craving minho soooo... Soft sex with him but the whole day he's got his resting bitch face till he's alone with you

beneath the surface - lee minho

genre: smut/fluff

pairings: lee minho x fem reader

warnings: kissing, some dry humping, p in v, dirty talk, consent, cream pie (don't do that!!)

word count: 3k

v4mps note: I literally deleted and rewrote everything over a million times- but it's 6 am so I'm gonna go bed!

It was one of those days where Minho wore his signature resting bitch face, not out of annoyance, but because he was simply lost in thought. He was quiet, his usual playful energy tucked away behind his serious demeanor.

The others noticed, but no one really asked. It wasn’t unusual for Minho to have moments where he withdrew into himself, especially after a long stretch of rehearsals or work. You knew better than anyone that he didn’t always wear a smile—he had layers, and that was one of the things you loved most about him.

The two of you spent the day like any other, sitting next to each other during downtime, talking only when necessary. You could feel his gaze lingering on you now and then, but he never said much. You didn’t mind. You respected his space, and you knew, even though he looked distant, he was still there with you.

It wasn’t until the day was winding down, and you both found yourselves alone in his shared space, that the tension in the air shifted.

The door clicked shut behind you both as you entered his room, the familiar smell of his cologne mixing with the soft scent of his freshly washed sheets. Minho stood by the door for a moment, running a hand through his hair, his expression still cold as ever.

You stood in the middle of the room, unsure whether to say something or just wait. The silence stretched between you like a thin, fragile thread, but there was something different now. The tension you’d been feeling all day was thick, almost palpable. He turned to face you, eyes softening slightly as they met yours.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he muttered, though the corner of his lips twitched slightly, betraying the fact that he was, in some way, aware of the undercurrent between you two.

You didn’t say anything at first, just stepped closer to him, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. You could feel the electricity in the air, the way his body stiffened under your touch.

He let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders relaxing for the first time that day.

“I’m not upset, you know,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Just... thinking."

You nodded, understanding, but your fingers slowly trailed down his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin under your touch.

Minho's eyes followed your hand, watching as you circled around him. A quiet hum of tension filled the air, and before either of you knew it, your bodies were pressed against each other. You could feel his breath hitch as you closed the space, the weight of the day lifting with every second that passed.

Minho’s lips were on yours before you even realized what happened. It was soft at first, gentle, like he was still figuring you out, testing the waters. But there was an urgency in the way his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if the distance between you had been unbearable all day.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, his tongue gliding against yours with precision. He wasn’t as harsh as his usual demeanor; there was something softer now, something raw that had been waiting beneath the surface. You moaned softly as his hands traveled lower, fingers brushing along the curve of your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

"Minho," you whispered against his lips, your hands pushing up his shirt, fingers grazing over the warm expanse of his chest.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, pupils dilated. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. His resting bitch face was gone, replaced by something darker, hungrier.

You hesitated for a moment, but the heat in the room, in him, made you bold. “I want you,” you breathed, your voice thick with need.

Minho’s smirk returned, but this time it was different. It wasn’t cold or distant—it was possessive, hungry. “I’m going to make you feel good,” he said, each word laced with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

With a swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your back against the wall. His lips moved down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he trailed lower. His hands slipped beneath your clothes, caressing the skin of your back before they found the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with a practiced motion.

He helps you step out of the fabric before tossing it aside, his hands warm as they glide back up your legs with slow, careful touches. Kneeling before you, he presses the softest kisses to your inner thighs, his lips barely brushing over your skin, as if savoring the intimacy of the moment. His fingertips toy with the waistband of your panties, gently tugging them down just an inch before stopping, his touch lingering.

A quiet chuckle escapes him as he looks up at you, his usual sharp gaze softened with something more tender. "Not yet," he murmurs, his voice gentle, soothing. His hands are on your hips, grounding you, as if to remind you that he's in no rush—he just wants to take his time loving you properly.

His hands remain steady on you, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your skin as he presses another kiss just above your knee, then another, slowly making his way upward. His touch isn’t hurried or teasing—it’s deliberate, reverent. Every brush of his lips is an unspoken promise, a reminder that with him, you’re cherished.

When he finally tugs your panties down, this time without hesitation, he does it so slowly, as if savoring every second. His hands guide them down your legs, his fingertips grazing your skin like he’s memorizing you all over again. He helps you step out of them before placing them aside with care, his gaze flickering up to yours with nothing but warmth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands return to your thighs, thumbs stroking tenderly as he presses another soft kiss to your hip. "Just let me take care of you, okay?"

Minho holds you against the wall, but there’s no urgency—just the steady warmth of his body against yours, his touch firm yet achingly gentle. His usual sharp eyes are softer now, filled with something deeper as he looks at you. His thumb strokes slow circles against your waist, grounding you.

“You okay?” His voice is quieter than usual, as if he’s worried you might slip away if he speaks too loudly.

You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Yeah… just missed you today,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “You looked so serious all day.”

A small smile tugs at his lips as he exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. “Didn’t mean to,” he murmurs. “Guess I was just waiting for this.”

His fingers trace gently up your sides, his touch featherlight, like he’s memorizing you. He tilts his head, brushing the tip of his nose against yours before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips—soft, slow, and filled with quiet devotion.

"You can always have me, you know," you whisper against his lips, your fingers threading into his hair.

His arms tighten around you, holding you impossibly close. “I know,” he breathes. “And I won’t take that for granted.”

Minho kisses you again—tender, deliberate, as if he has all the time in the world to remind you just how much you mean to him.

His lips move from yours to your jaw, trailing down to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, pressing warm, unhurried kisses as his hands continue their slow exploration of your body. Every touch, every movement is filled with a quiet reverence—like he’s savoring every second.

“You always take care of me,” you murmur, tilting your head to give him better access. “Let me take care of you too.”

Minho exhales a quiet laugh against your skin, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, thumbs tracing soft circles against your hips. “You do,” he assures, voice barely above a whisper. “Just by being here.”

He helps you out of your top, his touch delicate, almost hesitant—like he wants to cherish every moment rather than rush. His hands skim over your bare skin, warmth radiating from his fingertips. His eyes meet yours, soft and searching, as if silently asking for permission before continuing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice dipped in something almost reverent.

You let out a soft breath, your heart swelling at the way he looks at you—like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. You cup his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I love you,” you whisper.

Minho leans into your touch, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm before guiding your hand to rest over his heart. “I love you more,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

His lips find yours again, slower this time—deeper, more lingering. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the quiet intimacy of two souls completely in sync. His hands continue their gentle exploration, fingertips tracing patterns against your skin, like he’s memorizing you all over again.

The way he holds you, touches you, kisses you—it’s not just about desire. It’s about love. About trust. About the silent promise that, in this moment, there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

Minho pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with something deep and unspoken. His hands slide down your back, strong but careful, as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. The feeling of his bare skin against yours sends a shiver through you, but it’s not from the cold—it’s the way he holds you, like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

You instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smells like warmth and home, the faint trace of his cologne mixed with something distinctly him.

He carries you through the dimly lit hall, each step slow, unhurried, as if savoring every second of having you so close. When he reaches the bedroom, he gently lays you down on the soft sheets, hovering over you with a gaze so full of love it nearly takes your breath away.

Minho trails his fingers along your arm, his touch featherlight. “You okay?” he murmurs, always making sure.

You nod, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’m more than okay.”

That’s all he needs to hear before his lips meet yours again, this time with just a little more urgency. His hands roam over your body, not in a rush, but with intent—learning every inch of you like it’s the first time all over again.

As he settles between your legs, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm against your lips. “I want to take my time,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “Want you to feel everything.”

"Minho," you moan out softly as your hips grind up into his, eliciting a soft groan from his lips. "Shh, shh... just feel me, baby. I promise you'll get all of me just—fuck, feel me..." he whispers as his clothed cock ground down onto your exposed pussy.

"Baby, take these off," you say in a soft, needy voice, your hands trembling slightly as they fumble with the buckle of his belt. The sound of the metal clinking in the quiet room only heightens the tension, and you can feel your heart race as you desperately tug at it, wanting him closer, wanting more.

He doesn’t waste any time, pulling his pants off quickly, the sound of the fabric rustling filling the room. As they drop to the floor, you can see how hard he is, already eager for you. The tip of him is a deep red, leaking with the tiniest drop of pre-cum that catches the dim light of the room. You swallow, feeling a rush of heat flood your body, the sight of him making your pussy clench on nothing.

"Do you want me to prep you, or...?" His voice falters, but before he can finish, you cut him off, your words rushed and needy. "Please, I just need you inside me, baby..." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, desperate and full of longing. And at that moment, it's like something inside him snaps.

He doesn’t hesitate, his hands trembling as he moves closer. His breath is shaky, and you can feel the heat of his body as he inches forward, the tip of his cock gently nudging at your entrance. It’s teasing, almost too much, but just enough to make your body tense with anticipation. You both hold still for a moment, the silence heavy between you, before he slowly shifts again, the tip of him pressing more firmly against you.

His eyes lock on yours, his gaze asking for permission, his body waiting. You nod, feeling your heart race as you desperately want him closer. Slowly, he slips inside, the stretch of him filling you, sending a shiver down your spine. You let out a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, the sensation overwhelming.

"God... you feel so good," he mutters under his breath, and you can hear the strain in his voice.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he starts to move. "Please... don’t stop," you beg, your voice needy, desperate. Your body reacts, every inch of him sending waves of heat through you, making you feel alive in a way you never have before. "I need you so much..." you whisper, unable to keep the words in.

His hips begin to move, slow at first, but with each thrust, he hits that spot deep inside you, making your back arch instinctively. The pleasure builds quickly, overwhelming you, and your body trembles with the sensation. You can barely keep your eyes open as the feeling intensifies. "F-fuck..." you moan out, the words barely escaping your lips as your body starts to heat up.

Minho leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin, his voice rough and low. "You’re so beautiful," he whispers, his hands gripping your hips, guiding each movement. "I can feel how much you want me."

The way his cock moves inside you, every stroke hitting just right, has your heart racing. You’re so close, the pressure in your body building with every second. "Minho..." you breathe out, your hands clutching his shoulders, desperate for something more.

The pressure in your body is building so quickly now. Minho’s hands slide under your back, pulling you closer as his movements become more urgent, deeper. You can’t focus on anything else but him — the way he feels inside you, the sounds of his breathing, the way his name falls from your lips without you even thinking.

"Minho, please..." you whisper, your voice desperate, needy, and trembling. "I’m so close." You can feel it, that tight knot in your stomach, ready to snap.

His pace quickens, and his breath catches in your ear. "I know, baby," he murmurs, his voice rough, "I can feel it. Let go for me."

His hands tighten around you, guiding your movements, his hips slamming against you harder. You gasp, the sensation of his cock hitting that spot again making your body tremble with need. "Fuck, you’re so tight," he groans, his head dipping to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

And then, it hits. Your body goes rigid, your entire body shaking as your orgasm crashes over you. The sensation is overwhelming, your moans coming in broken, desperate breaths. Minho’s name falls from your lips again, almost like a prayer, as you tighten around him, feeling the wave of pleasure pulse through your entire body.

Minho isn't far behind, his own breath quickening as he moans softly in your ear. His hips stutter, a final few thrusts before he stills inside you, his own release flooding over the both of you. You both stay there, tangled in each other, as the aftershocks of your orgasms fade. His forehead rests against yours, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, breathless.

Minho’s breath slows as he pulls you closer, his body still pressed against yours. You both stay like that for a moment, the warmth between you filling the silence. His hand gently strokes your back, the touch soft and soothing, as if he’s trying to ground you both after everything.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, his voice full of concern, even though he’s just as breathless. His fingers trail through your hair, pushing a few strands away from your face. His touch is gentle, calming, and you nod, leaning into him for comfort.

“Yeah… just need a minute,” you murmur, still feeling the aftershocks of your release, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Minho smiles softly, his eyes warm as he watches you. "Take all the time you need, baby. I’m not going anywhere." He carefully adjusts, moving to the side so that you're both lying together, your bodies still tangled up. His arm wraps around you, pulling you against his chest, and you let out a contented sigh at the warmth and safety you feel in his embrace.

"You did so well," he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His other hand rests on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. "I’m proud of you."

You smile softly, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. You feel safe, cherished. There’s no rush, no expectations — just the comfort of being in his arms, knowing you’re both sharing something real.

After a few moments, Minho shifts slightly, grabbing a nearby blanket and pulling it over the both of you. “Let me get you some water,” he says softly, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your forehead before gently sliding out of bed.

Taglist: @vampzity @mhluvie @sooniedoongiedori25

[hemisphaericas]

thread | shadowgast week

(i took some liberties with 'thread' as 'yarn' but i just wanted to draw the wizards in their downtime)

(also had to include tiny M9 portraits in the BG)

[fakezircon]

It's Done!

Three months of work from start to finish! All so I could finally present to the world:

Pocket, Minecraft Edition:

Some standard rambles and fun progress images under the cut :)

So, I started this project in early August, mostly as something I could do during downtime of a then upcoming trip.

I had seen some absolutely amazing art pieces by @royalnaym which kinda gave me the idea that minecraft rendered in pixel art has a pretty interesting while still very recognizable look. At the same time I came across @groupcritpowerdynamics 's speedrun pastel pieces and those really inspired me to try depicting my favourite game in one of my favourite mediums!

In the middle of August 6th, while in the middle of packing for my trip to the UK, I decided I wanted to do this and I wanted to have it to work on during the trip, so I loaded up minecraft and went looking for a screenshot worthy of immortalization. Unfortunately I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for so I made a brand new world and started looking around for the right vibes.

I knew I wanted a lone tree, and that if I ended up including the hot bar I wanted some hearts and food missing, so after running around for a few minutes I decided I would just do it myself and planted a sapling to serve as my centrepiece.

I gotta say I think the resemblance is striking!

And now as promised, the progress gif: mind the slight flashing, I did take these in all manner of different places including but not limited to: a plane, a handful of buses, and a small inn on the shores of England (not in that order).

It's pretty neat to me that you can see how different tones of lighting affect the perceived colour of the thread, I definitely noticed it more on this piece verses other larger stitch projects.