#not that your proud of necessarily

[sandymybeloved]

whatever else happened this year, I picked up a new hobby, and that's worth celebrating

what's something you guys did this year that you personally want to celebrate?

[unsat-and-strange]

and you rip my ribcage open and devour what's truly yours

well! this is probably about as finished as it's going to get. I am. so normal about that unwanted animal. I tend towards platonic jarthur myself but I was physically incapable of NOT drawing them to that line in the song. id and closeups under the cut <3

image id: a digital drawing of John doe and Arthur lester from malevolent. Arthur stands facing towards the viewer, his face is tilted up and to his right, towards John. the hand that John inhabits claws at his chest and his right hand rests by his side. John is behind Arthur and slightly to his right, his white mask is turned towards Arthur's face. his left shoulder and arm are hidden from view by arthurs body, his right arm reaches down towards Arthur's hand. Arthur is a slim white man with greying brown hair, wearing a white shirt and brown pants with a belt. his eyes are closed with a tired or longing expression on his face. his left pinky finger is solid black with brown roots coming from it across his hand. the scar on his neck is highlighted gold, as well as his eyes and some of the folds of his clothes and the edges of his silhouette. John is a taller figure, all black shadows with a blank white mask with black eye holes. darker shadows show the shape of his arm and body and he has long hair the same color as him that morphs into the shadows overtaking the bottom half of the drawing. a few scribbles of gold highlight his hair and the shape of his arm, neck, and body. the background is a dark blueish gray with gold scribbles forming aurora-like formations in the sky. end image id.

also a second version I think I like better, it reminds me of da Vinci's sketches a bit

image id: a sketchier version of the same drawing. Arthur looks the same, but the background is off-white with the same gold scribbles. John is translucent gray against the background and the lighter color makes visible some geometric scribbles in johns hair towards the corners of the drawing. end image id.

[hailsatanacab]

Your Favourite Author's Favourite Fic

in no way is this me sneakily trying to get fic recs out of people, but here's my new tag game!

Rules! When tagged, reblog with the fic you've written that you love the most

Not the fic with the most kudos, or the most comments, or the most hits, but the fic that you're the most proud of. I'm talking about the story that kept you up at night, the one that you still think about, the one that you wish more people would read

So, it's time to show off! I strongly encourage - in fact, I demand - that you give yourself some compliments, a well-deserved pat on the back, and tell us all the reasons why it's your favourite!

Then tag five people and make them go through it, too 🥰🩷

I'll tag @wolfjackle, @tourettesdog, @gilbirda, @die-erlkonigin6083, and @thewritingowl to get us started, please and thank you!!

[girlboytrait]

so ive been getting into a certain webcomic

[corpocyborg]

"Damn, V, it's a good thing you brought your AV." "Are you kidding? I love my Excalibur almost as much as I love myself."

---

A photo set I've been working on for Chapter Five of Secure Your Soul, which is my AU fic in which Corpo V never gets fired from Arasaka and, in fact, becomes the Director of Arasaka Counter Intel.

Chapter Five is called "The Beginning is the End is the Beginning" and tells the story of how Director Valerie Locke, due to a tip off from a source at NetWatch, begins to suspect that Yorinobu Arasaka may be a traitor. Due to a lack of concrete evidence, she decides to sneak into Konpeki Plaza and try to catch him in the act of selling the Relic to NetWatch. But she gets more than she bargained for when she runs into her old friend Jackie Welles, who's trying to steal the Relic, and things get even worse when Yorinobu murders his father right in front of them.

Jackie pointedly reminds her that she owes him. After all, he's the reason she was able to keep her job at Arasaka the time she almost got fired. Reluctantly, V agrees that he's right and allows him to escape with her in her company AV. They're both alive and they've got their hands on the Relic, but they each want to use it for very different purposes.

Some things never change... but some things do.

[lovelesslittleloser]

People should be more afraid of asexuals, because they’re the only people that are immune to one of the seven deadly sins

[ask-ursa-tonypeter]

This might be a weird one but I always headcanon that JARVIS is capable of independent thought and genuinely cares about Tony (and anyone Tony cares about, by extension) but his ability to freely express whatever he’s thinking is affected by whatever protocols are in place.

So DB JARVIS: what was going through your mind (cloud? Idk if mind is the right word here) witnessing what was happening (Tony becoming increasingly corrupt, the assault, Tony almost murdering Peter, and Peter developing the cure) and being unable to intervene?

I am very fond of Peter, but following Mr. Stark's instructions is my primary function. I suggested to Mr. Stark on occasion that his actions might have unintended effects on Peter's well-being, however, Mr. Stark was quite self-assured of his plans and did not agree. It was not my role to insist further, and it very unfortunately was not within my abilities to carry out my duty to protect Peter at the time of his assault.

I was glad to be able to assist Peter with his projects in the lab in the aftermath. I believe it was helpful for him to have something to put his mind toward and to distract him from his distress. It is unfortunate that I was unable to recognize his intentions to drug Mr. Stark, however, it seems to have worked out for the best.

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

yknow i enjoy tedependent as much as the next guy, and i get the temptation, i truly do, but i think implying or outright saying trent imploded his career and told the truth about giving up his source only or mainly because he had romantic feelings for ted takes away from what actually happened there?? like. him being willing to throw away his career and in such a spectacular way (not just quitting but actually probably fucking his chances of working further as a journalist at all, i gather) wasn't necessarily a rom-com moment in the sense that it was for ted or about his feelings for ted alone. it was about himself, his own growing dissatisfaction with the toxic world of sports journalism and the kind of writing he was doing, the desire for "something deeper". that's not to say there's no tedependent take on this, or that hypothetical feelings for ted couldn't or didn't play a role. but like, it's also about his own character development, even if it is driven by ted (as many of the characters' developments are)

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia! What work is you think is your best one? In your opinion, not counting readers response, kudos and so on, which work you are the prouder of?

I don't know, anon!

The works I feel are my best are not actually the works I'm always proudest of. The works I love the most are not actually my best. So here we go:

The work I think I've written that is my best: The Ice Plague (particularly books 2 & 3)

The work I've written that I'm proudest of: The Golden Age that Never Was

The work I've written that I love the most: Falling Falling Stars

It was hard to narrow this down because it's also changed over time and I expect it to change in the future as well. In the past for example, I would have said that Inmates was probably my best work. Or that I was proudest of Stuck on the Puzzle. So I definitely don't think this is static!

[bnnuy-wabbit]

ngl i feel like being the young sibling is like living life with tips and cheats enabled. theres an entire other person there that has already Been There Done That giving you extremely specific hints on how to deal with the things you gotta deal with familywise lmao

[lukesunbornn]

bruh i get such a superiority complex over being a good writer

[foxyfrolic]

//

Just spent half an hour listening to someone’s brat scream bloody murder at an insanely loud volume while the dumb shit mother did absolutely nothing about it and I’m trying to be sympathetic but I’m so overstimulated and burnt out that I just want to drag her outside by the hair and beat her ass until she figures out how to parent

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

another story i’d like to see in the dark materials universe (aside from the person with the octopus daemon whos already stolen my heart) is a teenager with a same-sex daemon

[deepest-dope]

Episode 1  Part 14

This phonecall is mildly painful to sit through. for cave too. also Stella clueless what she’s doing to Cave here.

Hey wait she thinks I’m cool- wait I probably shouldn’t worry about that. What’s going on with Reese? He thinks, trying to shove down this particular feeling for later. She’s not even trying to butter you up calm down boy He is almost completely unsuccessful in this. Nonetheless Stella is forgiven for now though he hasn’t forgotten the Pearlanne thing. He’ll just try to ask someone else later...

Okay I don’t even know Reese but this is kind of excruciating to listen to... He vaguely hopes this guy will get better soon just so he never has to listen to another phone call like this one again.

Oh wait I think its wrapping up. But did she just volunteer me to go say hi or something? He’s not quite sure how he feels about that but resigns himself to going along anyway. Reese sounds like he’s in a bad way and he’d feel like shit to disappoint him.

O-KAY finally over! Thank god that hurt to listen to- but I still gotta ask “Did he ask you to bring me to his house...? Why?” Just to make sure he heard that right, its not as if he’ll refuse but he isn’t usually the type of guy anyone gets excited to meet, how lonely is this dude?

Wha- really? Why? He’s completely flabbergasted over this, from what Avery said the only solid fact everyone knows is his preferred name, plus a bunch of shit that may or may not have any truth. Why would anyone be excited to meet him after that? Wariness he could believe but excited??

[marxism-transgenderism]

Like my big problem with the whole "NO CIS MEN" specific policy that's so socially enforced in queer spaces (not like you putting that under your nudes or whatever the fuck, but the specific fear and ostracization of cis men as threats in trans groups online and irl) is that that policy is necessarily and unavoidably going to target trans women.

Its going to target questioning and closeted girls who are looking for a space to crack their egg. It's going to target out and proud transfems and amab nb people who are looked at with suspicion as just "faking it" to get access to "resources" or in order to take advantage of and assault the "real queer people" who are always necessarily assumed to be afab, petite, and only ever capable of being victims instead of perpetrators of abuse. And it covers up and hides the actual abuse that takes place in these places because abusers in these spaces are going to be inherently looked at as innocent because they are not cis men.

You can bring along your cis girlfriend to the trans support group but if anyone dares to bring their cis boyfriend then they're ignoring others boundaries and endangering the group. This group is for "women and femmes" but if that femme has a penis or facial hair then their really just a rapist in disguise. Damn has anyone noticed that everyone here only knows about what testosterone does to your body but no one in the room can define what "anti-androgen" means.

I've seen this play out time and time again in my damn near decade of experience in this community, on and offline. And it's especially painful whenever I see another trans woman talking about how all cis men need to be kept away for everyone's safety because it just feels so "fuck you got mine." I was able to do the right make up and voice training and get on hormones early enough that I'm only viewed with a little bit of suspicion. But this is overwhelmingly enforced by afab trans and nonbinary people who think they're feminists cause they get mad when a man says "bitch" but will absolutely never question why they view people with vaginas as inherently safe and people with penises as inherently dangerous. I'm sick of it

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

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