#and what if it is just a flare up? I have to keep working I have to do my job I have to do chores I have to pack

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 19 | End

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: Triggering conversation. Character died.

Words Count: 5,588

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

When life seems perfect, it often hides a test—a calm before the storm. For Steve, months after Peggy’s death, everything felt whole, secure. His presidency was steady, bolstered by approval from the public and respect from allies. Policies were sailing through Congress, his popularity was soaring, and his vision for the country was unfolding exactly as planned.

But something gnawed at him, an intuition sharpened by years in the military. A storm was coming—he could feel it.

“Mr. President,” Natasha’s voice cut through his thoughts as she entered the office with a stack of documents in her arms.

“Yes, Natasha?”

She placed a folder on his desk. “Here’s the speech draft for the press conference announcing your engagement to Miss Hazel,” she said, her tone carefully neutral. “If anything… goes south after the announcement.”

Steve took the folder, scanning the first page with a furrowed brow. He plans to introduce Hazel and Nate to the world. The public would need time to adjust to the news, and if the backlash was harsh, he’d be ready with a statement that cast Hazel in a sympathetic light.

“Thank you,” he replied, placing the folder aside.

Just then, the door burst open. An aide stumbled in, looking flushed and frantic. “Mr. President, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you need to see this immediately.” He thrust a tablet onto the desk, his hands shaking slightly as he pressed play.

A news anchor appeared on the screen, her voice grim and insistent. “Breaking news on an international scandal that could shake the nation. Our sources have uncovered what they’re calling ‘Deals in the Dark: Inside the Global Conspiracy Threatening Economic Stability.’”

The words "Steve Rogers" flashed across the screen, and the anchor continued, "Our investigation has linked these troubling deals directly to the highest office in the land.”

Steve’s face blanched. His name—his reputation—was being dragged through the mud in front of the entire country. Rage flared within him as he looked up, his jaw tight. “Get the Vice President in here. Now.”

A tense silence settled over the room as they waited. Moments later, Bucky entered, his expression carefully controlled, his eyes meeting Steve’s with a flash of concern.

“Close the door,” Steve ordered, his voice low and taut.

As the door clicked shut, Bucky stood before him, the weight of the situation hanging between them like a loaded gun. Steve’s hand curled into a fist, his voice barely a whisper but laced with fury. “Did you know about this?”

Bucky looked down, drawing a steadying breath, then met Steve’s piercing gaze. “I knew her was digging into things after her friend died, but… I didn’t know it would go this far.” He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t realize how deep she’d go—or how reckless she’d become.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, a vein throbbing in his temple. “So you’re telling me you had no idea?”

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky admitted, his voice weighted with regret. “And I’m sorry, Steve. I’ll make this right. If you need a name to take the fall… blame me. I’ll shoulder this.”

Steve looked at him, surprised. Here was his Vice President—his friend—willing to sacrifice himself to protect him. It would be so easy to accept the offer, to let Bucky take the brunt of the fallout. It would keep Steve’s image intact, and Bucky could be quietly replaced.

But the advantage of having Bucky loyal by his side was too great. “No,” Steve replied, shaking his head. “This wasn’t your doing. And I need you here, not buried under this scandal.”

Bucky stepped forward, his gaze steady. “It’s alright, Steve. I haven’t done much lately as Vice President anyway. Let me take this on. We’re a team, aren’t we? Your problems are mine.”

Steve paused, looking at him, his anger tempered by the loyalty in Bucky’s eyes. “You’d take this for me?”

“Without hesitation,” Bucky replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Steve exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He extended a hand, and Bucky took it, their grips strong, but their shared look even stronger. Then, in a rare moment of mutual trust, Steve pulled him into a fierce, brotherly embrace.

“Thank you, Bucky,” he murmured, his voice softened with unspoken gratitude.

As they pulled back, Bucky’s expression was resolute. “Whatever’s coming,” he said, his voice low, “we’re facing it together.”

Steve nodded, his mind racing with strategy and resolve. The scandal might be a blow, but with Bucky at his side, he felt fortified, ready to weather the storm—no matter how dark it threatened to become.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

With Bucky's promise still fresh in the air, Steve watched as his vice president worked hard to keep issues from flaring up. Bucky stood tall, his confidence showing as he spoke to reporters and citizens, assuring them that their concerns were being handled. But underneath, Steve could sense the tension in Bucky—his jaw tightened, and worry flickered in his eyes whenever new problems popped up.

Each time one issue seemed to fade, another arose, and it always seemed to lead back to you.

As Steve stood in the Oval Office, the weight of the scandals crashing down around him felt almost suffocating. Illegal domestic surveillance, military manipulation, a nuclear program scandal, and Stark Industries' data misuse—all of it traced back to you. The walls felt like they were closing in as he realized you were the mastermind behind this revelation. Even Bucky was oblivious to the full extent of the details.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady the rising tide of anger and betrayal, and faced you across the room. The tension hung heavy in the air, electric and dangerous. “When will you stop?” he demanded, his voice low and filled with barely restrained fury. “This is not only hurting me but also Bucky.”

You met his gaze, unflinching, your own anger simmering just below the surface. “Come and kill me, you crazy sociopath,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

Steve took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “If you keep doing this, you’ll ruin the future of Nate’s life,” he warned, his tone now tinged with a desperate edge.

“I knew you have a soft spot for him. And I appreciate it,” he sneered. “But imagine him being branded with the image of being the illegitimate child, with his father as the most evil president in history.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Or you could choose this one: he’ll find out who I really am. Instead of shame, he’ll be proud to be the son of the president.”

“You fucking psycho,” you spat, taking a step back, putting space between you and the weight of your shared history. “Using your own son as your shield.”

Steve shook his head, disbelief mingling with a simmering rage. “You hate me because I killed your friend. Sure, I understand that. But if he were still alive, your husband and I probably couldn’t win the election.”

As the two of you locked eyes, the atmosphere crackled with tension—a brutal dance of hurt and anger, intertwined with a strange sense of familiarity. Steve’s breath quickened, the realization dawning on him that the battle wasn’t just external; it was deeply personal, and it threatened to consume them both.

“Everything is about paying back. Everyone in here knows everyone’s secrets.” Steve's voice was cold, his jaw clenched tightly as he glared at you, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, as if holding back the urge to lash out.

"I hate people like you—the idealistic type," Steve said, his voice low and simmering with frustration. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto yours, the tension in the air palpable. "If you get rid of me, there will only be another just like me."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

After talking to Steve, you returned home, your heart still racing with the weight of the conversation. As you stepped through the door, you saw Bucky waiting for you, his expression unreadable. The moment you locked eyes, tension filled the room.

"You’re just a puppet for Steve," you spat, your voice dripping with disdain. "I’m so ashamed of you."

Bucky's face hardened, his jaw clenched tightly as he stepped closer, his frustration boiling over. "You don’t understand anything! I’m doing what I have to do," he shot back, his tone sharp and defensive.

“Doing what you have to do?” you scoffed, your hands trembling with anger. “You’re covering up Ian’s death! You’re a coward for letting this happen!” Your words hung heavy in the air, each accusation striking a nerve as you paced back and forth, unable to contain your rage.

Bucky’s eyes flashed with a mix of hurt and anger. “You think it’s that simple? It’s not just about me! I have to protect what’s left of this place, even if it means making sacrifices!” He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in the way his fingers curled into his scalp.

You shook your head, refusing to back down. “Sacrifices? You mean sacrificing your integrity? You’ve lost yourself to this game, Bucky! I can’t believe you let Steve manipulate you like this.”

Unbeknownst to both of you, your heated argument was being overheard. Natasha listened intently from the hidden bug that had been planted in the room, her brow furrowed with concern as she glanced at Steve. “Both of them are fighting. Bucky sounds surprised,” she informed him, her tone serious.

Steve leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk forming on his lips. “Good,” he replied, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. He relished the chaos unfolding, knowing that conflict could lead to clarity, both for Bucky and for you. The storm brewing between you two was exactly what he needed.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Even though there was turmoil at home, everything had to keep going. Bucky had to accompany Steve to attend the parade. The parade was a vibrant spectacle, a sea of red, white, and blue, with flags fluttering in the crisp air. Cheerful crowds lined the streets, waving banners and chanting the names of their leaders, their excitement palpable.

"Mr. President! Mr. President!" they roared, their voices a chorus of admiration for Steve Rogers, who stood tall and confident, a smile breaking across his face as he waved back. The warmth of the people's adoration radiated around him, but as the crowd's energy surged, the atmosphere felt electric, almost frenetic.

Beside him, Bucky Barnes maintained a more stoic demeanor. Though he wore the badge of Vice President, the cheers seemed to pass over him, fewer and far between. He appreciated the excitement but felt a twinge of disappointment that the cheers weren't for him. He turned to Steve, his brow furrowing slightly, and remarked dryly, "You know, I thought they would be a bit more enthusiastic about me."

Steve had brought Bucky here to entertain him because he knew about the problems between Bucky and you. You're wild and couldn't be tamed.

Steve chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned closer, "Put a leash on your wife, or she'll embarrass this country." His laughter rang out, mingling with the cheers of the crowd, but Bucky's gaze drifted past him, scanning the parade route.

"Yeah," Bucky replied, a hint of agreement in his voice, but his eyes were still fixed on the crowd. There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite place.

Steve turned to Bucky, his brow slightly furrowed with concern. "How is she?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Bucky crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched as he replied, "I told her to be quieter."

“Good,” Steve said, his expression softening a bit. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "I’m planning to have Hazel by my side."

Bucky's eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. "What?" he exclaimed, his posture tensing as he processed the implications of Steve’s words.

"I knew you’d know," Steve said, a hint of regret creeping into his tone. He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "And I’m sorry. But I promise you, I will give Hazel and Nate the best future."

Bucky fell silent, the weight of Steve’s promise hanging in the air between them. He looked away for a moment, his thoughts racing, before finally nodding, a mix of resignation and reluctant acceptance etched on his face.

Steve smiled, relief washing over him as he saw Bucky's reaction. There was a sense of camaraderie in the moment, a silent understanding forged in the midst of tension. But as Bucky looked at Steve, his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, hinting at the underlying conflict that still simmered just beneath the surface.

"I'm so glad to have you as my partner," Steve continued, sincerity evident in his tone. "May we work together until we die."

"Until we die," Bucky murmured, his voice almost lost in the surrounding commotion.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise, calling out, "Barnes!" A hand waved from the throng, the first time anyone had shouted his name that day. Bucky glanced at the person but didn’t respond with a wave like Steve did. Instead, he gave a subtle nod, a flicker of acknowledgment that felt more calculated than celebratory.

In that instant, chaos erupted. "KYAAA!!!"

A sharp crack rang out, slicing through the jubilant atmosphere. Bucky staggered as if struck by a physical blow, his eyes widening in shock.

The cheers turned into gasps of disbelief, and screams erupted as the crowd reacted in panic, some dropping to the ground, others frantically searching for cover. The Secret Service sprang into action, "Protect the Vice-President!", a wall of suits forming around Bucky as people pushed back in terror, the once-cheerful parade transformed into a scene of horror.

"Bucky!" Steve shouted, rushing forward, his heart pounding as he reached his partner's side. The world around him blurred, and all he could focus on was Bucky, crumpling to the ground.

Everyone was shouting, the air thick with fear and confusion, but all Steve heard was the ragged sound of his own breathing and the desperate cry of his friend. "Bucky!" he repeated, urgency lacing his tone.

Bucky's breath came in ragged gasps, his body sprawled on the pavement. The color drained from his face as he struggled to lift his hand, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through his fingers. With a surge of effort, he grasped Steve's arm, pulling him closer, anchoring himself to his partner even as the life slipped away from him. "All hail the President," he managed, his voice weak but resolute.

Steve's expression shifted from shock to horror, his body taut with the weight of impending dread. Bucky's grip tightened, holding him in place as if preventing him from moving, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them both. "Bucky, stay with me," he urged, desperation lacing his tone.

Bucky locked eyes with Steve, seeing the fear reflected there. A strange calm washed over him as he whispered, "As Nate's father, this is my gift for you."

Then, without warning, a searing pain tore through Steve’s chest, a sharp shot of agony that rooted him to the spot. The world blurred around him as he struggled to comprehend what was happening, realizing in that instant that he was the true target.

Steve felt the impact before he could process the meaning behind Bucky’s words. The world around them seemed to slow as the realization of betrayal hit him. He caught a glimpse of Bucky's fading form, and in that moment, a twisted smirk crept across his lips. "Well played," he murmured, before the darkness consumed him, and he dropped to the ground.

Bucky’s grip slackened, the warmth of his hand slipping away. Bucky’s body went limp, and as everything turned dark around him, Steve felt his own strength faltering.

That day, which was meant to be a celebration, turned into a day of mourning. Two main leaders of the country were injured, and no one knew who was behind the attack. With the most important figures in the nation harmed, it felt like an embarrassment for a country that prided itself on its strength.

Both parties in the government reached a silent agreement to keep the situation under wraps and portray Steve as a hero.

The news headlines that would follow would echo through history: “The President Dies Protecting the Vice President.” It would be a legacy of sacrifice, a testament to their bond. Steve Rogers would forever be remembered as the only president who lost his life protecting another, a tragedy that would resonate for generations.

Everyone would remember him as a good symbol, sacrificing himself for someone, without recalling the darker aspects of his actions. This was the last gift Bucky gave to him.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

2 days later

Bucky's eyes fluttered open, the sterile brightness of the hospital room piercing through the haze of his coma. As his surroundings came into focus, the first thing he saw was you, your face streaked with tears, a mixture of relief and anger etched across your features.

You rushed to his side, gripping his arm tightly, your voice trembling with emotion. "You idiot! What kind of plan was that? Risking your life?"

Bucky's brow furrowed slightly as he tried to process your words, his voice hoarse but steady. "Didn't I tell you? I will accept it if you hurt me."

Both of you pretended to fight to keep Steve from suspecting anything. He knew how much Bucky loved you, and with the two of you constantly bickering, he wouldn't notice that someone else had hired an assassin.

It was Caroline. She was the one who hired the sniper to take Steve's life. Don’t mess with a mother—or a woman like her.

Bucky getting shot first was all part of the plan. Caroline’s intention was to take out Steve, but Bucky warned her that he would also become a suspect if that happened.

Instead, he proposed that he get hurt first, diverting everyone’s attention to him, allowing Steve to be vulnerable next.

It was a risky plan—an idiotic one, really. But Bucky insisted, determined to see it through despite the danger that loomed over them all.

A deep sigh escaped your lips, a blend of frustration and relief washing over you. You leaned against his chest, resting your head there, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. In that moment, everything else faded away—the anger, the fear—and all that mattered was that he was alive.

Risking his life was necessary to make his plan work. He didn't want the past six years of his efforts to go to waste.

The past six years had been exhausting for Bucky Barnes. He had immersed himself in the treacherous waters of politics, drawn in by the intoxicating taste of power that left a lingering sweetness on his tongue.

He quickly realized that understanding the law was not merely a tool; it was a weapon. Knowledge of loopholes became his advantage, a means to navigate the convoluted game of governance. But knowing the rules wasn’t enough; he needed to be ruthless. That was where Steve Rogers came into the picture—his mentor, a family friend for years, whose facade of integrity masked a far more sinister reality.

In Bucky’s eyes, Steve had always been perfect, a paragon of virtue. But as time wore on, the veneer began to crack, revealing the monstrous truth lurking beneath.

Steve was a predator cloaked in a hero’s guise. His charming smile belied a voracious greed that left a bloody trail in its wake. It was a shock to discover that Steve had been having an affair with Hazel, and now he was the father of Nate, the child whose very existence felt like a dagger to Bucky’s heart.

This betrayal was too much to bear. Bucky’s hatred for the man he once idolized simmered just below the surface, boiling over as he considered how to dismantle the carefully constructed empire Steve had built. Bucky knew the rules; he understood the political landscape better than most. But how could he bring down someone so deeply entrenched in the system?

Despite all his advantages, Steve believed he was the master of this game. No, he wasn’t. Bucky’s confidence swelled as he acknowledged that Steve’s skills—his war experience, his tactical mind—would ultimately falter against the true currency of politics. In this brutal arena, the real gold was connections and money. Behind every politician lurked unseen puppet masters pulling the strings, and Steve was no exception.

Bucky knew that while Steve had forged connections, he lacked the pedigree that defined the upper echelons of power. Steve had been a nobody until Peggy Carter had invited him into their circle, and that was when they made a monumental mistake—choosing Steve. He might have had his allies, but he would never be blue blood like Bucky and Peggy.

Then there was Peggy. The last straw. Bucky’s heart twisted as he recalled the circumstances of her death. He was all too aware that it had been Steve's machinations that had ultimately led to her demise. Bucky had witnessed the toll it took on her, the way she had struggled under the weight of her decisions, her life unraveling in the shadow of Steve's ambition. Bucky’s hands tightened into fists at the memory.

Caroline had been the voice of caution, her words echoing in his mind: “This is why you never bite the hand that feeds you.”

She may not have been a good mother, but she had been a loyal friend to Peggy, always protecting her interests, ensuring that her secrets remained buried. Bucky could see how easily Caroline could hire an assassin, how she moved through the shadows like a whisper, orchestrating the chaos without ever getting her hands dirty.

He never thought you and Caroline would join forces to rid the world of Steve. With each passing day, Bucky felt the walls closing in, the weight of the decisions he had to make pressing down on him like a vice. Steve would fall; it was only a matter of time.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky stood in the Oval Office, a resolute figure beside the iconic Resolute Desk, a Bible open in front of him. The room was thick with anticipation, everyone watching him intently as he prepared to deliver his vow. His posture was firm, shoulders squared, as he looked around at the faces of his colleagues and allies, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He glanced at the words on the page, drawing strength from their meaning as he readied himself to speak.

With a steady voice, he began, "I stand before you today, not just as your president, but as a servant of the people. I vow to uphold the Constitution, to protect the rights of every citizen, and to work tirelessly for the betterment of our nation. Together, we will fight against corruption and ensure that government truly serves the people. I promise to lead with integrity, to listen to your voices, and to bring about the change we so desperately need."

You stood behind him, pride swelling in your chest as you witnessed Bucky fulfill his promise to become president.

Behind you sat Caroline and Julius, the latter in his wheelchair, their expressions a mix of hope and admiration. Bucky’s oldest brother, Shawn, had called to congratulate him, his voice brimming with encouragement. Your brother Tim stood nearby, a smile on his face, reflecting the joy that filled the room. At the back, Hazel lingered, her posture tense and withdrawn, reluctant to stand close to her family.

As the applause began and everyone congratulated Bucky and you, Natasha approached Hazel, who stood near the corner as if she wanted to hide.

Perhaps she was too embarrassed to be there. Before, she had come to the White House as Steve's mistress, and everyone knew who she was but kept their mouths shut. This time, she was here only as Bucky's sister. “I have something for you,” Natasha said, extending an envelope toward her.

Hazel hesitated, her brows furrowing in confusion. “For me?” she asked, glancing from the letter to Natasha, unsure of what to expect.

Natasha nodded, a subtle smile breaking through her serious exterior. “Yes, it’s from Steve.” With that, she stepped back to take her position.

Hazel’s fingers trembled slightly as she took the letter, the weight of it heavy in her hand. As she opened it, memories flooded back, and she felt a rush of emotions. It was a final message from Steve, words that resonated with her deeply.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Hazel read the heartfelt letter, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Hazel,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m probably no longer living. And that's okay; I've come to accept it. The world I’ve inhabited has been fraught with danger, and I’ve made choices that have led me here.

Hazel, from the moment I met you, it felt like looking into a mirror—a reflection of my own heart and soul. You brought warmth and light into my life, even when I was lost in darkness. Your strength has always amazed me, and I want you to carry that with you as you move forward.

Live the life you’ve always wanted. I’ve made arrangements for you and Nate, ensuring you both have the financial support you need to thrive.

Please, for our Nate, support him and listen to him. He will need you more than ever now, and I have every confidence in your ability to guide him.

If there is a next life, I hope we never meet again. You deserve someone better than me. Now that I’m gone, please try to forget me and the mistakes I made. I genuinely wish you and Nate nothing but the best.

Steve Rogers

P.S. Don’t worry about the twins. They’ve been independent since they were young and have the Carters to guide them. They’ll be okay."

Tears fell onto the letter as Hazel finished reading it.

“Mom?” Nate's small voice broke through her moment of grief.

Hazel looked down at her son, the last legacy of Steve, and quickly wiped her tears away. “Do you want to visit Uncle Steve?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Nate nodded enthusiastically, his bright eyes shining with admiration. “Yes! He’s a hero for saving Uncle Bucky!”

Hazel flinched at the mention of Bucky, but she forced a smile, wanting to be strong for her son. She knelt down to his level and took his small hands in hers, feeling the warmth of his tiny fingers. With her other hand, she clutched the letter written by Steve, a reminder of his love and hopes for her.

Together, they held hands as they walked, Hazel’s heart swelling with determination. Just as Steve had wished, she would live life to the fullest and be a great mother to Nate.

After Hazel and Nate left, Natasha approached Bucky with a serious expression. “Both of them have left,” she informed him.

Bucky turned to her, his demeanor cool and composed, devoid of any trace of warmth. “She read the letter?” he asked, his voice steady and flat.

“Yes,” Natasha replied, nodding her head.

“Did she believe it?” Bucky pressed, his gaze sharp and focused.

“I hired a professional to copy Steve's signature, and I added a bit of his perfume to the paper,” Natasha explained, her tone measured and confident.

“Good.” Bucky’s expression remained impassive, his eyes betraying no emotion. He had written the letter himself, crafting it to sound like it came from Steve. His intention was clear: he wanted Hazel to move on from Steve, to find a new path without the shadows of the past weighing her down. This was necessary for her future, and he understood the sacrifices it took to ensure that.

“Good job.” Bucky looked at Natasha again, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

It was a curious alliance—how could a loyal supporter of Steve choose to work with Bucky? The answer lay in humanity. Natasha had pledged her loyalty to Steve because he saved her from the chaos of war when she had no one to turn to. In her eyes, he was a hero, and she had turned a blind eye and deaf ear to his misdeeds, including the affair with Hazel.

But everything changed when she witnessed the heartlessness Steve displayed toward Peggy. The righteous man she once admired had morphed into a monster, and her faith in him shattered. With Steve’s death, Natasha reevaluated her principles and decided to align herself with Bucky.

Bucky brought her on board because he recognized her skills and capabilities. He needed people like Natasha—sharp, resourceful, and fiercely dedicated. But he also understood the value of loyalty and did not intend to take it for granted. Their partnership was strategic, grounded in the shared goal of reshaping the political landscape, and Bucky was determined to build a team that could challenge the corruption that had long plagued their world.

“Have you got everything you need?” your voice pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Yes,” he replied, a smile breaking through his usual stoicism as he took your hand in his.

As you both walked through the grand halls of the White House, the sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. Bucky’s grip on your hand was firm, steady, a reassuring anchor in the midst of the political storm surrounding him.

Bucky had his share of greed, but he loathed those who didn’t know their limits. Among those were his so-called friends, Edgar and Brock. Together with Steve, they formed a trio of self-serving opportunists, always proclaiming their actions were “for the people” while their true motivations were purely selfish—“for me, me, and me.”

What set Bucky apart from Steve, Edgar, and Brock was his ambition to dismantle the very system they thrived in. He wanted to rid politics of corrupt individuals like them, who masqueraded their greed as altruism. Bucky had seen too much of the damage they had inflicted on the community, and he was determined to be the catalyst for change. He refused to become like them.

To clean up the government, he knew he had to start with this corrupt trio. It was a slow and grueling process, requiring patience and strategy, but Bucky was committed to the fight. He would work behind the scenes, gathering evidence, building alliances, and slowly dismantling their influence. It was exhausting, but he was relentless.

His ultimate goal extended beyond simply removing them from power. He envisioned a government rebuilt on integrity, one that truly served the interests of the people rather than the egos of a few. The road ahead was fraught with challenges, but he was willing to face them head-on. Every step he took toward exposing the trio brought him closer to realizing his vision of a more just and equitable political landscape.

As Bucky navigated the murky waters of politics, he felt the weight of his mission pressing down on him. He was no longer just a pawn in the game; he was a player with a purpose. This time, he wouldn’t be silenced. He was determined to take the fight to them, fueled by a deep resolve to expose their hypocrisy and restore honor to a system long tainted by greed.

But alongside you, he realized something important: for an imperfect couple, you both made a perfect team. As you walked together, side by side, it felt like you were crossing a finish line, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Each step was a testament to your shared commitment—a bond forged in trust and understanding, built on the ashes of past mistakes.

You glanced up at him, and in that moment, you could see the determination in his eyes, the fire that ignited whenever he believed in something. Together, you were more than just individuals; you were partners united in a common cause, ready to fight for a better future. In the complicated world of power and betrayal, your partnership was a beacon of hope, lighting the way toward justice and change.

-The End-

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who followed this series until the end. This story has its flaws, but I truly appreciate your support and dedication. It was incredibly difficult for me to wrap up this journey and say goodbye to Bucky and his fierce ex-wife. Writing a tale that intertwines politics with romance has been both a challenging and rewarding experience. I've learned so much about character development and the complexities of relationships, and I'm grateful to have shared this journey with all of you. Your feedback and encouragement have meant the world to me.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

@thezombieprostitute

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@dexter99

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@krissydclayton93

@itsteambarnes

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@lassie-bird

@bighappypiels

@buckitostan

@barnesxstan

@bada-lee-ily

@mrsstuckyboo

@florie1

@cjand10

@sidraaaaaaaaa

@aritoocute

@crazyunsexycool

@mcira

@touchstarvedforbuckybarnes

@pattiemac1

@elizalexwil

@gingersnap-2

@whitexwolfxx310

@marvel-wifey-86

@kumointhesky

@hnnhbananananana

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@nouis-bum

@thebuckybarnesvault

@unaxv

@hzdhrtss

@blackbirdwitch22

@darsynia

@lokislady82

@bonkybarnes106

@kandis-mom

@imrandomstuffsblog

@chimchoom

@wintrsoldrluvr

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@sebastians-love

@kythefangirl25

@mrsnikstan

@identity2212

@justsebstan

@clairoscharm

@billyseye

@g1g1l

@sxnshinebxcky

[lucyblue101]

I hate feeling beneath you

Satoru x reader

Authors note: The reader and satoru get into a pretty heavy argument but end up making up at the end :) angst to comfort

It began as a small disagreement, something neither of you would remember later on—a harmless difference of opinion about whether a certain mission could have been handled more diplomatically. But it had snowballed, the usual tension between Satoru's easy arrogance and your determination to stand up to him boiling over. You’d called him out on brushing off your input, and he’d responded with that same dismissive attitude that sometimes felt playful but tonight felt cruel.

“What’s with you tonight?” you asked, exasperated, after he made yet another offhand comment about how you “wouldn’t get it.”

Satoru sighed, folding his arms and giving you that cool, detached look. “Maybe because I’m actually thinking about the bigger picture here. You know, something that you can’t really understand.”

You stared at him, the words sinking in, stinging more than you expected. “Are you serious? Just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you’re always right.”

His gaze sharpened, a hint of irritation glinting in his eyes. “You don’t understand what it’s like for me. Do you know the kind of responsibility I carry? I don’t have the luxury of being wrong.”

“And I don’t have the luxury of being constantly put down by you, Satoru,” you fired back, voice shaking. “You act like you’re untouchable, like you’re above everyone else, including me.”

“Maybe I am,” he muttered, barely meeting your eyes. “Maybe that’s just how it is.”

Your chest tightened, hurt pooling in your stomach as you took in his words. His casual arrogance, the way he looked right past you as though you were just another ordinary person—it felt like a slap to the face. You could barely keep the tremor out of your voice as you replied, “Wow, so that’s what you really think? That I’m just… what? Beneath you?”

He shrugged, dismissing the pain he could clearly see in your eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you said it anyway,” you replied, voice wavering. “You just said I don’t understand, that I never could. Like I’m somehow lesser because I’m not the strongest.”

His frustration flared, and he shook his head. “I didn’t ask for this responsibility. But I have it, and it means I can’t just worry about hurting people’s feelings.”

“That’s not an excuse to belittle me,” you shot back, anger lacing your voice. “Maybe if you stopped putting yourself on a pedestal, you’d realize how you’re making me feel.”

He scoffed, clearly getting agitated. “Oh, come on. Are we really doing this? I’m not ‘putting myself on a pedestal,’ I’m stating facts. You just don’t get it, and that’s fine, but don’t try to twist this like it’s something I should apologize for.”

You felt your fists clench, the frustration bubbling into anger. “You think you’re the only one dealing with pressure, Satoru? Do you have any idea what it’s like to always feel like you’re standing in someone else’s shadow, no matter how hard you work? To be constantly told you’re not enough?”

His jaw tightened, his gaze a mix of exasperation and impatience. “That’s not what I’m saying. I never asked you to compare yourself to me.”

“But you do it anyway, don’t you?” you said, feeling the bitterness slip into your voice. “Every time you look down on me like this. You don’t even realize how much it hurts because you’ve convinced yourself that no one else can possibly understand.”

For a moment, he looked taken aback, but the hardened mask returned almost instantly. “Fine. So I’m the bad guy. That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? I’m the arrogant, untouchable Gojo Satoru, and you’re the victim.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, and your voice dropped, icy and hurt. “You act like you’re a god among men, like everyone else is just background noise in your life. It must be nice to think so highly of yourself.”

He looked at you, his offense and indignation flaring. “Maybe if you actually saw what I see, you’d understand why it’s this way. But no—go ahead and make me the villain. If that’s easier for you, fine.”

Your voice came out harsher, more biting than you intended. “If you like yourself so much, maybe you should just fuck yourself in front of a mirror. Since apparently no one can measure up to you.”

His eyes narrowed, stunned for a moment, and you could see the offense sparking in his gaze. He took a slow, deep breath, his voice low and hard. “Fine. I’m going for a walk. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

You threw up your hands, furious. “Good for you. Why don’t you go do that?”

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the room. The sudden silence felt cold and empty. You were left standing there, your anger quickly turning into a sick feeling in your stomach, the emptiness of his absence echoing painfully around you. You sank onto the bed, the frustration giving way to a painful loneliness as his words replayed in your mind, every dismissive, cutting remark hitting harder now that he was gone.

The hours dragged on, and as the anger faded, you found yourself lying in bed, the ache in your chest making it hard to breathe. You drifted in and out of a restless sleep, the sting of his words still lingering, a cold emptiness beside you where he should’ve been.

When Satoru finally returned, the anger that had driven him out had long since faded, leaving only the raw ache of regret in its wake. He’d spent hours pacing the quiet streets, the night stretching endlessly, each step sinking him deeper into the weight of his own words. The image of your hurt expression haunted him—your eyes, so full of pain he hadn’t been willing to see. For all his bravado and confidence, he’d crossed a line, wounded the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

He slipped into the room silently, the faint silver glow of early morning filtering through the window. His gaze landed on you, curled up on your side, arms wrapped around yourself protectively, as if shielding yourself from some invisible hurt. He could see the faint glisten of dried tears tracing your cheeks, and his heart twisted painfully. That he had been the cause of those tears tore at him, each breath tightening his chest with guilt and regret.

He moved closer, kneeling by the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of your breath, the quiet vulnerability of your sleeping face. His trembling fingers brushed the stray strands of hair from your forehead, tracing the soft curve of your cheek, his heart pounding with the realization of how deeply he’d hurt you. Without thinking, he climbed into bed, sliding his arms around you from behind and pulling you gently into his chest, his grip tight, almost desperate.

You stirred, his warmth waking you slowly from sleep, and your eyes fluttered open, still hazy and confused. “Satoru?” you murmured, voice soft and disoriented, as you registered his face so close, his expression raw and pained, his usually vivid blue eyes now dim and filled with an almost unbearable sadness.

He didn’t answer immediately, his face pressed against the crook of your neck as he held you tighter, as if trying to hold together something fragile. You felt the way his body trembled slightly, and a soft warmth brushed against your neck—tears, spilling silently down his cheeks. His grip around you grew even more insistent, his hands clutching you as though letting go was unthinkable.

“Satoru… you’re squeezing me a little too tight,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, though a small smile tugged at your lips despite the lingering ache in your heart.

His response was a shaky, breathless laugh, and he loosened his hold just enough for you to breathe, though he didn’t let go entirely. When he finally spoke, his voice was broken, barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his face pressed to your shoulder, his tears soaking through the fabric of your shirt. “I didn’t mean to say any of those things. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were anything less than everything to me.”

The vulnerability in his voice took you aback, and as you looked up at him, you saw the unguarded emotion in his expression, the way his usual confidence had crumbled. His white hair fell messily over his eyes, his beautiful, piercing blue gaze clouded with pain, regret shining in the tears that kept falling unchecked.

“Then why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, unable to keep the lingering hurt from your tone. “Why do you keep acting like I’m beneath you?”

He closed his eyes, a deep shudder running through him as he tried to find the words, his hands trembling where they held you. “Because I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking on the words. “I’m terrified, okay? I put on this act… this untouchable, invincible thing because I don’t know how else to handle it. I’m scared that if I let you see… all of me, the weak parts, the parts that aren’t enough… I’ll lose you.”

The admission cracked something inside him, and he let out a soft, strangled sob, his hands gripping your shirt desperately. “I need you, but I’m so damn scared that one day you’ll see past this… this ‘strongest’ bullshit and realize I’m not enough for you. That I’m just a mess.”

He pulled you tighter against him, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love you so much, and I know I don’t say it enough. I’m sorry for every time I made you feel small, or like you didn’t matter. I’d do anything to take it all back. Please… just tell me what you need. Tell me what I can do to make this right.”

You reached up, wiping a tear from his cheek as his shoulders shook with barely controlled sobs, his usually confident face etched with heartbreak. His hands found yours, holding onto you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He squeezed your hands, as if grounding himself through your touch.

“If you want… if it would make things right,” he murmured, his voice trembling with raw desperation, “I’ll give myself to you completely. I’ll submit to whatever you want, let you have every piece of me. Just… please don’t let me lose you. I can’t lose you.”

His tears fell onto your hands, his gaze searching yours, a plea hidden in the depths of his blue eyes. The sheer vulnerability in his expression, the way he was willing to lay himself bare for you, stirred something deep in your chest.

“Satoru…” you whispered, reaching up to cradle his face, your thumb gently brushing away his tears as you pulled him closer. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I don’t want some perfect, invincible version of you. I just want… you.”

His eyes softened, relief and love filling his gaze as he pressed his forehead to yours, his fingers threading through yours as he held onto you with a gentle strength, his breath hitching as he let himself feel the warmth of your forgiveness.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely holding steady, each word laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, slow and soft, a kiss that spoke of promises and apologies, of the deep love he held for you, a love that transcended his fears and insecurities. His tears mingled with the kiss, a bittersweet reminder of the rawness between you as he held you close, your hearts beating in tandem as you lay together in the quiet light of dawn, with only the two of you in that precious, fragile moment.

Tag list (let me know if you want to go on it)

@canigotosleep--plz

@haruhatake

@itsafairytalekay

@mistymuii

@moonchhu

@tibibibi123

@hargun-s

I hope everyone liked :) I’d like to know what everyone thinks 🥹

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 28: Time-out

Oh?? Could it be?? Once last round in the fever dream?? It IS!! But how intriguing that content warning is, huh, well, enjoy!

Word count: 1029

Content warning: a good bit of suggestive themes, small mentions of blood, small mentions of injury

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

You'd gotten cocky, as of late. More specifically, you'd gotten really tired of the Attendant berating you for every little thing you do while participating in his arts and crafts projects. Honestly, they weren't even that fun and after having him tear apart every single piece of art you've made-literally and figuratively-you'd decided that enough was enough.

It started out small, little refusals on your part. He wants you to draw a giraffe? You made an elephant. Wants you to make another paper pal with red paint instead of blue? You'd just paint over your mistakes. And if it turned out purple instead? Not your problem. 

These things irritated him, yes, but did little more than that. So, you upped the ante. 

You started just making your own drawings, your own paper pal designs. Knocking things over, tossing them, all the fun stuff. This, this really got to him. A lot. You could tell, despite his best efforts to hide it. 

But still, it wasn't enough, you had to push further, just to see what it would take. See what it would be that fully made him snap. 

You found it, when you made the choice to outright say to him you found this whole thing to be a waste of your time.

Sure, could you not remember currently what wasn't a waste of your time? No. And honestly, it's kind of terrifying. But it didn't matter, you'd gotten what you wanted. 

"That's it!" Sun says, spinning to face you, "I've had enough!"

Just in time, you launch a couple of crayons in his direction, they made a clinking noise as they hit his chassis. 

You pout, "Aw, bummer! And I was just starting to have some real fun."

He stares at you, faceplate clicking to one side. Then, he marches closer and bends down, coming eye to eye with you.

You simper up at him, resting your chin in your hand, "That little trick doesn't work anymore, bud."

"Would you like for it to?"

You pause, only slightly, and smirk, "I almost want to say yes, truthfully."

Another click or two. His eyes narrow. Were they supposed to be able to do that?

"I'm putting you in Time-out." 

"Oh, I'm so scared-hey! What do you think you're doing!?" You scramble as he suddenly picks you up by your armpits and pulls you out of your seat and over the desk.

He spins around, marching away with you, "I meant what I said. If you can't behave, you can learn to. Or else."

"You can't just toss me around like this-I'm an adult!" You kick your legs, flailing in his grip.

He leans in quickly, voice low, "Watch me."

You pause your movements. Then, nostrils flaring, you fight harder to get him to put you down. It doesn't work. What's that feeling of pain shooting up your side though? Like you've damaged it severely in some way.

Instead, Sun shifts his hold on you, and in doing so his hand briefly brushes against your chest, causing you squeak. 

That, gets his attention. 

He halts, glaring down at you as he tilts his head to one side.

He repeats the motion, and you bite your lip to suppress the sound.

"Could you not? That, tickles," You mutter.

Sun sets your down on your feet and you wobble slightly, only to jump back as he bends down to your height, rays spinning. 

He pokes your arm, then your cheek, and then thinks to trail his finger down your neck, causing you to whimper before you grab his hand and shoot him a glare. 

"I said, that's sensitive."

He hums, still examining you, "I noticed." 

"Okay how would you feel if someone just," You reach your hand up and behind his faceplate, fingers tracing down his neck as you watch him freeze, "Did that to you, huh?"

You go to pull away but his hand stops you, circling your wrist and keeping it firmly in its place. 

"I would feel, strange," He guides your hand further up, into the wires at the back of his head, "But not unpleasant."

You feel your face heat up, and look away, not expecting that answer, "Yeah. I guess so."

He moves slightly forward then, just a little more into your space. How is there such a sadness and a longing in his eyes behind that distain and curiosity?

"I'm going to do something. Don't move."

Not sure what to expect, you don't.

Sun pressing his faceplate to your lips was definitely not on the list of possible results from his wording.

And yet, here you are, now being kissed, quiet aggressively, by the bot that's been the bane of your existence for hours? weeks? days? years? seconds? some time now.

For reasons you can't explain, you find yourself kissing back, hand wrapping into his wires, pressing your lips harder into his. 

You have to pull back to catch your breath. Your chest is heaving. Actually, why is your breathing so labored? Why do you feel ready to pass out at any moment? Why do you feel so wrong and so right?

You stare up at Sun, his visage flashes, becoming cooler, faded, gaze worried and concerned. His hand rests on your cheek, stroking it softly. He's saying something, something muffled, apologetic. You feel like you're dying-

You blink and with another flash it's more familiar again, annoyed, but, yearning.

"What happened to time-out?" You chide, using your free hand to wipe across your lips.

He scoffs, tender hold on your cheek faltering, "What makes you think this doesn't count?"

You hesitate, that pain in your side intensifying for a moment as your vision turns staticky, but suddenly it dulls, and you're back in the Daycare. Back in the simulation. Back under control.

"Fair enough," You kiss him again, "Do I get to know how long I'm in trouble for?"

Sun pulls you closer to him, rays spinning once, "Once I think you've learned your lesson, how's that?"

You'd gotten what you wanted. 

Just not what you were expecting.

"Sure, alright."

Maybe you'll be lucky and the bloodloss will end you slower than you thought.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Damn y'all can't catch a break huh? I give you fun stuff and all of the sudden you're in a sea of angst. Anywho, find my other promptobers here, and the Spookvember schedule here. Thanks for reading!

[pin-k-ink]

TOO HOT TO HANDLE ★ HISAGI SHŪHEI

DAY FIVE ➵ what happens when kira’s little sister comes home from yet another disappointing fling? hisagi’s been warned to stay away, but he can’t help but wonder if this is his chance to finally get what he wants.

cw ➵ teasing, a shit ton of sexual tension, masturbation, getting caught, dirty talk, unprotected sex, pussy job, squírting, belly bulge, size kink, pet names

wc ➵ 6.3k

kinktober masterlist

"You sure you want that butterfly design? I could give you something a little...racier if you're feeling bold."

Hisagi's deep timbre sliced through the comfortable lull that had settled over the living room. You glanced up to find him leaning back casually on the couch, grey eyes glinting with a teasing heat as they roamed over you from beneath hooded lids.

A slow, sly smile curved your lips at the undisguised flirtation, even as you felt Kira stiffen almost imperceptibly beside you. Though your brother and his best friend largely ignored the thick, sultry undercurrents constantly sparking between you and Hisagi, moments like these still needled at Kira's fraternal instincts.

Not that you could necessarily blame him - if you were being fully honest with yourself. With his tatted sleeve of intricate inkwork peeking out from beneath the tight vee of his shirt and those tawny bedroom eyes smoldering from under the curtain of his dark lashes, Hisagi certainly painted an undeniably delicious portrait of smoldering masculinity.

You slowly traced your gaze down the alluring flex and pull of corded forearm muscles before meeting his heated stare once more through your lashes.

"Oh? You mean like some Chinese dragon wrapped around my thigh?" You purposefully pitched your tone low and sultry, reveling in the way Hisagi's eyes sparked at your invitation.

"That could definitely work," he rumbled in that sinful baritone of his, seeming to savor each suggestive syllable. "Though I was thinking something more...intimate in placement."

Hisagi's gaze slowly, deliberately lowered to the vee of your shirt and lingered there with blatant appreciation. You felt your cheeks heat and pulsepoints kickup as his tongue slicked out to lasciviously wet his lower lip.

Before things could escalate any further, Kira cleared his throat sharply beside you. "Cool it with the ovaries-before-broviaries teasing already," he growled without any real venom, roughly cuffing Hisagi's shoulder. "I put up with enough of your gross flirting every other time you come around."

You shot your brother a sly grin, quietly delighted at managing to rile him up yet again. Hisagi simply chuckled unrepentantly, leaning further back into the plush cushions and looking for all the world like the picture of ease.

"What can I say, Izuru? Your sister loves getting a rise out of me." His grey eyes cut towards you in a singeing look from beneath ponderous lids. "She knows just how to tempt a man into crossing all sorts of lines..."

The husky timbre underlying Hisagi's words and the intensity of his heated stare raised delicious goosebumps all along your arms. You shifted almost imperceptibly on the couch, pressing your thighs together subtly as a shivery tendril of yearning sparked low in your belly.

Hisagi's throat visibly worked as his gaze shamelessly traced the minute motion, nostrils flaring ever so slightly as if suddenly picking up on the whisper-soft scent of your arousal. His eyes darkened into pools of liquid lava when they finally dragged their way back up to meet your own heated perusal.

"Yeah, well, keep your damn eyes off my baby sister before I revoke your privileges around here," Kira huffed without any real threat in his tone. He was too used to these little displays by now, even if he still bristled on reflex.

That same devilish smile curved your lips as you maintained searing eye contact with Hisagi, the air itself seeming to thicken and grow charged between you two. "Oh, I'm pretty sure Shuhei would love having certain privileges revoked around me..."

Kira promptly choked on an inelegant sputter at your blatant innuendo as Hisagi's smirk stretched further, flashing that dimple that always made your knees go a little weak. He didn't bother denying the provocative implication as you let your eyes roam over him in return.

God, he was so deliciously male in that effortlessly confident way of his. You very nearly found yourself whimpering aloud at the dark, sensual promise kindled in his heated stare and quirked lips. You wanted so badly to taste that arrogance, to make that self-assured mask shatter into something raw and unraveled just for you.

Instead, you simply hummed a playful little sound and stood up, uncurling your legs and relishing the weight of Hisagi's ravenous stare tracking the motion. "Well, I'm gonna go freshen up and give you boys some space," you announced lightly as if the air itself hadn't gone soupy thick with tension.

A subtle shift rippled through the electrically charged atmosphere as you hummed that same playful little sound and stood up in one lithe motion. Hisagi's molten stare followed the undulating sway of your hips with ravenous hunger as you uncurled your legs from beneath you.

"Well, I should probably go get ready," you announced in a tone of careful nonchalance that was completely at odds with the heated tension thrumming between your bodies. "I've got a date tonight, after all."

The words seemed to detonate in the weighted silence like a flash-bang grenade. Hisagi's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, firelit eyes narrowing to piercing slits that you refused to shy away from. You could practically taste the ripe undercurrents of his displeasure and frustration roiling just beneath the surface.

But you simply arched one brow in a silent challenge, reveling in the fact that he couldn't voice any of his likely objections in front of Kira. Not without revealing the deeper, decidedly unbrotherly nature of his regard for you.

Kira, oblivious as ever to the thick crosscurrents swirling around him, simply grunted an acknowledgment from his sprawl on the couch. But Hisagi remained coiled like a panther ready to strike, gaze following your movements with an intensity that made molten arousal curl low in your abdomen.

You allowed a small, sly smile to curve those glossed lips, unable to resist stoking those forbidden fires raging behind Hisagi's shuttered expression. With slow, exaggerated nonchalance, you trailed your hands up your torso and over the gentle swell of your curves in a pantomime of smoothing your shirt.

Hisagi's stare caught and lingered greedily on the unnecessary adjustment, nostrils flaring infinitesimally as if drinking in the subtle hints of your scent. You watched in quiet satisfaction as his powerful throat visibly worked, no doubt tamping down the urge to growl out some gravelly protestation.

Instead, he simply held your heated perusal, jaw still locked in that tic of displeased tension that only you seemed privy to catching. The scorching promise in those slate depths was undeniable, an entire world of delicious reckoning arcing between you.

When at last you broke the weighted stare with a ponderous blink, you allowed an expression of perfect wide-eyed innocence to slide across your features as if nothing untoward had transpired. Hisagi wasn't fooled for a second if the banked spark crackling in his gaze was any indication.

"Don't wait up, boys," you sang out in a dulcet trill as you turned and ambled towards the staircase, every sashaying pivot of your hips an unvoiced taunt.

You didn't need to glance back over your shoulder to confirm that Hisagi was, indeed, committing every last swish and sway to hungered memory. The electric prickle skittering down your nape was confirmation enough of the consuming weight of his turbulent stare.

Only once you'd ascended out of sight did your own carefully composured facade slip into a tremulous, darkly gleeful smirk. You pressed your thighs tightly together against the insistent throbbing ache between your legs as you hurried towards your bedroom.

Riling up the usually unflappable Shuhei into such visible disquiet over the mere suggestion of you being intimate with someone else never failed to make you feel powerful and perversely delighted. Perhaps tonight's hookup could be more brief than usual...especially if Hisagi sought to dole outsome of that promised carnal reckoning with you later on.

The thought made you shiver with illicit, smoldering anticipation as you closed your bedroom door. Better get ready indeed.

The thunderous boom of the front door slamming inward shattered the tranquil stillness like a gunshot. The violence of the jarring noise ricocheted through the darkened living room in pulsing waves, jolting both Hisagi and Kira from their respective slumbering states.

Hisagi came awake with a strangled grunt, instinctively jackknifing upright on the lumpy couch. His tousled head whipped towards the entryway, flint-gray eyes struggling to cut through the dim lighting as residual dream-haze rapidly cleared. Beside him, Kira issued a low groan of disoriented complaint from his ungainly sprawl amid the unswept trail of potato chip crumbs and stale beer bottles on the floor.

"What th'fuck...?" he slurred in drowsy consternation, movements sluggish as he tried to push up into a sitting position.

All residual cobwebs evaporated as the thunderous impact of stomping footfalls reverberated down the hall, each weighty tread punctuated by the unmistakable slam of a blazing feminine temper. Through his still-sleep-bleared vision, Hisagi caught the first rippling glimpses of movement—

Then your tightly coiled figure surged into view beneath the weak wash of lamplight spilling from the kitchen. A frisson of hyperalert tension lanced through Hisagi's veins at the very first glimpse of your features.

From the ponderous vee furrowed between your brows to the tight, bloodless slash of those lush lips compressed into a flat line, every aspect of your expression radiated seething inner turmoil on the verge of volcanic eruption. Not for the first time, Hisagi was punched by the visceral sense of a summer tempest rolling in - all blistering, sweltering portents crackling along his sensitized nerve-endings in warning.

The aggressive, almost contemptuous flick of your wrist as you shrugged out of your flimsy jacket only compounded the mental imagery. Hisagi's calloused fingers dug restlessly into the frayed upholstery as you whipped the garment aside with enough vehemence to nearly dislodge one of the neglected beer cans from its resting place on the coffee table.

"God, easy there, killer..." Kira groused, finally managing to peel open his own bleary eyes and squint in your direction. "What the hell's got your panties all in a..."

The bald inquiry trailed off into a sudden, ripe silence as he seemed to fully take in the bilious thunderclouds massing across your delicate features. For several beats, the only sound was the rhythmic pounding of blood rushing through both men's ears in anticipation of the impending maelstrom.

When at last you stirred again, the abrupt, stiff movement caused both of them to tense instinctively like soldiers awaiting the concussive impact. Hisagi felt his own muscles coil in response, bunching tautly beneath his shirt as if to absorb some inevitable, looming blow even he couldn't yet envision.

You still refused to meet their increasingly concerned stares, mouth remaining clamped in that rigid line that made his gut churn with dismay. From your pinched jawline to the tightly furrowed brow creasing that usually smooth expanse of forehead, every aspect of your countenance screamed that you were utterly caged in whatever fresh, bitter torment gripped you.

Hisagi opened his mouth, felt the scorched rumble of sound catch in his throat as you finally, brusquely broke the leaden expectancy hanging between you all.

"Don't wanna talk about it."

The terse growl slipped from those compressed lips like something small and feral lashing out in preemptive defense. It abraded across Hisagi's sharpening senses in an almost physical rasp even as you turned sharply on your heel.

Without a single backward glance, you stalked towards the stairs with something almost frenzied in the harsh clip of your footfalls. Hisagi watched each minute shift and sway of those tightly wound shoulders, arms crossed painfully over your chest as if to physically barricade whatever hellish emotions roiled beneath the surface from spilling free. Everything about your body language emanated tension vibrating on the verge of unraveling completely.

Just before ascending the first step, you paused for the slightest of suspended breaths. Hisagi's eyes remained riveted to the taut line of your spine, unconsciously mirroring the instinctive bracing he could perceive rippling through your frame.

When at last you spoke again, the words emerged in a low snarl more evocative of a wounded, cornered predator than anything else. "I'm fine. Just...don't bother me for a while, alright?"

Then, before either of them could react or draw breath to respond, you were simply...gone. In the span of one earth-shuddering exhalation, the shadows at the top of the stairs seemed to reach out and swallow your tense silhouette whole. All that remained was the ghostly impression of your wake slipstreaming in the air, ripe with the scent of agitation and storm clouds.

In your abrupt absence, the silence that enveloped the dim room rang with a pressure so weighty it constricted the very air from Hisagi's lungs. He and Kira sat motionless in its choking miasma, eyes remaining locked on that inky stairwell long after you'd fled its oppressive ambiance.

It was Kira who finally broke the fraught stillness with a protracted sigh that whistled through his teeth. "Well...shit," he muttered, all residual sleepiness banished utterly. "So much for hoping she'd finally chill the fuck out after another month of hooking up with this loser like all the others..."

His gaze cut askance towards Hisagi through the shadows with a minute shake of his mussed blonde head. "Safe to say there's not a chance in hell I'm venturing upstairs to poke that little hell-bear after the night she's obviously had."

Hisagi's lips twitched in a faint, humorless quirk that lasted but a beat. "And trying to talk her down when she's like this?" he asked, already knowing the resigned answer. "No fucking way, right?"

Kira's snort spoke volumes as he wearily dragged his fingers through his disheveled hair. Over the years, he'd learnt the hard way how futile and potentially dangerous it could be to try disarming you when you cycled into these virulently mercurial moods. More often than not, his well-meaning consolations only served to further enrage the emotional squall swirling around your tender heart.

No, the only viable option had always been to simply hunker down and wait out the worst of the initial tempest in tense solitude. At least until the whipping frenzied winds abated enough to approach you in relative safety again.

Angling his head, Hisagi flicked one final, measuring look up the darkened stairwell from beneath lowered steel-gray lashes. Even from here, an almost palpable vibration of turbulence still seemed to linger, set to lingering tremors by your feverish passing. His callused fingertips unconsciously flexed and clenched against the sofa cushions in agitation.

Whatever fresh grievances had spurred this latest blowout must have cut you straight to those delicately shielded depths where you guarded your vulnerabilities with tooth and claw. The mere thought of you left to stew alone in such acrid miasmas of scorned hurt tightened Hisagi's throat.

Almost as if he could still perceive your barely repressed tremors from here, quivering ripples in the fabric of night like a wounded animal awaiting its chance to burrow out of reach. Only this time with your heart once again left shredded and bleeding in the relentless wake of some selfish prick's devouring...

Hisagi's jaw clenched hard enough for his molars to grind as resurgent protectiveness instinctively flared through his veins. It hollowed out his chest with familiar, gut-punching vehemence and made the tendons in his neck cord with tension. How he loathed these interminable stretches, forced to helplessly tread waters while you drowned yourself alone. All because of your stubbornly stalwart refusal to let anyone too close to your fragile core, especially not the ones desperate to shield it most of all.

Drawing a rasping breath, Hisagi hauled himself upright with infinite reluctance. He could no more voluntarily follow you into the tempest maelstrom than willingly hurl himself into the inexorable pull of a black hole's gravity well. Not unless he wanted to hazard having his atoms shredded and atomized on a subatomic level.

Still, the weary resignation slumping his shoulders didn't entirely preclude the stubborn spark of determination flickering low in his abdomen. One way or another, he vowed, gritting his teeth, this latest upheaval would run its molten course - then he'd step in to scoop up the shards left scattered in its smoldering wake.

As always, it seemed. No matter how many times your hesitant walls shored back up or blistered recriminations awaited Hisagi's patient outreach.

Not for the first time, nor the last, he suspected.

Until the day he could finally break through to those tremulous places thrashing beneath your surface. Until the exact moment he convinced you to unfurl from your defensive crouch and reach back out as well, granting him the devastating privilege of cradling your fragile pieces while slotting himself into the cracks.

The dark certainty warmed Hisagi's marrow even as he averted his shuttered gaze back down, shrugging away the feverish restlessness licking along his skin. It was only a matter of time, he reminded himself as he extended a hand to haul Kira upright. A hard-won, brutally incremental road...but one whose final destination lay firmly within sight.

For now, though, there remained other more immediate comforts to provide in the wake of your passing inner storm. With a resolute tilt of his head, Hisagi waved Kira ahead of him towards the kitchen.

"Let's grab a couple beers while we wait this one out, yeah?"

The piercing hiss of beer can tabs breaking their vacuum seals knifed through the weighted quiet. Hisagi winced almost imperceptibly at the abrasive noise, even as he tipped the cold dregs past his lips in a perfunctory swallow.

Beside him, Kira nursed his own drink in uncharacteristic stillness - reflecting the uneasy, portentous lull that had descended over the house since your overpowering presence vacated the space. Hisagi tried and failed to dismiss the insistent tendril of disquiet needling at his consciousness.

Minutes oozed past in thick, viscous increments that seemed to mock him with their sluggish persistence. He found his free hand idly plucking at the frayed knee of his jeans, sharp gray eyes flickering repeatedly towards the shadowed hallway beyond in involuntary pulses.

Something wasn't sitting right, some hitherto unidentifiable prickle zinging along his nerves like a livewire of unease that refused to dampen down. Each laborious tock of the grandfather clock in the hall seemed to resonate through his very marrow as if amplifying the oppressive, unnatural silence permeating upstairs.

He had experienced this bewildering stasis far too many times over the years in the direct wake of your mercurial tempests not to recognize the ominous portents. Usually, your cyclones blew themselves out in relatively short order, dissipating in rapid spirals of spent angst until you sought out their steadying presences once more.

Never before had you buried yourself quite so stubbornly in the eerie, tomb-like quiet of your own psyche...at least not without giving some muted peep or agonized shuffle to indicate you were still kicking and raging against your inner demons, however mutely.

But that was just it - there existed not a single murmur to perforate the stifling stillness. No plaintive catch of weeping or agitated footfalls disturbing the hush. Even the rhythms of your breathing remained utterly, disturbingly indiscernible across the strained tether of Hisagi's preternatural senses.

Unease solidified into a harder, more jagged knot twisting his gut as flashes of half-remembered images swirled behind his narrowed eyes. He'd seen you wear yourself to this raggedly unresponsive state in the aftermath of utterly shattering upheavals before...and the memories were far from comforting.

One lucid instant scalded across his psyche - you, eyes glazed and dull as flawed marbles, staring emptily at nothing while he'd crouched in numb horror before your petite frame wilted boneless on the bathroom tile. Warm spit had frothed sluggishly across your lush lips as heaving, animalistic sounds wormed from betwixt them, suggesting some tenuous last thread of wounded consciousness still existed beyond the blankly yawning abyss of your gaze. But only barely...

Hisagi shuddered hard enough to slosh a few drops over his fist, banishing the ghastly callback with a forcible blink. Not this time. That harrowing incident lay years in the bitter rearview now, in the wake of so much progress and healing you'd both painstakingly carved out together. He refused to allow tonight's anguish to drag you backsliding into those grim, yawning depths where oblivion's undertow exerted its numbing gravity.

Yet the more rationality he applied, the smaller and tinnier his reassurances sounded even within his own turbulent thoughts. Because if he was being fully honest, too many unanswered questions smothered the space around your conspicuous absence like a heady miasma.

In the end, it took less than fifteen minutes for Hisagi's meticulously leashed control to splinter and unravel completely. One moment he was perched in forceful repose, tendons in his neck corded with the effort of physically restraining each agitated inhale and exhale. The next, he was slamming his beer aside with a gruff oath, surging upright in a propulsive burst of motion.

"Nah, man...I can't do this waiting game anymore," he rasped, the words slipping out in a sandpaper tumult before he could reconsider them. Rough fingers found their way into his disheveled hair, laboriously kneading against his skull as if to physically extract the snarled hooks of disquiet burrowing ever deeper. "Need to make sure she's..."

Hisagi's jaw tensed before the rest could follow, unwilling to give vocal shape to the myriad unsettling scenarios cresting behind his shuttered eyes. Kira watched him wage his internal war with a strange look - frustration and concern seemingly canceling each other out behind the impassive mask of a consummate poker face.

The truth remained unspoken yet perfectly understood between them, however: When it came to you and the singular gravity well you exerted, Hisagi was utterly helpless against being consumed. And Kira, despite his surface-level reluctance, wouldn't dare deprive him of that pull towards his only fixed point in a sea of emotional upheaval.

A single nod and arched brow was all the tacit permission Hisagi needed before wheeling on his booted heel and propelling himself away. The thunderous tattoo of his footfalls reverberated through the hallway with purpose, only slowing once the staircase jutted into his path.

From there, Hisagi's gait lapsed into a silent, measured prowl - proceeding upwards with an almost predatory stealth, balanced on the balls of his feet to muffle every footfall. The carpet-muffled risers groaned quietly beneath his weight as he stalked higher and higher, following the thread of preternatural restlessness tugging at his very synapses.

Until finally, upon cresting the landing and orienting on the dimness of your closed bedroom door, Hisagi felt an infinitesimal shudder travel down his nape. As if the air itself had shifted from the leaden pall of vacancy into something...more textured. A stirring of delicate vibrations and indistinct fluttering caresses that prickled enticingly along his nerves.

At first, Hisagi discounted the subtle susurrus as imagination running rampant fueled by distraction and anticipation. Resolutely, he prowled the final few feet to plant himself directly before your bedroom threshold, jaw clenching in grim resolution.

Only for the strangest sensation to materialize in that airless gulf - a tantalizing distillation of the most high, keening feminine whimper ghosting across his consciousness like a gossamer inhalation of temptation itself. Hisagi stilled, uncertain if his distressed psyche was playing auditory tricks.

But then the indistinct shivering sounded again. More pronounced, clearer in the sudden tilt of his head and subtle flare of nostrils as he sought to funnel the lilting murmurings directly into his senses. Unmistakably shaping themselves into something more tangible, like a phantasmic finger unfurling beckoning tendrils of hushed invitation all around him...

The abraded, husky moan of his name shattered Hisagi's hard-won control in that gut-punched instant.

"Ah…Sh-Shuhei..."

His vision whited out briefly as those carnal syllables bowled him sideways like a physical concussive force. Distantly, he was aware of his boots carrying him those final few feet before thinking processes could even resume.

Of his palm gliding across the bedroom door as if magnetized, easing it smoothly inwards without so much as a perfunctory knock. Of being drawn inexorably into the honeyed lamplight's cocoon only to be met with the utterly devastating vision of you.

Hisagi felt the world narrow into laser focus the moment the bedroom door swung inward on silent hinges. All the ambient noise and peripheral distraction bled away until his entire being became hyper-attuned to you and you alone.

There you were, tangled among the rumpled bedsheets in a pose of such provocative disarray that it stole the very breath from his lungs. Even in the backlit glow from the solitary lamp, he could make out the delicious abandon written across your features.

Full lips parted wide on gasping pants...dark lashes fanning across feverish cheeks in stuttering flutters...the arch of your lithe body undulating with each tremor that ricocheted through your frame - a living sculpture of ecstatic desperation.

"Nnghh...Shuhei, please..."

The sound of your voice splintering around the gasped iteration of his name detonated something deep and profane in Hisagi's core. He felt the shudder wrack him from the inside out, a seismic tremor rattling the very foundations of his restraint. This...this was what he'd been subconsciously seeking, pulled towards by the same relentless gravity that held you as its cosmic center.

You didn't seem to register his presence at first, lost in the throes of whatever fevered reverie consumed your undulations. Hisagi remained rooted to the threshold, dissecting every glistening nuance and shiver that rippled across your gorgeously debauched form in sadistic detail.

He drank in the subtle shifting of fine bedsheets whispering across your sensitized skin...the kitten-soft mewls expiring from your punished throat with each measured arch...the unmistakable squelch of your delicate fingers working between the desperate part of your thighs, chasing that elusive crest...

A scalding groan shuddered up from deep in Hisagi's diaphragm before he could bite it back. The undisguised masculine rasp of it finally seemed to pierce whatever idyllic trance had momentarily spirited you away. Your eyes shot open in one dazed sweep of lashes, locking onto his hulking silhouette framed in the doorway.

For an endless, electrically charged beat, you both remained frozen - a portrait of debauchery witnessed at its most intimate, breath bating in sync through the throbbing quiet. Hisagi could see the subtle war between mortification and rapture playing out across your lush features. Cheeks burnished with fever-bright arousal and lips trembling on that same gossamer whimper that had lured him into your sanctuary like a siren's call.

Then, before rational thought could splinter the moment, you exhaled a single sighed word that erased any need for conscious decisions at all:

"...Stay."

The pleading rasp shivered down Hisagi's spine like the raking caress of temptation itself. He drank in the entreating, almost plaintive cast of your gaze, the subtle invitation curling your fingers in summons. A riptide of need so visceral it defied quantifying momentarily hollowed out his chest and stole rational thought.

Hardly aware of moving, Hisagi allowed his boots to carry him in languid strides to the bedside. He watched you track his progress with the same helpless hunger reflected back, dark eyes dilated and glassy. He felt the mattress dip as he lowered himself down on one knee beside you, then two.

Your scent permeated the air, heavy with the heady perfume of sweat and sex. Hisagi's nostrils flared, breathing deep that intoxicating miasma, the sweetest opium imaginable. Involuntarily, his hands lifted to trace the delicate bones of your ankles, gliding a path up to encircle each one and gently ease your knees apart.

It was only when his palms smoothed their way up along your inner thighs to cradle their trembling that Hisagi's mind truly registered the sight of you. You, quivering and wanton and utterly vulnerable beneath his callused touch, offering yourself up with a desperation that matched his own.

"Fuck...sweetheart," he groaned, feeling a jolt travel through your frame at the reverent address. "Do you have any idea how incredible you look right now? How fuckin' beautiful you are?"

A strangled whimper escaped your throat as Hisagi's thumbs drew maddeningly slow circles across the crease of your hip. "Shuhei...please, don't just..."

He shushed the rest with a single digit pressing against your lower lip, the action somehow simultaneously tender and dominant. "You've gotta tell me this is what you want, Y/N," Hisagi growled, the husky timbre of his voice betraying just how precarious his own restraint had become. "Cuz once I start touchin' you, I'm not gonna stop 'til I've had my fill. Until we're both satisfied and fucked out."

A breathless moan spilled from your lips at his words, a fresh wave of arousal gushing against his fingers where they teased along your entrance. "Yes...fuck, please, Shuhei. Need this...need you."

The last syllable scarcely faded into the charged air before you were hauling Hisagi down to crush your lips together in a bruising kiss. It was clumsy and messy and entirely lacking finesse - more a desperate mashing of flesh and tongue than a proper kiss. Still, the intensity of it sent a heady rush of dopamine flooding Hisagi's synapses.

He was vaguely aware of you shifting, reaching down to fumble the fastenings of his jeans loose, but the rest was a blur of sensation and instinct. He groaned as your soft palm wrapped around his aching erection, a guttural curse gritting out betwixt his teeth at the exquisite friction.

Before he could regain a modicum of his crumbling composure, you were hauling him upright onto the bed. Hisagi felt his boots get tugged free, followed swiftly by the rest of his clothes, and suddenly his bare chest was flush against the feverish heat of your own.

"Shit, Y/N..." Hisagi managed between desperate breaths, the sensation of your slick breasts against his torso momentarily scrambling his thoughts. He forced his eyes open just in time to feel you nudge him onto his back, the action surprisingly dominant for its timidity.

A wicked thrill shot through him at the sight of your darkly hooded gaze peering down, taking him in with such raw, unvarnished desire. Your hair cascaded in a tangled curtain around his face, blocking out the world as your thighs settled astride his waist.

"Fuck...just like that, beautiful," he rasped, a fresh shudder traveling his length at the feeling of your slick folds gliding over his sensitive head. "Let me feel how bad you need this. Let me take care of you."

With that, his hands slid down to grasp the gentle flare of your hips, guiding you to a perfect perch over his throbbing length. But rather than sheathing him in one smooth plunge, you instead took a moment to tease him through your dripping folds, painting him with a delectable layer of arousal.

Hisagi's eyes nearly rolled back at the feeling of your swollen clit dragging along his underside. You were soaking wet, absolutely drenched from your earlier teasing and the way his touch had lit your body ablaze. He could feel your pulse thrumming where you hovered above him, a matching throb to the rhythm pounding through his own veins.

"Fuckin' tease," Hisagi bit out, a rough chuckle rumbling through his chest. He'd meant it as a joke, but the way his hands tightened around your hips and guided you down an inch or so suggested his own control might be fraying just as badly.

A low, breathless moan shuddered from your throat at the sensation of him stretching your inner walls, spearing them wide on the thick head. A delicious sting radiated up through your core as you gradually eased him deeper, a little at a time, savoring every exquisite inch.

Hisagi could feel the tremble coursing through you, could sense the overwhelming pressure and stretch of his cock parting your velvety walls. His head fell back into the sheets with a ragged, guttural moan. "Fuck, baby, you're so tight. So fuckin' good...so wet and ready for me."

The praise seemed to spur something carnal within you. Hisagi felt your hips snap down, impaling you in one sharp thrust that stole the air from his lungs and made him see stars. It took all the strength left in his limbs not to come right then and there.

"Ah, fuck...fuck..." Hisagi grit out, jaw clenched as the last few inches finally sank home. His pelvis ground against the sensitive apex of your thighs, the sensation of his coarse hair and turgid skin rubbing against your clit threatening to shatter the last threads of his sanity.

Only once he was fully sheathed did you pause to relish the sensation, grinding down against him and savoring the fullness. A whimper slipped from your lips as the slight adjustment brought a new angle of pleasure, one that had Hisagi's head bumping your cervix with tantalizing friction.

"Nnghhh...so big," you managed on a shaky exhale, leaning back and bracing both hands on either of his thighs. The new position had you straddling his hips at an even steeper angle, his thick length seeming to reach deeper inside than ever.

The visual alone would've been enough to make him come right then and there - your lush breasts heaving on panting breaths, nipples taut and mouth-wateringly hard. But what truly sealed the deal was the sight of your stomach, slightly distended and bulging with the outline of his cock.

Hisagi's head reared up off the bed, eyes widening in shock and lust. He'd never seen anything quite so arousing in his entire life - the undeniable evidence of his girth parting you so exquisitely, molding your walls to his shape.

"Ah, fuck...goddamn, Y/N, look at you," he bit out, his hips giving an involuntary jerk at the sight. "That's fuckin' obscene...and so goddamn sexy, shit..."

His fingers slid up to grip the softness of your belly, caressing the swollen outline in reverent, worshipful sweeps. A shuddering moan spilled past your lips at the feeling, and he could've sworn your inner walls fluttered around him with the movement.

"So beautiful...so fuckin' gorgeous. Gonna have to do this again, have you ride my cock with this little bump," he growled, the last syllables punctuated by the sudden snap of his hips upwards.

"Ah! Fuck, Shuhei...do that again!" you gasped, nails digging into his thighs for purchase. The combination of his fingers caressing your swollen middle and the thick pressure grinding against your front wall was almost too much.

Hisagi could sense the change in tempo, could hear the way your moans had escalated into frantic mewls of desperation. You were close, teetering on that precipice with the same urgency he felt in his own loins. And so, when you leaned back and planted both hands on his chest, Hisagi was already prepared.

One swift, fluid thrust, and suddenly the pace shifted. Your hips began rolling and undulating with a wild abandon, riding him with a desperate rhythm that left his head spinning. All he could do was grasp your hips and hold on for dear life, watching rapt as you rode him for all he was worth.

"Fuck, just like that, baby...keep goin'...that's it, use me," he groaned, eyes rolling back at the sensation of his cockhead bottoming out on each upward stroke. "You look so fuckin' incredible right now...so close, shit, I can feel it. Gonna come all over my cock, aren't you?"

The dirty talk seemed to be the last thing needed to send you over the edge. Suddenly, a breathless shriek tore from your throat and the walls of your cunt clamped down so hard around his length that his vision whited out.

Hisagi watched, entranced, as the first rippling waves crashed through your form. You came apart in his arms with an unbridled ferocity that left him reeling. Each violent spray of arousal coating his lower abdomen was accompanied by a choked, ragged cry of ecstasy.

The feeling of you coming around him, the way your pussy sucked and massaged and milked him so expertly was enough to have Hisagi following right behind. One final thrust and he was burying himself to the hilt, head falling back as the first thick spurts painted the inside of your spasming walls.

"Ah...ah, fuuuuck..." Hisagi managed on a groan, eyes screwing shut as wave after wave of euphoria crashed through him. Distantly, he could sense you still rocking and undulating, coaxing him through his own release with an expertise that was almost frightening.

He could feel your fingers stroking the sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead, could sense the softness of your lips ghosting tender, loving kisses against his skin. Yet his mind remained trapped in the afterglow, savoring the blissful sensation of being utterly enveloped by your warmth.

Hisagi didn't realize how long he'd been laying there, sprawled against the tangled bedsheets, until your face swam into his view. Dark eyes glittered above flushed cheeks, the faintest sheen of sweat dotting your brow as you gazed down at him with unmistakable adoration.

"I’m pretty sure Izuru heard that. He's gonna be pissed," you murmured, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

At the mention of his best friend, Hisagi felt his heart rate spike and his stomach give a guilty lurch. He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he'd just had sex with his best friend's sister, and that said best friend was likely waiting downstairs with a beer.

And yet, when he met your gaze, something about the mischievous sparkle in your eyes made him hesitate. You didn't look upset, or betrayed, or anything remotely close to the emotional meltdown he'd expected. In fact, you were smiling - a small, almost secretive smile.

"He’s gonna murder you, and I'm gonna help him hide the body," you said, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Hisagi returned the affection with a slow, lazy grin, still half-dazed. "Worth it," he breathed, tilting his chin up to claim your lips properly. "So, so worth it."

[goldkirk]

I DON'T HAVE TO LIE ANYMORE!

[hearteyespierce]

god the hits really don’t stop fucking coming do they.

[wasp-jar]

Bro why is fatigue so !?!?????!!!??!? >:( !?????!

Like I have shit I need to get done!! leave my body please!!

[punkrockisafulltimejob]

Bleh

[rubiesintherough]

.

[neverendingford]

.

[thethingything]

we have an especially bad migraine where I noticed us getting aura (mostly being pissed off and upset in a specific way) for several hours before it started and we've taken pain meds but I'm not sure they've actually helped. they have definitely given us side effects though and I feel very spaced out and nauseous and generally shit.

we've also had way worse ADHD symptoms for the last few days to the point of being pretty much unable to focus on anything besides like 2 things we've hyperfixated on. we've had so much trouble starting tasks and keep struggling to hold a train of thought or focus long enough to even figure out what we need to do each day despite having all our Habitica dailies to tell us.

our brain is all over the place and I'm not really sure what to do with it or what would help but it's just occurred to me that sometimes our ADHD gets really bad in the buildup to some of our worst migraines and now I'm just hoping that both the migraine and other shit ease off soon because I'd like to be able to function

[cat-dragron]

Oh yeah, reaching that point of the obsession where I have so many thoughts and opinions on something that watching reviews about it is difficult bc they miss something I think is important.

I really need to start drafting a video essay at this point... <- guy who has never done media analysis in his life.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

love overdoing it and ending up stuck in bed that’s so great and helpful for my day

[anders-hawke]

.

[savage-rhi]

I'm very much a, "fuck yeah and fuck you, I don't need validation! I'm me, cunts!" kinda fella, but sometimes I could use support.

[flamingo--ing]

its literally like which disorder is causing what?? at this point its just "nothing works, sorry" and then i have to figure it out