#Reticence Spoilers

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

not to keep beating this dead horse (jk when do i ever shut up) but i do think him and laios yelling at and beating the shit out of each other was like a gateway drug for shuro. he broke the seal on saying words out loud with his human mouth now he can say other crazy things like "thanks for following me cross-country to go dungeon diving for me i appreciate you doing that"

[hypogryffin]

So, due to the many parallels between her and Akane, Narukami being involved, and the ages (kinda maybe, I dunno) lining up, would Nanako make an appearance in P5SI?

Also, I have nothing but love for the concept, I was just curious. Thank you, and have a nice day! ^^

nanako would maybe make an appearance over a call or something in narukami's s.link at most due to yknow. being in inaba, but i imagine narukami bringing her up a lot in s.link events! p5si takes place in the 2019-2020 school year, so nanako would be a 1st year at yasogami at this point in time. just a year behind akane

[starrysnowdrop]

FFXIVWrite 2024 #4: Reticent

Adjective: disposed to be silent or not to speak freely; reluctant or restrained.

During the events of patch 7.0, level 97+ quests; Hali cannot seem to trust Queen Sphene of Alexandria, no matter how sweet and kind she seems.

“Hali?”

Aymeric’s voice snapped Hali out of her thoughts as she looked up at her beloved.

“Oh, yes, my love?” Hali asked.

Aymeric crossed his arms and looked down at his lalafellin partner with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Hali sighed as she finally began to speak aloud her thoughts, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Huh? What do you mean? Why would there be anything wrong? Besides people using souls as a commodity, and memories of loved ones being wiped from everyone’s minds… yeah totally nothing wrong here! Haha…”

“Hali, tell me, what else is on your mind. You have been scowling since we arrived in the Outskirts. Wuk Lamat is busy looking around for the moment, so you can be honest with me.”

Aymeric reached out and took Hali’s hand in his, and Hali squeezed his hand in turn as she replied, “Okay, so, am I the only one who thinks Sphene is completely suspicious and doesn’t believe a word she says?”

The elezen chuckled as it was his turn to bring the sarcasm. “Oh, you mean the Queen of Reason who had absolutely nothing to do with the attack on Tuliyollal whatsoever, and who now wants to us to do the dirty work of overthrowing King Zoraal Ja, when they have been seemingly co-ruling for nigh on three decades now? That Queen Sphene?”

The pink-haired lalafell breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, so I am not going crazy then. She is SUPER suspicious, right?”

Aymeric gave a quick nod. “Absolutely. I haven’t spent so many years of my life playing the political games of the Ishgardian nobility so that I couldn’t recognize someone whose reticent nature is hiding a more malicious agenda.”

Leaning in towards her, Aymeric cued Hali to lean towards him as well, knowing that he would need to speak a bit quieter, as to not have any of the locals overhear them.

“She is not to be trusted. But we need to play nice and get as much information out of her as we can. She still has the upper hand here, because we are nearly clueless as to how their society functions still. We need to be cautious.”

Hali sighed and gave Aymeric a pouty face. “Alright… I’ll smile and be nice to Queen Sphenie… I guess…”

[siphisket]

Okay so I was just doing a silly Gojo doodle but I needed a perspective reference and the pose was cool so it turned into an anatomy study and then i decided to add "just a little shading" and it turned into full-fledged rendering practice and now i have a fully-rendered print-ready Gojo illustration and it hasn't even gotten silly yet. This must be resolved.

Honorable Mentions (this is drawn in perspective and his ass is not fat enough for all this text): "Target of the Great Sukuna," "Straight Outta Prison Realm," "Enemy of the State"

[buildoblivion]

also bit of a choice to imply that klaus’ powers were also his personality????

[sunkeeperxiv]

FFXIV Write 09 - Lend an Ear

Timeline/spoilers: Dawntrail level 97 quests (zone 5, immediately after the 97 dungeon, not yet to the second hub).

Sometimes, the usual condolences don't seem sufficient.

Daca’li searched the valley below him, squinting to shield his eyes from the continual flashes of lightning in the skies above. It was hard enough searching for Erenville in the darkness already without bright lights making his eyes close up.

They had been exploring the wasted landscape, trying to find any sign of life or habitation - excepting the colossal metal walls, or the ravenous predators - and had turned around at one point to find Erenville was missing. He had said nothing, made no sound, and there was no sign of a struggle: the man was an experienced gleaner and, by rights, should have known their surroundings well. Erenville was no fighter, true, but there was still little reason, Daca’li thought, to be truly worried about him. Something still coiled in his gut, though, and kept him from lifting his gaze from the valley floor.

He spotted something in the next lightning flash: the glint of metal on a narrow road far below. A silvery glint, not this black and purple oddity towering over them to the west. He knelt down, trying to see better, only turning an ear when Wuk Lamat spoke behind him.

“We should split up and search in all directions,” she was saying. “We have to find him.” He spotted another splash of brightness - the shirt Erenville wore under his coat was that color. He was moving away from them, down a pass between two plateaus that might, at one point, have sheltered a road.

“Separating ourselves in these circumstances would not be wise,” Krile countered. “We are in an unfamiliar landscape - a perilous one at that. We’ll be better off searching together.” Unfamiliar to them, but not to Erenville. It hadn’t been once, at least. The small shape below him disappeared behind the rocks. Any attempt to follow had to be made now.

Daca’li stood, taking in a full view of the landscape as he did. The thing that was coiled in Daca’li’s gut uncoiled just enough for recognition, and for an instant, the sky was lit with flames instead of lightning, the darkened cliffs replaced with white, frozen hills.

The memory was gone with a flick of his ears, but the feeling remained. Sympathy. “I see where he went,” Daca’li called back to the others. “I’ll bring him back. You take shelter here.”

“I just said—“ Krile began, but Daca’li cut her off.

“He knows the landscape and nothin’ here is a danger to me. I can track him faster on me own.” Without waiting for an answer, he began following the rocky slope down the side of the plateau, making his way to the valley floor faster than they could follow.

Following the path through the cliffs led him to a village — what had once been a village. Houses made of stone and clay sat abandoned, shells of the homes they had been. That they were still recognizable despite the local climate’s onslaught was a testament to the care with which they had once been built.

Not all houses prove so sturdy. Daca’li shook the thought from his mind and cast his eye to the ground. Fresh footprints led through the town, meandering from side to side but carving a path toward one particular building, taller than the rest.

He found Erenville on the roof, looking out over what was left of the settlement. He didn’t turn to greet Daca’li, but neither did he run away. Daca’li didn’t waste any energy either hiding his presence or making it known: Erenville wouldn’t have missed his approach. He either silently welcomed Daca’li’s company or was resigned to his presence. Daca’li walked up beside him and surveyed the road below, desolate and abandoned.

“This was your village.” It didn’t come out as a question, whether he had intended it as one or not. “What was it called?”

“It was. Tesh’pyani.” Erenville shook his head. “I do not understand how this is possible. Only a few years ago, it was—” He fell silent.

“Tesh’pyani,” Daca’li repeated. The word sat strangely in his mouth, but it had rolled easily off Erenville’s tongue. No other words were coming easily to him, either, but he looked at Erenville’s blank expression and knew if words were going to come, they had to be from him.

Lightning flashed and turned the landscape white once more. Just for an instant. What was there that could be said?

“Have you ever been to Coerthas?” was what came out of his mouth. It at least managed to get Erenville to look at him, suspicion, disbelief and curiosity warring for control of his expression.

“I have, on the Forum’s instruction,” he answered eventually. “To collect specimens capable of weathering the extreme conditions there.”

“That was after the Calamity, then,” Daca’li said, leaning his chin against the low wall in front of them. It was an uncomfortable height for him, but was perfectly matched for Erenville’s stature. “You didn’t see it before.”

A sort of recognition came over Erenville’s face, and he turned back to overlook the town. “I— no. I didn’t have the opportunity.”

“It was beautiful,” Daca’li answered. “In its way. Thick with trees in places, rolling green hills in others. We spent night after night explorin’ the forests, and when you looked out on the hills you’d see the little crags of rock pokin’ up out of the grass. In spring they were all covered in flowers, and the ground was almost soft enough to sleep on.” He could still feel it underfoot. He never would again.

Erenville seemed lost in thought for a moment, long enough to make Daca’li consider leaving his apologies and slinking away. Finally, though, he did speak, his voice soft. “I’m sorry I never got to see it.” Daca’li looked up at the cliffs overlooking the village and imagined how the light would have hit the village at dawn and sunset, night and day separated right in the middle of the road. Had the rocks been red here, like in Shaaloani, or had the changing light only loaned them that color?

The sky was overcast now, the cliffs blackened and scarred by lightning. When light came, it hit everything all at once, harsh and sudden and brief. Shadows moved toward them from the break in the cliffs. Of course they hadn’t been content to stay and wait. Erenville’s head turned ever so slightly - he noticed them as well - but he didn’t wave them down, or move to descend from the roof. Daca’li followed suit, curling his tail around him. They'd find them soon enough.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, and let the silence linger, punctuated only by the rumble of thunder.

[axratsffxivwrite]

FFXIV Write Day 4 - Reticent (Familiar Strangers)

Guard duty was hardly Miriam’s preferred choice of mission. Nonetheless, the survivors of Rabanastre needed supplies, and merchants needed a safe route west across the Estersands. It seemed with each passing moon the desert grew more dangerous, lending credence to rumors of the end of the world. 

Final Days or no, she had people to feed. Perched atop the back of a chocobo-driven cart, her light armor and loose, breathable clothes kept the worst of the sun from baking her alive. She carried a simple hunting bow in one hand, a handful of arrows in the other. 

Kemal sat across from her, his eyes fixed on their right flank as hers were their left. While she observed silently, he… talked.

“I was thinking, you know, once father’s business fully relocates back to Rabanastre, maybe we could do more partnerships with the clan, bring the coin back to the Desert Sapphire.” 

She watched. She waited. 

“I mean just ten years ago there was so much coin in Rabanastre, do you remember the bazaar? Merchants from everywhere selling their wares! Could you imagine the day we have merchants from Radz-at-Han again?” 

A fat, round harpy observed them from afar, but declined to approach. It rolled away instead.

“Oh, that’s a thought; maybe we should look outside Dalmasca. All the other merchants pulled out of trade with Thavnair when that tower appeared, and then when the whole burning skies thing started… but now that the skies no longer burn, I bet there’s good coin in it. High risk, sure, maybe they will have a third catastrophe, but if we’re partnered with the clan we’ll have blades enough to guard our wares. Do you think Kutok would take the contract?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Hm, well, maybe I’ll talk to my father and he can talk to Kutok and we can… what’s wrong with that wolf?” 

Miriam narrowed her eyes and turned her head. She spotted the beast in question at the crest of the dunes, some twenty yalms to their north. It was a twisted, hairless beast with skin the color of raw, rotting meat. Spines grew from its back in an array of sizes, from spikes no smaller than her forearm to nearly as long as the beast was tall. Long fangs and tusks crossed in front of a flat muzzle, and glowing red eyes stared out at them. Claws as long as its tusks dug into the sand as it crouched low to the ground, hunting them. 

Two more of the beasts rose from behind the sand, flanking their packmate. Miriam nocked an arrow. 

“I don’t think that’s a wolf.” She stated. 

“I’m starting to think you’re right… It doesn’t look like anything in the huntmaster’s bestiary.” He turned toward the driver. “We need to move, quickly!” 

The merchant called back an affirmative and cracked the reins. The chocobos quickened their pace, the cart bouncing on the uneven terrain. She saw Kemal reach for his bow out of the corner of her eye.

The monsters charged, kicking up sand and dust as they careened down the dune. Miriam let her arrow fly. Despite the bouncing of the cart, her aim was true. The bolt struck the beast in the shoulder, dug deep into its tainted flesh, but it did not so much as flinch. 

The beasts were gaining. Kemal fired off his own arrow. It pierced the lead creature’s flank, dug into what should have been bone, but still it charged. Twenty yalms quickly became ten as they nocked, drew, and fired once again. Their arrows struck in the head and throat respectively. The beast charged on. The merchant screamed, the chocobos bolted, the cart bucked violently, and Miriam went flying. 

She hit the ground and rolled, pain radiating across her body. The lead beast pounced at her. She fumbled for her knife. 

A purple blur shot past her and collided with the beast instead, sending it well off course. A tangle of red and purple fury careened through the sand. The remaining two beasts peeled off, circling the field to assess this new threat. 

A chocobo, Miriam realized. An armored chocobo with feathers as purple as a plum. The beast struggled to find purchase against the bird’s barding as its claws and beak tore into its tainted flesh. Not far behind, a Viera darted past her and launched himself at another of the beasts, grasping it by the spines to grapple it in the sands.

Kemal sprang from the cart and rushed to her aid, but she brushed him off. She scrambled to retrieve her bow and her remaining arrows from the sand. 

“Beasts first,” she snapped to Kemal, “bruises later.” 

“Right.” He hurried away, arrow knocked and drawn as he moved to flank the remaining beast. 

Ignoring the protestations of her sore shoulder, Miriam nocked her own arrow and fired. 

Nearby, the chocobo tore the head off of its adversary. There was no blood, no gore, only an empty black mist as the creature dissipated into nothingness. The bird let out a triumphant cry as it rushed to aid the stranger. The Viera fought claw to claw with the snarling beast, even as it tore into his own flesh and blood splattered across the sand. 

The third beast charged toward Kemal as he repositioned, their arrows adding to the array of spines along its back. Miriam ran around, letting loose arrow after arrow into the monster’s flank. The pain drew its attention back to her as it pivoted, turning its crimson gaze on her.

She let her last arrow fly. It sunk deep into the creature’s skull, directly between the eyes. In an instant, it burst into mist, as if it had never existed in the first place. 

Miriam turned in time to see the Viera claw open the final beast’s chest and tear out the ichor that constituted its organs. It, too, burst, its remnants dissipating on the desert winds. The chocobo once more cried out in victory. 

For a moment they all paused, as the battle rush faded and they caught their breath.

Finally, she called out, “thank you! I do not know your name, but I appreciate your timely arrival.”

The Viera half-turned back to her. She felt herself lock up. He had the brown skin of a Rava, deep green eyes, a handsome face framed with shaggy black hair, and a geometric tattoo under his left eye. His black-furred ears seemed unusually short for one of his kind. His off-white traveling clothes were torn and stained with his blood, but the Bozjan medal pinned to his belt still gleamed. 

He stared back at her, his expression inscrutable. “...are you alright?” 

“You… you remind me of someone, that’s all.” She replied. “A friend, from a long time ago. I’m Miriam, by the way.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “...a pleasure, I’m sure.” 

Miriam frowned. Why hadn’t he offered his name? Male Viera were rare to start with, but male Viera with the stunted ears one might see in those of mixed heritage were even rarer. Plus the green eyes, the black hair… 

She held her tongue, doubt gnawing at the back of her mind. 

“Kemal,” she turned toward him, “check on the boss, make sure we’re good to move. We shouldn’t stay here.” 

Kemal hesitated. His eyes trailed from her to the wounded Viera, then back again. 

“...I don’t know that I’m comfortable leaving you alone with him.” 

“I can look after myself.” She looked past him to where the cart had come to a stop some two-dozen yalms or so down the path. “...besides, if you can’t shoot an arrow that far, then we need to send you back to train with Myrmidia.”

Kemal followed her gaze, a frown on his face. “...fine, but if he tries anything…” 

“I’ll skin him before you can.” She replied. 

Kemal offered a grunt of acknowledgement. He reluctantly turned to walk away, though she caught him glancing back in her direction every few steps. 

Overprotective dolt. 

With a sigh, she turned back toward the Viera. He had turned away to fuss over his chocobo. Gentle hands coaxed open the bird’s wings, examining the feathers for any signs of damage. In return, the chocobo wiggled its tail and summoned up a swell of restorative aether that washed over the man’s wounds, staunching the bleeding. 

Miriam smiled, despite herself. “Well, I was about to offer my own magic, but it seems you two are more than capable of looking after each other.” 

The Viera paused. He turned to look at her, then his chocobo, then back at her.

“Exodus and I have been partners for years, it only makes sense.” He paused. “Are you alright? I saw that fall, it looked rough.” 

She shrugged. “I’ll be sore, but it’s little more than bruises.” 

“Good,” he smiled, seeming genuinely relieved. “I am glad to hear it.” 

She couldn’t help but be struck by that smile. That familiar, yet oh-so-handsome smile. He felt familiar, safe, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. She pushed the feeling down, locked it away deep in her chest, and reminded herself that there was a good chance this man was simply a stranger on the road. 

He cleared his throat. “I should ask… is your friend always so protective, or does he really think I’d hurt you after I went through all that effort to save you?” 

“Kemal’s… like that.” Miriam shrugged. “He means well, he’s a good man. Just somewhat…” 

“Territorial?” 

“Hmm… that would imply he has territory.” 

The Viera chuckled. “...fair.” 

An awkward quiet lingered for a moment too long as uncertainty built in Miriam’s chest. If he was who she thought he was, then all she wanted to do was wrap him up in the tightest hug and weep tears of joy for his overdue return. Her heart longed for her old friend’s arrival, and yet… doubt lingered in her mind. If this truly was him, why would he try to hide it? Why would he not just say as much? Furthermore, why the Bozjan medal? Last she heard word of her friend, he was adventuring in Eorzea, though it had been too long since his last letter…

Without thinking, she blurted out, “you should come with us.” 

“Hm?” 

“Come with us. You can clearly handle yourself, but if more of those beasts appear, strength in numbers will do us some good.” 

His eyes glanced past her, then returned to meet her gaze again. 

“You are bound for Rabanastre?” 

“We are.” 

His expression remained impassive as he considered the notion. A slight frown toyed at the corner of his mouth. 

“...I will come with you until we have full view of the city. Then I must return to my hunt. The skies no longer burn over Ilsabard, but the blasphemies born during the Final Days need to be culled.” 

Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she maintained an even expression. “I understand, though I must ask you to come with us to the city so our acting Huntmaster can properly repay you.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t need payment. I was hunting them anyway, if anything you helped me by keeping them occupied.” 

“You’re certain?” 

The Viera hesitated. “I… I appreciate your offer, but I would not be welcome in the city. Better to keep my distance.” 

Not welcome? Well, that would certainly explain his reluctance to identify himself, but why wouldn’t he be welcome? It didn’t add up. Her friend was but a child when he left. Maybe this was a stranger…

“If you say so…” She shifted. “...still, you are welcome to accompany us the rest of the way. Come, you should introduce yourself to the boss…” 

She turned to guide him back toward the cart where Kemal and the merchant fussed over the draught birds. Though she couldn’t shake that feeling of familiarity, that sensation of warmth that crawled from her heart and through her body, the chill of doubt held fast. She locked those feelings away, resigned herself not to act on them until she had some hint of his true identity. 

If it was him, surely he had reason to hide. 

It only took a few moments to right the cart and steady the chocobos. Exodus’s confidence gave the draughts their own back, and before long they were on the road once more, plus one. Miriam resumed her post across from Kemal, while the Viera rode alongside on his own vibrant bird. 

She couldn’t help but glance to him every so often. Her heart ached with longing. Even if that wasn’t her friend, he reminded her of him. Loneliness gnawed at her. Kemal was fine and all, but he was little more than a trusted colleague to her. 

He caught her staring at the Viera more than a few times as the cart rolled along. By the fourth time he simply sighed, resigned, and turned his gaze outward to scan for threats. 

Despite the longing, despite the pain, Miriam kept her thoughts to herself. Perhaps it was better not to say anything after all.

…right? 

[tmnt-reticent]

Was gonna wait till the results went up but…

WE TIED‼️‼️‼️💪💪💪 I’m so excited for the rest of the @non-rise-tmnt-au-competition , especially now that I’m going through it with The Children’s Garden :DDD

Since Reticent got through, here’s the Season 2 Part 1 Designs! If y’all have any questions about them, send them in hehe 💪💪‼️‼️‼️ I love answering questions about the sillies :D

Leo barely changed, thats because he’s the worst/j/lh

The designs change a lot more in Season 2 Part 2 since character growth go brrrrrr 💪💪‼️‼️‼️ (maybe Raph won’t be 5’0” anymore/lh)

[in-kyblogs]

The tragedy of it all is Claudia can’t give up on her quest to find the older vampires, she needs to know, and in doing so she seals her own faith

[rainyraisin]

So uh…. The art isn’t arting right now but the motivation is motivating and I’ve been wanting to make this animatic for a while now so…I’m sorry :) (SPOILERS FOR LATE SEASON 1 OF TMNT:RETICENT)

This is short btw as the arc hasn’t been fully planned yet so most of the animatic I legit can’t make yet lmao

If any of y’all guess what’s going on I’ll reveal the context :D I really love this arc so I would love to talk about it but at the same time I 100% shouldn’t lmao

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

frothing and foaming at the mouth for those snippets. thank you kindly

from a different third robin tales fic draft, which is mostly just them standing around talking shit to each other:

***

***

I know I was intending to bring Duke into this conversation and really let him shine (ba dum ch) but tbh it's been in drafts for a few months and I don't remember where I was going with it. rebellious robins and ex-robin union shenanigans maybe? idk. this convo may eventually get nabbed and absorbed into a different fic though

[hirokiyuu]

besk/instance.............

[speeeeduwagohnn]

i'm sorry CDDH did *what* to Josuke's backstory. I'm sorry CDDH ended HOW,

[pangolinheart]

BABY (mount descriptions are always a little hand-wavey but this one is a doozy. "Yeah, it's a sin eater, but it's probably fine. don't worry about it." so rhiki won't.

[8n53]

im like "i cant just project Everything onto my little wife guy....." before remembering this is my house and i can do whatever i want

[witchywithwhiskey]

for so long as you live

pairing: mafia!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: the fearsome boss of new york city's russian mob proves a point about who you belong to

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), very mild dubcon, intoxication, fingering (f receiving), public play, finger sucking, choking, breathplay, very mild blood kink, dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (printsessa), very possessive bucky

word count: 2.0k

a/n: i wrote this for @the-slumberparty's emoji game using these: 🍕❤️🔥 i hope the plot twist in this actually works (idk if it counts as a PLOT twist but whatever). i just hope it's surprising but still makes sense!!! also all the russian words are from google translate so if any are wrong, let me know and i'll fix them (translations are down at the bottom because one is a spoiler!) anyway i hope y'all enjoy!!

It was a warm summer night in New York City, the kind where even the breeze was pleasant enough that you didn’t resist when a balmy gust slipped beneath the hem of your short white dress and slid up your legs, tickling the soft skin of your thighs. 

Neither did you resist when the breeze was chased by the searching hand of Bucky Barnes, his fingers skimming up your smooth skin as he curled his body around yours in the back booth of the late night Brooklyn pizza parlor.

The front door of the shop was open, and all manner of drunken Brooklynites traipsed over the threshold, intent on ordering a greasy slice that would soak up some of the alcohol in their stomachs. The crowd was loud and rowdy and thankfully unobservant, because you were painfully aware that any one of them could very easily catch you with Bucky’s hand up your skirt. 

The back booth wasn’t nearly dark enough, nor secluded enough to hide you entirely from view, but the insistent desire and warming liquor pounding in your blood made it difficult to care. 

Bucky’s fingers slid another inch up your thigh, pressing between your soft curves until they found the wetness that had dripped from your folds and made a mess under your skirt. His rumbling chuckle felt like another warm, summer breeze, suffusing you in a heat that burned from the inside out. 

Your thighs fell open of their own accord, giving Bucky unfettered access to the place that ached for his touch, even as a protesting whine worked its way up your throat.

“Bucky…” you mewled, your reticence clear in your tone. Your fingers closed around the sinewy forearm that was disappearing up your skirt, intent on pulling him away from your soaking heat. Your nails dug into his golden skin when his other hand darted out and grabbed you by the throat. 

With his thumb pressed to the hinge of your jaw, he turned your face to him, a warning sparkling in his ice blue eyes. A thrum of fear and excitement churned low in your belly at the way Bucky was looking at you—like you were prey, and he was a predator who had already decided he was going to eat you for dinner.

“I hope you weren’t about to tell me not to touch this pussy, printsessa,” Bucky rumbled, his voice deep and low like an oncoming thunderstorm. His hand wedged between your thighs beneath your skirt, shoving your legs wider so that he could cup your bare heat in his palm. “I hope you haven’t forgotten who this cunt belongs to.” 

Your breath was coming in short, rabbity pants, your heart racing in your chest and your blood pounding in your veins like you were running for your life. But your mind knew what your body did not—it would be pointless to run from Bucky Barnes. 

The Zimniy Soldat was the most feared boss in the city’s Russian mafia, a fact you’d learned the hard way when your father had paid off his debts by giving you to Bucky. 

Bucky’s gaze bore into your own as he pushed two fingers into your tight channel, his eyes watching hungrily as your face went slack with pleasure. 

“I’ll touch you whenever I want,” he growled, dragging his fingers back and plunging them into you again slowly, his eyes never straying from your face. “I’ll fuck you whenever I want—where ever I want.” 

His other hand held you pinned to the leather booth by your throat, your body responding so eagerly to his touch that it felt like a betrayal. His thumb and forefinger pressed into the sides of your neck making your pussy spasm around his fingers. 

Your body proved Bucky’s point before he made it as he rumbled, “This cunt belongs to me, printsessa.” 

You hadn’t said a word since his name, but your slow submission was clear in every little movement of your body—your thighs spreading even wider for Bucky’s hand, your limbs loosening and melting into his hold, your lips falling open in a soundless moan as he fingerfucked you. Bucky owned you, and you both knew it. 

And he relished your submission, even if you hadn’t quite accepted his possession of you yet. But you would.

The victorious smile that curved Bucky’s mouth was sharp and dangerous as a knife. When he spoke, though, his voice was as warm as the balmy summer breeze. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, “give yourself to me.” The ice in his eyes was slowly but surely melting as he watched pleasure dance across your face, his smile widening into something hot and hungry. “This life of yours is mine now, printsessa, but if you’re a good girl for me, I can make sure it’s filled with pleasure and happiness,” he purred, his lips brushing against the apple of your cheek, their softness followed by the rough scrape of his scruff. 

Bucky slid a third finger into your tight hole, stretching you wider and making you bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from crying out in pain-edged pleasure. Your chest heaved with the effort to stay quiet and, unbidden, a tear slipped from the corner of your eye while blood pooled on your lip. 

But Bucky never stopped fucking you with his fingers, his hand working your body expertly as the soft, wet sounds of your obscenely sopping cunt reached your ears. Instead, the Zimniy Soldat kissed the tear from your cheek and licked the blood from your swollen lip, pulling back to stare into your eyes as he watched you come undone for him. 

“You are mine,” he said with a tone of finality, as if his statement was an incontrovertible fact. Any protest you might’ve had���though in truth, you didn’t have any left—died in your throat as he choked you harder, his fingers working your pussy faster, grinding the heel of his palm into your wet, puffy clit as he continued on, pushing you to the edge of your release. “Moya printsessa, moya zhena.” 

You felt Bucky’s ring—your husband’s ring—smooth and unyielding and warm from his skin, slip inside your cunt as he buried his fingers in your body. He rubbed your clit ruthlessly until he made you come right there in the back of the pizza parlor, not caring if anyone in the crowded shop could see it.

Your left hand, bedecked in a dazzling white sapphire ring and matching wedding band, wrapped around the back of Bucky’s neck, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to the most dangerous man in all of New York City while he made you come harder than you ever had before. Pleasure tore through your body as you held Bucky’s warm blue gaze, staring at the man who’d staked his claim on you.

The man you’d married only a few hours prior because it was the only way to settle your father’s debts.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” Bucky growled, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm, his eyes watching you hungrily, greedily.

Already, you could read him well enough to know he was thinking about watching you come on his cock as he claimed you in the most base, primal way possible. Your pussy clenched harder on his fingers at the thought, your body aching for it even as you came.

“Come all over your husband’s fingers—see how good I can be to you when you obey me, printsessa.” 

Your teeth had sunk deep into your lower lip to quell any sounds of ecstasy, but the pleasure was too much, too overwhelming, and you threw your head back. Your breathy cry was muffled by Bucky’s fingers choking your throat harder, which only wrung even more bliss out of your body as black crept into the edges of your vision. 

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, your husband’s relentless touch dragging out your release until your strangled moans devolved into desperate whimpers. Tears gathered in your lashes, and your entire body trembled in the red leather booth at the back of the pizza parlor.

Only then did Bucky relent. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured before his lips slammed down on yours, his mouth claiming yours just as surely as his fingers had claimed your cunt. 

He swallowed the keening whine you let out when he pulled his fingers from your throbbing pussy, your body aching at the loss of him. But then he replaced his mouth with them, pushing his fingers between your lips so you could taste your release—the release he’d wrung so masterfully from your body.

“Clean up your mess, moya zhena,” Bucky rumbled, his eyes sparkling with depraved delight as you dutifully licked his fingers clean.

When he decided you were done, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and let you collapse against his chest, your cheek pressed to his white cotton dress shirt—the one he’d worn to your wedding earlier that day. 

His jacket had been shed at some point during the party at one of his nightclubs—a club decorated in neon red hearts. Bucky had smirked in amusement when you’d pointed out the irony of celebrating your forced marriage in a place where the theme was love. 

That infuriating smirk had made you decide the best way to celebrate your sham nuptials was to drink and dance the night away. You’d spent your night trying not to notice how handsome the mob boss you’d married was, or how delicious he looked with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Or how a very small part of you enjoyed the way his eyes never strayed from you for long. 

It had been your idea to get some pizza after the club, a last ditch attempt to put off the wedding night you were certain Bucky expected. You kept telling yourself you didn’t want him to touch you, but the second his fingers had grazed your bare knee beneath the simple white dress you wore, tingles of pleasure going straight to your clit, you’d known it was no use pretending you didn’t want your new husband. 

When your father told you he’d arranged for you to marry the Zimniy Soldat in exchange for having his debts cleared, you never believed you could find anything to like about your mob boss husband. But Bucky had proven you very wrong in that back booth in the pizza parlor, and you were warming up to the idea of being Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes.

“Tell me you’re mine, printsessa,” Bucky rumbled, drawing your thoughts back to the present moment. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head where it was tucked under his chin, and your heart flipped happily in your chest.

The words were no less a command for the warmth in his tone that he seemed to reserve for only you, his new wife. 

Perhaps it was because of the pleasure still thrumming through your body, or because you weren’t so convinced anymore that being married to the Zimniy Soldat would be a bad thing, but the words came much easier to your lips than you would’ve expected. 

“I’m yours, my husband.” 

A pleased sound rumbled in Bucky’s throat and you felt the way his heart beat harder in his chest with your cheek pressed to his sternum. You couldn’t help the small smile that curved your lips when Bucky threaded the fingers of his left hand through yours, your matching rings slotting next to each other and glittering beneath the yellow lights of the pizza parlor.

“You’ll be happy with me,” Bucky promised, the most recent of many vows he’d made to you that day. His words rang with determination and an emotion you’d never expected to hear from the mob boss—adoration. “So long as you always remember you belong to me, moya zhena.” 

A shiver of delight raced down your spine at his possessive words, finding yourself liking them much more than you would’ve thought. 

Something told you that you’d never forget you belonged to Bucky Barnes. Not at any point during the hopefully long and happy life you were going to live with him. You were his wife, and he was your husband, for so long as you both should live.

translations:

printsessa/moya printsessa - princess/my princess

Zimniy Soldat - Winter Soldier

moya zhena - my wife