#forbidden writings

[midnightshade]

GojoHime: Evidence and Discussion

Jujutsu Kaisen isn't a romance series. It's a horror action series that focuses more on platonic bonds and camaraderie between its characters. That being said, just as any shounen series, it has its fair share of ships, each with its own assortment of crumbs and small details.

GojoHime is a particularly interesting ship to look at. Being a massive fan of it myself,  it's fun to pick through the evidence that supports it. I'd like to share the evidence that I and many other GojoHime fans have found. I'll be starting with the smaller, weaker evidence first and working my way up to the strongest evidence.

Before I start in earnest, I want to clarify that this isn't made to attack any other ship. People can ship whatever they want, and no ship in the series is canon (aside from exceptions like Hakari and Kirara). I like GojoHime so I want to talk about it. That's really it.

With that out of the way, let's begin.

First, let's start with the evidence outside of the manga itself. This one isn't very compelling, but it is cute. In Japan, there is a chip brand called Bakauke. Bakauke has two mascots known as Borin and Barin, who are girlfriend and boyfriend. When Bakauke collabed with Jujutsu Kaisen, Utahime and Gojo were chosen to represent the Borin and Barin respectively, thus being depicted as girlfriend and boyfriend.

Moving on to evidence found within the actual manga, we see that on the splash page for Gojo and Utahime, the print behind them depicts arrows known as a Yagasuri pattern. In Japan, this is a symbol often used for weddings. It's meant for good luck because "a shot arrow does not return," and therefore, a married woman does not (or should not) return to her parents.

We also see depictions of them under an umbrella often used at weddings. Sharing an umbrella is also a common romantic trope in Japan.

Other smaller evidence exists in the form of their phone call. This consists a beeper code, where the number of their call spells out "I like you" in code, and another interesting detail is that Satoru calls Utahime from his recent contacts, implying that he calls her often.

Gojo and Utahime were made to be opposites. Aside from the obvious "opposites attract" trope, it creates a compelling visual story between them. Man and woman, strong and weak, modern and traditional, blue and red. Satoru hates alcohol and loves sweets while Utahime loves alcohol but hates sweets.

Gege said Gojo only puts down his Technique with people he trusts, which we see him do with Utahime. He trusts her enough to have to actively put his Technique back in place after she throws a teacup at him.

Moving on to some of the strongest and most convincing evidence, we have Waka Inoue, Utahime's very own technique, and Gege's past works.

Gojo had a picture of Waka Inoue as his background as a teenager. He clearly finds her attractive, as is common, considering she's a popular model, but the reason why this is important is that Inoue shares a lot of similarities with Utahime.

Both women have noticeable bangs, they're the same height (166cm), and they share a love for alcohol, karaoke, and sports, specifically baseball. Waka is described once as a "competitive crybaby who hates to lose," and as we see in the Anime, Gojo has a way of firing Utahime up and she is also prone to being a bit of a scaredy-cat and a crybaby. We also see her more competitive side come out during the baseball tournament between Kyoto and Tokyo.

Moving on to Utahime's Cursed Technique, as some Japanese fans have pointed out, Utahime's Soro Soro Kinku (Solo Forbidden Area) is based on a real love song about forbidden love with lyrics about a masked lover. The records from the singer, Akina Nakamori, are called Utahime records, and the singer even does Gojo's unlimited void hand sign during her live performances of her song, "Fin."

The most compelling bit of evidence for me is Gege's past works. Two of his three one-shot manga have characters who are very similar to Gojo and Utahime. The male protagonist is usually cocky and teases the female protagonist, while the female protagonist gets annoyed at his antics but is otherwise down to earth and kind.

In Nikai Bongai Barabarujura, the protagonist, Noroma, reminds me of teen Gojo in appearance and behavior. He is "the strongest" who teases Nodoka, the female protagonist, for being weak but has an obvious respect for her drive and inner strength.

In Kamishiro Sosa, we have a similar set-up as before. The male protagonist, Ganji, is very energetic and careless with the female protagonist, Rekko's, feelings, and is seen to have a very similar type of banter as Gojo and Utahime have.

Gege clearly likes that type of pairing, which isn't surprising given the bickering couple and rivals to lovers is a popular trope in romance. It's not unusual for Mangaka to reuse old ideas, and that seems to be what happened with Gojo and Utahime. Even their appearances share similarities.

As you can see, GojoHime has a lot of thought put into it, and it's very interesting to see the little details Gege has put into their dynamic. There's definitely a reason why so many adore this pairing, and I'm glad Gege has paid attention to that.

[luna-azzurra]

Forbidden Love Prompts

The Best Friend’s Sibling. She’s been off-limits forever. His best friend made that very clear. But one stolen kiss changes everything, and now every glance, every touch, every near-miss feels like a slow, torturous fall into something neither of them can stop.

The Rival Who Turns Into Something More. They’ve spent their whole lives competing, grades, sports, careers. They hate each other. They live for proving the other wrong. But when an unexpected night strips away the competition, they’re left with something even more dangerous: the truth. And the truth is, they want each other.

The Guard Who Swore an Oath. He was supposed to protect her, not love her. But when danger circles too close, the line between duty and desire starts to blur. And once he crosses it? There’s no turning back.

The Arranged Marriage That Wasn’t Supposed to Feel Like This. She agreed to marry him for power, politics, family duty, anything but love. But the more she fights against the cold, dangerous man she’s now bound to, the more she starts to realize she never really had a choice. Because love was never the problem. It was everything else.

The Love That Could Get Them Both Killed. They’re on opposite sides, enemies, exiled royals, rival spies, you name it. If they get caught together, it’s over. But somehow, somehow, every time they should walk away, they don’t. Maybe the only thing stronger than the threat hanging over them is the way their hands fit perfectly together in the dark.

[cloudyluun]

London Fever (p2) | neighbour!harry 

Summary: Y/N knew exactly what she was doing when she slipped into his oversized merch. She wanted a reaction, and oh she got one. Harry doesn’t take well to being toyed with, especially not when she’s been pushing his buttons for weeks. One knock at her door is all it takes for things to spiral out of control. But after a night that leaves them both wrecked and wanting more, reality comes crashing in. The world finds out, the headlines explode, and suddenly, it’s not just a game anymore.

A/N: Turns out, playing with fire does get you burned. Who knew? 🥹 Anyway, here’s Harry losing his mind over Y/N in his clothes, an ungodly amount of tension, and a smut scene so intense it should come with a safety warning. Enjoy the chaos, my loves.

Word Count: 5,5k

Warnings: 

Smut (explicit, detailed, and very NSFW)

Power play, dominance, and control (Harry is in charge, let’s be real)

Possessiveness (because of course)

Teasing & sexual tension (this could fuel a power plant)

Rough sex (hair pulling, manhandling, praise + dirty talk)

Aftercare & softness (he may be mean, but he’s also sweet 🥹)

Angst (because life is cruel)

Public fallout & paparazzi drama (oops)

[part 1]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

A line had been crossed.

He moved.

A slow, deliberate step forward.

Then another.

She felt it before she fully registered what was happening—the shift in the air, the heat rolling off his body, the static crackling between them like a wire pulled too tight.

Until her back hit the door.

Until he was so close that she could feel the ghost of his breath against her cheek.

Warm. Unsteady.

His presence swallowed her whole.

The scent of spice and cedarwood curled around her, intoxicating, familiar. It filled every inch of space between them, sinking into her skin, into her lungs, making it impossible to think clearly.

She swallowed hard, pulse hammering at the base of her throat.

This was new.

Harry had always watched. Always pushed, always teased—a smirk here, a lingering look there. He kept the tension simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken, something electric.

But he had never touched.

Not like this.

Not with his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, knuckles grazing her skin, the tips barely pressing into the delicate hollow of her throat.

Not with his body caging her in, his chest nearly brushing hers, his presence a weight she could feel everywhere.

Not with his lips hovering so, so close.

His emerald gaze flickered over her, slow and dangerous, cataloging every reaction. Every stuttered breath. Every slight part of her lips, every flutter of her lashes, every tiny movement.

Like he was memorizing something.

Like he was committing every single detail to memory.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her hands stayed at her sides, fingers curling against the doorframe, nails pressing into the wood to ground herself.

But it didn’t help.

Not when his thumb brushed against her cheek.

Featherlight.

A whisper of a touch. So delicate, so intimate, it sent a shiver racing down her spine, left a hollow ache in its wake.

Made her knees feel weak.

Made her mind spin.

His gaze dipped lower, lingering at her mouth.

And then—his lips parted, voice dropping into something low and lethal.

"Because, sweetheart," he murmured, the words slow, deliberate, dripping with something dark.

Something possessive.

Something that curled tight in her stomach, hot and consuming.

His fingers tilted her chin up.

Forcing her to look at him.

To really see the heat in his gaze.

The warning.

"I don’t like sharing."

Silence stretched between them.

Thick. Heavy.

Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

She wanted to say something. Anything.

But she couldn’t.

No words came.

Just the heavy pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.

His fingers lingered; thumb brushing the edge of her jaw, tracing the delicate curve.

A test. A tease.

And then—

He pulled away.

Abrupt. Sharp.

Like the snap of a rubber band pulled too tight.

The loss of his touch was instant.

A cold rush of air in his absence.

A hollow ache in the pit of her stomach.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look back as he turned and walked away, his shoulders tense, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Leaving her there.

Pressed against the front door.

Heart slamming against her ribs.

Every nerve ending burning.

She made a choice the next morning.

A deliberate decision.

The oversized shirt slipped over her frame easily, the fabric soft against her skin, hanging loose, dipping just enough to expose the curve of her collarbone.

It was his merch.

A bold logo stretched across the front, his name, his design.

It wasn’t actually his. Not something borrowed, not something stolen.

But that didn’t matter.

It was the implication that counted.

It was the game.

She saw him before he saw her.

He was leaning against the front desk in the lobby, scrolling through his phone, fingers tapping idly against the polished marble surface.

Dressed down. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. A hoodie pushed up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms.

Casual. Unassuming.

But then, he looked up.

And everything changed.

His entire body went rigid.

She saw it all.

The flicker of realization. The quick inhale through his nose. The sharp clench of his jaw.

His eyes darkened.

Dragging down. Over the loose neckline exposing her collarbones. Over the way the fabric swallowed her whole.

Over the fact that his name—his brand—was stamped across her chest like a mark.

Then lower.

To the bare stretch of her thighs.

His nostrils flared.

His grip tightened around his phone.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

Just stared.

Just looked at her like he was trying to figure out if this was real. If she was really doing this.

If she was really taunting him.

Then—

"I thought you weren’t really a fan."

His voice was rougher than usual. Low and sharp.

She tilted her head, lips curling into something dangerous.

"What can I say? Opinions change, I guess."

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t smirk the way he usually would.

His jaw ticked. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to do something.

To touch.

To grab.

To undo this tension that was so close to snapping.

But instead—

He exhaled.

A slow, measured breath.

And then, he walked away.

Not a word.

Not a glance back.

But the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides—

It told her everything.

This wasn’t over.

It happened late that night.

Three knocks.

Deliberate. Heavy.

The kind that demanded attention.

The kind that made her breath catch before she even opened her eyes fully.

She stirred beneath the sheets, her heartbeat slamming in her ears.

It was late.

Too late for neighbors.

Too late for casual visits.

And she knew.

She knew who it was before she even reached the door.

Fingers trembling slightly, she curled them around the handle.

She exhaled—slow, steadying—before she unlocked it.

Before she pulled it open.

And when she did—

There he was.

Harry.

Standing in the dim hallway.

His hoodie was gone.

Just a white T-shirt, clinging to his frame. His curls were messy, like he’d been running his fingers through them.

His eyes—

Dark. Blazing.

And when he finally spoke—

His voice was hoarse. Low.

"Open the door wider."

For a second, she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her fingers curled tighter around the handle, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. But then she did—slowly, cautiously—stepping back just enough to let the door swing open. Just enough to let him inside.

The second he crossed the threshold, she knew she had made a mistake.

The air shifted.

His presence sucked the oxygen from the room, leaving behind something thick, something stifling. The hallway light behind him cast his features in sharp relief—the sculpted lines of his jaw, the tension coiled in his shoulders, the unmistakable hunger in his eyes.

He looked at her then.

Really looked at her.

His gaze swept down, dragging over every inch of her, drinking her in like he was committing her to memory. Her bare legs. The way the oversized shirt swallowed her frame. The way the fabric dipped past her collarbones, slipping from one shoulder, exposing the delicate skin there. It wasn’t his shirt—but it might as well have been.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

He reached out.

A slow, deliberate movement.

Fingers curling around the hem of the fabric, thumb barely grazing her thigh as he tugged it between his fingers. Testing. Teasing.

"You think this is funny?"

His voice was rough, like it had been scraped raw. A warning. A challenge.

Y/N swallowed, her pulse hammering, her skin prickling beneath his touch. "I don’t know what you mean."

Harry huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. Then he stepped closer.

Too close.

His body heat was suffocating. His scent—spice and cedarwood and something purely him—wrapped around her, invading her senses, making her head feel light.

"You’ve been teasing me for weeks." His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, the calloused tips ghosting up, up, up, barely touching, barely there.

A shiver raced down her spine.

His breath was hot against her temple, his words slow, measured, dangerous. "Is this what you wanted?"

Her knees felt weak. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Every nerve ending in her body was on high alert, every muscle coiled tight, waiting—

She barely heard her own voice. Barely recognized it when she whispered—

"Yes."

That’s all it took.

The snap.

A fraction of a second and his mouth was on hers.

Hard. Desperate. Bruising.

A collision of lips and teeth and frustration. His hands gripped her waist, firm and unyielding, pressing her back against the door. She gasped, the sound swallowed between them, lost in the mess of it all. He kissed like he was trying to punish her, like he had been holding back for too long and was finally snapping.

His hands slid up—fingers tangling in her hair, gripping just enough to tilt her head back, forcing her to let him take more. Take everything.

His knee parted her legs, pressing up, pressing against her. She let out a small, choked sound, one she barely recognized as her own, and his grip tightened in response.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Didn’t give her a second to breathe.

And she didn’t want him to.

His hands moved lower, fingers skimming the bare skin beneath the fabric, tracing the soft curve of her waist. Teasing. Exploring. Making her squirm.

Then—

He pulled away.

Just enough to let her feel the loss.

To make her chase after him.

His mouth hovered just above hers, his breath unsteady. His eyes, dark and blown, flicked down—to her lips, her throat, the way her chest rose and fell in rapid succession.

He smirked. Barely.

Then, he whispered—

"Told you, sweetheart."

His hands found the hem of the shirt again.

"You like playing with fire."

He peeled the shirt up.

Slow. Torturous.

His fingers traced every inch of newly exposed skin, dragging up the sides of her ribs, feeling the way her body shuddered beneath his touch. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her stomach as he lifted the fabric higher, higher, his tongue grazing over sensitive spots, inhaling the way her body reacted to him.

When the fabric lifted past her breasts, he paused.

Pulled back.

Just enough to look at her.

His thumb brushed over a peaked nipple—a featherlight touch, teasing, testing—watching the way she gasped at the contact, watching the way her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something.

But before she could, he leaned in—

And wrapped his mouth around her.

A gasp ripped from her throat.

He took his time.

His tongue flicked, slow, deliberate. His teeth grazed, just enough. He worked her up, dragging out every tiny sound, every sharp intake of breath, every shiver that wracked her body.

Then, he switched.

Repeating the same sweet torture on the other side.

By the time he finally pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside, she was trembling.

And they had only just begun.

His hands skimmed down her waist, slow and deliberate, his palms branding heat into her bare skin. She barely had time to process the loss of the shirt before his grip tightened—firm, commanding—as he caught the backs of her thighs and lifted her with effortless strength.

A startled gasp left her lips, her fingers scrambling against his shoulders, nails digging in for balance as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

The air felt thick, electric.

Her back pressed against the door, the hard surface grounding her as he held her up, his body locked against hers, caging her in.

And then—he rolled his hips.

Just once.

A slow, deliberate grind that sent a sharp pulse of heat straight through her core.

A strangled moan slipped past her lips.

His reaction was immediate.

A low, deep groan rumbled from his chest, his grip on her thighs tightening like he needed to steady himself. His forehead dropped against the side of her face, his breath warm against her cheek, his voice rough.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?"

He did it again, slower this time, pressing himself against her just enough to make sure she felt him.

Felt how hard he was.

How much he wanted her.

The friction sent another shudder rolling through her, her body betraying her, her head tipping back against the door with a sharp gasp.

His teeth scraped along her jaw, catching the sensitive skin before he sucked lightly, just enough to make her whimper.

"Yeah," he murmured, voice dark, smug. "That’s what I thought."

And then, he let her down—just barely.

Lowering her just enough that her toes skimmed the floor, his fingers still digging into her thighs, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

And then—he dropped.

Sank to his knees in front of her, his hands still gripping her thighs, fingers spreading over the soft skin, holding her open.

His gaze flickered up.

Dark. Intense.

Watching her as he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh.

Slow.

Lingering.

She exhaled shakily, her entire body tensed, caught in that unbearable space between anticipation and desperation.

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t move too fast.

Instead, he took his time, his lips trailing a slow path higher, the heat of his breath searing against her already-sensitive skin.

A soft gasp escaped her lips when he nipped lightly, just above her knee, his tongue flicking out to soothe the spot.

He hummed against her skin.

"So sensitive," he murmured, voice full of wicked amusement.

She bit her lip, fingers curling into fists at her sides as he kept going.

Higher.

His mouth moved up the inside of her thigh, his tongue dragging in slow, torturous strokes.

When he reached the curve where her thigh met her hip, he paused.

She could feel his breath there.

So close.

Right where she needed him.

Her hips shifted instinctively, a small, unconscious movement. A plea without words.

And instead of giving in—

He pulled back.

A small, teasing chuckle rumbled from his throat.

"Impatient?"

She made a small, frustrated noise, her hands twitching at her sides.

And then—

His fingers curled into the waistband of her underwear.

A small tug.

Not enough to pull them down.

Just enough to snap the elastic against her skin.

The sharp little sting made her jolt, made her breath catch.

Harry grinned.

"So eager," he murmured, voice dark, teasing. "Look at you—already soaked for me."

She whimpered.

His fingertips traced just above the fabric.

Not touching her where she needed him.

Just hovering.

Letting her feel how close he was.

Letting her ache for it.

"Tell me," he murmured, voice rough, his lips brushing the inside of her thigh.

"Do you want my fingers or my tongue first?"

Her breath hitched, fingers clenching into fists at her sides. The heat of his breath against her skin sent a shiver rippling up her spine, and she felt like she might go mad if he didn’t touch her properly.

She swallowed hard, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. She knew what he was doing—pushing her, making her beg for it.

But her pride could only hold out for so long.

"Your mouth," she whispered, voice unsteady.

A pleased hum vibrated against her skin. "Good girl."

And then—he snapped.

In one sharp motion, he hooked his fingers into her underwear and ripped them down her thighs. A gasp caught in her throat at the sudden movement, at the way the fabric barely had time to glide over her skin before he was shoving it aside like it was a useless scrap in his way.

The cold air barely had time to meet her exposed skin before his mouth was on her.

Her whole body jerked against the door, a strangled sound escaping her lips as his tongue flicked out, slow at first.

Testing.

Tasting.

He took his time, dragging the tip of his tongue in a long, deliberate stroke, savoring the way she trembled, the way she exhaled in stuttered little gasps.

His grip on her thighs tightened, thumbs pressing into the soft skin as he held her open for him.

"Fuck," she breathed, already struggling to stay upright, nails clawing at the wooden door behind her.

His tongue moved again, flicking over her in a lazy, teasing rhythm that made her hips stutter forward—chasing the feeling, chasing him.

That seemed to amuse him.

"So desperate," he murmured against her, lips curving before he dipped his tongue deeper.

Her whole body jolted. A strangled moan caught in her throat, her knees nearly giving out.

Harry groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, making her stomach tighten, her pulse race. His grip tightened on her thighs, holding her steady, keeping her exactly where he wanted her as he worked her open with his mouth.

And then—he got impatient.

The slow teasing disappeared in a snap.

His tongue pressed deeper, flicking faster, rougher, his lips sealing over her in a way that sent electricity shooting through her limbs.

She gasped, back arching, hands slamming against the door as her whole body clenched.

He didn’t let up.

Didn’t give her time to breathe, to process, to do anything but take it.

Her hips tried to jerk away, the pleasure rolling through her so intense it was almost too much.

But Harry wasn’t having it.

His hands pinned her in place.

"Stay still," he ordered, voice muffled against her. His lips brushed over her slick, sensitive skin, a promise, a warning. "Take what I give you."

And then—his fingers slid inside her.

She nearly sobbed.

His fingers curled inside her just right, pressing into that spot that made her see white behind her eyelids.

She was already unraveling, already falling apart in his hands.

And he loved it.

His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, pushing her higher, pushing her toward the edge so fast she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but let him wreck her.

Her hands clawed at the door, her head falling back, a sharp cry slipping from her lips.

So close.

So close it was torturous.

Her body clenched around his fingers, legs trembling, the pleasure building, burning, threatening to consume her whole.

She was right there.

Right on the edge of breaking.

And then—

He pulled away.

Completely.

Her eyes snapped open, her breath catching, her head spinning in a dazed, wrecked, frantic haze.

"Harry—"

Her voice came out shattered, her body desperate, aching, ready to fall apart.

But he just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips red and glistening, his eyes dark and burning as he stared up at her.

"Turn around," he ordered, voice low, rough, firm.

She didn’t move at first, still gasping for breath, her mind slow to catch up, still clinging to the pleasure he had just ripped away from her.

But Harry—

Harry didn’t wait.

He grabbed her.

Spun her in one swift motion, pressing her face-first against the door.

Her hands braced against the wood as she sucked in a shaky breath, her body still trembling from what he had done to her.

But she barely had time to recover before she felt it.

Him.

His cock, thick and hard, dragging over her slick folds.

Not pushing in.

Not yet.

Just teasing, letting her feel how ready he was, how desperate he had become.

His breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in, pressing his chest against her back.

"You like playing with fire?" he murmured, his voice low, taunting. His lips brushed over the shell of her ear, the words a dark promise.

"Now you get to burn."

Her body shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. There was nothing cold about the way he held her, about the way his hands framed her hips, keeping her pinned between his body and the door. Nothing cold about the weight of him pressing into her, the hard line of his chest against her back, his thighs bracketing hers as his grip tightened—possessive, unrelenting.

His fingertips dug into her skin, marking her before he’d even properly touched her. A slow, dark thrill curled in her stomach, anticipation pooling low, thick and hot, making her legs tremble beneath her.

Harry tilted his head, letting his lips graze the curve of her jaw before trailing lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of her neck. He hummed against her skin, his voice nothing but a rasp. "You were teasing me all night. Now look at you."

She bit her lip, swallowing down the sound that threatened to escape. It was pathetic, how easily he unraveled her, how effortlessly he wound her up. He hadn’t even touched her properly, and already she was teetering on the edge of something reckless, something that stole the breath from her lungs.

His fingers skimmed down her stomach, deliberate and slow, until they settled on the waistband of her underwear. He played with the fabric, tugging it just enough to make her gasp, before dragging his hand back up.

She whimpered.

"You hear that?" he murmured, pressing his lips to the hinge of her jaw. "You’re already desperate for me."

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing down the response on the tip of her tongue. He knew it was true. He knew exactly what he did to her.

And still, he made her wait.

Seconds stretched between them, thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of what was coming. His fingers flexed against her waist, his breathing uneven, his restraint razor-thin.

And then, finally—finally—he pushed inside.

There was no hesitation, no teasing. No gentle buildup.

The moment he entered her, it was deep and hard, stealing the breath from her lungs in one sharp thrust.

Her fingers flew to the door, pressing against it for support, her body arching in response to the sudden fullness, the delicious stretch of him inside her. A broken moan tumbled from her lips, her forehead falling forward, her body tensing around him.

"Fuck." The word was a ragged groan from behind her, his voice thick, strained. His grip on her waist tightened, his nails pressing crescents into her skin. "So tight, sweetheart. Always so fucking tight for me."

She barely heard him. Barely registered anything beyond the way he felt, the way he filled her completely, the way his hips pulled back—just enough to make her whimper—before snapping forward again.

It was punishing. Relentless.

There was no slow build, no tenderness. Just pure, raw need.

His other hand slid up, fingers tracing the path between her ribs before curving around her breast. He squeezed, rough and possessive, his thumb swiping over the peak. She gasped, her knees nearly giving out beneath her.

She couldn’t think.

Couldn’t focus on anything beyond the way he moved, the way he took her—deep and desperate, like he needed this as much as she did.

"This is what you wanted, huh?" His voice was nothing but a rasp, wrecked and breathless. "To be fucked like this?"

A strangled moan was all she could manage, her hands scrabbling against the door, nails scraping against the wood.

His pace quickened, hips slamming into hers, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the dimly lit room. The dresser beside them rattled with every thrust, the sharp edge of the door biting into her palms as she braced herself.

She could feel herself slipping, unraveling beneath his touch. The pleasure built rapidly, winding tight in her stomach, threatening to snap.

But just as she reached for it—just as she started to fall—he pulled away.

She gasped at the sudden loss, her body protesting immediately, but before she could even form a coherent thought, he spun her around.

Her back barely hit the dresser before his hands were on her thighs, lifting her easily, placing her exactly where he wanted. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, gripping his shoulders, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he aligned himself again.

His mouth crashed against hers—desperate, bruising.

The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongues, heat and hunger. He nipped at her bottom lip before swallowing the breathy moan that slipped out, his hands digging into the flesh of her thighs as he held her still.

And then, without warning, he slammed back into her.

Her head tipped back, a strangled sound escaping as her fingers clawed at his back.

He didn’t give her time to adjust. Didn’t give her time to catch her breath.

He set a brutal pace from the start, each thrust deep and deliberate, dragging pleasure through her like fire licking at dry wood.

"Look at me."

His voice was commanding, his grip tightening as his fingers tangled in her hair.

She forced her eyes open, her vision hazy, dazed, as she met the intense green of his.

His pupils were blown, his jaw tight, sweat dampening the curls at his temples. He looked wrecked, desperate, and completely in control all at once.

The way he was looking at her—like he wanted to watch every second of her unraveling, like he wanted to imprint this moment in his memory forever—sent a fresh wave of arousal through her.

The dresser rocked beneath them, the force of his movements sending jolts of pleasure through her, her body trembling from the sheer intensity of it.

She was close.

So close she could taste it, could feel it creeping up her spine, threatening to pull her under.

And then he did something devastating.

He slowed.

His thrusts dragged out, the pace shifting—not easing in intensity, but stretching the moment, prolonging it, making her suffer.

She whimpered, her nails digging into his skin, frustration making her eyes sting.

"Harry," she pleaded, voice wrecked, shaking.

His smirk was slow, teasing, even as his own restraint wavered. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear as he murmured, "Come on, sweetheart. Let go."

The words shattered her.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, dragging her under, burning through every nerve ending. She gasped, her whole body tensing, thighs squeezing around him, fingers gripping him so tightly she was sure she’d leave marks.

The sound that left her—somewhere between a sob and a scream—sent him spiraling after her.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself deep, his whole body shuddering as he spilled into her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Their breathing filled the silence, ragged and uneven, the scent of sweat and sex lingering between them.

Then, Harry let out a breathless, hoarse chuckle against her shoulder.

"Fuck," he muttered, forehead dropping to hers.

She exhaled shakily, still floating somewhere between reality and oblivion.

And when she finally laughed—soft, dazed—he smirked, shaking his head.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to her jaw. "Real funny."

Her body still hummed from the aftershocks, her skin dewy, her limbs heavy and languid. The dresser was cool against her back, contrasting the overwhelming warmth of him—his body still pressed to hers, his breath warm against her temple.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself exist in this space, in the remnants of what they’d just done. Her fingers trailed absentmindedly along his shoulder, nails scraping lightly against damp skin.

He sighed, a slow exhale that ghosted across her collarbone. "You okay?"

It was soft. Barely more than a murmur, but the concern in his voice made something pull tight in her chest.

She swallowed, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. You?"

His lips brushed over her throat, lingering there for a beat before he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Always."

She huffed out a tired laugh, shaking her head. But she didn’t argue.

Because for now, she’d let herself believe it.

The first thing Y/N registers is warmth.

It surrounds her, presses against her back, blankets her in something heavy and solid and safe.

A slow, steady breath ghosts over her shoulder, warm lips barely grazing her skin in sleep.

Harry.

Reality creeps in slowly, threading through the fog of exhaustion. The sheets are tangled around her legs, twisted in the aftermath of limbs and desperate touches. His arm is draped over her waist, his fingers relaxed against her stomach, but even in sleep, his hold is possessive—like even now, he doesn’t want her to leave.

She blinks, adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the window, to the weight of his body curled around hers.

This is real.

The thought hits her with startling clarity. The heat of him against her, the soft inhale and exhale of his breath.

His fingers twitch against her stomach, flexing slightly—like he’s making sure she’s still there.

For a moment, she lets herself sink into it.

She stays still, breathing him in, memorizing the feeling of his skin against hers. She closes her eyes, reveling in the warmth, the intimacy of it, the slow rise and fall of his chest pressed against her back.

But then, the second thought comes.

She needs to go.

Carefully, she shifts, trying to untangle herself without disturbing him, but the moment she moves, his grip tightens.

"Where you going, trouble?"

His voice is low, thick with sleep, rough in a way that makes something clench deep in her stomach.

She swallows. "I should leave before—"

His arm tightens around her, pulling her back into him.

"Stay."

The word is soft. Barely a whisper.

But it steals the breath from her lungs.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Because this? This isn’t supposed to happen.

She bites her lip, staring at the ceiling.

"Harry, this—" she hesitates, her voice quieter now, less certain. "This wasn’t supposed to happen."

His fingers move slowly, tracing small circles against her hip, his breath steadying.

"Maybe not." He presses a lazy kiss to her shoulder. "But it did."

She doesn’t respond.

Because she doesn’t know how.

So, for now, neither of them moves.

For a while, they exist in a bubble.

The tension is still there—always—but now it’s laced with something heavier.

Something neither of them speaks about.

They steal moments.

Quick touches in the elevator. Lingering glances across the lobby. The brush of his fingers against her wrist in passing. A hand on her lower back when no one’s looking.

The silence between them is thick with unspoken words, with things they should say but don’t.

Because saying them makes this real.

And if it’s real, it can break.

But then, the bubble bursts.

A paparazzi photo leaks.

"Harry Styles spotted leaving neighbor’s apartment in the early hours."

Her phone is vibrating before she even opens her eyes.

A constant buzz against her nightstand, insistent and relentless.

She groans, squinting against the early morning light as she reaches for it.

Calls. Messages. Notifications blowing up.

Her stomach tightens.

With shaking fingers, she swipes through the alerts.

People found her Instagram. They’re digging through her posts. Speculating.

Her heart pounds as she scrolls through the headlines. The invasive comments. The messages flooding her inbox—some curious, some vicious.

Her stomach twists.

Her hands shake.

She doesn’t even hesitate before grabbing her keys and heading to Harry’s apartment.

By the time she gets there, the door is already unlocked.

She steps inside cautiously, closing the door behind her, her pulse hammering in her ears.

Harry is pacing.

His back is to her, his hands tangled in his hair, his shoulders rigid.

He turns sharply at the sound of the door clicking shut.

His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are dark, stormy.

"Harry—"

"We can’t do this."

The words hit like a slap.

Her breath catches, her stomach twisting so violently she thinks she might be sick.

"So that’s it?"

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t answer.

Because he doesn’t know.

And that’s the worst part.

Not the photo. Not the headlines. Not the fact that the world is picking apart something she doesn’t even understand herself.

It’s this.

The hesitation in his voice. The conflict in his eyes. The way he looks at her like he wants to pull her close but knows he shouldn’t.

She waits.

Waits for him to take it back.

To say something, anything, that makes this hurt less.

But he doesn’t.

His throat bobs, his fingers twitch at his sides, his mouth parts slightly—like he might speak.

But he doesn’t.

She exhales shakily, her vision blurring.

And when she finally turns, when she finally walks away—

He doesn’t stop her.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[aimfor-theheart]

mafia au with bodyguard vi i am gnawing on the bars of my enclosure

anon i’m trying to distract myself on this flight so here take this little drabble bc i can’t get bodyguard!vi out of my mind 😖

***

You laze at your vanity, languid like a cat; taking your time to get ready. Your hair is half undone. You’re still in your sheer, dark tights and bra—some jewelry hanging from your bare skin, some still scattered on the vanity in front of you. Your martini glass gleams alongside the pearls in the lowlight of your bedroom.

You’re powdering your face when someone knocks.

“Come in,” You say, despite your state of undress.

When Vi enters, you catch her eyes in the reflection of your vanity mirror.

She curses a little, averting her gaze. You smile, slow and mischievous.

“You know, usually when people are undressed, they don’t tell someone to stroll into their bedroom.” Vi remarks.

“Oh, but I knew it was you.” You respond innocently.

She huffs a bit of a laugh. You see a muscle feather in her jaw. She’s still looking away from you, but there’s something in her face—it lurks around the edges of her expression, like she’s trying to keep it hidden.

(Hunger looks good on her.)

“I’m your bodyguard, princess. I should be standing outside your door while you get ready like this.” She says and you’ve found that she likes to tell you about what she should do with you. She likes to tell you what’s proper, as you lure her into something improper.

“Oh, relax. Have a drink, would you?” You retort, lifting your martini glass to her in the mirror as if to demonstrate. You take a sip, lemon twist and flowery gin hit your tongue in a cool burst. “I wanted company while I finish getting ready.”

She lets go of a hard sigh. “You’re trying to get me killed. Your father would have my head.”

“Good thing he’s not around tonight, then.” You hum, finally returning to your preening and powdering.

“Would you at least put on some clothes for me?” Vi asks the ceiling and really it’s almost—funny, how chivalrous she’s trying to be. Gentlemanly. She still hasn’t looked your way.

Well, that won’t do.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy.” You coo, finally turning from the mirror to face her. “Not with your reputation…”

She barks out a laugh.

“I’m being paid to protect you.” Vi reiterates and you think, at this point, she’s reminding herself more than you.

“So you can’t keep me company while I get ready?” You ask sweetly.

Her eyes cut to you before she can stop herself, a flash of blue lighting. When she takes you in, it’s with a hitched breath. Her eyes skip down the curves of your body. She looks away again.

“You’re not sly, sweetheart. I know your game.” Vi says, dragging a hand through her hair, tousling it further.

You let go of an overdramatic sigh, “Fine, fine. I’ll dress.”

And with that, you saunter to your wardrobe, where the slinky little dress you’ll be wearing tonight hangs. It’s midnight purple, shimmering like dark water at night. You pull it from the hanger and carefully slip it on. But in the back, it hangs open, zipper undone.

Your eyes cut to Vi—she’s still turned away and you trace the broad lines of her back. The sliver of her tattoo that starts at the nape of her neck.

“Vi,” You say her name so lightly, “will you help me?”

When she looks at you, it’s of the open back of your dress, all your bare skin and the silk. The lacy back of your bra—the shadow of your matching panties beneath the tights. You peek over your shoulder demurely.

Vi swallows hard.

But still, she approaches. Her footsteps are slow, heavy. And then she’s behind you and you can almost feel her, feel her warmth. You stay perfectly still for her—waiting, breath held—

The touch of her fingers against the bare skin of your lower back makes your lashes flutter. She takes the zipper in hand. With her other hand, she smoothes the fabric of the dress, palm open against the curve of your waist.

Slowly, she pulls the zipper up along your spine.

When she’s done, she settles that hand on your waist, too. Holds you.

“You’re such trouble.” She murmurs, squeezes a little into the soft give of your hips.

“I just needed your help.” You say, bedroom soft.

This little, frustrated groan works its way out of her throat. Your stomach flips, thinking of what it might sound against your throat, or inner thighs. She hangs her head and for a moment, you think she might close the rest of the distance, might let her lips fall to the nape of your neck, or press her chest all against your back—

Instead, she’s gone. Hands off you, held up like she’s trying to show she’s innocent, as she takes a few steps away from you.

She sinks into one of your loveseats—the one that faces the vanity.

“Finish getting ready, princess.”

And for once, you listen to her. You finish pinning your hair. You finish your makeup and add your jewelry. You drink the rest of your martini, the warmth of alcohol hitting you sweet and hot, somewhere in your chest.

When you’re finished, you nudge your stocking clad foot in her direction.

She knows, instantly and moves to you. She eases to one knee, and takes one of your heels in hand. She pulls your foot into her lap, then she deftly eases the shoe onto your foot. She buckles the strap around your ankle dutifully. She does the other one with the same, methodical devotion.

She looks up at you from her knees, your ankle still held in her rough palm. “Happy?” She asks.

“Endlessly.” Your smile is a cat’s curve, a crescent moon.

“You’re so spoiled.” Vi says, adjusting the strap of your heel, so it sits perfectly.

“I like to be taken care of, that’s all.” You say primly.

She snorts at that, and squeezes your ankle in her strong hand. “Princess?” She says, eyes dark and imploring, looking up at you—

It’s such a good look on her. Like this, on her knees.

“Hm?”

She stands slowly, now towering over you. You slowly tip your head back to look up at her. And she even takes your chin in hand, makes you hold her eyes.

“Don’t run off tonight.” She warns.

Your smile turns sharp—eyes dancing with mischief.

“But you always did love a good chase.”

(Hunger looks good on her.)

[petalsprompts]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 & 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄; 𝙺𝙴𝚈𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 '𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚂'.

change  pronouns,  tenses  and  other  details  as  deemed  necessary. &  please  specify  muse  when  sending  to  a  mumu.

I  am  a  secret.  That  is  all  I  will  ever  be.

If  you  cannot  hold  me  in  your  arms,  then  hold  my  memory  in  high  regard.

Do  people  always  fall  in  love  with  things  they  can't  have?

Everybody  wants  their  own  little  place  in  the  world.  And  maybe  mine  is  here,  loving  you  from  a  distance.

If  I  give  in  to  my  desires,  I'll  have  to  deal  with  the  consequences  of  stupid  actions.

Our  love  defies  logic  and  reason,  a  cosmic  connection  that  words  cannot  fully  capture.

Love  is  rarely  a  choice.

I  swore  that  I  wouldn't  kiss  you  again. 

I  kept  hoping  that  if  I  just  ran  far  enough,  eventually  I’d  figure  out  a  way  to  stop  loving  you.

You  said  you  didn't  want  this.  Were  you  lying?

Love  is  love,  even  if  it  is  illicit;  like  light  remains  light  even  in  the  darkness.

I  need  to  stop  running  back  to  you  in  my  mind  all  the  time.

I  do  not  lack  the  courage  to  tell  you  how  I  feel.  What  I  fear  is  how  you  will  react  to  it.

If  I  cannot  be  in  your  life,  then  at  least  let  me  live  in  your  heart.

It  is  terrifying  to  love  someone  who  is  forbidden  to  you,  terrifying  to  feel  something  you  can  never  speak  of.

If  you  come  away  with  me,  I  can  promise  you  pain  and  disgrace...  but  I  will  love  you  like  no  other  can.

We  were  doomed  from  the  start.  A  lost  cause.  A  losing  battle.

Everything  between  us  is  destined  to  become  a  mere  memory

Do  you  want  the  truth?  The  truth  is,  I  would  fuck  you  right  here  and  now.  Right  on  this  fuking  table,  but  I  can't!

I  think  perhaps  I  will  always  hold  a  candle  for  you  –  even  until  it  burns  my  hand.

I  will  never  let  you  go,  do  you  hear  me?  No  matter  how  long  it  takes,  I  will  keep  you  safe.  And  I  will  find  a  way  for  us  to  be  together.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

thinking about Lucanis again (always). and how so much of his narrative boils down to the theme of "control". and of course also about how this applies to the Rook x Lucanis relationship.

like the first scenes with him in the game are, in theory, about freeing him from the Ossuary (although he seems to have an escape attempt already in progress at the time, they certainly weren't just letting him keep those knives on him for enrichment purposes, Rook just provided an opening/distraction he could take advantage of and crucially Rook has A Way Out of the whole place not just a cell). but ACTUALLY the purpose it to put him right into a new contract for Us, one set up by his own grandmother and first talon no less, and the person he has the MOST trouble saying no to. He's escaped torture and the Venatori for sure but he still isn't free, which I think is part of what leads to Spite's confusion/the Inner Demons plotline. He agrees to the contract but you can tell it's in many parts out of a sense of duty/mourning vs something he actively wants to do for himself. And then the FIRST real heartfelt conversation you have with him, where he tells you "even before I was captured, my life was not really my own. So much had been determined for me." But he's chaffaing at that! He thinks "to live truly is to live fully" and so directly tells you he doesn't think he's lived a life true to himself. He's been constantly smothered by the weight of expectations around him, even though he longs for more.

And then once you get him to the Lighthouse you see how this Big lack of control in his life comes out as all these smaller frustrations. He's terrified of sleeping and downing 11 cups of coffee per hour because sleeping means he will lose control to Spite, even though Spite is shown to flee rather than fight when he feels threatened, and once calmed down, is more drawn to just benign curiosity/mischief than anything actively malicious. Like if Lucanis loses control and sleeps for a few hours he is not going to wake up surrounded by bloodshed, he's going to wake up to a belly full of candle wax because he wouldn't like Spite taste one while they were awake. Which is the other half of this--he constantly denying Spite's impulses for reasons that in some ways make sense (HE doesn't want to eat candles), but not in a way that's actually satisfying to either of them (why not just take a bite, chew for a bit, and spit it out so Spite knows they kind of suck actually?). But he CAN say no to Spite and so he does. Over and over. Spite's one of the few people he can deny things without feeling bad about it, because it's HIS body he doesn't like that has to share now (<- this is what he thinks about it at first anyway, but he's wrong, it's both of theirs and it's useless to try to hold those kind of boundaries forever. but the "no its mine" spiteful instinct is very beautifully ironic and reflective of them both and their early relationship).

And personally I think this is where his fear of his own desires and intimacy is coming from, at the root. I don't think he's afraid of the concept of being in a romance or having feelings (even if they're unusual and rare for him, this is by no means incompatible with him being demi) but I DO think he is afraid of the kind of power it gives people over you. Getting something you want means there's something else that can be taken away. Admitting your desire means the other person has the opportunity to deny that. The more you have, the more you have to lose, and he has lost again and again and again in his life--his parents, his childhood to the crows, his independence, even his future--he doesn't aspire to be first Talon but he knows the rumors. He knows his grandmother wanted it for him, not Illario. His life path has been laid out for him by others and up to this point he has simply been going along with it anyway, even though it bothers him. He COULD argue and fight Caterina and push for Illario who actually wants the job to be First Talon instead, but from The Wigmaker Job we know he doesn't. He just ignores it and pretends maybe it won't happen, without him having to do any of the work. Which is why in the end Illario is the one who has to make a move about it (and even warns Lucanis of this!!!!). Lucanis KNOWS all this makes him a target but is neither taking charge or getting off of the train tracks, just closes his eyes.

And I think THIS context is what makes the almost kiss scene in the pantry make more sense to me. Rather than being afraid of having feelings (and then NEVER addressing this in game with a Rook who pursues him anyway) or not knowing how to finish what he's started via crow seduction training, it's more like this is a pivotal moment where he can actively choose to step off the planned path of be given a job -> kill the gods -> enact revenge -> go home. even if he doesn't at that point realize that a relationship with Rook could be something that lasts long-term, the very act of doing something just for himself is what's foreign and scary and hard. It's that first step off the tracks, and even if he were to keep walking in the same direction, it means he's making a choice about it. he's accepting that one way or another it IS in his power to go along with everyone else's plans or not. Hence the hesitation, and drawing back, and needing to clear his head.

And then the rest of Rook's role in his narrative IS about giving him more and more control for himself. Inner Demons, dealing with Illario, his questlines move less towards revenge and more towards just... not being locked into one fate. Which of course Caterina comes back and immediately tries to overturn by declaring him First Talon after all, even though she and him and everyone else knows she's not ACTUALLY ready to give up her rule/decision making power yet. Which in a way is maddening because cmon I did all this work here so this sad man could have some agency in his own life just to watch him get sucked right back in (which, at least we get many directions to headcanon from here), but there's no denying that THIS version of Lucanis at least is actually going in with his eyes open now. THIS Lucanis has had a taste of life outside the Crows, and seen the politics and power dynamics in other places/organizations, and finally has emotional ties to the big picture state of the world now, both in relationship and friendship paths with Rook. He's not just hyper focused on each contract as it's given to him now, he's looking at the whole thing.

Anyway of course the beautiful culmination of all this within the romance is the lighthouse scene with Rook, where he finally is willing to let himself be vulnerable (emotionally and physically), and fall asleep without fear of what Spite's going to do in the meanwhile. He also (depending on dialogue choice) finally talks about his feelings directly with you for the first time instead of in roundabout ways (the dessert being "not enough" is it really the dessert you mean, Lucanis. is it.). Even though he is STILL reluctant to verbally admit his feelings or let Rook share their own at this point, I think that's more a narrative choice about saving those last emotional dialogue options for the big final battle. but it is another point where he does have to stop just following along and ACTIVELY choose that yes, yes sometimes loving is worth the risk of losing it. Even if someone takes it away from you later, even if you don't survive it, sometimes the love alone makes it worth it.

I have like another 5000 words I could add into about how Spite ties into all this, about how having the demon in him is something he both fears AND how it forces him to acknowledge that actually yes he DOES share the same base feelings/instincts Spite does in terms of not wanting to be told what to do. And how this in a way is part of what gives him permission to act on it since he can no longer just shove it down out of sight. but this post is long enough already so i'm just going to take the rest of this and gnaw on it all day like a chew toy I guess.

anyway. AHG. it is kind of frustrating that the culmination of his arc seems to be "and then he got the job he never wanted anyway" but I do think at least all this prepares him for it in a way Caterina actively failed to actually do on her own. He NEEDED that step away from his straightforward path. Whether he stays first talon or not, and with or without rook as a romantic partner, he's finally been able to explore ideas outside the expectations of others.

[400luxxxxxxx]

toxic doomed old man yaoi

shakespeare if he was woke

Iago: God forsake that doltish, doltish man! That he believeth each word to drop from mine own lips as though ‘twere holy writ, blindeth himself in his conceit... God save us all if that moor hadst remain’d powerful as he once was. Was! ‘Tis ever so sweet to speak of him in the past. My hatred for the man doth outlast his brief, fool’s life. Ay, good riddance I say, good riddance. It gives me somewhat to dwell upon, rather than mine own blood seepeth o’er my clothes – and yet, whilst I am so bruised and beaten, the thought dost creep o’er my mind, that I am glad Othello saw me not in such estate... good riddance, I say! And good riddance to his whore of a wife, loyal or nay! I stand triumphant, as I ever was, whilst they both do rot in the ground, many a pace betwixt them. Never have I known a fate more satisfying. If he were to cast me aside, then let him have naught by his side. Yet the question I can but ask myself still, is why doth mine heart ache so? The moor is dead by none but his own doing. Blind was he to mine own worth, casting me off like so. Say not mine hand was unforced. So why doth I ache so?

Were he alive, would he rue it? The fool, to end his own life... could he not be a man? Othello, thou art a fool if thou hear’st me now! By what reason or wit didst thou wed that woman? Did she know thee better than I? Did she know thee more deeply? Doth her devotion put mine years of loyalty to shame? I-

Ay, see me now! Pacing and railing against the walls of this accurs’d cell like a craz’d wretch. Nay, Othello, thou art not here. Good riddance to thee. Thou art dead, I am alive; thus I am the victor.

Yet it doth feel less noble than I had dreamt. There is no crowd to applaud me within these walls. In mine heart there smoulders a fire, yet beneath it lies an emptiness naught can fill. My hunger should have been sated the moment that blade pierc’d his belly, yet instead tis growing more keen as each day doth pass. And without him. Yet pass they do.

Nay, good riddance, The days pass as e’er they did, yet the man who wronged me doth not see their passage – that alone is reason for celebration. Were I free this moment, mayhap I’d travel to the nearest tavern and there proclaim my triumph to all ‘til my voice grew hoarse.

Yet, even as I say it, I dread that the instant I entered, the name “Othello” would lie presuppos’d on my tongue. Oh, heavens, whom do I seek to deceive? There is none but myself here. His name, which stirr’d naught but anger in my heart, used to do the opposite. Speak on, I shall not, for if there aught left to grip save mine hand upon mine wind, it is my dignity. These walls, they crack and whisper – I should know, for I have stood long upon the other side of them. For Othello’s sake, no less.

The fate he met, ‘twas by his own hand wrought. Cassio, his choice? That lecherous, fawning knave? Were I in Othello’s stead, I’d have cast off this mortal coil the moment such a decision was made. And yet, as he hearken’d to mine own supposed crimes, ere he did end his life in such selfish haste, I find myself longing that his reddened face and rueful eye had been set alight for another cause. Mayhaps a more selfish one. That red, perchance warm’d by mine lips upon his.

God, save me! Let some gaoler enter this cell and thrash me senseless for thinking thus, and let mine head be dash’d upon the cold stone floor for that I would not repent.

--

translated version for stupid harlots

Iago:

God forsake that stupid, stupid man! Believing every word to come out my mouth like it is the scripture itself, blinding himself with his own ego... god save us all if he was to remain as powerful as he was. Was – it’s ever so satisfying to speak of him in past tense now. My hate  for the man lives longer than he ever did. Good riddance, I say, good riddance. It gives me something to occupy myself with, rather than the way my own blood drips onto my clothes – while I’m beaten, the thought can’t help but enter my mind that I’m glad Othello never saw me like this... good riddance! And good riddance to his whore of a wife, faithful or not! I remain triumphant as always while they both rot in the ground, metres apart forever. I’ve never heard of a more satisfying fate. If he was to choose to not have me by his side, then he will have no one. The question, however, that I can’t help but ask myself, is why do I still ache? That idiot is dead because of no one’s fault but his own. He failed to recognise my worthiness, pushed me to the side like some sort of wingman, you cannot say my hand was not forced. So why do I ache like so?

If he was alive still, would he regret it? The fool, ending his own life like that... be a man! Othello, you moron, if you by any chance of the heavens can hear me now, you are a fool! Why in any sense of sanity you still held onto would you marry that woman? Did she know you better than I? Did she understand you more deeply than I? Did she stay by your side for god knows how long that put my years of loyalty to shame? I-

Look at me now. Pacing and yelling to the walls of this damned grey cell like some sort of deluded psychotic. No, Othello, you are not here. Good riddance. You are dead and I am alive, and  therefore I am the victor.

It feels less admirable than I had imagined it to feel.

There is no applause in this cell for me. There is a fire burning in my heart but just below it, my stomach is empty as it’ll ever be. My appetite should’ve been quenched the second that knife entered his belly but for some reason it’s getting worse as the days pass. Without him, they pass.

No, good riddance. The days pass as they always did and this time a man who has wronged me is not here to see it – that, in my books, is a cause for celebration. Why, if I was freed right now maybe I’d even go for a trip to the nearest tavern, and brag about my winnings to everyone I can see until my throat is raw.

However, and I truly may hate myself for this, I fear the second I storm in there and open my mouth to speak, the name “Othello” would already be presumed to be on my tongue. Oh, who am I to fool. There is no one here but me. Where his name, when spoken to me, now provokes ire and anger, it did so used to do the opposite. Speak on, I will not, for if there is one thing that I wish to hold on to other than my hand to my bleeding wound it is my dignity. These cracking cell walls, they speak. I should know; I’ve been on the other side of them for the majority of my time here. For Othello’s sake, nonetheless.

The fate he had he brought it on himself. Cassio was his choice? That good for nothing womanizer? If I were Othello I’d have killed myself the second that god-awful decision was made.

And yet, as he was told of my crimes, before he did end his own life so selfishly, I can’t help but wish the red in his face and the regret in his eyes could’ve been for a different reason. The flush of his face, maybe accompanied with my lips on his.

God, spare me! Let someone back into my cell to beat my wounds raw for thinking such a thing, and let my skull be cracked open on the cold, concrete floor for not wanting to take it back.

[kaynineacademy]

”why are you looking at me like that” clearly you are not aware that every time you speak my heart tries to crawl straight out of my chest

[theaftersundown]

which one are you?

[midnightshade]

Sometimes I imagine what would've happened if Muzan used the Kizuki more efficiently.

There's Twelve in total, split between the Upper Moons and the Lower Moons. Instead of expecting the Lower Moons to operate exactly like the Upper Moons and killing them off when they didn't live up to his standards, Muzan should have captalized on their percieved weaknesses.

Demons can survive on simply eating corpses or animals, so if he had had the Lower Moons blend into human society and keep a low profile, they could have been used primarily as informants or spies for the Upper Moons. It could have worked more seamlessly as a chain of command. Since there are six Upper Moons and six Lower Moons, they could be paired off.

Each Upper Moon gets a Lower Moon to work with, and while the Lower Moon is keeping cover and living as a human, the Upper Moon acts as the muscle since their strength requires them to eat more humans, making blending in for long periods tricker, since eventually a demon slayer would be tipped off to their existence [see, Daki and Gyutaro]

Nakime, even despite not being an Upper Rank until Gyokko and Hantengu's death, could play a special role beforehand where the Lower Moons send information through her either to their Upper Moon or to Muzan.

Idk. Just feel like the Lower Moons could have had more use in the story and it's fun to consider how their role could have evolved.

[urfriendlywriter]

5 prompts a day !

(24 hours drabble challenge! Write a drabble within 24hrs (using any one or more prompts) and tag meeee I'll repost it in this account for 24 hrs!!)

a very silent night and they're back from home, utterly spent and tired and beeline straight for you. pulling u closer by ur waist and resting their forehead against yours as they barely whisper, "love me, [name]."

forbidden love when,

^ "We can't, [name]-" they cuts you off, lips crashing against yours in a fierce, desperate kiss full of love and longing.

they break the kiss, their forehead resting against yours. "I know," their voice is murmured, "I know we can't. I know it's complicated. I know it's crazy. But fuck, I've missed you."

they swallow hard, their throat bobbing. "If you tell me to stop. If you push me away again. I won't come back this time. I'll respect your boundaries, but I won't put myself through this torture again." (someone PLS. WRITE. AND GIVE ME. ANGST!!!)

[captain-hawks]

thinking about down bad, closeted pervert bestfriend!mattsun who hates himself because every minor thing you do turns him on so much and he can’t even blink without picturing you completely fucked out in his bed and he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship by hitting you with the good ole “I have to tell you something” so he just drives up his water bill with cold showers 🫠 even worse if you’re dating someone bc in his head you two have already fucked on every surface of his apartment

you + seijoh throw a surprise party for mattsun at his and makki’s apartment.

the music’s too loud. there’s too many people. too much alcohol.

you look far too lovely for mattsun’s tattered, beer-addled restraint. especially when you parade him around the living room dancing and laughing and singing happy birthday. kissing his cheek, fingers carding through his messy hair.

(he wants to kiss you on the mouth, wants to show you how much he likes the new dress you bought for his birthday, wants to shove everyone off of his stupid couch and tug you into his lap.)

he forces himself talk to a girl whose name he really couldn’t care less about, because your boyfriend eventually shows up and shakes his fucking hand like they’re friends and really it’s not his place to care—

but then he escapes to the quiet of his room for a breather.

and you’re there, curled up in his bed. wearing one of his sweatshirts.

your boyfriend didn’t stay long and he thought you left with him without saying goodbye and—

he goes to tuck you in, though he won’t lie to himself and say it’s not partly because the sight of your bare legs tangled in his sheets is enough to wreck him on the spot.

“issei?” you mumble, half asleep, fingers tangling with his to stop him from pulling away.

he pauses, breathing in slowly. “yeah?”

(he knows his pillow is going to smell like your shampoo and his stupid, traitorous dick aches at the thought.)

“did everyone leave yet?” you ask, like you own the goddamn place (he wants to laugh at the irony, of all the things you don’t know are yours already.)

he doesn’t answer fast enough, his mind whirring over that ridiculous thought, and you add in a tired, whiny voice, “—cause i wanna cuddle.”

it’s probably shitty, the way he locks his bedroom door and texts the group chat and tells them he’s got a headache, he’s going to bed. the way he bends to your sleepy, tipsy, petulant will as you berate him for wearing jeans in bed.

(the way his hazy mind is caught somewhere between the fantasy of kissing you slow and soft against the pillows and fucking you into the mattress as you tuck yourself against him and drift off to sleep.)

[youneedsomeprompts]

~ FORBIDDEN LOVE ~ PROMPTS about showing love without confessing

requested by: anonymous request: forbidden love prompts? where you can never say explicitly what you want for fear of being rejected or caught

Feel free to use and reblog!

always making sure the other is safe

being happy when someone else is doing something nice for the other because it would be suspicious if they were the only one constantly showering the other with affection

making an effort to tease them regularly because in no way could that be suspicious

"You look very... alright, I guess."

trying to keep their distance because they can't trust themselves not to confess their feelings

"Really? You thought about me? I... I thought about you, too."

"Nooo, I would never date a friend/enemy. Of course, there are no exceptions." *blushes heavily*

trying to tell themselves that there are no romantic feelings involved

A: "Would you like to hang out on Sunday?" B: "Sure! It's a date!" A: "What? Like a 'date' date?" B: "What?" A: "What?"

A: "Don't be upset! Don't listen to them! You're the most special person!" B: "You really think that? You think I'm special?" A: *blushes heavily*

A: "I love spending time with you. That doesn't mean I have a crush on you." B: "Good. I never thought that."

testing the waters by casually dropping how romantic some of the things are the other does

A: "My dream partner would have to have [this trait] and [that trait]." B: "Haha. This sounds just like me! I would be your perfect partner. Isn't that funny?"

being torn between wanting to get rid of their feelings for the other and wanting to nurture the feelings in a hopeless, masochistic way

"I think we met for a reason."

C: "You never shut up about B." A: "That's because they annoy me so much."

being extremely happy when the other seeks their company

trying to act cool and casual but getting more awkward and nervous in the course

B: "You don't need to pretend that you like me. I know you hate me." A: "I'm sorry, what? I don't hate you. Quite contrary!"

making up endless scenarios about how they would confess their love, knowing they'll never do it anyway

[the-horizon-lounge3041]

Aloy isn’t amused with those who use AI

(She is saying this to people who use it as an easy way to create content, made this because of the recent Sony AI test and how they used a character from a game that is mocking/warning the dangers of AI which is an odd choice to say the least)

But yeah, don’t use AI for creating content, it’s very insulting to artists and other hardworking people who worked hard to get to where they are in a workplace and an industry🫶

Please and thank you!

And go give this little gremlin Aloy a cucumber slice to munch on, being angry about this made her hungry.

[luna-azzurra]

Dark Romance Prompts #2

The Daughter of His Enemy (Who He Shouldn’t Want). She’s the one person he should hate. The daughter of the man who ruined his life, the girl raised in privilege while he grew up in war. Taking her was supposed to be revenge. Keeping her was supposed to be cruelty. But now she’s unraveling everything he thought he knew about himself. And now, he doesn’t think he cares.

The Bodyguard Who’s Not as Good as He Pretends to Be. She hired him to protect her, but if she knew the truth about him, she’d run. He’s not just there to guard her, he’s there to watch her, study her, learn everything about her until she trusts him enough to never see the knife coming. But the closer he gets, the harder it is to remember why he started this in the first place. Because she’s looking at him like he’s good. And maybe, for her, he could be.

The Priest Who Wants Her (But Shouldn’t). She came to him looking for salvation. He’s the one person who should guide her away from sin, not into it. But some desires don’t fade, and when she confesses the things she really wants, his restraint snaps. Now, neither of them is innocent. And in the quiet, candlelit darkness of the church, he whispers the one thing that seals her fate: "God isn’t the one who’s listening right now."

The Serial Killer Who Leaves Clues Just for Her. She’s a profiler, trained to hunt monsters. He’s the ghost that no one can catch, except he’s been watching her. Leaving messages, signs, gifts wrapped in blood and obsession. At first, she thinks it’s a game. A way to taunt her. But the deeper she falls into his web, the more she starts to wonder if it’s something worse. Something sick. Something she doesn’t want to stop.

The Cursed Prince Who Can Only Be Saved by Her... At a Cost. The legends say the monster in the castle is doomed to die, cursed by his own sins. No one has ever survived meeting him. But when she’s dragged before him, something strange happens—he lets her live. Now, she’s trapped in his domain, and every time she tries to leave, the shadows close in. He doesn’t want her. Not really. But there’s something in his eyes when he looks at her. Something broken. And she has no idea if she’s here to heal him… or be destroyed by him.

Here's My Free E-book On Amazon on character development,

And Here’s the Show, Don’t Tell freebie book and my newsletter.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Forbidden Love

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4500

Summary: Soon-to-be Congressman James Bucky Barnes has fallen for you, his bodyguard. But will you risk your job protecting him to be his girlfriend?

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Oral (Fem), fingering, maybe a little bit of idiots in love. 

A/N: @avengers-assemble-bingo for James Buchanan Barnes - 108th Birthday. The square filled “Confetti”. (card #4B 024) 

A/N 2: Thank you to my betas @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @nekoannie-chan Thank you to @fictional-affairs for the header. Thank you to @whimsicalrogers for the divider

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

The sun was starting to rise when Bucky woke suddenly. He reached across the bed to find the sheets were cold, you were gone. You were quiet when you left before the sun would rise. You were so stealthy it freaked him out since he was a super soldier and former assassin. 

He stretched real quick before climbing out of bed naked. Bucky headed to the shower and put the water as hot as he could handle it. After his shower, he continued to go about his morning routine with the news turned on so he could hear what was new that morning.

Walking to the closet he pulled out a suit, dress shirt, and tie. Dressing within minutes he tied his expensive dress shoes and looked himself over in the mirror. Another day to work towards becoming a Congressman.

Bucky made his coffee and sat in front of the television listening to what was going on in the world. Fifteen minutes go by and he hears a knock at his door. Getting up he goes to greet his bodyguards who for now will follow him around until the election is over. 

Standing at the door is you dressed in a black suit with a gun on your hip. The other men are searching the grounds of his home to make sure everything is secure. 

As you step inside you take in his features. Always a sharp dresser Bucky stood before you looking like a man ready to conquer the world. His suit was navy, with a white shirt underneath, and a tie to match. You love how the suit brings out his eyes. A minute passes and you catch yourself eye fucking the man you are assigned to keep alive. 

Bucky catches you staring and can’t help but smirk. Last night was incredible as he finally talked you into staying the night at his place. He was able to take you apart with his sinful tongue and mouth that had you moaning his name like a prayer. He made love to you and had you shedding happy tears from the experience. He would fuck you all night long to show you how he felt about you.

But it wasn’t just sex that made Bucky head over heels for you. You both talked a lot and shared your past lives with one another. Bucky admired how hard you worked to get your job and never let the man-dominated field scare you away. You were a force to be reckoned with.

In private when it was just the two of you, you had a kindness he hadn’t seen in a long time. You would let the walls around your heart crumble down and be completely loving and loyal to a fault. In short, you were everything he wanted in a relationship.

Now he knew you had a different mask on. You were all work and no play when you guarded him. Bucky trusted you with his life and knew you were capable of doing your job despite the feelings between the both of you.

“Good morning, James.” 

“Good morning, doll. Why don’t you come here and give me a kiss for running out on me this morning.”

“How about no. I’m on the job and any of those other agents could walk in on us. You know the rules when the suit is on its business only and I’m in charge.” You were watching him as he moved closer to you.

Bucky leaned in and whispered in your ear, “And when the suit is off I’m in charge, fucking you within an inch of your life.” He smiled when you gasped. Leaning down, Bucky kissed you just below your ear. Just as he pulls away from you a knock on the door echoes in the house and the door opens. 

You turn around and see one of your fellow agents Mark Spencer enter the door. He nods to both of you.

“Perimeter is secured. We have an hour to get to the first newsroom.” 

The man was tall and slightly built but not in a Bucky kind of way. No, you think, Bucky was all hard planes and thick in more ways than one. You shake yourself from your thoughts and nod at Mark.

“Well James, are you ready for us to go?” You asked as you turned around and locked eyes.

Bucky smiled, “I’m ready, doll face.” 

You shook your head and corrected him with your name. But Bucky was already heading for the door calling over his shoulder, “Whatever you say doll face.”

At the newsroom, you and Mark stood backstage watching Bucky on live TV talking about his agenda and how he wants to make a difference. He was an intelligent man who spoke passionately about the changes he would like to see made. 

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him speak. You admired the man who wanted to do so much for his position as a congressman. He had two weeks left to campaign and  was up in the early polls over his opponent.

That smile was all Mark needed to see before he smirked and asked, “So care to share what you’re smiling about?”

That brought your attention back and had you looking at Mark with a frown. “What, I can't smile now at work?”

Mark stood with hands on his hips. “Don’t think I’m dumb. I see the way you two flirt.”

Your eyes went wide at his statement. Was it that obvious you and Bucky had feelings for one another? You were his bodyguard. You protected Bucky with your life. The job called for professionalism and anyone would kill to be in your shoes protecting James Bucky Barnes. He was Captain America’s best friend after all and a war hero. 

Shaking your head at Mark you turned back to the monitor to watch Bucky. “I don’t flirt with him. We’re just friendly in a professional manner. My job is to keep him safe at all times.”

Mark shook his head. “Whatever you say, boss lady.” He chuckled to himself and remained quiet as you both watched Bucky about to finish his interview. 

The news anchor leaned forward and placed her hand gently on his vibranium one. “So James I have to ask. Is there someone special in your life? Someone that holds a special place in your heart?”

Bucky pulled his hand away while still showing that million-dollar smile. “Umm, yeah I have someone special in my life. We’re just not ready to take our relationship public just yet.” 

Your eyes widened in shock as his eyes locked with yours through the monitor. He wasn’t suggesting you was he? There was no way he was putting your nighttime activities out there. He couldn’t, you could lose your job. You haven’t even talked about what you were yet with each other. 

Bucky winked at the camera and the news anchor was calling for a commercial. He thought he did great in the interview today. He was wondering what you were thinking when he spilled there was someone special. Bucky was in love and he didn’t want to hide it anymore. Getting up from the chair he headed backstage where you were waiting with Mark.

His eyes locked onto your face and he could see he might have messed things up by your expression. Maybe he should have talked with you first but you did leave early that morning before he could.

“James, are you ready to leave? We have a schedule to keep to.” Your words were sharp. You didn’t mean to sound frustrated or angry but you didn’t know how to feel.

Bucky sensing your feelings just nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.” 

You lead the way out of the newsroom and to the back where the SUV sits. Scanning the area first you nodded to Mark to bring Bucky out and to the waiting vehicle where another agent sat in the driver's seat. You and Bucky slid into the back seat while Mark sat in the front passenger seat. You both remained silent as you headed to his next engagement.

The rest of the day went by as usual. Bucky did interviews, held a luncheon, and mingled with his constituents. By the time they knew it, it was time to bring Bucky home. The car ride was pretty silent at times and you only discussed where he was heading next. It seemed all the air was sucked out of the vehicle.

When you arrived at his house Mark and the other agents checked the perimeter once again. This left you clearing his house to make sure it was safe. As the agents left it was just you and Bucky alone.

“Well, I guess I should be heading home too. We have another two weeks to go before you get sworn in. I guess I will see you tomorrow James.”

“Bucky. You know I like it when you call me Bucky in private. Don’t go yet, we need to talk.” 

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over a chair. He undid his tie and unbuttoned his top two buttons before sitting on his couch.

You followed him into the living room and sat on the other side of the sofa. You looked over to him and he was just staring at you. Clearing your throat you lock eyes with each other. 

“So what do you want to talk about?” You asked.

“What happened earlier? You haven’t been your joyful self since the first interview I had this morning. Was it the news anchor touching my hand? Cause I pulled away from her.” Bucky stated.

You cast your eyes down for a minute. How could you bring this up without sounding stupid? Taking a deep breath you finally look up into his curious blue eyes.  

“You were asked if there was someone special in your life who holds a special place in your heart. Were you talking about me? Cause if you were I’m no one special at all. All we do is let off some steam after work sometimes by having sex. It’s not like we have been on an actual date or anything. You have never put a label on us.” 

You knew as the words left your mouth it was a slap in the face to Bucky. You had feelings for him but now that Mark made his remarks earlier about the two of you, you were worried about him going to your boss to expose the truth. If you lost your job you wouldn’t know what to do. 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you and leaned forward. “Is that all you think of us is blowing off steam when we have sex? I made love to you just this morning and you were begging for more as I recall. I was indeed talking about you and you're someone special to me. We have shared so much about ourselves to one another and yes I consider when we order food for delivery that to be a date as it’s just us. Where is this all coming from? You know how I feel about you and I want you to be mine. I didn’t put a label on us because you have never expressed how you felt.”

Tears started to well in your eyes. “I-I don’t want to lose my job Bucky over something that may or may not last. I love what I do for a living and I don’t want to lose that part of me.”

“How can you say we may not work out if you haven’t even given me a chance? Who says you have to lose that part of you job-wise? I love being around you. You’re so smart, your instincts are spot on and I legit trust you with my life. Even if you didn’t want anything relationship-wise from me I would hire you as my personal security guard.” 

His eyes are staring into yours as he pleads his case to you. “I don’t want to do the rest of my life without you somehow in it. Please trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about when it comes to your job or us.”

You sat silently taking his words in. He wanted to hire you? That was a huge raise right there. He never mentioned that before. Was it just emotionally driven that he wanted you around? Not really you thought he did say he trusted you with his life. He was right when he said you never gave him a chance to try to work out whatever was between the two of you. Fighting the tears that are trying to fall you look back at Bucky who looks like he is going to fall apart at any moment. Why weren’t you being honest about your feelings as well?

You stood from the couch and Bucky did the same. “I have a lot to think about tonight. I’m going to head home.”

Bucky tried to reach for your hand but you backed away. “Please just stay and let's talk this all out.”

Stepping backward you shook your head. “No, I need to think this over at home. I will be here for my shift in the morning. Goodbye, Bucky.” You rushed out of his house and headed to your parked SUV, leaving Bucky all alone to pick up the pieces of his heart.

Once you were home you let the tears flow and cried your heart out. Why was life so difficult? You had a man that was in love with you. Something that you haven’t had in your life since taking a private security job. Bucky wanted to hire you on privately after he won the election. He wanted to make something of the two of you and you were too scared to just say yes. Why were you like this?

You kicked off your shoes at the door and headed to your room to put your gun up for the night. Once it was secured you quickly jumped in the shower to let the stress melt away. All your thoughts of Bucky though came crashing down on you. From the nights you shared dinner at his place, to the quiet conversations you had about your pasts, and to the times you made love with one another. There was no denying that you two had something special. So why are you trying to throw it away over a silly job you have with an agency? Yeah, it meant something to you but the opportunity Bucky is giving you will never come around again. If he is willing to give you a job and a chance to explore what could be between you both, why not take it? Tomorrow you will tell him your answer.

The next morning goes by as usual as you get ready to head to Bucky’s place. You were nervous all night and could barely sleep. Today was a big step and you hoped you didn’t blow it with him last night. When you arrived at his house you were met with the agency's SUVs parked outside his home. Quickly you parked and made your way to the house. Walking towards the front door you were met by Mark who was guarding the door.

“Oh well look who it is. Aren’t you supposed to be at home? You have a lot of balls coming up here.”

“What are you even talking about Mark?” You looked at him curiously.

You went to move by him but he put his arm out to stop you. “No, go. You need to speak with the director.”

As if on cue the director stepped out of a black SUV. He looked disgusted with you as he approached you.

“Well, I was wondering when you were going to check in agent. Before you say anything let me speak. It has come to the agency's knowledge that you and soon-to-be Congressman James Barnes have been having an affair at his home.”

“Wait, please you don’t understand.” You started to plead. 

“I don’t understand what? That you’ve been fucking the man you were supposed to keep safe. The man you swore an oath to protect. This is an egregious act that you pulled and that needs to be dealt with right away. It is with a heavy heart that I have to fire you from this agency. You are not allowed to see Mr. Barnes at least for the next two weeks of his campaign. His PR is trying to cover up this mess that you left behind. You need to leave. Do I make myself clear?”

“I want to see Bucky.”

“Bucky? Don’t you mean James? We have spoken to Mr. Barnes and he has made himself clear he wants nothing to do with you.”

That shattered your heart hearing those words. He didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.This couldn’t be true, could it? 

“I want to speak with him now!” You demanded.

“I said no. Now get yourself off this property or I will have you removed forcefully.”

Just as the director yelled those last words, Bucky's door flung open. 

“What in the hell is going on outside my house? His eyes scanned from Mark to the director and finally fell on you. He smirked when he saw you but instantly frowned when he saw your face. “Doll, what’s wrong?”

The director walked forward toward Bucky. “Mr. Barnes, we were just taking care of everything outside. Go inside and continue talking with your PR Consultant.”

Bucky looked from you and back to the director. “That won’t be necessary. Doll come here.” He stretched out his arm to you and you started to walk to him. 

“She can’t be here. She was fired from our agency. She has been asked to leave on my authority.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, I hate to break it to you but you're all fired. I will be getting my own personal security.” The director went to speak but Bucky put his hand up. “No need to waste my time anymore. You have treated the woman I love with such disrespect that I will no longer be needing your services.”

You walked up the stairs and stood next to Bucky. You watched as the security agency left the property after a few minutes. Looking up at him you smiled. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me doll. Let’s go inside where we can talk. I’m all done with my PR team anyway.”

Walking inside hand in hand you saw a lady getting her files and briefcase before she walked over to you. “Nice to meet you, agent. I’ve heard wonderful things about you. Just know you both did nothing wrong and this will be handled by me now.”

Bucky nodded his head. “Thank you for your support.” 

The woman smiled at you both and left the house leaving you both alone. 

Bucky looked at you and offered a friendly smile. “Can we talk?” 

“Yes, I would like that.” You squeezed his vibranium hand as he led you to the living room.

“Look, I'm sorry if me saying anything on national TV about having a special someone just ruined your career. I never wanted that for you. I should have talked with you about it first instead of saying anything. I never meant to hurt you. It’s just that… I’m so in love with you doll. I have been for a while now. I just never knew how to tell you first.” His hand squeezed yours gently as he spoke. “But with that said I will accept whatever you have to say to me now.”

You let out a soft sigh. “Bucky, I need to be honest with you. I also have feelings for you as well. I’ve had them since I first met you. I’m in love with you too. I tried to ignore those feelings even when we were intimate but I can’t deny how I feel anymore. When you asked me if I wanted to be head of your security, well, a part of me does. But the other part of me just wants to be your girlfriend. I want to see where the road before us leads and I want to be by your side as you get sworn into office. What do you say, Bucky?” 

Bucky pulls you close and kisses you passionately. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulls you down onto his lap on the couch. You straddle his hips and grind down into him as you both continue to make out. Bucky pulls back from kissing your lips and starts kissing down your neck. The light burn from his beard feels so good against your skin that you shiver. You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants and you can't help yourself as you grind more against him. 

“I have to be inside you doll,” he confesses as a groan leaves his mouth. 

Quickly you are both shedding clothes and before you know it you’re both naked. Bucky picks you up in his arms causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you effortlessly to his bedroom which is down the hallway. Once inside he gently lays you down on the bed and follows you up to the pillows. He starts kissing you down your neck again while the vibranium hand tweaks your nipples. He plays with both your breasts as he finally makes his descent down between your legs. Bucky watches your reaction as he starts to kiss your inner thigh, rubbing his beard gently against you. 

You respond with a soft moan as he kisses everywhere except where you need him the most. Finally, he kisses your pussy and licks a stripe through your petals causing you to arch your back when he reaches your clit. Bucky drapes his arm across your hips holding you down as he feasts upon you as a man starved. Every pass of his tongue through your lips has you groaning his name in pleasure. Your hand finds his hair and latches on like a lifeline. His tongue swirls around your clit and has you begging for more.

“Please Bucky. I need to cum.” 

Bucky briefly chuckles against your pussy but complies. His flesh fingers push into you and curl just the way you like. His mouth latches onto your clit and sends you over the edge screaming his name to the heavens. Your arousal covers his beard and he can’t help himself as he tries to lick as much of you off him. He hums from the taste of you and crawls his way back up your body. He leans down and kisses your lips letting you taste yourself on him. 

“I need you, doll. Let me have you.” Bucky kisses you all over your face and ends with a forehead kiss.

“Bucky, I need you.” You look into his eyes and see that his eyes are dilated with want. 

Bucky grabs his long, thick cock and strokes himself a few times before he is placing the tip at your wet entrance. Your legs wrap around his hips as he starts to push inside you. Your hands grip his biceps as he starts to roll his hips and thrust inside of you. The stretch always makes you groan as he pushes deeper and deeper inside of you. Your bodies work together like a well-oiled machine. Every push and pull, every thrust for thrust has you panting his name. Bucky starts to thrust into you harder causing you to whine.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…”

“That’s it doll, keep screaming my name.”

His hips speed up and the sound of the bed bouncing the wall echoes within the room. Your moans of his name drive him crazy like a feral animal. His right-hand starts to move down your body and finds your clit. Bucky starts rubbing it with his fingers as he continues to take you apart. In a matter of minutes, you are cumming hard around his cock and milking his cock as he chases his high spilling deep inside you. Bucky pulls out of you and lays beside you bringing your body close to his. 

“I love you Bucky.” You kiss his shoulder.

“I love you too, doll.” Bucky kisses your forehead.

“I could stay like this forever with you.” He states as he holds you tight. 

“I could too but don’t you have somewhere to be today? You do have less than two weeks left before you are Congressman James Barnes. Don’t you have to shake hands and kiss babies?” You chuckle out the last part.

Bucky chuckles with you and shakes his head. “I cleared my schedule for the day. I want to spend it with you. Take you on a real date and maybe seduce you all over again.”

You look up at him and see his smile shining down on you. “That sounds like a good plan. But one thing, who is going to be your security team?”

Bucky’s hand starts rubbing your back as he hums to himself. “Well since you said you want to be my girlfriend there goes my head of security.”

“I was joking, I would love to be head of your security. I also know some good people, people who I trust that would love to be a part of your security detail. Just let me pull some files together and we can talk it over when we are both not naked.”

Bucky groaned, “But I love you naked. But yes I know what you are getting at. We shall talk about it more tomorrow 'cause I have the best agent protecting me today. Now let's go shower and get ready for our day ahead.”

The next two weeks fly by with no problems. Just like you told Bucky you hired a group of men and women who had the experience needed to keep him safe.You took the head of security job. You loved keeping your boyfriend safe and spending time with him.

Before you know it Bucky is getting sworn into his position as Congressman. Confetti rains down on the both of you as people cheer for the new Congressman. He has big plans and hopes to work with others toward a better future. But nothing is better for his future than having you by his side. What started as a forbidden romance is now evolving into something special. 

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