what about yelena giving valentina’s cute new assistant a punishment
okay, i'm going to be so honest: i've never wrote f/f fanfic as someone who is straight. but... i am not going to sit here and tell you that i've never been attracted to women either, or at least found them pretty. (it's hard to tell sometimes if i want to be with them or be them)
anyways, i hope i did this request justice! (i am well aware that yelena is asexual in the comics, but just go with it). i'm not sure if i like this one, or if it's character accurate for yelena, but oh well
You knew you shouldn’t have worn this dress, but you liked it. And so did everyone else. You were supposed to keep the team “in check,” Valentina’s exact words.
Instead, you’re trying to compose yourself and not let out an accidental moan or clench your legs together too tight.
You started to feel the vibrations around the time you forced a laugh at Councilman Terrick’s joke.
It buzzed low, constant, a purr of heat curling between your thighs like a secret only Yelena knew. You nearly choked on your wine, lips twitching as you swallowed the startled gasp that threatened to slip. She’d timed it perfectly—probably watching from across the ballroom with that wolfish smirk, champagne glass tilted, eyes pinned to your legs like she could see through the glitter-thin fabric Valentina insisted you wear.
You shifted your weight, tried to cross your legs—mistake. The pressure only made it worse, made your pussy clench involuntarily around nothing, your breath hitching as the damn thing gave a teasing little pulse. You swallowed hard and smiled at Terrick like nothing was happening, like you weren’t soaking through the dainty lace beneath your dress because your girlfriend had decided tonight was punishment.
For what?
Maybe for the way you let Valentina lean too close when she fixed your necklace earlier. Maybe because you said “yes ma’am” in that shy little voice when the commanding brunette told you the dress showed “just enough.” Maybe Yelena just didn’t like sharing. And when she didn’t like something, she corrected it.
Another pulse, this one stronger—bzzzz—and your heel slipped slightly on the polished marble, a soft sound escaping before you could bite it back.
“Everything alright, darling?” Terrick’s voice oozed with political concern, too close, too observant.
You forced a smile that might’ve come off as a grimace. “Just—mm, new heels.”
From across the room, Yelena caught your eye. She sipped from her flute and winked. Her thumb was probably tapping her phone again right now, the remote app loaded, every buzz calibrated to punish and tease—never enough for release, not in public. No, this was Yelena’s favorite game: drag you to the edge until your brain melted behind your lashes, until your voice wavered and your thighs trembled and—
BZZZZZ—a long one. Your knees nearly buckled. You excused yourself so fast Terrick blinked after you like you’d teleported.
The hallway was cooler, dimmer. Safer.
Until hands caught your waist from behind and pushed you against the wall between two oversized portraits.
“I warned you.” Yelena’s voice was low, breath hot against your ear. “Told you that dress wasn’t for Councilmen. It was for me.” One hand slid down the curve of your hip, fingers ghosting over the thin material of your skirt. “But you let her touch you. Let her fawn over you. You liked it.”
“I didn’t—” The denial wilted before it could bloom.
“You did,” she growled, pressing her body flush against yours, pinning you there with a thigh between your legs. “And now you’re soaking for me in Valentina’s dress like a bad little girl.”
Her fingers slid under the hem, dragging the skirt up your thighs slowly. “Did you even wear the matching bra?” she murmured against your neck, biting just beneath your ear as her other hand reached down and tapped the buzzing control again. This time a long, low rumble filled your core and made you writhe helplessly against her.
“I—I can’t,” you whimpered, hands clinging to the wall, nails dragging faint white arcs across the gilded wallpaper as your thighs twitched around the pulsing toy Yelena buried in you hours ago with a smile and a kiss and the whispered promise that she’d make you forget your name by the end of the night.
She didn’t let up.
“Can’t?” Her voice dropped, thick with mock sympathy, lips brushing the shell of your ear as her hand flattened low on your belly, pressing the vibrator deeper with a wicked little grind of her thigh. “That’s not how this works, princess.”
Your legs gave a faint shake as her thigh curled between them again, that muscled shape slotting against the soaked lace at your center, and you heard it—fuck, you actually heard it this time, a hot slick sound as the pressure trapped the toy right where it needed to be. Your hips jolted, shame and arousal crashing into each other like lightning finding a nerve.
“You wear this dress—this fucking tease of a dress—and you think you get to say ‘can’t’ now?” Yelena's mouth kissed a rough line down your neck as her hands slid your skirt higher, dragging the soft, glitter-threaded fabric up until it bunched around your waist, your panties and thighs fully exposed to the hall’s low lighting and her unrelenting attention. “No. You’re going to take what I give you. You’re going to ride my thigh like a good girl until you’re shaking so hard they’ll think you twisted your ankle.”
She shifted her weight, braced her boot heel against the wall between your feet, and thrust her thigh up higher, grinding it into the aching heat of your cunt. Your head snapped back against her shoulder with a breathless “fuck,” thighs clamping on instinct, but she just grabbed your hips and made you do it again.
“Uh-uh. Don’t lock up,” she whispered against your jaw, biting there hard enough to mark. “You know how I like it. Let me feel you move.”
You tried. God, you tried. Rolling your hips forward, trembling as the vibration spiked right where her thigh kissed your clit through the toy, sending a sharp ripple of pleasure up your spine. Your moan came high and wet, fluttering from your throat like something stolen. “Yelena, please—”
“That’s better.” She hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugged, forcing the fabric to cut tighter against the swell of your folds, trapping the toy cruelly snug as you rocked against her. “You want to come already, don’t you? Just from this? My thigh?” Her smirk dripped into her voice, that thick Russian lilt curling around every syllable. “God, you’re such a fucking mess.”
The toy buzzed again—long, deep, and punishing. “Aaahh—ahh fuck—” You clawed the wallpaper, forehead pressed to the cool wall as your hips bucked in desperate, sloppy rhythm, each grind drawing a gasp, a sob, the friction unbearable, perfect, agonizing.
“You came down this hallway thinking I was gonna stop you?” Her hand clamped hard on your throat, tilting your face back until your open mouth trembled an inch from hers. “Oh no. You’re mine until I say you’re not. You’re my pretty little punishment project tonight.”
And then her hand slid down, pushing the soaked lace aside entirely, fingers slicking through your folds as she reached the toy, tapped the control again—BZZZZZ—then again—BZZZZZ—and then held it.
You screamed into her mouth, a sob of pleasure too loud, too raw for the venue, but you didn’t care. Your knees wobbled, her thigh caught you, and you ground harder, riding the muscle, riding the pulse, riding the edge like you’d die if you didn’t fall off soon.
“Come on then,” she hissed, licking into your mouth like she owned the air in your lungs. “Let go. Let her fucking hear it.”
Valentina. You bit your lip until it bled at the mention—her eyes earlier, the look she gave you when she said you looked “almost edible” in that voice that coiled under your skin, like perfume with a knife in it.
“She liked the dress,” you whimpered, dazed, not even sure who you were confessing to anymore.
Yelena laughed, savage and sweet, her voice a blade wrapped in silk. “She doesn’t get to taste it. But she gets to listen.”
You cried out—loud, cracked, soaking her thigh as your body seized, the orgasm ripping through you fast and hard, wrung out by her voice, her hand, her control, your shame. Wetness smeared between you, the vibrator buzzing deep inside as aftershocks made your thighs jerk and your mouth fall open in a silent moan, too far gone to speak.
Yelena caught you when you sagged, chest heaving. She turned you slowly, leaned you back against the wall so she could look into your ruined eyes, thumb brushing the tear streak from your cheek.
“Good girl,” she said, kissing your forehead. “Now take a breath. We’re going back out there. Valentina’s gonna ask why your lipstick’s smudged.”
it is always narratively correct to make your characters sleep together before they sort through the hundreds of lies and misdirections between them. make things worse make things worse make things worse #i love betrayal #i love lying #i love people feeling bad about themselves
genuinly tho i love to think about the human mannerisms rocky must have picked up while alone with grace for years. do you think he returned with an accent? completely different body language? sayings and idioms that make no sense when translated? it's so dear to me.
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