it's just a rumor

you told yourself it was a sick joke. you waited for him to come home.

weeks.

months.

nothing.

no explanation.

no goodbye.

just the sudden flood of network propaganda introducing their new star hunter, the enigmatic leader with the grey tactical mask, aviators, and that long dark coat.

as he became the network’s masked god, you were fired. rent was three months overdue, fridge empty. it was the kind of desperation that made a billion new dollar prize sounded like salvation.

even if it meant you would have to survive for 30 days by dodging the man who once knew every inch of your body.

you didn’t care that he was hunting people for sport now. you didn't care that you were now one of those people. you needed the money badly enough to run straight into his game.

it had been eight days.

the other two runners were already gone. one taken out by a civilian tip, the other by a hunter drone strike. you were the last one standing and the world was eating it up.

you knew why you were still alive.

you caught the way he redirected the pack with a tilt of his head when they got too close to your trail. how he let civilian tips on your location went cold before action. he was dragging this out. still protecting you despite everything. and it pissed you off more than anything else.

you slipped through the rain-drenched alleys of the old industrial district, heading for the shitty walk-up apartment you had claimed as a temporary hole. peeling paint, busted locks, no heat. but it was off the grid, no cameras.

you checked over your shoulder out of habit, spotting a shadow that had been following you since two blocks ago.

tall figure in a dark jacket, cap pulled low. no mask tonight. he didn't even try to hide anymore.

you clenched the knife in your pocket harder.

you reached the door, key scraping in the lock before you stepped inside. just as you were closing it, a hand slid between the space, stopping the door from slamming shut. he shoved himself inside before you could react, kicking it closed behind him.

you took out the knife in your pocket, aiming at his throat. “get the fuck out.”

evan stood there, cap thrown without care, jacket zipped down. rain dripped from him onto the cracked floor. his stubbles were thicker, grey eyes dark with faint scars decorating his face from whatever hell he went through after accepting that hunter contract.

he didn't reach for a weapon, just stared.

“i knew you were fucking following me,” you hissed, digging the knife deeper until a thin line of blood beads against his skin, pushing him against the wall.

he didn't flinch, hands raised slightly in mock surrender with that cool nonchalance you hated even when you loved him.

“smart girl. you always did have good instincts.”

“shut the fuck up.” you shove him harder against the wall, but he was stronger. always was.

he moved faster than you remember, catching your wrist, twisting it just enough to force the knife out from your fingers without snapping bone. it hit the floor with a clatter. you kneed him in the thigh, knuckle aiming for his jaw but he caught your arm, spinning you until your back hits the wall with a thud that knocked the breath from your lungs. he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other braced beside your face.

up close, he looked older. the exhaustion in his eyes he was trying to hide behind that mask he wears for the world.

“get off of me, you fucking bastard,” you thrashed, struggling against his grip. your body remembered him too well. the heat, the weight and it betrayed you with a traitorous spark low in your belly.

“not until you tell me why you’re really here,” he asked quietly, voice low and rough like it hadn’t been used for anything but orders in years. “why the hell did you join the show?”

you laughed, bitter and sharp. “why the fuck do you think, evan? i’m broke, you fucking asshole. money. survival. same reason you sold your soul to become their masked fucking poster boy.”

his fingers tightened around your wrists. “i took that contract for us. enough money to get you out of this dying country. new names, new life. i was gonna come back for you.”

“you ghosted me. cut me off like i was nothing. then went on tv wearing that mask, murdering people. and now when i’m in your way, you’re going easy on me? taking out the others first? don’t pretend that that's mercy. you just don’t want to pull the trigger yourself.”

something flashed in his eyes. anger? regret? you couldn't tell.

“you think i want you dead?” he asked, sounded more offended about that than you practically calling him a coward.

“you left me to rot. actions speaks louder.”

“i was trying to save you, goddamn it!” he snapped, voice taking on a higher octave. his eyes were wild, all that famous composure shattered.

“i couldn’t give the order. i redirected every sweep. i told them you weren’t worth the resources yet.”

“i don't need your help or your fucking guilt, evan. you knew i can survive this on my own, with or without you. you made your bed, fucking lie in it.”

the air between you crackled, thick with old emotions and something darker. you hated him. you hated how your body arched toward him without permission, how his proximity still set you on fire.

“you broke us,” you whispered fiercely. “you left me to rot in this hellhole. after everything that you promised me.”

“i know. i fucking know. and i hate myself for it every day.”

another pause. you exhaled deeply, exhausted. exhausted from running, hiding, from holding all these feelings bottled inside you for years and letting it all out to him didn't even make you feel any better.

“just kill me.” you sighed. “i’m tired. finish the job. do what they paid you for.”

he stared at you, chest heaving. the silence stretches, electric and violent.

then his mouth crashed into yours.

it wasn't gentle. it was teeth and anger and two years of pent-up everything. you moaned before biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, and he growled into your mouth, releasing your wrists only to grip your hips and grinded against you. your hands fisted in his jacket, yanking him closer even as you cursed him in between kisses.

“fuck you,” you gasped against his lips, nails scraping down his neck.

“yeah,” he muttered, hands sliding under your shirt, rough palms dragging over your skin like he was reclaiming what was his. “keep telling yourself that.”

his free hand dropped between your legs, cupping you roughly through your jeans. you hated how your hips rolled into his palm on instinct.

“look at you,” he murmured against your ear, fingers pressing the seam against your clit. “hate my guts, but dripping the second i touch you.”

you tried to knee him but he wedged his thigh between yours, pinning you harder. he shoved your pants and underwear down enough then shoved a finger inside your soaked heat without warning.

“jesus, listen to that,” he groaned, pumping slow and deep, curling just right. “so fucking wet you’re dripping down my hand. you hate me that much, huh?”

“shut the fuck up,” you gasped, even as your walls fluttered around his finger. “i hate you so fucking much—”

he added a second finger, stretching you, thumb grinding your clit in a ruthless motion.

“then why are you about to come all over my hand?” he demanded, pumping his fingers harder, faster. “why does this pussy still weep every time you see me chasing you?”

“because you ruined me— fuck—”

you sobbed, nails clawing his shoulders, hips grinding shamelessly as you slowly tried to reach your peak.

he chuckled against your ear. “you really tried to move on, huh? but this pretty pussy never forgot who it belongs to.”

“evan—” you gasped, hips chasing his hand.

“that’s it,” he cooed, voice velvet-rough. “come for me, baby. show me how much you missed this.”

you shattered. hard, violent, clenching around his fingers as pleasure ripped through you. he didn't stop. he pumped into you through it until you were shaking and oversensitive

only then did he pull his hand free, bringing his glistening fingers to your mouth.

“clean them.”

you bit him instead. he laughed, low and dark, shoving them past your teeth anyway. you moaned, swirling your tongue as you tasted yourself on his digits as he forced you to suck.

“good girl,” he praised and your pussy clenched around nothing. “still know how to take what i give you.”

you slapped him across the face.

hard.

enough to snap his head sideways.

he turns back slowly, cheek red, eyes blazing. “do that again and i’ll choke you while i fuck you raw.”

your pussy throbbed.

“do it,” you challenged, voice shaking with rage and want. “i dare you.”

he groaned, ripping your clothes then his own before he threw you on the bed, flipping you onto your stomach and yanked your hips up.

his hand wrapped around your throat instantly until your back met his chest. firm, possessive, cutting just enough air to make your pulse thundered. he took his cock, thick, flushed, already leaking and teased your slit.

“say it.” he demanded. “tell me how much this pussy wants to be ruined again.”

“i want it.” you replied almost immediately, already shaking. “please. fuck me.”

evan didn't waste any more time. he slammed into you in one slow, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

“still so fucking tight,” he grunted, releasing your throat. your body went limp, collapsing onto the mattress as he fucked you.

“two years and no one else stretched this cunt right, did they?”

“don’t flatter yourself—”

he stopped to slap your ass hard, the crack echoing. “lie to me again, i dare you.”

another slap, harder. you moaned despite yourself, body jerking forward before he drove into you again.

he leaned over you, chest to your back, hand sliding down to fist your hair and bring you up as he pounded deeper.

“say you’re mine.” he whispered into your ear, hand sliding down to rub your clit in unrelenting circles.

“no—”

he pulled out almost completely, hand leaving your hair then slammed back in so hard the bedframe cracked against the wall. “say it.”

“fuck you—”

he stilled, buried to the hilt, and you nearly sobbed from the loss of friction.

“say it, or i’ll leave you like this.

“you wouldn’t—”

he started pulling out, slowly, and you whimper.

“evan, move. you bastard—”

“say it.”

you broke, voice cracking. “i’m yours— god— i’m still yours— please, fuck me—”

he groaned in victory, hand again around your throat to pull you back to his chest and fucked you with his other hand rubbing your clit like he was trying to split you apart.

“do it. come on my cock, baby. come on.”

and you did, walls spasming around him with a cry that was half-sob, half his name.

he followed seconds later, thrusting deep and spilling inside you with a guttural “mine— fuck— you're mine.”

you collapsed trembling, his weight heavy on your back. his hand stays loosely around your throat, thumb stroking your pulse like a claim.

he didn't pull away immediately. just stayed there, forehead pressed to your back, both of you panting in the dim light.

“this doesn’t change anything,” you whispered

“i know.”

he finally stepped back, zipping up. you straightened, pulling on what was left of your clothes, avoiding his eyes.

“tomorrow,” he said quietly, heading for the door. “stay off the main grids. head east.”

‎"Oh!" she smiles, taking in my appearance, "you must be the rock star."

‎I chuckle, "ahhh," and brush my damp bangs out of my face, "I mean, if you say so."

‎The woman looks out into the tables and thinks, "hmm, most of the dates are paired up already..."

I look and find it to be true. That is— I perk and point, "what about him?"

She turns to whom I'm pointing to and freezes, "oh."

My brows quirk, "oh?"

"Christian Wolff," she turns back to me, "accountant."

"Oh," my lips curl as I watch him straighten up.

"He's..."

I turn back to her.

"... awkward. Painfully so."

My lips curl, "hot."

Her brows furrow at my reaction, "he... said he found a fomula for a perfect date, but it backfired. Hard."

I chuckle and smile at her, "sounds delicious."

Before she can respond, I am strutting over to him, clutching the handle of my bag in both hands.

I stop just beside his table, "hi."

He turns to me, hands atop a clipboard.

"You're Christian Wolff, correct?" I reach a hand and introduce myself.

He comes to a stand and I feel my belly drop when I find how tall he is. He shakes my hand, examining me, "you're wet."

I chuckle and bite my lip, "I am."

He doesn't react to how I tilt my head back and appraise him.

I chuckle again, "it rained out of nowhere. It's why I'm late."

"I see," he sits back down, turning to his clipboard, "you're not normally late for important events, are you?"

My brows raise but I end up chuckling once more when he looks back at me with a stoic expression. I shrug, "I try not to be. Being late makes me anxious."

He nods, "I feel the same," he motions across him, "please take a seat."

My lips curl in amusement, especially when I see a note he has on his clipboard: smile with teeth. "You come here often?" I raise a brow as I set my bag down.

"No," he scribbles something, "the Boise Romance Festival is an event held annually. This is my first time attending."

You smile, "cute." I begin to peel off my jacket.

He turns to me when I don't sit.

I mutter, "a little help?"

"Of course," he stands and pulls my jacket off with a swift motion. He stares at mostly exposed back, "you're very wet."

I fix my dress as I turn to him. I lick my teeth, "that I am."

I'm about to take the jacket from him but he hangs it behind my chair then pulls it out for me. I smile and gratefully sit, "thank you, baby."

I notice him tense slightly at the nickname, but he sits back down in silence.

"So," I fix my violet halter dress, leaning onto the table, "how did you get into accounting, Christian?"

"I like numbers," he straightens in his seat, flattening out his paper using the side of his ballpen.

"Huh," I tilt my head, "are you any good?"

"I'm excellent."

I giggle and nod once more, "I love the confidence."

His face twitches in thought, "it's a fact," he clears his throat, "I don't necessarily consider myself a confident person."

"Well," I rub my arm as a the cold makes me shiver, "you might not classify yourself as such, but the fact you know of your excellence is actually confidence."

Christian stills.

I offer a smile, "makes sense, no?"

"It is..." he nods, "logical."

I giggle, "huzzah."

He looks down and skims his paper, "it says here you work in the entertainment industry."

"Yes, I do." I smile.

"Do you have a managing label?"

"No," I furrow my brows, "I mostly post my work online, but I perform wherever I can, whenever I can."

He nods and scribbles.

I lean into the table, trying to get a glimpse of what he's written.

"Your career instability makes me attractive to you."

I freeze, eyes widening.

He looks up at me, "do you-"

I burst into laughter, leaning into the table with my hand over my mouth.

Christian tenses as my giggles spill over. His lips twitch into a smile, trying to mirror the mood, though he, in truth, knew not what was so amusing.

I wipe a tear from my eye and catch my breath, "hmm, yeah," I chuckle, "I'm actually looking for a sugar daddy."

If it were possible, he tenses further.

"Are you interested in that?" I sigh and lean further into the table.

It was then that he notices my cleavage.

His face begins to turn pink; it only makes me laugh again.

He clears his throat, "I- I-"

"I'm joking," I grin and raise a hand, "I'm messing with you."

Christian's surprised expression flares before he breaks into an awkward and nervous laugh, "ah," he chuckles rigidly, "I see. I'm not very good with jokes."

I tilt my head and lean back on my chair, "really? I didn't notice."

He adjusts his clipboard, "social cues and humor are my weak suit..." he looks back at me, "I'm not very funny."

"I disagree," I shake my head, "I think you're very funny— deliciously so. I could eat you right up."

"..."

I grin.

"... I'm not sure of the metaphorical implications of your words."

I snort as another shiver runs down my spine. I rub both my arms, "I'll be unmistakably direct then. I do, in fact, find you attractive," I shrug, "and yeah, sure, partially because of your accountant money-"

He adjusts his tie.

I laugh at it, "- but mostly, it's because I like..." I think for a moment.

Christian tilts his head in expectation.

"Silly boys," I decide to say.

His face subtly contorts, but I notice.

I lean my head on my hand, "you're very awkward and seemingly disconnected, and yet," I motion to his clipboard, "you're clearly very thoughtful."

He merely looks.

"And honest," I smile, "I don't think I'd have to guess with you. I could just ask."

He clenches his jaw and offers a soft smile.

My brows quirk, "am I right?"

"I..." he pulls his smile wider, "in fact, don't make a habit of lying."

I nod and tap his clipboard, "do your notes conclude mutual attraction, accountant?"

His brows quirk. He is taken slightly off-guard, judging by how he takes the thing, eyes shifting between me and the paper, "I-" he clears his throat, "we have compatible interests, such as music and art-" he flips the paper, "you enjoy travelling with an itinerary, which I too find pleasant—"

My laughter cuts him off.

He looks up at me for a moment, then looks back down, "you also-"

"I just need a yes or a no."

Christian's gaze lifts.

I smile, "you might have learned to sugar coat to an extent, but you won't need to do that for me. I prefer directness actually."

He nods, "as do I."

"Good," I raise my brows, "yes or no then," I raise a finger, "pinkie promise I won't be offended if it's a no."

He stares at my pinkie for a moment then looks back at me, "I-"

I cut him off by bringing my pinkie nearer.

Reluctantly, he wraps his pinkie around mine.

My heart races at his flustered expression.

"Yes... I find you very attractive."

I press my lips together, "very attractive, you say?"

His jaw feathers.

"It's settled then," I pull away and pat the table, "you should ask me out."

"..."

I pout, "you do want to ask me out, right?"

"I..." he thinks then nods, "I do."

I encourage him with a motion.

"... ... I..." he rolls his shoulders back and adjusts his tie, "... would like to ask you out on a date?"

I laugh and lean into my hand. I then straighten up and sigh, nodding as I did, "I would absolutely love to, baby."

Christian's brows quirk when I come to a stand.

"We should have that date now," I look over my shoulder, "although it might still be raining."

My breath catches in my throat when I stands in front of me.

I look up at him, a soft smile on my lips, "you wouldn't happen to have any rainy date ideas, would you?"

"... how about dinner?"

I tilt my head and cross my arms, "where?"

He hums and looks away in thought, "there's a Greek restaurant nearby."

I hum, "Greek food it is then," I motion to the table, "do you mind grabbing my things for me? My bag's kind of heavy though."

"Not at all," he promptly takes my things "I am quite strong."

My brows quirk as I watch him gather his things next, "that you are, darling."

"I can carry this for you, if you like."

A gentle flurry begins to build in my belly, "I'd like that very much. Thank you."

"Don't y-" he stops himself when he sees me walking off. He quickly follows after me and clears his throat, fearing I'd forgotten about what we just agreed over. He calls my name and I give him a soft hum. He continues, "don't you want to talk to the other participants to better apprise your decision?"

My lips curve as I turn back to him. I shake my head, "if you're good at numbers, then I'm good at people."

He looks down when I adjust his collar.

"And I know what I want," I mutter.

He gulps.

"Isn't that nice?"

Summer | Middle-of-Nowhere, Germany | 13:01 PM

A red Alfa Romeo Spider drove down bending and twisting country roads before they turned to dirt and gravel. The roof was open, your hair blowing away in the wind from underneath your sunhat. The sun was warm against your skin as you changed gears and parked the car behind a wall of trees before grabbing your leather bag from the boot of the car and slinging it over your shoulder.

With a slam and a beep, the car lights dimmed and you trekked through the rocky terrain before entering an opening in the trees, a small pond sat in the middle, a pair of ducks swimming and ruffling their feathers in the shallow waters as you knelt down behind a fallen tree and zipped open your gear.

A few cicadas hummed in your ears as your forrest green pants became brown at the knees from the wet earth. The bottom of your designer boots ruined but you couldn't find it in yourself to wince, knowing how easy it would be to just buy a new pair when you arrived back to your hotel room.

Taking off your sun glasses, allowing them to hang from the unbuttoned portion of your creme shirt before sorting through the bag, you pulled out various 3D printed pieces of a medium-distance rifle and laid them out atop the log.

Attaching the grip to the slide with a satisfying click, you twisted on the barrel and flicked back the safety on the gun before lifting it up to look down the sights and pulled back the trigger. You could hear the scream of the bullet and the muffled bag ringing through your bones as you brought the handle back to your chest, observing your skewed shot with a grunt.

Flicking the safety back on, you pulled out a roll of leather that held your tools all nicely in a line as you tinkered with the finishes that matched the diagram floating through your head. Standing up and reading yourself for another shot, your squinted your eyes to a branch threatening to fall before taking aim, flicking back the safety, and firing... bullseye.

The branch crashed, the ducks from earlier taking upwards and into the clear blue skies as the cranked your head to the side, pondering for a moment before tucking the empty gun into the back waist of your pants.

You grabbed and built the remainder of the weapons you wanted to test this afternoon ahead of your biggest mission yet in Munich. You never would have thought this to be your future, setting up an illegal firing range and testing not-to-code weaponry in the middle of a field in Germany but you were left with little choices as your husband divorced you, your family not wanting anything to do you- and it seemed that MI6 had the same thoughts. Abandoning you in the Middle East back in the early two thousands.

You work with a silent rage, eye twitching as you remember calling out from your microphone only to receive a soft apology from your handler, and then nothing... left stranded in the middle of a desert.

You remember stripping yourself of your badges, your gear, and only carrying what food and water your could carry with a small handgun hidden beneath your ripped shirt. You let your past self die in that desert, stealing from house to house, and hitchhiking, pleading and acting like your were some kidnapped tourist.

You could only scoff once reading the headlines of your platoon being "dead" when you hacked into their servers a few weeks later as you started taking on private work. The document read that you, weapons engineer and expert were "missing" and consequently, all your brothers and sisters had all died from a failed mission and planted IED. But you knew the truth... They left me out there to die. And ever since then, you worked for only yourself, and not even your morals- whatever it takes, you reminded yourself, firing off shot after shot, sweat dripping off your temples and soaking into your shirt, whatever it takes.

─────── · ·

Meanwhile in Munich, Germany...

Alexander sat on the couch within his hotel room, all the blinds closed, stopping the daylight from entering the room besides a few strands coming from the gaps, casting horizontal lines across his form.

He wore a simple tan linen suit to account for the warming temperatures, a handkerchief wrapped around his neck for an added flair. A pair of tasteful leather loafers on his feet to match his belt, his hair combed back into subtle waves as he squinted at the laptop screen, reading over a report he had requested from an old contact that read:

"Callsign: Veil. Known for having "many-faces;" master of disguise, manipulation, and seduction. Ex-military weapons engineer and weapons expert. Presumed Dead: Cause of Death: IED."

Alexander scoffed after reading that last sentence, he knew you to be alive, saw it himself when he too was running through the desert after killing his own team, leaving only his spotter alive to survive alongside side him. Duggan needed you, your expertise and abilities if he was to succeed on this next mission, one that could potentially set him up for life...

He was obsessed with finding you for weeks up until today, stalking any minuscule fault you made. Dressing up as cleaning staff and butlers to get even a potential glimpse of one of your many faces as he pinned-pointed and tracked each identity you used. And how did, the Jackal, know these people to be you? One may ask... well, the Jackal smiled to himself, finger tracing over your covered face as you cosplayed as lawyer within the airport footage. A suitcase in your hand that he smirked at before looking at his matching one, knowing the work to be your own that his current employer gifted him.

You two had worked alongside one another many years ago when you both were in training and served.

CHAT ROOM OPENED:

"$*^4^78&" said: 2005, Platoon 274, Palm Hotel. Trust. Business Opportunity.

Now all that was left to do... was wait. Something that the Jackal was exceptional at, but when it came to you, he could be described as most anxious for those who had the pleasure of viewing it beneath the five layers of coldness he hardened his features into.

─────── · ·

Munich, Germany | 7:48 PM

Your newest weaponry had worked beautifully, seven clear shots all placed right between the eyes as you walked through the crowd of running and screaming museum goers from the charity event as best as you could in your nine-inch heels.

Your deep blue silk dress carrying after you as the cold night air kissed the skin of your leg through the slit. The shawl you wore covered the wound you sustained when pushed onto a pile of glass shards. You held a panicked face, looking around as you followed the various officers yelling out directions and walked back to a nearby hotel room, the staff offering their condolences and not even taking a second look as you stepped into the elevator and broke into a random room on one of the upper floors you thought to be empty thanks to the cleaning cart blocking the doorway.

And the room was barren, blinds down and not a single item used or removed, perfect. Locking the door behind yourself, you flicked on the bathroom light and began removing parts of your prosthetic cheek "implants" and lips. The wig you wore discarded as you washed your face clean and felt around for a hand towel. Fingertips gracing the soft material you pressed it to your face, make-up smearing onto the white before looking up through the foggy mirror to find another standing just beside you, meeting your eyes through the reflection.

Instantly you hook your foot around their ankle yet feeling themself falling they pull your arm down with them as you both crash onto the tiled for. You make no reaction, watching as the mans face slams against the marble as you hike your leg over his waist and press your hands around his neck. He grabs your hips tightly, trying to throw you off as he starts to cough yet you squeeze your thighs tighter together as he curses and groans before pushing to the side- rolling you underneath him as he pins your hands above your head with a glare.

Mascara dripped down your eyes, lipstick smeared and cheeks warming, you spit at his face only for him to wipe it off with a cheeky grin by the back of his suit. "Civilized aren't you?" the man belittles you as you scoff in return.

"Let go of me," you do not plead yet demand, baring your teeth, eyes sharp as he leans down closer to your face. "Are you willing to talk?"

"Depends, you'll have to let go first to see," you counter, trying to blow the hair out of your face as they reach down to tuck it behind your ear- you shiver in disgust. "And why would I do that, knowing someone like yourself?" He tilts his head slightly, eyes searching your own, awaiting your response with sick eagerness that makes you feel sick to your stomach.

"And just who am I?" you ask, giving him an equal stare as you feel the grip on your wrists slightly loosening but before you can move, he places more of his bodyweight atop you, keeping you in place.

"Veil," he says as if an obvious thing like the weather, "weapons-smith, master engineer, ex-MI6..." he rattles off your resume off-the-top of his head as you furrow your brows, they must have been- or are a high officer, you think to yourself, knowing your files to still be accessible to a degree but what shocks you to your core is his next words, "...and 2005, Platoon 274, Palm Hotel, it's been quite the show, watching you, and is an equal delight seeing you this close." You shiver.

For once in your life, you are greatly disturbed, stopping all your sudden movements as you take in his appearance, trying to analyze and pick apart his image before he takes your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "Now, I'm going to ask again. Are you going to behave if I let go? Or must I strap you to a chair for your own wellbeing?"

You let out a deep sigh before batting your eyelashes and putting on a soft smile, "You know, I don't remember the last time I had a man on me. I wouldn't mind staying like this," you tease, offering a small giggle. Alexander hums, "Is that so, well then let us get comfortable..."

With every play you put on, he follows along, casting the line that much further from the shore. A competition of play happens between the two of you, switching between characters, accents and languages. Breaths becoming ragged before he lets you go.

You lie there for a minute, trying to catch your breath before looking up at him and taking his extended hand. Feeling a bit dizzy, you wobble in your shoes as Alexander stabilizes you, leading you towards the couch as you settle yourself, carefully observing his every movement as he pulls a suitcase you instantly recognize to be a work of your own.

Feeling your stare he calls from over his shoulder, "I am a man in awe of your talents." And in that moment a memory flickers over your vision, a young man with dusty hair and sun-kissed cheeks. Camouflage prints running up muscled arms and legs- you shake your head awake. Squinting at the man before you as he stands, suitcase in hands looking down at you.

"Cat got your tongue- hm?" the graduate of your sniping school year presses. "fuck you, Alex," is all you can spit out as you sort thought the onslaught of thoughts as your hands rip the luggage from his hands.

Alex takes a seat beside you, arm casting over the back of the couch, fingers just barley touching your shoulder as you tinker and fix the weaponry before you. You feel his stare as you silently work, dropping a screw by his next carefully chosen words, "good to see you again, (first/name) (last/name). My favourite face of them all."

You glare down at the screw, working your hands around the furnishings to fish it out before carrying on as if nothing happened. "How would you feel about a business opportunity?" You pause your work once more with a huff, annoyance growing as your shoulders rise and you cast a glare his direction.

"I'll stop here if you are not going to pay me for my work here-"

"Not even a deal for an old friend-"

"Alexander" you growl out his name, hating the way he smiles every time you say his name.

"Yes, you'll get payed for this busywork and for a new job, if you'll take it."

"What is it?"

"How does a quarter of a billion sound?"

"Perfect."

─────── · ·

part one | part two

You lead him back to a hotel room. Your hotel room, though not for much longer. The people who had hired you paid for everything, and once they heard you had betrayed them, they would eventually be able to track you down. The faster you left, the better.

The Jackal kept you in his sight the entire time, staring into the back of your head as if he was trying to cut a hole right through it.

It’s not like I would have hurt him anyways, you thought mulishly, poking your tongue into your cheek, troubled. Your mind had already been made up before you had even stepped into the room.

You could never hurt him.

As you walked into the room, he stalked past you and started examining everything, keeping an eye on you all the same.

“It’s clean,” you offered, but he only shot you a side glance, not bothering to acknowledge you had said anything. You worked hard to keep yourself from letting the hurt show on your face.

Instead, you ask: “Married?” 

Trying to lighten the mood, you couldn’t help but notice the ring on his finger. By the way his face tightened, you knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“Divorced,” he muttered. “You?” he added, as an afterthought.

“No,” you shook your head. You had thought about it once, a long time ago, but it never worked out. You simply could not stop thinking about him.

The Jackal sat down next to you on the bed, done with his search. He was close, closer than you would imagine comfortable. This close, you could see every freckle and mark on his face.

You are definitely not complaining.

“Her loss,” you whispered. At his questioning glance, you clarified: “Your wife.”

The tips of his fingers brushed over yours and you shivered.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No, it was my fault. She deserved better than me.”

His eyes flickered shut as he leaned in closer. You could feel his breath on your face.

“Probably,” you agreed, tilting your head away to admire the earlier hickey you had left. He blinked a couple of times, confused by the sudden distance you had put between them. Then you pressed your hand into the purple mark, and he hissed and pulled away. 

He went to lean against the headboard and you followed him, climbing into his lap. His hands immediately found your waist even as he tried to push you away.

Instead, you only pressed his hips against his, hands caging him in on either side of the headboard.

“Come on, J,” you crooned. “Don’t you miss this?”

“You tried to kill me!” He snapped. “Forgive me if I’m not so forthcoming.”

You frowned. “You were literally all up in my business not even five seconds ago. Besides, if I wanted you dead, then I wouldn’t have announced my presence,” you cupped his cheek as gently as possible. You couldn’t stop looking at his freckles. “I was never going to kill you.”

He paused, eyes threatening to flutter shut at your touch. Then he pushed you away again, seemingly remembering why he was mad at you. “Then why did you take the job in the first place?”

You resisted, pressing your forehead against his. “I was trying to protect you,” you said mockingly slowly, as if trying to make him understand something very simple. His cheeks reddened with humiliation and anger. “I knew that taking the job would give you some time. And the only reason I threatened you was because I thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore.”

The end of your words turned into a soft whine, and you nosed his face into his. Your thumb pressed past his lips and into his mouth, gagging him. His tongue immediately met your thumb, swirling around it on instinct. You moaned, kissing the edges of his mouth.

“Get off,” he managed to mumble through his make-shift gag, saliva dripping past his chin.

“Alexander,” you murmured. “Look at me.”

His name, his real name, snapped him out of the lustful haze your actions had put him into. It had been so long, how had you even remembered that? He should have never told you.

He pushed you away and you finally relented, letting him throw you back onto the mattress and climb on top of you.

“Fuck you,” he said, before swooping down and capturing your lips with his.

The kiss was hot and searing, and you could feel his large hands feeling up your body.

“That’s the idea, J,” you mumbled into his mouth, running your own hands up his back and tugging on his shirt. You needed him naked. Now.

He pulled away, biting your bottom lip as he went, tugging his shirt above his head. You watched from beneath him, admiring the ways his abs flexed before he dropped his hands and caged you in between them.

“You look nice,” you breathed, your hands creeping up his chest. “Ah… I remember this. But the background was different. Ah-!”

J buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting down harshly onto the soft skin there. At the same time, his hand slipped down your pants and underneath your panties, finding the growing wetness between the apex of your thighs.

“It… it was something like,” you sighed as he slipped two fingers inside, “a desert scene? R-remember that, J? Fuck!”

He curled the fingers inside you, his free hand making a large bruise the way it pressed into your waist so tightly. He kissed up your neck and jaw and eventually found your mouth, muffling the words that couldn’t help but spill out.

He remembered it too. The Al-Qaeda operation, the wedding party, the car bomb. You had been a junior sniper working with his team, and he could not help but notice the way your quiet gaze kept falling on him. You met him in his room that night, slipping past the door silently. You weren’t so quiet then, and you weren’t so quiet now.

When he killed the rest of his team, he let you live.

Maybe it was a mistake to do that. But the way the moans kept falling from your mouth, he wasn’t in any position to regret his decision. His thumb pushed at your clit, circling it faster as your voice grew to a higher pitch, as moans and gasps filled the air quicker. He swallowed your sounds as they came out, not letting you get in any air.

The hand holding your waist came to rest at your neck. It was so thin, so easy to just wrap his fingers around it and choke the life out of you. He began to apply pressure, just the tiniest bit, but the way your breath hitched, he knew that you knew the power he had right now.

Your chest heaved up and down against his. Dimly he realized that he had neglected to take off your blouse and bra.

He pulled away slightly, continuing his circular movements on your clit. A thin strand of saliva connected your mouths, and he broke it with a soft flick of his tongue. The hand on your neck tightened, and you released a strangled groan. 

You were vulnerable. Completely at his mercy.

But you found that you didn’t mind. You wanted it. A relationship with him, one in which you could trust that he wouldn’t hurt you, the same way you could never bring yourself to hurt him. 

The pressure on your neck furthered, and your hands instinctively went to his wrist, gripping it tightly. He stared into your eyes. You could feel the wave of pleasure in your stomach growing, legs twitching subconsciously, tightening around the hand in between your thighs.

“P-please…” you managed to choke out, arching your back and rolling your eyes as the pleasure passed the precipice and washed over, stringing your body taut before allowing it to collapse into what felt like a melting puddle.

His hand left your neck, brushing over the dark bruise he had left behind. Something in him felt vindicated, glad to have caused you pain. He kissed the deepest part of the bruise, smiling against your skin as you inhaled sharply at the touch. 

You bring your hands to brush through his hair, gripping it tightly to pull him away from your neck, half heartedly throwing him away. He rolled off, groaning, painfully hard.

“Give me a moment,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath. Wow. “Fuck.”

“Good?” He asked.

You nodded, before realizing he probably couldn’t see it. You let your hand find his instead, squeezing it. He sighed.

“I need to go take a cold shower,” He said, moving to get up.

By some miraculous show of strength, you managed to sit up before him and pressed your hand against his abdomen, shoving him back down.

“No. We’re not done yet.”

He stared at you as you swung your leg over his lap, hovering above him. His face was still flushed red, making his dark freckles stand out against his skin. His eyes flicked from between your face to where his erection made a tent in his pants.

“Ok,” he muttered. “Take off your shirt.”

You obeyed immediately, fingers thumbing to undo the buttons on your blouse. The Jackal watched you hungrily, hands coming back to hold onto your waist. They were burning hot against your now bare skin, moving up your spine to unclip your bra and let your breasts free.

He cupped them; the heat making you gasp as you worked to take off your pants. You managed to get them to hang at your knees, finally sitting down on his lap and pressing against his clothed cock.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips pressing upwards.

You circled your hips, mouth falling open at the stimulation to your clit. It was still overly sensitive from his fingers earlier, and the roughness of his jeans did nothing to help soothe it.

“I need your cock in me,” you moaned. “Please.”

The Jackal let out a strangled sound at your words, managing to sit up and push down his pants. His cock sprang free, nudging against your soaking wet panties. You grinded against him, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his back muscles.

He pulled at the band of your panties, allowing them to snap back against your skin. One of your hands finds itself back in his hair, pushing his face into your chest. You can feel him grinning, a low laugh rumbling from his throat.

Finally, finally, he lined up his cock with your pussy and pushed inside. Your mouth fell open in a small ‘o’ at the feeling of complete fullness. He was burning you up from the inside.

He pressed kisses to your bare skin, face still buried in your chest as he kept his hips moving against yours. Pleasure began to build up in you once more, and you knew by the soft grunts and moans that fell out of the Jackal's mouth, he was close too. 

“Inside,” you whimpered, clutching onto him so tightly you wouldn't be surprised if he wouldn't ever be able to separate from you. “P-please.”

You raised your hips, his cock slipping out completely, before slamming back down. Your lips met, more clashing teeth than a kiss. His tongue consumed the inside of your mouth, stealing away your breath as you came once more.

Still riding the high, you had enough sense to realize he had also come, just seconds after you, cum filling you and dripping out slightly. 

You swayed slightly, and the both of you fell to the side, his cock still inside you.

Your chest fell up and down. The Jackal shifted closer towards you, placing his head back in the valley of your breasts. Your hand immediately comes to his hair to keep them there.

The two of you lay like that for a while, before you groaned.

“We need to go,” you muttered.

The Jackal mumbled something you couldn't hear. You begin to get up, but he doesn't move, the heavy weight forcing you to flop back down. 

“J,” you patted his back.

“... give me five minutes.”

You sighed. “Yeah, ok.”

part one | part two

When dinner came and you sat beside Luca again, the question begged to leave his mouth, but he decided on waiting and watching. 

“So Y/n,” Sydney turned to you. “I would love to literally pick your brain apart for the inspo of your last cookbook.”

You chuckled. “Well, Luca and I went all around the world on our honeymoon and-”

“What?” Carmen choked on his drink. “S-sorry did I fucking hear that right? Honeymoon?”

Luca sighed deeply, the energy at the table shifting. “Yes Carm, she said ‘honeymoon’.”

Honeymoon. You and Luca were married. Married and he didn’t even know it. Married, and he hadn’t even known that his last chance had been his last chance. 

You were Chef Andrea’s daughter, and you were everyone’s forbidden fruit. You worked with them, trained with them, and Carmen had been so deeply interested in you, that he broke the rules. He went after you, and he didn’t even feel bad about it. You’d started out dating in secret, then slowly warmed your mom up to the idea, and suddenly it was out in the open. Sure you’d had fights and sure, maybe it wasn’t the most healthy relationship ever, but Carmen loved you. He still did. When it fell apart, it was all Carmen’s fault (as usual) and you’d sworn off chefs. 

---------------------

“Fucking hell Bear! I’m asking you to do this one fucking thing for me, and it’s too fucking hard?” You shouted at the top of your lungs. “I love you! I moved to fucking Coppenhagen for you! I moved to fucking New York for you! What is your problem with me taking a job in London?! I can probably get you into the same place-”

“NO! No, I fucking don’t alright? You’re fucking- you’re fucking boring! You never make anything new- you’re so f-fucking obsessed with being the-the-the best at something that you won’t even try to innovate!”

You stood there, in his kitchen and he watched as the tears fell. He took a deep breath and stepped closer, holding your waist in his hands. He tried not to be offended or upset when you went rigid as he touched you, but he felt his heart break. “Baby I-I’m sorry, look, y’know I’m sorry-” 

“You’re a piece of shit Carm. Just because I’m better than you doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like that. We’re not fucking trainees at my mom’s restaurant anymore, alright? I’m fucking better than you and i know it boils your fucking blood. I got this position. All on my own,” you spat. “You are the lowest of the low Carm. I swear to fucking god, if I ever date another chef again, kill me.”

And with that, you walked out. Out of his apartment and out of his life. 

---------------------

“W-wait so-s-, you two got married? Since when?” Carmen laughed, but it was wrong. It was forced and haunted, strange.  

“Since the 14th of July last year,” Luca smiled and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Congratulations guys,” Sydney smiled. “Carm, say congratulations,” she whispered and Carm nodded furiously.

“Yeah! Yeah- congratulations to the liar and her shitty douchebag of a husband!” He cheered, gathering the attention of the other tables. 

“Stop making a fucking scene Carm,” your voice cut through the ringing in his ears. “This isn’t about you. This is about my mom, and what this restaurant meant to people. Stop. Being. An. Asshole.”

He felt like he’d been effectively bitch slapped, and he quietened down, but not before kicking Luca under the table. 

They’d both been after you, back in the day. And you’d picked Carm at first, and realised your mistake. When you met Luca in London, you weren’t going to mess it up again. 3 years later, you were a year married, and a lot happier. Too bad Carmen had to make everything about himself, again.

He went out to get some ‘air’ a little while later, and you followed him. 

---------------------

“So…” you sighed, standing beside him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he sighed. He watched as you took a cigarette out and lit it, then offered one to him. He shook his head. 

“You quit?” You asked, blowing the smoke away from him. He nodded. “You should start again.”

He looked at you in confusion. “What?”

“You shouldn’t stop, you’re fucking crazy when you don’t smoke,” you chuckled, though everything you said was true. He’d tried to give it up for a month about 4 months into your relationship and it was the most stressful month of your life. You sighed as you thought about it. Every time he was rude to someone, you apologised for him. Every time he fucked something up, you made it up for him. Every time he did something stupid, you made it smart somehow. It was fucked up how much he relied on you, when you thought about it in hindsight. “Everyone will thank you.”

He laughed. “I guess that was a shitty month, huh?”

“One of the worst of my life,” you admitted. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“I miss it,” He admitted. 

“Smoking? You can have the rest of this pack-”

“Us.”

You sighed. “You were doing so well,” you joked. “Just don’t bring it up Carm, we don’t need to dig up the past.”

“I want to,” he pleaded. 

“I don’t,” you scoffed. “There’s nothing for us to talk about, nothing about us worked, nothing about us was ok, or normal, or happy, or-”

“Does he make you happy?” Carmen asked, venom in his tone. “Does he make you feel fuckin’-fuckin’ butterflies? Does he fuck you like I did? D-does he even see you the way I did? Does he make you laugh?”

“He doesn’t make me cry,” you smiled softly, thinking of Luca and how much you truly loved him. “He doesn’t make me question our relationship everyday. He doesn’t make me feel untalented and undeserving. He doesn’t make me feel used. He met me in London when I was crushed after our break-up, and he healed something he didn’t break in me, alright? He made me feel loved for the first time in a long time. My mom fucking loves him, a lot more than she liked you. He let me take everything at my own pace, and he never pushed me into something I wasn’t ready for. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for me to anyone! He didn’t make me question if we were even dating, ever! And the best part is, he fucking married me Carm, in this gorgeous ceremony where he cried while I came down the aisle and he cried during his vows. Do you want to know what his vows were? Ask him when we get inside, because he got his and mine fucking tattooed on his arm!” You were welling up at this stage. “He stood there with me, through thick and fucking thin, he made me feel loved when I felt unlovable, Carmen. And yes he gives me butterflies, yes he fucks me better than you ever did, and he sees me for who I am. So yes, he makes me very fucking happy Carmen.”

Carmen stood there for a moment, then nodded. “I still love you, you know that, right?”

You scoffed, stamping out your cigarette. “You might want to get over that,” and you turned away, and walked back into the dinner. The rest of the dinner was quick, and you skipped the invite to Sydney’s to retire to your hotel room. You sat on the bed, makeup wipes in hand as you tried to wash the night off of you. 

“Hey darling,” Luca’s soft voice cut through the thoughts clouding your mind. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You smiled as he wrapped you up in a bear hug from behind, he was so perfect, so kind, so Luca. “Sure.”

“I heard a little bit of what you said to Carmy outside.”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Before tonight, I was really fucking scared that when you found Carmy he’d somehow convince you I was a piece of shit and he’d sink his fucking claws into you again.”

You pressed a kiss to his arm and nodded. “He’s fucking…”

“He’s the worst,” he finished for you. “And I’m sorry about what he said tonight. He should’ve had the fucking manners to at least let us get to the third course before he started being a piece of shit.”

You both laughed, and you felt all the tension you held in slowly dissipate. “It was so delicious.”

“It was fucking amazing,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You mum really did something special there.”

“At least we’ll see her more in London,” you shrugged. “I really loved that place.”

“So did I,” He sighed against your neck. “Remember training there? God, you were so fucking cute in your chef’s hat-”

“Hats make me look stupid!” You argued, but laughed regardless. You flung his arms off of you, and a wrestling match ensued, one that ended with him under you. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then he deepened it, his hands sneaking up your thighs and around your head. 

“You look good in anything,” he whispered. “But my favourite thing you ever wore was your wedding dress.”

When you pulled away from his lips you saw the starry-eyed smile and sincere look on his face, and you knew you made the right choice. 

Luca was your everything. Carmen was nothing now, and he had to live with that.

---------------------

the bear masterlist :)

“stay still.” you mumble.

mr. wick lets out a small grunt while you sew his wound back together, nothing too fatal (at least in his standards) but without the help of any anesthesia or alcohol to soothe the pain, the assassin had no choice but to follow.

“don’t worry, it's almost done.” you whisper almost finished with patching up the flesh on his back. “and..there..”

he immediately gets off his seat and reaches for his shirt stationed on a random desk scattered with medical supplies. he digs into his suit jacket and fishes out a coin and hands it over to you, you accept it eagerly and begin cleaning up.

“you need any help with transport?” you inquire while you discard your bloodied gloves and utensils.

“yeah.”

“on your way out turn left and find the guy with a gray jacket. he’s one of winston’s men, he’ll help you out. where are you headed?” you inquire while washing your hands. he hesitantly answers before offering a reply.

“paris.”

“oh.” you stop in your movements and look at him. he stands near the door way all dressed up with blood caking his temples, he still looks rugged and in no shape to do what he has to do in pairs but your opinion likely doesn’t matter to him.

“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.

“you’ve been there.” he says.

“i..have.” you hope he doesn’t press any further.

“what’s in paris?” he questions but doesn’t take a step further.

“for you?” you uneasily say, he doesn’t reply.

“a dangerous man. i..think you’ll die trying just to get what you want, mr. wick. but hey, who knows? maybe, it’s now him.” you explain.

“the guy who had the continental demolished, was it him?” he sternly asks.

“..yes, i think it was him.” you confess, avoiding his eyes.

it had been almost three years since you left that country.

three years since you left him.

you can’t even bear to say his name because if you do, all of it will spill out. how he met you, how kept you and how he loved you. 

he nods, “and for you?”

“an even more dangerous man.”

 ever since mr. wick entered and left your clinic. you've been in a constant state of anxiety. the mere thought and mention of him had you nervous, especially when you heard that he was in new york a few days ago. you thought it was all over, that he found you and was going to rip you from your freedom in this city.

the following news shocked you to your core, the new york continental being demolished was not in your bingo card as to why he’d be here. all because of an excommunicated assassin which you had tended to almost a day after the bombing.

although you’re horrified with the state of events, relief flooded you when you realized he wasn’t there for you. you’d still be safe from him.

but you can’t help but think what all of this means for him. at some point, you know that john wick will kill him, and you somehow played a part in it. you feel a tinge of regret for him but it’s quickly overshadowed with the horrors he’s done and you don’t feel as bad.

he did like you though, when you still worked at france for him as his estate medic. whenever he found himself wounded in the line of fire in an ambush attack, you were the one who tended to his wounds and saw him at his weakest. you don’t know why but a strong sense of trust was established between the two of you.

you thought it to be a friendship but fleeting glances of affection would seep through when you talked or when a large bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in your clinic after patching him up. 

you toyed with a pin he gave you, his insignia. only he wore it proudly on his coat and truly, it warmed you to him. he did make you feel appreciated, small touches on your back and sometimes fiddling with your hands whenever you sewed his wounds, gave you butterflies in your stomach.

with you he was just…vincent.

soft words and touches with soulful eyes looking into yours, just gentleness and affection present in him. it made you indulge into it too, that he isn’t the cruel man people made him out to be. he isn’t heartless, that’s just how the world is.

a naive perspective.

a perspective that was easily shattered when you’d hear a bloodcurdling scream from the barn, and he walks out with blood on his hands and a disgusted look on his face from his clothes being stained. gunshots echoing beneath the servant’s staircases and thudding bodies being dragged into the secluded forests of the estate. you whisper to yourself those very same words even if all his actions sent chills on your spine.

but the truth of it is that, he is heartless. he is the man people made him out to be and you’re a fool thinking he could be better for you but at the end of the day, he is still the marquis.

it made you think. what if this is all a game to him? what if the moment he finds you uninteresting you become another stain on his suit? 

it’s not a secret that men like him love having delicate pretty things only to break them apart. that’s all you are his current delicate and pretty thing.

you decided to leave. you weren’t staying long enough to find out what would happen to you, feelings be damned when you’re easily replacable to him. you knew that the marquis was like a dog to a bone when he didn’t get the things he wanted, which only pooled fears into your stomach should he find you in new york.

he cannot have you.

you stare at the pin before chucking the pin somewhere in the room, you get up from your chair and begin closing the windows from your clinic.

a knock comes from the door, you chuck the remaining medical materials into a random desk and walk up to the door. wounded assassins aren’t a strange occurrence at this time of the evening but something…felt different.

your gut was telling you to ignore the person on the other side and stay still. you thought that maybe if you didn’t answer the person would go away. wanting to play things safe you don’t mutter a word that would alert them of your presence. it usually worked in some cases.

the knocking persists, much harder and louder now. your hands begins to shake and your eyes start looking around for an emergency firearm to help defend yourself, your actions frantically halt when you hear a voice through the door.

“doc?” a gruff voice asks.

you sight and put a hand on your chest. it’s just john wick. you eagerly open the door to let him in.

“john.” you greet, “come inside.” you invite him as you walk inside.

john doesn’t follow you and a confused expression takes your face, until you take a good look at him. for the first time, john wick doesn’t look wounded to you, his face and hands void of any blood, a new bulletproof suit adorning his body, a french one you notice but it still leaves you questioning things.

“i’m assuming france went successful.” you say.

“…it’s close.” he pauses before replying, seeming as if he’s finding the right words to say.

“what do you need?” you question.

“it’s winston. he’s been shot.” you freeze.

oh dear. you never really approved of the things he did but a soft spot was always present for him and charon. they helped you settle here in new york, but winston took you in even when he knew of your history with vincent. you swore to always help him in ways you could and now the opportunity presented itself.

the car sped down the street with you and john in tow. you hold your medical kit close to your lap, feeling uneasy with the thought of losing the old man. charon had been so recent and you don’t think you bear to lose the friends you’ve made along the way.

you glance at john and he looks calm and composed as usual, eerily so. a week earlier he was calm but you could feel his anger and determination simmering underneath his skin. now it looked like he was taking a walk in a park. you eye him carefully, uneasiness seeping in your stomach.

“did they give it to you?” you ask, he looks at you before clearing his throat.

“just an extension.” he answers, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“to do what?” you ask again, john doesn’t budge and continues driving, ignoring your question. your eyes stay on him but he doesn’t look at you.

silence settles into the car and you lean back in your seat. you really wish your brought your gun with you right now. you don’t know why but you have a feeling that something is wrong right now, especially with john. he’s not telling you something.

or maybe it really is none of your business. perhaps he wanted to spare the bloody details of how he’s going to win his freedom back. you relax and try to forget the uneasiness, trying to remember that winston is the priority right now, you shut your eyes. all of your fears are gathering together and it’s making you overthink your interaction with john, everything’s okay.

the loud sound of drilling makes you open your eyes, you look at the window and you see a familiar street. 

the new york continental was being rebuilt.

your apprehensiveness returns.

“john?” you look at him once again, “who shot winston?”

“he got hit during the line of fire.” this time he replies.

bullshit. winston would have an emergency plan before the shooting started.

“in new york?” you press.

“yeah.”

another bullshit. you could see through his lies, he’s clearly fresh out of france. what was he trying to do? 

“j-john.” you voice shakes almost as if you’re begging. something happened in france, something that saved both winston and john.

he looks at you with regret in his eyes. not enough to save you for what’s about to come.

“where are you taking me?” you sputter, your heart beating fast in anxiety, “i’ve done nothing but help you, please don’t do this!”

“he took winston with him and he found out.” he quietly defends.

“please help me, i don’t want to go back!” you begin crying, tears rolling down your face, “he’ll kill me!” 

he makes no reply and continues driving. with no hope left with him, you try to open your side of the door. he immediately notices this and grabs your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you begin hitting him with your other arm.

you know that he doesn’t want to do this but it feels so unfair. you’ve saved his life only to throw yours away.

“let go of me!” you scream.

“i’m sorry.” 

you feel a prick in your neck.

you feel a heavy sensation pulling at your leg, your eyes feeling groggy still wanting to keep your lids closed. however the sensation persists and this forces you to open your eyes and sit up.

a dark room welcomes you, only a small lamp helping you take a small look of where you are. specifically, on a plush bed and a decorated room. your body feels heavy  from exhaustion which makes you lean back to the pillow behind you.

pondering what made you feel so tired when you haven’t done much for the night, you’ve sewn back together…a pair of assassins for the night? or was it three? two austrians and…who?a french? no…no..it was winston. 

that’s right.

wait.

only you didn’t treat winston.

you bolt up, your body seemingly sobers from the realization.

john brought you here in exchange for his freedom. 

you look around to see some sort of presence in the room but with the darkness it was hard to tell, nevertheless you hopped off the bed and bolted to the wooden door nearby. no wonder the place looked familiar, only the marquis would have a place as frivolous as this.

you need to leave right now. your hand reaches for the door until you find your body being slammed on the floor. a groan leaves your throat, in pain you massage your forehead and look around.

oh goodness.

a gasp leaves your mouth when you see a chain wrapped around your ankle, you inspect your foot before tracing the lines of chains, which were sourced on the thick foot of the bed you were on.

you tug it to check its strength and to see how long it actually goes. it was long enough to walk around the room but not long enough to reach the door. this is basically your fully furnished torture chamber. 

fuck. fuck. fuck.

a loud creak echoes through the room.

you really hate how things are right now.

he’s going to kill you. kill you for leaving him, how you easily made him look humiliated for being abandoned.

feeling your knees weaken you sit back on the bed and your hands shake in trepidation. the marquis’ simple presence made you scared of him, you felt tears falling down once again and you lowered your head, not wanting to look weak right now.

his footsteps are heard through the room, the door loudly closes shut, a thud echoing. he doesn’t say a word.

you feel everything leave your body. hope,freedom and life mostly.

he walks up to you until you see his shoes on the floor, a blurry sight entering your eyes due to the tears, he touches you, tilting your chin upwards and you do everything not to flinch. was he going to snap your neck?

you look at him and he still looks the same, slightly more mature.

but the same man you met a few years ago, if you jumped back into your rose tinted glasses, you’d probably see the vincent you cherished at some point if you weren’t so frightened right now.

he inspects you, his eyes wandering through your face. searching for something that’s supposed to be there, his lips part almost as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“i-i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” apologies spill out of your lips, wanting to take the chance of saving yourself, “i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to.” you cry. your hand reaches up to his hand that held your chin and you grip it for mercy, his hold on you weakens.

he doesn’t say anything and leans forward to you. you need him to say something, anything, whether it meant he’d simply say he wants yuu dead.

“please forgive me, just please don’t kil-“ he cuts you off.

with a kiss.

not a firm one but a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips.

he takes your hands into his and fiddles with it, trying to find his place in them just like before, he halts the kiss and leans towards your face. the man right in front of you wasn’t the marquis, it was vincent. 

your vincent.

the one with soft eyes looking at you with relief and adoration. the gaze that looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth, he wipes the tears on your cheeks and the next thing he says dissolves all sense of worry out of you.

“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.

“John…” You whined, wiggling your hips under his iron hold in an attempt to coax his cock further inside you.

This only had John doubling his grip on you. The fingers that held your hips dug in further, hard enough to bruise and leave little crimson crescent moons in your skin. The pain didn't deter you though. It only had that unsatisfied ache pulsing within your centre flaring up tenfold.

“Shush, baby,” John's voice was low and gravelly and sent a thrill rushing down your spine. Really, it was almost pathetic how much of an effect just his voice had on you. “I told you to be quiet. You sure you can do that for me?”

He leaned over, pressing his muscled slab of a body against your back to nip at your earlobe. You bit your lip in an attempt to stifle a whimper of need, just barely succeeding, and nodded.

“Good girl.”

John’s stubble grazed you and his long, dark hair tickled your skin as he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek and the weight of him lifted off of you. Whether it was out of mercy or pity - or both - John pushed the full length of his cock inside you in one swift motion. It took everything you had to not cry out in pleasure and pain as his tip kissed your cervix, filling you completely.

He watched as you struggled to keep any noises from escaping, his gaze heavy enough that you could practically feel it pinning you down to the desk just as effectively as his meaty hands. Seeing you in such a state of utter need while also being desperate to obey had his length throbbing inside you.

John set an unbearably slow pace, slow enough that it had you practically crawling out of your own skin. You so desperately wanted - no, needed him to to just fuck you, but instead it seemed he was determined to make sure you felt every vein and every inch, right up to the ridge where his swollen pink head met his shaft.

“Mmm, that's it, thaaaat's it.”

All you could do was lay there and take it without protest, however he wanted to give it to you. Your hands white knuckled the edge of the desk in front of you, serving as your anchor as you fought tooth and nail to keep any sounds of pleasure trapped behind your teeth. You knew that disobedience would result in punishment and you didn't really feel like being punished and degraded right now.

Right now, you wanted to be showered with praise. You wanted to be adored.

“You're being such a good girl for me. You want more?” He asked, relinquishing the vice grip he had on your hips in favour of smoothing those large, rough palms over the meat of your ass.

You didn't get a chance to nod. John was already parting your cheeks and chuckling deeply at the sight of his shaft, half buried in your soaking cunt and glistening with your slick arousal while the rest of it slowly dripped down your thighs.

“Look how wet you are for me. Of course you want more; you've already soaked my cock.”

With one hand he gripped one of your cheeks, while the other snaked up your spine to tangle in your hair. He pulled on the strands, forcing you to lift your head up and prop your upper body up on your elbows and forearms as his hips finally, finally picked up the pace.

If you weren't struggling to stay quiet before, you sure as hell were now. John knew how you liked to be rocked, what the perfect angle was to hit that sweet spot inside you that made you see stars. 

Tasting the tang of iron on your tongue you stopped biting your lip. You'd been so focused on keeping any noise at bay you hadn't even registered how hard your teeth were clamping down on the soft flesh while John pumped his huge cock in and out of you.

“You're doing so well for me baby, so well. Just a bit more and I'll - ngh - let you cum. I want to enjoy this sweet pussy a little longer.”

God, if his dick didn't push you over the edge then his words might just do it. Knowing that such a sweet, gentle man had the capacity to groan out words so filthy made that sick little part of you sing with glee.

The sounds of your rapid breaths mixed with his grunts of pleasure and skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls and echoed through the rows of bookcases filling John's library. Your legs began to shake as that familiar heat began coiling low in your abdomen. Sensing your building need, John let go of your hair and ass cheek to lean that glorious weight over you once again, propped up on one thick forearm while his other hand moved between your trembling legs to rub your neglected clit.

You keened into his heavenly touch and you couldn't stop a strangled little cry from escaping. You were quick to cut it off however, dropping your head to press your treacherous mouth into the inside of your elbow to muffle the noise. 

“That's my girl. You've been so good, do you want to cum? You want to cum for me? You want to be loud?” John's voice was practically dripping with honey as he whispered in your ear.

All you could do was lift your head again, look at him over your shoulder and nod pathetically while you rocked your hips back against him, meeting his thrusts.

“Cum.” He ordered, slamming into you with his fingers working relentlessly on your clit beneath you. “Cum on my cock baby. Scream for me.”

That was all the encouragement you needed.

Your cries and sobs of pleasure drowned out anything else as you came, your pussy gushing over his length and thighs and the wooden floor beneath your feet while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. John wasn't too far behind, pressing his chest flush against your back to suck a dark bruise into the crook of your neck while he thrusted into you one, two, three more times, and then filled you with his seed with a loud, long groan.

Both of you stayed like that for a short while, catching your breath and begging to sober up from the lust-addled haze you were in just moments ago. Eventually, John lifted his weight from you and pulled out, letting his cum leak from your entrance. He took a few moments to run his hands up and down your back, soothing you as you came down from the high.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice returning to its usual deep, gentle lilt.

Somehow you managed to stand up and turn around to face him on your shaky legs. John was quick to wrap his arms around you to keep you steady. You were all too grateful, immediately leaning your weight against him and letting out a content sigh.

“Yeah. More than okay, I feel amazing.” You smiled up at him, cheeks rosy with happiness, and then nuzzled your face into his broad chest.

John chuckled, the baritone sound rumbling from within. “Good.” With a swift motion he scooped you up into his arms to carry you bridal style towards the door to the library. “Because I've not quite had my fill of you just yet.”

“relax sweetheart, it will feel good once you do” logan grunts out, slowly pressing his tip into your tight hole.

“l-logan! oh lo, y-you’re too big!” you hiss out, feeling stretched and already full just from the fat head of his cock burning your gummy walls.

“shhh, she’s taking me just fine, hm? look at that, i’m squeezing right in” he smirks as he look down to where you’re both connected, your juices already leaking down his shaft, as he bottoms out with a loud groan.

he gives no time for you to get used to the generous size of him as he pulls out leaving just the tip before slamming back in. he sets a rapid pace as he thrusts in and out, kissing your cervix with every rut.

“f-fuck kid, you’re gripping around me so tight” he growls out, leaning down to bury his face in your neck, biting and sucking to leave his mark on you, yet remaining at his vicious pace. he wants needs everyone to know who you belong to.

“oh, daddy i’m so full, your cock feels s-so fucking g-good” you mumble out, eyes rolling all the way back as you moan with every thrust into you. “m-more, please daddy..”

“greedy fuckin’ whore” logan scoffs at your desperation yet he presses his thumb to your red, puffy button and moves it in swift circles which have you clamping down on him impossibly harder. you’re hands claw at the sheets, you swear you can see galaxies at this point, and the pleasure from both his finger on your clit and his hips snapping into you is all too overwhelming.

“w-wait lo, s’too much” you sob beneath him, squirming away, but he doesn’t stop and instead drills harder against your cervix. he grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head with just one of his hands while he continues his assault on your clit with the other hand.

logan chuckles “this is what you wanted, right doll? so quit squirming and fuckin’ take it” he snarls into your ear, his breath hot against it and his groans take over your hearing.

you soon give up with your pleads to slow down and instead let him use your now pliant body. so willing. logan hikes one of your thighs up to his pleasing - manhandling you as if you were merely a toy. strings of ‘uh,uh,uh’s’ are all you can slobber out and soon enough you’re crumbling down with the intensity of your orgasm.

logan groans at the even tighter feeling and he fucks you right through your release and all you do is just moan and whine while being fucked dumb on his girth. soon enough, you feel him throb in your heat and he jackhammers into your cunt, chasing his own orgasm.

“gonna cum in you princess, make those pretty noises for me, let everyone hear what a cumslut i’m making of you” logan smirks as he watches you let out your lewd moans for him. so obedient.

“f-fuck” logan’s hips begins to stutter and then he halts into you, as deep as he can, as thick spurts of his load stain your insides white, plugging you full of him.

“im gonna stay right here, princess” he releases his grip on your wrists and moves his hand towards the thick bulge in your lower stomach. he presses down gently, letting you feel the imprint of his girth in your core, and you whine, feeling overworked and spent.

“gotta make sure you can take daddy’s cock easier next time, hm?

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): 

Patrick is hit or miss when it comes to aftercare, it is entirely based on who you are. If he doesn't see you of much value, don't expect much at all, other than just some money and (if you're lucky) a swat on the ass as he leads you out the door. But if you find yourself in a position where he actually does like you/love you/value you, consider yourself very lucky. His aftercare with you will consist of taking you with him to the bath or shower and scrubbing you both off, maybe even another round in there if he's horny enough. If you're both not up for a shower or bath, you can expect him to dominantly be cuddling with you, nipping at your neck and kissing it, maybe watching TV together, until you both fall asleep. 

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): 

Besides his muscles he loves to flex, Patrick’s favorite body part of his would have to be his dick. He is extremely proud of that thing. His favorite on his partner's would have to be the classic goodies: Tits, ass, and pussy. He often can't decide which is his favorite. If he had to pick one, it would be pussy because he can fuck almost any woman, no matter how small or big her tits are, no matter how flat or round her ass is. If she's pretty enough and he'll feel good enough, that's all that matters. If you're his true love, well… he'd choose your pussy because no matter what, he owns that thing once you're with him. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): 

Patrick cums a lot, and he will cum anywhere. In you, on you, on your face, in between your tits, in your mouth…He loves seeing you full of his cum. He wants you to worship his sweet nectar… 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): 

The few times Patrick is submissive, it's when he's not only with someone he trusts enough, but it has to be extremely tender and loving. This secret will come to light with time and love. You have to be careful, though:  Teasing is one thing, but being too mean will earn you an extremely harsh punishment that will put you back in your place. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): 

Patrick is full of experience. He lost his virginity probably at Phillips Exeter academy with a girl in his class that he liked. From then on, all throughout Harvard and into Manhattan, he completely lost count. If it's something sexual, chances are he's probably at least familiar with it if not already done it. He knows all of the weaknesses it takes to make a girl cry and melt under him. 

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): 

Pat's favorite positions include doggy style, good old fashioned missionary, 69, prone bone, cowgirl, and anything that would involve the two of you being able to face a camera recording or the mirror to look at yourselves. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): 

Patrick is not really a fan of being goofy during sex. If you try, he'll make a cocky comment out of your joke and brag. He is pretty serious and wants to see you be in a complete submissive headspace worshiping him. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): 

Like most yuppie/preppy men, Patrick takes the time to trim/shave his body hair, including his pubes. At most, you will find small dark wisps of hair above his dick. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): 

Intimacy is considered a privilege with Patrick. If you are worthy enough to him, meaning you're more than just a fake person who's destined to be dead by the end of the night, Patrick can slowly but surely become more intimate with you. It will take time and patience, but as he opens up more and more, you will notice him become more and more intimate. It starts off small, such as more frequent kisses and tighter hugs, but then it will become little brushes in your hair, little nips in your ear, gifts that were bought for you for just being more than a pretty object that will look good on you. In his darkest moments, he might even draw you in his private planner filled with all his dark drawings, depicting you as an angel contrasting against the darkness.  Eventually he will work up to a point where he will be very intimate with you. Smothering you with kisses and tight, warm muscles-filled hugs and nuzzling against you, nipping at your neck, claiming you as his, telling you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you and you only, etc. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): 

Patrick doesn't masterbate as often as you might think. Yeah, he watches porn (especially gore and/or lesbian porn) and jacks off to it, but buy and large, if Patrick's horny, he'll find a real person to fuck. He can pay for it easily and finds chronic masterbaters “loser virgins who can't get laid.” 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): 

God, what kinks doesn't this man have? Definitely domination, bondage, knife play, choking, and biting to name the tamest. He's also open to daddy kink, somno (as in he fucks you while you're sleeping, rarely ever the other way around), piss (this is technically canon in the book since he saves girls’ panties who peed themselves in fear while he's torturing them “for later”), lactation, pregnancy/breeding kink (mostly after he's married to you and when he finally gets baby fever), public sex, voyerism, lesbians, blood…Sheesh, there's probably some I'm forgetting. This man is one horny and freaky bastard! 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do): 

His apartment is an obvious one, but he also enjoys his summer home in the Hamptons, a fancy hotel room, and possibly even his office if he can get away with it. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): 

When you tease him with your body or comments (bouncing boobs, making suggestive comments, etc.), watching or looking at porn, doing coke, and fantasizing about murder. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): 

When you're mean and disrespectful to him in any way, shape, or form, especially in those rare moments of submissiveness. Seriously. If you want a way to piss Patrick off and have him put you in your place, be an asshole/bitch to him or try to hurt him. See what will happen. It won't end well for you. He also can't stand shit anything. While he might be open to being anally fingered, getting pegged is a whole other story that he’s not very open to. While he can tolerate it, he's not big on using condoms and much prefers to go either raw or do his “half an inch from the ejaculate” trick he did with Courtney. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): 

He's fine with giving or receiving. He loves his dick being sucked by you, he'll give you tips and tricks and show you how it should be done based on experience with previous girls. He's very talented at giving. He's eaten so much pussy, he knows all of the good spots and knows how it's done. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): 

Patrick tries to be slow and sensual…for the first few minutes or so. Then it becomes fast and rough. He can try in between to be slower, but he's just too impatient. The sensuality and passion is never gone though. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): 

He doesn't mind a quickie to help him deal with stress. One before work, after work, or even during work would be pretty nice to him, especially if he has a hard on that won't go away. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): 

Patrick can be pretty risky. He gets a thrill from risking being caught or putting you in a situation where your boundaries can be pushed at least somewhat. He's down to experiment with you so long as it's not one of his turnoffs. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): 

Patrick can damn near last an entire night. He can go several rounds with only short breaks in between. His record is seven rounds in one night, and the longest he’s lasted is three hours. What can I say? This man is a horny beast. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): 

He owns a few toys he saves for the prostitutes and escorts, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use them. He owns a dildo or two he likes you to use while you moan his name and think about him. He also has a vibrator or two he saves for when he wants you to pleasure yourself while thinking of him (using it on the go is entirely your choice). He doesn’t really use any sex toys himself; as mentioned before, if he’s going to do something, he’s going for the real thing. If you also count handcuffs and rope as toys, Patrick has you covered there. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): 

Patrick likes to tease you a lot. He will still reward you for good behavior, but he gets off on watching you cry and beg for him to grant you some form of release. He also likes teasing you about how desperate you are for him (ex, “Awww, look how desperate you are for me, baby…so horny for me and my big cock? Do you need me to fill your womb with my seed? Are you so needy for me? Who’s a good girl who worships me? You are!”). 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): 

He mostly makes grunts groans with an occasional moan. He’s shockingly quiet and soft. Other than that, it’s a whole lot of wet slapping sounds and spanking. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): 

One of his absolute favorite fantasies is chasing you down like a serial killer/kidnapper and playing hide-and-seek with you, toying with you, making you think he doesn’t know where you are when he knows damn well where you are. When he finally catches you, he holds you down and does whatever he wants with you before taking you back home like you’re his little spoil or prize. Honestly, the fun with him might not stop even there… 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): 

He’s pretty girthy and long; he’s not only thick, but he’s a little over six inches when erect. Be careful. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): 

His sex drive is pretty high. When this man doesn’t have money or murder on his brain, he’s got a whole lot of sex. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): 

Bruce stared up at the ceiling with his arms laid out on his shirtless stomach, restless but tired. His limbs were sore and heavy, his body bruised and battered, yet his dark eyes couldn’t help but flicker over to his window ever so often when he thought about what was on the other side of it — the source of his calamity.

He’d stare through the droplets of water at the blurred kaleidoscope of lights as they shone onto his floor, not eagerly per say just habitually; Bruce seldom ever saw a peaceful night in, so unaccustomed with the sweet domesticity of crawling under the covers at 10:30 pm and kissing your lover goodnight — he was usually so busy, for Gotham never slept and crime never seemed to stop.

No, Bruce couldn’t sleep; his thoughts a morbid mess of batman-esque obligation that made it impossible to close his eyes.

You were a different matter entirely as Bruce turned his head to look at you; snuggled up on your side of the large bed with his thick, black comforter surrounding you, breathing gently on the muscle of his shoulder and sleeping soundly, beautifully.

His pretty little wife.

His eyes looked over the sharp shadows of your sleeping beauty. From your wispy eyelashes, to your cute little nose, to your softly parted lips, a soft smile adorning the corner of his mouth as he did — he couldn’t help it.

Your hair was frizzy and tangled messily around your head, your soft breaths ever so often stuttered with an adorable snore but Bruce couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked anyway as he raked his eyes over your face fondly.

As he did he realized how grateful he was that you didn’t need to worry yourself with the things that he did; you were too innocent for the cruelty of Gotham City, too pure and divine; an angel wrapped in wicked tapestry.

Even now, in your pale white pajamas on black silken sheets you looked too fragile for them, like they could wrap their shadowy arms around you and swallow you whole — just as the city could so easily do if he wasn’t there to protect you.

If Batman wasn’t there to save you.

I don’t care, Bruce. I love you anyway.

That’s what you’d always say when Bruce would settle down in bed beside you with a heavy sigh and whisper why do you stay?, on those long nights when he’d come home brutally battered and fatigued. After a night of being heavily reminded to the real dangers waiting just outside his door like a pack of feral dogs and how easily they could ensnare you in their jaws.

I don’t care. I love you.

He loved you too, he really very did.

With that final thought, Bruce was still caught staring at you with a soft look of love on his face when you gently fluttered your eyes open, your body sensing his awareness before your mind could.

He watched patiently as you groggily looked around before eventually meeting his gaze, his eyes getting even softer at the adorable look of confusion on your face.

Your eyes tiredly looked back up at him despite the darkness surrounding you two, able to see his frowned lips and dark eyes clearly, “Bruce? Why are you still awake?”

Your voice was raspy and tired, a small yawn following your statement that made pity tear at his heart for waking you up.

Bruce ran his hazel eyes over your face some more before he responded, unable to stop cherishing you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He simply responded, voice low and intimate, words spoken in the bare space between his lips and yours.

You settled into your silken pillow with a small huff, eyes focused more on Bruce’s face now as the grogginess gradually melted away and your vision became clearer — the silence and rain thrumming calmly around you. It wasn’t a normal night in Gotham City without the rain.

“Well, did you try?” You teased just as quietly as he, smiling a little at the chuckle he gave you in response.

“Yes, of course I tried. It clearly didn’t go as planned.” Bruce mumbled back with a faint snicker, speaking just loud enough so you can hear him over the rain pattering on the windows, a small smile now quirked on his sharp lips.

You hummed in acknowledgment, eyes looking between his, knowing Bruce well enough to know when he was lying.

“I don’t really believe you. What’s keeping you awake?” You sighed with furrowed brows, resting your head right next to his bare shoulder to look up at him better — maybe if you pouted in that cute way he liked he’d tell you honestly.

Bruce faltered at that, looking down at you with a heavy heart; he couldn’t possibly tell you that he felt guilty laying in bed with you when he should’ve been out there, out there protecting those who needed him. But the fact of the matter, one he couldn’t argue with, was that you needed him as well.

He couldn’t possibly tell you how conflicted he really was but probably shouldn’t have been; two parts of him sharing the same mind and body but each with entirely different obligations — the irreconcilable duality that was he.

One part of him was Bruce Wayne; millionaire, orphan, husband, you needed that side of him, you deserved to have him for at least one night. But he was also Batman, and Gotham always needed him.

He was haunted with a classic case of Jekyll and Hyde but instead of one side lusting for murderous intent his alter ego longed for rightful justice in the grandest city of injustice. Batman was the only one who could live harmoniously in the dark, the only one capable of doing the things he did. It was an enervative dichotomous life of matrimonial duties and moral obligation.

There were two men sharing the same halves of the same soul and Bruce couldn’t decide which heart to listen to without making the other one feel guilty.

“Just work stuff, honey. It’s nothing you need to worry about, trust me.” Bruce dismissed after a short moment, shaking his head gently with a reassuring smile on his thin lips — like that could convince you of anything.

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, registering the slight blue bags under his eyes and the crippled fault in his smile, all small clues of his devious, well-intentioned deception.

“Which work stuff?” You prodded carefully, raising a brow at him as suspicions already began to brew in the back of your mind as to what he was really referring.

Bruce chuckled again at that, loving your caring and inquisitive nature any day but wishing you’d just drop it already. He really couldn’t bear weighing any of the pressure he carried on your delicate shoulders, fearing you’d crumble under the weight of it.

“Really, it’s…” Bruce looked back up at the ceiling in indecision, searching for the right words, “it’s nothing I can’t handle, okay?” He looked back down at you with confidence, his voice firmer than before but still softly spoken to get his point across.

You narrowed your eyes at him with that, knowing it was a response you fully expected but were still annoyed to hear.

You were aware that he was lying to you but also aware that he wouldn’t tell you no matter how much you begged him; he never liked to tell you anything about his Batman related problems and it greatly frustrated you for some reason.

As his wife didn’t you deserve to know at least something? You were fully aware of what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to his long awaited proposal. After all, you didn’t just marry Bruce Wayne but you married Batman as well… you could handle the truth even if he didn’t seem to think so.

You sighed anyway, unable to mask your irritation towards him for keeping you in the dark. Your lack of sleep didn’t help the influx of annoyance either.

You took your head off his warm shoulder and went to turn around away from him, your fatigue easily irritating you more than usual.

Bruce licked his lips and sighed, having already disappointed you in an attempt to protect you; a small price to pay if it meant your pretty little head wasn’t clogged with constant, pained disquietude like his was.

“Fine, don’t tell me.” You muttered more to yourself than anything, fussing with the blanket you had wrapped yourself in during your slumber and now seemed to be stuck in.

Before you could fully turn around though Bruce laid a warm, consoling hand on your forearm that made you pause, “Hey, hey, wait.”

You lingered a moment at the feel of it before turning back around to face him, expression a little more sour than before — tired and impatient.

Bruce felt guilt swirl in his stomach at the look on your face, knowing he was disappointing you but also knowing it was for the best.

He kept the hand on your arm, leaning up and wrapping it around your back to bring you into his chest, his other arm going behind your neck and tucking you into his side like you were his most precious doll — you were of course.

You didn’t fight him even if you wanted to, enjoying the warmth he provided and the safety you subconsciously sought out snuck tight in between his arms.

“Bruce.” You grumbled anyway as you settled against him, his arm releasing you for a moment to pick the blanket up and over his waist so there was nothing separating you two from each other.

You felt hard plains of muscle underneath you when he did, a flustered pinkness appearing on your cheeks, then slowly crept in hot embarrassment at the fact that your husband’s carefully structured body that you’ve seen many many times still managed to make you shy.

You melted into his side, albeit a bit stiffly as you were still annoyed with him and wanted to blatantly show it, your arms stubbornly slotted against your chest to separate yourself from laying completely on his.

When Bruce was done adjusting the blanket, the bed moving as he did, he settled still and looked down at you with those kind eyes of his you loved so much, the ones that always flustered you when you stared back into them for too long.

The arm behind your neck pushed you closer to him while he took his right hand and wrapped it around your chin, his palm so warm and big against your jaw that you couldn’t help but sigh in submission.

Bruce gently forced you to look up at him, his eyes staring down at you softly but earnestly.

“Alright, hey, don’t be like that with me. If there was something I thought you really needed to know I’d tell you. Otherwise, it’s best I keep that side of myself as private from you as possible. I hate the thought of you being in danger because of me, because I exposed you to that side of myself you didn’t need to see.” Bruce whispered genuinely, minty breath fanning over your nose as you stared up at him, seemingly calm now and even just a little regretful for being so upset with him in the first place.

“Just give it a rest honey, alright? I promise you, it’s nothing you need to worry about. Do I ever go back on my promises, hmm?” He said sweetly, looking down at you with insistent but loving eyes in the expectation of you responding.

You paused for a moment as you registered his words, still curious to know what he was really thinking about because you just couldn’t help it. You worried for him, wished he’d be more open with you so you could help him in whatever way you could. However, you also didn’t want to stress him out any more than he already was either, your mind picturing all the purple bruises littering his beautiful body pitifully.

So, you just shook your head like a scolded child, “No… you don’t.” You’d have to bite your tongue for now, pouting up at him cutely — Bruce was just too sweet to argue with sometimes and he knew it.

Bruce gave you a charming smile, gray shadow washed over the angles of his straight nose and narrow cheeks. His brown hair was more unkempt than usual, wavy tendrils of it fallen around his face. He looked so handsome, more tranquil this way, as he leaned down and gave you a peck on the forehead, a sweet hum sounding in the back of his throat.

“That’s my girl.”

You sighed happily, giving in to him completely now and wrapping an arm around his chest so you could burrow against him; he wrapped his arm around you tighter instinctually, enjoying the feel of you against him as he looked up at the ceiling in content.

Nothing was better than being with you, so much so that Batman himself felt satiated from his lonely perch in the back of Bruce’s mind.

You stared out the large, arched window on his wall for a few quiet moments, watching as the rain quickly fell down the glass one by one as Bruce softly traced his textured fingertips along the spine of your back.

“It always rains, you ever notice that?” You murmured tiredly against his skin, in a daze from the tingling sensation on your skin as he caressed your back in gentle, loving touches.

Bruce looked away from you a moment when you spoke to spare the window a disinterested glance, “What? You don’t like the rain, Mrs. Wayne?” He teased you, his spirits higher than before as he looked back down at you even if you couldn’t see, his nose filled with the sweet smelling shampoo you used — coconut and vanilla.

You smiled a little — you loved when he called you that.

“Well of course you do. You’re Batman, you’re supposed to like depressing things.” You spoke with a smile, only teasing him as your eyes drifted shut from the comfort of his body against yours, muscles melting against the black sheets nestled between his own.

Bruce chucked at that, his hand ceasing its calming motion, “oh, is that right?”

You hummed with an amused smile on your lips, nodding your head, “mmhmm, yes sir.”

Bruce scoffed playfully at that, looking down at you with a fond playfulness in his eyes before gently taking his muscled arm out from underneath your head.

You lifted your head up curiously to look at him, wishing for the moment to not be disturbed, only to be gently rolled over so that Bruce was laid on top of you and you were now sunken into the inky black abyss of cushions beneath him. Your lips parted in a slight gasp, staring up at him with those beautiful eyes he loved so much in surprise.

“Now now, Mrs. Wayne, don’t go calling me that unless you plan on doing something about it, it’s in bad taste.”

You giggled at that, a joyous and twinkling sound that made Bruce tense up, his eyes darting towards your lips and his heart quickening in his chest. You always had such an effect on him even if you didn’t know it.

“How ‘bout you do something about it then?” You whispered up to him sensually, voice low and playful. You could feel the air surrounding the little bubble you two found yourselves in change heavily as you ran your hands softly over his midsection, his light skin cold and soft, muscles hard and firm as you traced your fingers delicately over each individual ab until Bruce was twitching at the feeling.

He glanced down at your hands hotly, already worked up from your minuscule touches alone, his skin tingling from the sensation as a familiar heat started to twirl in his lower tummy.

He looked back down at you, eyes more hooded now but just as eagerly as rain pounded on the windows somewhere in the background — you couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of his warm breaths and the gradual throbbing between your own legs.

“Yeah? Would you like if I did something about it, Mrs. Wayne?” Your husband mumbled huskily, a teasing smirk on his lips as he lowered down closer until his face was just above yours, his big arms pressed into the pillow on each side of your head so you were surrounded by him.

He could see the way you inhaled at the name, felt the way your nails dug into his skin for a subtle, fleeting moment. He always knew all the right ways to turn you on, knew all the right words to say to make you melt in his hands like warm syrup — you were certainly just as sweet.

You stared up at your husband with heavy breaths, mouth watering for a taste of him, eyes blown black with love and unabashed want as he sat in the reflection of your irises. Your skin felt hot and your thighs tightened around his waist, arms aimlessly tracing the ridges of muscle that coated Bruce’s front; it was in an innocently naive way now, so unaware of how badly it was affecting Bruce himself as your initial confidence dwindled down to need.

You impatiently waited for him to make a move, give into the desire you both so clearly felt as your eyes ran over his shirtless body and perfect face in the mean time. With every exhale of breath out of his mouth you found yourself inhaling it back in, breathing his air and smelling of Bruce’s aftershave, Bruce’s shampoo, it was all just Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.

He had completely overwhelmed your senses with his smell, his presence, his very existence and it was making it hard to think clearly — only he plagued your thoughts so much it made your fingertips buzz to feel more of him.

It was in moments like these where the sheer size of Bruce was brought to your attention; he was much more muscular than you, all sharp edges and ridges of pure muscle and destruction that could destroy anything he put his hands on.

It was ironic to you, how those same hands that broke bones were the same hands that caressed your skin in the softest of touches, in the softest of ways, irrevocably incapable of breaking you.

Bruce believed he was all carnal ruination — hands made to break and fists made to destroy. He believed he had a dark side in him he couldn’t control, that Batman was the outlet for all the frustration he felt towards the injustices of the city and how easily it corrupted the lightest of souls. He believed he was made to hurt, to cause ruin — a reason why he never took a single human soul no matter how rotten it was.

But you believed he didn’t give himself enough credit, which is exactly why moments like these were so important to remind him.

You swallowed nervously now as you looked back into his eyes, your fingers faltering in their movement as they stilled on the angles of his hips, right outside the tight band of his black sweatpants.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne, that’s exactly what I want.” You whispered back up to him in a velvety soft tone, eyes looking at his pink lips and then flickering back up between his hazel irises lustfully; the look in them was too intense for you to handle but you sufficed, your heart thrumming passionately under your skin at the attention.

Bruce almost melted at the name, just as affected by the title as you were, lowering his face down until his nose was touching yours, his lips hovering right above your own.

“That’s my girl…” Bruce breathed thickly against your lips, his eyes flickering to your mouth as yours did the same to his, your mouth salivating for a taste of him.

A silent beat passed as you both just stayed in that position, locked into each other’s loving gazes and gentle touches, his lips just a whisper away from yours screaming to have you, to taste you. It was intimate and warm, quiet, your body feeling fuzzy and alight with something similar to deep admiration and not so far from a deep, shared love for each other.

There was no playfulness about it now.

It was then, when the tension had sizzled into flame did Bruce finally lean down and kiss you, his lips soft and cold, so contrasting from the warmth he sought in yours as the rain pattered on the windows and your angelic essence drowned him further into the depths of you.

You moaned softly, feeling relief flood through you as your hands gripped his hips for some sort of anchor off the clouds you seemed to be floating on. Bruce kissed you lovingly, a characteristic act of tenderness as he found his own needy noises hum in the back of his throat.

It was sweet and slow, lips careful and gentle against each other between delicate sighs and hums. He tasted of peppermint and the faint drawl of bourbon, his tongue damping your lips and your shared saliva wet on your mouths.

He seperated from you just for a short moment, your lips feeling the loss but not for too long before he was on you once more with a fervor, tongue molding between your lips forcefully and sucking yours into the warmth of his mouth.

You whined at the sudden confidence within him, lips barely moving against his as he took control of your movements and gave you no other option but to take what he gave you — his lips and his tongue tangling with yours messily as sensual rumbles sounded deep from within in his chest.

He brought a hand down from the pillow and intertwined it in your hair, tangling his thick fingers into your roots and pulling hard enough to arouse you further. It made your back arch and lips part in a salacious gasp.

Bruce found himself unable to part from your delectable taste for long, taking that moment to reconnect his damp lips to the skin between your chin and shoulder. He forced your head back as he kissed your neck, the cold air hitting every damp spot in a pleasurable tingling sensation that had your nails digging into his abs.

“Bruce…” You sighed oh so sweetly in a distracted state of mind, just wanting to say his name and have him hear how good he was making you feel with his simple kisses alone — a feat he always accomplished anytime he did.

The praise didn’t fall on deaf ears but he was too preoccupied with the sound of your heavy breaths and whines to really pay attention, too love drunk on the smoothness of your skin falling over his tongue as he licked his way down to your collarbone. He released his grip on your hair and his hands made idle work in caressing their way down your body to the hem of your white pajama top.

His hands were eager, so familiar on the curves of your body as they slid back up to your chest, hands big and desperate as they tightly gripped your bosom for a fleeting moment that had you moaning at the sting — he was handsy, unable to get enough of you and the way your body perfectly slotted between the strength and ridges of his hands.

His cock was already hard in his slacks, poking against your thigh absentmindedly as his hands dug into the center of your top and adamantly ripped it right down the middle. The buttons flew over the bed and your tits spilled out of the ripped material in a gorgeous ripple of flesh that had Bruce groaning at the sight.

“So beautiful, so gorgeous, just fucking perfect…” He mumbled in a lustful daze, more to himself as a factual observation, his hands now gripping your waist, eager mouth leaning down and making quick work to lap at your chest in the way he knew you liked.

You giggled dreamily at that, feeling fluttery and lightheaded at the praise, body warm and melting like a cube of butter on top of his silk bed sheets. He was always capable of making you melt with just a few loving words and caresses, another one of his talents.

Your hands had found their way into his thick hair, massaging at the loose strands when you decided it was impossible to stay still from the buzzing running through your pores.

Your pussy throbbed in your pajama shorts, painfully so, stomach in tight knots at the sparks shooting down to your core from his ministrations.

He found himself enthralled by the feeling of your tit in his mouth, fervently sucking on the skin there as his hands gripped into your waist so tight in a subconsciously possessive hold so you could never leave. Maybe it was the semblance of Batman himself leaking out from under tight fingertips, a degree of fierce protection in the way he held you underneath him, unable to be taken or destroyed by the same evil he fought almost every night.

You were here with him, with him and all of his burdens for the rest of your lives.

“So gorgeous…”

Bruce was lost in the pleasure you helplessly moaned in his ears, feeling his own mutual desire swirling in his tummy and thrumming through his skin that made every touch feel like fire, every kiss an ember from the flame until you and him were intertwined ash lost in the black smoke.

He loved you, his pretty wife, always so supportive and forgiving in the moments he definitely didn’t deserve it.

He picked his head up, panting and lips wet, your chest littered in pink marks and damp with his spit as Bruce licked his lips, hungry for more already.

You looked at him in all his glory, admiringly, just as enamored with him as he was with you as your warm hands slid down to his cheeks. Your own were flushed pink and feverish, breath warm and heavy as you lovingly ran your palm over his sharp cheekbone. His skin was soft, smooth and tepid under your dainty fingertips.

You gently caressed the faint purple of a bruise with your thumb, right in the hollow of his eye.

Bruce leaned into the tender action for a spared moment of comfort, his eyes hooded and twinkling in the dark as he breathed heavily against your lips. He kept finding himself absent in the presence of your beauty, staring at your face and your lips and being so thankful he had you at all.

“So beautiful…” He breathed gingerly, eyes looking over your face like he was seeing you for the first time — no, he was selfish in his blatant admiration of your magnificence, his heart throbbing almost painfully in his love for you as he watched the soft corners of your mouth twist into a shy smile at your devotees idolatrous attention.

He leaned down after a fond moment of your thumb tracing his cheekbone, after he was satisfied with his generous intake of your prettiness. He pecked an affectionate kiss on your smiling lips before dipping his head down and laying several kisses to your neck once more.

You bit your lip at the sensitive feeling, closing your eyes, lost in the feel of him, as he pampered you with doting kisses all the way down to your ribcage, his hands now playing with the hem of your shorts but not too boldly as to take them off quite yet.

“You’re everything, you know that? I could never imagine my life without you… you’re perfect, so perfect.” He rubbed your stomach adoringly, “Your body is perfect, so beautiful, I can’t believe you ever married me…” He mumbled in that rough voice of his, vulnerable in the night, in the moment when you couldn’t see him all the way clearly but he could see all of you just fine.

You could feel another smile playing on your lips — not that it had even left — the heavy sensation of happy tears casting a light sheen over your eyes. He was the perfect one, he was the gorgeous and beautiful counterpart of you that didn’t seem to realize his own value. You only wished you had the poetic spark in yourself that he had, then you’d be able to voice it properly. Still, his praise made your heart swell as he took your left hand and kissed the diamond ring on your finger amorously.

“Oh, Bruce…” You spoke in a hushed manner, voice wobbling from the overwhelming infatuation you had for the man, so thankful and grateful for such a man as wonderful as he. In your eyes the sudden romance had come out of nowhere, but it was still greatly appreciated as it caused your voice to thicken with the downpour of love it had spiked.

He looked into your eyes as he warmly kissed your palm, lips quirked slightly, eliciting another tender hearted smile from you. He then let you settle your hands back on his shoulders as he slotted himself between your hips, the affectionate moment lingering in the air as you pet his wide shoulders.

You were laid on your back, smooth thighs spread to accommodate his size between them, pajama top ripped down the middle in fragmented material hanging off your shoulders, your tits pooled on your chest and wet with his kisses. Your hair was tangled, fanned around your head, lips pink and plushy from all his salacious kisses, your eyes glittering erotically bright.

Despite that, you were not uncomfortable to be so exposed to him, exposed in a way you’d only ever be with him. You knew he would never judge you nor your body, that he loved you and all your freckles and scars and all the blemishes you considered imperfections — he loved them all. The only part of you not seen were covered by the shorts Bruce was already eager to take off.

You were beautiful to him, ethereal even, just as he said you were an angel, something divine and pure, a holy deity completely out of this world that transcended the mortal plane he was bound to, letting his lowly lips and hands cherish your merciful soul and body. Just oh so perfect.

“I love you…” You whispered, pathetically cute, down to him, a whisper wafting into his ears soft and fragile as if you were scared he wouldn’t say it back — he’d say it everyday for a thousand years if he had the blessing of living that long with you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pulsing with need, as you smiled down at him sweetly.

“I love you more, Mrs. Wayne… I love you more…” He breathed hotly against your stomach, already leaning down and peppering sugarcoated kisses along your pelvis, so much closer to where you really needed him that the throbbing had become unbearably intense, wetness soaking your inner thighs and cream colored shorts. You felt your body shiver at the title once more.

You swallowed shakily as Bruce moved down, his daft fingers hooking into the band of your shorts and gently shoving them down to your knees as his longing lips reached the band of your lavender laced panties.

Your thighs tightened around his head as cool air hit your wet center, your body sensitive and pulsing heavy notes of desire straight into your pussy that made it hard to keep your head up and eyes open.

You just needed him, needed him and his expert mouth to bring you some sort of relief. Your toes were curled already, pussy clenching around nothing and spewing out clear juices that only damped your underwear further. You tangled your fingers into his hair heatedly, resisting the urge to shove his head down where you really wanted him.

Bruce swallowed hungrily, staring at your panty-clad pussy with dark eyes. He could smell your sweetness on his nose, the rain pattering on the windows still and the room still dark as sin but he could see his heaven clear as day, hypnotized by the patch of wetness in your panties, molded to the shape of your pussy lips and begging to be ripped apart.

His eyes flickered up to you, feeling your grabby fingers tangled in his hair as your thighs tensed back and forth around his neck.

Your head was barely held up, eyes hooded and sparkling with a form of lustful desperation as you stared down at him. Your chest bobbing up and down heavily and your skin radiant and smooth, the city lights from his window blurredly reflected in the fat of your cheeks. You already looked destroyed, like he had just fucked your brains out yet he really hadn’t done a thing.

“Bruce, come on…” You whined in a delicate plea when he made no movement further, hands barely pulling his hair but it was hard enough for his skin to prickle in pleasure, a hiss leaving his lips, just hard enough to get your message across.

He snickered at that, lips shiny and jaw chiseled, his face so sharp yet soft at the same time. His beauty greatly perplexed you for how could a mere mortal be so fucking handsome? He was though, he was strong and big and riddled with scars and imperfections yet the accumulation of all those little faults are what made him flawless.

Bruce himself felt the throbs of impatience nestled in his stomach, burrowed in his heart, buzzing at his fingertips, as he looked down at your pussy once more just inches from his mouth, both wet and watering for the other.

“Be patient, honey. I just wanna look at ‘cha first. You’re so pretty, dripping wet for me…” He had the audacity to murmur in that cocky voice of his, yet simultaneously genuine and stunned at the observation as his hands rubbed your thighs, being sure to heartily press into the tissue in that way he knew you liked.

You couldn’t help but pull his hair some more, bursting at the seams for some sort of pleasure you feared it would boil over and you’d explode. You felt frustration settle through your veins once more like molten lava, your skin tensing and thighs aching from their tight grip around his neck.

“Bruce, no more teasing, please? Just please…” You moaned and whined like a stubborn girl, voice thick with need and painful yearning that made his cock twitch in his pants. You almost sounded broken, voice fragmented with a certain torment only his mouth and fingers could appease.

He licked his lips, feeling desire swell in his lower tummy at the state of you — already so incapable of any thought but the memory of his cock inside you, the feeling of his fingers drilling into your tight hole as he spat and licked on your sensitive clit. It was all you could think about, all you could picture in your mind as your head laid back on the pillows and you scooted down the bed until your pussy was right in his face.

The blanket had long since been forgotten, bunched around his hips and aiding as a nice cushion for his abdomen hunched over the end of the bed.

Bruce felt himself chuckle huskily at your shameless neediness, his big hands stopping on your plush inner thighs as he settled down between your legs on the soft mattress, getting himself comfortable for you.

You breathed heavily, eyes closed as you laid back on the silken pillow with your face crumbled so cutely. He was such a tease even when he was meant to be sweet, even when he was insistent on being a good husband who doted on his wife whenever he could — you guessed growing up rich gave him that arrogant edge.

Your stomach was knotted so tight, your skin hot and shivering for some sort of touch as your fingers dug themselves into the roots of his damp, brown hair. You needed him so bad, but your pussy needed him worse.

You felt your thighs tickle as Bruce lightly traced the pads of his fingers down, down, down until he was at the crook of your inner thigh, his right hand digging into the flesh of your leg like he himself couldn’t hold back from you anymore.

Bruce didn’t bother voicing any teasing quips or dirty statements, knowing you were so out of it you wouldn’t listen to him anyway. Every fiber of your being was hooked on his touches, hyper aware of the spots his fingers trickled across, eager for some degree of pleasure that would make this painful waiting period worth it.

He swallowed down the salvia pooling in his throat, so hungry for a taste of you, starved almost. His index finger hooked into your panties and delicately pushed them out of the way until they were bunched in the crook of your thigh. His eyes were met with your soaking wet slit in all its glory.

White, creamy arousal stuck to your panties and dripped down your pulsing hole into the crack of your ass, sheer white beads of cum dribbled down your needy hole that would escape his tongue before he even got a proper taste of you yet.

The cool air made you whine behind closed lips, your voice high pitched and desperate now, your fingers tighter in his hair as your hips subtly bucked forward. The beautiful noises you were making made Bruce’s jaw clench.

You were glistening, shiny with arousal and the strings of impenitent want, evidence of your desire and love for him as he found himself inhaling the scent of you once more.

You smelt so good. He found himself groaning at the musky sweetness, his finger still hooked around the crotch of your panties as his other hand tightly gripped your thigh — you moaned softly at the pressure, sure that there would be the faint yellow bruises of his adoring fingerprints pressed into your skin tomorrow. A charming reminder of the evening when they blossomed.

You felt your core clench once more, thighs tensing up as wetness shone in his greedy irises.

Bruce was unable to wait any longer, his mouth salivating and his eyes blown black as he pressed his tongue into your wet hole and licked a bold stripe all the way up to your buzzing clit, the taste of your arousal pooled on his tongue and already dripping down the sharp corners of his mouth.

You couldn’t stop the loud moan from echoing in the room, euphoric sounding as sweet sparks went off all over your skin at the long awaited contact. Your fingers tightly anchored themselves in Bruce’s hair as his tongue went up and down your folds, gathering as much of your wetness in his mouth as he could.

His hands swiftly dug themselves into your hips to hold you down once you started writhing in his hold. His tongue forcefully circled your clit in sharp wet strokes, deep rumbled moans escaping his chest that vibrated the sensitivity of it and only made more wetness gush out of you and soak his chin.

You tasted so good, so fucking good; he wanted nothing more than to be drowned in your essence, choking on everything you gave him until his belly was full and even then he wouldn’t be satisfied, he’d never be satisfied. He was like a monster, chasing every little drop of cum that pebbled out of your clenching hole with a forked tongue, greedy and carnivorous like you were the only nectar he ever wanted to taste again.

His tongue lapped your pussy once more as you gasped, back arched and toes clenched as he thrusted his tongue into you over and over, wet and messily as your juices shimmered on his cheeks and lips.

No, he decided, the beast within him would never be tamed.

You bucked away from his mouth in a pathetic attempt to free yourself from the overwhelming pleasure, but Bruce held you down with his strong arms, staring up at you with furrowed brows of concentration as his lips molded over your puffy clit once more, swollen from need and his relentless licking.

He was nothing if not devoted, devoted to your elegance, to your holy figure and endless love as he lapped at you desperately, his tongue swirling your clit as the fabric of your panties tickled his nose. He couldn’t get enough, pushing deeper and harder until your wetness was messily smeared on his mouth and face, eating more and tasting more until his entire being was smothered with your cum inside and out.

“Bruce, o-oh my god!” You squealed wantonly, one hand now gripping the black sheets between tight fingers as your other hand remained in his hair, following the movements of his head as he went up and down, side to side until not an inch of you wasn’t covered in his salvia.

He breathed hotly against you, his eyes closed as he savored the feel of you in his mouth and trickling down his throat. He couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t listen to reason as all he could focus on was you and your cum, tasting you, licking you, having you in every sense of the word. No one could tear him away from you, not now, not when he was so close to having you cum in his mouth and reaching his final purpose.

You were so close, you could feel it in your tummy. Your hole clenching around his tongue as he went back and forth from your clit and your soaked hole, wanting to pleasure you but simultaneously wanting to taste you for his own pleasure.

Your toes curled, stomach tightened, hands gripping the sheets as your mouth flew open in sporadic moans and gasps, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your thighs squeezed around Bruce so tight you’d fear he’d never surface from between your legs again.

He wouldn’t have a problem with that.

Bruce picked his head up only high enough to talk, lips dripping and almost incoherent as he mumbled deeply into the wet folds of your pussy like he couldn’t bear to part, “You gonna cum for me, baby? Come on, Mrs. Wayne, make me proud, cum in my mouth.” As he voiced this his one hand crept down and slyly inserted themselves into the tight confine of your warmth, his index and middle fingers pushing inside you, so long and so big it made you cry out.

It was wet and warm, your juices slapping against his knuckles as he circled his fingers inside you, pushing on the spot he knew he was supposed to as his mouth eagerly returned to your clit. He looked up at you, eyes dark and heavy as he stared at your tits jiggling with every thrash of your hips, every arch of your back and every gasp out of your pretty, dampened lips.

He groaned into you at the sight, feeling his cock achingly hard in his pants as he sucked your clit into the warmth of his mouth and refused to let go, tongue prodding the area skillfully and harshly. He wasn’t going to stop this time, not until you were creaming around his fingers and leaking down his neck.

The air was so thick and stuffy that you couldn’t help but pant fervently, your body prickled with pleasure and overwhelming sensations that made it hard to focus on anything but his fingers inside you, long and lithe, slipping in and out as the sounds of your wetness clouded your ears and muffled your moans.

Bruce himself was lost in you, tongue and lips a glistening mess as they lapped and circled and sucked every part of your pussy exposed to him, it felt so good it stung — he was groaning into you softly, pleasure building in his tummy and rumbling through his mouth to your already so sensitive clit.

It was then, just a few short moments after his fingers wormed their way inside your tight walls, just a few short moments after he sucked your clit into his mouth did you feel your stomach relax, thighs squeeze around his head so hard he felt himself go dizzy.

“Ahh, O-oh my god, Bruce!” You moaned so blissfully, so sweetly, as your juices squirted onto his chin and his fingers squelched inside you.

Bruce moaned at the feeling, fingers gently sliding out of your clenching hole so his tongue could catch all the cum pouring out. You whimpered at the feeling of his mouth still on you, lapping at your hole like a dehydrated villager kneeling at a prosperous fountain, your skin pasty and so so hot.

He lapped at your pussy a few more times, up and down, ensuring he got his fill for the evening as faint tremors wracked your body in the aftershocks of his giving nature. You were flat on the bed now, belly sore from the tightness it held for so long, legs limp and body spent as you panted gently, heart throbbing in your ears.

You managed to lazily caress his sweaty hair though as Bruce surfaced from between your legs, face glistening and lips sore and pink. He looked manic, hair pulled and tangled and messily scattered on his face yet he seemed to be glowing at the same time, like he had never felt so alive and it made you want to giggle.

He sniffled, looking up at you with an impish grin, the taste of you lingering in his mouth and staining his nose. His hands fondly massaged your shaking thighs, noting your wrecked appearance and tired eyes, your sweaty skin flushed and warm.

He couldn’t help it as he glanced down at the mess he made, your slippery wet folds and the large patch of wetness staining his sheets.

“Mrs. Wayne, pardon my brashness of course,” He said almost sarcastically, breathless and rugged, an amused smile quirked on his lips as he leaned forward and embraced your hand with his, “but you taste utterly divine.”

you were originally a forensic for the GCPD but since you got to know the batman and then he revealed to you that he was billionaire bruce Wayne two years after, he offered you to help him with his work when he was away, you two sometimes even worked together on certain cases. Bruce Wayne definitely paid better than the police department..

You shook your head and rolled your eyes as you leaned against the metal desk, Bruce quietly positioned himself next to you and waited for you to finish the call.

"You know what?! Go fuck yourself, CUNT!" You yelled the insult particuarly loud and angry before you aggressively hung up and groaned, slamming your phone on the desk.

Bruce looked at you rubbing your temples and groaning in annoyance, waiting a bit before he spoke up "Him again?" Bruce asked quietly as you ran your hands through your hair in a frustrated manner. Bruce knew you since forever, and he obviously trusted you with all his heart for letting you know what he does after hours. So he also knew your husband, he was a cop that he was..acquainted with. Meaning he broke his nose in a club once. You were mad at him for that for a while but forgave bruce after you found out that he was in the iceberg lounge.

This was not coming from a place of jealousy or anything but he couldn't get how a man like him got a woman like you.

You two were like night and day, and not in the cute "you wear black and I wear pink" type of way. You both were just very different from each other, you were a sweet, caring, helpful, and obviously a beautiful women. He, on the other hand, was a dirty, corrupted and with all respect, unattractive cop. At least for you.

But then again..no man could compare to your beauty.

"Yeah.." you sighed and gave Bruce a soft smile that quickly faded away, just for you to look down at your heels again. Bruce sat down on his chair looking up at you "is it okay if I ask what happened? Or would you rather not talk about it?"

You shook your head softly "no, it's okay. I need to complain to someone about it anyway." You turned to him and leaned on your hand that was placed on the desk.

"So.." you started and smacked your glossy lips "there was a little gala tonight and he didn't even bother to ask me to come with him beforehand—fuck, i even just found out about the gala!"

Bruce already furrowed his eyebrows at your sentence so you reacted with "no, no! the best part is just about to come, He brought his female coworker instead of me! HIS WIFE!"

You said with a bitter grin, you found this funny as well as heartbreaking. But Bruce was just mad and confused as to how and why he wouldn't want to show off a woman like you..if bruce had you, he would attend galas and meetings just to show people how hot you are, sit you down on his lap and how you belong to him and only him..maybe bruce was a little jealous

"No way." He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yes way!" You laughed "unbelievable, right?!" Bruce nodded in agreement and pressed his back into the seat of his chair with a sigh. He actually couldn't Believe that your husband could do such a thing, there is no way that there is a woman as sweet and beautiful as you..he just couldn't wrap his head around it

"I just.." you sighed and sat back on the table, your actual sadness was evident in your sigh and suddenly change in tone, catching Bruce's full attention once again "I don't feel like I'm good enough lately.."

Your worries made Bruce straighten his back and look at you again with a worry adoring his features.

"He doesn't look at me like he used to you know? I've got so many cute outfits to show off, and I try to go out on dates with him but..he just isn't interested in me.." you swallowed a sad whine before looking at Bruce with little tears forming on your lashline.

"Am I not good enough?"

Your question made his heart sink, you are usually so confident and lively, how could a man like that make you feel so little?

Bruce shook his head and placed his hands on the sides of your face to make you look up "no, no, no..don't.." he took a deep breath "please don't let him make you feel this way.." your pretty doe eyes blinked the tears away "the way he acts isn't your fault, you're.." he stopped and looked down, not being sure if he should say this but your sad look made him immediately decide that he should.

"you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met, if not the most. I would do anything to keep you happy if you were mine, I would take out on dates, take you to galas I would take you to Trips in Paris..fuck I would do so much for you" Bruce already felt regret bubbling up inside him for saying that, he shouldn't say stuff like that to a married woman..but he also felt so vulnerable for opening up to you. Sure he knew you now for four years but it's still beyond him to open up to others.

As Bruce let go of your face, his lips parted to apologize but you didn't let him. You took a step forward to give him a small kiss. Bruce's heart was pounding against his ribcage the second your face got closer to his, he didn't pull away or fight it. He loved it, but he knew he shouldn't.

You two looked at eachother for a few seconds before you pressed yourself against his chest

"I— we shouldn't.." he said, slightly above a whisper as his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, it's been a long, long time since he got to feel a woman's touch..so feeling not just any woman's, but your touch was almost ethereal to him.

You stood on your tippy toes to reach back up to him "I don't care anymore..you're right"

You sighed against his lips, looking into his pretty blue-green eyes surrounded by the smudged black eyeliner, it was like a metaphor for his whole melancholic being.

"I shouldn't let him make me feel this way.." Bruce nodded at your statement "you deserve better..I never wanted to say it but..you always deserved better" his hands hesitantly took ahold of your hips, he touched you like a delicate flower, only because he wasn't sure if you really wanted this.

You were so warm and smelled like cotton candy, such a contrast to him..he was cold and wet due to the rain, and he smelled like a wet dog at the moment.

"You deserve better.." he said again before softly pressing his lips against yours, he could almost moan at how sweet you taste once he hot enough time to enjoy the Feeling of your heavenly lips. This was all he ever wanted, you could be so much happier with him and he knows it.

"You're so gentle.." you mumbled, sliding your hand around the back of his neck to play with his hair. Bruce shivered at your warm and soft touches as a small whimper crawled up his throat. "I want you to own me, bruce" your soft lips connected with his neck and slowly went up his jaw

Bruce couldn't keep his low noises inside anymore, feeling your painfully soft kisses on his skin..Bruce was so touch starved that this felt like he was entering the gates of paradise. "What.." he started but got cut off my his heavy breathing "what do you mean..by 'owning you'?" Bruce knew what you meant but he wanted you to fully say it before he did anything else than softly touch you.

You didn't say anything and just grabbed his hand to place it on your tits, Bruce's eyes almost rolled back once his fingers made contact with your soft and squishy flesh. "Fuck..you can't just do that.."

You grinned and traced the veins on the hand that was grabbing your tit "or what?"

You're asking for your ass to be red after this encounter.

"Or what?" He repeated your question with a slight chuckle, his voice was deeper and his eyes were darker as he got closer to you again, slowly massaging your soft flesh "Mhm.." you moaned and looked up at him.

But even though you already looked at him, his other hand went up to grab your hair and pull it back so he could pull you closer to him and lift your head up. You looked into his eyes and you could only see a fog of lust and darkness in them, your thighs rubbed together at the sudden dominant aura around him

"tell me what you want" you were about to answer but he yanked your hair again "and be clear about it."

You swallowed hard and nodded "I want to be yours..I want you to make me yours" you took a deep breath as Bruce got closer to your pretty face again "I want you to fuck me and show me how a real man should treat his lover.."

Just as you thought Bruce was about to kiss you again— he pushed you foward, onto the Table, pulling your dress over the curve of your ass. letting some papers slide onto the floor in the process. "You want me to fuck you?" He huffed as his hand slid back into your hair and pulled your head up "y-yes" you stuttered.

The Cold metal on your ass and pussy was such a contrast to your hot Body temperature. It was a little uncomfortable but it was easy to look over when the hottest man you knew was finally getting his hands on you.

Bruce got closer to your pretty lips and chuckled when your mouth opened, desperate for another kiss.

"Good girl.." his hot breath ghosted over your wet lips. Bruce suddenly chuckled as he ran his thumb over your lips "what if I would send this to him?"

You got confused for a second but then understood what he meant, he was still wearing the contact lens with the camera. "He would finally regret the way he's treated you..he would see how well I treat you" he sighed once your lips wrapped around his thumb "would you like that?" He asked softly while his other Hand Massage the Back of your head.

You nodded with him thumb still on your tongue "mhm.."

Bruce had the slightest smile on his lips before he spoke up again "then Show him how well you can suck on my fingers.."

You mumbled a highpitched 'mhm' again and sucked his fingers like you were sucking his cock. Bobbing your head up and down, sliding your tongue on the underside of his fingers..

Bruce groaned and watched your plush lips intently before looking back into your Eyes that were cutely and innocently looking up at him like you weren't sucking his fingers right now.

"Good, good girl.." he Pulled his fingers out of your throat making you let out an adorable choking Sound before taking a deep breath. Bruce looked at you like hes never seen anything more Beautiful, there were little tears Rolling down your face due to the 'throat fucking'

"What do you want now baby?.." he asked pressing himself against your thighs, making you feel how hard he was

"I want—" you gasped for air, trying to gather your thoughts "f-finger me..please, daddy.." Bruce quietly sighed at the nickname and your suggestion before Bruce could say or do anything else you kissed him, open mouthed and wilder than before..way more needy than before. Hot tongues sliding, teeth clashing and scraping across his and your lower lips. Bruce pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath a bit

"my pretty little princess.." he kissed you on the forehead and let his lips linger there as his fingers traced down your inner thighs to your clothes cunt. "Hmm.." you hummed, grabbing onto his dirty and still wet jacket "take it off.." you mumbled and noticed your breath hitching once Bruce's fingers traced the lace of your panties and the little bow on it.

Bruce kissed your cheek softly again before taking his jacket and shirt off. You bit your bottom lip as you saw his breathtakingly hot and well built body.

Bruce smiled a little as he saw your stares and little squirms "lay back a bit, baby" you nodded and did as he said. You leaned back on your elbows before slowly spreading your legs as your eyes never left Bruce's face. He shamelessly stared down your body "take them off" he said in a raspy tone, staring at your clothed cunt.

Bruce couldn't remember the last time he was this horny, the answer is probably never. He was achingly hard, he felt so uncomfortable due to the amount of precum in his boxers but he fuckin loved to watch you slowly take your panties off and just placing them on the table.

You looked into his now dark eyes as you agonizingly slowly spread your legs again, to finally expose your sopping wet cunt, pressed onto his now wet table

You saw Bruce's cock twitch as a guttural moan left his throat "fuck.."

You tilted your head cutely and slid your fingers down your pussy to spread your pussy lips for him "p-please..bruce.." you whined.

Bruce cursed one last time and walked back over to you "you're driving me fucking insane.." Bruce's rough hand slipped down to your cunt and began to play with your swollen clit immediately. Bruce wanted to ask you out the second he saw you, even though his morals spoke against having a lover since it could become complicated or even tragic. But then he found out that you are married, so he knew he could only admire you from afar, technically speaking, he was admiring you whenever you would stay at the tower at late hours just to help him because you wanted him to get more sleep..he usually doesn't listen to people telling him to go to sleep ect, but you, you worked late just for him..he didn't want you to lose sleep because of him. But he couldn't deny the way his heart fluttered knowing that you cared so much for him.

"H-aahh..f-fuck!" You moaned and grabbed onto his bicep before moaning into his strong shoulder "want my fingers inside of you?" Suddenly his touches became feather light. As you started to grind your hips onto his hand so desperately but he kept pulling his hand away from you, you nodded and felt tears well up again as the way you clenched your thighs started to hurt "yes! P-please..fuck.."

He grabbed your jaw and made your messy face look up at him again "what's my name again?" He asked deeply, not like Bruce but more like vengeance..

"Daddy.."

You answered, almost hushed and breathless.

Bruce didn't say anything before growling deeply and pushing his lips onto yours in another heated and open mouthed wet kiss as his fingers forced themselves into your wet pussy, his fingers were able to slide is so easily, so fucking easily..it was another reason for Bruce to moan and almost lose the little bit of composure that he had left.

"Tell him how you feel.." he demanded with a little nod for you to go ahead and say it, you let out a string of strangled moans as his fingers literally fucked you, letting wet skin smacking noises errupt from in between your legs reaching every corner of the wet and dark cave.

"So—" you cut yourself off with a loud and borderline pornographic moan coming from deep within your chest as Bruce curled his fingers, hitting the perfect fucking spot "so fucking good—g-god!" You cried out

Bruce could barely take the pretty faces and noises you made, but he loved knowing he was making you feel good, and he wanted your fucking soon-to-be ex husband to know that too..

"Was he able to make you feel like that?" Bruce breathed out as he began to rub fast and hard circles on your clit with his thumb. Your body twitched and your hips bucked as you tried to speak up "n-never! Daddy- you make feel.." you took a deep, shaky breath "so fucking good!"

"Good girl.." your tight and warm walls suddenly clenched down hard on and pulse around his fingers..

Fuck.

You were cumming..he was about to make you cum..

Your hips kept grinding against his hand as your nails were digging themselves into Bruce's injured shoulder, but he couldn't even feel the pain, he was too fucking focused on you, Like he always was..it was like everything else was gone, only you existed in his mind right now. All of his worries were gone..

"Fuckk!! Daddy—I-i'm- fuck!" Bruce lovingly kissed your forehead while his fingers kept wrecking your pussy and flooding the desk with your pussy juice. "I know, baby..let go for me.." another kiss placed on your forehead "cum for me, my special girl"

His voice was so soothing and soft, but that nickname hit you like a fucking train..it made you feel so fucking good that your orgasm hit you just as hard. Your pussy gripped his fingers so tight that Bruce let out a deep, erotic growl that helped you clench down even harder on his digits..if that was even possible..

You slowly came down from your high with a soft sigh. Bruce wanted to hug and comfort you but he wasn't quite sure if he should. But you did it for him, you softly wrapped your shaking arms around his strong torso "..are you okay?"

He softly asked as his hands caressed your shoulders and back, Bruce's heart hurt from how adorably you were cuddling up to him, limbs so heavy and breathing so soft..

You suddenly pulled away, which made Bruce think he did something wrong until you sat back onto the desk making him look deep into your eyes, also noticing your cheeks flushed and bottom lip swollen from all the biting.

Both of you held your gazes as you grabbed the straps of your dress to slide them over your shoulders and teasingly slow to reveal your beautiful tits to Bruce. Once you were done your dress pooled at your waist, looking just like an angel being ready for the dark to corrupt her.

"I want you, bruce.." you mumbled, taking his way bigger hand compared to yours. "You might think I'm a dirty woman now but.." you took a small breath

"I wanted you for the longest time now.."

Bruce's eyes widened at your sweet confession and he shook his head "no, I.." he swallowed "i wanted you too.."

You smiled and chuckled, bruce could never get enough of the way your smile reached your eyes..it was the sweetest thing.

"I knew that, silly bat"

You didn't even give Bruce the opportunity to answer before you spread your legs again and ran your hand softly over his back while the other ran down his abdomen to his work pants and the thick belt, swiftly opening it hearing the clinking of the belt buckle in the process.

"You didn't think we were done, right?" You smiled and kissed his chest softly before you laid back down on your elbows, sliding the keyboard to the side beforehand.

"You still want me to.." "fuck me, yes..I do" you finished his sentence. Bruce's hand caressed your cheek "should we go up and have sex in my bedroom? I have condoms there.." you shook your head as you reached up to kiss him again

"I want you to fuck me raw and cum inside of me, daddy.."

"Yes.."

You mumbled against his lips, bruce shivered underneath your touch and took a deep shaky breath

"is it okay if I'm rough with you?" He asked, already sliding his hand over your tits and hard nipples towards your neck, but he waited for your answer before he went any further.

That little agreement was enough for him to roughly grab your throat, leading to the veins in his hand to become very visible. His grip was soft enough to let you properly breathe, but hard enough for your pussy to clench around nothing.

Bruce kissed you softly, as if he was greeting you after coming home from work and pulled back again "stick your tongue out, princess" he rasped. God he was hot..

"Gonna treat you right, baby.." his lips pressed onto your soft cheek "just the way a special girl like you deserves.." you whimpered and nodded

"who's my special girl, baby?" He asked, squeezing your throat softly, and running his thumb over your pulse "me.." you answered with your pretty puppy eyes looking up at him, both of your eyes' surrounded by smudged makeup now. But you looked so much prettier like that, so fuckin beautiful..

"say it. who's my special girl?" He asked again, now so close that you could feel his warm breath over your face. You gulped, which was hard due to the grip he had on your neck.

"I'm your special girl" you grinned, completely fucked out and cute..you actually felt so special and appreciated for once. You were so happy that Bruce was filming all of this to show your husband, he should know what he's done to you, and what he's missing out on.

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, still looking straight into his pretty eyes. "Good girl.." he groaned before spitting onto your waiting tongue, once then twice.

Bruce started kissing you again, tongues gliding against each other, pushing more spit into your mouth in the process. He pulled away again, but was still so close that a string of spit was still connecting the two of you

"Swallow.." it was a clear order that you gladly followed..bruce loosened his hand and watched your throat bob slightly as you swallowed. He kissed you again, this time sweet and slow "good girl." He praised before picking you up and sitting you down on his desk chair, sitting between your legs as he pulled his pants down, letting his cock finally jump out with an almost inaudible groan. Red and leaky tip, he was fucking huge.

Bruce smiled a little at your soft gasp "you like what you see I'm guessing.." bruce ran his thumb over your bottom lip "am I bigger than him?" He boldly asked and you started sucking on his thumb "yes.." you opened your mouth again to stick your tongue out and let him push his thumb further on your slick and soft muscle.

You looked back down at how close his cock was to your cunt, causing your thighs to twitch and quietly beg him to put it inside of you.

"Say what you need, baby and you'll get it..you'll get everything you want" bruce slid his thumb out of your mouth and caressed your cheek with the running mascara. "Fuck me..f-fucking cum inside me..please, daddy"

"D-do you think it'll fit?.." you asked before he pushed at your entrance, bruce chuckled and smiled down at you "we'll make it fit.."

Bruce grabbed your throat again and his rock hard cock with the other to run it through your glistening pussy lips "p-please..." you gasped once his tip hit your clit softly.

Bruce didn't want to torture you and himself anymore so he looked into your eyes to ask for a quiet 'can I?' For you to immediately nod. Bruce took a deep breath, preparing for the tight grip your pussy has that he already felt on his fingers.

He said in that sexy raspy tone again before slowly pushing his cock inside of you, inch by inch..your mouth hung open but no sounds came out at first before a loud moan crawled out of your throat. Bruce had to fucking hold back his moans just to keep on listening to yours. The only sounds that he let out were low groans and grunts making your pussy clench and throb around his length.

"You're so tight, angel...fuck" Bruce still couldn't believe that he was this close to you, after four years of crushing on—no, having actual feelings for you was unfathomable to him..

Your pussy clenched around him as you whined and rocked your hips back and forth forcing a hitched moan out of bruce "fuck me..please..I need you, bruce" hearing you call him daddy was one thing, actually you saying his name in such a loving and adoring tone made his heart melt, he was putty in your hands. He was so vulnerable with you

Bruce didn't say anything because..well he was bad with words, so he just softly kissed he as he began to rock his hips back and forth, trying to find a rhythm that you both liked, the second he heard your breath hitch in your moans as he hit that one spongey spot inside your cunt so he just kept this rythm up

Bruce was slowly going harder and faster as he straightened his back again to look at your pretty figure, desperately holding onto the leather of the chair for dear life and his cock jackhammered your gspot. One of your hands reached down to Bruce's hand grabbing your hips just to guide that hand to your throat "f-fuck me like this, daddy.." you cried out and grinded against his thrusts. He groaned again and gripped your throat tighter, fucking into you even harder, dragging his cock along your tight and sensitive walls, making your toes curl and letting you see stars

"Fuck, my pretty fuckin' girl..so pretty" your hand grabbed at his wrist as you smiled and clenched more around him.

Bruce was so fucking close to cumming inside of you, he could feel your fast pulse on his palm as he choked you and your constant throbbing, knowing you were close too. He slipped his thumb down to circle your clit again, and looking into your dreamy eyes. "Cum on my cock, princess.." you moaned out a loud cry "I'm close.." he groaned and you nodded, drool running from your mouth, not even thinking or caring about anything else than bruce and his hard thrusts. "I'm cumming, daddy!! Fuck! I-I'm cumming!" You almost sounded scared at the orgasm that was about to crash over you.

Bruce kissed your temple to then press his forehead against yours as you kept moaning and clenching "fuck—me too..let's.. " he took a breath that came back out as a moan "let's cum together.."

You couldn't even nod because you were already cumming all over the seat right as he finished his sentance, leading to bruce huffing out a deep "oh fuck.." that he made you cum that fucking hard was enough to push him over the edge, feel a burning hot feeling in the pit of his stomach and cum deep inside of your cunt.

"That was..so fucking good.." bruce huffed and cuddled his head between your shoulder and neck, to place a soft kiss onto your delicate skin, you ran your hand into his soft hair and wrapped your legs around Bruce's waist. Keeping him as close as possible..

You two were breathing into eachothers mouths as Bruce was slowly rocking into you again until a hand to his hip stopped him once you noticed how gone he himself was..

it made a little bit of pride bloom in your chest knowing that you reduced vengeance, the batman to a mindless, rutting mess. But you were the same right now..

Bruce felt so relaxed for once..he almost forgot what that felt like. Bruce looked up at you and couldn't help but kiss you again

"I love you.." he confessed and you almost thought you were so cockdrunk that you were hallucinating but he actually said that he loved you..

Bruce Wayne Confessed his feelings to you.

You grabbed his face as soft as you could to kiss him again "I love you too.."

Bruce smiled and shyly hid his face back into your shoulder. You pat his back and he looked back into your eyes "we should go take a bath.." bruce got off you and slowly pulled his softening cock out of you with a little moan "yeah..you go up first..I'll follow, I gotta do something real quick"

You cocked your head to the side and frowned bruce chuckled softly "it has nothing to do with work.." he smiled again at you. You could never get tired of his rare smiles..they always force your face to smile

"Okay..I'll be waiting, brucey" you purred and pulled your dress back down as well as pulling your straps back up before walking into the elevator.

Bruce watched you leave and then took the eyelens out to place it back onto it's holder.

If you thought he was joking about sending this to your husband, Bruce Wayne wasn't quite the humorous type.

He pulled up your husband's number and sent it without hesitation, why should he hesitate anyway? He never liked him. He hated the way he treated you like a second option..you deserve better and you'll get better.

The tense silence that lingered between you two was suffocating, albeit all windows in the room being wide open. You just couldn’t get yourself to speak, and Bruce just didn’t know what to say. He never does, but you love him either way. it’s funny to see the cocky billionaire flaunt all of his riches out to the world while he softens for you.

You sat upon the edge of your shared bed with your head in your hands, unable to make out whatever you husband was fumbling with behind you. The feeling of being in the opposite man’s grasp was so fresh to you, like a new scar that your brain harboured. Not only mentally, but the haunting mark across your wrists and neck were yet another temporary reminder of what had happened to you that night.

Oftentimes throughout the night you found yourself being ashamed for a reason or the other. Your husband’s been through worse, so have your sons, and yet your brain couldn’t help but replay the disturbing images of the moment you’d lost Bruce at the gala. You sighed in the comfort of your hands, forcing your eyelids shut impossibly further than they already were to try and shoo the nightmares away. 

Your clothes laid messily somewhere across the floor, a bloody and muddy mess that Bruce had quickly drawn off of you before ushering you into a warm shower. He’d then dressed you in a silky robe, and that was the end of it before you’d end up on the edge of the bed, alone with your thoughts despite your husband being in the same room as you.

Your ears fell deaf to the sound of constant rustling of cloth, so much that you failed to hear him crouch before you as he settled comfortably on his knees. 

Rough hands gently pried at your own, pulling them away from their protective stance around your face. The sudden lack of covering made you scrunch your nose in dismay, but a quick look from those hazel eyes before you had you relaxing. Bruce made a quick work out of the situation, silent as ever as his hands came to undo the knot around your robe that he himself had previously tied. 

You didn’t complain as his hands pushed at your robe, revealing the naked torso that Bruce had seen so many times before. The soft sigh that escaped your husband didn’t go deaf to your ears, and you closed your eyes once more as you awaited for the tingly feeling of his fingers. Seconds passed in sterile silence before you finally felt the scarred skin upon your own, except instead of balm covered fingers, you were met with his warm, bare ones. 

You opened your eyes to the sight of your dishevelled husband staring down at your bruised torso, the balms and bandages that were once in his left hand now abandoned beside you on the bed. His right hand held onto your side like an anchor, wide thumb pressing against your stomach. Bruce kneeling between your open legs was a sight that you’d never get tired of, but this time you could only pray for it to end. 

Hazel iris traced the dark spots littering your torso with a shame that was beyond their ability. Tiny hairs across his hairline stuck to his forehead due to cold sweat, and you brought a hand down to smooth them behind, little to no care for the tacky fluid rubbing onto your hand. Slowly by slowly, you began caressing your way down his face, smoothing out the wrinkles accumulating on his face before stopping on the edge of his jaw. 

The feeling of your fingers, alive and warm upon his freshly shaven jaw caused his fingers to involuntary clench on your side. The painful hiss that escaped your mouth was enough to snap your husband out of his stance, fingers almost immediately unclenching from their grip. 

Masochistic as it was, you were somewhat glad for the pain. It reminded you that you were alive and well, there in the mansion with your husband. It also managed to get those brown eyes that you loved so much to snap upwards towards you. They held so many feelings in there that you believed you could not be able to tend to them all in one night.

“I’m sorry,” it left his lips faster than your brain could comprehend, and you were left dumbfounded yourself at those two little words. Meaningless in most relationships, those words were nothing that you’d ever hear coming on of the one and only Bruce Wayne’s lips. He was cocky, always flaunting his riches to those who seeked. 

“It’s okay, it only hurt for a second.” you lied, because the throbbing pain still coursing through your right side threatened to sell you out. You could tell that Bruce wasn’t buying it, so much for being Gotham’s greatest detective. Nevertheless, your hand resumed its delicate caressing upon his cheek, a ruse to take his mind away from the little slip up. 

You could practically see the gears turning inside his head, trying to decipher why in hell you would be lying to him about this out of everything. Yet again he’d worried far too much over you in one night, you wouldn’t let his mind collapse over something so minor. 

Bruce didn’t wait for your approval before shifting on his knees, hands grabbing at the balms that looked humorously tiny compared to his large palm. The cold paste spreads smoothly upon the tip of his fingers, and soon they’re on your skin. The sensation made you flinch, but the reassuring hand that laid on your knee made you calm down. You thought it was crazy how such a simple thing could make you relax so easily, yet again marriage and love were another crazy thing of their own.

Your fingers clenched on their own as you felt

your throat tightening. No. Hell no, you wouldn’t let Bruce see you cry after the hectic course of fucking hell of days that you’d put him through. That selfless side of you that was present most of the time was yelling at you to stay strong, and yet the sight of your burly, rough and yet caring husband doting after you following your accident, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

You fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging little crescent moon into the skin of your palm as

you gritted your teeth together to hold in a loud sob threatening to escape past your lips involuntarily. From his spot on the floor, Bruce froze at the sight of the soft, rhythmic movements that swayed at your chest. From the corner of his eyes nevertheless, and in the dimness of the enclosed room, his senses never failed him.

Tilting his face up to meet your own, his fingers unwillingly clenched around the poor tin can of balm upon his hands. The tears that you were trying so hard to keep in pooled at your waterline, entangling in your bottom lashes before escaping on their own accord. He watched as your chest shook, exasperation taking over your body before you could even cry to him. Yet you weren’t doing it, and for some reason Bruce knew that he had some part to play in it. 

He remained silent as his hand came to clutch onto your own. Then, the sobs shook you and you just couldn’t hold it in anymore. You jumped from your seat on the edge of the bed and straight into his awaiting embrace, arms thrown tightly around the broad neck. Bruce felt his heart squeezing at the sound of your distraught cries, like the Joker himself had his heart placed and chained on some sort of death carousel. 

Nothing was more painful to Bruce than family. The bad and the good hurt. Like when happiness would grasp at his heart so hard that it’d physically hurt. Only family could achieve that for him, yet life wasn’t always favourable, and the bat knew that better than anyone else. He could make a list of things, one shittier and more tragic than the other, that’s happened to Bruce ever since he was but a little boy, and yet, his heart never got more of in a twist than at the sight of a member of his family hurting. 

Your breath staggered, and your husband felt the warm exhale of you trying to stabilise yourself upon his neck. A large, ringless, and warm palm found its way to the small of your back like a collarless dog chasing home. Suddenly, another bare hand fell upon your back as Bruce embraced you against his chest fully. 

The room was void of any noise save for the agonising sounds of your pained sobs. Bruce didn’t need to ask anything, he didn’t need to inquire to know that you were hurt. All the more scared and traumatised after your encounter with the Joker. His large palm rubbed comforting circles along your back as you laid motionless in his warm embrace. 

“You’re home now,” he muttered, as though it would help appease all of the new scars and fears that you'd acquired in the span of a few days. 

“I’m glad.” you breathed out from your position in the crook of his neck, feeling like you’d break down again if you spoke too much. The both of you occupied your positions on the floor for far longer than normal, only splitting apart to rejoin the comfort of the soft mattress after you’d whined in pain following a slight movement to adjust yourself on his lap. 

Bruce made a quick and effortless job of carrying you back to bed, pausing in his movements when you’d told him you’d feel better to sleep with the side lamp on tonight. The frown on his face deepened at your comment, yet he didn’t allow you to see it as he kept his back to you despite complying. Settling in bed was even harder for you than you expected, unable to wrap your arms around the muscular torso of your husband and rest your head upon his chest as your injury unabled you to. 

Sleep didn’t come easy either, plagued with nightmares that previously didn’t exist in the far back of your mind. Bruce was here with you through it all, his sleeping habits aiding him to wake by the moment you’d stir awake. That night, Batman slept but Bruce didn’t, but the feeling of your pulse regaining its normal beat as you laid with your back against his chest erased Bruce’s ability to care. Safe and sound under the wraps.

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