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jokerownsmysoul · 2 years

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a place to shelter

Summary: Arthur can tell that you need some comfort when you come home after a long day. He makes space for you on his lap, and makes sure to give you all of it.

Warnings: reader is a little down, but nothing too angsty.

Words: 4700

Notes: you ever get this vital need to lay your head on Arthur's lap? As much as I love daydreaming & writing about him laying his head on reader's lap, I really wish I could do the same with him. This piece is just the result of this need. ❤︎ I'm not sure if I expressed fully what it means to me, but I tried. More often than not meaningful things require simple words.

The thunderstorm that had suddenly burst during the afternoon seemed to put an end to the mild days that until then had warned of the arrival of autumn, coming and going between a lukewarm afternoon stroll and a crispy night like little messengers, carrying the announcement that much colder days were finally here.

Once you left work and stepped out on the sidewalk you were surprised to see that the rain had incessantly dripped down on the spiced, bright hues of autumn until they had faded away into a dark shade of grey. The sparkling sky that had refreshed the afternoons throughout October now was seasoned with ash colored, cotton-candied clouds, polka-dotting the skyline far beyond the horizon. A anthracite toned atmosphere enveloped you, as unexpected as was surreal, and very much welcomed by those like you who loved this kind of wheather.

You should bring the umbrella with you, Arthur had told you in the morning as he kissed you have-a-nice-day on the threshold. It’s cloudy outside. I think the sky wants to rain today.

Your heart softened at the memory of it. He was right, after all. He was always right. You protected yourself from the rain under the balcony of your workplace building and lifted your eyes toward the sky, a private smile on your lips as you welcomed the gift this unexpected thunderstorm carried.

The uncontrollable enthusiasm that climbed up the surface of your heart whenever it rained tried to come out by extension, to cleanse your soul of the weariness settled within you like dust. But it had been an exhausting day, and as much as the rain made you happy, this time the coolness in the air wasn’t enough to light up your spirit.

You were cold, and the grey hue that covered the vastness of the sky was reminding you of the same hue of Arthur’s grey sweater. It was standing there above you, coating everything in cloudiness, recalling the warm, woolly embraces of your dear beloved. For a moment, as you kept your eyes fixed on the grey sky, you almost felt like you really were wrapped in one of his embraces. But the grey hue kept standing there above you, not reshaping into the curve of his arms fondled around you, and you kept standing there all alone and without him. Soon, you were met with a sense of lack seeping within you that carried his name. You missed Arthur, and the stormy shaded sky even more now was making you crave for the warmth and affection of him, who still seemed too far away from where you were.

When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by If you smile through your fear and sorrow Smile And maybe tomorrow You'll see the sun come shining through For you

Suddenly you recalled those lines of that one song that used to keep you and Arthur grounded to your love and the hope to find serenity again whenever bad days occured; the lines that most represented what Arthur and his love meant to you.

You smiled to the sentimental parallelism of the situation, feeling almost as if Arthur was bringing you comfort from afar and through music, which wasn’t that far nor different from what he did every day, after all.

“Hello November,” you whispered up above you.

You held firmly your black umbrella over your head, clutching your fingers around the collar of your coat to protect you from the gusts of wind, and sped up pace along the much blessed way back home, eager to see the sun of your life shine through for you again.

You could see the grey horizon following along as you took yet another step. You felt like as if Arthur was walking with and up above you, keeping an eye on you, as you traveled across the city in the rain.

Raindrops dripped down along the contours of the black umbrella and pooled at your feet, a stained trail of rainwater on the checkered floor trailing behind your footsteps like a watered-down shadow when you hurried yourself through the doorway of your building that would lead you to your special darling man. You shook the umbrella from the extra droplets, wiggled your frozen legs, rubbed your palms together in the attempt to warm them up while your body adjusted to the barely-warmer ambient of the lobby. You hadn’t gotten to your apartment yet, but Arthur was getting closer, and this was enough.

But first, you briefly detoured on your path and instead of reaching the elevator you headed to the mailbox to check if the California postcards you and Arthur were eagerly waiting for had been delivered. You’ve fallen in love with his dreamy inclination to collect postcards of places he had never been in but dreamed of. The fondness and care that Arthur put in this longing of his soul almost made you want to cry for how sweet and genuine collecting those postcards was, for what it meant to him. There was so much purity of soul in it. In him. You were happy that upon your love ever growing over time, you’d become an essential part of that, too.

You loved collecting them together now, hanging them up above your nightstands as he already liked to do, on the fridge, tucked in a small box or wallpapered in those perfect spots of your apartment that would’ve granted you to have them always on sight. You couldn’t wait to take photographs of those wonderful beaches yourself and buy new postcards in places you would’ve visited together, to decorate photobooks and the apartment with your own personal snapshots carrying your unique touch and unforgettable memories throughout the journey of your shared life. It was nice to daydream with him, to support his passions and nurture his life dream of visiting California with his one and only person someday.

A meek sigh left you when you saw the metal interior completely empty. You shrugged, the squeaking noise of rusty metal echoing in the room as you turned your keys and closed the mailbox before turning back to your path.

The sight of your door was like a mirage in the desert once you left the elevator. The lingering coziness of the apartment was evident as soon as you opened the door, a real treat for your numb body and more numb heart. You placed your keys on their usual spot, left the umbrella to dry up on its stand. You took off your coat, and a sense of peace and home enveloped you when you saw Arthur’s tan jacket already hanging on the coat rack. He'd had a day off, you knew he was at home. But you could feel the intense smell of his presence lingering in the air, hovering soulprints of cotton and smoke, and that was what really reassured you that he was there.

It amazed you how just the mere feeling of finding yourself at home brought you instant relief. Your safe home, and the presence of Arthur anchored there even when the apartment was empty, acted as a nest of protection shielding you and holding out anything that could hurt you from the outside; a white cloth that wiped away anything unknown from your soul, even in the most distant or hard to reach corners. Everything external soon felt far, far away from you, saved from the thunderstorm scoring beyond the windows.

“Sweet heart, I’m home,” you called out softly. A grin flashed through your lips when you heard no answer, guessing already in what he was absorbed as you secured your coat close to his jacket. You could easily envision his eyes lost somewhere else, focused on his thoughts and funny observations. Before going to find him you stalled on your track and took a minute to lay a gentle caress full of fondness along the tan fabric of the big hoodie.

As you suspected, it was a half-written page of his journal what was keeping him so absorbed. But you were surprised to notice that rather than sitting in his writing corner he had gotten comfortable on the couch, the lamplight turned off despite him sitting right below it, the journal carefully resting on his knees clad in baby blue.

A smile filled your cheeks at the chance of seeing him again after a tiring day. His eyes were still glued down to the page when you walked behind the couch and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. A joyful whimper caused his upper body to tremble in delight while your hands landed to his front, making him grow conscious of your presence.

“Hi,” you coaxed into his ear, nose nudging his sideburn before you planted a soundly kiss to his cheek. He chuckled at the «mwah» echoing from your lips to within the living room, your enthusiasm and the longed comfort of your embrace bringing him to turn his focus on you.

He put his ballpoint pen down, angled his head towards you and gazed at you with clear relief. “Hi,” he answered back. “You're here.”

You nodded and nestled his face, squeezing your arms around him a little tighter. “I'm here.”

“Did the rain catch you?”

“No, your umbrella kept me safe all the way home,” you cooed. “But I need to warm up and get into something more comfortable.”

He held your hands, carrying them to his lips to kiss your freezing knuckles. “I’m glad. I was getting worried.”

“I was in good hands. I felt you with me the whole time,” you said. A thought dawned on you. “I checked the mailbox, still nothing.”

“The postcards want to make themselves wait. I get it,” he sighed, then you heard a low giggle leaving his lips. “That’s what dreams do.”

“I think you’re right.”

You perched further over the back of the couch where the green blanket was resting to hold his cheek, pulling his face toward you as you sought the connection of his lips you couldn’t wait any longer to taste. He leaned back in, the pliant warmth of his lips meeting the numbness of yours. You let his mouth guide the kiss as you molded to his smooth moves, coating your mouth like a blanket, keeping your lips warm with the warmth of his affection seeping in and the longing to see you that had grown inside him throughout the day. You reluctantly pulled apart. “I’m gonna go change, don’t go anywhere.”

He chuckled. “I won’t, ma’am.”

You kissed his cheek just one more time and rushed to the bathroom for a short refreshment of shivering limbs. You followed the next step of self care in the bedroom, where you opened one of Arthur's drawers to borrow his wooly, white-cream cardigan you've knitted for him and a pair of his pajamas pants. You paused for a second to sniff the irresistible hints of Arthur's scent still lingering in between each stitch, closing your eyes before pulling the cardigan over your shoulders and tying the knot of his pants firmly around your waistline to keep them from falling. You looked funny in them and you loved them even more for that. After all, fun was the sentiment that filled your relationship with Arthur, your laughter blossoming from any corner of your loving any time of the day. The grasp of Arthur’s clothes across your skin was keeping you warm and dizzy enough to yearn to come back to him and reconnect with the direct comfort of his body.

When you stepped back in the living room the bluish atmosphere of the approaching dusk had settled in, a opaque haze filling the living room coming from the storm outside the windows. The apartment was made even darker by the presence of the thunderstorm that still continued its persistent ascend over Gotham City and prevented the beans of sunlight to step in. Arthur was waiting for you on the couch, lamplight strangely still turned off despite getting dark soon, journal still opened on his knees and ballpoint pen flowing through words, through worlds.

He raised his eyes and gave you an inviting smile as a request to go to him as soon as he heard the sound of your bare feet on the floor, twinkling in the contentment to see you in your bedtime attire, which meant he could finally have you all for himself. He didn't have to ask you twice. He knew that your need to wear his own clothes intensified when you didn't feel at your best and needed just that extra touch of comfort only he could provide, so he made sure to keep an eye on you as the evening flowed by.

“Why won’t you turn on the lamp? It’s getting dark,” you wondered.

He snorted. “It’s cozier that way.”

“Yeah,” you considered, observing the natural hints the rainlight gave your home, as romantic as candlelight. “I like it better that way, too.”

You stroked his hair for a quick shared moment of tenderness to catch up the mutual lack for each other as you passed him by before heading to the kitchen. “I’m making some tea, want some?”

“Sure. Thank you.” You heard behind your shoulders.

You filled the tea kettle to the brim, then turned on the stove. Your favorite mugs were already ready to use, resting on the sink upside down where you had left them the night before to dry. So instead of getting them ready you fished for two different teabags of your and Arthur’s favorite tea and put them in each correspective mug. You loved to prepare meals for him, especially the hot ones that would granted his soul some relief and restore his tummy. You really loved to give him a whole lot of a little bit of warmth. With the rain thundering in the distance, a hot tea was exactly what you both needed to conquer the colder evening.

The preparation phase was as cherished as the moment when he would take a sip and the hot liquid in his throat would cause satisfaction in his dimpled smile and gratefulness in his gaze as he looked at you. You relished in every little step of the path of taking care of him. Knowing what mug he adored and what he liked, making sure to buy the right ingredients at the grocery store, adding in his mug the flavour of honey he preferred most. He drank black coffee but liked a generous teaspoon of honey in hot drinks, either tea or infusions.

One of the reasons that made this brand of tea your favorite, were the short quotes written on the square sheet of paper at the extremity of each teabag. Something that you cherished more than any fortune cookie. You and Arthur loved to undisclose them, read them together every time you made tea and collect them along with the postcards. You kept them safely in a wooden box or pressed in a specific journal that you shared when a quote spoke intimately to your hearts just a little bit louder. You did not peek as you waited for the tea kettle to sing. You wanted to read them with him.

Instead, you took a look at the kitchen window to your left. Beyond it, the building contours in front of you looked undefinable, covered by a thick cloak of rain that was still falling down fiercely at a steady pace, tapping on the glass like small pebbles thrown by a lover standing on the street below in search of the attention of his damsel, ready to serenade and hopefully courtship her until a unforgettable kiss would occur across the balcony. You took a mental note to dig out a heavy blanket from the closet after dinner in case you woudl’ve needed it overnight.

You were happy to go back to your own personal damoiseau when the tea was finally ready.

“Here you go,” you said, handing out his pink steaming mug to him once you walked back on the living room. “Be careful, it’s very hot.”

Ballpoint pen and journal were put aside on the armrest before he took it with both hands and a soft smile.

He made space for you next to him as you kicked off your slippers and curled up on the couch into the cozy nook his side provided, as close to him as you could. You both took a sip. You tried to swallow along with the tea also your exhaustion, the hot mug warming up the aching spots of your fingers wrapped around it. He turned his focus toward you once the hot mug left his lips; one of his hands instinctively drifted to your ankles, fingers grazing down over your feet for fleeting caresses.

“Your feet are cold,” he considered. Quickly, he made sure to rub his fingers across your toes to warm them up. His hand felt particularly heated after he'd held the mug. The delicate warmth of it, of his weathered palm on you, made you shiver even more so than any thunderstom ever could.

“Guess I’ll need to steal your socks again,” you said with a small smile. You watched him as he grinned, then carried your leg across his lap and started kneading your skin with thoughtfulness. His movements distilled confidence, proof that he knew exactly how to take the situation in hand, how to touch you. Your feet tended to freeze a lot during winter; whether it was through his caresses, his feet clad in white socks cupping your own under the covers overnight to warm them up or through a stolen pair for you to wear, Arthur would always take care of the matter.

You melted into his care and brought a hand to his bedhead, combing back the messy locks the way you bet he’d repeated countless times over the day. His eyelashes fluttered in bliss for a second, your eyes gazed into one another, rejoining with the rediscovery of each other after a long day. “I love coming back from work and finding you already home, waiting for me,” you told him. Coming home and seeing him there felt like to get into bed and find the bedsheets already warmed up for you by someone who longed your return. “I thought about you all day.”

“Me too.” His attempt of drawing himself closer was unsuccessful. With hot mugs in hand it was near impossible to deepen your closeness without burning each other. He opted for slipping his hand under your pijama to drag deeper, elongated brushes along your calf, the goosebumps in your belly not to be missed. “I heard this song on the radio that I wanted to dance with you.”

“Really? I would’ve love to hear it,” you huffed. You lowered one hand onto his, halting his traveling on you to trace the swollen veins running across the back of his hand, your fingertips gently grazing the beloved dimple at the base of his thumb as you sought for his contact. “Would you sing it to me now?”

His eyes sparkled in an instant. You clung to the sleeve of the brown cardigan he was wearing, his white shirt peeking out from underneath it, hoping he would never let you go as he nodded enthusiastically and started to hum for you the beats he could remember by memory. Arthur had in him this innate nature of always remembering any melody he came across during the day. There was always a song stuck in his head, unfurling and ready to come out, either heard on the radio or a new one created in his mind. More often than not, you would catch him swing or whistle to it to express himself freely; with you, or alone unaware of you gazing at him from afar.

You closed your eyes and listened to the sweetness of his voice, letting him be the fulcrum of everything around you. His voice was your favorite song.

Minutes rolled by, and Arthur witnessed your alertness faltering, your shoulders sinking into his cardigan on you, how you were growing silent as you took another sip and your focus started to drift off to the company of the music inside him. He leaned in and paused the tune to kiss your forehead. “Is everything alright?” He asked, a question he already knew the answer of.

“I think I’m just very tired,” you said. “Nothing that being with you can’t fix.”

He understood what you were trying to say and gave you a tender, sympathetic smile. Days like this that he himself had gone through were plenty. The level of fatigue would increase to the point of affecting his heart even more so than his body, and he wished to return home to loving arms ready to hold his fallen tears and comfort him into relaxation.

“Come here.” His voice was inviting when he gestured you to come closer and carefully put his mug next to the lamp on the small table beside him, then freed your mug from your grip that he put on the coffee table in front of you. You didn’t oppose, and let Arthur guide you to turn onto your side so that you could lay your head on his lap. He showed you how much you really, really needed this.

He was warm and comfortable as he cradled you safely onto him. You didn’t waste time and sank into his hold with a soft hum as you adjusted to the new position, legs curled on the couch and your head resting on his lap. The pads of his fingers were gentle and considerate when he began to stroke your hair. He always got you. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you nuzzled his lap, the fabric of his baby blue pants soft under your cheek. You couldn’t help yourself but caress the outline of his pretty knee with your pads in tender circles. “I want to listen to your voice.”

“Okay,” he said softly.

He began to hum again the melody left imprinted inside him since morning, the balmy timbre of his voice echoing and intermingling with the pitter-patter of the rain in the background. His voice soon lulled you into a state of peacefulness.

As you listened to him, you thought about how much his voice and the comfort of him were more soothing than any hot cup of tea, how easily he managed to restore your inner numbness with the warmth of his good heart.

He seeped into you, warmed you from the inside like the first sip of hot coffee that brought relief down your throat, a handmade cardigan shielding the shivers running along your back. Arthur was like holding a hot mug during winter with freezing hands and finding relief in its heat, a glow cleansing all your senses. You were so grateful to him for loving you that way. For being there with you, always so present, for walking in the space of your distress and following you on its road wherever you needed to go until you would feel better, without you having to ask him.

As he sang for you, his fingers kept stroking your hair all along, following a soothing pattern that spoke of how much he cared for you. There was so much strenght that his hands managed to stir within you.

Your eyelids soon started to grow heavy, accompanied by his soporific humming. Although your distress remained there, you could feel it stepping aside a little to welcome something new, something that felt a lot like solace.

You wanted to give in to this much-needed slumber, but before you could your eye fell on your mug resting on the coffee table in front of you. The papered extremity of the teabag was hanging from the mug in a strategic way that allowed you to read the quote written on it.

“Let your heart guide you,” you recited by default over his humming.

“Mhm?”

“What the daily quote in my teabag reads today. Let your heart guide you,” you repeated. You turned onto your back, locked your eyes with his when his face came into your view. “I guess I did. It guided me to you.”

Your heart lept when his gaze brimmed with tenderness. “I’m glad you did,” he said with a relieved smile, thumb tucking a stray lock behind your ear. “I'm glad that your heart knew my steps,” he added with a more serious tone.

You both knew what the other was thinking as your eyes soaked into one another; thoughts of how grateful you were that your hearts had known how to find each other.

Your hearts would always be guided to the other half.

He marveled at you from above, corners of his eyes crinkled irresistibly followed along your features, and you felt again fondled in his embrace. This time, thank God, you really were. “It's a special quote. We should put it on the journal.”

A lovesick, sleepy smile blossomed on your face, filled with the blessing of him being yours. You nodded. “Yes. Let's put it there.”

He held your cheek like the most precious little thing and leaned down, enveloping your lips into a thoughtful kiss. His hair tickled your face; a sweet-smelling, brown kind of curtains to cut off the world around you. His honeyed tongue tasted sweet as he swiped it in between your lips to pull your own into a flavored embrace, making you sigh for the reverence he poured inside your soul.

Ever-growing green eyes gaped at you when he pulled away, soft curls whispered along his cheekbones and hung towards you as though they wanted to reach you again, the extremely squishy skin under his chin begging for your nibbling. His wrinkles looked so pretty. You lifted your hand up and carried it on his face, caressing with your pads the deep hollow carved onto his cheek that you knew would expand and turn into a dimple whenever he smiled. It didn’t take long. The corners of his mouth bent upwards and just as you thought there it was, that irresistible dimple coming to life under your fingertip. He was ravishing.

“I thought thunderstorms were the most beautiful thing this world could ever give me, but then I saw you,” you declared as a soft-spoken poem, completely enamored of all that he was. You yawned and your eyes barely managed to stay open.

Arthur ducked his chin, a blushy giggle before your sweetness. He could tell it had become difficult for you to resist the drowsiness that was pressing on your eyelids. “You need to sleep,” he encouraged you gently.

With a sigh, you turned onto your side so that you could face him and snuggled comfortably onto his lap. You laid a chaste kiss on his tummy that made him giggle as you nuzzled closer into the cocoon that was him, burying your face in the fabric of his brown cardigan. His smell made you dizzy. He took the green blanket resting on the back of the couch and draped it over your shoulders.

Everything was warm around you; his body present for you, his voice, the green blanket that smelled of him. There was nothing you couldn’t overcome if he was there.

“You’re better than any cup of tea on a rainy day, Arth,” you mumbled at last as you closed your eyes, unable to stay awake much longer.

“Sleep, my darling, sleep well,” he said in hushed whispers. “I’ll make you a nice dinner when you’ll wake up. I'll sing over your dreams for as long as you need.”

You let tiredness take over, lulled by the phantom of his words into a drowsy haze. Arthur started humming the tune for you again. You had no doubt that at some point during the evening you would've danced to this tune together as he’d wished to do, over dinner or barefoot before getting into bed.

You surrendered to a peaceful slumber, feeling safe and protected in the cozy place that was his lap, where you could always find some rest, healing, and that was meant to be only yours till the very end. You would always find a place in him to shelter yourself from any rainy mood.

*****

No other love can warm my heart Now that I've known the comfort of your arms No other love, let no other love Know the wonder of your spell

― no other love. ♡