#Palm Readings in London | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hatsukeii · 3 months ago

Text

think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader

genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...

warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! unprotected sex here remember to wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk

wc: ~6.3k

tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.

Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen.

It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year.

When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world.

“You’re back.”

“It’s been a while, Kei.”

You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you.

“Why? Why now?”

You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation.

“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”

Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.

You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face.

“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”

He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket.

“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.

“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”

You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing.

“How long will you stay for?”

“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”

Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave.

“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).

All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food.

“Who are you staying with?”

“My mom’s.”

The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.

“It’s changed.”

“Everything has.”

You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways.

When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers.

“Do you still play volleyball?”

“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”

You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.

“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”

“Nah, I prefer this.”

It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei.

“It looks good.”

He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near.

“Is this the beach we used to go to?”

“You still remember it.”

He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave.

“They lifted the ban?”

“A few months ago, yeah.”

You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea.

“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”

Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing.

“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”

He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold.

“Kei.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”

He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.

“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.

“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”

You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him.

“Have you been doing good, Kei?”

Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.

“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.

You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model.

“What about you?”

“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation.

“Archaeology?”

“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”

A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too.

“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”

“I hope it is.”

Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse.

“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder.

“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck.

The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.

On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.

“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well.

“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.

You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.

“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.”

Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.

“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”

You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers.

When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.

“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time.

“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, I am.”

His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning.

Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white.

“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.

By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to.

Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck.

When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit.

When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest.

When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest.

“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you.

“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”

You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips.

“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.

“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”

Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.

author's note:

ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!

also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii

ok love u guys thank u for being patient

394 notes · View notes

cupcakeeees · 12 days ago

Text

“Falling For You (On and Off the Ice)”

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: two people, one ice rink, zero skating skills, plenty of falling - for each other.

word count: 1k

The idea had seemed romantic in theory. An ice rink in the middle of London, fairy lights strung overhead, the scent of roasted chestnuts in the air - it sounded perfect.

Lando had been the one to suggest it, of course. He’d pitched the idea with his usual confidence, promising you a “magical winter experience.”

What he hadn’t mentioned was that he couldn’t actually skate.

“I didn’t think it would matter!” he argued, gripping the edge of the rink for dear life as you tried, and failed, to stifle your laughter.

“You thought it wouldn’t matter?” you echoed, circling around him with ease. “Lando, you’re like Bambi on ice!”

He shot you a mock glare, his cheeks flushed - not from the cold, you suspected, but from embarrassment. “Alright, show-off. How about a little help instead of all the sass?”

You skated closer, holding out your hands. “Fine, but if you pull me down with you, it’s over, Norris. No more hanging out, ever.”

He grabbed your hands instantly, his fingers curling tightly around yours. “Deal. But for the record, I’m totally getting the hang of it.”

As if on cue, his feet wobbled beneath him, and you had to plant your skates firmly to keep him upright. He let out a startled laugh, his grip on your hands tightening.

“Getting the hang of it?” you teased, your voice light.

“Relax, I was just testing you. See if you’d let me fall..” he replied, grinning despite himself.

It took another ten minutes - and at least three near-collisions with other skaters - before Lando finally managed to shuffle away from the edge. You stayed close, your hands brushing occasionally as he found his balance.

“You’re doing great,” you said, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah?” He glanced at you, his expression hopeful.

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “At this rate, you might even make it a full lap without falling.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t let go of your hand.

You didn’t mind. In fact, you found yourself holding onto him just as tightly, the warmth of his palm a welcome contrast to the biting cold.

By the time you finished your lap, the rink was bathed in the soft glow of snowflakes, drifting lazily from the sky and catching in Lando’s curly hair. He looked up, his face lighting up like a kid’s.

“Look at that,” he said softly.

You followed his gaze, smiling at the sight. It was beautiful, the kind of moment that felt like it belonged in a movie.

“You know,” he said, turning to you, “this was actually really fun. Even if you’ve been bullying me the whole time.”

Before you could respond, he tugged on your hand, pulling you closer - and just like that, you were falling.

The two of you hit the ice with an unceremonious thud, a tangle of arms and legs and uncontrollable laughter.

“I told you not to pull me down!” you exclaimed between gasps of laughter.

“You’re fine! I softened your fall..” he shot back, grinning like an idiot. “Are you laughing or crying?”

You shoved at his shoulder playfully, but he didn’t budge.

Instead, he stayed where he was, propped up on his elbow and looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice softer now. “Just.. you’re pretty when you’re happy.”

Your breath caught, the laughter fading as the moment stretched out between you.

Snowflakes melted against your cheeks, and his eyes - bright and warm - held yours.

“I am happy,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“..and pretty,” he said, smiling again.

“And pretty!”

“Good.”

Neither of you moved right away. The world around you seemed to blur, the laughter and music from the rink fading into the background.

Just the two of you, lying on the ice, suspended in something that felt a lot like magic.

The spell only broke when someone skated by and called out, “You two alright over there?”

Lando grinned sheepishly, scrambling to his feet and holding out a hand to pull you up. “All good!” he said, a little too loudly.

You took his hand, and he helped you steady yourself, though he nearly lost his balance in the process.

“Smooth,” you teased.

“Hey, I got you up, didn’t I?”

Later, as you sat in a nearby cafe sipping hot chocolate, your cheeks still pink from the cold (and maybe from something else), Lando nudged you with his elbow.

“For the record, I think I did pretty well today.”

“Oh, definitely,” you said, unable to hide your smile. “You only fell… what, five times?”

“Three,” he corrected, pointing a finger at you. “And one of those doesn’t count, because it was your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You distracted me!”

“But you like me anyway.” you said, his grin softening.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I really do.”

281 notes · View notes

whereforarthur · 4 months ago

Text

Being Stuck in an Elevator Never Looked so Good?

Pairing: ArthurTv x Fan!Reader

Summary: Getting trapped in an elevator with your favorite YouTuber, was not what you had planned for today

Word Count: 4.2k

Rating: PG-13

Category: Fluff/ Light Smut

*****

My heart and the elevator, a plummet inside a plummet. -Jonathan Lethem

Y/n stepped into the elevator, her heart racing from the brisk London jog she'd just finished. She was the picture of casual athleticism in her sweat-dampened tee and leggings, the chilly air conditioning giving her a welcome respite from the city's heat. As the doors closed with a soft ding, she took a deep breath and glanced at the mirrored walls, checking her ponytail. It was a habit she had, a silent pep talk before facing the world after a run. The elevator ascended, the mechanical whirring a familiar lullaby to her ears.

Suddenly, the dinging halted mid-tone, and the elevator jolted to a stop. Y/n's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out. Panic surged through her, a sudden and unwelcome guest. She fumbled for her phone, her trembling fingers finally locating the screen, which illuminated her surroundings with a cold, blue light. The elevator was eerily silent now, save for the sound of her own shallow breaths echoing in the confined space. She tapped the emergency call button, her voice shaky as she reported the situation. The voice on the other end was calm, assuring her help was on the way.

As the minutes stretched into an uncomfortable silence, she heard a soft sigh from the corner opposite her. She looked up, and there he was—Arthur, the YouTuber she'd been obsessing over for months. The light from her phone cast an ethereal glow on his features, highlighting his sharp jawline and the dark circles under his eyes. He looked just as surprised as she felt, his hair a bit more disheveled than in his videos. "Well, this is a bit awkward," he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Y/n's brain scrambled to process the situation. This was surreal—trapped in a tiny elevator with the person she'd watched countless times on her laptop screen. She managed a shaky laugh, her cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. "Yeah, you could say that," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. The elevator's emergency light flickered on, casting a faint glow and revealing more of Arthur's presence. He leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets, casually slouching in a way that made him seem both approachable and incredibly out of place in the stark, metal box.

"Did you know," Arthur began, his voice smooth and even, "that the chances of getting stuck in an elevator are about one in ten thousand?" The tension in the air eased slightly as he spoke, his tone filled with a mild amusement that was oddly comforting. "I read that somewhere. I guess we're both just really lucky today, huh?" Y/n couldn't help but chuckle nervously, her eyes flicking to his. She hadn't expected him to be so...normal. So chatty.

He took a step closer, the light from her phone casting a dance of shadows across his face. "Or maybe we're just part of a statistical anomaly," he continued, his smile growing. "You know, like the one where you're more likely to be struck by lightning than to win the lottery, but people still buy tickets every week."

Y/n felt a spark of connection, the kind that ignites in the most unexpected of places. She nodded, her voice finding a bit more of its usual lilt. "I suppose we could be the unlucky winners of the 'Elevator Entrapment Lottery'."

Arthur's laugh filled the small space, warming it up like a cup of tea on a cold winter's day. "Exactly! I'm Arthur, by the way," he said, extending his hand. Y/n took it, feeling the warmth of his palm and the strength of his grip. His handshake was firm, yet gentle, like he was reassuring her without saying a word.

"I'm Y/n," she replied, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. She couldn't believe she was actually talking to him, her crush, in such a bizarre setting. "So, what brings you here?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going despite the awkwardness.

"I had a meeting with a producer," Arthur said, his eyes scanning the elevator's control panel as if looking for an escape. "And you? You don't exactly look like you're dressed for a meeting."

Y/n chuckled, feeling a little less star-struck. "Just finished a run. I was heading to grab a shower before I met up with some friends." She paused, realizing she was still holding his hand. She gently pulled away, her cheeks burning. "Sorry, I just...you know, with the shock and all..."

Arthur waved it off, his smile genuine. "No worries. I've had worse starts to my day." He leaned back against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. "So, Y/n, what do you do when you're not getting stuck in elevators?"

Inwardly, Arthur couldn't believe his luck—or perhaps misfortune, depending on how he looked at it. He'd always been a bit awkward around girls, especially attractive ones. He felt his heart racing faster than it had been during his last marathon livestream. She was beautiful, with her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled even in the dim light. He hoped she couldn't hear the pounding in his chest. He'd always imagined meeting someone like her under more...glamorous circumstances.

"Oh, I'm just a university student," Y/n said, her voice filled with the confidence of someone who knew their own worth. "Studying film theory. I'm actually a big fan of your channel," she added with a shy smile. Arthur's stomach did a flip-flop. A fan? Here? Now? The universe had a peculiar sense of humor.

"Really?" Arthur asked, genuinely surprised. "What do you like about it?" He leaned in slightly, his curiosity piqued.

"Well," Y/n began, her voice gaining confidence, "I love how you dissect the dynamics of the couples. You make it seem like a science, but with all the drama and emotions thrown in. It's like watching a reality TV show with a psychologist's commentary."

Arthur's eyes lit up, his chest swelling with pride. "That's exactly what I aim for," he said, his voice earnest. "I mean, we all love love, but it's fascinating to see how different people navigate it. Plus, the occasional drama is just...delicious."

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up, and she ducked her head slightly. "And it doesn't hurt that you're, you know, attractive," she mumbled, immediately regretting her words. She cringed internally, expecting a cold shoulder or a brush-off. Instead, Arthur chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Well, thank you," he said, his voice warm. "But I'm just a guy with a camera and too many opinions."

The conversation flowed easily between them, their shared love for analyzing relationships and storytelling providing a natural bridge. They talked about their favorite movies, books, and even swapped a few funny dating horror stories. Y/n found herself relaxing in Arthur's company, his charm and wit drawing her in. She'd always thought he was handsome, but the way he listened, really listened, made him even more appealing.

*****

As the minutes ticked by, the elevator grew warmer. Y/n could feel the heat prickling her skin, the sweat from her run now mixing with a nervous sheen. She pushed a loose strand of hair off her forehead and took a step closer to Arthur, unconsciously seeking shade from the tiny beam of light coming from her phone. "It's getting a bit toasty in here," she said, her voice a little breathless.

Arthur nodded, his eyes flicking to her gym attire. "You're probably overdressed for this sauna we've found ourselves in," he said with a smirk. Without warning, he pulled off his shirt, revealing a set of toned abs that looked like they'd been chiseled by a Greek god. The air in the elevator seemed to thicken, charged with a sudden tension that had nothing to do with their predicament.

Y/n's eyes widened, and she couldn't help but stare for a moment before averting her gaze. "Sorry," Arthur said, a hint of self-consciousness in his voice. "It's just, I run hot."

Inwardly, Y/n was screaming. It was one thing to fawn over him on her laptop screen, his shirtless form a pixelated fantasy she could control with the click of a button, but this was real life. He was right there, his bare skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, his muscles rippling in the weak light. She felt a sudden and intense urge to reach out and touch him, to see if he was as solid as he looked. But she resisted, folding her arms over her chest instead and focusing on the cold metal of the elevator wall.

"It's okay," she said, her voice a little too high. "I mean, it's not like we're strangers anymore, right?" She forced a laugh, trying to play it cool. "And I guess we're both stuck here, so..."

Arthur looked over at her, his eyes lingering for a moment on her form in the tank top and workout shorts. The fabric clung to her in all the right places, revealing the athletic figure she'd worked hard to maintain. He swallowed, feeling his own body respond to the sight. He'd always prided himself on being professional, on keeping his personal and online lives separate, but here he was, stuck in a tiny space with a fan who was also, unfortunately, incredibly attractive.

The elevator groaned, the sound cutting through their conversation like a knife. They both jumped, the sudden noise a stark reminder of their situation. "Looks like we're going nowhere fast," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice light.

Y/n nodded, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and fear. "I hope they hurry," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don't worry," Arthur said, his tone reassuring. "We've got each other for company. Could be worse, right?"

Y/n's heart raced as she tried to convince herself that he didn't feel the electricity zipping through the air. She took a deep breath, her eyes lingering on the shadows that played across his bare chest. The urge to lean in, to feel the warmth of his skin against hers, was overwhelming. She bit her bottom lip, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. He was just a YouTuber, she reminded herself, not some sort of superhero here to sweep her off her feet—even if he did have the body of one.

"You know," Arthur said, breaking the tension with a lopsided grin, "I've always wondered what people do when they're stuck in elevators. It's like a trope in movies, right?"

Y/n's cheeks burned, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was hinting at something. "Yeah," she murmured, her eyes darting to his. "They usually fuck." The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she immediately wished she could take them back.

Arthur's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Is that what you had in mind?" he teased, his voice low and intimate. Y/n's heart skipped a beat, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. It was one thing to fantasize about him in the privacy of her own room, but to have him flirt with her in real life? Her brain was a jumble of thoughts and emotions, and she had no idea how to respond.

But before she could even attempt to form a coherent thought, Arthur's expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eye giving way to something more serious. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice sincere. "That was unprofessional of me. You're a fan, and I shouldn't—"

Y/n held up a hand, cutting him off. "It's okay," she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just as much to blame for the awkwardness here." She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "But...if you weren't, you know, Arthur from YouTube, and we were just two people stuck in an elevator...would you have made that joke?"

Arthur studied her for a moment, his gaze intense in the dim light. "If we weren't who we are," he said slowly, "and we were just two people, I might have been flirting for real."

Y/n's heart stuttered in her chest, her eyes locked on his. "Might have been?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur's expression grew serious, his eyes searching hers. "Maybe it wasn't a joke," he said, taking a step closer. "Maybe I was just testing the waters."

Y/n's pulse quickened, her breath hitching as Arthur's hand reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was feather-light, sending a shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation before looking back up at him. "What does that mean?" she whispered.

Arthur leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. "It means," he murmured, "that I've noticed you're not just any fan." He paused, his hand lingering near her face. "You're someone I could see myself getting to know outside of this metal cage."

Y/n's eyes fluttered shut, her heart racing. She'd never been so close to Arthur, never felt his breath on her skin. When she opened her eyes, she found him looking at her with an intensity that stole her words. The elevator's emergency light flickered again, casting his features in a strobe of shadows and light. She stepped closer, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

"Really?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Because I've thought about you a lot, too." It was out before she could think better of it, but the words felt right, like they'd been waiting for this moment.

Arthur leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers. "In what ways?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to resonate through her very core.

Y/n felt her cheeks flush even hotter, but she met his gaze with determination. "I mean, I've wondered what it would be like to talk to you," she said, her voice a little shaky. "To see if you're as charming in person as you are on screen."

Arthur's smile grew, a playful glint in his eye. "And?"

Y/n took a deep breath, her heart pounding. "Well, you're definitely more charming in person," she admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. "But I've also thought about other things."

Arthur's grin grew, his eyes never leaving hers. "Such as?"

Y/n's heart was racing so fast she could feel it in her fingertips. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "I've, uh, wondered what your lips would feel like," she blurted out, her cheeks aflame.

Arthur's eyes widened, and for a moment, she was sure she'd made a terrible mistake. But then his smile grew, and he leaned in even closer, his toned body mere inches from hers. "Is that so?" he whispered, his voice a delicious caress.

Y/n nodded, unable to look away from the heat in his gaze. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, could almost taste the anticipation on the air. "Yes," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Arthur's hand reached out, his thumb ghosting over her lower lip. "Well, then," he said, his voice a whisper that seemed to resonate through her entire body, "we should probably test that theory."

Y/n's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in, her heart racing so fast she could feel it in her ears. His hand cupped her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers as he closed the gap between them. Their lips met, and it was nothing like she'd ever imagined. It was soft and gentle, yet filled with a passion that seemed to ignite the very air around them. The metal walls of the elevator disappeared, replaced by the intoxicating scent of him, the heat of his body, and the feeling of his skin against hers.

*****

The world outside the elevator ceased to exist as they kissed, each one deeper and more intense than the last. Arthur's free hand found the small of her back, pulling her closer as if he could somehow absorb her into himself. Y/n's hands tentatively found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart mirroring her own. The moment was surreal, a dream come true in the most unexpected of places.

As their kiss grew more urgent, the elevator gave a sudden jolt, startling them apart. The lights flickered back on, and the mechanical sounds of the elevator resuming its ascent filled the space. They both looked at each other, eyes wide with shock and excitement. "Well," Arthur said, his voice husky, "that was unexpected."

Y/n couldn't agree more. She felt like she was floating, her knees wobbly and her heart racing. "Yeah," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "But not entirely unwelcome."

The elevator dinged, signaling their arrival at the next floor. The doors slid open, and the cool air from the hallway rushed in, a stark contrast to the heat between them. Arthur's hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb tracing small circles that sent shivers down her spine. "I guess we should get out of here before someone sees us," he said, his voice tinged with regret.

Y/n nodded, her legs feeling like jelly as she stepped out of the elevator. Arthur followed, his eyes never leaving hers as they moved into the corridor. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the promise of more than just a kiss in those warm brown depths. As they made their way to the elevator's control panel, she heard a crackling sound over the intercom.

"Ah, looks like you two had quite the moment there," the operator's voice chuckled, the sound echoing through the small space. Y/n's cheeks went from pink to scarlet, and she buried her face in her hands, mortified.

Arthur's eyes widened, and he looked at her with a mix of amusement and concern. "Is that true?" he whispered, his hand reaching out to gently touch her elbow.

Y/n nodded, her cheeks feeling like they were on fire. "I think he heard everything," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Arthur chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a thrill through her. "Well, in that case," he said, leaning closer to the intercom, "I suppose I should ask you out, then." His eyes twinkled with mischief, and she could see the corners of his mouth curve up in a grin.

The operator's laugh crackled over the speaker. "That's the spirit, son!" he exclaimed. "Now don't let me interrupt your romantic rescue!"

Y/n peeked through her fingers, her cheeks burning as Arthur's grin grew wider. "I'm holding you to that," she said, her voice muffled by her palms.

Arthur chuckled, the sound rumbling through the elevator like a gentle earthquake. He stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "We're not done yet."

With a swift movement, he pulled his shirt back on, the fabric whispering against his skin. Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the loss of the view, but the promise in his eyes was more than enough to keep her excitement alight. They stepped out into the hallway, the cold air a stark contrast to the warmth of their shared moment.

Arthur took out his phone, his thumbs dancing over the screen as he saved her number with a grin. "There," he said, holding up the device to show her. "Now I can officially say I know a film theory student who can appreciate a good plot twist."

Y/n laughed, feeling a little more at ease now that they had some semblance of normalcy back. "And I can say I've been kissed by ArthurTv," she teased, her voice still a little shaky from the excitement.

Arthur's smile grew, but there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes. "Just maybe don't go telling people that part," he said, a little too casually. "I don't want to start any rumors."

Y/n nodded, feeling the weight of his words. She knew he was right; the last thing either of them needed was for their impromptu elevator romance to become fodder for the tabloids. "Your secret's safe with me," she assured him, her voice still a little breathless.

*****

They walked down the hallway, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls. Y/n couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that their time in the elevator was over. It had been like a bubble, a private little world where she could be herself without the pressure of the outside. But the thrill of their shared secret was almost as exhilarating as the kiss itself.

As they approached her apartment door, Arthur's hand brushed against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her. She looked up at him, her heart racing. "Thank you," she said, her voice a little shaky. "For making this...less terrible."

He chuckled, his eyes warm. "My pleasure," he replied, leaning against the wall. "But now that we're out, I guess we should get back to reality."

Y/n nodded, her hand resting on the doorknob. "Yeah," she murmured, her voice a little sad. "But I'm not sure I'm ready for reality yet."

Arthur stepped closer, his hand covering hers on the knob. "Well, how about we make a deal?" he suggested, his eyes searching hers. "We'll keep this between us, for now. Just two people who got stuck in an elevator and had a bit of an adventure."

Y/n felt a thrill run through her at the thought of their secret, the excitement of something just for them. "Okay," she agreed, her voice a whisper. "But just one more kiss, to remember it by."

Arthur's smile grew, and he leaned in, his hand cupping her cheek once more. Their lips met again, the kiss slower this time, more deliberate. It was like they were trying to memorize every detail of each other, to burn the moment into their memories. Y/n could feel the warmth of his skin, the gentle scrape of his stubble, the way his breath mingled with hers. It was a kiss that promised more than just friendship, more than just a passing encounter.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/n felt a little dizzy, her heart racing. "I'll hold you to that date," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Arthur's eyes searched hers, the intensity of his gaze making her knees feel like they might give out. "You better," he said, his voice a low murmur. "I don't want to be the guy who leaves a girl hanging, especially not one who's seen me half-dressed."

With one last smile, Y/n turned the doorknob and slipped into her apartment, the cool air of her home a stark contrast to the heat of Arthur's presence. She watched him disappear down the hallway, his form swallowed by the shadows. As she closed the door, she could still feel the imprint of his hand on her cheek, the taste of his kiss lingering on her lips.

Her mind raced with thoughts of their encounter, the way his eyes had lit up when she'd confessed her interest, the thrill of his touch. It was as if she'd stepped into one of the movies she studied, a chance meeting with a dashing hero that led to a passionate embrace. But this was real life, and she was still Y/n, the university student with the crush on the YouTube star.

Arthur walked down the hallway, his hand still tingling from where it had held hers. He couldn't believe he'd kissed a fan—let alone one as beautiful and intriguing as she was. He'd always tried to keep his personal life separate from his online persona, but something about her had made him throw caution to the wind.

Y/n watched Arthur retreat, his form growing smaller and smaller until he was just a memory in the corridor. Her heart raced with the excitement of what had just happened, the impossibility of it all. She'd never imagined her crush on him could lead to something real.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23

#imagines #fluff #british youtubers #smut #arthur x reader #arthurtv x reader #arthur frederick #arthurtv #arthur tv

259 notes · View notes

pasukiyo · 9 months ago

Text

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING

remus lupin x f!reader word count; 2,224 summary; even just the smallest things remus lupin did was enough to have your belly full with butterflies. you trace it all back at three thirty a.m. to find that something that night turned in your heart...

“I don’t understand how you can call yourself a bookworm yet, you haven’t read a single Jane Austen book.”

Remus casted his gaze to the ground beneath their feet and smiled sheepishly, tucking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Does that discount my self-proclaimed ‘bookworm’ title?” He asked and she huffed, rubbing her palm up and down the expanse of her opposite arm when London’s autumn breeze snuck like a phantom beneath her coat.

“Perhaps,” she replied as Remus closed the small distance between them. “You should at least…” she trailed off when his arm slithered its way around hers and warmth pooled in her cheeks when he guided her hand in his coat pocket. She blinked a glance his way to find he already stared, waiting expectantly for the rest of her answer.

How could he be so casual while touching her like so?

“…read Pride and Prejudice,” she managed to breathe through a shiver, his hand wrapped so tenderly around hers turning her brain to mush, a cocoon erupting somewhere deep in her belly, the warm, fluttery feeling of butterflies in her stomach making her feel light, airy. Remus said nothing, only simply gazed at her with a sentiment so warm and earth-shattering, she wondered if she’d melt and ooze like magma right there on the pavement in the midst of fall.

“Yeah?” He spoke and she turned away, willing herself to breathe. She hummed, nodding. “It’s a classic,” she replied, cursing her voice for sounding so meek. A lump had appeared in her throat and she forced it back down to her belly.

“Is it your favorite?” Remus asked, a gentle tug of his hand on hers to guide her around the corner. Her lips parted in a gasp at the subtlest of dominance, her heartbeat thundering so loud in her chest, she could hear it in her eardrums. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of Remus’s face, wondering if he could hear it too. She swallowed again, “well, no. If I had to choose a favorite by Jane Austen, I’d have to go with Emma.”

“Then why Pride and Prejudice?” He questioned and Merlin, it was such a simple inquiry, but even the mere notion that he was interested in what she was interested in made her feel like she’d catch on fire any moment now. Her palms suddenly felt clammy and she flushed, desperately hoping he could not feel the sweat that was surely beading them.

“Because I think it is the best introduction to her writing and style,” she answered as they neared her flat, dread already beginning to lace her bones like a poison. How foolish she’d become for Remus Lupin, how desperate she’d become to always have him in her sight.

The longer she spent with Remus Lupin, the more she was beginning to realize that she craved spending time with him, craved their conversations, even their debates over books, whether coffee or tea was better. She loved when they’d stare at the stars at night, listening as he told her each and every single constellation’s story, when he laughed at her jokes and brushed her hair over her ear and told her she was brighter than any star in the entire sky.

“Is that right?” Remus’s voice sliced through the syrupy mush of her brain and she blinked, clearing her throat and nodding. “Yes,” she hummed. “And if you read it, I’ll let you borrow my heavily annotated copy of Emma.”

Remus’s lips parted in a devastating smile that she had to tear her gaze away from before she quite literally turned to putty in the palm of his hand. She nodded, brushing an astray strand of hair behind her ear with the hand not in the pocket of Remus’s coat as they approached her flat building. Disappointment struck like an earthquake in her bones and she deflated as she forced herself to pull her hand away from his, lacing her fingers in front of her hips as she turned to face him.

“I must get to reading then,” he said and the corners of her lips twitched. “Glad to hear it,” she said in hardly a murmur. For a moment, a silence fell upon them, neither seemingly wanting to find a reason for the evening to end.

Eventually, she willed her eyes to find his, no matter how much his gaze made her want to draw herself into him, deep enough that she’d never be able to be pried away.

“I… had a really good time with you today, Remus,” she said, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. His smile only grew at that, a blush creeping onto his face, a light pink to contrast the fading red of his scars. “And I as well,” he replied before his eyes widened, as if remembering something he’d almost forgotten. “I almost forgot.”

She blinked, watching as he rummaged through the pocket on the inside of his coat, revealing a small, light pink bouquet to match the blush on his cheeks. The flowers were a bit wilted, more than likely from being stuffed inside his pocket for too long. The dusty pink on his cheeks deepened into a rosy color, his smile sheepish as he held it out towards her.

“It’s a bit… well,” he tittered as she reached for the stems, the brief brush of their fingers igniting a spark, a ray of electricity surging through her veins. Her face was so hot now, she was certain she’d be reduced to an oozing stream of lava any second now. “Been in my pocket all day.”

A laugh tumbled from her lips as she brushed the pad of her forefinger across one of the soft, pink petals, holding the bouquet close to her chest.

“They’re beautiful, Remus,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Remus stuffed his hands back in the pockets of his jeans again, kicking rocks around on the pavement. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl,” he said after a moment, as if he’d been mustering the courage to speak in the first place. “Seems only fair.”

Her lips parted, unable to breathe for a moment, her heart beating so fast now, it was a miracle it hadn’t leaped out of her chest by now. She wasn’t even sure what to even say, what to do— Remus Lupin thought she was beautiful.

What was she even supposed to do with herself now?

“Remus, I…” she trailed off, unsure what to say. Remus’s gaze lifted from the ground, surging into hers and her heart skipped a few beats, her stomach doing a couple of somersaults. She knew she’d never before felt the way she did now, never felt so tender, so warm, so foolish, enough that she felt like she could break into a dance right now without a single care in the world.

She realized she felt this way every time she was with Remus Lupin, like she could dance, sing, scream into the night without a mere thought. She felt like nothing else mattered, as if every idiotic thing she did no longer mattered when she was with him. She didn’t recognize herself when she was with Remus and she realized that it was because of him that she was becoming someone entirely brand new.

Somewhere deep down in her heart, she knew this change was meant to be.

“…I want to see you again,” she spoke breathlessly, chasing air back into her lungs with a rather large inhale. The warmth of the smile Remus gave her was enough to challenge the sun itself, even on its brightest day in the midst of summer. Truly earth-shattering a thing, Remus Lupin was.

“Of course,” he said, stepping in closer, leaning down until his lips could press against the apple of her cheek. She blinked, pressing her lips together to stifle her gasp as he ruffled the hair atop of her head, pulling away. “I want to see you again too. And that’s a promise.”

She was frozen, turned to a statue by Remus’s lips like staring into Medusa’s eyes had done to people in the myths. She hardly remembered saying their goodbyes, watching as he disappeared further down the lamp lit street, hardly remembering her feet whisking her way up into her flat.

She hardly remembered unlocking the door, closing it behind her and locking it again. Hardly remembered putting the light pink bouquet in a vase, hardly even remembered getting herself ready for bed.

But she did remember lying awake that night. She remembered tossing and turning, staring into the darkness of her ceiling, turning to face the buildings on the other side of the street from her window, the moon peeking its head over the rooftops. She remembered watching it as if it were an old friend as it disappeared over the top of her window, remembering every ticking of the clock on the other side of the room.

Never once did her thoughts stray from Remus Lupin. She still remembered the first day they met, the first time she saw him in the park, sitting on the bench where the primroses grew, holding a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. She remembered him looking up and catching her eye, remembering how neither one of them seemed to be able to look away.

She was so bewildered, hardly believing she’d been able to catch his eye in the way that she did. She couldn’t believe that he wanted to talk to her, that he said that he wanted to see her again. She remembered the beating of her heart then, every single time he looked at her, talked to her, smiled at her.

She remembered their first date, when he took her stargazing, which she still was convinced was only so he could tell her about the constellations. He seemed so passionate then and she was so entranced, enthralled with the way he spoke. She still remembered the way her heart beat and fluttered around her chest when she felt his fingertips brush against her ear when he swiped away her hair, the way her eyes flickered to his lips when he tenderly told her she was brighter than any star.

She sighed— how she regretted not listening to that voice inside of her head that told her to kiss him.

She could still feel the shape of Remus’s lips on her cheek from when he kissed her there earlier. His kiss haunted her, lingering like a phantom on her skin.

Remus Lupin haunted her, bewitched her as if he’d cast her under some sort of spell, until her every thought was of him.

She glanced over at the clock, just barely making out the time.

Three thirty.

Something began to shift from within and she sat up with a gasp at the realization that indeed, she was irrevocably, hopelessly, undoubtedly in love with Remus Lupin.

She practically leaped from her bed, uncertain what she was doing, unable to control herself. It seemed like foolish things were all she could do since she met Remus, such as picking up the phone, dialing in his phone, anxiously twirling the cord around her forefinger.

For Merlin’s sake, it was three thirty in the morning, why was she calling him?

The phone rang for a few moments and she sighed— why did she expect him to pick up? He was asleep, she shouldn’t be bothering him like this—

“Hello?”

Remus’s groggy voice whispered through the receiver and her breathing hitched at the base of her throat. He picked up?

Her lips parted with the intent to speak but nothing came out— what was she even going to say?

“Hello?” Remus said again, yawning.

She squeezed her eyelids shut, willing herself to just speak.

“Well… I’ll be hanging up now…”

“I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

For a moment, she wondered if he really had hung up, a flush warming her cheeks. She was about to put the phone down, to trudge back to her bed and wallow in the depths of her own despair, until he softly whispered her name, so faint, she almost didn’t quite catch it.

“Remus,” she whispered back, her vision glossing over with the bitter sting of tears. She crossed an arm over her chest, the heel of the hand not wrapped around the phone digging into her brow. “I’m sorry for waking you, I just… I just…”

“You’re in love with me,” he said, repeating it as if to confirm it was real, as if he weren’t still sleeping and this wasn’t all just some cruel dream he’d be waking from. She sniffed, nodding, “I’m in love with you. And I wish you were here right now.”

Another silence.

Her heart did a waltz around her chest even despite the anxiety bubbling like acid in her throat. Would he reject her? Did she read him wrong? Maybe she was really a fool after all, for thinking that he would love her back, that he would feel the same way she did. Perhaps this would be the last time she’d ever hear from him, perhaps she’d never see Remus Lupin ever again and will forever be haunted by what could’ve—

“I’m in love with you too.”

She blinked, speechless.

"I can be at your flat in ten minutes if I run.”

a/n; a little rushed but i've always thought this song was just so remus coded :( i'm seeing laufey for the second time next week and i'm really hoping she performs this one! she didn't perform it for the u.s. bewitched tour and i'm still so salty 😭 hopefully there's other lauvers reading this and if not, i encourage you all to listen to the song that inspired this fic!

🎀 if you enjoyed this one, i would appreciate a reblog or even just a reply to let me know! thank you so much for reading! 🫶

TAGLIST

@pinktreee

@jxxey3

@iamthejam

@strangerfromketterdam

@burns-in-the-sun

@cancelledkaley

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #harry potter imagine #wizarding world #harry potter #harry potter fandom #remus x you #remus x reader #remus x y/n #remus lupin x y/n #marauders #marauders era #Spotify

583 notes · View notes

berberriescorner · 3 months ago

Text

The Sweetest Chaos

Characters: Dad(Husband)!Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: Rio and the reader navigate the delightful chaos of family life while juggling six kids, a doctor's appointment, and grocery shopping. Through tender moments and playful banter, the couple's love shines amidst the everyday challenges of parenting, showcasing the beautiful messiness of their unconventional family.

Warnings: Mild language. Family dynamics and parenting themes. Situations involving children and chaos😆. Light humor and romantic moments🥰. Some references to past relationships/blended family dynamics. In other words, nothing serious😆.

Author’s Note: So, it’s ya girl’s birthday tomorrow and I wanted to treat my babies. Let’s celebrate with some much-needed Dad(Husband)!Rio. We’ll treat this as if it’s a birthday cake and I’m sharing the deliciousness with my lovelies, my babies🥰💜. I missed you all🥹🫶🏾. Also, no pressure, but to know me, is to know I love books. If anyone is interested in sending your girl some birthday book mail–hit my inbox and I’ll share my Amazon Bookish Wishlist with you🤓📖. Word Count: 1,100+.

Music Inspo💜:

The minivan, lovingly nicknamed "The Chaos Chariot" by Rio himself, rumbled to a stop outside Dr. Patel's office. Six sets of eyes, ranging from wide and curious to sleepily blinking, stared back at you. Rio, the perfect picture of calm and confidence, swaggered to the driver's side. His eyes met yours and deep chocolate orbs accompanied by a sexy smirk admired you for a moment. He watched you look down shyly and squirm, as you pretended to rummage through your purse. He loved that even after years of being together, he still gave you butterflies.

He chuckled lightly and opened your door, greeting you in that sexy rasp, “Hey, mama.” Rio palmed your thigh, giving your lips a light peck. “Let me get that for you,” he gestured toward the diaper bag and matching mommy satchel. You handed him both, eyes sparkling with a hint of laughter as he slung them onto his shoulder.

He grabbed your hand helping you down from the minivan. Rio bent at the waist to connect his lips with yours once more, pulling back you felt his breath fan over your lips as he spoke, “Go get checked in. I got my little goons, mama.” Still wrapped up in his scent and husky tone, you slowly nodded and turned to head inside. Your husband took a deep breath, preparing himself for the madness. His fingers clutched the back door handle, as he slid it open, "Alright, mis bebes, mi vida, let's get this done."

Bless her eternally optimistic soul, Dr. Patel greeted you with a bright smile that could rival the sleekness and shine of Rio's meticulously maintained Mercedes (parked discreetly a few blocks away). Wrangling six kids into the waiting room was an art form you mastered over the years. Eight-year-old Amina, currently sporting a head of questionable purple hair dye courtesy of her older sister Marianna, who didn’t ask permission and in turn, was grounded until further notice, was a whirlwind of boundless energy. Thankfully, baby Luca, still blissfully oblivious to the world, slept peacefully in your carrier.

While you negotiated a temporary peace treaty between Amina and the boy who "stole" London’s toy car (spoiler alert, it was under the couch), Rio watched Marcus, his son from a previous relationship. Unlike the teenage angst you sometimes expected, Marcus was a quiet, sweet, and helpful teenager. Today, he sat patiently reading a book, occasionally glancing up to offer a reassuring smile to his younger siblings.

Dr. Patel, used to the organized crazy of your family, efficiently ushered you in one by one. Marcus, ever the responsible one, volunteered to go first with Ravi, distracting the rambunctious toddler with a game of peek-a-boo while you wrestled London out of her shoes. Rio, his usual relaxed self, watched the interaction with a hint of pride softening his features. Later, during Luca's checkup, Rio's stoicism melted away as the doctor cooed over his chubby cheeks. A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a sight rarely seen outside your home. Each child took their turn being looked over, some receiving mandatory vaccinations. Every child was showered in praise. You were fairly certain Dr. Patel had a soft spot for all of your children. Who could resist those sweet little faces?

Grocery shopping was a logistical nightmare but you were a seasoned veteran. Your meticulously planned list, organized by category in your notes app, was your weapon against the grocery store's mayhem. Rio, channeling his inner strategist, divided the aisles and troops.

"Baby, that’s way too many boxes of cereal," you insisted, raising an eyebrow at Rio as he tossed them into the cart with a wink.

"Just keeping the snack acquisition specialist happy, darlin’," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a delicious shiver down your spine despite the fluorescent lighting and screaming children. Marianna, ever-observant, wrinkled her nose.

"Eww, gross! Do you two have to be so lovey in public?" she complained.

Rio chuckled a deep sound that made your heart skip a beat. "Just making sure your mama knows she's appreciated, princess," he countered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. Amina along with London, never ones to miss out on the action, squealed and demanded a forehead kiss too. He obliged, and you rolled your eyes playfully at the interaction.

Marianna, the self-proclaimed "snack-quisition specialist," continued to navigate the chip aisle with laser focus. Marcus, ever the team player, tackled the produce section with military precision, carefully selecting the ripest fruits and vegetables. Meanwhile, you kept a watchful eye on Ravi, who toddled around like a gleeful wrecking ball, occasionally attempting to "accidentally" knock over displays with a mischievous giggle.

The checkout line stretched into eternity. Baby Luca, your newest addition, decided this was the perfect moment to unleash his lungs. The symphony of cries, bickering over candy bars, and Rio's muttered threats to ditch the entire cart made heads turn. “Mama, you’re worn out. Y’all can just go wait in the car. I’ll bring the groceries.” Just as you were about to melt into a puddle of exhaustion and accept, a warm hand reached for yours. It was Marcus, his usual shy smile replaced with a determined glint.

"Here you go, baby bro," he said, handing a bottle to Luca, who instantly quieted down. Your eyes filled with thanks and a bit of shock. Marcus shrugged his shoulders and continued, “I packed an extra bottle just in case. You looked busy running around, getting us all together. I figured it wouldn’t hurt, ma.” You smiled, fighting back tears. Marcus’ attention shifted toward Rio who was making a beeline for Ravi, who had slipped through his legs and tried to wander off. The eldest child chuckled, shuffling over to his dad, who was battling the wiggling toddler. “Here, Pops,” he assisted, handing a juice box to Ravi. With juice in his grasp, he stopped fighting his father and was mesmerized by the colorful packaging. A wave of warmth washed over you. These moments, fleeting and unexpected, were the glue that held your crazy, chaotic family together.

With the shopping complete, you piled back into the minivan, the air thick with the sweet smell of victory (and possibly a rogue diaper). Rio insisted on taking half the gang in his vehicle. “Maybe you can get a little peace, mama. I’m leaving the two oldest and baby Luca with you. I’ll take the ones that be wilding the most,” he insisted, as he referred to the middle children.

“They get it from you,” you joked, unable to stifle a giggle.

As Rio weaved through traffic, the setting sun casting an orange glow on his face, he knew this wasn’t the life he imagined. But each of your faces popped into his mind and his heart warmed with a mix of love and joy.” In the quiet moments between grocery meltdowns and doctor's appointments, there was a love so fierce, so unexpected, it warmed even the most guarded corners of Rio's heart.

Hope you enjoyed it my sweet, beautiful lovelies. Please be sure to reblog and comment💜. Oh yeah and…

😆😂🤣😁.

Tagging some of my lovelies:

@darqchilddaydreamz @astoldbychae @percosim @thirtysomethinganduncensored @ravennaortiz @amorestevens @abcdestinyyyy @jannavaire @novaniskye @nobodygetsza @bisexuallyattractivebitch @1andonlytashae @rio-reid-whoreee @lovedlover @sunshine-flower @realhotgurlshit @thebumbqueen @blowmymbackout @tashawar @captainwithoutmakingitlove @kinkiicoils @theegoddessofmelanin @beachyserasims @tbmotw @wroteitbutneverwatchedit @speckldsimblr @prettyyybrownroundd @onherereading @undevidedattentionsblog @starrynite7114

200 notes · View notes

mead-iocre · 11 months ago

Text

Our New Normal Pt. 2 | Leah Williamson x Reader

Our New Normal 2/4 (read pt 1 here)

“The next station is London Euston, where this train terminates. Please ensure you have all your belongs with you when you leave the train”

You pull out your AirPods from your ears and slot them back into it’s case. The train journey was pretty pleasant. Interestingly, the First Class cabin was quieter than usual, with less fellow travellers in this trip than usual.

You grab your hand mirror from your bag, checking your appearance and fidgeting around with your hair; making sure to retouch your lipstick and spritz a little perfume. You rarely wore makeup when it wasn’t necessary, but for some reason you wanted to make the extra effort to make yourself look slightly more put together when Leah picks you up tonight. Usually, the Arsenal defender only ever saw you in sweatpants and a hoodie, thick rim glasses instead of contact lenses, and with your hair tied up in a loose ponytail.

For the first time, in a very long time, you were nervous to see your best mate. That wasn't normal at all.

The first thing Leah spots is your familiar silver rimowa suitcase– in fact, it was hers first. When the wheels of your well-loved and well-traveled suitcase decided to break during one of your visits to London, Leah insisted that you take one of her many suitcases that she had stowed away. The blonde never ended up asking for it back so you’ve kept it ever since, and use it every time you take your little trips.

Leah’s eyes trail upwards until they meet yours. She cocks one eyebrow at the slight difference in your appearance. To her, you were always beautiful but there was something about you right then that seemed different– like you were currently going through a big lifestyle change and the subtle difference in your appearance reflected that. In her mind, the defender chalked it up to you preparing for your transfer to your new club. It wasn't something she liked to think about often as you still had not told her where you were moving to. She just hoped that wherever you moved to, it won't be too far from her.

Leah watched from the distance as your eyes scanned the busy station, trying to find her. She grinned as she sees you weave your fingers through your hair to push it back, a long-time habit of yours that Leah found very, very charming.

Eventually her time to admire you from afar gets cut short when your eyes finally meet hers. You both grin at each other from across the arrivals area of the station before simultaneously making your way towards each other, skilfully dodging other people along the way.

Leah is the one that closes the distance between the two of you, her arms wrapping themselves around your waist; meanwhile yours found purchase around her shoulders. For a moment, all you see is her strawberry blonde hair as she tucks her face into your neck.

“Hiya, beautiful” She mumbles against your neck. You can feel the light press of her lips as they move against your skin causing you to giggle slightly at the feeling.

You’ve missed her a lot.

This was normal.

It was normal to miss you friend this much.

“Hi, Lee” You say softly against her ear. This is what you’ve been craving for weeks now– Leah and her hugs. No matter how long you both were apart, there was nothing awkward about the first hug when you are both reunited. It’s instinctual, it’s comfort, and it’s home. You step closer to her, minimising whatever little space there was left between your bodies, and wrap your arms tighter around her neck.

Home.

“I’ve missed you, baby” A moment later Leah moves to break the hug, her arms gliding across your lower back, both palms pressing against you until they settle comfortably on your hips. She reaches up to cup one side of your face, tilting it to the side, before her lips land sweetly on your cheek. When she pulls away so you are both finally seeing eye to eye, there’s that familiar grin on her face. You couldn’t help but mirror it back with a big smile of your own.

“I missed you too” You mumble back, blushing slightly at the intensity of her stare.

You’ve nagged her in the past for her staring habit, and all she did was quip back saying she’s “making sure all your cute freckles are still there”

“Right. Let’s get a move on then” Without even waiting for your reply, the defender has one hand over the handle of your suitcase and the other tugging you along behind her.

You both walk outside towards the parking lot, the chill of the London air feels all too familiar lately, until you stop by her car. The blonde unlocks her car, opens the passenger door, and ushers you inside before jogging to the boot of her car to stow away your luggage.

Leah turns on the ignition and then presses a button on the console of the car to turn the heater on. You can barely make out the details of the other cars outside in the parking lot due to the chill fogging up the windows, barely being able to make out passer-buyers exhaling fogs of cold air as they chat to one another. She glances over to you, noticing that you’ve got your arms crossed, hands tucked under the cuffs of your long wool jacket.

“Cold?” She reaches a hand over to gently push back the strands of hair that have fallen over your face. Her hand lingers by your cheek, a frown already forming on her face.

This is normal.

Leah knows you don’t like the cold. Unlike those who look forward to “sweater-weather” and pumpkin spice lattes, you hate the autumn and winter months. You preferred the warmer months when you can sunbathe and wear tank tops all day. “Sorry baby, I should’ve warmed the car up for you earlier”

You smile at her. This is why it was inevitable that you grew feelings her. She’s the kind of person that would go above and beyond for others. Your close friends and teammates would tease you, often jokingly complaining that Leah is spoils you too much and gives you the “princess treatment” even in simple chores. It made you wonder if this dynamic was going to change once you became teammates for the same club.

“It’s fine, Lee. I’ll warm up in a bit”

Your answer doesn’t seem to satisfy the Arsenal defender because she immediately shrugs off her own black puffer and places it over your body. You were about to nag the blonde about how now she’ll be the one freezing her socks off, but she shut your protests up with a quick stern look in your direction. You figured there was no point arguing with her when you’ve got a surprise for her later on, so you reluctantly accepted her coat.

Speaking of surprises, you were starting to feel nervous. You have never hid anything from your best friend, especially not something as big as this, and you can’t help but overthink about what might happen after tonight. Part of you knows that Leah will most likely be ecstatic over your transfer, but a smaller, more pessimistic part of your brain was worried that Leah would hate being around you even more; or perhaps she might get sick of being around you constantly.

You were great teammates for England, but international camp never lasted long enough to really test how well you can communicate your feelings, and how you can deal with arguments. Sure, you’ve had a few disagreements here and there but you both always resolved it quickly due to the looming threat of having to say goodbye to one another once camp was over once again. You were worried that being together more often would strain your relationship considering you were both complete opposites when it came to how you expressed your feelings.

Leah was a very confrontational person and she does not hesitate to tell people exactly how she feels. On the pitch, she has no problem arguing with the ref whenever she disagreed with a call, and she was exactly the same off the pitch. You, on the other hand, preferred to bottle up your feelings until you eventually break. The few arguments you’ve had with Leah often resulted in you leaving the room to clear your head, and the blonde giving you the time and space to think things through.

Afterwards, when you did resolve everything, Leah often expressed how she wished you would stay and talk to her instead of running out. She said it nicely, comfortingly, but you knew a part of her was frustrated at the way you sometimes handled things. You never got a chance to resolve this issue or compromise because by then it would be time to say goodbye again– whether its because England camp has ended or you were due to separate and go back to your respective clubs. Being teammates for country and now club would mean that you both will have these issues more frequently, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

The sudden change in your behaviour did not go unnoticed by the Arsenal defender. Leah watches as you adjust her jacket around you, the oversized puffer jacket completely engulfing you with only the lower part of your legs and your head visible. She watches as you fidget and fuss over the jacket in your lap, a nervous habit that she is very familiar with. She can tell you probably had a lot going on and she figured it was partly due to the looming deadline of the transfer window. She knows you well enough to know that the only way you will open up is if you are given the time and space to do so. Leah isn’t usually a patient person, but for you she can be.

She watches you silently for another moment. She swears she felt her heart skip a beat when you try and cocoon yourself further into her jacket, your eyes closed, mouth curved up into a satisfied smile– probably happy with the warmth you were now swaddled in. You didn’t know it but if you wanted her to, Leah would’ve tried to somehow turn winter into summer if it meant seeing you this happy. For now she’s just glad that her puffer jacket can offer you some warmth in the meantime.

Soon enough, Leah was driving the both of you out of the station’s car park, the navigation flashing the directions to her flat. Usually, the blonde would be blasting music in the car, sharing all the new songs she added to her playlist recently, but she must’ve noticed how tired you are because instead of the normal r&b tunes filling the car, the blonde has turned down the volume until you can barely hear the instrumentals of the song currently playing.

“Just sleep, y/n” You force your eyes open at Leah’s words, trying to blink the sleep away. You had been trying to stay awake, feeling bad about not being a more entertaining passenger on the long drive back to her flat, but the equal amounts of stress and excitement over the last couple of weeks seem to be catching up to you now.

As your hand reaches up to try and rub the sleepiness away from your eyes, the defender’s hand reaches up to grab your wrist before you can do so. “Don’t rub your eyes, baby. Remember that tiktok video I sent you?”

The eye roll that follows cannot be helped. Leah had sent you a tiktok video a few days ago about the potential dangers that rubbing your eyes constantly can do– something about weakening or distorting your cornea– but that’s in extreme cases. Why that tiktok video was even on her 'for you page', you didn't want to know.

“One little eye rub won’t damage my eyes, Lee”

“And let’s keep it that way, yeah?” You catch her smirk illuminated by the streetlights, already anticipating whatever cocky, unhinged thing that will come out of her mouth next. “Or else you’d miss seeing my pretty face”

You scoff, clutching her jacket tighter around you. One advantage of Leah driving you around is that it gives you the opportunity to look at your best friend, the woman you were in love with, without care.

The defender was a great driver, both hands always clutching the wheel, and always focused on the road. That meant you can stare at her without having to gaze into those blue eyes. A familiar shade of forget-me-not blues, unusually soft in the morning light, but can also reflect the deepest depths of the ocean when her emotions get the best of her. They say the eyes are the windows into the soul, and this woman was proof of that. She wore her emotions in her pretty blues, and sometimes you swore she felt the same scary, overwhelming emotions you had begun to feel for her.

But that’s why sometimes you find it hard to stare into her eyes, fearing that that unnamed emotion in her eyes– the one that you so badly want to believe might be adoration, or care, or love– might be gone one day.

“Piss off, Lee” Damn her and her caring nature.

The blonde risks a quick glance at you causing your breath to catch in your throat. All of a sudden, you feel a lot less sleepy and more aware of your rapidly beating heart.

“Take a nap, baby. I’ll wake you up when we stop at the gas station” Leah turns her head back to the road for a second, surveying the road ahead of her, before those pretty blues find their way back to you.

“Give your eyes a break for a bit. Wouldn’t want you to get tired of looking at me”

You giggle at that. As if.

“I’ll never get tired of looking at you, Leah” You cheesed out– partly jokingly, but mainly because it’s true. You hope your tone disguises that last bit though.

That being said, a short nap was beginning to sound very inviting. No sooner than later, you’ve allowed the familiar scent of her that lingers from her jacket, the music barely an audible hum, and the streetlights fading into a blur lull you to sleep.

Already halfway asleep, you miss the blonde’s quiet “same here, baby” whispered aloud for only her ears to hear.

——————————————

An hour or so passes and you were still fast asleep. Stopping in front of a red light, the defender takes the opportunity to spare a glance towards your sleeping form beside her. She can’t stop the corners of her lips from turning up at the sight of you, a mere puffy marshmallow lump in her passenger seat. Unable to help herself, she reaches over and lightly caresses your face with her thumb. My sleepy girl

Soon enough it was time for a petrol station stop. Leah pulls up to a petrol station with its bright lights flickering atop a weathered sign. The cold air was tinged with the faint scent of gasoline, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the attached convenience shop. The defender unbuckles her seatbelt before reaching over towards you. Her hand finds it way under her jacket– your blanket– before she finds your thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze.

When you start to stir, Leah runs a hand through your hair in the attempts of taming the bird’s nest-like mess that sits on top of your head. When your eyes finally open, the first thing you see is Leah already grinning at you. You feel your breath catch, like it normally does whenever the pretty blonde is looking at you like that. You silently hope that the inside of the car is dark enough that she can’t see the blush painting your cheeks.

“Hiya. Had a good nap, yeah?” The grinning defender is still staring at you, so naturally you playfully push her face away with a palm to her cheek.

“Don’t need your ugly mug to be the first thing I see, Lee”

Leah laughs loudly at that. Head thrown back, mouth wide open in glee, blonde hair cascading down in loose waves that was probably the result of being put up in a Leah-style “bun” earlier that day.

“Oi! I’ve been so good to you the entire evening– even letting you sleep and snore in my car– and this is how you repay me?”

You let out an exaggerated gasp and look at her, unable to stop the grin that is already growing on your face. “I do not snore!”

“Like a new born piglet, baby”

Before you could retort, the blonde leans forward in her seat over the console and sneaks a quick kiss to your forehead. This was normal, Leah was usually so generous with her kisses for some reason, but that didn’t mean your heart didn’t flutter every time she laid one on you. “You’re cute, y/n”

You swear your heart skips a beat. Is that normal?

“I’ve got to get petrol. There’s a shop over there, so why don’t you grab something to eat while I do this?”

You glance over at the convenience store, the promises of hot food and maybe something sweet to satisfy your cravings lately already luring you inside. You turn back to the blonde and nod, handing her back her black puffer jacket which you had essentially held hostage the entire drive. You unbuckle your seatbelt and quickly throw your hair into a loose ponytail, silently bracing yourself for the cold ahead.

Just as you were about to push the car door open, Leah pulls you back with a hand on your arm, and the next thing you know your vision is partially obstructed by a wool beanie placed on your head. “Stay warm, baby”

Before you could thank her, the blonde has already opened the door on her side of the car and has stood up to shrug her jacket on. She gives you a quick wink before she disappears from your view, making her way to the petrol machine.

You hastily make your way inside the store, grateful for the sudden warmth it provided against the harsh cold from outside. You scan the shop and make a beeline towards the hot food section, and pick up a sausage roll. You scan the rest of the options before picking up the potato wedges for a certain blonde in mind who happens to have the food palette of a 2 year old. You walk around the store for a few more moments, picking up a bottle of Sprite, Diet Coke, a pack of hand-warmers, and two packs of prawn cocktail crisps before heading to the counter to pay. You hear the sound of the automatic doors sliding opening, the wind outside shrilling loudly in your ears, before the doors slide closed again.

As you reach into your coat to pull out your card to pay, a familiar hand reaches around you and taps their phone against the card reader.

“Leah.” You mutter sternly, eyes narrowed at the blonde who now stood beside you.

“Perks of having Apple Pay, baby. You would know if you actually bothered to set it up” The defender grabs the bag with your food, throwing a quick ‘thank you’ to the nice man behind the till. She grabs one of your hands in hers and pulls you towards the doors.

“Brace yourself” Is the only warning you get before Leah pulls you through the doors and out into the cold once again. The cold is harsh against your cheeks, and you find yourself pressing yourself into the blonde’s side. She wraps an arm around you, steering you to her car. She quickly unlocks your car door first, and out of habit holds a hand out above your head so you don’t bump your head into the roof of the car.

You both settle inside her car and buckle your seatbelts. Leah shrugs her jacket off of her shoulders and places it over your lap. “Use that. You clearly need that more than I do, Rudolph”

She quickly glances over to you, chuckling at the unamused expression on your face as she backs the car out of the petrol station. This time, you were adamant that you will sit through the rest of drive to the blonde's flat, and you did. You and Leah took turns choosing the songs to play, both of you shouting the familiar lyrics from the top of your lungs.

From the corner of your eye, you see Leah take one of her hands off the wheel and flex it open and closed repeatedly. You reckon she must be feeling cold, especially considering you’ve got her puffer blanketing you in its warmth. “Cold, Lee?”

“Hmm? ’m fine, baby. The car will warm me up soon”

You were about to argue back when you remember that you had bought a pack of hand warmers earlier. Reaching into the plastic bag, you search through it and grab the pack, ripping it open and holding one out to your blonde driver. She glances at it briefly, before she shakes her head, both hands still on the wheel.

“I’m fine, Y/N. You need it more than I do.”

“I’ve got another one here. It comes in a pack of two” You reach back into the bag to show her the other hand warmer. She glances towards you briefly.

“I’ll put this one under my hoodie, and you can hold onto this one” Leah watches from the corner of her eye as you open your jacket and tuck one of the hand warmers, sandwiching it in between the layers of your undershirt and your hoodie. You settle more comfortably in your seat as you feel the growing warmth spreading from the heat pack.

“Here’s yours. Your hands are definitely cold”

“I don’t–“

“Don’t be so bloody stubborn, Leah.”

“Well don’t be so bloody annoying then, Y/N”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You wouldn’t be surprised if grey hairs started sprouting soon. Among all the people you could fall in love with, you somehow fell for the most stubborn woman on this planet– and you still have about an hour left of this drive.

But you know deep down there’s also no one else you’d rather be stuck anywhere with.

“Give me your hand, Leah” You stretch a hand towards her over the middle console, palm up. She glances at it briefly, one eyebrow raised, but didn’t question you.

The blonde took the hand nearest to you off the steering wheel and places her hand on top of yours. You gave it a squeeze, flinching slightly at the cold palm, and muttering “Your hands are fucking freezing, Lee”

You take the hand warmer that was supposed to be for her and place it between your interlocked hands. In front of a red light, the defender beside you turns to look at both of your hands, clasped tightly together in the center console of her car. When it came to physical affection, you rarely gave it away freely. Leah was the more affectionate one between the two of you, so seeing you initiate it was a surprise to her. She knows that the warmth that she feels wasn’t coming from just the hand warmers that both of you are sharing.

The rest of the drive was fairly quiet. Instead of the loud, boisterous music that was blasting from the car speakers earlier, the only sounds inside the car was coming from the gentle hum of the engine. You and Leah held hands for pretty much the rest of the drive, Leah only breaking your connection when she needed to turn the wheel.

“One second, baby” The blonde would say whenever she needed to make a sharp turn, her hand untangling from yours for a moment to grab the steering wheel firmly with both hands. Not a moment too soon, her hand would instinctively seek out yours from where it sits patiently waiting by the center console. Your fingers would intertwine with hers, and all was right in the world again.

The hand warmer, which now no longer emitted any heat, was promptly tossed aside earlier. You and Leah were palm to palm, the only source of warmth against the biting cold outside was the one exchanged between your hands. The rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers matched the soft patter of raindrops, as if the evening itself conspired to provide a soothing backdrop for the last leg of your drive.

——————————————

Soon enough the car was pulling up into the parking lot of Leah’s flat. The familiar building came into view, nestled in a quiet corner of town. The glow from the light inside some of the windows hint at the warmth within, promising respite from the biting cold of the outside. You couldn’t wait to be reunited with Leah’s warm and cosy guest bedroom, which had essentially become your home away from home during your frequent visits to London. After locking her car and making sure she didn't forget anything, Leah grabbed your gloved hand to guide you towards the entrance of her flat with one hand, whilst the other hand pulled your suitcase behind her.

The elevator ride up to her floor was quiet, but it was the comfortable silence kind. You both were stood side by side, one gloved hand interlocked with a bare one, the only noise in the elevator came from the subtle hum of the elevator tune. You knew that it was only a matter of time before you had to break the news of your transfer to the defender.

Part of you was relieved that you can finally put an end to this whole charade, but another part of you was worried that she might feel hurt over the fact that you kept such a big thing from her. Leah was someone that valued trust and communication, and while your feelings for her could warrant an exemption, keeping something like this was a big deal. You’ve had to lie to her a few times over the past few weeks, cancelling meet ups and declining calls, using football and a busy schedule as an excuse to escape her nagging questions over your transfer. You were worried that she might feel hurt that you were essentially lying to her.

Then there was also the bit about how this transfer might change your relationship with the blonde. Sure, she could be happy about your move to Arsenal and the fact that you were both teammates now, but what if in a few months she’ll eventually get tired of having you around constantly. Maybe she might get tired of you always being around her– not just during England camp but now at the same club. One perk about being in separate clubs was it allowed time apart and your feelings for Leah “cool down”– or at least you hoped it would. But then one meet up with her and your heart was rapidly beating against your chest again.

Part of you was also worried that the only reason why you and Leah stayed friends for this long was because being apart from each other and being at separate clubs gave you so much to talk about once you were together. You feared that the only reason why your friendship stood the test of time was because the time apart added to the excitement of being together again eventually. Conversations and face-time calls were endless and exciting because the two of you made sure to share all the mundane and the ordinary with each other because the other wasn’t there to experience it. Now that the both of you will be together more often, you were worried that that excitement and that spark will eventually fizzle out.

They always say “absence makes the heart grow fonder” and for a long time you were okay with it, but what happens now?

First of all, thank you for all the love and support for the first part of this fic. I hope you know I much I appreciated all the reblogs, likes and comments <333

Secondly, I know I said I would get the second part of this fic up last week but whilst I was doing my final reading before posting it, I ended up not like the direction the fic was going, so I redid the entire thing lol

I like this one a lot better and I hope you do too (also, note I added 1 more part to this so it is now a 4 part fic)

Hope you're looking forward to the next bit– I know I am!

The weather lately has been sunny and bright skies on my side of the world. Sending you a little slice of sunshine :)

-- kisses, butter.

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

#woso #woso fanfics #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine #Our New Normal fic

629 notes · View notes

deepdisireslonging · 14 days ago

Text

A Party for Two

With another Wayne holiday gala in the bag, the Reader is happy to finally be home and out of her shoes. Both she and Bruce are exhausted, but he’s been living up to the flirting playboy persona all evening, and she wants him to finish all that teasing.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Warnings/Promises: holiday fluff, Smut (fingering, p.i.v, creampie)

Word Count: 1800

Note: This fic is inspired by “Christmas Party for Two” by Brandy. This turned out really sweet. Please reblog and comment to let me know how you liked it. Happy reading!

You closed the bedroom door behind you and leaned against it with a sigh. Bruce had already lost his suit jacket and tie. He toed off his shoes before kneeling to undo the buckles on your heels. You groaned with relief to feel plush carpet under your toes. His hand slid up your calf. He kissed your knee before rising to his feet.

Draping your arms over his shoulders, you asked, “why do we do these parties again?”

“For the economic benefit of Gotham.” He paused to scrape together another reason. “To keep up appearances.”

You lightly glared at him from under your eyelashes.

“Because Gotham needs us to.”

The groan you let out acquiesced to that, but reiterated how much you hated it. “Would the world fall apart if we flew to London next Christmas? Or Alaska?”

“Those are,” he raised an eyebrow at you, “two very different destinations. Why would you want- You know why we can’t.”

“But Damian’s doing fine.” You smoothed your palm over his cheek. He leaned into your touch, turning so he could kiss your wrist. “If he gets any taller he could wear your gear. Gotham’s underworld wouldn’t know the difference.” You kissed under his jaw, slow and nuzzling. “You deserve a break.”

Bruce didn’t have a quick reply. He pressed his lips to your forehead, inhaling the scent of your perfume still lingering after the bustle of the gala. Quick and sharp, he inhaled to answer. Then he turned and walked further into the room. “We can’t, Y/N.”

You slumped against the door. “Why not?”

“Because of Murphey’s law… and my usual track record with luck. The year we take a break would be the year that Damian would need all the back up he could get. And we would be hours away in London… or Alaska.” He unclicked the cufflinks at his wrists and put them away. “We need to be here for the major holidays because of the crowds. It’s when Gotham is at most risk.”

You took off your jewelry too, breathing with the freedom of not being weighed down with the gems. “Not if we plan it now. We pick a place. Plan every day down to the second with plenty of down-time built in. You have a Justice Leage Boom Tube built nearby before we arrive. And there you go: you can be back in Gotham in seconds. Then there’ll be an extra Boom Tube for future missions. And it’s not like Damian couldn’t call anybody else in the League if he really needed the help.” With a grin you took over Bruce’s attempt to undo his shirt buttons. Once his shirt was free, you slipped it off his shoulders and let your hands linger over his skin. You especially paid attention to his thick arms and the strength of his waist.

He squinted at you. “You’ve thought about this for a while.”

“Maybe.”

He caught your hands before they could drift down to his belt. “And you’re handsy. Not that I mind,” he added with a boyish tilt of his head, “but it’s a dangerous thing when you’ve set your mind to a plan.”

“Oh, I’m dangerous?” You rolled your eyes. He grinned as you poked him in the chest. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself all night. We’ll be all over the tabloids tomorrow with how ‘handsy’ you were.”

A bit of his playboy persona showed up in his smile. “What? I couldn’t help it. I like you in that dress.”

With a scoff, you walked back over to your bureau. “You like me in every dress.”

“Yeah. And?”

He slid up behind you before you could reach back for your zipper. You looked at him in the mirror. “I know you, playboy Bruce Wayne. What you really like is me out of the dresses.”

He hummed, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “That too.” Holding you close, he met your gaze in the reflection. “It’s too far out to make any promises.” Softly, he continued, “but I’ll check the locations of existing teleports and see what we can do.” Bruce nuzzled his nose between your shoulder blades. “Will that be enough for now?” His arms wrapped around your waist.

Tugged back into his torso, you couldn’t turn to face him. All you had was the reflection in your mirror. How he kept half his face below the curve of your shoulder. The glow of his eyes meeting yours with his silent plea and lingering exhaustion. Your heart ached to see the dark circles there. “Yes. For now.” You patted his hands at your waist. “But we will take a vacation sooner rather than later.” Inhaling deeply, you let out a slow breath as you felt your own body rebel at the thought of standing for a minute longer. “Now, if you don’t mind Mr. Wayne, I would really like to get off my feet.”

“Of course, Mrs. Wayne.”

Next thing you knew, he was dragging down your zipper and slipping your dress straps down your arms.

“Bruce?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought we were going to bed.”

“We will. Just helping you out of your dress.”

You rolled your eyes, thinking back to your earlier observation. Fighting a grin, you stood still as he also unhooked your bra and slipped down your garters and panties. “Are you going to wrap me in my pj’s too?”

“No.”

You yelped as he lifted you into the air. The sheets were cool under you as Bruce stretched himself over your body. He radiated heat. It smothered you in the best of ways as he pinned you to the bed and began to suck a mark into the curve of your neck. Keening, you arched into him. He grunted into your mouth as your leg slid up and down his before crossing over the small of his back. The more he mouthed across your body and down over your breasts, the more you needed. But his hands kept your wrists in place. You knew he liked to watch your hands claw the air, unable to touch him. He knew what each flex and curl of your fingers meant. How when you spread your hand wide right before it went limp meant you were dripping and he could really start to play. Bruce let go; you stayed like he laid you, stretched out for his viewing. He sucked his middle finger into his mouth before dragging it through your slick. But he hummed to find you soaked.

“Darling –”

“Hmm?”

“You’re wearing too much.”

“I thought you liked this suit?”

You teased a glare towards him. “Mhmm. But it’ll look better on the floor.”

He nodded. “Oh. Is that what you were trying to get rid of earlier while you complained about my… antics this evening?”

“Mhmm. Isn’t this what you wanted when you started that at the gala?” You reached one hand down to your sex, curling two fingers into your heat while your other hand gripped your breast. You closed your eyes as Bruce’s vision tunneled to the sight of your slick glistening around your fingers. You heard him fumble with his belt before the soft rustle of fabric told you the suit was gone and forgotten. When your eyes opened, your mouth watered.

Bruce held his cock in one hand, gently stroking it as he watched you work yourself over.

You stopped, making him whine. Curling your fingers to draw him in, you held them up for him to take into his mouth. While he sucked up your essence, you drew him further onto the bed till he hovered over you again. He moaned around your fingers as you wrapped your hand over his on his cock. While you stroked, his eyes fell shut. Bruce moaned your name, leaning forward into your touch. But when his breath began to stutter, he batted your hand away.

“Easy, baby.”

“Darling, please.” You gasped as his hands spread wide over your inner thighs. When they squeezed, you tossed your head back into the sheets. “Come on, Bruce, fill me up.”

“Nuh-uh. Gonna burst if I do that now.” He curled his fingers and scissored them to open your channel. “I want to watch you cum first.”

If you had a retort, it died on your tongue when his thumb began to circle your clit in time with his fingers thrusting within you. He leaned down to catch your nipples between in lips in turns. Stretched out as his was, he rutted against the bed while you dug your fingers into his hair. Your vision began to haze over. By the time you were fighting to keep your eyes open, Bruce’s fingers were relentless. He mouthed at the hollow of your throat as you came. As you whimpered out his name, he smiled against your skin.

You were still dazed when he filled you. The stretch of him had you clinging to every bit of his body that you could get your hands on. And still you cried out when he began to move.

He kept his face close to yours. It gave you an unrivaled access to the quiet pants and moans that filtered through his lips. Bruce was a private lover. Only you had heard him like this. And only you would ever feel the way his back muscles rippled and flexed under your hands. The playgirls who’d had access to him before you had the masked version of Bruce. They took home with them stories that were nothing more than gossamer baseless dreams. But the Bruce you had in your arms now was true. He could hide nothing from you. Not the bruises or scars that littered his body. Nor the way he leaned into your every touch; even when your nails came into play when he really had you on edge. If you could, you would imprint your own fingerprints into his skin to show him how much you loved him, how you appreciated that he took care of you and let you take care of him, and how much you loved what he was doing to you.

Bruce groaned into the sheets next to your head. His body rippled before his release flooded your sex. As he fought for air, you rolled your hips to chase the ends of your own release, and to help him down. With a sigh, you nuzzled into the curve of his neck.

He pulled the sheets over you both as sleep began to flutter your vision.

“I’ll talk to Clark tomorrow. See if we can’t get some coverage for Gotham for a few days. Sooner rather than later.”

“Hmm.” You draped you arm across his chest and let yourself begin to sleep away. “Can I plan for a private New Years Eve party for us?” “No promises. But I’ll see what I can do.”

***

Master List

Other Wayne-Family Holiday Fics:

Batfam: Imagine Thanksgiving

Midnight Vibrations (Dick Grayson, New Years, S)

Hickey Victory (Dick Grayson, F)

Maybe One Day - Red Hood x Nurse!OC | (Finished)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The Kissing Thief: (S) Y/N gets fed up with Dick Grayson hiding mistletoe all over the manor, and suggests an alternate activity. The ‘alternate activity’ continues all year. No plot, just smut and fluff. [Series Masterlist]

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #reader insert #wayne!reader #batman x reader #dc smut #batfam x reader #dc fanfiction #bruce wayne fluff

95 notes · View notes

writers-hes · 8 months ago

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter

SYNOPSIS: You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn't realize that war could change you both. (angst, abuse, canon-typical themes, death, war, MDNI, mature themes) AN: Don’t look at the comments / reblogs if you don’t want spoilers!! But please discuss what you think once you’re done reading 🤍

PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation

“So fucking close…” he whispers to himself, inhaling. He turns around and looks up, maybe he could conjure you right now. One last time before he died. “Oh and there’s a woman…a woman who I love and I got close. Nearly got fucking everything!” he shouts. “Oh, what the fuck. Get it done, boys,” he tells them. He kneels before the man.

“In the bleak midwinter…” Tommy says to himself, voice raspy and tired. “In the bleak midwinter…” he whispers to himself, his body shaking. He didn’t know where he was. He just knew that he was going to get killed today. The hole on the ground is where he’ll be buried and he never got the chance to be with you. “In the bleak…in—“

He couldn’t die today. Dread fills his body. You were still at the tracks with Simon. This wasn’t a part of the plan. He was supposed to kill Simon. He was supposed to have fun while doing it while you sat, unaware with Alfie Solomons in the private room. Sweat trickles on his face, and he closes his eyes. The blood on his forehead had dried up and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. He couldn’t believe that the last thing he ever did on this fucking ground was smoke a cigarette. So close. So close…so fucking close.

The sound of a gun going off echoes in the vast field and he finds himself inside the hole. He stays there, appalled.

“Get out of the grave, tinker! Be on your fucking way!”

He stumbles out, unbalanced. Shock was still inside his body. He trips and lands on his face, his palms on the wet ground and he screams. So fucking close. He shakes his head, standing up and sobbing as he did so, on the way home…on the way to you.

He pours himself a glass of Irish whisky. He’s got some ideas for the future of the company…and also, he’s planning on getting something.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, earth stood hard as iron…

BIRMINGHAM, 1922

Tommy couldn’t believe his fucking luck. How many times does he have to wait for things to finally fucking settle? How many more years should he wait for you? He didn’t mind—how could he ever mind when it came to you?

He couldn’t forget the relief that washed over him when Alfie called him to say that the job’s been done. He was supposed to get the locket in his office and go to the tracks but Alfie stopped him.

“Y/N killed Simon Coventry,” Alfie said. “Shot him dead like…mush, bone, mush. Saw her checking for his heartbeat after. I told her not to cry over spilled milk,” he snickers. “Do you get it, mate? Spilled milk?”

He tells Tommy about how shaken you were after the police investigation…how you kept it to yourself until the last officer went out. You were wailing and stuttering ‘he’s dead’ over and over. Alfie told him that he will get one of his men to send the gun to his office for safekeeping. Tommy knew that he should give you some time but he couldn’t wait anymore. He knew that you sold your London mansion and lived in Birmingham now. He knew that you bought the mansion with the garden; the one where you both used to frequent in as kids. He knew that all because he had some of the Blinders guard the property from afar. He knew that all because he passed by the house to get a glimpse of you but the house was quiet, eerie, and lacked life. Polly nor Ada couldn’t get in yet. It all happened too much…too fast…in a span of years, to have Simon dead at the sound of a gun was shocking.

It’s been a year and he couldn’t believe he waited that long to come visit you when he knows you the most. He shakes with anticipation everyday. He was looking forward to seeing you last year, to finally telling you all about his love for you. Maybe it was him who needed you more because you made your own world without him, but he couldn’t give a fuck anymore. You’ve both been apart for what felt like decades and he will burn the world if he’s apart from you for a day more.

It was raining and he drove to your house in his black car. The mansion with a garden. How foolish you both were when you dreamed those dreams. Life was never that easy. Blood was shed, lives were taken for his ambition. It didn’t matter right now. Not in this second. The rain just gets stronger. He forgot his umbrella but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered right now. He could see your figure from the back of the house looking through the French windows of your new home. Funny, you both got what you wanted. He got the Arrow House and you had this manor but they were both so fucking lifeless. He imagined a different house. He imagined a house with kids, with you during the war. He was looking at you and frowned when he saw you leave. Should he knock at the door? Should he just go back? Did you even want to see him?

Drops of rain wet his coat and he removed his Peaky hat, tossing it away to fix his hair. He should’ve gotten an umbrella. His shoes slosh with every step and the chill eats away his bones but he will be warm soon.

Thunder wakes the Birmingham sky and he sees you…a few metres away from him in your dress.

“Tommy!” you called, an umbrella in your hand. You rushed towards him to give him shelter from the rain. The mud from the grass made your bare feet wet but you didn’t care. Tommy was here…he was finally here. He meets you halfway, underneath your black umbrella. He smiles, chest against yours.

“We can’t fit,” he chuckled, a glimmer of the youth that you used to see in his eyes appearing. “Y/N,”

“Tommy,” you replied, a bashful smile on your face. “Let’s go inside,” you tell him but he holds your arm to keep you from leaving. “Tom?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his hand coming up to touch your face but he wasn’t sure. Was it alright to touch you now? “I—I,” he tries to think of words to say, every single emotion getting trapped in his throat. He coughs, shaking his head. “I miss you,”

A single tear trails down your cheek and you wipe it away.

“Looks like the world is finally quiet,” you replied, smiling at him. “I’ve missed you too, Tom,” you chuckled, laying your head on his chest. “I’ve missed you so, so, so much,”

He nods, wrapping his arms around you. You look at him again, a small smile on your face.

“Did you know that…that—“ he coughs. Fuck.

“Tommy?”

“I’ve always thought of ways to tell you this back in the war and I just—I guess the delays and everything and fuck, love. I’ve loved you since we played with your toy horses outside the brothel,” he breathes out. “And I’m sorry, so, so fucking sorry that it took me so long to tell you. That you had to go through all that because you thought that I didn’t love you when I did. I’ve loved you since then and I still love you now. I love you and I just hope that I’m not too late because God, Y/N. You were the one who saved me..who protected me all these years and I can’t lose you again,” he tells you, his hands cradling your face. “I thought…I thought I was going to die when Sabini’s men took me, Y/N and all I could think of was you. How were you? Were you free? You were the only one in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I love you, Y/N. I love you so, so much,” he adds tenderly, his forehead against yours. You were smiling at him, tears streaming down your face. Tommy loves you. Tommy loves you.

“I love you too, Tommy,” you whispered. “I’ve loved you all this time. I can’t believe we’re finally here,” you smiled at him. Tommy throws away the umbrella in your hand. He takes your chin with his fingers gently. Tommy could feel his heart beat faster and faster. He knew that if he'd kiss you now, he’d dream of your beautiful face and soft lips forever. With bated breath, he takes in your expressions, trying to look for any signs of doubt but he couldn’t see it. Is this how it’s like to kiss the face of an angel? He licks his lips and then…and then, he kisses you. He was reborn. His reincarnation was complete. Earthly lifetimes before this had nothing on the life that he will build with you. He loves you. You love him. Tommy kisses you with years of passion and tenderness in his heart. The crease on his brows melts away and your whimpering sounded like God whispering to his ear. Nevermind the rain, nevermind everything. You were here and so was he.

Tommy’s been staying over at your house ever since you professed your love for each other. He’d leave in the morning to attend to some business and then come back in the afternoon, shedding layers of today’s work into your arms.

“How are you so beautiful?” he asks in hushed tones. His finger trails down your cheek gently. “I love you,”

“Tommy,” you chuckled. “You’ve been showering me with praise.”

“I’ve been waiting all my life to say these things to you, love. I’ll make up for those lost years everyday.”

“I love you, Tommy,” you told him, rising from your position to kiss his cheek. “I don’t think I can love anyone else as much as I love you,”

“Pol knows about us,” he whispers. “I think John and Arthur are wondering where I’m always off to because they never see me home,”

“Nothing escapes past her,” you told him. “I miss her…I still can’t believe she intercepted those letters. I don’t know…I can’t hold a grudge against her but I can’t…”

“It’s alright. I understand,” he replied. “Took me a while to get over it too because…because if she didn’t, we’d have all of this earlier,”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you loved me before?”

“I wanted to tell you before I left but I can’t make you wait for me that long. I knew I was coming back to you but what if I couldn’t?” he asked. He holds your body closer to him. The hushed tones that you spoke in made the bedroom so homey, comfortable, and nice. His chin falls on the top of your head. “Why didn’t you tell me that you loved me?”

“I didn’t want you to love me,” you told him. “I was a prostitute, Tom and I…I don’t want to love you when I can’t give you all of me,” you whispered.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I would have done something to make sure that you wouldn’t have to do any of that.” he said. He takes your fingers into his, weaving his with yours.

“Are you off to see Y/N again?” Polly asked, sipping on her tea while she watched her nephew fix his coat. Tommy patted himself down, making sure that everything was in place.

“Of course, Pol,” he smiles. “Off to see my woman,”

“Can…can you tell her that she’s invited for Sunday’s dinner?” Polly asked, wiping her worries away by rubbing her hands. “I’ve missed her. The family misses her,”

“I’ll try to,” Tommy replied. “But don’t expect anything, Pol,”

“Of course,” she replied. Her lips pursed together. “I wanted to tell her about…how sorry I am for the things I’ve done. It should have been your decision to stay in touch and not mine, no matter how much I justify it. I—I feel as though it was my fault for putting her through all of that, Tom,”

“Thank you, Pol,” Tommy nodded.

“What has she been up to these days?” she asked.

“Fixing her estate and her properties,” he replied. “She’s been mostly cooped inside the house,” Polly only nods to herself, unsure of what to say. Tommy leaves with a click of his tongue.

When he arrived at your house, you were in your office, sorting through some of the documents Simon left you. You look up at him from where you were sitting with a smile and he takes that as a sign to come closer. He kisses your shoulder lightly before reading over the documents.

“You want to rest?” he asked, voice husky. He puts his hands on your shoulders and massages you gently.

“Thanks, Tommy,”

“Polly’s inviting you to come to Sunday’s dinner,” he says. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to nor do you have to answer now. Ada’s gonna be there along with Karl. John and the kids…Arthur and Finn. Pol and then, me,”

Tommy kisses the top of your head, watching you sort through the papers.

“Can I…can I think about it?” you asked him. You could see how important it is to him but you couldn’t agree just because he’s Tommy. It didn’t work that way anymore. He hums, satisfied with your reply before sitting on the chair adjacent to the table.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“Just…some of his unsettled accounts,” you sighed. “I want them paid to avoid issues,” you told him. He takes a document and reads it over. Oh. “I want to start a foundation for children or at least, fund an orphanage and a school,”

“Do it,” he tells you. “Simon has left a considerable amount of properties to last generations.”

“What time should I go to Arrow House for Sunday’s dinner?” you asked. Tommy halts and looks at you with a grateful smile.

“I’ll come get you,” he says, kissing your cheek. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy,” he tells you. You only nod, if Tommy can look at you like that again, then a thousand awkward dinners don’t mean a thing.

Sunday comes and you stand at the door of Arrow House with his hand on your back. He could see you fumble nervously. You almost looked shy. An amused smile graces his face. Why would you be so shy when you’ve told John off multiple times? You helped raise Finn. Ada basically considers you as a sister. You were the only person that Arthur respects. Polly thinks of you as her daughter.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his raspy voice coating you like honey. You nod and he chuckles, opening the door to his mansion.

The Shelbys were everywhere. Ada was running after Karl and John’s kids. Arthur was laughing at something that John probably said. Polly was nowhere to be found, probably fussing in the kitchen.

“See? It’s like you never left,” he comforts you. He knows better than to have the attention all on you so he tries to slip past everyone without being noticed. Still, your arrival was much awaited and soon enough, you were engulfed in strong arms.

“Y/N!” John greets, hugging you tighter. “Oh, everyone! Y/N’s here!” he announces and you chuckle.

“John…” Tommy warns but before his little brother can let you go, Arthur slings an arm around your shoulder.

“How are you, dove?” he asked.

“I’ve been well,” you replied. Ada comes next, shooing her brothers away to have you all to herself.

“Y/N. It’s been so long since we last saw each other. You loom as radiant as ever! I hope my idiot brother’s treating you well, hm?” she asked, pointedly looking at an amused Tommy who was leaning by the fireplace. “Seriously, how are you? Are you doing well?” she asks in a more serious tone.

“I am,” you replied. “Sorry it took me a year to recover,” you replied.

“We understand, Y/N. We could’ve waited longer but Tommy here couldn’t. He was so fidgety!” she chuckled. “Basically pissed on everyone for a whole year! He almost got in a brawl with Arthur. That’s how miserable Tommy was but then again, you’ve never really seen Tommy being aggressive,”

“I haven’t,” you replied. Honestly, you were so glad that Tommy kept his gang and violence from you. You’ve never seen him land a punch even though you knew that he slept beside a gun.

“Thank you for coming, though,” Ada says. “We all missed you and we wanted to come visit you but Tommy warned us to give you time and space until you’re ready after what happened,”

“You know that I’m always happy to be here. Everything was just too much at so little time, Ada,” you replied. “I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like I didn’t want you to be with me when I moved back here. I needed room to grow and heal,”

“You don’t have to apologise, Y/N. In any case, I actually feel quite guilty for the things that I allowed myself to put you through. All of us played a part in your marriage with Simon Coventry. I just…if you’re being forced or if there’s an inkling that you don’t want to be with Tommy—“

“Ada!” you laughed lightly. It puts a smile on her face. How long has it been since you laughed like that? “I’m alright. I love Tommy and I love your family. There’s not a day that I don’t want to see him. I’m always looking forward to his visits and when he can't, I still do the same anyway.” you told her.

“That’s great,” she smiled. “I’m happy for you, Y/N. Tommy’s really lucky,”

You were so engrossed with your conversation with Ada that you didn’t see Polly approaching. It was Ada who called Polly over. Tension settles on your spine; creeping up like ice. Your throat dries and Ada coughs.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, smiling at you encouragingly before leaving. Polly walks towards you cautiously, scared that she’ll scare you. You smile at her tightly, your cheeks hurting from the control.

“I…” you sighed, looking away. “I know that you want what is best for me but you didn’t have to intercept the letters,” you started. “I know that we didn’t know when Tommy’s coming back…or if he’s coming back and you wanted me to take the opportunity to–”

“Y/N,” she stops you, a soft hand on your crossed arms. “You don’t have to defend me. I’m so sorry for what happened and for what I did. I had no right to do what I did. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be happy…you’d–” she chokes. “I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispers, a stray tear on her face. She tries to shake it off. “I’m really sorry. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me someday,”

“But I forgive you, Pol,” you told her. “It was hard to do so and it’s harder to repair what we lost but you can’t blame yourself for the things that Simon did. We both didn’t know,” you told her. “Thank you for apologising and…thank you for always looking out for me,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so, so sorry,” she cried. She could feel her throat tighten and her eyes glisten. You smiled at her. Maybe this was what you needed to finally close that part in your life.

The afternoon was filled with reunions and with warmth. A regular weekend at the Shelby’s, just like when you and Tommy were younger. Oh how you’ve missed them–how you’ve missed having a family.

The night was quiet at the Arrow House. Everybody left at the sight of nightfall, dimming laughter filling the halls. You and Tommy were at the drawing room in the second storey of his mansion, looking at the cars that left one by one. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, his chin on the crook of your neck. He breathes in and kisses what he could kiss.

“You alright?” he asked, pulling you closer.

“Very,” you told him. “Made me realise how much I missed having your family around…I miss having a family,”

“You are a part of us, you know that, right?” he asked.

“I know,” you replied, laying closer to him.

“You can be a part of us. A real Shelby,” he whispers. “Y/N, look at me,” he asks of you, removing his hands gently and turning your around.

“Tommy?”

“Did you know Polly told me that only love can blind a man as powerful as me?” he asked. “I realised that wasn’t the case. It was you all along, love. My love for you is secondary. You’re the one who makes me weak, who makes me blind. I love you so much. I’ll burn the world if it means that you’re safe, you’re with me, and you’re happy. Y/N, do you want to be a Shelby?” he asked. He pulls out a ring from his bolster shakily. You’ve never seen him nervous. “I’ve held onto this for so long. This was the first thing I bought when I came back from war,” he says. The gold ring with a single diamond glimmers. “I thought of getting you something else…a bigger diamond, maybe but material things don’t matter to me anymore. The only thing I can promise is my love, my loyalty. I am the only thing I can promise you. I’m quite scared because if you’ll marry me, you’ll marry a man and you will marry a curse. I can’t…I can’t go on like this anymore. I can’t go on without you anymore. It’s selfish, I know but will you marry me, Y/N?” he asked. You stood there, dumbfounded.

“Tommy–of course, I’ll marry you,” you replied, tears streaming down your face. “I’ve loved you for so long,” you chuckled, extending your hand towards his equally shaky ones. He puts the ring on your ring finger. It has always belonged to you. “I’ll marry you right now. Oh, Tom,” you cried, kissing him feverishly. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. Is this life even real?

“Let’s go to my bedroom,” he rasps and you nod. He holds your hand with his gentle ones and sits you on the bed. He smiles at you in the dimming light of his bedroom. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. He was afraid to see you disappear if he was too loud. “So beautiful for me,” he says, tucking a stray hair and kissing the spot under your ear. You hum, fishing for the buttons of his shirt and he chuckles, forcefully removing it from himself.

“Tom,” you whispered, unbuttoning your dress. He nods, leaning on the headboard and letting you straddle him. The softness of your skin against his was sending him over the edge but he chooses to control himself. He lets your dress and brassiere fall on your shoulders, your breasts bare to him. He angles himself, taking a nipple in his mouth and licking it softly. You whimpered, the feeling of his mouth on one of the most sensitive parts of your body was something that you never thought was going to happen.

“Is it alright if I bite?” he asked and you nodded. “Say it. Come on, love,”

“Do whatever you want to me, Tommy,” you mewled, hands massaging your silky breasts while he sucks on your nipple.

“Fuck, love,” He groans at your response, bucking his hips unexpectedly. “The things you do to a man, Y/N. The things you do to me,” his hands travel on your sides, goosebumps appearing from the softness of his touch. Tommy cups your heat through your underwear. “Remove your dress for me,”

You nod, the cold hitting you all at once when you raised yourself from him. He watches the fabric flow so softly until you are left with nothing but your underwear.

“Remove that too,” he says, and you nodded. “You’re so obedient, Y/N,” he praises. “May I?” he asked and you nodded, a thick finger dipping in your wetness. You both moaned at the contact before he removed it slowly. You watched as he brought his finger up to his mouth, making a show of licking you off of him. “You’re so sweet,”

“Tommy,” you whimpered. “Don’t tease me,”

“Alright, alright,” he replied. You remove yourself from him, laying down on the bed with your legs spread wide. He can see your pussy glisten and he curses himself, removing his pants hastily before joining you. “Spit,” he orders you, his hand waiting expectedly by your mouth. You obliged and watched him jerk himself off. “Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says.

“Tommy–”

“Please,” he begs. “I’ll do it. I’ll fucking do it,”

“I want you to make love to me, Tommy,” you whimpered. “Please show me how much you love me,”

“Oh, love,” he groans. Tommy comes towards you, so close, so warm. His hands found your knees and he caressed your knees. “You're so beautiful, darling,”

“Tom,” you mewled. His prying fingers found your heat. He cups your mound and then parts your folds, rubbing them up and down. He smiles at you, leaning over your figure until his nose brushes yours.

“Hey,” he tells you. He watches you closely and he wonders why he never had the courage to tell you how much he loved you earlier. The curve of your lips, the lashes on your eyes…he wanted to memorise every part of you and commemorate it. He leans down, his mouth on your mouth, kissing you so slowly. This is love, you thought. Tommy nudges your legs wider apart, his tip pressing into your wetness. “Fuck, love,” he rasps, rutting into your more roughly.

“I need you inside me, Tom,” you breathed. He nods, aligning himself on your wet slit. He feels the anticipation run through his veins. He never would have even dreamed of this. In a slow stroke, Tommy’s cock finds its way inside easily; years of longing, passion, and pent-up emotions seeping through your pores.

“You’re, ugh—“ he groans. Fuck. “Don’t fucking move yet. I’ll—“

“Tom—“ you mewled, grinding on his pelvis in circles. You felt full; you felt complete.

“Love, please,” he begs. “Let me…let me savour this. Want this to last,” He feels your body relax and he sighs. Really, if he decided to move now, he’s only going to embarrass himself. He curses to himself, ashamed that he had to pull himself back a little bit. “I’m going to move, yeah?” he asked and you could only nod. Tommy leans his figure over yours, his lips landing on your nipple. He licks on it lightly as he adjusts himself. He pulls out slowly, before going back in slowly.

You both moan in unison. Tommy continues his movements while he sucked on your nipple. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling it softly.

“I love you, Tom,” you whimpered,feeling his cock rubbing inside. “I love you so much,”

“Mmm,” he only hums, his attention on your other nipple now. Your fingers find their way onto your clitoris and you rub circles on it while Tommy fucks you deeper. “Fuck,” he groans, breaking away from the comfort of your arms and leaning back. He removes your hand and raises one of your legs. You watched as Tommy fucks you faster, but now it was deeper and you felt more full because of your new position. “Oh, fuck,” he rasps, his thumb coming in contact with your clit.

“Tommy,” you moaned when you felt his rough thumb rubbing circles. “Fuck, I—“

“It’s alright, darling. I will take —good—care—of—you,” he said, thrusting harder into you to make his point. “You won’t have to worry about anything anymore. You have me…your Tommy,”

“My Tommy,” you whispered, as if it was a new concept when Tommy knew that he belonged to you from the very start. Still, hearing the words come from your mouth excites him.

“Say it again,”

“My Tommy,” you repeated. “Fuck, Tommy,” you mewled, pinching your nipples together.

“Fuck, you want me to fuck babies into you?” he asked, quickening his pace.

“Yes, Tommy, please!” you whimpered. “Going to make you a daddy,”

“I’m going to make love to you everyday and cum inside your pretty pussy, yeah?” he rasps, his cock fucking your wet pussy harder. “Oh fuck,”

The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, your wetness welcoming him with every thrust fills the room. You were both high, moans and grunts filling every crevice of the room. Tommy fucks you sloppier while your fingers play with your clit.

“I’m close, ugh—Tommy,” you grunted. “Tom, Tom, Tommy,”

“Let go, love,” he whimpered. “Go on,”

His words fuelled you and you released a high pitched moan as he felt your walls clench around him. The feeling of your pussy milking him sends him into overdrive and you feel it. You felt his warm cum coating your walls.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans, thrusting his hips into you even more to chase his orgasm. “I love you. I fucking love you,” he rasps, collapsing into you.

“I love you, Tommy,” you replied, playing with the soft tendrils of his hair. He lays there, unmoving, his softening cock still inside you.

“Let’s stay like this forever,” he says, kissing your breast.

“Alright,”

“Now, you’ve seen me,”

“And you’ve seen me,”

BIRMINGHAM, 1925

“Tom!” you shrieked, looking at the muddy footprints that stained your white carpet. Over the last few years, you both decided that it would be best to stay at your place instead of the Arrow House. You both agreed that it was too dark and too lonely. It was so unlike the lush gardens, the water fountain, and the scurrying feet of the maids in your house. Besides, Tommy liked it here better. It was brighter, happier, and his nephews and nieces loved to visit.

“Oh no,” he hears a child say. “Oh, no, no, no,”

“Shh,” he crouches down to her height. “If we’re quiet, mum won’t see us,”

“Thomas Shelby! I told you to leave the boots outside whenever you’re out with the horses,”

“Dad—I don’t want to get mummy mad,” she whispers. “Let’s say sorry,”

Tommy looks at his daughter with wonder in his eyes. He never knew he’d love someone else as much as he loves you.

“Alright,” he nods, bracing himself. “Come on,”

His daughter holds his hands and gets out of the hiding place. She immediately cowers behind her father when she sees the hand on your hip.

“It was dad’s fault!” you heard her say, running towards you and hugging your legs. “Daddy did it!”

You frowned at Tommy but he could see the smile that dared to crack.

“Oh, bub. Where’s your loyalty to your old man, hmm?” he asked, a hand over his heart. “Darling, I must let you know that…” he trailed off kissing your cheek first. “Our daughter here is a natural,”

“Tommy…”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, massaging the crease between your eyebrows. “We’re sorry, right, bub?” he asked your little girl. She nodded, looking up at you. “Traitor,” Tommy whispers to himself before ruffling her hair.

“Just don’t do it again, alright?” you asked him.

BIRMINGHAM, 1913

“Do you think there’s a future where the two of us can be together?” Tommy asked. Upon seeing your panicked reaction, he coughs. “What I meant is…that we’ll still be like this,”

“Of course, we will,” you replied. “Only better…because by that time, we won’t have to worry about anything anymore because we’re together.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Tommy. You’re the most important person in my life. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you too,” you replied, looking at him, trying to look for his reaction. You looked away when you saw the ghost of a smile paint his features. He’s always been so handsome.

“You won’t,” he replied, taking your hand to make that promise. “You won’t ever lose me,” he tells you.

“I guess, I won’t.”

END A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long to upload this. I really am sorry. I'll be uploading a separate author's not soon. But for now, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. TAGLIST: @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius @trixie23 @everythingelseisextra @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash @sweetwanderlust05 @globetrotter28 @thebestandworstdayofjune @reggxe-a @verreuckteli @vampireluck @zoexme @liter4ti @quixscentsposts @homosexualjohnwayne @charli123456789 @Maria_elizabeth21

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #hurt/comfort #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fluff #smut #protection!tommy

239 notes · View notes