pumpkin ;D

He is also a cream puff — that’s the version of him you met first, assisting a stylist on a Gucci suiting campaign. You’d steamed his double breasted coat, matched the ties to his green-glass eyes, buttoned him up all snug in his dress-shirt. And he’d blushed and dimpled his way through all of it. Told you that you didn’t have to do all that (“I kind of do, darling, it’s my job”), said please and thank you and stood where he was supposed to stand and made everyone laugh and look at him all fond because he was a professional sweetheart, an actual dream to work with. With the way he acted, you couldn’t tell he found you attractive until after the shoot wrapped and he walked up to you all bashful to ask for your number. It was the way he stated his intentions that got you, the way he said, soft and steady “anything you want, we can do anything you want as long as I can keep you company”.

He took you for squid ink pasta for the first date, because you’d never had it. He showed you how he liked his oysters (“a little lemon, just a squeeze..”) and how to tip them back into your mouth to taste them, and he watched the way your lips wrapped round the shell with a low heat gaze, kept his desire on the simmer like he didn’t want to scare him away. You let your inhibitions sink away into a glass of champagne, flirted with him in the same breath you talked his ear off about your job, about the books you were reading, about your vision for the future. He was so like you — the same raw ambition, the same comfort in the way you wore your skin that you’d both fought tooth and nail for, the same wicked tongue. You liked to make him blush, to tease him until he was giggling in faux offense (“it is not a whore house, it’s a family show, that’s the whole point!” “sir, at last show you sang the words “if you’re getting yourself wet for me”, and then rubbed your fingers together to demonstrate said wetness, those are the actions of a whore!”), until he let some of that babygirl cupcake act drop long enough to thumb some passion fruit sorbet from the corner of your lip and take it into his mouth, closing his eyes and groaning a little under his breath like you just tasted that good.

The second date was a flea market in the south of France. He prepared you with a simple instruction to pack light, and in response to your question about the cost of the train and accommodation and time off work he responded the same — kissed you on the temple and said “I’ll take care of all of it, you don’t have to worry about a thing, you can have anything you want, sweetheart”.

And then he did, took care of every detail — told your boss he was borrowing you for a shoot (“bring them back in one piece, styles, they’re one of our best” “mm, no promises”), got the both of you a private carriage so you could watch the grey London skyline fade away into lush fields of lavender, held your hand all the way, looked at you like you were the best view in sight, whisked you away to a cute little hostel where no one but the owners recognized him (the lady of the house absolutely fawned over him, called him strawberry boy, chided him for being gone for so long).

You used maybe two braincells that weekend — he made sure of that. Every whim, he tended to. If you wanted coffee, he went to the market and fetched you something freshly ground with notes of toffee and dark chocolate. If your stomach rumbled, he sat you down on the kitchen counter and fixed you lemon pasta, fed you dates by hand while the sauce settled, stole kisses in-between bites — cupped your face in his hands and licked into your mouth and said “feel so lucky, can’t believe your here, are you happy, what do you need, whatever you want, wanna give you everything…”.

You let him fuck you during that trip. After a dreamy morning picnicking with a jar of strawberry preserves and fresh bread and heavenly salted butter, and a whole day at the markets where he bought you a whole new wardrobe, gently insisting that he wanted to do this for you. “Harry, this is vintage alaïa, I don’t need that” you’d said. “You’re a stylist, sweetheart, might come in handy — and you’ve been eyeing it up since you saw it, at least try it on, yeah? See how you feel after”.

You’d tried it on, and it fit so perfect your mouth went a little dry — and his eyes on you, the way he smoothed his hands over your hips and told you that “you look so pretty, angel, prettiest fucking thing I ever saw” made you light-headed, running your thighs together in the dressing room. He liked doing that to you, putting you in pretty things, seeing you admire yourself. He bought you the alaïa, the cavalli handbag, a silk Gucci scarf — he was still polite, still your sweet thoughtful boy, but you could see through the cracks to what lay beneath that. The power he held over you, the obvious pleasure he took in being able to take care of you, showering you in nice things, the way he made you feel you didn’t have to think about anything when you were with him because he could do the thinking for you.

That’s the man that took you to bed. The one that told you to put your pretty new things away and wait for him in the bedroom while he tucked the groceries away. The one who met you with hungry eyes when he found you stripped down to your new chocolate brown agent provocateur set and kneeling on the bed and just clicked his tongue and asked you if he told you to do that. Tutted when you looked at him all confused and tried to explain yourself, shushed you and said (with the same quiet intensity as the first day he met you), “not your fault baby, didn’t have to think at all today, you’re just my pretty little doll, huh?”

that’s the Harry that felt every bit of your mouth with his fingers, pressed down on your tongue until you drooled a little and then made fun of you for it. The one that wouldn’t let you touch his dick until he worked you up so good that you thought you would cry, ran his tongue over the lace on your body, teased over every single sensitive inch of you until you were shaking and begging (“please, Harry please, just touch me, anything, anything” “look at you — pretty fucking mess for me, huh? wanna see you cry, baby, can’t give you my dick unless you ask real nice for me”).

He fucked you slow and deep with a hand wrapped around your neck, told you that one day he’d buy you something shiny to lay where his hand had been, but until then you’d just have to wear his fingers around your throat — told you that it was his favorite thing you’d tried on all day, called you his doll, his baby, his perfect little slut. “M’gonna give you everything you fucking want,” he said, licking the salt off your skin as it trailed down your cheek, pulling your head back to spit in your mouth and rub it into your tongue (“filthy thing, you like that? nuh-uh? you got real tight on me, baby, you must really like that”), rolling his hips and driving in hard until your eyes rolled back and you couldn’t even find your voice to beg him for more. “And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you? Not gonna fight me, are you baby? Just gonna let me take care of everything, I know what you need, daddy’s gonna give you fucking everything — that’s it, angel, just shut the fuck up and take it, you’re so good at that”.

He made you come like that, and then flipped you over, lifted your hips up and licked you out from the back, slapped you across the clit if you tried to run away from it, told you to “take it, don’t fucking run, gonna make a big mess aren’t you, show me, fuckin’ show me, that’s so good, you’re so good”, and then fucked you like that — pushed your face into the mattress and laid into you until you did make a mess, till you were drooling with it.

When he makes his way to your chambers as twilight falls each evening, the sight of you spread invitingly across the silk sheets of your bed never fails to make his breath hitch in his throat. There's reverence and adoration and need in his eyes as the caress of a warm breeze through the open balcony door ruffles the thin, gauzy shift that covers your body, hardly leaving anything to the imagination. Yet even as his cock strains painfully hard in his pants, Leto's in no rush to plunge inside of the wet heat between your thighs.

He has another carnal need to sate—one that finds him kneeling between your legs on the mattress as he gently pushes them apart, fingers swiping through your dripping folds for but a moment before his mouth is attached your cunt.

Leto laps at your entrance like a man starved, fingers gripping your hips tightly as your juices thoroughly soak his thick beard. And for all the sounds of pleasure that pass your lips as you buck up into the steady pressure of his tongue on your swollen clit, he sounds equally wrecked, the moans in his throat vibrating against your clenching walls. And should you tangle your fingers in his curls and tug, he'll whimper as he desperately ruts his own hips into the bed.

Some nights, Leto will pull you on top of him, his shaft leaking profusely with the need to be suffocated by way of his face buried in your cunt. But even as his cock throbs and aches, Leto won't touch himself yet, not until you're screaming and shaking and as you gush all over his tongue.

And sometimes, he's helpless but to give in to his own dizzying pleasure at the taste of you, letting loose a strangled whine as his cock spurts thick and wet in his pants.

The town was insular, a barely populated vacuum wherein everyone knew everyone else’s business, and it rubbed you the wrong way. Your husband had barely parked the car when you saw the sights of curtains twitching and lingering inquisitive stares from neighbours in your peripheral vision. You got out of the car, unconsciously straightening the line of your dress, still a bit self conscious about your appearance, especially under the gaze of so many eyes.

“Darling, the movers have already furnished the house, nothing to unpack here. Shall we go in?” The house itself was as the town was; plain and imposing. You nodded, biting your tongue at the many complaints about your life at this point that continued to build upon your tongue, and followed his guiding arm.

You had peace for all of 152 seconds. You had been counting them out of spite.

You moved to open the door, and a neatly made head of red hair greeted you, along with a wide and friendly smile.

“Hello! I’m Wanda, I wanted to be the first to welcome you to the neighbourhood. Myself and my husband, Vision, were the newest moved in. That is, until you!” She’s undeniably…happy to say the least, and you deflate internally, hoping she’s not a chatterbox. You exchange names quickly, and you want to immediately thank her for stopping by. She says there’s some kind of community gathering usually held over people’s houses; a game night or a potluck dinner, something like that. Your husband stalks up, tall as ever, and tells her that sounds great, that he’ll talk to the other husbands and find out when the next one is happening.

Thankfully, she leaves quickly, and all you want to do is rest, but your husband insists on talking to you, and you can hardly roll your eyes and deny him. “That would be nice, don’t you think? Get a chance to know the new community over something relaxed, rather than just going door to door introducing ourselves. That would be rather awkward, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, dear.” You sigh out hopelessly, knowing that he will either not pick up on or miss the tone of your voice entirely. He brushes past it, of course he does, trailing off about the importance of his new job. You can’t help it, but you find yourself unable to care. He’s not a bad man, but he’s terminally underwhelming in the contest of personality. You stand, saying you’re going to make dinner, and still he carries on.

A long dinner and a round of disappointing sex later, you’re staring at the ceiling in contemplation. Still, tomorrow is another day.

Tomorrow comes in the form of grocery shopping and continuing to avoid the prying eyes of ‘soon-to-be friends’. Your husband had called, something about Vision working in the same processing firm that he does, and that he offered up your home to host dinner sometime in the next month as a way to get to know the neighbours. You grit your teeth, telling him what a great idea it is with your best positive voice, and it’s like you can actually see him stand taller, telling you he knows it’s genius.

Of course, you needed to get some food for the two of you, but now you find yourself with the troubling task of shopping for a group of…10? 20? 50? How many body parkers are you going to be playing hostess to next week? What do they eat? Is anyone allergic to anything?

This is why you detest forced interactions like dinners. You’re still scowling as you reach for a can of chopped tomatoes, your hand coming into contact with a softer one, and a breathy chuckle leaving its owner. You turn, an apology ready on your lips at the unwanted contact, and are met with the most beautiful face you have encountered.

“Are you planning a creamy sauce for your husband as well?” She husks out, and her voice almost brings you to your knees in the middle of the goddamn grocery store. She’s beautiful, you think. Almost unnaturally so, and it ignites a warmth inside of you that you thought was either long extinguished or simply wasn’t to be ignited at all. You have many revelations screaming in your mind, but her captivating eyes are still on you, awaiting your answer.

“Uh…no. I’m just doing the general shop. I’m a planner, you know, I want to do everything at once. I’m a ‘you never be too prepared’ kind of person.” You’re rambling, that’s new to you. It’s like you’re physically unable to stop. Thankfully, she puts you out of your misery.

“You’re the new neighbour, correct? Across from Wanda and Vision, just beside the Harkness’?” Her words are questioning, but her tone is anything but. You see what she’s doing, trying to shift the conversation before your mind explodes from your constant thought-to-speech stream, and you send her a thankful gaze.

“Yes, I am. That reminds me, are you coming to the community dinner?” You ask.

‘The one I have barely come to grips with that I’m hosting’,you think dourly.

“I am. My husband and I will be joining you for dinner, so it’s kind of good to meet you outside of it, you know, because it will make it at least a bit less awkward.” She states calmly, and your heart sinks at the mention of her having a husband? But why does it? Of course she has a husband, look at her! You inhale sharply, trying to focus back on the topic at hand.

“Yes, actually it is. Do you have any allergies? I know it seems a bizarre question, but I’m not sure what to make, and I’m also not sure who’s allergic to what.” She smiles, pearly white teeth peeking out from behind plush lips, and you feel your heart speed up, cursing internally.

“I can help you there. The people with no allergies are my husband, Vision, and Ralph.”

“Ralph?” You question.

“Agatha’s husband. Now, Wanda has a minor allergic reaction to garlic, and Agatha can’t eat nuts without her tongue swelling up. Also, she detests seafood. Not an allergy, but trust me, you don’t want to get on her bad side.” Natasha replies, a shudder running through her at a previous memory of being on the receiving end of Agatha’s wrath.

It feels like you’re conspiring. She’s leaning in close, and you can smell the Chanel perfume she had put on, and see the colour of her lipstick more clearly. Suddenly, you feel 16 again, whispering to your friends under covers and in darkness, giggling at the thoughts. She makes you feel so…small. So young and fresh. It makes you want to fall in deep, but all you can do is stare at her, trying to hold onto the quite literally life saving information she’s giving you.

Never mind her delectable smell or perfect features.

She leans in impossibly closer, almost whispering; “I also have no allergies, doll. But I do love a good beef stroganoff.” With that, she straightens up, grabbing the can of chopped tomatoes and giving you a wink before sauntering off, leaving you thoughtless and gaping after her.

You shake your head clear and hurry off to the meat aisle.

——————————————————————————

Two weeks go by, you and Natasha meeting and talking more and more, getting to know one another privately, without the onlook of others. The dinner date is ever nearing, and you can’t help the small twinge of excitement that accompanies the thought of cooking for Natasha, someone you now consider a very good friend, even in the short time you’ve been in town.

Everything should be done, you think. It turns out that dinner would be a thankfully small affair; simply Agatha, Wanda, their husbands, and your husband.

And Natasha. And her husband.

You’re still intensely trying to figure out why Natasha having a husband makes you so…so…you can’t even think of a word deep and descriptive enough to describe the emotions. The timer goes off, just as the door is knocked. You move swiftly, knowing that your husband will help with neither situation, the mere thought of him being accompanied by irritation in your mind.

Why didn’t your husband make you feel?

Why did 5 minutes with Natasha make you feel more than your entire marriage?

The dinner cools off in the kitchen as you answer the door, Wanda and a mystery woman, presumably Agatha, standing, wearing matching smiles on the other side.

“Hiya, hon! Wanda, you sneak, you never told me she was such a model!” Agatha’s voice is confident and assured as you invite them both in, and her compliment has you blushing and lowering your head, a small smile overtaking your mouth.

“Agatha, let’s not embarrass the poor girl. Sorry about her, she sometimes forgets the better parts of social decorum.” A mock glare is sent to her by Wanda, and Agatha holds her hands up in mock surrender.

“Anyway, we wanted to come over earlier and see if you needed help with anything, darling. No woman should have to bear the brunt of it all on her own.” Wanda’s voice takes on an unimpressed quality, as if she’d had to deal with that before. You assume it’s the same as you; a useless, fickle husband. Great with general work, but unable to see when his wife is upset with him, even when she’s standing right in front of him. Agatha lays a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder, nodding in agreement, and Wanda visibly relaxes.

“I’m fine, thank you. But please, help yourselves to some drinks, and relax. My husband is in the lounge, but don’t mind him and make yourselves comfortable.” Your smile is painted on but cordial, and the two look knowingly between each other before leaving to do as you asked.

Another knock on the door reveals Natasha, and a strange man holding her arm. You clench your jaw subconsciously, and invite them in wordlessly. Natasha smiles at you, the dazzling grin lighting you up inside. You’re glad her husband merely nods at you in greeting before rushing off to talk with your husband jovially, both you and Natasha rolling your eyes, laughing at them with each other. You walk Natasha over to the other women, feeling somewhat self conscious as she looks over your home with a studious gaze.

“Your home is beautifully decorated, truly.” She breathes out, and you feel yourself relax, unsure as to why her opinion is held in such high regard in your mind. You’re just about to reply before a final knock rings out, causing Wanda and Agatha to sign dejectedly, confusing you as you walk to open it, Vision and Ralph standing before you.

Time moves forward, and now everyone is sat, the men chatting openly and loudly, leaving the women to ‘gossip’ as they see it. You emerge from the kitchen, dish in hand. Natasha’s face lights up, a knowing smirk crossing her face as she eyes the beef stroganoff being set down on the table, your face red as you meet her stare, and her smirk grows.

The dinner is peaceful, the men waxing poetic, the women finding them ridiculous. Soon enough, the dinner is polished off, many thanks and compliments being delivered to you, much to your delight. Natasha grabs you gently by the wrist, making sure you’re looking at her when she gives you her heartfelt thanks.

You almost faint at the sincere look you find swimming in her bewitching stare.

Making your way to the kitchen, you hear music filtering through from the record player. You pile the dishes into the dishwasher, the clanking of plates muffling the sound of the door opening, soft footfalls going also unheard by you as the owner approaches you.

The feeling of hands resting at your hips makes you groan, but not with pleasure.

“Honey…not here. Not now. There are guests, don’t start.” Your voice is tired and final, the words escaping from gritted teeth.

“Are you sure, dear? It could help you to destress.” That voice. The voice that certainly did not belong to your husband. The sultry quality sends shivers down your spine, the hands on your hips squeezing, and you’re powerless to resist at this point. It’s then you smell lingering traces of Chanel as she leans in close to your neck, her front slotting perfectly against your back.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” Her voice is teasing, breath fanning across your neck, and you have to ball your hands into fists to calm yourself. At your notable silence, Natasha braves a kiss onto your neck, and you can feel yourself slipping, a stifled moan escaping your pursed lips. The firm grip she has on your hips moves to your front and downwards, resting at the hem of your dress.

“Tell me you want this.” Her voice is gasping, breathless, and her lips are so close it’s intoxicating. If you turned your head and leaned just a bit, your lips would meet hers so delicately. You struggle to breathe because of all the sensations, but you quickly struggle through your answer.

“I want this.” You’re panting, but your answer is definite, no wavering. Natasha pulls you impossibly closer, one of her hands disappearing under your dress as she captures your lips. The simple act of a kiss from Natasha opens the floodgates for you. No amount of intimacy from your husband has made you even half as hot as one kiss and one touch from Natasha has, and Natasha must know it.

It has also made you almost embarrassingly wet, which Natasha will also know in a moment.

Her hands push your dress up so slowly, passing by your thighs and over your ass, resting at your hips. Natasha groans at the sight of your garters; white, as pure as she sees you. Logically, she knows that you must have slept with your husband, but to her it feels not like she’s taking your virginity, like men will, but rather she’s introducing you, like she’s sharing something with you. It’s how making love is supposed to happen, she muses. A joint experience, a joint effort. She glides her hands across your garters, smooth as liquid silk as she tells you as such.

“I would bet any amount of money I had that your husband is rather like mine. When the act of intimacy is brought up, they simply take. There’s no consideration for their partner’s pleasure, or even comfort.” She playfully snaps one of the belts against the skin of your thigh, making you gasp as her hips continue pinning you to the counter. It’s all happening so fast, but you can’t find a single reason to complain as she continues her movements.

“Tell me what you think about.” She pleads.

“What I think about?” You ask confusedly.

“When you touch yourself, baby. Tell me what goes through that pretty head.” The request stops all thoughts in your mind. You think back to the last time your hand had travelled down past the barrier of your panties, and you realise that this situation you find yourself in is exactly like your recent fantasies.

“Do you think of me?” She asks quietly, sounding almost vulnerable as she licks the shell of your ear.

“Tell me, little dove. Do you think of me when your fingers reach your quim? Undeniable pleasure coursing through you. Does my name leave those pretty lips as your fingers stroke yourself? Do you think of my fingers, my tongue?” She has hardly touched you, and you’re nearly in tears because of how erotic it all is. Your mind is growing fuzzy in the best way, and you nod furiously, hoping that that’s enough confirmation for her.

“I think of you too, my darling. At the dead of night, lay next to my husband, I whisper out your name as my release takes over. My legs shake and my cunt aches for you, the slickness between my thighs, all yours.” She’s whimpering into your neck, her hand finally cupping you. You moan, your loudest yet, and you thank the stars that the crooning of Brenda Lee drowns you out. Natasha groans at the wetness she finds, hips unconsciously thrusting into you, the air electric.

“Please, dear God. I need to have you, my sweet. Ever since we met, you have invaded my thoughts. I have pondered on how you feel around my fingers, how you would taste. How your moans would sound as you orgasmed again and again. How it would feel to run against you, our cunts pressed together. Please, tell me I can pleasure you. Let me bring you pleasure.” She kisses down your neck, hand still drawing circles over your now soaked panties, and you repent fully, all lingering thoughts of guilt or embarrassment leaving you as she reaches inside and cups your bare core.

“Thank you, my babe. My sweet, innocent one. Just let me make you feel good.”

One finger circles your clit, occasionally dipping down into your pooling wetness, teasing penetration before repeating the cycle. It’s humiliatingly quick, the speed at which you cave, begging for her to move inside of you, wishing for her to reach so far and deep inside of you that she grips your heart and never lets go. Those lithe fingers finally cross the barrier completely, two of them breaching you and slipping deep and snug inside of you. You reach for a tea towel, hurriedly biting into it to silence your scream. Natasha quickly pulls it away, filling the gap with her other hand before you had time to protest, fingers slipping through your mouth, mirroring her other hand’s actions.

You feel her starting to rub against your backside once more as she continues to pleasure you. You can’t help the feeling of whorish nature coursing through you; being bent over your own kitchen counter, being fingered by your older, married neighbour as she also uses your body for her own pleasure.

It’s enough to get you right to the edge of your first orgasm. The shame returning full force at everything about this event.

“I can feel what you’re thinking, dove. But I swear to you, this is perfectly natural. Our husbands do not give us the pleasure, the release we crave. So we must look elsewhere. No one can judge us for that, and no one will. Wanda and Agatha do the same thing. They won’t judge.” Natasha’s voice is exclusively soft whimpers and short gasps, and your mind explores what she has said, the image of Agatha and Wanda making love crossing your mind, making you flutter and clench around Natasha’s fingers, pushing your ass back and making her throw her head back. You quickly pull her fingers out of your mouth, concerned.

“Natasha, something feels off.” There’s a pressure building just above your pelvis, a foreign yet not undesirable feeling. You fear you’re about to wet yourself, and you start squirming against her, wriggling to escape. When she feels this, she holds you firm, speeding up her ministrations and snaking her other hand down to press against your lower stomach, and you bite back a yell.

“Natasha! Please, I’m gonna…” You trail off, not even being able to say the words to her, embarrassed. She chuckles against your shoulder knowingly, not letting you move an inch as she moves her hand unthinkably faster.

“Love, you’re about to orgasm. Nothing else. Please, clamp around my fingers. Chase your own pleasure. Feel it burn through you. Come for me, my doll.” The permission combined with the harsh bite she leaves just under your dress triggers your first orgasm. It’s electric, it’s intense. It’s nothing you have ever felt close to feeling, and you open your mouth in a silent scream, all oxygen leaving you as spots dance across your vision. The visual of you coming over her fingers sets Natasha off, her movements stilling against your hips as she comes in her own underwear.

Natasha holds you through it, moaning at the feeling of your juices leaving you, knowing you’ve just squirted onto her hand. She kisses you as you come down, trying to catch your breath, her tongue slipping past your lips and caressing your own. Her hand stills in you as you stop twitching, before pulling out gingerly, kissing you in apology as you wince.

“That was…” You can’t even begin to describe it. She smiles softly, spinning you around slowly and kissing you on the nose.

“Pleasurable.” She deadpans, and you laugh. You have no idea how long the both of you have been lost in your own world, the reality coming crashing down. The noise outside is still loud as she wraps her arm around your waist, the other bringing her soaked fingers up to her mouth and sucking harshly. You feel worked up once more at a simple visual, and you have a lot to think about because of all of this. But, for now, you settle for a final kiss before you rejoin the others. The girls cheer as you return, handing the both of you drinks and Agatha almost commanding that you sit. With the newfound knowledge about them, the command makes you flush, dipping your head to cover yourself as you take a drink.

“Finally!” Natasha’s husband’s voice cuts through the gentle atmosphere, grating to your ears and, judging by her venomous glare, Natasha’s also.

“Sorry. I got a bit turned around and luckily someone was there to help me.” She doesn’t even look at her husband, eyes trained on you, and you give a soft smile in response.

“Ah, cool your jets, you know how the women are with each other.” Your husband replies, laughing.

“Don’t we just.” Wanda speaks up, looking between you and Natasha, Natasha giving an imperceptible nod towards her. Wanda’s eyes light up at the confirmation as she leans over to whisper something in Agatha’s ear. Agatha’s eyes widen for a moment before her gaze returns to the both of you, an impressed look crossing her features as she nods in congratulations. Their reactions make you laugh, still feeling thoughtless because of your orgasm, and you’re basking in the afterglow. The women laugh with you, knowing exactly what you’re feeling, Natasha’s head coming to rest on your shoulder.

The men, as always, remain clueless.

Eventually, the night has to end, the husbands saying they have work in the morning and cannot stay longer, saying goodby with firm handshakes, smiles, and slaps on the back. You grab the tray of empty glasses, almost dropping them when you notice Natasha and your husband talking, her pointing over to you as she’s speaking. Panic courses through you, but then you see your husband smiling and nodding.

She couldn’t have told him.

You breathe out in relief as you enter the kitchen again.

Another presence is behind you once more.

“I asked your husband if you could join our book club, darling. Of course, a smart one like you can figure out that we won’t be reading.” She husks out, and you’re nodding furiously, thinking about it already.

“It sounds fun, Natasha. I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I, dear. I’ll be counting down the seconds. I think that Wanda and Agatha are curious about you, but forgive me. I want you all for myself.” A swift harsh kiss is planted upon your lips, and she’s smiling against you as she feels how eagerly you kiss her back. She’s falling hard and fast for you, already dreaming of your tightness once again.

“I like that.” You murmur against her lips, and she pulls away reluctantly.

“Until the next time, my sweet.” She laments.

“See you, Natasha.” You reply, and just like that, she’s back into her husband’s arms and out your door. You sigh, heart already feeling heavy due to her absence.

Because what you feel is curling, twisting, and taking an ugly form in the pit of your stomach. You know what it is, it's simple in a way: raw anger. Against the current man who has you on his lap, against Bruce who thought it was okay to come and give you some hope, only to take it away with his reality and his lies. You were fine by yourself in the darkness, you were fine clinging to each night as if it were water and you hadn't had a drink in weeks. 

You were fine.

Now, you know your heart doesn't always have you tremble and shake, you know it can find its tune, its rhythm. And it's near him.

"Hey, sweetheart, why don't you climb back on stage, I wanna have your lovely friend on my lap now." The roughness of the voice, the alcohol in your client's breath, it all brings you back to reality very quickly. You find the will for a sharp smile on your face and you do as you're being told. You can not afford to hate the world right now, you can't.

*** 

It's hours before the party is too drunk and too loud to notice you leaving. You accept the money with another fake smile and you even go as far as kneeling to grab as many dollar bills as possible. In their world, it's just another piece of paper, in yours, the dollar is mighty, it is rent, it is food, it is a future away from places like this and it's for your son. 

In the locker room, it all goes back into your bag and you change as quickly as you can, not even stopping for conversation. You close the zipper of the mini skirt on your not-so-flat belly -having a kid will do that to you- quickly and you top it off with a black hoodie you always leave at the club just in case. 

It's good for tonight and the hood hides the major part of your curls, the rest are dangling away, moving with the wind when you step outside. You hail a cab and when you slide inside you suddenly realize that yes, it's three am. 

"Where to?"

"Wayne Tower." 

You don't even hesitate and you frown at the driver when he doesn't start the car yet, he just stares at you via the rearview mirror.

"You sure? From here it will cost you."

"Oh, I'm sure."

And just to prove it, you shove a few hundred in his lap and you watch as the driver's face changes and he starts the car. 

Of course, it will cost you, the matters of the heart always do. 

And speaking of your heart, it’s not racing like it was back in the club, no it’s not, you are not panicking, you’re not doubtful and you’re not afraid. You’re angry because you think you know... no, you know that Bruce is alive, you know that he keeps Vengeance in check these days, you know he’s probably sulking away in the dark, in that big ridiculous mansion of his, probably waiting for you to give him a sign. Or maybe you’re just presumptuous and he really stopped giving a damn. Either way, you need to see it with your own two eyes, even if you specifically asked him to leave you alone.

The taxi clashes with the rest of the expensive vehicles as you roll into the unfamiliar streets, even you can see it, but there is no going back now, no thinking about it and you frankly do not  care anymore. You stop caring when you had to wipe away your own tears and wash Bruce’s blood from your skin. And honestly? Washing the red away hadn’t been the most embarrassing part, not it hadn’t been. 

You get out of the taxi before he stops, if the driver yells at you, you think you can hear his voice in the background, you shut that down with more money thrown away in his direction, you seem to be in the right part of town to be pulling a move like that anyway, and you close the door behind you harshly. Eyes glued to the building. 

You stop only for one second, during which the wind blows your hair on your face and it's chilly against the naked skin of your thighs and legs, exposed with the skirt you’re wearing. But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter that it’s late, it doesn't matter that the air is so cold that you can see your breath with every step you take, it doesn’t matter. You pull the hood over your curls once more and without Bruce, without Him, you go in. 

It’s as dark as before, but not as inviting. The last time you were here, Bruce had one arm circling your waist and eyes only for you, doing his best not to kiss you in front of all of his employees and failing miserably. It’s just you now, and you probably seem crazy, the makeup, your outfit, your expression, as you plant yourself in front of the desk and the employee, not Alfred, spouting an “I want to see him” without a hint of modesty in your voice.

If the man behind the counter doesn’t seem to recognize you at first, why would he, after all, you don’t know how many women Bruce has dragged down this particular path, he yawns before answering, before telling you that it’s late and that Master Wayne is not seeing anyone at the moment.

“I didn’t ask for the time, now, did I?” You can hear it, you can hear the venom in your own voice and you are certain you will hate yourself later for it. Maybe in the morning, but definitely not right now. Now, you plant your palms on the desk, leaning in. “Call him, tell him who it is, tell Master Wayne to come down, tell him it’s me .”

And maybe the employee on the other side of the desk can tell that it’s not a suggestion. It’s not even an order, it’s a threat, because if he doesn’t comply and finds a way to have Bruce come to you, then you’re going to do way more than raise hell. A lot more. Bruce might have all of his demons condensed into one alter ego, who fights crime in his hometown but yours? Yours aren’t in check, they speak to you, they walk the path with you every night and it’s really not hard to call them.

So he gulps, nods, mumbles something to you, to himself, and finally sits up, grabs the phone next to him, and presses some buttons. You take a step back, still watching him, and slowly folding your arms on your chest.

You know you are going to regret this in the morning, you can already tell.

It doesn’t matter, you repeat yourself slowly, it doesn’t matter. 

You hear him talk, Alfred’s name does come up and finally, when you can make up the words “Alfred, it’s her .” you just know the battle is already won. Of course, it is, you doubt Bruce would send you home packing. 

“You can go up, they’re waiting for you.”

That is an ominous sentence if you’ve ever heard one. You don’t say thank you, you just nod and make your way to the elevator. It still feels familiar, it’s completely different however and the way up is a matter of seconds. Mere seconds, you blink, push some hair away from your face, blink again, and there’s that ding! the doors slide open and he’s in front of you. 

Bruce.

Right there as you take a step out, gaze already meeting yours. Already there.

There’s nothing said between the two of you at first, there’s too much to take in, the very sigh of him burns your retina and you know you’re a fool because you’ve managed to go a long time without seeing him.

He’s wearing black, of course, he’s wearing black, sweatpants and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt too big for him, exposing his pale forearms and the muscles there, you notice that his hands are closed into fists, both of them. As if to restrain himself, as if not to touch, who? You? You want to laugh, that never seemed to stop him before, back when he was lying. 

You look up, back to his face, there’s a frown there, the expression is closed except for his threatening glare, long strand of black hair on either side of his face, some even touching the sharp lines of his jaw.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce breaks the silence first, nothing from his tone to his posture is inviting, you slowly but surely realize that. But his question? It stirs up more anger than anything.

“Making sure you’re not dead, since apparently, no one has seen the bat in a while, your alter ego even made it in the news... oh and some jerks at the club were bragging about how they killed the Batman.” That sentence ends with a laugh, it’s bitter, quite not so sweet and as you talk, you invade his personal space, Bruce is the one taking a few steps back, he’s the one putting some distance between the two of you.

The nerve of him.

After everything.

“I’m not dead. I needed the rest,” Bruce claims, growls even and you should be scared. You should be terrified, this man is taller than you, you know what those hands have done now, you know they can trace every single one of your curves and touch you where you need it the most and make you come while moaning his name... you’re also very aware that he uses them for violence, for his kind of retribution, with pain and suffering.

So resting? It’s out of the equation, and even more than that, you don’t believe him. If anything, Bruce looked even more tired than before, the bags underneath his eyes seem deeper than usual and you know he’s got some brand new scars, added to the slew of old ones, and that has never stopped him. He could be on the actual brink of death and he would still fight, so you don’t believe it. More than anything, that stupid tone and that annoying space between the two of you are still frustrating. More than that, it toys with you, making you believe that he doesn’t actually want you there. 

That neither of them actually wants you here.

“Bullshit.” Your voice is a bit shaky, but the venom is still there, in your tone, in the way you stand, and how you keep talking."If you wanted to be out there fighting, we both know you’d be.”

“Well, I’m not, that much is clear.”

“Why? They need you! Gotham needs you, you can’t just...”

Bruce winces at your words, takes another step further back and you take one forward, towards him, towards the darkness of the lobby that he so desperately wants to join.

I need you, that’s what you want to scream. Maybe that makes you crazy, no, there is no doubt of that, you are crazy, insane for sending him away and still craving his presence more than oxygen itself. It doesn’t make any damn sense, you’re not used to needing things like that, let alone someone. Quickly and surely, Bruce made himself a space in your life, in your night. And you know you can’t go back to face it all alone, maybe you were scared that night, maybe he did ruin everything, but you’d rather have it ruined than not have it anymore. 

You can’t voice that, it does spin and twirl inside of you, that particular monster wants to come out, and you do your best to keep it on a leash, to keep it inside. Bruce stops your train of thoughts with his own voice, it goes deeper than it has ever been in front of you, it’s almost Vengeance’s voice, you shouldn’t be surprised, they are but one man after all. “What? Disappear? I can and I did. And you can’t be here when you told me to stay away, you have to follow your own rules.”

“I told you to stay away because you lied to me!” Your voice doesn’t drop like his, it goes higher. Part of you is fully aware that you sound hysterical, but you don’t care. Or maybe you do, it’s both, it’s none of it, it’s him, it’s you... he has to see it right? “The both of you! Turns out it was just one big giant game for you and...”

“It was not a game,” Bruce interrupts abruptly, and you know this time, it’s Vengeance’s voice, rectifying some facts, rewriting some wrongs and he’s the one taking a step forward this time. Yes, you think, he’s almost there, so close, icy blue eyes on you, his entire silhouette hovering over you and almost within your reach. So fucking close. “It was never a game, it was real, you were there and I was there and I was going to tell you.”

Was he? You have zero way of knowing that now, do you? So you speak up, and you step closer, planting your hands on his chest, on the thin layer of his shirt with the firm intention of pushing him away, of doing something. You don’t, instead, you just twist the fabric in between your fingers, you need something to hold on to, desperately. 

“That’s another lie right there, you never had any intention of telling me, I was. I wanted to tell you, Bruce, about the club, about the clients and everything, and just tell you that...”

Tell him everything, how everything was so dark and suffocating before him. But he made the emptiness tolerable, he made each moment without him less broken, he made you less broken.

You need him.

The realization hits you as hard as a punch in your throat and you forget to breathe for a second or two, looking up at him. When your body finally catches up, you let out a sharp and high sound, it’s all too much. Yes, way too much. Because you see everything: his pale skin, the fact that he hasn’t shaved in a few days, the sharp angles of his face, a striking contrast to the look on his face. Looking down at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Tell me what?” Bruce whispers, asking, slightly begging, you try to pull away, but suddenly, his hands are holding both of your wrists and if you attempt to pull away a second time, he has absolutely no problem keeping you here.

Trapped.

But are you? You came to him after all.

You came here in the middle of the night for a reason.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s too late.” You don’t even recognize your own voice, everything is so foreign to you, you don’t know those feelings, you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast and Bruce needs to let you go so you can figure it out.

“No, no, no it’s not.” He assures you, he nods even, and before you can ask him what he did figure it out, apparently before you, the pressure on your wrists increases, Bruce pulls you in and the very next moment, his lips are pressing against yours.

You don’t even pretend to not want this, or him, that’s exactly what you want and it’s the perfect excuse not to talk and not to think. Without thinking and with a gasp, you grant him access and in a matter of seconds, Bruce is kissing you as if it’s the only night you’ll ever have together. The last night. He’s hungry for it, his hands letting go of your wrists to cup both sides of your face, shifting you closer to him and his body, his tongue not wasting any time to find yours and make his point clear. You suddenly can’t breathe, nothing matters but this moment, him kissing you, claiming you, reminding you why you came here in the first place.

When he pulls away for air, Bruce’s gaze is still on you, a question on his face, the answer is you, wrapping both of your arms around his neck this time. Capturing his mouth for another series of feverish kisses. You’re on your tiptoe without even realizing it, your entire being needing to capture the moment and to map out his mouth and all the sound Bruce makes perfectly. There is nothing sweet or gentle about this embrace or the way your lips meet and discover each other, it’s a bit messy, and your hands are gripping the long black hair with probably too much force. And you find yourself moaning when Bruce’s fingers sneak underneath your hoodie and they are brushing against your skin.

“Please,” you gasp in the limited space between your two mouths. 

Bruce nods and without fail, his hands land on your hips and as if you were weighing absolutely nothing, he lifts you off the ground, carrying you and leaving the lobby. Automatically, you circle your legs around his waist and if you should hold still or pay attention to your surroundings, you do neither of those things. 

The corridors of his home are still plunged into darkness, but Bruce knows the way, and more importantly, you still trust him with your life, despite everything. And you’ve been missing him so much, you think when your mouth finds the curve of his neck, you suck right there, like the worst vampire ever, you’re rewarded with a growl and you increase the pressure, hands tracing the muscles of his shoulders with pure greed.

Mine , that’s what your mind is shouting, they’re both yours, Bruce, Vengeance, they’re yours and you need them, you need him. 

All of him, that much is clear now and you don’t even pay that much attention when he brings you to what is clearly his bedroom. At any other given moment, your eyes would have been wandering everywhere, trying to see the decoration, what kind of books he would have on his nightstand, and if he’s the kind of man who’s messy or not. Not tonight, not right now, none of that matters.

Especially when Bruce kicks the door closed with a bit too much force and you do nothing else but chuckle, face still a mere inches away from his, forehead still pressed against his, in the semi-darkness of the room. The massive room you gather, one wall of his bedroom is just a giant window, showing Gotham's night sky as well as the few street lights here and then. In the dim light, you can still see him, still see Bruce and his eyes on yours and he kisses you again, slower this time, still moving and in one fluid movement, he puts you down on this bed.

Not letting go of you, still so close, your arms are around his neck, they seem to belong there and his entire body is aligned with yours, it’s almost as if Bruce were beginning where you were ending and vice versa. It’s not quite the case, you realize, so much space between the two of you, still so much clothing and unnecessary things. If you were angry before, you know you were just mad at yourself, because you should have been doing this, cupping his jaw, trapping him between your legs and urging him with your moans, with your fingers to just take off his clothes and take off yours. 

You don’t know why he’s moving slower now, you think you’re going to die if he doesn’t pick up the pace, however, Bruce seems calmer now. There is some kind of delay between the pacing of your own heart and the Wayne’s movement, but your hoodie is the first one to hit the floor, you’re still wearing a tank top underneath and without Bruce’s help, you take it off, revealing your underwear and more skin. 

He captures your mouth again, and you can feel his fingertips on the straps of your bra, you don’t let him the chance to do so, you want to, but it’s more important to take his shirt off right now. Way more important and he follows your lead without complaining, a bit too slow to react and to raise his arms when he needs to do so, but finally, there’s more skin for you to touch, more skin for you to caress and devour. That’s all you can think about when your mouths are sealed together again and you’re trapped underneath his weight, gripping his shoulders so tight he would have marks in the morning, you are one hundred percent sure of it. 

Bruce’s lips drip off to your neck, one of his favorite spots you figured out a few nights ago, and when he licks your skin there, you moan, your entire body arching and twisting and finding his. His own body, so much heavier than yours, so much stronger than yours, he could break you, it’s your only thought when he reaches down to your hips with one hand, to push you down to the bed. With ease, keeping you in place, you shiver at the sensation, at the knowledge, of what he could do and wanting him to do it.

“Please," you hear yourself moan, "I need more .”

Bruce growls at that, his body moving so he can shift closer to you, your forehead pressed together again. You hear him, no, you see him reach for something, on his left and when there is suddenly light, you realize it was a lamp on his nightstand.

The very sight of him as he is right in this instant could probably give you everything you need. Bruce’s swollen lips, all the dark hair falling on his forehead and onto his face, his intense gaze on you, the question still in the air. He doesn’t need to wonder out loud, you already whisper it, “I need you,” the next moment, you can barely blurt out the last word before he’s administering brutal kisses again. It’s enough to make you dizzy and to forget how to breathe, more than enough, however, Bruce pulls away, too quickly, too abruptly, with his eyes closed and a strained expression on his face.

What did you say? Is that not what he wants? You reach up and stroke both of his cheeks with your hands slowly, your breathing is still labored, you’re still a mess, he can change that right now, or make you even messier, you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to overcomplicate things, you know what this is, it’s raw and primal and you can shut down everything and just let your body do the talking. That’s what you want anyway, does he not want the same thing?

As you’re about to ask him, Bruce finally opens his eyes, and they land back on you, on you offering a smile, a smile that grows wider when he plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth before he speaks again. “I want that too, trust me, I want that so bad,” and between the look on his face and his voice going deeper once more, you have no choice but to believe him, but you don’t interrupt him.  “It’s just that... I’ve never done that ... not with anyone.”

You connect the dots automatically and honestly, it doesn’t surprise you. Vengeance might be out most knights, seeing Gotham’s underbelly at every single turn, Bruce is as much a prince as he is an outcast, you’re not surprised he hasn’t seen much of the world, let alone been intimate with someone like that.

“Okay, I hear you, thank you for telling me,” you reassure him first and, your fingers moving of their own accord and tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. “And I don’t think that’s something you want to rush, we don’t have to do that tonight... or anything for that matter...” You swallow your own saliva saying that you’re still on fire, you still need him, but you won’t be selfish, you might not know a lot of things, however, you don’t want Bruce to have any regrets. If he’s really yours, it means caring for him, all of him and his needs, and his well-being. You can do that.

More importantly, you want to do that for him. Your words appear to have some kind of an effect because Bruce moans and moves right above you and he then proceeds to bury his face into the crook of your neck. You hold him close, as close as you physically can, you’re definitely not letting go this time and then he moves his hips and it’s very clear he is as much a wreck as you are. Because it’s definitely Bruce’s hard-on pressed against your inner thigh right now and instead of moving, you take a deep breath. You never thought you’d ever want anything let alone anyone so much, every other time you’ve been with a man seems so pale in comparison. 

It’s not like there were many, now that you think about it, most of your firsts had happened in high school, when you thought you could handle the reality of it all, having someone seeing you like that, caring for you like that. And then the father of your son and just a few guys here and then... Not that many but with Bruce it’s somehow different, softer, it grounds you in the present and even his voice when he talks the next moment, it’s raspier.

“Will that be okay? Because I really want to touch you,” Bruce mumbles the words and you feel his chest moving as he inhales and takes a deep breath of your perfume, of you in some sort of way. And you’ve heard him in pain before, it sounds almost the same and you know it’s because of what he wants.

“Yeah? I really want to touch you too.” Bruce looks up at your words, his gaze locked into yours and you nod, just to confirm that he didn’t imagine that and you kiss him the next moment. It’s slow and deep, just to prove your point and he’s the one being the most vocal this time. Good, you think, you use it to your advantage, your right hand buried deep inside his hair, you pull gently, you guide him so he can move, so he can sit up and you follow him too.

Breathless, you part for air and you motion for your bra, for him to take it off. Bruce nods, and still staring back at you, he does it very slowly. You shiver a little bit, because it’s cold, because of his eyes traveling everywhere, and because, most importantly, you want more. More of this and more of him.

“Just... take off your pants and everything else and lay down here,” you find yourself instructing, and if he gives you a puzzled look, that doesn’t last long, Bruce stands up and complies without hesitation. You do the same, taking the rest of your clothes off as well, and soon, you’re both naked, laying side by side in his bed, your shoulders brushing each other. You can see his chest rising and falling and you take in everything he has to offer, miles and miles of skin as white as delicate as marble, marked by various scars... Your eyes travel lower and you do moan out loud when they land on his arousal. You never found that particular part of any man attractive, but somehow, seeing Bruce Wayne hard and laying next to you, is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. 

So you kiss him, because what else is there to do, you bite his lower lip, and you elicit more moans and growls from the man who’s been occupying every single one of your thoughts lately, your tongue invading his mouth and mapping out everything while one of your hands is tracing soft lines on his torso. Just like that first night with Vengeance, when you were trying to memorize everything. This time you get to see, you get to explore what you like and your hand finds its way to his abdomen, tracing the new scar he has gotten. It's a different shade of purple than some of his existing scars but you don’t dwell on that for too long.

You head lower, to his navel, and then even lower, finding some hair that you stroke gently. Bruce gasps in your mouth at that motion, suddenly, your lips are not pressed together anymore and he’s having a difficult time breathing. You get it, suddenly, it’s all too much, it’s all too consuming. You don’t stop however, you find his forehead, and press yours against his, whispering. “Look at me, I want to see you like this, when you’re not in control and when you need me the most.” 

And you don’t know if it’s your words affecting him that much, or the fact that your hand circles his length next, but Bruce makes a strangled sound, clearly flushed, some red on his face, eyes wide open and looking at you. You don’t even give him time to adjust, slowly but surely, you stroke him, the pace is slow and gentle and it’s easy to set up a rhythm as your hand travels from the tip of him to the base.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck...” Bruce moans a litany of insults, as well as your name and you wonder if you’re the first person to ever see him like that, he’s fucking magnificent like that, gasping and squirming underneath you, growling your name, trying to kiss you and failing at that. Soon his hips move too, that’s when you stop and Bruce opens his eyes, questioning. “I didn’t say you could move now, did I?” You have no idea where that comes from, all Bruce does is nod no and you watch as he takes a deep breath and finds a way to settle his own body back to the bed, exactly where you want him.

“Good, let me take care of you.” It’s an order, of course, it is, and Bruce has absolutely no other choice but to obey, which he does, beautifully at that, and you can’t help but smile as you resume your pace. You kiss him, he’s desperate in this new embrace, trying as much as he can to savor your lips but you don’t let him. “Please, please, I want...” He doesn’t finish his sentence, suddenly, your fist is tighter around the base of him, and Bruce gasps for air, his head falling to the other side of the bed.

Oh, I’m going to fucking ruin you, that’s what you think as you let go of him, your naked body moving on his bed.

You find your new space, better yet, you move one of his legs as you position yourself right there, in between them and you hear him whisper “oh fuck” as you plant a kiss on his thigh. The destination is pretty clear, but still, you tease him, because it’s easy, because he whines and calls for you as if you were a god and maybe you are. Maybe you are a goddess, his goddess and you’re about to show him the meaning of worship and devotion. That’s why each kiss is as slow as the previous one as you make your way up, you plant your lips on his right hip, then his navel and look up at him, finally, finally your mouth lands on where he needs it the most, circling the tip.

Unsurprisingly, Bruce tastes good.

Of course, he does, you were not expecting any less, you would not be able to describe the taste in its entirety, but it’s suddenly a lot on your tongue. Not only that, but your mouth is almost full, full of him and you don’t even give him any chance to adjust before you drag your tongue across the entire length of his length. Surely and slowly, trying to map out everything just like you did before, eyes still glued on his face. Studying every single one of his expressions, every single one of his moans, and every single one of his ragged breaths.

Bruce’s eyes are closed at the moment but they eventually find your own as you administer another lick of your tongue and his entire body shivers. Has anyone ever done this to him? Hell, has anyone ever seen him like this, on the edge of that particular cliff, about to let go and trying, fighting to keep it all down? You doubt it, you really want to see Bruce let go, you want to make him come with your name on his lips and you can tell he’s close. He’s so fucking close, it’s in the way part of his face, mostly his cheeks, are completely red; the fact that his mouth will not close completely even though he doesn’t seem to be able to produce some noise, it’s still open in a perfect O or maybe it’s both of his hands gripping down the sheet, his knuckles white and all of his muscles working.

Bruce is trying to stay still, just like you told him before, just like you’ve ordered him before and you moan at that before you take him again in your mouth. This time you don’t stop and you do your best to stretch your lips and your mouth all around him, taking more and more of him slowly but surely. You suddenly don’t care about air, about logic, about reason, or the fact you haven’t fucking done this in years and that you’re pushing your body to its own limit. You don’t care, you just want to take all of him in your mouth and repeat the motion until you can barely feel your jaw.

And you almost succeed, you’re so full of him it’s almost obscene, you gag a little bit on it and when you pull away to take a deep breath, you have to wipe away some saliva at the corner of your mouth. That doesn’t stop you, it’s the hottest thing you’ve done and you feel powerful, especially when Bruce mumbles your name again and his fingers come to trace your lips. You take that hand and you lock it into your messy locks, the message more than clear as you resume your previous move and your lips find themselves around him again. 

Except this time, Bruce is guiding you, he’s not pulling or nudging, his hand is just right there, warm, comforting, it just adds to the experience, and everything you feel, taste, sense, touch, smell, is just one hundred percent him. It’s overwhelming in a way but it feels too fucking good to stop and you feel fucking amazing when you manage to have all of him in your mouth. It seems to be too much even for Bruce because the next moment, he pulls your curls a bit too hard and he shouts, really he does, your name in the eeriness of his room and he comes.

Into your mouth. You feel it before you realize what’s happening and if you should pull away, you don’t. You take everything Bruce has to offer, you even forget to breathe for a second or two, and it’s messier than what you would like, it takes you a second to actually pull away. He’s looking down at you like he can not believe you are fucking real, but you are, and you don’t even have time to ask him how he feels about what you just did, about the moment you just shared, he’s already using his strength to pull you up and he brings you closer to his face, and Bruce captures your lips again for another kiss.

He doesn’t seem to care about where your mouth was or what you just swallowed and it drives you dizzy just to think about it, his hands are hungrier now, traveling all over your body. “I want you so bad, I want to make you come too,” Bruce whispers as he switches the position and suddenly, you’re the one against the mattress, with his body towering over you and he’s the one spreading your legs. Yes, you think, maybe you say it too, you don’t care, you suddenly take into effect your own body and what a wreck you’ve been, you haven’t been unaffected by having him in your mouth either and you lose it when his fingers play with your fold and then two of them rubs against your entrance.

“Oh god yes,” you moan loudly, but Bruce doesn’t do anything more than that, he doesn’t go in, he doesn’t fuck you with his fingers like parts of you want, he just circles and teases that particular spot over and over again and you’re so damp down there, it’s almost embarrassing. You don’t care, it has never felt like this, even with him, it’s electric, it’s all too much and you forget to breathe, once more, when Bruce’s tongue joins the movement and he sucks and laps at you as if it was going to give him the meaning of life itself. It doesn’t, you come, however, hard at that, without any warning or any signs and you shiver and jerk on the bed as the pleasure rips through you, your thighs shaking and shivering and squeezing Bruce’s hands and head.

He doesn’t seem to mind, touching and licking harder, following the high of your body and the movement of your hips. Waves after waves he’s here with you, giving way more than he is taking, and finally, when you come down to it, you’re the one pushing him away because it’s suddenly too much.

You’re still shaking and there is another look between the two of you. Bruce nods, you don’t know which question he’s answering, you know it’s enough for now. Enough that he lays down next to you, enough that he pulls you against him and that you end up resting on top of his body, still naked.

It’s enough.

***

Bruce eventually dozes off.

You don’t sleep, you don’t think you can, and it’s not even because you’re too alert or aware of your own skin or because your heart is beating a bit too fast like it does some nights. It’s just that you’re not tired, your chest doesn’t feel heavy, and you don’t feel the need to get some rest, because you’re here, you’re with him.

Both of Bruce's arms are circling your entire frame, holding you right there, you’re still naked, you didn’t move under the cover, you should be cold, you should be uncomfortable or uneasy... you’re not, it’s quite the opposite that happens.

So you watch him sleep, you move slightly with each tremor of his chest, his breath ghosting on your skin sometimes and if Bruce does mumble something at some point, all you can make out is your name and then nothing else. Soon enough, you find yourself tracing the lines of his face, of his jaw and you’re so caught up in it that you miss the moment when he does wake up.

Those blue eyes are on you again, it’s been what? One? Maybe two hours? You don’t know, outside, the sky is still pitch black and the street lights are still sovereign, so yeah, it’s still the middle of the night, technically.

“Are you okay?” Bruce whispers and you nod, his embrace does manage to tighten, he’s holding you even closer, as if he wanted your body to melt into his and that does make you chuckle a little bit.

“I’m okay... good, great even...”

“Sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t apologize, you needed it.”

Bruce nods back at the answer and if you were staring at his face, the next moment, you move again, head resting in the crook of his neck and eyes on the ceiling. His chin comes to rest on the top of your messy hair and you can tell you’re staring at the same point in the distance.

“I meant what I said earlier... it wasn’t a game, it just got complicated.”

“I get that.”

“I just never... well I never expected you to be honest.”

“I didn’t expect you either, so, we’re on the same page.”

You don’t whisper but neither of you is speaking in a normal tone of voice either. It’s too late for that and the conversation is too important. You are on the same page, Bruce barging into your life and making space for himself and becoming a key part of... well you, that wasn’t planned. Nothing about this was planned, however, it’s hard to feel guilty, no part of you feels ashamed or guilty.

It’s been so long since you’ve gotten what you want, why run away from it? You don’t run away from it, instead, you move again, still naked, still against him, your skin brushing against his skin and you are certain your hearts are beating in unison, but there is nothing sexual about this or when your elbows rest on his chest and you lay on top of Bruce, staring back at him.

He raises one eyebrow, he knows you have more to say, of course, you do.

“Is that okay that I know? About the bat? You know your secret is safe with me, right?” You need to say it out loud, at least once, at least so he knows that he is safe. Bruce frowns, one of his hands reaches out to your face, it’s only to capture one of your long locks between his two fingers, and he’s still twisting the hair when he speaks next.

“Of course, I know that, I’ve never doubted you, I trust you.”

“Good, because I trust you too.” 

Your voice is filled with determination and you know something else, something meaning that you’re not going to have this conversation ever again. It’s not like you to give trust easily and you know Bruce is worthy of it and he will not take any of this lightly. You’re not angry anymore, you don’t think he ruined everything, and you actually see him clearer than ever.

He does care, a lot, probably too much, just like you do, and it’s because he cares that he chose that particular path, putting himself and his life at risk, every time he goes out in his armor.

“So how long have you been doing this again? Been him at night.”

“It’s been three years now, and you and Alfred are the only ones who know the truth,” Bruce explains, calmly, still playing with your hair.

“Okay.” His fingers stop and your gazes meet. You have a million more questions, how does one get started as a vigilante, where did he learn to move, to fight, hell even to survive like that, but that will be for another night.  “I’m not gonna ask you why you do it, because in some way, I think I do get it... And I’m certainly not gonna ask you to stop, and I’m not judging either it’s just... I would have never guessed it was you under that mask, Bruce.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing, right?” He ponders, half a smile on his face.

“Yeah right...”

“What about you, how long have you been working in that place?” You didn’t expect Bruce to be curious too, you’re supposed it’s fair, and you wish you could give him a clear answer, you’ve stopped counting the months a long time ago.

“Too long... I don’t remember, a few years maybe, the money is good, and I’m not gonna pretend I don’t enjoy it, I do, I’m the one bringing home the money, my mum doesn’t really work and raising a kid is expensive so...” And you don’t have the same resources as him, not that you’re judging, it’s just you and what you can do. It’s not like you went to college, and it’s not like you had any life-changing dreams, all of that stopped the minute you knew you were pregnant.

“... his dad is really out of the picture then.”

“Completely.” Your tone is dry as you say that, he’s probably hanging somewhere in Gotham's suburbs, with another woman as gullible as you were back in the day and causing more trouble.  “Let’s just say that if I had stayed, I wouldn’t be there. Nor would my son.” You manage to shrug in your position, it’s not a big deal to you, your scars have had time to heal, you’ve had time to move on and being a mother is a part of you too now.

Bruce nods, he doesn’t press on and you’re glad, you don’t want to see a look of pity on his face and there will be more time for your past later. For now, when he motions for you to come closer, you do, pressing on his chest to climb up and sighing happily when you’re kissing again.

“Are we okay?” Bruce whispers when his mouth is free, eyes on you, hesitation on his features.

“Yeah... I think we are.”

Before I had a chance to slide the door open, Matt was on his feet and in front of me in a flash. He gently wrapped his arm around my wrist to halt my movements and firmly grabbed onto my hip to hold me in place.

“Y/N…you’re not sleeping on the couch, come on.”

“Fine. You are.”

I shoved the pillow roughly against Matt’s bare chest, grabbing the handle on the door and sliding it back so hard into the track it nearly made the entire apartment shake. Matt winced at the sound, squinting his eyes and turning his head away from the door. Normally I would have felt bad about the noise considering his sensitive hearing, but tonight I didn’t really give a fuck about his comfort. He sighed deeply as he tossed the pillow onto the bed and took a step towards me.

“Sweetheart, I really don’t want to go to bed angry. Please.”

“Well maybe you should’ve thought of that earlier Matthew, before you hooked up with your ex at a fucking party and tried to lie about it.”

“Y/N that’s...that’s not what happened. I told you, we just kissed…and I explained why.”

“Right, and I’m supposed to just take your word for it? After you’ve told me how many lies tonight Matthew?”

“I didn’t-”

“You blew me and Foggy off because you said you had an ‘important meeting’ with your special ‘client’. And then you come through that door, wearing a disheveled tux, with the collar covered in red lipstick I might add, and I find out you actually went to a gala with her.”

“Because she had a lead about information that could help take down the Yakuza!”

I had been seeing violent shades of red ever since Matt walked through the front door. I was pissed when I saw that he was wearing a tux, which was not what he had left Foggy and I’s company in, but the second I spotted the lipstick on his collar, I was fucking livid. Matt must have sensed the shift in my emotions because he immediately pulled off his glasses and raised his hands up slowly in surrender, quickly spitting out an “I can explain”.

My blood only began to boil at the mention of her name. Elektra. Matt had reluctantly, and very briefly, told me about her one night when we had first started dating. The gaps that he left, Foggy unenthusiastically filled in later on. He very clearly had not been a fan of hers, and I grew to understand why.

The more I learned about her, the more my disdain grew for the way she treated Matt. The way she left him..and what she had tried to do to him..what she had tried to make him do before she disappeared. I couldn’t believe he would actually want to be around her again after everything she had put him through. She had almost ruined his life, and after that night, he said he never wanted to speak about her again. I didn’t press it. I didn’t want to upset him, and honestly I didn’t care if I ever heard her name again. All I wanted to do was make up for her faults, and show Matt how much he deserved to be loved. I promised him that I would always accept him for exactly who he was. I never once tried to change him. Not like her.

I was beyond incandescent when her name so easily rolled off his tongue. I had been seething all night since his earlier confession. I was pissed she’d had the audacity to show up after all these years just to torment him all over again. But mainly, I was outraged at Matt for letting her, and for lying to me about it. When he finally came clean about being Daredevil, he swore he would never lie again, no matter what. While anger coursed through my veins, there were hints of hurt and betrayal that made every rush sting even more.

“And that makes it all okay?”

“No, of course it doesn’t. I just..I need you to understand that’s all it was, okay? A mission. That’s it. The last thing I ever wanted was to see her again, but she had something I needed. Something that could help me actually get rid of them, for good this time. I couldn’t pass that up. They’re too dangerous.”

“Then why did you lie about it? If that’s all it was, why couldn’t you tell me the truth? Why couldn’t you tell Foggy the truth?”

Matt averted his head downwards, placing both of his hands on his hips as he stood there silently. His lips parted slightly, taking in a deep breath as if the words he was searching for would be laced within the oxygen hitting his lungs.

“I don’t know. I just..I didn’t want to start a fight. I’m sorry. Please…don’t be mad.”

That rage that had been brewing inside me ever since he walked through that door was suddenly bubbling like molten lava, and I was about to fucking erupt. I grabbed the closest thing on the nightstand and flung it directly at Matt’s head. I knew it wouldn’t actually hit him, not that I really wanted to, but I couldn’t think straight through all my fury. He dodged the vase just in time as the ceramic shattered in cataclysmic pieces against the wall, shock written evidently all over his features by my uncharacteristic outburst.

“Mad? You think I’m mad? I’m fucking furious, Matthew! There aren’t words strong enough for how I feel right now. You lied. Again. And I’m supposed to, what, just be okay with it? Just be okay with the fact that you’re dressing up and running around New York with your ex to lavish galas because it’s for the greater fucking good?”

“Sweetheart, it was just for information, okay? I swear. Look by the time we found the ledger, they already knew we were there. We snuck a floor down and pretended to be a lost drunk couple so that we didn’t get shot. It was strictly a distraction. If they had found us and figured out what we were actually doing, they would’ve killed us.”

“Well if she’s so fucking impressive, why didn’t she go by herself? She didn’t need you there, she wanted you there. And you willingly went. You could have said no.”

Matt ran a hand through his messy brown hair, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t seeing things his way, and rubbed his palm across the stubble on his right cheek. He dropped his hands to place them on his hips once again and shook his head slowly, pointing his chin in my direction.

“You’re right. I should’ve said no. I should’ve let her go alone, and I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning. I just…I really didn’t want to start a fight.”

“I’m done fighting with you, Matthew.”

I felt completely drained, like all the life had been sucked out of me steadily ever since he walked through that door. Our fight earlier was explosive, definitely the worst one we’ve ever had. One of the only ones we’ve ever had. I thought it had depleted all of my energy, but the way he kept trying to justify his actions kept fueling the fire. I was tired of being lied to. I was tired of him disregarding my feelings about this whole situation, and not even trying to understand why I felt the way I did. I was tired of feeling like I had to fight to keep my place in his life. I don’t even remember why I agreed to stay over at his place tonight. I should’ve just gone home.

“Don’t...don’t say that. Please. Your voice makes it sound like you’re giving up.”

“Maybe I am Matthew. This was a mistake. I’m going home.”

“No…no no no. Don’t say things like that, please. Look don’t…don’t go. Please, Y/N. It’s late and you’re upset and I...I don’t want you out walking the streets alone right now-”

“I don’t really care what you want right now.”

Matt quickly snatched my overnight bag out of my hands as soon as I reached for it and tossed it across the room with annoying accuracy. I futilely shoved at his chest when he grabbed onto my arms and pulled me in close, but it was no use. He was a lot stronger than I was, and on top of that I was exhausted. I didn’t have any fight left in me for tonight, and there was no escaping the cage of his embrace.

“Please let go.”

“I can’t. I can’t, sweetheart. I need you, please. Look I fucked up, okay? I know that. I fucked up and I’m so sorry. I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say that, but I am. Just...please don’t leave. I love you, Y/N. Let me..let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much I love you.”

My eyes widened as the words dripping with suggestion left his mouth. I tilted my head back and stared up at him dumbfounded, a humorless laugh leaving my lips as I managed to find a surge of strength to push as hard as I could at Matt’s chest and finally shove him backwards.

“Are you fucking joking? You have some goddamn balls, Matthew Murdock. Are you seriously asking me for sex right now? You think that’s gonna fix this?”

“I’m not asking, I’m offering. I know you need it.”

“You don’t know anything. What the hell makes you think I want anything to do with you right now? Why would I even want to kiss you, knowing all I’m going to be able to taste is her.”

Matthew Murdock was one cocky son of a bitch, and his audacity never ceased to amaze me. He clenched his jaw slightly as spite flowed from my lips, hands balling up into tight fists at his sides as he let out a controlled deep breath. His features morphed into an expression of distress as he took slow calculated steps closer towards me and inhaled, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. His eyes were a shade darker when they opened and his tongue quickly darted out to swipe across his bottom lip as he squared his shoulders. I knew that look, and it caused a shiver to cascade down my spine. 

“Then why don’t you let me have a taste, hm? I don’t want you to taste anything else on my tongue except yourself. I don’t want to taste anything else but you.”

Matt tilted his head to the side slightly, his blank honey eyes fixated right in my direction, trying to sense anything that would give me away. He waited silently to taste the effect of his words in the air as they began to seep from my core, and feel the rise of heat that flushed across my chest and the tops of my cheeks. He waited for the anger to dissipate into desire. Matt Murdock was not a very patient man, but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was when it came to outsmarting his prey. He set the trap, and waited for me to fall into it. He knew I would. It had been too long, and he knew me too damn well. Matt always knew how to melt the icy barrier I hid beneath, rendering me a needy puddle in his capable hands. The twitch of his jaw and fleeting uptick of his lips let me know he had gotten exactly what he was waiting for.

“I can smell you, sweetheart. Your need...your want. It’s palpable. I can feel it in my own veins. I can practically taste you from here. It’s been what…two weeks? Two weeks since I’ve touched you. I haven’t been paying attention to you like I should have been. I haven’t been very good to you lately. I’ve been neglecting you, and I’m so sorry for that. Please...let me make up for it. Use me.”

Use me.

My mouth suddenly felt dry as it clicked in my brain exactly what he meant. Matt knew what he was doing. I was a sucker for his voice, especially when he used his “devil” voice on me, and he never hesitated to use it to his advantage. He knew it would make me crumble. It always did. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted, how to win. He masked every single one of his sinful words behind that velvet voice, and I loved it. Matt took my silence as an invitation to move even closer, his voice becoming dangerously low as he spoke.

“You don’t have to touch me. You can have my fingers, my mouth, whatever you want. I can feel how frustrated you are. I know how badly you need this. So let me help. Take it all out on me. Use me, sweetheart.”

I felt like I was being pulled in a million different directions in my head. A tiny, logical piece of my brain wanted me to smack him. It was yelling at me to not give in. To instead tell him to fuck off, get my things, and just go. The other part of my brain wanted me to just call it a night. Just let go of all the anger, try to get some sleep, and discuss the future of our relationship in the morning when we were both level headed. But both of those thoughts were completely drowned out by the ache beginning to throb uncomfortably between my thighs.

I was just as sexually frustrated as I was...well...regularly frustrated. I couldn’t remember the last time Matt had kissed me, or touched me, or even told me he loved me. He had been so busy lately, I felt like we only saw each other in passing like forgotten ships in the night. My body yearned for him. He knew it better than anyone, sometimes even better than I did. He always knew what I needed. 

My renegade eyes traveled over Matt’s exposed muscular chest as I got lost in my inner turmoil, paying extra attention to how his sweatpants and briefs hung treacherously low on his hips. I had spent so many moments mapping out every inch of his skin and every visible scar with my fingers and tongue. If I focused really hard, I could feel the tautness of his abs on my fingertips from whenever he got close to releasing in my mouth. I could hear the gravel in his voice as he whispered vivid dirty details of his plans for me into my ear. I could taste the tanginess of my own release on his lips as he kissed me after bringing me to climax with his skilled tongue.

I felt a warm rush of arousal pool between my thighs. The soft groan that exuded from Matt’s lips let me know he had noticed it. He always knew when I was wet for him. I could never hide from him. His tongue swiped along his bottom lip as he stared just above me, his fists tightening at his sides so hard his bruised knuckles were stark white. I know he wanted nothing more than to rush forward and take me, fuck it all out, and beg for forgiveness when he finally sent me over the edge...but he stayed still. Matt had always been the dominant one in our relationship, and I liked it that way. I never knew I could find so much freedom in completely giving myself over to someone. I trusted Matt. I loved when he took control. I craved being submissive to him, so much so that it would have been embarrassing if it weren’t so fucking satisfying. I didn’t know if I had it in me to be the one in control, especially not with the headspace I was in. I was desperately grasping at the frayed edges of my anger, but the way he was staring at me with those ravenous wild eyes had me letting go without a second thought.

“I..I don’t..I’m not sure if I..”

Matt reached out to gently take my hand into his, brushing his thumb over the back of my knuckles and giving it a soft squeeze. Somehow he always understood me, even when I couldn’t get the words out. He just knew. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you. I got you, sweetheart.”

Matt slowly sunk down onto his knees in front of me, head tilted back to keep his gaze up towards my face. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as he hooked his index fingers under the seam of my panties, pulling them down my legs carefully as he brushed his fingers tenderly along the back of my knee and the side of my calf. He turned his head slightly to place a chaste kiss to my inner thigh and I felt him smile against my skin when I let out an involuntary whine. He tapped my ankle lightly to signal for me to step out of my panties, balling them up into his hand and shoving them into the pocket of his sweatpants. 

Matt placed several more scorching kisses up the expanse of my legs and over my thighs as he slowly rose up from his knees, towering over me once he stood to his full height. He gestured his head towards the bed and began to walk backwards.

“Come here.”

I watched him in confusion as he took his place on the bed, glancing down at the spot on the floor in front of me where he had just been.

“What…what um...”

“You’re gonna ride my face.”

I nearly choked on my own spit, my eyes widening in shock as I watched Matt move to lay flat on his back on the mattress. Matt Murdock was no stranger to eating me out. Sometimes I think he enjoyed it almost as much as I did. There were times I had to practically pry him away, nearly in tears from overstimulation because he just kept going and going and going. He’d had his face buried between my thighs countless times, but never like that.

“W-What?”

“You’re gonna sit on my face, you’re gonna ride my tongue until you come, and you’re gonna keep going until you feel satisfied. If you wanna go all fucking night, we will. You don’t stop until you get what you need.”

Even though he was offering to let me take control, there was still a dominant edge to his voice that made my knees weak. Matt reached his hand out for me to take, his eyes blankly moving back and forth as he waited to sense my presence come near. I was frozen with apprehension. I wanted it, God did I want it, but I was nervous. I had seen a picture of Elektra once. We looked nothing alike, figure wise. I had a very curvy figure. I had wider hips and thick thighs, and while I knew Matt was very strong, I also knew I would die of embarrassment if I had to explain how I nearly suffocated my boyfriend from trying to ride his face for the first time.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

I blinked a few times as I stared over at Matt, taking a few cautious steps forward until I stood next to the bed. I reached out slowly to grab onto his hand and swallowed thickly when he tugged me closer, pressing a reassuring kiss to each of my knuckles.

“Don’t think so hard. Just come here and let me make you feel better, please.”

I tried to let go of all my trepidation with a deep exhale, capturing my bottom lip between my teeth as I climbed up onto the bed. I let go of Matt’s hand momentarily to pull my oversized sleep shirt over my head so that it wouldn’t get in the way. I swung my leg over Matt’s waist and straddled his chest. He quickly grabbed onto my hips and pulled me up further with impressive speed, causing me to gasp and brace my hands against the wall.

“Jesus, Matt. Slow down.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I just...fuck...can you get up here? Please, baby?”

I wasn’t used to Matt sounding so needy. That was usually my role. I was always the one begging for him…begging for more. Hearing how desperately he wanted to taste me sent a tidal wave of lust dripping down my thighs, and Matt growled lowly in his throat at that. His fingertips dug roughly into the soft flesh of my thighs and his hips bucked upwards slightly. I stared down at him in awe, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride and confidence from the way he was reacting. 

“Sweetheart...please...I’m begging you. Let me make you come until you can’t walk. Come on angel...be a good girl for me and come ride my face, yeah? Let me show you how much I want you. Only want you.”

Between his strained begging and the way he moved his head to get closer to where I was soaked, I couldn’t take it anymore. My pussy seemed to have a mind of its own because before I could stop myself, I was settling my knees on either side of Matt’s head and bracing my hands onto the wall to steady myself, preparing to lower myself languidly. Matt however had other plans. In an instant, Matt had a bruising iron grip on my thighs and had roughly pulled my soaking cunt down on his face. One of my hands immediately flew down to grip at his hair as I moaned loudly when I felt his tongue slip inside me. Matthew Murdock was extremely talented with his mouth, which made him an exceptional lawyer, but an even more sensational lover. 

His mouth was so warm as he ravaged me, and I felt myself already having a difficult time staying upright. Matt’s large hand came down hard against my ass and I cried out as it surged me forward, the action causing his nose to bump divinely against my clit as his tongue explored my pussy like it was the first time all over again. It took one more slap for me to get the hint and I slowly started to move my hips against his face. The muffled moan of approval that sounded beneath me only spurred me on to roll my hips back and forth delicately like an easy tide. I gripped tightly onto Matt’s hair and tugged hard which caused a groan to reverberate enticingly against my clit. 

I could feel him moving slightly around on the bed behind me and glanced over my shoulder to see him rolling his hips upwards into the air in time with my own pace. I could see the perfect outline of his impressive cock as it strained against the barrier of his sweatpants. There was already a wet patch forming which drove me even more crazy. He was really fucking enjoying this. It never failed to turn me on even further seeing how much Matt got off to getting me off.

My breaths became more jagged and struggled to be released from my chest the closer I got to the edge. I should’ve felt pathetic about being so close to coming undone so quickly, but it had been weeks. I whined loudly as I began to grind my hips down back and forth on his tongue, welcoming the burn of his facial hair rubbing roughly against my inner thighs. I had gotten so used to his touch that I felt like I was completely starving after two weeks without it. I hadn’t even bothered trying to get myself off because I knew it would be no use. I couldn’t come without Matt, not since the first night I let him touch me and make himself at home between my thighs. Nothing compared to him.

“M-Matty...oh god...please...”

Matt clamped both of his large hands down on my thighs to hold me in place, wrapping his plump lips around my swollen clit to suck on it feverishly. I could feel him moaning against my core and it only brought me closer and closer to where I wanted to be. It was so close...so fucking close. My entire body felt tense with anticipation as I waited impatiently to be tossed over the edge into pure ecstasy. It felt like a rubber band within me was being stretched impossibly thin, and I just needed it to fucking snap already. 

“Maaaatty…please please please..”

I don’t even know what I was asking for, but he knew. He always knew. Matt granted me mercy as he quickened the pace of his tongue, flickering over my clit like a flame trying to withstand the wind. He gently bit down on my sensitive nub, causing me to explode with pure bliss. I rocked my hips against his face messily as I kept my tight grip on his hair. A high pitched whine left my lips when I felt a growl rip through his chest as I finally came into his mouth. I glanced down just in time to see his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head from my taste hitting his tongue, a satisfied primal groan resonating against my core. Matt wouldn’t let me budge until he greedily lapped up every drop of nectar my body had to offer. My thighs shook aggressively as I tried to ride out one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had. My body felt entirely too heavy, and the only reason I hadn’t collapsed was because Matt was still holding me up. He detached his lips just for a split second, baring his teeth in menacing snarl.

“Go for another one, sweetheart. I told you…we can stay here all fucking night.”

I glanced down to see the lower half of Matt’s face completely coated in my glimmering wetness. His lips were swollen and red, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, panting as he tried desperately to catch his own breath. His hair was sticking up in odd directions from my hazardous gripping and his eyes were blown open so wide, I could see the devil in them, waiting for me to unlock his chains. I whimpered as I felt his tongue teasing at my folds, trying my hardest to pull away from his eager mouth.

“I..I c-can’t..ah fuck Matty…please…let me down...please...”

Matt grabbed onto my hips and lifted me up gently, helping me onto my back on the spot right beside him. My body was still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure when I felt the warm weight of his body on top of mine. His lips left a burning trail of kisses down the column of my neck, between the valley of my breasts, and along my lower stomach. I whined when I felt his warm breath wavering against my clit.

“Shh...let me take care of you, sweetheart. I’ll do all the work. Just lay back and let me make it better.”

“Matty...please. I just want you, please.”

I hadn’t forgiven him. I was still hurt and angry, and there was so much we needed to talk about. But right now, I just needed him. I needed to feel him. I needed to feel our bodies connected together, like they belonged to one another. I needed him to tell me everything would be okay as he held my hand and made love to me. I needed to know he was still mine. 

I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as he hovered over me and I grabbed onto his face to pull him down in a searing kiss. I could feel him sigh in content and relief against my mouth, sliding his hand under my back to pull me up closer so that could press our chests together. I could feel his heartbeat thundering against my own in a perfect symphony. As I pushed at the waistband of his sweatpants, he gently grabbed onto my wrist and broke the kiss to lean his forehead against mine.

“Sweetheart, I told you…you don’t have to touch me.”

“I need to, Matty. I need it, please. I need you.”

Matt stilled at my sobbing plea and brought one of his large hands up to brush the scattered tears away with his thumb, cupping my cheek in his hand as he gazed down at me in pure concern.

“Angel, what’s wrong? Talk to me. Was it too much? Do I need to stop?”

“No...no please don’t. I just...I need you, Matty. I need you here.”

“I am here, sweetheart.”

“I need you to stay here. You can’t...you can’t just ignore me for two weeks and then run off with someone else, Matt. You can’t do that to me...especially not with her. So...if this is it, then I want-”

“Hey, no. This is not it. Don’t talk like that. Listen to me...I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’ll never do that again, I swear. You mean everything to me, alright? I’m not going anywhere, sweet girl. I’m right here. And I don’t want you to worry about her. She’s on the first flight out of New York in the morning, okay? She’s not coming back. It’s just you and me, my love. I’m right here. I love you.”

“Then show me.”

I didn’t wait for him as I braced my palms against his broad chest and pushed with all the strength I had left, rising up onto my knees as I pushed him down onto his back. I ignored his faint protests, grabbing at the waistband of his briefs and sweatpants to tug them down in one swift motion as quickly as possible. I pressed my palm hard against his chest to keep him down when he tried to sit up, climbing onto his lap and positioning myself over his impatient cock. The tip was swollen with lust and weeping with need, standing proudly at attention above his stomach, waiting for me. I didn’t take my time to slowly lower myself down like I normally did. No matter how many times Matt had been inside me, ruined me, I always had to adjust to his size. 

We both cried out in unison when I sank down completely, and his hands flew up to seize my hips. Being on top always required the most accommodation, but I loved having him like this. I could feel him everywhere. All I wanted was to be completely filled to the brim and consumed entirely by him. I winced as the sting of my walls being stretched to their limits pierced through my lower half. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. Easy easy…don’t hurt yourself. We can take it slow-fuck!”

I ignored every single one of Matt’s words as I sat up straight and began to swivel my hips in purposeful circles. It burned, God did it burn, but I wanted it. I wanted it all. I didn’t know if I believed Matt’s words. I didn’t know if the love he had for me would ever compare to what he had felt for her, what he might still feel for her. I didn’t know that I believed tonight wasn’t it for us. But all that I wanted was a reminder, that this had been real. That Matt had been real, and he had been mine. I would take the pain willingly if it meant I’d be able to feel him for the next few days. I’d happily be haunted by the ache he left between my thighs to remind myself that this was real.

Every drawn out moan of my name that rang in my ears, every breathless pant, every plea of oh my god and every praise of fuck sweetheart kept me moving even though I felt like my legs were seconds away from giving up. I threw my head back towards the heavens, hoping God would understand my prayers and what I needed through the form of Matt’s name. On my knees above him, I prayed. And I prayed and I prayed and I prayed. 

I didn’t know if the tears falling freely down my cheeks were from being pushed to my limit physically, or mentally, but I cried out when Matt sat up fully to wipe them away from my cheeks, reaching farther inside me than I ever thought possible. I whined when I felt his hand wrap delicately around my throat, his thumb and index finger holding my chin in a firm grasp as he captured my lips. 

“Shh…it’s alright sweetheart. I’m here. I’m right here. Doing so well for me, angel. Always so good to me. Let me take care of you.”

Matt brought my arms up to wrap around his neck, grabbing my hips gently to flip our bodies over and lay me down into the sanctuary of silk covered pillows. He pulled my legs tightly around his waist, locking his own hips in place against mine. One hand came up to intertwine our fingers together, squeezing my hand in reassurance as he placed his other forearm directly beside my head. Pressing our foreheads together, brushing his nose and lips against mine, Matt began to oscillate his hips at a tender speed, allowing me to feel every detailed stroke of him against my tight walls.

“My perfect girl. Can’t you feel how perfect we fit together, Y/N? Can’t you feel how perfect you are for me?”

I couldn’t handle the vulnerability in his featherlight whispers. It tugged so hard on the strings of my heart, I thought they might snap. I tried to whisper his name, respond with something coherent, but all I could manage was a needy whimper. Matt let go of my hand for just a second, slipping his own between our bodies to press down on the bulge in my lower stomach.

“You can feel me here, can’t you sweetheart?”

I grabbed onto the back of his neck urgently, digging my nails into the muscle of his upper back to anchor him in place. I tried to nod, tried to hide my face into the refuge of his neck to escape his inexorable gaze, but he wasn’t having any of that. Matt’s hand was quickly covering my throat again, his hold on my chin a little tighter this time, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“I am not going anywhere. Nothing could ever take me away from you. Not her, not Fisk, no one. Not even God himself could keep me from you.”

His caramel coated eyes were staring so hard down into mine, it knocked the breath out of me. For a second, I felt like Matt could actually see me. His stare only grew in intensity as his thrusts became more precise. 

“Listen to me, sweetheart. You are mine. And I am yours. We belong to no one else, but each other. I’m gonna marry you someday, Y/N. Someday soon. I want nothing more than for you to be my wife, my perfect girl. My angel. There’s no one else I want by my side for the rest of my life. No one else who understands me better than you do. No one else that accepts me like you do. No one else that’s as good to me as you are. I will do whatever it takes to prove that to you. I will put a ring on your finger tomorrow. I will put a baby in you tonight.”

A sharp gasp mixed with a breathless moan echoed from my lips at Matt’s words. I knew Matt wanted to get married someday, and I always hoped it would be to me. We had very briefly had a conversation about kids once. He knew that I wanted them, and said that he did too. Someday. While marriage I knew we could make work, I wasn’t sure about the kids part. I didn’t know if I could handle having a child with him when he still needed the other side of him, and I didn’t know if he would ever know when he wouldn’t need that side of him anymore. It was a tricky conversation I wasn’t ready to try and navigate. I didn’t want to risk losing Matt, and I would never ask him to give up something that was so important to him. But the conviction in his voice, the certainty of his words, made me lightheaded. Matt tilted his head to the side slightly, a sense of recognition softening his gaze as a light smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“That what you want, sweetheart? Hm? That what you need? Taking my last name and growing our baby inside you to remind you every day that I’m yours?”

“Matty…”

“You want all of me, don’t you angel? C’mon, tell me. Tell me you want all of me.”

“I…God, Matty…want all of you, please.”

“I love you, Y/N. You love me, don’t you? C’mon baby, tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Matty. I, oh God, love you so much…”

“Say you’ll marry me. Gonna ask properly, I promise, but I need to hear you say it. Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Yes Matty…yes I’ll marry you.”

I knew Matt was listening intently to my heartbeat with every answer that spilled from me, searching for any falter in rhythm that would tell him I wasn’t telling the truth. That I was just obeying his orders. But I wasn’t lying. I meant every word. I knew that Matt knew that from the mouth splitting grin that took over his entire face.

“That’s my girl. My perfect girl. Now, tell me I can come inside. We can start our family tonight, sweetheart. C’mon, tell me you want it, and you’ll be pregnant before the sun comes up. Let me hear it, angel.”

“Please Matty, please. Please come inside me. I want our family. I want it all. Please Matty, make me yours.”

Matt tightened his grip slightly on my throat, silencing my cries of pleasure with his lips. His pace remained gentle and loving, but his thrusts were powerful and meticulous, relentlessly hitting that spot inside me that had me swimming in constellations that appeared behind my eyelids every single time. It didn’t take much longer for me to plunge from the peak of exhilaration, free falling into uninhibited gratification below that was completely and irrevocably Matt.

I felt tingles sparking throughout my extremities as my body spasmed in rolling blackouts of delectation, causing my walls to clench unforgivably around Matt’s cock. I could feel the rhythm of his hips stuttering into short, staccato bursts as he finally reached his own crescendo. The pure satisfaction entangled in the legato moans of his climax wrapped around me like a warm blanket, lulling me into a state of ease. For the first time all night, joy buzzed in my bloodstream, and I was able to silence the roaring of my insecurity.

Matt was here. Matt loved me. Matt was mine.

I hugged him as close and tightly to my chest as I could, refusing to unlock my legs from around his waist when I felt him start to pull back.

“Don’t, please. Just stay. Just wanna stay like this.”

Matt pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and allowed his lips to linger there for a moment before marking my nose, cheeks, and lips in his adoration. He nuzzled his head into my neck and I felt him inhale my scent deeply before sighing in content.

“Alright, sweetheart. We can stay like this.”

I basked in the comfortable silence for a moment, allowing my brain to process every single one of Matt’s words. I felt a childlike sense of giddiness, like when you were a kid and you knew you were getting the exact gift you wanted for Christmas. You had peeked, and spoiled it for yourself, but still felt unfiltered excitement anyway. The gift itself didn’t matter as much as the feeling of knowing that it was what you wanted and it was yours. 

Matt Murdock was my gift. The one thing I always wanted, the only thing that mattered, that was all mine.

I threaded my fingers lightly through his hair, occasionally massaging at his scalp and smiling at the hums of gratitude that vibrated against my neck. 

“Matty?”

“Hm?”

“You know I’m still on birth control, right?”

“I know, sweetheart. It doesn’t hurt to start practicing though, does it?”

I could feel his smile against my skin. If I closed my eyes, I could see it. I knew exactly which one it was. I couldn’t help but giggle at his response, tightening my arms around his back.

“Well, if that’s the case, then we’ve been practicing for over a year Matty. Sometimes several times a day.”

Matt pulled his head back just enough so that he could face me, bumping his nose against my own as a devilish grin stretched across his soft lips.