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mypoisonedvine · 9 months

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | sub!robert fischer x dominatrix!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you're a professional dominatrix, he's a restless heir in desperate need of being put in his place; you both know what this is. it's just your job, it's just his fetish. no reason to make it more complicated than that, right?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), bdsm dynamics, reward/punishment, orgasm denial, overstimulation, oral f and m receiving, cnc (meaning he says no but it's not literal, there's a safeword in place for that), angst and fluff at the end, presumably inaccurate depictions of sex work and dominatrix-ing, robert cries. a lot.

You weren’t expecting much when you met him, just another rich boy with daddy issues and an Italian suit.

And… yeah, you were pretty much exactly on the money. The very literal money— Robert was already paying almost double what anybody else was, in order to have a monopoly on your time. But, that said, he still managed to surprise you.

First of all, you were surprised how little experience he really had with this. People tend to ease into paying thousands of dollars for an on-call professional dominatrix; but Robert had the money and impulsive personality necessary to start at the top. It’s like getting a Lambo for your first car… which, to be fair, he had also done. He admitted to you that he’d only had one or two experiences with dominant women and the lifestyle in general: he credited it partially to a need for discretion, that he couldn’t just go to a club with the risk of the wrong people recognizing him and his business being affected. Though that was a fair reason, you knew he was leaving out his own anxiety as a significant factor as well.

Secondly, he surprised you with how well he understood his own needs and limits for someone with such little experience. He explained to you, in rather shameless detail, that he was looking for someone to relinquish emotional control to— that he didn’t need to be really physically tortured, just to be psychologically tormented. In that way, he was less ‘hardcore’ than many of your clients, who had physical damage to show for their time with you by the end of the session, but he was absolutely no wimp. A crybaby, yes, but not a wimp; big difference.

And, perhaps least importantly, he surprised you by being young, and hot. Not, you know, too young, and still older than you, but closer to your age than any of your other clients. As for him being hot, well… yes, he was probably the best-looking of your clients. ‘Probably’ being a polite word for ‘definitely’. Ironically, for being so submissive, he had a somewhat intimidating visage: sharp features, bright and icy eyes, quite tall as well. That was probably what most people saw first, but you were lucky to be able to appreciate completely how delicate he really was: with that pleading wet gaze, his thick bottom lip between his teeth, an unexpected softness to his masculine features.

You were surprised he needed to pay someone for this, looking like that, but then again, his kinks were a bit specific and his need for privacy was understandable. Maybe what all that money really was, was just hush money. After all, truth be told, you probably wouldn't mind doing the rest of it for free.

A friend of yours in the business warned you that that was a sign you needed to stop working for this guy. If you’re catching feelings, get out now, she warned. You tried to assure her it wasn’t feelings— just an acknowledgement that he was absurdly beautiful— but she didn’t seem to buy it; you yourself were starting to doubt that excuse.

But, here you were: usual place, usual time. A lot of your clients preferred hotels, but Robert Fischer found the most discreet method was just to have you come to his penthouse; he had a few properties, but apparently this one was the most secluded. The private elevator certainly gave off that impression.

He’d given you your own key to use, to take you to his place whenever you wanted. Obviously, you only went there when you had an appointment… but you did get a little giddy every time you used it. You got the impression that some small part of him hoped you’d use that key on your own time one day, but that could’ve been you projecting: you tried to remind yourself that he, like all the other clients, probably didn’t think of you much when you were gone.

It was hard to hold up that narrative just a few minutes later, though, as you stood in his bedroom with him on his knees in front of you.

“Missed you so much, Mistress,” he mumbled against your skin as he pressed his face to your thigh. “I swear, I haven’t thought about anything else since last time— can we move up to four times a week? Three isn’t enough anymore.”

He was a little more desperate than usual because, even with three sessions a week, this one had been delayed by two days because of his work. Still, he couldn’t quite justify being this worked up when you’d seen him four days ago… “Do you want to talk business, or do you want to play?” you asked him quickly. “Scheduling is best done before or after—”

“Sorry, sorry,” he sighed, looking up at you through his lashes. “Sorry, I just— we can talk about that later. I need you so fucking bad— and you look so pretty…”

You dressed a bit differently for him. Most of your clients wanted latex, leather, chains, studs— you know, the usual. Robert told you from the start he preferred soft things, pretty things. He’d asked if he could buy you things to wear but you insisted on simply billing him for whatever you picked out: anything else was giving him too much power over you. Thankfully, he’d never had an issue with your tastes.

He liked seeing you in relatively ‘normal’ clothes. Little black dresses with lacy pantyhose, silk robes— he actually went a little feral seeing you in a pinstriped three-piece suit once, but that’s another story. Today, you were keeping it classic with a black skirt and blazer, plus stockings with garter belts (his favorite) and your tallest, sharpest heels. Clearly it had the intended effect, since you hadn’t even told him to get on his knees when you walked in…

“Get up,” you told him, and he scrambled onto his feet and gave you a look that barely hid how impatient he was feeling inside. “Actually, I have some business to discuss with you. Take a seat on the bed, why don’t you?”

He tilted his head a bit but did as he was told. He hadn’t even seemed to notice the briefcase you brought— maybe his life was just so full of briefcases he’d learned to ignore them. But you certainly had his attention when you set it down between you and opened the clasps— though you didn’t lift it to reveal its contents yet.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” you informed him flatly. He seemed thrown off— like he couldn’t tell if this was part of the scene or not.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said first, then adding, “what did I do wrong? I’ve been so good…”

“I saw you in the papers.”

Reaching inside, you pulled out the newspaper picture of him, walking along the Manhattan streets with a young woman by his side. She was taller than him with her heels on, overwhelmingly blonde, annoyingly pretty. His eyes went wide at the sight. “Oh—” he began, but you cut him off.

“It’s not right for you to be seeing me when you have a girlfriend,” you explained, pausing before you set down a magazine snapshot of him with a different model, “or two.”

“N-no, wait, I can explain that,” he rushed, but you shoved the pictures aside and leaned forward, sneering at him.

“Is that what you are, huh? Just a slut?” you snapped. “Am I not enough for you?”

“No! God, no— you’re everything,” he whined, “of course. Those are just—”

“Just what? They seem like lovely young women, Mr. Fischer, you don’t need to insult them for my benefit.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” he pouted, looking down— already his cheeks were getting redder. “You’re really mad at me? For being seen with them?”

You knew he was upset you weren’t calling him a pet name, the last thing he wanted to be when you were here was Mr. Fischer— he wanted to be your good boy, your baby, your puppy, your pet. “I’m more concerned about what you did that nobody else saw, Robert,” you admitted.

The last thing you wanted to do was appear jealous— that was never what you would do, or at least, not your character. But one of your rules for Robert was that he was required to be celibate outside of your sessions with him. It was always about control— and he loved the humiliation of being reminded that you worked with other men and slept with whoever you wanted, but that he was doomed to only be yours. He asked you to remind him all the time, whispering in his ear about how he belonged to you, that nobody but you could touch him, that he was just Mistress’ good boy.

“It’s not like that, I swear,” he whined, “they— it was just publicity. For both of us— I mean, for the girls and for me. It’s business!”

“Right,” you returned, not acting especially convinced. One of those photos in the magazine was pretty deliberate— his arm around her waist, whispering something in her ear with a smirk. It certainly didn’t seem like business.

“Please, Mistress, you know I’d never—”

“Do I?” you interrupted sharply. “I mean, after you were so naughty last time—”

“I didn’t mean to come so fast, I was just—”

“How dare you speak over me?” you hissed, and he clamped his mouth shut as his shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry, ma’am…” he whispered with defeat.

“I’m starting to wonder, what’s stopping you from breaking any of the rules? How do I know you’re really behaving?”

“Y-you know, because…!” he trailed off, eyes darting wildly as he looked for a response. “Because you know how bad I need you. How important you are to me.”

When your heart beat a little faster, you told yourself that he really meant how important these sessions are to me.

Going back to what seemed like his default state, Robert dropped to the floor again, kneeling in front of where you had your legs crossed tensely. Twice now he’d done that without you asking, but you weren’t going to correct him this time because, well… some men were just meant to be on their knees. “I swear, I swear it wasn’t real, was all just for the pictures… I’d never break your rules, Mistress, I wanna be good for you.”

“Want to, yes,” you smirked, “but it takes a lot of willpower, when you could afford as many little playthings as your heart desires.”

You leaned back on your hands as he got more and more desperate, and you fought the urge to smile proudly seeing him panic a bit. He knew that with your hands holding your weight, you wouldn’t be running your fingers through his hair or stroking his cheek… he was getting antsy, still not having been touched by you ten minutes into the session. “Let me show you,” he pleaded, “I promise, I only want you— I-I’ve been waiting for this, for you to touch me again…”

Now, truthfully, you’d believed him when he said those girls were for show— for publicity, as he said. But only now that he said it like that did you really believe how desperate he was. Unfortunately for him, it just made you want to tease him more. “Touch you?” you repeated, egging on his begging.

"Please, touch me," he whined, "please, I'll be so good… I need you, Mistress."

"I know you do, baby, but I don't think you've earned me yet."

“Yes, ma’am— I don’t deserve you,” he breathed. “I know I don’t.”

He looked so sweet, so broken, looking up at you like that. “Why should I touch you at all tonight, baby boy?” you asked sweetly; he rested his forehead on your knee, looking exhausted from his own desperation.

“I… I don’t know if you should,” he admitted, surprising you a bit. “I just know that if you don’t, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

You said nothing, though you couldn’t fight your smile, and he continued softly under his breath.

“I swear, I only want you,” he whispered. “I only ever wanted you.”

“Alright,” you shrugged, “show me how bad you want me.”

Uncrossing your legs, you let him see that your little outfit today didn’t include any panties; as he caught a glimpse up your skirt, his shoulders and chest sunk with a sigh. “Mistress,” he breathed, but a second later he grabbed a tight hold of your legs and yanked you closer to the edge of the bed so he could push up your skirt and dive right in.

He was always ravenous when he did this. It didn’t matter how long it had been since you saw him last, how long you teased him, or if you just walked right in and ordered him to his knees: he always, always ate you out like his life depended on it. He was obsessed with serving you this way, moaning and whimpering against your skin, grabbing weakly at your hips or thighs and sometimes struggling to control his own arousal as his cock throbbed in his trousers.

You were already trying to temper your reactions; if you showed how much you liked it, you’d be surrendering a bit of your dominance, and that couldn’t be allowed. Instead of gasping or moaning his name, you simply hummed and reached down to card your fingers through his hair; he whined against you, even louder when you tugged on it.

“Good boy,” you praised softly, making him shut his eyes tight as he sucked and licked at everything his mouth could reach. He flicked his tongue over your clit and you fought not to let your hips buck against his face. “Very good boy— how much do you like tasting Mistress’ cunt?”

“More than anything,” he answered, taking a break from the main task to kiss and bite hungrily all over your inner thighs. “Fuck, I could taste you forever— you’re so perfect— should I keep going?”

“Of course, baby, just keep looking up at me.”

God, those eyes; sometimes you thought he could look right through you with those. Could he see how hard you were fighting not to lose it right there, not to lay back and order him to fuck you? You wondered if he would— it had never gone that far with him, he was obsessed with the denial, the inequity, the deprivation. To be fair, you didn’t have sex with any of your clients… but you also never thought about sex with any of your clients, other than him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” you decided after a few moments, causing him to look up at you with concern like he’d done something wrong.

“I’m not allowed to make you come?” he pouted.

“Not yet,” you said simply. “Get up.”

He popped right up, ready to serve— as always.

“Why don’t you take off your shoes for me?” you encouraged, and he certainly wasted no time; but as he toed his shoes off, he shirked off his jacket, loosening his tie and getting a few buttons of his shirt undone. You raised your eyebrows, frowning at his eagerness. “Stop. I didn’t say all that.”

He slowed to a stop. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Lay on the bed.”

You watched patiently as he did, sitting up beside him but not getting too close. He looked nice mostly-dressed, his suit half-removed and a bit disheveled. You’d made him strip completely before, adding to his vulnerability, but you thought there were benefits to this too: by wearing his work clothes, you were reminding him of the man he was supposed to be while treating him like the needy boy he really was. Whether or not he noticed that irony, he shuddered when you gently brushed your hand over his bulge, which flexed as if trying to ask for more itself.

“Look how hard you got for me, just from eating me out,” you noticed proudly.

“Tastes so good,” he whimpered his excuse, biting his lip when you started to open his belt and trousers. “Y-you’re sure I deserve it?”

“No,” you admitted, “but I think it might be fun to touch you a little. You want me to, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, of course,” he rushed, just as emphatic as ever.

He keened and bucked up into your hand when you just barely touched his cock; you pulled away, giving him a stern look as a reminder not to move too much. When he settled down, you gently reached into his boxers again and freed his aching cock. There was a little precum at the tip already, and he was looking at you with fascination as you delicately touched him, but never properly gripped or stroked it just to keep him on edge a little more.

“How long has it been since anyone but me touched you like this, baby boy?” you wondered.

“Y-years,” he choked, “years— I don’t even touch myself anymore, I swear.”

You gently ran your fingers over the ridge of the head, making him shudder and writhe on the bed. “Are you sure? You didn't even jerk off after feeling up that lovely young lady in the magazine?"

"No— and I didn't— c'mon, Mistress, don't you believe me?" he choked. "I'm your good boy, you know I am— love being yours…"

“So you really don’t touch yourself?”

“No!” he snapped, correcting his tone a moment later. “No, I… I stopped when you told me to.”

"Well, how about you show me how you used to do it?" you encouraged with a grin, taking your hand away from him. "Stroke your cock for me, puppy."

"No, please," he gasped, "I want you to— please, I'm sorry—"

"Stop fucking whining and do what I tell you," you sneered. "Not such a good boy after all, are you?"

He suddenly scrambled to get his hand around his cock when you put it like that, groaning and biting his lip as he gripped himself tightly. "Like this, Mistress?" he panted proudly.

"Mm, something like that," you cooed. "But go a little slower, baby boy, we've got plenty of time."

His eyes got wide with fear— fear that you would really make him edge himself the whole time. You had much bigger plans, though.

He found a rhythm: not horribly slow, but careful and precise. His cheeks kept getting pinker as you watched him, and he once reached out to touch your thigh with his free hand, but you moved away.

“C’mon,” he begged quickly, “can I just… can I at least see…?”

“See what?”

“Y-your tits, maybe,” he asked shyly, stroking his cock faster already at just the thought.

“I don’t think you need to see my tits,” you accused, noticing that his cock was already flexing in his grip. He really had been worked up, if he was this sensitive to just his own hand. “You’re doing just fine, baby.”

He grunted but went on, shifting around on the bed slightly.

“A little faster now,” you told him. “When you used to jerk off like this, before you met me, did you imagine while you did it? Did you watch porn?”

“Yes— I mean, imagine, always; porn sometimes,” he answered.

“What kind of porn?”

“Uh… this kind,” he admitted with a small laugh. When you heard that laugh, saw the self-effacing smile on his face, you suddenly thought again about what your friend said: if you’re catching feelings, get out now. But you shook the thought from your mind.

“Do you miss it? Being able to get yourself off?” you pressed.

“Fuck no,” he grunted, and you caught the way his cock bobbed in his hand— he was getting even closer, poor thing. “Don’t even— don’t want to now, but… but I’m trying so hard to be good for you…”

“I know,” you offered with a sympathetic, yet condescending, pout as you leaned in and caressed his face for a second. Just that seemed to push him even closer, and he struggled to keep his hips down again.

“I— fuck, I’m close,” he finally admitted. “I’ll come…”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

"Oh, please, please don't make me come," he whimpered. "I— I don't wanna come like this…"

You tilted your head. "Like what, puppy?"

"I want… I want you to touch me…" he pouted, eyes welling up a bit.

"We agreed you don't deserve that, Robert," you said sternly.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sobbed— and there were real tears, he was obviously devastated that he had let you down so much. "I'll do anything, I swear— let me be your good boy, your puppy— Mistress, I just wanna be yours again…"

You slapped him hard on the thigh when you saw his hand start to falter. "Don't slow down," you snapped. "I want you to keep going— keep stroking your poor cock, don't fucking stop until I tell you."

"But I— I'm so close," he choked.

"That's not my fault," you chuckled. "You're a pathetic whiny baby who comes too quick, that's not really my problem."

He bit his shaking lip and blinked through his tears, hips beginning to buck up into his own hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said over and over, "I didn't mean to be bad, I promise… only ever wanted t-to be your good boy…"

Feeling just a little sympathetic, you leaned in closer to speak beside his ear. "Is my good boy gonna come if I tell him to?"

Though he hesitated, he nodded.

"But you don't want to?"

He shook his head.

"Because you want me to touch you when you come, right?" you pressed, your voice just as soft as your touch while you gently ran your hand up his leg. He whimpered and squirmed, his eyes getting a bit wide. "You want me to make you come?"

"Yes! Please, fuck, please, Mistress…" he gasped.

You rubbed his inner thigh as he stroked himself faster; you could see his cock flexing, and you knew he was trying so hard not to come right then. Deciding to test him further, you let your fingers run over his swollen balls, and he choked on his own throat. "Bet these are so full of come for me," you purred.

"Yes, Mistress," he hissed.

"Stop moving your hand," you ordered suddenly, and for a man who'd been begging you to let him stop, he took a second to do it— his hand faltered a little as he slowed down, and he ended up holding his cock much too tight… surely trying to hold himself back from coming still. "You wanted me to touch you, didn't you?"

"Yes," he gasped, eyes getting wide with hope. "Yes! Please, Mistress! I swear I'll be good…"

"Then let go of your cock and let me take care of you, baby," you cooed. Again, he took a second to do it— still trying to make sure he wouldn't come when he wasn't choking the life out of it. Hissing as he let go, he dropped his head back with the sweetest moan as you gave him one slow stroke from the base to the tip. "Good job, baby," you whispered to him, "you're my good boy, aren't you?"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his exposed neck, and nodded hastily.

When his cock twitched in your hand, you figured it was just because he was so sensitive— but then, halfway into your second stroke, he gasped and suddenly began to come. You noticed it in his face first, the way he scrunched his nose and let out a low groan; then there was hot, sticky come shooting over his chest and stomach— and ruining that nice white shirt.

You pulled your hand away instantly, giving his face the hardest slap you could; he cried out in pain, but he just kept coming and bucking his hips into nothing.

"You pathetic, stupid boy!" you scolded, and he groaned. "I gave you one stroke, and you came?!”

You said it in past tense, but he was still coming, whining through his teeth and blinking quickly with those long lashes of his. He looked so sweet— but you knew that he knew he was utterly fucked. “I-I’m sorry,” he breathed, groaning one more time and going limp onto the bed beneath him as his cock gave one more weak flex. “I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m sorry…”

You watched him pant for a moment, almost losing your train of thought when you saw just how pretty he was.

Unfortunately for him, it gave you an interesting idea.

Loosening his tie, you slipped it off around his head; he blinked his eyes open and scrunched up his brows with confusion. “What are you…?” he asked, though he seemed to figure it out when you gave him a certain look: he instantly held out his wrists for you, and you smiled proudly.

You didn’t just tie them together, though— you tied them to the headboard, keeping his hands bound above his head as you grinned and leaned down over him. “What am I gonna do with you, puppy?” you cooed in a sweet-but-concerning way.

Chuckling nervously, he answered, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

You ran one finger over his cock, following the line a final drop of come had left down the shaft, and he hissed in a breath through his teeth. “So sensitive,” you noticed; he tensed up, like he was catching on.

When you licked a stripe up his shaft with the tip of your tongue, his gaze darkened and his mouth went slack. “I— I don’t—” he stammered, clearly conflicted with his desire for you and his fleeting logic telling him this was going to hurt. “I don’t think I can… take it…”

You’d never done this to him before, but you couldn’t stop yourself: looking up at his flushed face to see his reaction, you enveloped his head with your lips.

He let out a high, desperate moan as you suckled his swollen tip; “M-Mistress, fuck, I— oh my god—”

You looked up at him, but his head was tilted back too far to see you. You slid your mouth down further, stroking his base with your hand, until you were gagging on him and he was writhing beneath you wildly.

“Oh my god, fuck! Fuck, fuck— I… god your mouth is warm…”

You pulled off of him, partially to give him a bit of a break and partially so you could keep talking to him. Then again, it wasn’t much of a break since you kept stroking him, letting your spit and his come smooth your movements, sure to focus on that poor overstimulated tip. “It’s not too much for you, is it? My good boy can take it, right?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he promised, though he didn’t sound that confident. It sounded like what he really meant was I’m gonna try my best to take it.

“And aren’t you so thankful that Mistress is so nice to you, sucking your cock even though you don’t deserve it?”

“Fuck, of course,” he panted, “thank yo—oh fuck, fuck—”

You threw him off by taking him down as far as you could in the middle of his sentence, but he still had his manners.

“Thank you!” he yelped, starting to shudder more violently. “Th-thank you, so much, fuck, you’re perfect—”

When you pulled off again, he sighed with relief yet followed your mouth with a buck of his hips. “Does it hurt, or does it feel good?” you wondered.

“I— it’s— both,” he choked.

“I bet you wished I would suck your cock someday, didn’t you?” you pressed, and he instantly nodded and whined through his teeth as you licked all over the tip with a wide tongue. He gasped as you licked right over the slit.

“Fuck, I did— god, I— oh…”

Poor thing couldn’t get many words out in a row, he kept losing it every time you hollowed out your cheeks and swirled your tongue. And then you gave his balls a firm squeeze, and he made a sound you thought you might’ve never heard him make before.

“Mistress, please, please,” he begged breathlessly, moaning louder as you bobbed your head up and down. You couldn’t tell if he was begging for more or for relief, and honestly, you expected he didn’t know either.

You kept going for a few more minutes of that before his cries of pain got a little too intense— then you pulled away, and replaced your mouth with a hand stroking him as fast as you could. He still sobbed, of course, and dropped his head back again between his restrained arms.

“Fuck, s’too much,” he breathed, “just slow down…”

“I can’t, sweet boy— I need you to come again for me,” you encouraged.

“I— fuck, Mistress— I—” he stammered, and you could tell he was trying to stop himself from saying I can’t. He couldn’t bear to disappoint you twice.

“Can you do that for me, baby?” you cooed, making him look at you with the widest, wettest eyes. “Can you show me you’re still my good boy?”

“F-fuck, yes, okay,” he panted, “I’ll… I’ll come for you, just don’t stop, please…”

“I won’t stop, puppy, not until we’ve got every drop of come out of you,” you promised.

He should’ve known you took ‘every drop’ very seriously. Though he came after just another minute of stroking him like this, you still didn’t stop. When he cried out and tugged on his own tie holding him down, you didn’t stop. “Fuck!” he yelped. “Please, I can’t— I can’t!”

“Shh, yes you can,” you encouraged, though your free hand holding him down by the neck did more to keep him in place. “C’mon, be my good boy, gimme one more.”

He kept trying to squirm away, though, and his wrists were pulling hard on that necktie— he was probably going to ruin it.

“Stop fighting so much,” you warned him firmly. “Just be my good boy and fucking take it, come on— the fuck are you good for if you can’t do what I tell you to?”

“S-sorry,” he barely managed to get out, you almost didn’t hear it over the sound of his feet kicking all over the satin sheets.

“You don’t wanna get in trouble, do you? Don’t you wanna show me you know how to do what you’re told?” you kept taunting him, glancing down and seeing how red and weepy his cock was getting— you knew he wasn’t much further off from coming again.

“Yes, yes, fuck, I’m sorry,” he spoke hoarsely through the pressure you were putting on his neck.

“The sooner you come, the sooner it stops, puppy,” you informed him, gripping his cock even tighter as he hissed in breaths through his teeth. “Just come for me one more time…”

All he could do was lick his lips and nod; you let go of his neck, wanting to hear every broken moan he made. With his eyes shut tight and his nose scrunched up, he finally came with a long and wavering grunt— that was what you were waiting for, the sound of total relief. You slowed your movements down to a stop, smiling as you watched his cock give just two small pumps of come that dripped onto the ends of his shirt… it flexed weakly a few more times after that, but clearly he was beyond spent.

“Good job,” you praised softly, “you did so good for me… look what a mess you made…”

If you were feeling really mean you’d make him clean that all up, but something told you it was best to stop now… that ‘something’ being your watch. You’d stayed twenty minutes late and you were probably going to piss off your next client by being significantly tardy, especially considering you had to change first; you hoped you could chalk it up to some mindfuck dominance thing, walk in and say Mistress is never late, I always get here when I want to, if you were sitting around waiting for me that just shows how pathetic you are or something.

As you thought about that, you reached up and released the tie around Robert’s hands; he didn’t jump to rub his wrists, or flex his fingers into fists to bring some feeling back. He just let them fall limply at either side of him.

Though it was a small difference, it worried you— as did his silence. Normally he was all over you with praises by now, thanking you for everything, telling you he couldn’t wait to see you again.

“Was it a good session?” you asked him gently, letting him know it was over— he didn’t need to ‘perform’ anymore. You still felt like you needed to, though.

He worried you with the continued silence, though, just catching his breath and keeping his eyes shut; just when you thought you might check again that he was okay, he nodded quickly and hoarsely insisted, “Yeah, m’fine.”

“Not too much for you?” you asked nervously, watching him shake his head— but his lip was shaking, too. He was still crying, and you could tell it wasn’t like the whiny tears from before: he was holding back from bursting into sobs. You interrupted the silence with a whispered Robert? and he collapsed; folding in on himself, he curled into a ball on the bed and shook as he cried. Your eyes went wide as you realized you were absolutely in over your head.

Aftercare was generally not part of the deal. Most of your clients didn’t want it— they preferred to process whatever they needed to alone, after you left— and the rest just had to suck it up, though they never made much of a fuss. This felt like a real situation, and you felt guilty leaving now, but worried you’d only make it worse or break your own rules if you intervened somehow.

“I’m gonna give you some time,” you offered as you sat up— like ditching him now was a courtesy. Of course, as you expected (from him, specifically), he reached out for you.

“Please stay,” he begged— still heavily in his submissive mindset, it seemed, and sniffling pathetically. “Please, please—”

“Your time’s up,” you informed him flatly.

“Anything,” he whimpered, “name your price.”

“It’s— it’s not about the money, Robert,” you sighed. “It’s just unprofessional.”

“But I need you,” he breathed, and your heart twisted. “You can’t leave me like this, I just— I just need you to—”

Relenting, you sat back down on the bed; he instantly wrapped his arms around you, buried his face in your chest, and pulled you down with him.

Though it took you a moment, you went ahead and wrapped your arms around him in return, hoping to soothe him. “I’m sorry,” he said, though you struggled to make it out at first until he kept repeating it.

“It’s okay,” you replied softly, rubbing his back and looking down at the mess of brown hair shaking with each sob. “It’s okay, baby, you did really good… I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to go very hard on you, I mean, I’ve made you come a lot more than that before.”

“Not that,” he choked, finally pulling his face up to let you see and hear him better. Your heart broke seeing how overwhelmed he really was. “I just… I really don’t wanna disappoint you…”

In retrospect, maybe you should’ve known it would be too much for him— or maybe it was something about today, it just hit the wrong way, you couldn’t be sure. It didn’t really matter, in the end.

You sat up a bit, and he followed you, as you sighed and held his face.

“Robert, I was just— that wasn’t real,” you promised. “I needed something, you know, to work with. I just wanted you to prove your loyalty— I was never angry with you.”

“I know,” he croaked, though he was calming a bit already, “I know that, but I— it felt like it. Nobody else tells me what I’m supposed to do, you know— only you do that. I need that. Then I can know I’m doing what I’m supposed to… you’re the only person I can’t let down.”

Biting your lip for a second, you reached out to touch his chest through the half-unbuttoned shirt, but he pulled away suddenly.

“I know what this is,” he said, suddenly sounding a bit more normal again— almost clinical, actually. “I know this is your job.”

“Well… yeah,” you mumbled; obviously he knew that. You tried to understand what he was really saying to you.

“I know… none of it’s real,” he added, looking away.

Gently, you turned his face back to yours, wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb. “I really am proud of you,” you whispered, moving closer to him on the bed.

He held your face, then, too; and he put his other hand on your waist, moving even closer to you. “Please…” he began, and though the word was overwhelmingly familiar, you were sure you’d never heard him say it like that before. “Please, let me kiss you.”

You kissed him first, feeling one more tear roll down his face as he pulled you closer and pressed your body to his.

The kiss was soft at first, still a little teary; the way he held you was incredibly tender but with a lightly-suppressed neediness behind it… his fingers would tighten at your waist sometimes and you could tell he wanted to just force you against him. You’d let him, if he wanted to, but he was probably too weak after all that.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, reaching to hold onto his shoulders and squeeze them. “I’m so sorry, baby—”

“No,” he breathed against your lips, barely stopping the kiss to speak, “no— no, you’re perfect—”

“Stop it,” you mumbled, pushing him away slightly. “I’m not. I fucked up. I went too hard on you.”

“I— I could’ve safeworded, I just didn’t… I don’t know,” he shook his head before leaning it onto your shoulder. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

You laughed a little as you combed your fingers through his hair, letting your nails gently scratch his scalp. “No, I just get paid to call you pathetic. You’re so strong…”

“No, I’m not,” he promised, his voice oddly firm and stable for how weepy the words could’ve come off. “I’m not— not even strong enough to… to end this.”

You froze up, looking at him with wide eyes as he pulled his face up close to yours.

“It’s not right anymore,” he whispered to you, cradling your cheek in his palm; god, his hands were warm. “You know it, don’t you? You can tell. You can tell I broke the fucking rules.”

“Don’t tell me, after all this bullshit,” you managed to laugh bitterly, “you really are dating one of those fucking models— or both—”

“Not that rule, fuck,” he coughed, “no— I fucking fell for you.”

You blinked quickly, forcing yourself to believe you misheard him. “You—?”

“I fell in love with you.”

“No— Robert, you don’t even know me,” you insisted, looking away.

“I want to! God, I want to,” he groaned, “it’s all I think about: what you must be like when you’re not, you know, on the clock. What turns you on, what ticks you off, what… fuck, what you eat for breakfast! Anything.”

“Then you don’t love me,” you informed him, “you love the idea. You love the… mystery. You don’t really want to know me, I promise.”

“You don’t love a mystery because you want it to stay that way,” he laughed, rubbing your shoulders— only then did you notice your own eyes were getting teary. You really didn’t want him to see you that way, but you didn’t have much choice now. “You love a mystery because you can’t wait to get to the ending and figure it all out! I just wanna know you— you’re a page-turner.”

“Okay, the metaphor is a little tired now,” you rolled your eyes, but you sniffled and tried to hide your face.

“Hey,” he whispered, petting your head, toying with your hair for a moment with his fingers. “I know you can’t keep going on with me, now that I said that. I know this is gonna have to be goodbye. But I… I think goodbye is still less painful than having to be this close to you but so far away. I’m sorry… I thought I was strong enough for this.”

Get out now. Get out now. The advice echoed in your head. If you’re catching feelings, get out now and definitely do not tell him you’re falling for him too— no don’t you fucking dare bitch— “It’s not goodbye,” you blurted out. “I’m not strong enough for that.”

When you dared to look at him, his eyes were full of hope.

“God, you look fucked up,” you noticed with a laugh, your eyes scanning his ruined suit. “C’mon, let’s get you in the bath.”

There was plenty of room in this bathtub, more than any one person could need— plenty for you to have your own space. But, of course, Robert kept you close to him, your chest against his back as he ran his hands over your skin under the water.

“For breakfast? I don’t know, I guess I have toast a lot, if I remember it,” you chuckled. “My mornings are pretty busy.”

“Any pet peeves?” he asked.

“Uh, people who don’t use earbuds on public transport,” you decided.

“Ah,” he nodded. “That sounds irritating. I, um, haven’t been on public transport…”

You rolled your eyes, but you giggled, too.

“If you could only wear one color for the rest of your life, what would it be?” he prompted.

You turned over, splashing the water a bit, so you could look up at him. “Is this interrogation ever gonna end? The water’s getting cold.”

“Well, so far, the more I know, the more I wanna know, so…” he trailed off. “Guess we’re gonna be in here ‘til I solve the mystery, hm?”

You laughed, but he pulled you into another kiss— more energetic than before, but still sweet, still a little hungry. When you pulled back, he leaned in and kissed your neck instead. “I think we could be here all night and still have a lot left to cover,” you warned him.

“I can afford all night,” he shrugged.

As tempted as you were to take him up on that, you had to accept that that element of the arrangement was over now. “I’m not gonna charge you,” you admitted, making him break away from your skin to look up at you. “You wanted to learn what I’m like off the clock, right?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling you a little closer until you straddled his lap in the water. “I wanna learn whatever I can.”

“Well, here’s something you should’ve figured out a lot sooner,” you offered, running your fingers over his jaw until you gently held his chin, making him look up at you with this sweet, pouty, needy look on his face. “I fell for you, too.”

#whoops how did feelings get in there?#not sure how that happened #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

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walpu · 7 days

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Self aware!Gepard being jealous of Aventurine

characters - Gepard, Aventurine mentioned

notes - gn!reader, jealousy (while not mentioned directly, it's still implied they both are jealous lmao), no beta. Dedicating this to my Gepard, stop stalking me bbg, I still love you.

Self aware!Gepard who gets more and more nervous with Aventurine's banner approaching.

Self aware!Gepard who is a military man, who knows how important it is to have the right strategy and the right party, who knows it's better for you to replace him with Aven, but who's still heartbroken over it.

Self aware!Gepard, who was already doing his best to sustain you, now tries even harder, goes beyond his limits, all just to prove his worth.

Self aware!Gepard who knows you want to pull for Aventurine still, not even for the meta but because you like him.

Self aware!Gepard, who was always cheering for you during your pulls, now praying for you to lose 50/50 or to not have enough jades.

Self aware!Gepard who has never sabotaged your pulls but now he comes to you instead of Aventurine, makin it the first time you lose 50/50 to him. He feels so guilty and selfish for making you upset but he just can't lose you. He'll try harder, he'll restore his energy faster, he'll protect you! Just please don't replace him!

Self aware!Gepard who's so upset when you still get Aventurine eventually. He tries not to show it but his sad puppy eyes say it all.

Self aware!Gepard who feels lost when you replace him with Aventurine in some of your teams.

Self aware!Gepard who tries to be courteous with Aven but damn, they don't get along since Aventurine's boss fight, when Aven was constantly targeting him and Gepard was unable to hit the number higher than 3. Not to mention Aven had Gepard's sisters in his banner. Like. The audacity!

Self aware!Gepard who is either completely heartbroken when you give his relics to Aven or is somewhat hopeful if you don't. Maybe you still have a soft spot for him in your heart, that would be enough for him.

Self aware!Gepard who gets very surprised when you put him on the same team as Aven during your preservation path run in the SU.

Self aware!Gepard who tries his best to outperform Aven and gets very self conscious when he sees that Aventurine hardly even loses any hp at all, his shields are better and it stings to admit it.

Self aware!Gepard who sighs heavily when everyone else drops dead and him and Aven are the only paty members left.

Self aware!Gepard who is still like a puppy, getting very excited when you pick him in MoC or Pure Fiction.

Self aware!boss!Gepard who always targets Aven no matter what. Even if it's an AoE attack, somehow it still does more damage to Aven specifically.

#gepard x reader #self aware au #reader insert #hsr #honkai star rail #gepard landau #hsr gepard #Gepard #walp's writing

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obsessedwithstarwars · 8 months

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A series of murders have been taking place in Blüdhaven. (Is that how you spell it?)

BPD are at their limits. They call in a specialist. An unregistered meta??? woman who has very specific demands that the police department must follow to the letter.

She is somewhat a ghost story (haha) throughout the states. When a department needs help, her services are found in a letter on the chief’s desk, along with specific criteria for her offer of help. If they don’t meet her demands, she vanishes, leaving chaos and destruction in her wake. She has been considered dead many times due to the damages. But she’s always appeared a few weeks later, helping another department in a different state and leaving the solved case of the one she abruptly left.

Her demands are this: All windows closed and blindfolds down.

No electronics. If they can’t be moved, then they must be disabled. If that can’t happen, then the police department must leave a green flag on their station.

She will only visit under cover of night.

They will know her by the DP insignia on the black armor she wears. Her red and blue hair (that almost looks like it’s floating?!) will be the only defining feature aside from glowing green eyes. The rest of her face will be covered. If anyone asks, they did not see anything discernable about her.

There is only one police officer she will share information to. He or she will be standing outside.

This officer will wear a belt she brings and it will remain as part of his or her uniform.

No questions.

They will take all of the credit and never mention her or her description to anyone in white.

Her help will not be put in the case files. There must be no evidence that she was there.

After she leaves, they will discover a letter for an Agent O. He comes within two days. He’s always furious after reading it and practically interrogates the officer who stood outside the door. She recommends that this officer immediately go on vacation for a week.

The police departments she has worked with (that have cooperated with her demands) all claim she was a godsend. Her methods were unconventional but effective. Ignore the one sided conversations she has at the crime scene and she’s the perfect specialist. Their only issue is that she will not work with the same department twice so they’ve had to get creative and send the officer she worked with to another department (small rural town) to solve another cold case for them.

She can somehow figure out exactly what happened to each victim without seeing the body or the case file and tell the police departments the exact description of the suspect just by having a one sided conversation at the scene of the crime. It’s almost like someone is answering her, but no one ever does. If no body was discovered, she can tell you exactly where it is.

AKA Jazz figured out she can communicate with weak ghosts. As a liminal, she has been able to solve many cold cases just by speaking to the victims.

Dick Grayson is assigned as her designated officer. Chaos ensues because of course it does.

Extra thought: What if the GIW use a liminal serial killer (could be in Blüdhaven or Gotham) to draw Jazz out? Are they paying the killer? Forcing someone to kill? SO MANY HORRIBLE POSSIBILITIES!

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom #jazz fenton #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp au #jasmine fenton #danny fenton #phantom helps when he can #Tucker and Technus for sure help with any tech issues #they want to remain anonymous #leaving the belts is Team Phantom’s way of ensuring at least one officer won’t be overshadowed in case of an ecto-attack #the GIW shows up if the police departments don’t follow directions #jazz can usually handle herself #but Danny likes to be a little shit #I mean help #Danny likes to help #Dani LOVES causing chaos for the GIW #It’s her passion #oooh what if Dan’s the one who helps #Dick is about to have an interesting week #same with Nightwing #Jazz definitely goes to Gotham next #Dick follows #Red Hood has fun times investigating and attempting to stop his brother’s matchmaking #if someone writes this i will love you forever

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flightyquinn · 1 month

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thinking about how cursed objects work in most fantasy RPGs.

typically, they wind up just kind of being a big middle finger from the game master - a kind of "whelp, you should have been more paranoid, so now you get hosed" sort of deal. which includes the somewhat game-y trope of objects that you can't get rid of. it's kind of an un-fun mechanic, when you think about it, which is why in most games I've been a part of cursed items often don't see much play, unless it's as a "punishment", or part of a story arc.

...which naturally leads me to think about how to do it better. in the past, I've tried using a curse as a kind of limiter. restrictions or drawbacks to a mostly functional item that is still worth using despite being "cursed". that's good, but it doesn't let you draw on truly nasty curses, because the item needs to be worth using, but also still needs to be balanced.

so, I'm drawing from a lot of sources here, like the cursed shield in Final Fantasy VI, and especially the comics by @foldingfittedsheets, where curses exist to (literally) teach the recipient a lesson

MEAT OF THE POST STARTS HERE:

what about cursed items that have a way to overcome their curse?

it's actually a fairly common trope in classical literature / fairy tales. every curse has a way to be broken. yet in D&D and Pathfinder, most often the only way to break a curse is to find someone with the specific curse-breaking spell.

so, give each cursed item a condition. perhaps a weapon that fuels a person's rage and causes them to fly into a blind rage in battle waits for them to sincerely forgive a hated enemy. perhaps boots that slow the wearer are actually making them heavy with the weight of past transgressions and a sufficient act of atonement will free them. maybe the perpetually bloody doll that gives its bearer horrible nightmares simply waits for someone to be motivated to action by them, either to right some past wrong, or generally bring a certain number of murderers to proper justice.

...maybe a Bag of Devouring. which is technically actually a creature, not a cursed item (but usually classified with them), can be befriended by figuring out a treat it likes, and will not only carry things for the player if fed and cared for, but even cough up a few things that previous bearers had stuffed inside.

the specifics aren't too important, but the idea is that any item with a curse on it has a reason for that curse, and a way to break it. the players can drop the item at any time, sell it off, give it to someone they hate, whatever, but if they put in the time and energy to actually breaking the curse, it becomes better than it was before, sometimes simply losing a drawback, or sometimes gaining new powers.

for an example, let's look at how that doll idea from earlier could work in D&D 5e;

while the party has the doll in their possession, they will all be afflicted by horrible nightmares, seeing themselves as children being attacked by a group of eight bandits with indistinct features. the details of the dreams change each night, and the players awaken before learning their ultimate fate, but the general gist is always that they are completely helpless, and subjected to harm.

after a long rest, have them roll a Wisdom or Charisma save (challenging DC, but not too difficult), or take a small amount of psychic damage.

if the players bring murderers to justice - meaning deliver them to the proper authorities and see them punished for their crimes - the content of the dreams starts to change. one bandit gets caught or killed by the end of the dream for each real world criminal successfully punished, possibly hinting to the players what they need to do. once eight murderers in total have had their sentences enacted, the next morning the doll will be in pristine condition with a serene expression, emitting a faint glow. thereafter, any player may attune to the doll to gain the ability to cast the Guidance cantrip without components (as thought the doll's ability to project what it wants the players to do into their mind was turned to their benefit.

#tabletop gaming #tabletop roleplaying #roleplaying games #dungeons & dragons #pathfinder #game master advice #homebrew #my ideas #curses #cursed items #long post

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johnkahner · 6 months

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Could you do the MK1 Earthrealmers, Syzoth, Liu Kang and MK11 Fujin with a pro skateboarder reader?

AN: My only knowledge of pro skateboarding are those Tony Hawk games and that animated movie he was in. My knowledge is pretty limited lol. Also not my best work, so apologies for that. Not proof read.

Notes: Gender-Neutral Pro Skateboarder Reader, Headcanons

MK 1:

Johnny Cage

-This man likes to watch you perform all the cool tricks you perform. -Would be tempted to have you teach him some tricks, but he doesn't want to risk any damage happening to his pretty face. -Brags about you to everyone he knows. Would post videos of your tricks.

Kenshi Takahashi

-Okay so if it's before the blinding incident he would love to watch you perform your favorite tricks. -If it's after that, it would sadden him that he can't enjoy the performance completely. -But using Sento he can somewhat enjoy it as he did before. It doesn't feel the same though.

Raiden

-He thinks you are so cool. Like he admires you. -Will be your biggest fan. Might fight Kung Lao if he says that. -Would make a shirt or three of you performing. It's one way He supports you.

Kung Lao

-He wants you to teach him. He takes this seriously. -Will brag to everyone about how amazing he thinks you are. -When attempting to learn he would most likely hurt himself somehow.

Syzoth

-Is intrigued when you first tell him about your profession. -Once you show him some of the things you can do he is amazed. -Would ask if you could teach him some of the basics.

Liu Kang

-Remembers seeing something about it in a prior timeline. He thought it was interesting at the time. -Would like to watch you practice. He finds it cute when you are enjoying something you love. -Would tell Geras about some of your performances he has seen.

MK 11:

Fujin

-During one of his many trips around Earthrealm he would go to watch one of the competitions, and that’s probably how he first meets you. -Somehow he convinces Raiden to join him when he goes to cheer you on. -He thinks you look radiant after you are done practicing.

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princessozera · 28 days

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so, random thought, there's a good chance the demon bros inadvertently harmed mc in some capacity just because human and demon limits are so vastly different, and the main human any have had contact with is Solomon, whose humanity is somewhat debatable. mc might act like they're invincible, but they are human in the end, and human durability is largely that we can keep going after almost any injury, not that we don't get injured

like Lucifer strings them up as he would his brothers, forgetting (assume he's really tired or stressed or whatever) that doing so puts a lot of pressure on the body and can cause actual damage instead of just being annoying like it is to his brothers. depending on how exactly he ties them up it'd change the effects but it's never gonna be great for them

Mammon running away from shenanigans with them and he tugs on their hand a bit too hard and fast to get them safely around a corner and dislocates their shoulder in the process because force = mass x speed and Mammon is a speedy boy. or he's running from Lucifer and slams into them at top speed, and if they can't protect their head from the wall/floor you know Mams is freaking out because mc is all out of it and there's so much blood and he doesn't care how Lucifer punishes him as long as he makes sure mc is alright

otaku Levi with his nonexistent sleep schedule doesn't realise just how badly sleep deprivation affects humans. paranoia, weakened immune system, depersonalisation, all the way to sleep deprivation psychosis. you go 96 hours or 4 days without sleep and lemme tell you, you ain't properly attached to reality anymore. been there, done that, would not recommend. there were bugs crawling all over my arms and legs and shadow people whispering. fucking sucked, and I was constantly shaking so I kept dropping stuff

if anyone knows about human durability, at least in theory, it's Satan, but the avatar of wrath can be emotionally charged. he really didn't mean to hurt them, but he was trying so hard not to lose it that day and as he led mc out of his room so they wouldn't be caught in the inevitable explosion, his deadly sharp claws nicked their skin. the wounds were mostly superficial— hurt like a bitch but no major arteries were damaged— but there was quite a lot of blood and Satan felt sick in a way he never had before. humans scar easily, a useful trait to close open wounds quickly, but Satan hates that he was the cause of those raised lines

Asmo is probably best at remembering since he hangs out with Solomon and has had human lovers before, but he is mostly around Solomon who cannot die. so he doesn't always remember what is and isn't toxic for humans, especially since a lot of poisons are used in medicines at lower doses and a lot of things we need to live are poisonous if we consume enough. it'd only take one slip up to put mc in hospital, and of course they don't blame him but he begs Satan to teach him as much as he can so it never happens again

you know Beel would try his best to remember, and he'd feel horribly guilty if he ever hurt mc, but he's big and strong even by demon standards and can eat anything that isn't Solomon's cooking. there's a few ways this one could go— sharing food with them that's toxic to humans, hugging them a bit too hard, mc giving him their food and going hungry, they work out together and they get hurt... take your pick

and Belphie knows all too well how fragile mc is, so he's very careful with his demonic strength around them. he already killed them once with barely any effort. but one day he wakes up from napping with mc to find he held them too hard and they're bruising. maybe his arm curled around their neck as it bloomed black and blue once again. Belphie doesn't nap with them for a while after that

! ANON! 💕💕💕💕

I don't know how you sniped me from across the highway but whump/injuries are exactly my cup of obsession and I've thought about this forever- i just never really had enough to make a full post. I LOVE your ideas and I hope you dont mind me bouncing some of my own off them;

----

Lucifer and his funny little habit of hanging his brothers 💕 Say he takes pity on MC, makes sure they're right side up, nothing around the neck and only tied beneath the arms and around the legs. Plans to take them down in 5 minutes, really it was meant to be the pet equivalent of air jail. But a call here, difficulties there and 5 minutes turn to 10 and then it slips to 15. It's so little time, absolutely nothing compared to the nights he's left Mammon up over the banister.

So why are there screams in the hall? Why are Asmo, Mammon and Levi on the phone with Solomon, Barbatos, and Simeon respectively? He doesn't understand why they don't immediatley drop MC down, only catching the tail end of Solomon explaing something called "suspension trauma" to Asmo. When they do get MC down, even from a distance he can see the color is almost completely gone from their face, while their legs are a few shades darker. He watches Satan mouth out the count for MC's pulse, quick and staggering. When MC wakes, they can't seem to take a proper breath- gasping, clutching their chest, tearing up and confused. There isn't much more any of them can do, other than stand back and hand MC over to Barbatos and Solomon.

----

In a movie, it would be considered slapstick comedy, the way that Mammon skid around a corner full speed, carpet pulling under his feet , hip checking the wall as he ran away from Lucifer. In a movie it would be hilarious they way him and MC crashed, sending them literally flying back, head bouncing off the wall, swirls in their eyes and stars dancing around their head. In a movie they would only need to shake it off and get up to yell at him, with Lucifer standing back and watching in smug satisfaction.

But there wasn't anything funny about this, MC slumped in his arms, blood turning his tshirt into a darker shade of black, making it tacky and stick onto his skin. They're awake, sort of? But their pupils aren't the same size, and the speech is slurred. There's a truce as Lucifer heals MC, and they get them to a proper doctor.

Mammon gets better at ducking and weaving around MC, it even helps him evade Lucifer better. But MC doesn't escape the dislocated shoulders, and unwanted popping of their knuckles when Mammon holds their hand too hard. Neither had known that after the first dislocation, its a lot easier to dislocate your should again. It's never intentional, but it always hurts- MC tries to breathe through it if there is an urgency, but Mammon catches the way they pointedly look away, trying to blink the tears away, and knows that he's- once again- failed to keep MC out of harm.

---------

Levi being MC's energy drink dealer. He doesnt know why they dont but their own, but he has plenty so he ultimately doesnt mind sharing. They're not attached at the hip so he doesnt see how little sleep MC is getting, a single can carrying them through 2 whole days. They know its time to 1-up again when their heart stops sounding like helicopter blades.

He finds them on the floor of their room, rubbing their arms raw with the hard bristle brush Asmo uses to buff his horns, babbling incoherently to themselves.

-----

With Satan the physical is NEVER intentional, as much as he used to rage in the early days of the fall, the thought of hurting MC didn't sit well with him. But tiny nicks are so easy to cause when even his regular nails are sharper than a humans'. If MC can keep their reactions subtle, it wont be until Satan is laying in their lap that he notices the "freckles" on their arms don't quite lay flat.

When you're used to fast reflexes, you don't think twice about slamming a door in someone's face. Someone (MC) who was too close and now has a broken, bloody nose. Now whenever the snore in their sleep, or their nose whistles when they laugh too hard, Satan remembers opening the door to MC doubled over, blood leaking from between their fingers as they tried to put pressure on the bridge of their nose.

-------

Dosage and concentration.

Asmo is vaugely familiar with these terms- SPF strength, alcohol proofing, acidity in his skin care. He's had so many spa nights with Solomon that he doesn't think twice about sharing his skin care routine with MC as well. Powders, gels, creams, exfoliants. Some a bit too harsh, MC's skin turns warm and flush, so he thinks their skin is sensitive. He'd ask for help caring for his wings and horns. MC goes in with their bare hands to get a good scrub, attributing the burn to the rough edges and upturned edges of Asmo's horns. It feels like icyhot, so it must be working. When they're done, Asmo tries to take the rest of the cream off their hands to apply to his hands, but they both scream as a visible layer of skin from MC starts peeling off as well. The acid having fulling numbed and killed off most of the senses in MC's hand, had started to deteriorate the skin, and its by some small blessing that MC hadnt already applied it to their face. It takes a panicked called to Solomon to get the feeling back into MC's hands, but it still takes weeks for the skin to grow back on to their hands. The pain of bandages on raw muscle is excruciating, and Asmo sticks to them like glue, fully taking the blame for their condition.

-----

Beel and Belphie have another trauma to share as twins- nearly killing MC in their sleep! Beel doesnt understand how heavy an unconcious body can be, and being as large as he is, this becomes a problem the first time him and MC share a bed. He falls asleep with an arm draped over them, but exhaustion from practice has him rolling on to them. Even if not entirely covering them, the weight on their chest makes it hard to breathe and MC soon drops nicities and is trying their damnest to get him off or at least wake him up. Its a panicked use of the pacts to call another brother that saves them, and Beel cant sleep for the rest of the night.

Belphie doesn't have as many night terrors these days, but they can still get bad. Usually sleeping with MC can keep these dreams at bay, but on nights that they dont, he wakes up to find MC tossed onto the floor or squeezed between him and the wall. On the worsts of these nights, he woke up to MC screaming, having wrapped a hand and tail so tightly around their arm that it shattered in 2 places.

(Can I also offer a beel and belphie alternative: MC wanting to match Beel's stamina/ gym workout time and getting muscle deterioration. Belphie wanting a sleeping partner so he messes up their sleeping cycles, 10+ hrs asleep, accidentally depriving them of light, water, and food, causing a depressive episode)

#ozera talks back #anon i am proposing #/j #obey me shall we date #long post

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huggingtentacles · 17 days

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Alright you just beat Elden Ring. Congratulations! You're now one of the cool folks who can actually beat the game, and you're not ready to put it down yet.

Maybe PvP intimidates you and you just wanna explore the world again. You may try a new build sure, but now that you know more about the game, you might wanna try something different, like a challenge run.

"huggingtentacles I am trash at the game there is no way I could do any of the cool runs, I died to Radagon a bazillion times"

NO, You are good enough to try any challenge run! You can define what a challange is for yourself! There is no need to jump into something insane like a rune level 1 run or a torch only run. You can set any restriction you want, and completing the game with an additional challange is immensely more satisfying (and gives you bragging rights)

There are many different challange runs all varying in difficulty. Here are the runs that I've done personally.

Easy:

Region Lock Run — the premise is simple, you can't leave the region you are in unless you best the major boss(es) of that region. You can't go to Liurnia untill you beat Margit, you can't go to Altus untill you beat Rennala, etc. This run is fun because you can't skip over progression (like killing the Caelid dragon early with bleed to be overlevelled for Limgrave) which makes every fight feel appropriately difficult.

Starting Class Run — Only use the gear you start the game with. You can level up and upgrade your weapons and flask, but you can't use any other consumables and talismans you didn't start the game with. This run is quite flexible in difficulty because whether you choose to, say, use ashes of war or different spells or even golden seeds is ultimately up to you. All of them count.

No spirit summons — for some this is just the normal Elden Ring run, but for most it's a challange. While it can be somewhat difficult, not having spirit summons still leaves you with enough options to steamroll through the game if you. The challenge comes from actually learning the bosses and their patterns and engaging with combat more.

No status effects — As simple as it sounds. Perhaps you used to crutch on bleed, frost, rot or poison, now you can't. There are plenty of other very powerful damage options in the game, so the run is definitely not very hard, it only limits your arsenal somewhat.

Spells only/melee only — depending on what your previous run was. If you're used to standing behind and throwing pebbles, picking up a weapon might be a fun new challenge. And if you are used to your Big Sword, it's gonna be kinda hard to adjust to managing your FP and putting together a build.

Medium:

Spirit Summons Only — moderately difficult because it requires rather extensive knowledge of the game's mechanics. The basic premise is that you can only deal damage using spirit summons. You can restrict it to bosses only or to the whole run in general. It's an absolutely hilarious run. The AI built into the game can beat the entire game for you. Including the hardest endgame bosses like Malenia. Also playing as a support, healing and buffing your summons is really fun :)

No Crimson Flask — LISTEN. I swear it's not that hard. Yes it sucks a bit in the early game, but there are so many tools and options available to completely replace your flask with regen and heal spells. Just level up your vigor. This run is incredibly fun and it's good if you are aiming for harder runs in the future but aren't sure if you have it in you. I know you do ;)

Taunter's Tongue Run — Definitely my FAVOURITE of all of them. Its incredibly simple: you get Taunter's Tongue as soon as you get access to Roundtable Hold and you turn it on forever. Fight invaders alone or with a friend in 2v2s. If you don't have any PvP experience, this is one of the ways to learn. By the end of it, you won't be half bad at PvP, trust me (unless you just run away all the time which is also an option)

Hard:

Rune Level 1 is such a difficult run to do, but the cultural legacy of Fromsoft "no leveling up" runs makes the completion of it so desirable. Completing this run basically makes you part of the small section of people who actually know how to fight every single boss without relying on cheap tactics and cheese. You learn how to counter every move most enemies make because of how unforgiving it is.

But what's more fun is the sheer variety. Stat boosting gear is so common in this game you can literally use almost anything you want as a weapon.

Permadeath — If you die, you restart. Use any tools at your disposal to survive, play it safe, level up your vigor. But most importantly, brace for setbacks. Restarting because of a dumb mistake sucks, but that's why it's such an impressive run to complete. If you can take a loss on Elden Beast and make it to the inside of the Erdtree again, you will achieve one of the hardest challanges ER has to offer.

An easier variation of Permadeath would be "no rune loss" run. There are tools the game gives you to avoid losing runes, but it's still a very difficult run.

Torch Only Run — You pick up a standard torch from Church of Elleh and you use it to Kill God.

An easier variation would be Torches Only run which allows you to use the entire arsenal of torches. Still a very difficult run that requires a lot of skill to beat.

Impossible:

No Thinking About Kissing Malenia run — still working on this one. Can't figure it out. If you have advice please DM me

Feel free to add more challange run ideas!

#elden ring #shitpost #elden ring pvp #invader talk #elden ring invasions #elden ring challange runs

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imaginedanvrs · 3 months

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encrypted relations

part 9 l masterlist

summary: yelena belova x reader. when natasha takes you under her wing, she becomes like family, and the last thing you want is to lose that. but when you meet her younger sister who you know is off limits, you have to decide between what you really want and hope for minimal damage

word count: 5.3k

warnings: kidnapping, torture, drugging, significant injuries and blood loss, death, graphic violence, references to past sexual assault

You couldn’t move when you woke up. There were rough restraints wrapped around your torso and limbs but they weren’t necessary in keeping you in place. You felt stiff and unbelievably sore, like when a scab heals in an area that makes it hard to bend your arm or leg, except you felt it across your entire body.

There was a laceration from the bottom of your neck to your shoulder that stopped you moving your head, several across both legs that rendered them immobile, one on your right forearm, a multitude across your stomach and one deep in your back that was being dug into by whatever surface you were laying on. You exhaled shakily, feeling tears run down your already stiff cheeks.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Rae called from somewhere behind you. Your heart pumped wildly against your chest, despite already working to its limit to keep you alive.

The raven haired woman appeared at your side with an unmarked cylinder and gas mask in hand. She was smiling, beaming really, as she pulled up a chair and sat down next to you. You eyed the mask warrily, suddenly aware of the absence of blood in your mouth and how dry it had become since. You had no idea what they had done to you since you had been asleep, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“I want you to stay awake for a bit so we can chat,” she told you, voice light as she fitted the mask over your mouth and nose. You tried to move your head to the side but the wound in your neck protested loudly at the stretch. You didn’t try to hold your breath, knowing it was futile as Rae opened the gas valve. You didn’t look at her as you breathed it in, instead focusing on the area around you.

There were clouded strip curtains that stopped you seeing any further than a few feet around you and the space was poorly lit. Next to your bed were machines you couldn’t make out without attempting to move your head again though you noticed several thin tubes entering your arms. You didn’t want to know what they were putting in your body. You didn’t want to know anything. You were trapped beneath a blanket of pain that prevented you from being able to focus on much else.

Rae pulled the paper thin sheet that was draped over your body off of you and you were somewhat glad that you couldn’t move your head to see the state that your body was in. But the vast stain of red was hard to miss, even out of the corner of your eyes, it was everywhere. She put her hand on your thigh where it seemed your trousers had been turned into shorts to provide access to your wounds across your legs. You winced at her touch, feeling it even through the pain.

“You haven’t really changed, you know?” She told you. “People like to believe they can change after they’ve done something bad. They decide to do some good acts, to try and make amends, but it doesn’t mean anything,” she sighs. “I suppose Natasha failed to inform you of that fact when she gave you a job, or maybe she thought it would be a good act of her own,” she pondered. You didn’t reply even when Rae removed the mask.

“Tell me about her,” she said as she put the equipment down and rested her forearms and head on the edge of the bed next to your face. “Come on, sweetheart, I didn’t touch your vocal chords for a reason. Tell me about what Natasha and Yelena are like now.” You frowned, not sure what exactly it was Rae wanted to know about the sisters. You couldn't trust that it was for a harmless reason either.

“I know you’re fucking Yelena, so there must be some interesting things about her you can tell me,” she pushed impatiently and began to trace the edges of you neck wound. You swallowed thickly under her touch as you registered that Rae knew about you and Yelena. That explained why she sent the photo that she did. But was she trying to get to the blonde too?

“She was the most ruthless child assassin the red room had ever seen,” Rae told you. You frowned, not understanding where Rae could have gotten that information from. “We were in all the same classes so I had to watch them praise her even after all the trouble she caused after her separation from Natasha.” You listened as intently as you could despite the occasional blaze of pain, trying desperately to put the pieces together but unable to catch on as fast as you would under any normal circumstance.

“No one ever seems to be punished for their actions anymore,” Rae told you as her fingers probed harder into your tender flesh. “Yelena and Natasha run away and are welcomed into the world. You go behind my back and get rewarded for it. And yet I stay loyal and get nothing,” she explained with clear agitation.

“Loyal… to who?” You forced the words out and felt like you were pushing them through a grinder. Rae looked down at you with a fond smile that made you sweat.

“The red room, malysh.” You stared at the woman above you as the temperature around you seemed to plummet.

“You’re a widow,” you whispered. Rae hummed, collecting some of your blood on her thumb and smearing it across your neck.

“There aren’t many of us left after what they did,” Rae recalled. “But we’re rebuilding. We’re replicating the serum Melina perfected when she was using her talents to their full potential and gathering the right people. And you, dorogoy, are one of them. You helped us years ago and you’ll do it again once the serums are ready,” she explained.

“I never helped you and I never will,” you protested weakly, trying to move your abused limbs to get as far away from Rae as you could but failed to her amusement.

“Yes, you did,” she corrected, producing a knife from the table next to her. “You were helping the moment I was sent to you and asked you out on that first date. That was always how it was meant to go,” she explained, picking something else up as you struggled, your mind racing as you realised how much worse the situation was than you had thought. Not only that, but hearing that even your best times with Rae were an act certainly pained you more than you would ever care to admit. You had once loved Rae, caught up in a relationship that had never been real.

In your panicked haze, you didn’t register the click or the dancing orange flame Rae placed under the flat side of her knife. “Though of course I’m not expecting you to do any work in your condition, so we’re just going to close up those nasty wounds first,” Rae explained matter-of-factly as she lifted up your shirt and placed the glowing blade on the deepest slash.

Your apartment didn’t provide the same comfort to Yelena as it usually did. Your absence seemed to have stripped it of its refuge entirely and it instead felt like being in an empty shell that she had no right to stand in. Yelena always loved your apartment, even from the first time she broke in and hadn’t yet met you. She liked the slightly mismatched furniture that always seemed to have at least one blanket each and the clean smell they always seemed to carry despite you insisting on using unscented fabric wash. She liked the display of random artwork you had placed around the space, most of which being slightly scratched from you walking into them so many times. She liked the soft lighting from various lamps placed in specific areas to create the right brightness level that was never too harsh or dim. She liked that the apartment always smelt of you, even in that moment when she wandered through it alone. That would fade, she realised, unless you were back there soon.

Yelena walked into the kitchen and spotted a neglected mug left on the side next to the kitchen. You would never have done that purposefully, always insistent on having everything washed up and put away before you left the apartment so that you wouldn’t have to deal with it when you got back. Yelena had sometimes done it for you if you had fallen asleep before you were due to go out.

The blonde picked the mug up, recognising it to be your favourite one, and began to wash it with a small amount of soap, rinsed it, and put it to the side to drain as her eyes scanned your home for anything else out of place. That was when she noticed a piece of paper folded up on your coffee table.

Yelena picked up the discarded paper as she sat down and opened it up, seeing her name on the top line and realising it was a letter to her. She paused and considered putting the letter back, feeling intrusive to be looking through your belongings without you there to nag her to stop being so nosey. You never did truly care though. You always just threw a pillow at her and continued whatever you were doing to let Yelena carry on with her overt snooping. So she opened the paper back up and began to read.

Yelena,

So I guess first and foremost, I’m sorry. I realised I’ve said that a lot by now, but I haven’t said what for. I’m sorry for being a complete moron for starters. It somehow never dawned on me that this was new territory for you so it was inevitable that there was going to be some confusion about what we actually were. Though I can tell you one thing, if we were dating I would have never wanted to keep that a secret, not that I enjoyed keeping the secret we had, but that would have been something I would want to announce to the whole world because you’re everything, Lena. You really are and you never deserved to be hidden.

I’m sorry I kept what we had a secret without giving it much thought about how you felt about that. You never said it bothered you, but I could tell in the last couple weeks that it did. I should have been able to tell sooner and I should have done something about it sooner, maybe even just addressed it better, but I was afraid of upsetting Nat. I know it's ironic and I definitely wasn’t trying to put my friendship with Nat above yours, but it terrified me to think I could lose her and I never once thought I would lose you.

I’m sorry for never telling you how I felt, that I was scared of us becoming something serious because last time that happened things didn’t end so well. That was something I never wanted to talk about, but that’s not just with you. I don’t want to think about the past, even though that’s what’s been holding me back this entire time, from not being able to give you all of me, from not being able to ask you out and from not being able to tell you that I love you.

A droplet fell onto the second paragraph and Yelena swiftly wiped her cheeks of the tears that continued to fall. She let the letter drop to the floor as she leant back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling as she fought to control her breathing. It was all too much. She had thought she lost you days ago, and then to discover that you actually loved her. Now you weren’t there for her to go to? It hurt almost too much to bear. She needed you but knew you needed her more in that moment. Things could have been different if she just stayed to hear you out. If she stayed that night, you wouldn’t have been on your own in the days that followed. If she had stayed that night, she wouldn’t have left your side until you were begging for space. Because she loved you too.

Yelena sprang up for her place on the sofa when she heard the lock on the other side of your apartment door being adjusted. The blonde raised her wrist with her widow bites wrapped around and narrowed her eyes at the door, ready to shoot whoever was about to invade your space. Yelena lowered her arm with a shaky exhale when Kate opened the door, stumbling slightly when she saw the Russian already there.

“Hi,” Kate muttered, taking in Yelena’s state. The blonde nodded, her eyes falling to the two dogs at her side and felt her heart squeeze when she saw Marty trot towards her. She knelt down on the floor within a second and pulled the dog close to her chest, feeling him nuzzle into her and taking little notice of Kate who awkwardly shifted in the doorway.

“Marty’s a fussy eater when y/n’s not around,” Kate explained as she trudged over to the kitchen where you kept the dog food.

“Marty,” Yelena scolded softly as she scratched under his ears.

“Any news?” Kate asked when a silence settled over the apartment. Yelena stiffened slightly and stood up, trying to recollect her composure in front of the young archer. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Kate seeing her upset, it was just that she didn’t like anyone seeing her upset.

“We found her phone. Stark reckons it had been hacked,” Yelena informed. “But I think she would have noticed something like that,” she added, not believing that that was really what happened.

“She wasn’t thinking properly,” Kate pointed out, despite how uncomfortable it was to do so. “I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. It was only then that Yelena noted the redness and bags under Kate’s eyes. “I told her she should have stayed with me for a few days but she wanted to come back here. I should have insisted more. I was at home when it happened so I would have been able spot it or-”

“It is not your fault, Kate,” Yelena told her sternly, cutting off Kate’s rambles the moment she noticed the light shimmering off of her eyes. If Kate started crying, she probably would too. “She will be back soon,” Yelena assured as she picked up the letter and stuffed it in her coat pocket. Kate clocked it instantly and noticeably brightened at the sight of the paper.

“I hope she said everything she needed to,” the archer said.

“I will double check when I see her,” Yelena informed lightly, making Kate smile as her eyes still shimmered. She nodded, picking up the bag of food and called for Marty to follow her out.

“Call me if- when you hear something,” Kate requested.

“Okay,” Yelena said, unsure if she was going to actually do it. As far as she knew, Kate hadn’t seen the inside of that warehouse so she had no idea what she could be facing if she helped. For the time being, it was best if Kate stayed away. Besides, Yelena didn’t want the young archer to see what she would do when she got her hands on the people that took you from her.

Thankfully, you spent the majority of your time unconscious once Rae began to cauterise, your body able to spare you the sympathy of that alone. You spent most of your fleeting moments of consciousness alone and in incredible pain, but every so often there was someone in the room with you and it wasn’t always Rae. You didn’t recognise the others and they never acknowledged you. You didn’t try to talk to them, far too exhausted to even entertain the idea.

There was no possible way for you to know that several days passed with you laying in that bed. Every so often your condition would decline, then stabilise, sometimes improving. The widow’s resources weren’t as impressive as they were in the previous red room and at times they struggled to attain what you needed, having to cut corners that aided in your wavering recovery. You weren’t aware of any of that though, even when Rae told you.

She talked to you a lot. Rarely did anything she said actually process and perhaps that was why she did it, but her presence and voice agitated you at the times where you had the energy to care. She talked about Natasha and Yelena the most, telling you what they were like to grow up with. She hated them, that much was clear. And you hated her.

There was one thing you were aware of above all else and that was that you were beginning to lose feeling in your lower back down to your toes. It had just been numb at first, the pain still prominent in your lower half, but overtime you realised that you could feel the rough restraints against your arms and torso more than you could your legs. You tried not to focus too hard on it, knowing you were incapable of doing anything about it, but you couldn’t help but wonder what condition you would find yourself in in the month that followed, provided you made it that long.

“I’ve got something!” Tony called, taking Yelena and Natasha’s attention away from checking their phones for the umpteenth time to appear next to the American and stare at his screen. “I think I’ve managed to get through the fake traces and find the genuine one,” he explained, bringing up a satellite image. Several more pixelated images appeared alongside it to give the three a general idea of what the perimeter looked like.

“Are you sure?” Natasha confirmed as she examined the contents in front of her.

“Looking at the kind of defence they have on the perimeter of the sight and the kind of signals coming off of it, this is it,” Tony said. “Want me to call it in to the team?”

“No, just Wanda. We need to be subtle about this so that we don’t get noticed,” Natasha explained. “And make sure all the support vehicles stay clear until we give them the go ahead.”

“Got it,” Tony said as the sisters were already leaving to retrieve everything they needed. They didn’t have any time to waste, already made anxious by how long it had taken to get the location confirmed. You would have found it sooner.

“Yelena,” Natasha said as the pair slipped on their tactical suits and loaded them with the needed weapons. It didn’t go unnoticed to the older sister that Yelena was loading more than she needed. The blonde hummed in response. “Sestra.” Yelena looked up at that, noting Natasha’s concern. “You need a clear head for this, no one will think less of you if you want to stay behind,” she assured. Yelena scoffed and turned around as she finished securing her weapons.

“I’m coming,” she said, leaving no room for arguing.

“And I’m not going to stop you, I just need to know that you’re not going to be reckless,” Natasha insisted, concerned that there could be a red tint to her sister’s vision that could escalate the mission.

“Being reckless could cost y/n her life. I will not do that,” Yelena said, slamming a locker shut and marching out of the room.

Natasha wasn’t blind to Yelena’s cold shoulder since you had gone. She had been giving it to everyone, but the redhead knew that there could be several reasons why she was getting it. In Yelena’s eyes, Natasha’s disapproval of her involvement with you was what made you so scared to allow it to progress the way you both wanted. And she was right, but that was never the redhead’s intention and she was still trying to find the right moment to tell her that. For the time being, the best thing Natasha could do for her sister was stop her getting too hot headed.

Wanda was already waiting for them by the jet though one glance at Yelena told her that there wasn’t going to be much chat on the way there. She was concerned for your wellbeing too, but the Sokovian always needed an extra run through of the plan before a mission and Natasha didn’t hesitate to do so, their voices being the only ones to carry through the plane on the way.

They had to make the last stretch of their approach to the base on foot as despite the jet’s cloaking technology, they couldn’t risk being detected by whatever technology your captures possessed. The trio stopped short of the tree line along the edge of where the base was established in an abandoned prison in the 70s. There wasn’t a great deal of noticeable security, but the building's foundations played against the three heroes even with them knowing the rough floor plan.

Once they came across their first patrol, Wanda used her red mist to render the guard unconscious as the swiftest and most discreet way to do so, though a frown flickered across her features as red overtook the guard’s eyes and she slumped against the Sokovian. “What is it?” Natasha asked.

“Her mind,” Wanda began. “It’s… clouded,” her frown deepened and Yelena huffed.

“It doesn’t matter, let’s keep moving,” she insisted, already moving out from behind the corner and finding herself face to face with two more guards. They raised their guns with a shout but the blonde was quicker and stunned them both with her widow bites.

“Yelena,” Natasha warned. The plan had been for Wanda to deal with as many as the guards as possible. “They’re widows,” she announced when she spotted the identical weapons on the women’s wrists. Yelena paused, glancing back to where her teammates still lingered.

“I think they’re using the serum,” Wanda said. She of course had no experience with biotechnology, but from what she had been told about it and what she saw when she peered into just one mind, she was sure that was the cause.

“We’ll deal with it once y/n is safe,” Yelena hissed as she continued to stalk through the corridor. Wanda and Natasha exchanged a concerned glance and followed.

The new red room that the trio found themselves in was nothing like the original. It was clear that whoever was running it didn’t have the power, wealth or technology that Drekov did, but it was a running operation nonetheless. The control room that Natasha begrudgingly continued past had several screens set up with pinpoints coordinated though they seemed to only expand inside the US. There was a lab too, a simple one, that seemed to be producing the serum at a steady pace and those inside handling it appeared to do so with caution. Judged on these factors alone, Natasha got the feeling that no one in the base truly knew what they were doing. But the widows still knew how to fight.

As the three women continued to make their way through the building, Yelena showed no hesitance in handling the widows a little more aggressively than necessary. Wanda and Natasha reminded her numerous times that it would be more efficient for Wanda to handle the guards as Yelena’s advances were becoming gradually less quiet, but the blonde ignored them, set on getting to you. It took a while, but eventually Yelena opened the right door.

Peering around the compact room, all Yelena could see at first were the series of five strip curtains. The ones closest to the door were open, displaying an empty bed without any sheets or pillows with drawers overflowing with bandages and wraps next to it. It was some kind of medical ward, so Yelena crept in with Wanda behind her and Natasha watching the door.

The blonde pulled back each set of curtains to reveal more empty beds until she pulled back the last set and revealed your blood soaked one. Natasha swore internally when she saw Yelena take in your form, knowing that it was bad and that she should have prepared her sister for what she would find.

“Let me carry her,” Wanda said gently as she took the tubes out of your arms, watching the monitor next to you carefully as she did so. It was a gamble taking you away from the machines and medicine, but you couldn’t stay attached to them on the way out.

Yelena didn’t move. She stood in place and watched you sleep, noting how your chest wasn’t rising as much as it usually did and that you didn’t look peaceful like she always told you. She couldn’t help but stare at the deep wounds you wore across your body that looked as though they had been burned shut while others were wrapped. Even the bandages were stained red.

Once Wanda was done, she let her powers wrap securely around you, lifting you gradually into the air without you waking. “We need to go,” she said when Yelena didn’t move. Fortunately that was enough to break Yelena from her trance and she led the way out, avoiding Natasha's gaze.

The older sister let Yelena storm on ahead, knowing that she was in no mood to receive any comfort in that moment and that they probably didn’t have the time to give it. Given how many guards Yelena had left lying around, someone was bound to have noticed, and yet no alarms sounded.

“You guys are leaving already?” Rae asked, standing between the group and their exit. “And taking my stuff with you?” She frowned with faux hurt.

“She’s not yours, Rae,” Natasha declared as she stepped closer, immediately recognising the woman she had spent so long trying to track down. Natasha had never stopped, she promised you that, but Rae had been a ghost.

“But I thought we could talk before you go, it’s been twenty years,” she said as she stared at the widows with interest.

“Ruslana,” Yelena muttered as she registered that the woman in front of them wasn’t a stranger, but someone quite familiar. They had trained together, never with Natasha who she had only spent time with on that one mission, and the bitterness that had always been prominent in her performances was just as clear twenty years later.

“There you are,” Ruslana beamed. “Put y/n down and let me show you what I’m building,” she said, beckoning the widows that emerged from the surrounding corridors.

“Wanda,” Natasha warned.

“Going,” she agreed, having been in enough similar situations to know that a head start was always helpful. She started back the way she came with you close by her side.

“Tony, we need the widow’s antidote right now.” Natasha ordered into her coms. “Yelena, come on!” Natasha urged. As much as she wanted to stay to make sure Ruslana faced what she had assured you she would someday get, it wasn’t the time.

“Oh but Yelena, I was hoping we could exchange stories about our shared ex,” she pushed. Yelena’s gaze hardened. “Though I’m sure I'll win my y/n back once she’s got that serum in her,” Ruslana said, just as the widows around them bolted forwards as one.

“Yelena!” Natasha yelled, having no choice but to advance on the widows and give Wanda more time to get away with you. At that same moment, Yelena went straight for Ruslana who welcomed her advance with a grin.

The blonde struck at Ruslana just as she produced a concealed knife from her waistband and slashed it across Yelena’s forearm with precision. Yelena hissed at the burn but managed to land several punches with her anger driving her.

“I was so sorry to hear that things didn’t work out between you and y/n,” Ruslana continued to taunt as she outmanoeuvred the attacks she had been trained in. “You guys seemed cute together.”

“Fuck you,” Yelena spat. Her red vision was beginning to be a problem and stopped her noticing Ruslana’s tricks that allowed her to get a couple more swipes from the knife in hand. She couldn’t understand how you had ever been with a widow, or how Natasha recognised her.

“I’m sure you got enough of that from y/n. I taught her what she knows so you’re welcome for that,” she snipped.

“Yelena, we need to go now!” Natasha bellowed as the distance between her and Yelena gradually increased. She couldn’t keep the widows back for much longer and she couldn’t leave without her sister who wasn’t listening to a word she said.

One wrong move from Yelena and her legs were brought out from under her as Ruslana forced her to the ground with her knee in the blonde’s ribcage and her knife against her neck. Ruslana gazed down at Yelena with wild eyes, having anticipated that triumph ever since she was training in the red room. Yelena struggled, but the knee on her chest was pressing dangerously against her lungs.

“Oh you two really were perfect for each other,” Ruslana cooed. “You both look so good when you’re fighting for your lives,” she hissed with a manic grin. “And you both had it coming. I just wish I had hit her a couple more times with that axe,” she mused. At the confirmation that Ruslana was responsible for your injuries, something in Yelena snapped.

She hauled Ruslana’s head back by her hair and snatched the knife swiftly enough that Ruslana couldn’t stop her. She flipped their bodies over with enough force that the older Russian’s head hit the concrete with a sickening thud that Ruslana barely had the time to process because Yelena was bringing her knife down on her throat, digging it into the bone. Ruslana’s eyes widened as her lungs filled with blood and she gazed up at Yelena, gargling on the blood that had managed to pool in her mouth. Yelena lifted the blade out and brought it back down on her chest, directly into your attacker’s heart. The puncture was a deep one but drawn out enough that Yelena got to witness the moment it all registered for Ruslana.

“Suka,” Yelena muttered, keeping the knife lodged in Ruslana’s body and turning back to Natasha who had watched what she had done.

The pair didn’t waste another second in returning the way they had come with the widows hot on their trail. It would have been simpler just to take the exit in front of them, but they had to follow after Wanda to ensure she had made it out okay too. They had no reason to worry.

Just as the Russians made it out of the prison, they saw Wanda standing just several feet away with her arms raised and eyes set on the widows behind them. In an instant, a barrier was placed across the doorway much to the widows displeasure. They protested and fought against Wanda’s magic but it remained strong.

“Take her to the jet,” Natasha ordered to Yelena. “Me and Wanda need to keep the widows here until the antidote arrives,” she said with a finality Yelena didn’t question. She looked down at your still sleeping form and picked you up in the most comfortable position for your wounds, not wanting to cause more damage.

Yelena carried you for half a mile at the fastest jog she could physically handle. Though you didn’t wake for the entire journey, your rattly breathing echoed through Yelena’s consciousness and gave her the drive to continue to the awaiting jet. She couldn’t wipe away the sweat on her forehead or the tears falling down her cheeks because she mostly focused on the dampness that was spreading across her suit from you. Her own injuries were minor and foolish in comparison.

The medical team took over as soon as you and Yelena were in sight of the jet but Yelena was adamant on carrying you all the way, not trusting anyone to be as quick or careful as she was. When she finally laid you down on the awaiting stretcher, she took several stumbling steps back and watched on as the medics went to work, suddenly feeling useless as all she could do was observe the strangers save your life.

#marvel #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #natasha romanoff #kate bishop #wanda maximoff

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queenshelby · 20 days

Text

Our Little Secret (Part 35)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap,

Two weeks later....

It was a Monday afternoon when Cillian's brother had made the call to admit himself into rehab, and it brought a sense of relief to all of you. Cillian's mother had been distraught over her younger son's behavior and the damage it had caused to both of her children.

Cillian had been discharged from the hospital shortly after a short two-day observational stay and you finally had your post-partum follow up appointments with your obstetrician and gynecologist.

Despite the pain from his broken ribs, Cillian accompanied you to your appointments while your mother stayed at your house to watch Mara. Ove the past 14 days, she had grown quite fond of her and you allowed her back into your life for Mara's sake, albeit with caution.

To your appointment, Cillian walked slowly, careful not to aggravate the pain in his chest, as you carefully navigated the cold and slippery winter pavement.

"You should have stayed at home ," you said, eyeing him with concern.

"I wanted to go with you," Cillian insisted, his grip tightening around your arm as you walked through the hospital doors.

You nodded, appreciative of his support, but secretly worried about his health. The doctors had told him that it would take at least six weeks for his ribs to heal, but he was already pushing his limits.

He was helping you tend to Mara's needs every day even though you didn't need his help . You had become quite independent due to the circumstances, but you knew he needed something to focus on rather than mope around the house.

During the day, he would bring and retrieve the laundry, heat up the bottles, and wind down Mara once she had finished feeding. At night, he would give you a break by getting up for the late-night feed, allowing you precious and uninterrupted rest.

Despite the age gap between you, he was the perfect partner , both caring and supportive. He attended every single check-up appointment with you, and he was always the first to jump in whenever you needed him.

Cillian was the kind of man who would make any woman swoon, with his tousled hair, piercing blue eyes and chiseled jawline. He was both rugged and surprisingly gentle and you knew that albeit everything that happened between you, he was yours now.

"I love you, you know," you told him as you were sitting in the waiting-room where other patients were starring at you both. You had been subjected to a fair bit of criticism by the press lately and, in the past week or so, Cillian had fallen victim to some selfdoubt.

Believing that he was truly too old for you and that you would soon want someone younger than him, someone who could give you more energy and excitement than he ever could, he became rather conscious about many things.

And, even though you had tried your best to reassure him, reminding him of the unbreakable bond between the two of you, he remained somewhat distant, unable to fully shake off the nagging doubt that had wormed its way into his mind.

You almost put it back to the stress of recent weeks and the lack of intimacy since the accident and the birth of your daughter, but you still had your suspicions that there was more to it than met the eye.

As you sat there in the clinic's waiting room, you decided to take the bull by the horns and raise the subject once more.

"Hey," you said softly, placing a hand on Cillian's knee and looking up at him with eyes filled with love and concern. "Are you okay?" you asked, sensing the tension in his body as he stared blankly ahead apparently lost in his thoughts.

Cillian turned to look at you, his piercing blue eyes filled with a mixture of emotions that you couldn't quite decipher. "I'm fine," he said, managing a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You nodded, even though you didn't quite believe him. You knew that something was bothering him, something that he wasn't ready to talk about yet.

When you were finally called in to see the doctor, Cillian's mind continued to wander, as the doctor went through the usual checks and questions. You noticed his distant expression and gently nudged his hand, aiming to bring his attention back to the appointment.

"Do you have any questions?" the doctor then asked you both , and you could sense that Cillian had barely listened to the entire consultation.

Cillian shook his head, saying, "No, I think we're good," and the doctor gave him a brief nod before turning to face you.

"I do actually," you told her, smiling. "I was wondering about intimacy. I mean, when can we have sex again?" you asked bluntly , causing Cillian to awkwardly cough, and the doctor to give you a surprised look.

You didn't care, though. You had waited long enough to have sex with Cillian again, and you were dying to get back into the saddle, so to speak. You missed the closeness that you share with him, and you were hoping that the doctor would give you the green light.

"Well, whenever you feel ready, it is safe for you to engage in sexual activity again. Everything seems to have healed fine," the doctor said carefully, her gaze shifting between you and Cillian. "However, I would advise you to start slow and listen to your body. If anything feels uncomfortable or painful, stop immediately and give me a call. You did experience a traumatic birth, so sometimes some more time is needed."

You nodded in understanding, a flush spreading across your cheeks as you thought about the different ways you and Cillian could reconnect physically.

Cillian, on the other hand, seemed lost in his own thoughts, his expression distant and unreadable.

You couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind. Was he regretting the decision to be with you? Was he thinking about someone else or the life he had left behind? You didn't know, and you were afraid to ask.

The doctor cleared her throat, and you realized that you had been lost in thought for a few moments. "All the best then," she said to both of you as she stood and opened the door to the consultation room.

As you walked back towards the parking lot, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Cillian seemed so distant, and you wondered if it was just the stress of the past few weeks or if there was something else on his mind.

You had always known that Cillian was a private person, and you respected that about him. But the not knowing was driving you crazy. You wanted to help him, to be there for him, but you didn't know how.

You had always been open and honest with Cillian, but you could tell that something was holding him back.

When you arrived at home, Mara was having a sleep. "I just put her down," your mother said, when she saw the look of surprise on your face, for not hearing the baby cry.

"Thank you, Mum," you replied, your voice sincere.

You couldn't help but feel grateful for your mother's help, especially with Cillian's recovery. It was clear that she had developed a bond with Mara, which you appreciated despite everything that had happened between the two of you and Cillian's mother.

Cillian sat down on the couch, his movements slow and careful, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern and, shortly after your mother left, you joined him in the livingroom.

"Are you in pain? Is this why you have been so quiet today?" you asked quietly, not wanting to nag him but worrying about the distance that had formed between the two of you over the past few days.

"No babe. I am honestly fine," Cillian reassured you just before you leaned in to give him a gentle kiss on his lips before straddling him gently.

"Sure?" you asked, searching Cillian's piercing blue eyes for the truth. You had always prided yourself on being able to read him like a book, but for some reason, he was more guarded than usual.

Cillian nodded, his hands resting on your hips. "I am sure," he said , trying to reassure you.

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of emotions. On the one hand, you were relieved that Cillian wasn't in any physical pain. But on the other hand, you couldn't shake off the feeling that something was bothering him emotionally.

You decided to push your concern aside for the moment and focus on the intimacy that you had both been craving. You leaned in and kissed him deeply, your tongue exploring his mouth as you ground your hips against his.

"Mara is asleep and the doctor said it was okay for us to have sex again, so should we take this to the bedroom?" you whispered in his ear, eliciting a low growl of desire as he ran his hands up and down your sides.

"That sounds like a great idea, although you might need to do all the work," Cillian managed to chuckle , a hint of a flush creeping up his neck.

You smiled against his lips, feeling your own arousal spike as he palmed your breasts, his fingers tweaking the nipples through your thin top. With a quick move, you lifted yourself off his lap and took a hold of his hand, pulling him up from the couch.

"Come on then," you teased, walking towards the bedroom and casting a seductive look over your shoulder but Cillian decided to have a quick shower first.

"I really need to wash off the hospital smell," Cillian explained as you sulked in the doorway.

"Okay, but be quick, I need you," you whispered, whispering the last words on your lips before turning and slinking back into the room but, when after as much as five minutes, you didn't hear a sound coming from the en suite bathroom , you opened the door to check on him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you asked as you watched him stand there, in front of the mirror, attempting to shave his chest.

"Uhm, I am just," he stammered , avoiding your gaze. "I am shaving," he finally blurted out and you stepped towards him and pulled the razor from his hand.

"You are shaving off your chest hair?" you repeated incredulously, staring at him in disbelief.

"Yes. Many men do it," he mumbled nervously as you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe, but I don't want you to. Now drop the razor and come to the bedroom," you demanded, your tone firm but husky with desire.

"I will be quick. I mean, I tried to pluck out the greys but it takes too long and fucking hurts, so just let me quickly shave them off..," he began to explain nervously, causing you to giggle.

"Is this what all of this is about? Grey hairs?" you asked, trying to contain your laughter at the sight of Cillian, standing there in front of the bathroom mirror, with a determined expression on his face.

"Maybe," he admitted , his expression sheepish.

"Well, I like them. I like everything about you, just the way you are and, if anything, it turns me on," you said, leaning in and kissing him passionately.

"Now drop the fucking razor and don't ever think about shaving your chest hair off again, because I think it's goddamn sexy, especially with the greys in it," you whispered, tracing the outline of his fading pecs with your fingertips.

Cillian nodded, throwing the razor in the trash can and pulling you in for another kiss.

"Ok, I won't do it again," he muttered, his hand finding its way up your half naked body. "I just thought you might like it better, you know. Because I am a fair bit older than you and all," Cillian explained, sounding almost embarrassed.

But you silenced him with another deep kiss, your tongue dancing with his as your hands roamed over his muscled chest. "I love every inch of you, just the way you are," you whispered against his lips. "And I love the fact that you are older than me. It's a huge turn on, Cillian. And I most certainly don't care about the grey hairs on your chest. In fact, I find them incredibly sexy," you murmured, your lips trailing down his neck and chest as you spoke.

Cillian growled, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he backed you up against the wall. His erection was pressed against your belly, and you could feel the heat radiating from him.

"You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N," he said, his breath warm and ragged against your ear and his ribs no longer bothering him.

"Oh, I think I have some idea," you murmured, grinding your hips against his as your hands fumbled with the button of his jeans.

With a swift movement, Cillian tore off his jeans and boxers, his erection springing free and pressing urgently against your belly.

Your lips met in a hungry kiss, your tongues exploring each other's mouths as your hands roamed over each other's bodies.

Cillian's rough hands cupped your breasts, and he pinched your nipples through the fabric of your top. You moaned, arching your back as you pressed yourself against him, feeling his hard cock against your belly.

"God, I want you so fucking bad," Cillian growled, his voice low and husky with desire.

"Then take me," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head.

Cillian complied, his lips moving down to your neck as he trailed hot, wet kisses down your collarbone. His teeth scraped against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he made his way to your breasts.

You moaned, your head falling back as Cillian's lips closed around your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. He sucked hard, his fingers pinching and twisting your other nipple as you cried out, your hands reaching for his hair.

A small amount of breastmilk escaped one of your breasts, evident of your recent motherhood.

Cillian didn't seem to mind, evident by the way he simply swallowed it down.

"Fuck, you're so hot!" he groaned, his hand snaking down to your panties, rubbing your clit through the cotton.

You moaned, writhing against his hand as he increased the pressure.

"Please, Cillian!" you begged, your voice husky with need and he obeyed, yanking your panties down your legs in one swift motion before giving your wet mound some more attention.

"What about your ribs? You should take it easy... oh my god," you moaned, forgetting all about his broken ribs as you ground yourself against his hand, desperate for more.

"I'll be fine," Cillian said and he didn't hesitate, his fingers plunging inside you with ease, curling up to hit that sweet spot deep inside.

"Oh fuck, Cillian!" you cried out, your legs trembling as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

He cursed, too, his hips jerking forward as he dry-humped your leg, his cock leaving wet patches on your thighs.

And then he was on his knees, his fingers still working your pussy as his tongue darted out, licking at the juices that had leaked from you.

"Fuck, you taste good," he growled, his gaze meeting yours as he sucked your clit into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

You cried out, your hips bucking against his face as he continued to eat you out, his fingers still pumping in and out of you.

Your orgasm built quickly, your muscles tensing as you neared the edge.

"Oh god, I'm gonna cum!" you gasped, your fingers threading through his hair as you held him in place.

Cillian hummed against you, his tongue flicking against your clit as his fingers curled up, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you. You cried out, your hips bucking against his face as you came hard, your juices gushing out of you.

Cillian drank it all down, his tongue lapping at you hungrily as you rode out your orgasm.

"Fuck, that was amazing," you panted, your legs trembling as Cillian stood up, his lips glistening with your juices.

"Glad you enjoyed it," Cillian said with a grin, his erection still rock-hard and dripping with precum.

You dropped to your knees, your hands wrapping around his cock as you looked up at him with a wicked smile.

"No! I need to be inside of you!" he growled, his eyes blazing with desire. "Stand up and bend over the counter," he demanded and you did as you were told, your heart racing with anticipation as you leaned over the cool marble countertop. Cillian stepped up behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance.

"Tell me if I am too rough," he said, his voice husky with desire as he squeezed your hips.

You nodded, too caught up in the moment to speak as he thrust into you carefully at first, filling you up completely.

"Oh god yes, I missed this," you moaned as he started to move his hips, slowly building up speed.

"Jesus, you're still so tight," Cillian growled, his fingers digging into your hips as he pistoned in and out of you.

"Harder," you begged, feeling that familiar ache build deep within you as he slammed into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room as he pumped into you harder, faster.

You moaned, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter as he buried his cock deep inside of you.

"Goddamn, you feel so fucking good," Cillian growled, his hips snapping forward as he plunged into your slick heat.

You screamed, your back arching as another orgasm ripped through you, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. Cillian cursed, his fingers digging into your hips as he chased his own release.

"Come for me, Y/N," he demanded, his voice a guttural growl as he slammed into you.

And then you were both crying out with pleasure, Cillian's hips stuttering as he filled you up with his seed.

He collapsed against you, his weight pinning you to the countertop as the two of you struggled to catch your breath.

After a moment, Cillian pulled out of you carefully, turning you around and pulling you into a tender embrace. You clung to him, your legs still weak as you nuzzled against his chest.

It was the quickest and most intense lovemaking you both had experienced in a while, but it had been exactly what you needed.

Cillian gently brushed your sweaty hair away from your face, his expression softening as he looked down at you.

"I love you so fucking much, Y/N," he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You smiled and looked up at him. "I love you too Cillian," you said, feeling a warmth spread through your chest just before you heard a cry from upstairs.

"Shit, I think Mara is awake," you muttered, pulling away from him reluctantly. "I am so glad we made this quick," you chuckled and Cillian groaned disappointedly, but he knew that you were right. They couldn't just stay here in the bathroom, getting lost in each other's bodies while your daughter was alone in her crib.

"I'll go get her," Cillian said, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before pulling up his briefs and making his way upstairs.

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