#his ex wife must be dancing right now wherever her spirit is

[peaceeandcoolestvibes]

FUCK HIMMMMMM

diddy (finally) being arrested is the best way to end my monday tbh

[fleckcmscott]

Awake

Summary: It's one of those rare mornings in which Y/N stirs before Arthur. She reflects on sharing life (and a bed) with him.

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Words: 3,524

A/N: This is a request from @jokerownsmysoul​, who is very dear and extremely generous. Thank you for sending this to me! It was interesting and I enjoyed writing it!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The continuous battering of rain on the metal air conditioner resounded through the room. Arthur had put it in the window by the closet rather than the windows behind their bed, but it was loud enough to disrupt Y/N's sleep, anyway. She welcomed it, though. Summer in the city was often harder than it had been back home. The asphalt amplified the heat, and Gotham's mix of skyscrapers, office buildings, and apartment complexes prevented any cool breeze from blowing through at ground level.

Her clammy commutes had resulted in curled papers in her canvas bag, curled tips of her hair, and her polyester office wear making her sweat, sweat, sweat. She was sure that pattern would continue today - it was unlikely the ventilation on the H train had been repaired. Lying there, she wanted the sky to open. For a downpour to cut through the humidity. For a thunderstorm to sweep in, in the way that had scared and exhilarated her as a little girl.

Dim, silvery light spilled past the edges of the shades. It was early. She might be able to nab another hour of shuteye. She stretched and mewled. Rolled onto her right side. Tucked her folded hands beneath the blanket.

But the drawn-out, low rattle of Arthur's snoring prodded her whenever she was about to nod off.

Opening one eye, she peeked at him. Then she quietly reached and rolled up both shades to get a better look. Brown waves tumbled over his pillow, the same one he'd brought with him from 8J. His left arm lay on the mattress, his right resting across his stomach. While his torso was half-supine, his waist faced her. The cover had fallen to his thighs, and a foot stuck out from beneath the sheets, toes flexing along with his breathing. Nestling closer, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

It had been four months since they'd boarded the subway together, his few belongings in tow, to set out towards whatever may lie ahead. They'd only lived three stations apart, but her glee had climbed with each stop. Unable to contain herself, she'd pecked Arthur's apprehensive face whenever their eyes met. Until he'd snorted, pulled her tight against him, and murmured an unnecessary, "Thanks."

Sitting, she let her eyes roam the room. While they were still getting used to each other's habits and compromising when necessary, it struck her how easy it had been to allow him into her place. And now it was their place.

Unlike in his old apartment, there were hints of him everywhere. His blue house pants were draped on the chair in the corner. The watch she'd surprised him with - but he didn't wear - sat on the bureau, amongst her jewelry box, his wallet, and a prescription. With a muted chuckle, she recalled the bottle of lubricant she'd put in the drawer of her nightstand, used when her body wouldn't match the arousal of her brain or they were in a hurry.

She hadn't yet gotten over waking up to him every day, having him be a part of her routine. Coffee was always ready when she shuffled into the kitchen, their mugs side-by-side in front of the machine. Arthur would kiss her unhurriedly, and she usually didn't mind the smokiness of his breath.

When he was in good spirits (which, from what she could gather, was about seventy-three percent of the time), a shy smile would show off his chipped front tooth. He'd jut his hip against the counter while they discussed their day. Or current events. Or a favorite film or show. The little things. The big things. Everything in between. Now and then he'd whip out a joke and make her giggle or groan, in delight and in love.

Before Arthur and she had met, it had been ages since she'd last shared a bed with someone. And even longer since she'd enjoyed it. There had been her ex-husband, Jeff, for over nine years. It had been fun at the beginning. New. Exciting. Even with her lurking suspicion that marrying him had been a mistake, she'd thought she might have found a role that would make her happy. Allow her to fit into the small town she'd been raised in.

The dissolution of their marriage hadn't been all his fault. Sure, he'd been too serious, but he'd introduced her to the legal field and supported her decision to go to school. Had helped shape who she was. And he'd tried. But he wasn't a mind reader.

She'd been too young and insecure to tell him she didn't have the energy to make breakfast and dinner, not on top of a full class load and work. Yes, she did mind him talking to clients whenever they ate. No, she didn't just want to be Jeff Thompson's wife; she wanted to be Y/N Thompson. His but also herself. The last morning they'd spent together had been the first time they'd communicated in years.

Harry had been a nice guy, she'd believed. Nice enough to be involved with for twenty-two months. One day he'd told her he needed to find someone he could start a family with. Y/N had been hurt. And pissed. They hadn't discussed having children; she knew better than to out herself as a woman who had no interest in motherhood. It had made her wonder, though, what it was about her that was objectionable.

And then there was four years ago. Leonard had been a pipefitter who'd done some repairs at her office. She'd been working twenty hours a week, trying to stay sane when she wasn't housekeeping for, bathing, or attempting to ground her father. Leonard had been attractive. Polite. Had slipped her two copies of his business card, one for the boss and one for her. Desperation to have a conversation that wasn't comprised of confused sentences, episodic accusations, or mentions of bowels had compelled her to call him.

They'd been lying in bed when he'd said, "This isn't working."

Signs it wasn't going to last had emerged, but she'd tried to ignore them. After she'd disclosed her dreams of getting out of Boonville, after their first few dates, they'd rarely talked. Her drive to pursue her own hobbies had died as her responsibilities had increased, and she couldn't pretend to be interested in the sports he liked. Sex was the only thing they liked doing together. And it was just to feel something that wasn't awful, not to connect.

"I know," she'd replied. "I'm sorry. I'm not the best version of myself at the moment."

"Don't be too hard on yourself." He'd stood to pull on his jeans. "You're a nice woman, Y/N. I hope you make it to Metropolis or Gotham or wherever." She'd seen him to the front porch, where'd they'd shaken hands. When she'd finally left town, she'd given him some of her appliances for his shop's break room.

Arthur's mumbles broke her out of her reverie as he turned towards her. The tension he regularly carried was gone, his handsome features relaxed. She decided to believe he was at peace. Long eyelashes rested on his sculpted cheekbones. The temptation of his parted lips, mere inches away. The earthy hint of his perspiration wafted to her nostrils, and she smiled at the arousal blooming in her belly.

His lack of awareness of the power he had over her was amusing, though she expected him to figure it out eventually. They had sex a couple times a week, often more. He was an eager late bloomer, and she enjoyed being with him just as thoroughly. He valued the intimacy of the act as much as getting off.

Their lovemaking was simple, their explorations incremental - given his past, it was vital to respect his boundaries. But he was becoming more comfortable asking questions. Discovering what he preferred, as well as what he disliked. Telling her what he needed.

Or the things he longed to do to her.

A shaky exhale left her at the recollection, and she placed a kiss to the scar above his mouth. Her palm drifted down the column of his neck to his chest, and further still to his abdomen, her fingertips following the sparse strip of hair leading to his briefs. When she reached for his hip, her forearm bumped against his semi-hard "morning wood," a phrase that had always made her laugh.

Running her nails along his thigh, she admired the smattering of freckles and his firm muscles. For such a lanky man, his strength was impressive. It must have stemmed from running around Gotham all his life. And the dancing with which he so beautifully expressed himself, whether anxious, upset, or happy.

With a groan, he shifted onto his left side, dark brows pinched. Conscientiousness interrupted her desire and she halted. His insomnia had improved, he'd said. It was rare for him to go four or five days without sleep (though he intermittently did for one or two).

But he had had back-to-back jobs yesterday. He'd stayed in his writing nook until after she'd gone to bed, the mattress having dipped under his weight shortly past twelve. And he had an open-mic night coming up. Letting him rest would be the kind thing to do. It would also give her the chance to make breakfast and coffee for him for a change. Once she pressed a kiss to his cheek, she started to rise.

A loose grasp on her wrist. "Where are you going?" he asked, words husky with fatigue.

She twisted to meet his gaze but found his eyes were shut. "I was going to get you something to eat."

"That's sweet." Yawning, he stretched, then brought her closer until she was tucked into his side. "Stay." It was as much a request as a demand, Y/N knew, and she acquiesced with a grin. She buried her nose in his disheveled hair, breathed him in, relished the lazy drag of his fingers up her back.

The rain outside had reduced to a soothing patter, and she thought he would drift off. But his stroking continued. His grasp went to her leg, and she let him guide her to settle on top of him. "I dreamed something," he said. "It's hard to remember."

At the spark of their centers coming into contact she shivered. Not wanting him to think she wasn't listening, she forced herself to remain stationary. The feverishness of his smooth skin didn't make that easy. She caressed his sideburns. "Tell me what you can."

As he focused on the ceiling, eyelids heavy with sleep, he brought his hands to rest above his head on the pillow. "My ribs hurt - I must have been laughing. And it smelled like the bus." He glanced at her as he spoke. "But then I was here on our fire escape. Throwing my cards into the street. The ones that explain my condition. And then a woman was trying to get my jacket off." His lips curved, giving her a playful look. "I couldn't see or hear her, but she must have been you. She wouldn't stop touching me."

While he'd never disclosed the details, Y/N knew he suffered from nightmares. That hadn't been a shock. The child protective filings at her old job had described them as a common symptom of PTSD, which she assumed Arthur had. Every so often, he'd startle awake, hard enough to stir her. When that happened, he'd normally dismiss her attempts to draw him close, choosing to leave the room. Occasionally, he'd let her hold him until his breathing had steadied. Tell him she loved him. That he was safe.

A halfway enjoyable dream? That was a consolation. Propping her chin on the heel of her hand, she returned his pleased countenance. And the longer she gazed at him, the more acutely aware she became of the hard plains of his body pressed into her curves. "That sounds nice," she said. Amorousness buzzed in the air, despite her earlier effort to behave, and she played with the brown tuft under his arm, traced the hair circling the disc of his nipple.

The pad of his thumb swiped along her lips, and she opened her mouth around it for a kiss. "It was." The bob of his Adam's apple betrayed the fervor growing in him. As did the strain of his hard-on at her vulva. His eyes sparkled with mischief as she lightly rubbed herself against him. Slick pooled in her core at the friction, dampening her underwear. Pressure built quickly, with each groping kiss and graze of his fingers on her flank. The unrushed rolls of their hips continued until their breaths were ragged and she thought she would shatter.

She pushed herself to her knees, yanked at her panties while he reached to help. "You just woke up," he said in drowsy astonishment. "How are you this wet already?"

Continuing to straddle him, she sat and took hold of the hem of her short nightgown. "I'm in bed with you." The cotton going over her head muffled her words. "It's not a challenge." The offending piece of fabric was tossed to the floor. "Besides, doing that to me is an old habit of yours."

He cupped the dip of her waist. "Is it?" Even in the gray, morning light, his blush was prominent.

"Every time we talked on the phone. Your voice is such a turn-on." She folded down the elastic of his underwear, sighed at the slight bounce of his erection as he lifted his pelvis to permit the briefs' removal. "Everything about you is a turn on. It's a wonder I get anything done."

Arching into her labia, he groaned. "You're always so horny."

She appreciated his attempt at matching her forwardness and regarded him with a smirk. "You should fuck me, then," she teased, placing her hands on her hips to better display her breasts. Then she giggled at herself for trying to pretend she was seductive. When she'd done that in the past, success had never been more than middling. But with Arthur it was all right. No matter how ridiculous she felt, how silly the sentences spilling out of her were, he loved them. Especially when she made him laugh.

Like now. Though flustered, his hitched laughter was genuine and joyous. Different from the one he'd described in his dream, the one that still happened at inappropriate times (albeit less frequently). He appeared to like the role of object of desire. Of her significant other. Of her beloved. And though he'd told her he preferred being on top, claiming it was harder for him to "screw up," his hungry regard let her know he was fine with relinquishing some control today.

The repeated bumping of the ridge of his cock against her sensitive bud was bringing her nearer and nearer to her peak. Especially when his touch skimmed past her ribs to knead her swaying breasts, his thumbs swirling around her areolas. Her nipples puckered until they ached. Bending up, he took one into his mouth, and she writhed harder, whining and cradling his head while trying to support herself.

Her release was approaching, only a few seconds away. She scooted further back to kneel above him. Their hands collided when they both reached between their legs. Steadying herself on the mattress, she held herself open. The concentrated expression he wore revealed his impatience to enter her, but after two or three tries she had to take hold of him. Lowering herself, her pace careful, gentle, she let out a short moan at the delicious pressure of him breaching her.

"Ow, wait." His grip on her was sudden.

She braced herself on his chest. "Are you all right?"

Nodding sharply, he steered her a bit to the left. "That's better." He craned his neck, closing his eyes and smiling softly as he brought her down onto him, sheathing himself completely. "I love how you feel," he breathed.

She wriggled slightly, trying find the sweet spot that would result in rapture instead of discomfort. This was always trickier than she remembered. Grasping his shoulders, she propped herself on her forearms on either side of him and leaned forward. "I love how you fill me," she replied, clenching around his shaft.

Neither moved at first, choosing instead to bask in the sheer pleasure of the other. She ran her hands along his biceps, squeezed the toned sinews. Took in how the light played across his pale complexion and the hollows of his frame. "Arthur, you're beautiful."

He hiccuped on a chuckle, raising his hips, and she felt the blunt tip of him brush her cervix. "I think you're getting me mixed up with you."

His patch of coarse curls tickled her swollen nub, and she was consumed by the need to move. She wanted to find a good rhythm. One that wouldn't have him slip out of her. She gyrated her pelvis in a small circle, starting off leisurely, low grunts and groans escaping both of them.

Then her clit hit his pubic bone at just the right angle and she jolted.

Pulling her down to him, he melded their mouths as he rocked upwards. His supple lips were frantic, tongue twining with hers. One hand was gripping her shoulder, the fingers of the other digging her thigh as his movements quickened. Hooking his ankle around her calf, his other leg hit her ass as he bent it at the knee. "Fuck me," he rasped by her ear. "Fuck me. Please, Y/N, fuck..."

No man had ever begged her to fuck him before. It wasn't something they normally said, from her experience. But Arthur often took his cues from her. She had been his only partner, and she pleaded for him to fuck her - a lot. It wasn't the words that were surprising; it was the fire that shot through her in response.

She watched his brows draw together, the setting of his jaw as lust overcame his face. Lifting herself a few inches, she observed the rise and fall of Arthur's ribs with each shallow inhalation. How his lean abdominals bunched with every thrust.

Moaning, Y/N answered him by increasing her tempo. The smooth undulations of her hips fell away. Were replaced by a hurried up and down, up and down on the rigid heat of his cock. It was heady, as was the rising pitch of his whimpers.

With a harsh cry he surged into her, clutching her rear to keep her in place. She keened at the pulses of his erection within her walls. The splash of his release filling her. The racing of his heart, which she swore she could hear. His collarbones rose and fell with every gasp, his eyelids screwed shut.

Hurriedly, she slid her hand to her center and flicked her fingertip across her hood, feeling him soften inside her as she rutted against him and her own touch. His hand went to her back, encouraging her to continue. To take what she needed. To drive closer and closer to the precipice...

Her climax was swift. Not earth shattering but blissful all the same. It felt like relief instead of being winded. She smiled down at him, her eyes fluttering open to see the appealing flush on his neck and cheeks. Returning her amused look, he brought her down to him. Grinned against her mouth as she trembled, devouring her lips. Nuzzled at her and told her how happy she made him.

A tender warmth diffused from her center, flowing to her arms and legs. Feeling dreamy, she collapsed onto him, humming as she caught her breath. The muscles of her thighs were burning. And the ligaments in her knees were already sore. If this was going to become routine, she'd have to start doing squats or something. She pecked at his jaw. "You're the only man who's asked me to fuck him."

He gathered her hair, pushed it out of her face and kissed her forehead. "Was that weird?"

Giggling, she sighed contentedly and shrugged. "I liked it. And I'll do it anytime."

After a few moments, he smoothed his palm down her body and patted her bottom. She boosted herself on her elbow and kissed the bridge of his nose, then the wrinkles on his chin. "Are you still going to Amusement Mile? It wouldn't make sense with the rain. There likely won't be many people." She massaged his shoulder, caressed him with the back of her hand. "You should give yourself a break and relax."

After a thoughtful “hm,” he caught her fingers and kissed them. "I'll probably stay put. Can I call at lunch?"

How he managed to make her heart leap so easily, she'd never know. "I think I'd love that. Though you don’t have to ask." Cupping his cheeks, she bent to seal their lips, then began to extricate herself from his arms.

But he kept his hold on her. “One small thing,” he said, rubbing one eye. "I’d like raspberry toast with coffee."

~~~~~

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