#right in the little divot of his criss-crossed legs

[devilfic]

tasm!peter parker has such a sit-able lap. I can only imagine how difficult it is to not just shove his sketchbook out of his hands and crawl into his lap whenever you get the urge. he gets like a second to complain before you’re grabbing his cheeks in your hands and kissing him quiet and, well, that lap is yours now

it’s not even just when he’s sitting up! when he’s laying down, one leg bent and the other hanging off the couch, you just crawl right between his legs and lay your head on his chest. and he’s used to this kinda thing so he picks up the arm holding his book and rests it on your back while you nap on him

at some point, he will start likening you to a cat, though

[ombreblossom]

Whatever you do don’t open your eyes” for the prompt!

So, I’m not entirely sure what one says before posting fanfiction on Tumblr, but here we go! This is decidedly not horror at all, but uh. Maybe more fitting for something posted on the eve of Act 3, which will inevitably destroy us all.

I’ve never posted fanfiction before, and this is the single longest creative work I’ve ever written, fanfiction or not. Not to mention I haven’t written anything creative, really, in almost a decade. All this said, I hope you enjoy!

The Ins and Outs of Surprises

Content warnings for panic attacks, dissociation, and tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: In which Jon has a little bit of a rough time with knocking and then goes on to have an unquestionably fluffy evening. Featuring: kitties, the author projecting mightily onto Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist (as is tradition), good-natured teasing of everyone involved, and loads (and I mean loads) of affection.

(An AO3 link will be added to a reblog.)

Jon whipped his head up from his laptop screen at the loud knocking on their front door. This was a situation in which The Beholding would have unhelpfully supplied information about acute tachycardia and panic attack onset signs—if he and Martin hadn’t averted the apocalypse and banished the fears, at any rate. They could scarcely believe their luck some days, could scarcely believe that they’d both managed to live to see an after, to see time march on once more unperturbed by cosmic terrors.

These days, Jon had to recognize the symptoms of an imminent panic attack and allay them himself. Well, Martin helped, kind and loving soul that he was. That Martin had stuck around after they’d ceased being two of a handful of fully conscious people left in the entire world was another thing Jon couldn’t believe sometimes, but he couldn’t be happier that he did.

The knocking continued to barge in on his thoughts every several seconds as he sat stock still at his desk, flanked on both sides by bookshelves filled to the brim of his and Martin’s books and various knick-knacks: Polaroids of the two of them with their friends leaned up against the spines of their books, souvenirs purchased from museums around London, and a collection of small ceramic cats of different breeds and colors. A brief vision of everything on those shelves coming tumbling down in what is solidifying as an inevitable scuffle ratcheted up Jon’s anxiety even more. 

He was tempted to get up and look about their flat for anything that could serve as a weapon, but there wasn’t much other than perhaps a chef’s knife, dull with constant, loving use, that Jon was likely to find, and he was just as likely to harm himself with it as the intruder. Jon’s hands found their clumsy way to his upper arms, gripping them tightly enough that surely there’d be half-moon divots left where his nails bit into his skin. His chest was starting to feel tight, as if someone were sitting on it in spite of Jon’s verticality.

On one hand, he wished desperately that Martin were here because surely they’d be much more capable of taking on an impending intruder together now that Jon was “powered down,” so to speak. On another hand, he was so grateful that Martin wasn’t here to possibly get murdered. Better him than Martin, who’d been through so much (and largely on Jon’s account).

All this, and someone was still loudly rapping on the front door. The regularity with which the knocks came didn’t suggest an urgency or an immediate threat, so why hadn’t the knocker announced themselves? Maybe this mystery person was just trying to get his attention? But who could possibly know The (former) Archivist lived here? Was this even related to his status as Doom-Bringer? Jon remained in his seat where he’d been sending correspondence to the copyright holders of the next drama he was arranging for his theatre club to perform, paralyzed by indecision and a million swirling questions.

The person demanding his attention pounded their door once more, but this time a voice rang out, clear as a bell in crisp winter morning air.

“—you please open the door? I had to leave my keys in the car!”

His heart stammered and shuttered in his chest—much like Jon himself when he was excited, talking in stops and starts about the latest subject that he’d found interesting, but there was everything wrong with this kind of excitement. Martin had always found it endearing, or so he claimed, but he was sure he wouldn’t find this endearing, seeing Jon wavering on the precipice of panic. Jon, mouth gone bone-dry, croaked a response: “M-Martin?”

A little louder, Martin shouted, “Are you there, Jon? I don’t remember you saying you were going out today.” He audibly jerked the door handle, clearly checking to see if the door was locked. Even knowing who was on the other side of the door didn’t stop Jon from panicking. All sorts of gruesome scenarios danced through his mind. What if someone was using Martin to get at Jon, making it seem safe to leave their home only to ambush him once he was exposed?

Suddenly, all noise outside stopped, and this sent Jon spiraling further. He hadn’t really been taking note of his breathing this whole time, but he felt the encroaching fuzziness that he knew came with dropping oxygen levels. 

“Mar...tin?” Nothing still. Martin hadn’t returned yet. Gripping his cheap particle wood desk that carried none of the same gravitas his elaborate oak desk had at the institute, Jon stood up. It was a precarious thing, his legs shaking and threatening to send him to the floor if he moved too quickly, but he needed to know what happened to Martin.

Just as he had been about to take his first wobbly step toward the door, Jon heard the faint sound of a key sliding into a locking mechanism. In no time at all, his dear heart was in front of him, saying something Jon couldn’t parse.

“—okay to touch—Jon?” He sounded worried for some reason, his voice pitching up just that little extra bit, something Jon knew happened when Martin felt powerless in the face of someone in danger.

Where was the danger? Who was in danger?

Something light brushed against his shoulders and stayed there. In the back of his mind, he was sure Martin had meant it as a comfort to focus on instead of the menacing fuzziness. “Why don’t you sit down, Jon. Everything will be all right. Hey—hey. It’s okay. Just sit down, love, and breathe.” So Jon did.

For a while, he drifted, sightless and senseless save for the tightness in his chest.

When he came back to awareness, Martin was there; he’d pulled another chair up close to Jon and pulled him into a loose embrace, loose enough that Jon could escape with very little effort if he needed to. Soft shushing noises filled the room.

Jon lifted his head from its position buried in Martin’s chest and immediately lost himself again in Martin’s eyes. Dark and speckled as soil and just as full of life. Jon had read enough comparisons to celestial bodies in his lifetime (and made similar comparisons himself once upon a time when their relationship was new and Jon had no idea how to close the distance between them, so up on a pedestal Martin went) to think them useful now. Martin’s beauty didn’t come from being a lonely, unreachable, incomprehensible light in the night sky. Martin was beautiful for far more mundane reasons. He celebrated life and the ups and downs of it all. He sowed seeds of happiness whenever he could and hardly anyone left his presence the poorer. Certainly, Jon recognized, he was somewhat biased, and, no, Martin wasn’t a perfect human being and had his bad days when being around people was too much to bear, when he’d snap and sneer and hide, but those bad days were fewer and further between as time went on.

Martin was talking to him, as it turned out. Maybe he should pay attention to that? Push through the words upon words criss-crossing and overlapping in every direction and orientation. Like microcurrents in the ocean just off the coast of Bournemouth. He’d been warned off from swimming too far from the coast by his grandmother when he was younger. Not that he would have regardless (too many tourists, too many people looking to see only what they wanted to see of his shore-side city), but Jon’s wanderings only made her more fearful of what lurked beyond their small bubble.

Focus, Jon. Focus.

“Are you with me? I’m starting to get more worried here.” Ah, there’s the helpless sarcasm. 

Not able to speak just yet, he leaned back, loosening Martin’s hold on him. Without really comprehending the in-between, Jon’s arms wrapped around Martin’s middle. There was a rather inviting spot on his chest that perfectly pillowed Jon’s head when the opportunity arose, but now wasn’t the time. He’d be lost for hours in the comfort of it all. Instead, Jon looked at him.

“I’m with you,” he said, the gravel that rumbled around in his throat more pronounced than usual.

A full sigh blew out of Martin as he glanced away from Jon. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I totally forgot about the knocking….” This was when the guilt set in. A momentary indulgence, Martin told him once when the world was still Wrong. Time to put a stop to that.

One of Jon’s hands pulled Martin’s face back into view and stayed flush against his cold cheek. “Martin, it’s all right. Most days it wouldn’t bother me, but today…. Something about today has me a little on edge. It feels like something’s about to happen, but I don’t know what.”

Martin still looked worried. “Something is happening today, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” Mirroring his gesture, Martin raised his own hand up, thumb following the path of Jon’s cheekbones, gently passing over the scars left by Jane Prentiss’ worms.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. I promise it’s a good thing, though. No traps, no ulterior motives, no earthy manifestations of eldritch fear entities. It’s completely terror-free!”

“You promise, huh?” Jon said with a teasing lilt.

“I mean, as long as you discount the constant low-grade terror of living in a city with several million people and where anything can happen to you at any time.”

“I must say, Martin, you’re exceptionally reassuring today.”

“Thanks! I try.”

Jon just hmmed. 

With a hand still stroking Jon’s cheek and the worried look on his face softening by degrees, Martin said, “How are you feeling?”

Jon took a moment to honestly assess himself. He’d been trying to do that more often since distancing himself from the institute and everything it had represented to him. No more unreasonably late nights of work when he could just as easily spread his work out over the next day or several, and even when he couldn’t, Martin helped him make sure he stopped working no later than seven o’clock each evening. And while his pushing aside his bodily needs was a complicated matter with multiple causes, he’d been working on communicating when he needed to rest, when he was on the verge of pushing past his limits. (He’d been slowly coaxing Martin to do the same, though he’d just as often brush it off when Jon brought it up to him.)

After some examination, Jon replied, “I’m a bit tired, I suppose, but I’ll be all right once I get moving again.” He half-smiled at Martin, hoping to convey a sense of earnestness. Martin trusted him, he knew, and would take Jon’s words at face-value, but it didn’t hurt to lay it on thick sometimes.

The hand on his face was so soft. So pleasant a feeling it was, Jon nuzzled his face into that hand, eliciting a light-hearted giggle from Martin.

“Well, then,” he started, “Up we get! I’ve got something to show you. It’s a little chilly outside, so let’s grab your coat.”

Jon looked puzzled. “Outside? What’s outside?”

Martin gasped loudly. “It’s a surprise, Jon! How could you possibly ask me to spoil a surprise? The sheer audacity—I can’t believe it,” he exclaimed, clutching his chest and a look of profound offense on his face, completing the ensemble of mock outrage.

A warmth settled in Jon’s chest. This silly man was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, no matter how long that ended up being. He let himself be overcome with affection and took the hand Martin had been using to stroke his cheek and brought it to his lips, placing a sweet kiss onto his palm.

“Oh, Mr. Blackwood, whatever can I do to repay you for this betrayal?” Jon crooned, that sloppy half-smile morphing into something a bit more mischievous. He would take any opportunity he could get to coax Martin’s infamous blush into existence, a handsome spreading of color across warm tawny skin, reaching as far as the tips of his ears.

With the expected flush rising on his features, Martin eyed Jon with a mixture of equal parts amusement, affection, and disdain. He gently removed his hand from Jon’s hold and walked over to their coat closet. “What you can do for me, Jon, is come over here and let me help you into your coat!” There was no heat in his words—no, Jon would tease that there was none left to imbue Martin’s words because it was stuck preciously under his skin—and Jon chuckled as he rose from his chair and followed Martin over walked over to where Martin was waving Jon’s pea coat in front of him expectantly.

“All right, all right,” he said, turning around to face the direction he came from, back to Martin, allowing him to guide one woolen sleeve then another over Jon’s arms. (Their bookshelves were intact, if disorganized, to his mild surprise.) Martin tugged on the collar, a signal for Jon to face him.

Though he managed to retain most function in his right hand, despite Jude Perry’s desolate flame ravaging it, it was sometimes painful to flex his fingers. Thus, it became customary for Martin to help him into his outer layers. Buttons were especially difficult some days, but Martin would grab Jon’s lapels and bring him in close enough that only several centimeters separated them and he’d fasten Jon’s buttons for him. Today was no different, though today it was more about the casual intimacy that underlaid the gesture than it was about the practicality of it.

Almost ready to face the damp cold outside, Jon asked, “What’s the rush about, Martin?”

A royal purple scarf suddenly in hand, Martin said, “Well, it’s getting late, and Georgie is still waiting outside with—well, waiting outside, and she and Melanie have a date soon, so we can’t keep her waiting.” Martin curled the scarf around Jon’s neck just so. “Not to mention how miserable it is outside. And I had to turn the car off to take the keys when you wouldn’t answer the door, so it’s probably cold by now, and….” He trailed off, looking at the ceiling with a far-away expression as if contemplating what else to tell Jon in this moment. “In any case, we are in a bit of a hurry, so get your boots on and let’s go!”

Aforementioned boots on and otherwise bundled up, Jon cocked his head to the side. “But, why is Georgie—” He stopped. He didn’t need to know right then. He knew Martin would answer his questions when he felt he could. This was knowledge that could wait. “Lead the way, then, dear.”

They turned toward the door hand-in-hand. Before opening the door, Martin looked back at Jon and said, “I meant it when I said this was a surprise, Jon. I want you to close your eyes and not open them until I say to, okay?”

The proposition of keeping his eyes closed for an indeterminate amount of time didn’t exactly appeal to him, but he trusted Martin. Before he could provide his assent, however, Martin pressed on.

“I know you don’t feel safe when you can’t see anything, but it’s only for a short walk to the car, and I’ll be there every step of the way to make sure nothing happens to you,” he assured. 

Jon could let himself be caught in Martin’s gaze forever, sunny and bright as it was. Now wasn’t the time, he realized. Later on, Jon would lead him to their overstuffed couch by hand and drape himself over Martin and press kisses underneath the line of his jaw and down the line of his throat, as he knew Martin loved.

“I trust you, Martin.” Jon closed his eyes and used his unoccupied hand to gesture to them with a flourish. “Lead on.”

A blast of cold, saturated air assaulted them as Martin opened the door. Taking their first steps outside, Jon tried to place the temperature, figuring it was no warmer than five or six degrees. It was still kind of novel, not having the exact knowledge he was looking for beamed into his head without his consent.

“Hold on, Jon. Stay right here for a moment. I have to close the door. Don’t want our heating bill to go through the roof.” Jon did as he was told, resisting the urge to open his eyes in spite of Martin’s insistence and already missing the solid presence of his hand. As if he were the one with omniscience, Martin yelled back, “Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes!”

Thoroughly thwarted, Jon waited for Martin to take his hand again before moving.

They parted the slow-moving air around them as they walked. Not forceful enough to be considered wind in his book but enough to siphon some of the scant amount of warmth his body produced away from him. People breezed by them, heeled shoes clacking against the sidewalk and snatches of conversations not meant for them drifting in and out of focus. “You said Georgie was here, right? Where is she? I don’t hear her at all.” 

“Georgie has been sworn to silence. Come on; we’re almost there.”

Martin pulled him forward, careful indeed to guide Jon around deposits of snow, soon to be gone, and depressions in the uneven sidewalk filled with slush. London and the surrounding area often got like this in the dead of winter; it didn’t snow overmuch, but when it did, rain soon followed, the temperature never remaining cool enough to sustain large amounts of snow for very long.

“Okay, Jon. We’re here. Keep your eyes closed for a little while longer.” Jon heard the tell-tale sound of a car door opening. The anticipation was roiling in him now; it was hardly bearable. He alternated between centering his weight on the balls of feet and then his heels—and back and forth—trying to dissipate some of the unease.

Just as Jon’s anxieties were building in intensity to a roaring crescendo, Martin spoke again: “You can open your eyes now, love.”

In front of Jon was a cat carrier—no mistaking it. He knew their shape intimately from all the hurried trips to the vet after The Admiral had gotten into food he shouldn’t have. The time The Admiral had eaten a sizable chunk of cold margherita pizza Georgie and he had left out on the table came to mind easily. Several frenzied Internet searches later, words like pancreatitis and anemia rolling around in their minds, they rushed The Admiral to an emergency vet. (It turned out that he hadn’t really eaten enough of the pizza to really worry about it, and the vet had a laugh at their expense, but the experience stuck with both of them.)

Someone had thrown a blanket over the carrier, making it difficult to make out what (who?) was inside, so Jon crouched down to get a better look. He could only imagine the look on his face right then.

A Maine Coon cat stared back at him, its amber eyes searching his and its head displaying a rich coat of golden yellows and deep browns. Jon was nigh speechless. “Who is this, Martin?” he whispered reverently.

Martin crouched down with him. “Well, as far as I know, she doesn’t have a name, not an official one anyway. I started feeding her a while ago on my way back from Tesco, and eventually she started following me back home. I wasn’t sure if she was actually someone’s cat or if she was a stray, so I always shooed her away before we got close to home.”

“That doesn’t answer why she’s here.” He wanted desperately to open the door of the carrier and run his hand through her fur, but Jon settled for poking his finger through the grate. The yet-to-be-named cat sniffed his finger from a couple angles and proceeded to rub her nose and face all over it. Jon nearly wept. 

“I can answer that one,” Georgie interjected, having been nearly forgotten by the other two. She came over and kneeled down with them, eyeing them both with mild concern. “Remember those couple times Melanie, Martin, and I all took off while you were working? Well, this guy was waffling on what to do with Goldie here”—Jon mouthed “Goldie? Really?” at Martin, who could only shrug helplessly—“and came to Melanie and me, your resident cat parents, for advice.

“We discovered pretty quickly that Goldie was a stray, or at least not microchipped. That made the decision that much easier. I walked him through all the different tests he’d want to get done to to make sure she was healthy and spayed and all that. The vet figured she’d been a house cat at some point, seeing as she was fairly clean and decently-well fed, even taking Martin feeding her into account. But no microchip, no tags, and no other indicator of who she belonged to, and the several weeks this guy had been asking around the area to try to find her owners with nothing to show for it?” 

Martin shot her a look. Georgie laughed, saying, “Oh, there was no way I wasn’t going to mention that. You talk a good game of resisting her charms, but you knew you were going to try to bring her home. You exhausted all your options trying to find her owners before we even showed up! The point is, we figured Goldie would find herself in good company with you two. Plus, I know how much you’ve missed The Admiral, Jon.”

This was too much to take in. He hadn’t been aware of any of this happening. In one sense, it was relieving: another piece of evidence to add the mounting pile that The Beholding had truly lost its grip on him. But how could Jon have missed all of this? Surely he joined Martin often enough in his London travels to have noticed him asking around about this cat.

“Hey.” Martin bumped their shoulders together. “I know what you’re thinking. I tried very hard to keep this from you in case it didn’t work out. I didn’t want to tell you about Goldie and get your hopes up only to find out that she had a loving family looking for her. And you’ve been so preoccupied with your theatre club’s new show; I wanted this to be a pleasant surprise.” Jon remembered the playbills scattered around his desk, a cursor left blinking, hovering over a supplicating email.

“You doing all right there, Jon?” Georgie leaned in closer to him, eyebrows furrowed. “We should get Goldie inside soon. It’s awfully cold.”

He’d heard enough. Standing up without warning, Jon waited for the other two to follow suit.

There was a moment when nobody moved. 

In a (in hindsight) hilarious attempt to force both Georgie and Martin up to their feet, Jon grabbed a hold of their collars and pulled, not too hard as to choke but enough to make his intentions known.

Jon advanced on Georgie first and threw his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. This was familiar; this was safe. It took them a long time to return to a place where they would love each other like this after everything. He’d thought once that it would be impossible, too many misunderstandings and too much unintentional harm a seemingly unending flood under the bridge of their relationship, but here they were.

Pulling away slightly, Jon pressed a brief kiss to Georgie’s dry cheek, a pleasant contrast to their overwhelmingly wet surroundings. He stared deep into her eyes and said, "Thank you for your part in this, Georgie. For helping bring—heh—Goldie to us."

Eyebrows shockingly close to the edge of her hairline and eyes wide, she stuttered out, "Oh! Yeah, sure."

He turned on Martin next, who stood stock still close by, watching the scene with rapt attention. 

“Martin.”

Jon didn’t give Martin a chance to respond, stealing his words with a kiss. Several kisses, really, all short and soft and sweet, with little regard for location. Nowhere was safe: Martin’s nose, cheek, temple, jaw, hair. All had kisses laid upon them in pretty short order. 

As if just realizing he had an armful (and lipful) of Jon, Martin pulled him in closer. “What was that for?”

Jon let his smile take over his face. “For all the kindnesses you do me—big and small, extravagant and simple, whether you believe them to be or not.” And he pressed one more kiss on Martin’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” he said. Wobbly, he continued, “Of course, Jon.”

Passersby walked around them. How Jon managed to forget this was a London street where people other than him, Martin, and Georgie existed was beyond him. He only noticed them at all because the chill of the languid London wind was starting to make a home in his bones. Better to work on getting everyone inside before the cold became too much.

“Where’s Melanie? I know she’d hate it, but I want to thank her as well.”

“Oh, Melanie would have loved to be here, if only to laugh at the hilarious conclusion of this rom-com movie plot we’ve all found ourselves in. But a meeting with one of the families she’s been working with ran late.” Melanie couldn’t talk too much about her work for fear of violating the confidentiality of the people she worked with, but from what Jon understood, she had essentially created a career adjacent to social work, in which she helped people living with the aftereffects of the fears’ full emergence reintegrate into society at large. She reasoned she was in a good position to help others shed the influence of the fears, given that she’d spent the last almost year before the Change doing the same. 

Georgie clasped Jon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, though! I’m going to be telling her a~all about this.”

“Are you trying to give me a coronary? Melanie can’t know I have feelings.”

Georgie threw her head back and laughed. “Consider it our payment for the invaluable advice we provided throughout this harrowing process that Melanie will get to tease you about how disgustingly cute you two are later.”

The two bickered for a little bit like this as the sun sank further further beneath the horizon, Martin occasionally chiming in with support for whomever would create the most chaos. He may have been the love of Jon’s life, but Martin could still be a little shit when the mood took him.

Georgie was right earlier. It was cold and starting to get colder, and, frankly, all Jon wanted to do right now was pet this cat that he was legally obligated to rename to something more dignified. Something like The Duchess or Empress Dowager Cat or something else of equal stature would do. He’ considered having Martin help him decide, but if “Goldie'' was anything to go by, then perhaps it’d be better to leave him out of the proceedings.

Starting to move the blanket away from Goldie’s carrier, Jon said, “It’s about time we brought her inside, don’t you think, Martin? I’d like to get her settled in before dinner.”

Georgie stayed a couple extra minutes to help get Goldie, some food she and Martin had picked up for her on the way back, and a few toys into the flat. Jon offered to walk her to the tube station, and Martin offered to drive her back to the flat she shared with Melanie, but Georgie refused both and sent the two of them on their way to go bond with their new furchild.

As Georgie rounded the corner of their block and left their sight, waving to them all the while, Jon and Martin returned to the warmth of their flat. And there she was, lying against the grate of the carrier, not a care in the world. He and Goldie would become fast friends, Jon was sure.

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

Outerwear hung up to dry and boots neatly sequestered on their drying mat, it was finally safe to allow Goldie to explore their flat, which she accomplished in approximately 5 seconds, zooming around from room to room in a series of excited dashes. She stopped in the middle of the living room floor and made several pointed sniffs into the air.

Martin looked over to where Jon stood; he looked positively gleeful with a loose fist poorly hiding a still obvious smile. Frizzy fly-away hairs haloed around his head with some plastered to his face and the rest of his black, silver mottled hair in a hastily-done up-do. It was well known that Jon's hair expanded a good thirty percent in moist air, and today was no exception. It was so charming, seeing this man so unguarded, so unmade compared to his historically meticulous appearance. 

Choosing this moment of loving staring to make herself known once again, Goldie wound herself in around their legs in figure eights, rubbing her scent onto their closes and purring loudly. Jon couldn’t stop the high keening noise that escaped from his mouth.

"Are you all right over there, love?" Martin snickered.

"Quiet, you."

Jon turned to face him. It didn't happen too often, but every once in a while, Jon would gain an extra depth of color in a delicate line across his nose and cheekbones, a warmer brown than what otherwise lived there. Martin was wholly pleased to see the color now, and that it arose from something he helped make happen made his heart soar. 

"This is your fault, you know," Jon said mildly.

"What's my fault?"

He huffed. "These entirely embarrassing reactions I'm having."

"Oh, is that all? Sorry that I can't find it myself to feel guilty, then. I happen to love all these embarrassing reactions you're having." Placing a kiss on Jon's temple, he continued, "You're adorable when you're like this, you know."

"I know you think that, you incorrigible man."

“You are!” 

Jon laughed fondly at this. “There’s no sense in arguing with you about this, is there?”

“Not really!”

Seemingly sensing the end of their dispute, Goldie plopped herself down on Jon’s foot. It didn’t seem possible that she could purr any louder than she was a couple minutes ago, but Martin’s life had always taken one look at his expectations and summarily ignored them.

“Are you seeing this, Martin?” Jon whispered, the awe in his voice unmistakable. “Her Most Esteemed Empress Dowager Cat has deemed me worthy of her attention. I am honored to be in her presence.”

It took everything Martin had in him to not bark a laugh at that. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t quite hear you. What are we calling our cat?”

Their cat. Their cat that they’d be taking care of and cuddling together. Somehow the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, and it threatened to make him speechless now.

Jon muttered indignantly, “Like your name was any better.”

Martin gathered Jon into his arms easily, despite Jon’s defensive posture.

“Why don’t we come up with a proper name for her tomorrow. We’ll call her Goldie for now”—Jon started to protest, but Martin pushed on—“because that’s what she’s been answering to, but let’s just make dinner and enjoy her company tonight, hmm?”

A short moment later, Jon replied, “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

They debated the relative merits of whipping up a quick curry versus spending a bit more time on a soup with a homemade broth and eventually decided on the former. The sounds of chopping potatoes and the clinking of glass jars containing garam masala, turmeric, red chili powder, cloves, star anise, and everything else necessary for aloo kurma spread throughout the flat. And if Goldie leapt onto the kitchen counter once or twice, knocking over bowls of ingredients and leaving inordinate amounts of fur in her wake, well. That was just fine with them.

[penny4yourthot]

Broken Stranger- Part 7

Summary: Torri (O/C) needs to escape her life in Seattle because of her abusive husband. When she ends up in Charming things don’t go as planned.

part-1/ part-2 / part-3/ part-4 /part-5/ part-6

It has been two weeks since I moved in with Chibs. We had a routine; Wake up and eat breakfast together, head to the clubhouse where he would take care of club business or work in the garage and I would help Gemma with various things. I would then stock the bar and start pouring drinks later in the evening. After my shift was over at the bar Chibs and I would go back to his place and watch a movie or something on tv and then go to sleep.

Ever since the first night at his house, I have been sleeping in Chibs bed with him so I wouldn't get nightmares. Nothing has happened except snuggling and hugging along with kisses on the cheek or forehead. It's refreshing to have a man respect your boundaries and agree to take things super slow.

I haven't told Chibs about the pregnancy yet but I plan on doing so soon. With the possibility of so much going wrong in the first trimester of pregnancy, I wanted to wait to make sure this was actually happening before telling him.

It was currently around one pm and I was at Chibs house alone. I hadn't slept well last night due to being up half the night throwing up. I told him I thought I was getting the stomach flu and he called Gemma to tell her that I was too sick to work today. Chibs texted me to let me know he would be home in a few hours so I decided to go lay down for a while. I opened my purse and grabbed the ultrasound pictures and held them up while I laid in bed, my left hand resting on my lower abdomen.

“If you could stop making me sick that would be great,” I said with a sarcastic tone in my voice. I was currently 10 weeks along and I was determined tonight would be the night I would tell Chibs. He deserved to know, especially because I planned on taking things further with him soon.

This would be the first time in two weeks I have slept alone. I was a bit fearful of having a nightmare but the lack of sleep from the previous night made sleep overcome me quickly.

***

I about jumped out of the bed when I felt the bed divot indicating someone sat down on the mattress. I looked up to see Chibs holding the ultrasound pictures that I was still holding when I fell asleep. I couldn't read his expression.

“Where ye going te tell me?” he asked, his eyes pleaded for an answer.

“I was going to tell you tonight”

“How long have ye known?” he questioned. His eyes drifted back over the photos that were in his hand.

          “Since you brought me to see Tara for that X-ray. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I wanted to be sure it was real before I told you. I didn't know how you would react either. I don't want you to feel like you have to keep me around because of this, this is a huge responsibility,” I rambled.

          He looked up at me from the pictures with a small smile on his face.

         “Ye have a wee one in there?” He questioned. It seemed as if he wanted to be sure this was real too before he reacted. I nodded in response to which he smiled.

         “You're not mad?” I asked him

         “No, of course not,” a smile crept up his face as he looked back at the pictures in his hand. I instinctively moved my hand over my lower abdomen again.

         “I promise I’ll find my own place, I don't want to force this all on you,” I said as I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest. None of this was his responsibility and I didn't want him to feel like he had to take part in this pregnancy.

         “Torri, ye not forcing anything on me, I wan’ ye here with me. I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks now bu’ I like ye a lot, I don’t wan’ ye te leave,” he said as he put the ultrasound pictures down on the nightstand and sat right in front of me.

         “Are you sure? I wouldn't be offended if you wanted me gone.” I put my legs down and sat criss cross in front of him, lazily lying my arms down my side. He grabbed my left hand and rubbed circles over the top of it.

         “I'm more than sure, we have an extra room here and tha’ can be where the baby can go,” he pointed out as he looked me in my eyes. I could see the happiness he held there like he was excited about this. I smiled at him and he moved his arms to pull me into a hug. He held me close for a few seconds until I pulled away and looked at him. My mouth only inches away from his.

         I slowly leaned forward and closed my eyes as our lips gently touched. I could feel the smile on his mouth as he kissed me back.

         The kiss quickly became passionate, his tongue ran against my bottom lip asking for access to my mouth. I opened my lips and soon we were exploring each others mouths. A small moan escaped my throat as he gently bit my lip before pulling away. A small frown plastered my face when he pulled away.

         “Lass, we have te stop, I won't be able to stop if we keep this up,” he laughed as he placed a soft kiss on my cheek.

         “I don't want you to stop,” I said a daring grin spread across my lips.

         “Are ye sure?” he asked.

         “Yes.” was all I said before I crashed my lips to his. He laid me down on the bed and kissed down my neck before slowly taking my shirt off. He let out a low groan as he noticed I wasn't wearing a bra under my shirt. As he reached to pull down my sweatpants he looked back up at me as if asking for permission. I nodded for him to continue, a huge smile plastered on my face.

***

         “Ye have no idea how long i’ve wanted te do that,” Chibs panted, twenty minutes later.

         “I'm guessing somewhere around two weeks,” I laughed as I laid completely naked on the bed, still trying to catch my breath. He chuckled in response as he got up and turned the shower on in the bathroom.

         “Want te join me?” he asked as he walked into the bathroom. I got out of the bed and followed him into the shower. We stepped into the warm water. Chibs grabbed my shampoo and started to massage it into my hair. I turned around to face him and rinsed my hair off as he gently placed a kiss on my lips.

         This was such an amazing change of pace. To have someone actually care about me and be so gentle with me. I turned back around to rinse my face off, some of the shampoo had fallen close to my eyes. I smiled when I felt chibs hands around my waist pulling my back into him.

         “I'm going te be here for ye and this little one,” he whispered into my ear as his hands rested on my lower abdomen. I couldn't contain the smile that spread across my face.

         “I’m so grateful I met you,” was all I could say as the tears started to stream down my face. I was over emotional from the hormones but at least this time I was crying out of happiness. I stood in Chibs arms for a few minutes before he unwrapped his arms around me to grab the body wash and started to massage it into my skin.

         After washing each other and rinsing off we stepped out of the shower and wrapped ourselves in towels and then went to the bedroom to put our pajamas on.

         “Are ye hungry?” Chibs asked as he pulled his shirt over his head.

         “Yeah, seems like I worked up an appetite,” I said with a wink. He laughed as he walked into the kitchen and grabbed a pile of take-out menus putting them on the counter.

         “Since we haven't gone grocery shopping in a week here are your choices,” He chuckled.

         Once we decided what we wanted to eat he called in the order and we sat on the couch and I was able to convince Chibs to watch The Notebook with me. It didn't take long for the food to arrive and after we ate I snuggled up into him to watch the rest of the movie.

         He looked at me with and laughed when he saw I was crying halfway through the movie.

         “They just love each other s-so much” I sniffled. I playfully slapped him when he laughed at me again.  After the movie was over we headed to bed.

         “What did you think?” I asked him as I crawled under the covers.

         “It was surprisingly good,” he replied as he wrapped his arm around me.

         “My big, bad biker liked The Notebook?” I asked teasingly

         “I will deny it if you ever tell any of my brothers,” he said with a laugh and then kissed the top of my head.  I snuggled in closer to him.

         “Goodnight Chibs,” I said already almost half asleep.

         “Goodnight Torri, and goodnight wee little one,” he said as he placed his hand over my abdomen.

[irish-nlessing]

Ahhh those Drabbles look great! Are you doing them as well? If you are , I request 53 "I can't believe you talked me into this" im not sure what would be cuter Niall pouting and grumpy about something (like your icon) or Niall super excited about something and you have to be grumpy . (Though let's be real, he radiates happiness, sunshine and good thoughts. That shit is contagious.)

Anonymous said:number 3 for the prompt thing!

Anonymous said:Prompt 3! “Don’t fucking touch me”

I ended up combining these two - enjoy!!!!!!

Hot Yoga

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

Niall sank down another inch into the passenger seat of your car and let out an annoyed huff.  You’d caught him in an extremely weak moment last night and gotten him to agree to join you at your favorite Bikram Yoga studio.  He must’ve missed the part where you mentioned class was at 7am.  You couldn’t really blame him for being distracted - your hands had been shoved down the front of his joggers while you traced the freckles along his neck with the tip of your tongue.  

“Niall.  You’re pouting.  Relax, it’ll be fun and it’s good for you.  Might actually do you some good to sweat out the last four nights of pints with the band.”

He shot forward in his seat, twisting to face you.  “We’re building a rapport! Can’t go touring if I don’t even like the guys in me band!”  Niall’s voice keened with offense.  You just snickered softly to yourself at his outburst and patted him softly on his knee.  You tucked your lip into your teeth trying desperately to suppress the giggle in your throat.  He glared at you from the corner of his clear blue eyes and curled his lip into a sneer.  “Don’t fucking touch me.”  You snatched your hand back to grip the wheel and raised your eyebrow at the petulant man child seated next to you.  “Ok Horan.  I’ll remember that later.”  Mornings had never been Niall’s strong suit and today was proving to be just more of the same.  As you trained your eyes back on the road you caught Niall’s lips pulled down into a frown, probably realizing he’d just cock-blocked himself.

You pulled up to the small studio and clambered out of the driver seat, eager to feel the burn and stretch in your limbs.  Niall reluctantly followed suit,  and shoved his hands into the pockets of his golf jacket.  He stood off to the side and was toeing at a crack in the sidewalk while you grabbed your bags and mats from the back of your small SUV.  You thrust your extra yoga mat towards him, trying to get him to take it.  “You ready?”  He grabbed the mat from your hand and shoved it under his arm.  With a resigned sigh he motioned for you to lead the way.  “Ready as I’ll ever be.  Let’s get this over with.”

Making your way towards the back room, you nodded a greeting to a few of the other patrons you recognized from previous classes.  Coming during the middle of the week, so early in the morning, guaranteed there would only be a few other people in the class.  You figured this would be the best option for Niall - if pictures ended up online of him sweating his ass off while doing yoga poses he’d never let you forget it.  You pushed open the door and felt the hot, humid air choke your lungs.  It always took a few minutes to acclimate to the insane heat in this class so you were quick to drop your bag to start shedding layers.  You were down to your tiny yoga shorts and had just started to peel off your tee when Niall grabbed your wrist.  

“What’re you doing? You can’t take your top off!”  His eyes were a mix of panic and protectiveness, shifting around to see if anyone was an eyeful.  

“Babe, it’s gonna be like 100 degrees in here.  I always do it in my shorts and sports bra.  You should take your shirt off too.  Don’t want you passing out.”  You shrugged out of your top and grabbed your mat to get situated near the windows on the side of the room.  When you peeked behind your shoulder Niall had his face set in a grimace but had at least listened to your advice and stripped his shirt off.  You couldn’t stop yourself from staring as he loped across the room to settle himself in the space next to you.  The heat had already made a light sheen of sweat break out across his chest and shoulders.  As he laid out his mat you watched the lean muscles in his back twitch and shift under the pale expanse of skin.  You could feel your own heartbeat start to speed up in your chest as he lowered himself down onto his stomach.  His arms stretched out above his head, making divots appear in the top of his shoulders where the muscles criss-crossed from his arms.  Before you could think about it you were pressing the pad of your finger into the small dip in his flesh and trailing your hand down his back.  He startled at the touch and popped his head up to look at you.  

“What was that for?”  His voice was raspy and muffled behind his still-outstretched arm.

A hot flush spread across your cheeks at being caught ogling him.  You pulled your hand back and shook your head.  “Nothing, sorry.  Just couldn’t help it.”  You tried to ignore the smirk that tugged the one corner of his mouth up.  Thankfully, the instructor walked in and started the first movements.

A half hour into the session you were dripping with sweat and concentrating on your breathing.  Your legs were on fire, but you felt strong.  The burn and stretch in your muscles was cathartic for your body, but also for your mind.  Hot yoga had always forced you out of your own head.  There were so many things to concentrate on that if you got distracted, you were liable to pass out.  You’d seen it happen before.  A newbie would come in and underestimate the brutal heat of the small room.  Inevitably they’d topple over, with the instructor grabbing a fan and an ice pack to bring them to.  You arched your back and twisted, glancing back to check on Niall.  His gaze was stuck on your body, your long legs curled underneath your body.  He was sort of in the same pose, but just not quite as open with his torso.  He was hunched over a bit, almost as though he was nursing a side cramp from running too long.  

“Ni…you ok?”

“M’fine.  Just turn around.”

“What?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just….don’t worry.”

“Is it your knee?  Do you need to swit-”

“No!”

His voice was low and hissed out at you, while his face was pulled into a dark grimace.  You scooted closer to him to whisper in his ear.  You didn’t want to disturb the rest of the class.

“Hey, if your knee is acting up just get into a position that’s comfortable.”

“It’s not m’fuckin’ knee.  Just leave it.”

He knelt down and spread his arms above his head, pushing back into child’s pose.  You knew this was his favorite because it was the only thing that would relieve the dull back ache he would sometimes get after hauling his guitar around for hours on stage.  You crouched down to badger him a bit more, genuinely concerned that he would push it too far and hurt himself.

“Seriously, if it’s your knee you shouldn’t do child’s pose Ni.  It’ll make it -”

“For Christ sake woman would ya shut up?  Been staring at your arse and tits for a half hour and you’re giving me a fucking hard on, ok?!”  

Your jaw dropped at his whispered confession.  You immediately darted your eyes around to see if anyone else had heard him.  Fortunately everyone else seemed to be fully engrossed in the next pose.  You swallowed harshly, trying to tamp down the buzzing in your body.  The knowledge that your poor boyfriend was trying valiantly to hide an erection that he got from watching you set your senses on edge.  You were flattered, turned on, and very flustered.  In a split second you grabbed your mat and stood up, pulling Niall off the floor with you.  You grabbed his wrist and draped your mat over your arm to hide his current “problem”.  He staggered out of the room behind you and barely managed to grab your bags as the door swung shut.  The cool air of the hallway hit you both like a bucket of ice.  Goosebumps cropped up across your skin and you could see the red patches of skin prickle under the thatch of dark hair matted down across Niall’s chest.

“What the fuck’re you doing?  Why’d you yank me outta there?  If you’d just left it alone for a minute I woulda been fine.”

You turned in a circle, looking desperately for something that would work for what you needed.  Grabbing Niall’s arm you pulled him desperately towards a small door at the end of the hallway, labeled “Laundry”.  With a silent prayer you tried the doorknob and let out a small squeal of victory when the door swung open.  Niall stumbled in behind you, bumping into the sticky skin of your back.  You could feel his hard length press into your lower back, his thin shorts not doing much to hide his arousal.  The feeling of him pressed into your flesh made you moan and as the sound left your mouth, Niall finally caught onto what you had in mind.

“You dirty little girl!  I got you all riled up, didn’t I?”  His warm breath tickled your ear and he pressed his fingers into your hips, pulling you back into his clothed cock.  There was an unmistakeable cockiness to his voice, a lilt that let you know he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.  You spun around to face him, backing up to the low counter against the wall that was used for folding towels.  Grabbing at the waist of his shorts you pulled him in between your legs and hooked them around his waist.  

“I got you riled up first, Niall.  Said so yourself.”  You pulled him into your covered center, relishing the friction of his body rubbing against the thing material between your legs.  He braced himself with his hands on the counter and leaned down so you were eye to eye.  

“You’re right, ya did.  Didn’t realize I’d have to watch you bend and stretch and arch your back in nothing more than your knickers.  Been hard nearly the whole class.  S’almost kinda painful if I’m honest.”  He thrust his hips forward and let out a low hiss as he pressed into your body.  Your breath was coming in shallow pants, matching the adrenaline flowing through your veins.  Wiggling your legs, you managed to dislodge his shorts and push them down his hips and under the swell of his round bum.  His cock sprang free, the tip almost purple with want and leaking strings of precum as it bobbed forward.  You licked your palm and wrapped your thin fingers around the tip, pumping slowly and spreading some of the wetness down his shaft.  “Fuckkkkkkk that feels so good.”  His voice was low and breathy, and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning too loudly.  As your hand swept back up his length you dipped your thumb into the slit at the top of his cock making him jerk forward into his hand.  “I’m so hard for you, please make me come.”  His eyes met yours, the deep blue in his iris’ was pleading for release, desperate to find some relief.  

You leaned forward and tipped your head up to nip at his pink lips.  They looked incredibly soft compared to the rough stubble that had been lining his jaw so often these past months.  You slotted your lips over his and licked into his mouth frantically trying to taste him, smell him, feel him.  You were desperate for him to invade all of your senses at once - to not know where your body ended and his began.  You withdrew your hand reluctantly from his length and hooked your fingers into your own yoga shorts.  “I need you to get in me.  Hurry ok? Just fuck me.”  You kicked your shorts to the side and looped your legs back around his waist.  His lips crashed down onto yours and he trailed his fingers through your slick lips, pushing his fingers deep into your core.  Your back arched, pushing your chest into his.  He pumped his fingers slowly while his mouth forged a wet trail down your neck and into the hollows of your collar bone.  

“You taste salty.  But still kinda sweet.  Like those salted caramels you make me get from the coffee shop.”  His teeth nipped across your skin and he pressed his thumb into your aching clit, rubbing across it gently.  You let out a whine, already feeling your walls starting to flutter around his fingers.  

“Shit - you’re so fucking hot Niall.  C’mon, I need you inside me.  I need it!”  You were practically begging for him, and he was never one to make you wait.  He pulled his fingers out of your body and sucked them into his mouth.  With a smirk he reached down and lined himself up with your entrance.  As he sank into you his eyes rolled back slightly and his jaw hung open.  You could only grasp desperately at his shoulders and tuck your forehead into his chest.  As your walls stretched around his pulsing length you could hear him muttering under his breath.

“Love you.  Fuck, love you so much.  Feels so good.  Love you.”

You pressed hot, wet kisses across his chest as he pulled his hips back and began thrusting into you.  You both had an arm braced against the counter, with the other wrapped around each other’s bodies - anchoring you to each other.  The hot coil of release was burning at the base of your spine and you could feel your toes starting to curl on their own accord.  You leaned back on both of your hands to gain some leverage and meet his thrusts.  Niall was staring down at where your bodies met, mesmerized at how he disappeared inside of you, only to pull back out slick with your wetness.  As his hips snapped unsteadily against you, you slid your fingers down to your throbbing bundle.  Just as you were starting to rub circles against it, Niall swatted your hand away and replaced it with his own calloused fingers.  He gripped onto your hip with one hand and carefully rolled your aching clit between his fingertips.  Over and over he coaxed your body to give him more.  More wetness, more noises, more more more.  In an instant you tipped over the edge, your body going rigid as your breath caught in your chest and your eyes squeezed shut.  A low, guttural noise started to roll from your chest but Niall leaned in and swallowed the moan into a kiss.  His hips stalled against you as he emptied himself inside you.  As you broke apart you both gasped for breath, your foreheads sticking together with sweat.

Silently he pulled out of you, gasping at the over sensitive feeling.  You grabbed some towels and cleaned up still not saying a word.  The only thing you could hear was the low thrum of the industrial washer and dryer and the soft meditation music being pumped through the speakers.  You got dressed and sorted out your mats and bags, still not saying a word to each other.  You checked the hallway, letting out a sigh of relief that the class had not yet ended and the rest of the studio was deserted.  Niall followed you back out to the bustling street, where morning commuters were still clogging up the sidewalks on their way to work.   You tossed the bags haphazardly into the back seat and slid into the driver’s seat of your car.  Niall was chewing thoughtfully on the side of his thumb and nodding slowly to himself.  You took a deep breath and dared to break the silence.

“Sooooooo…….that wasn’t usually how my yoga classes go.”  Niall didn’t seem to hear you, there was no acknowledgement or even a flutter of recognition that you’d been speaking.

“Niall.  Ni.  NIALL!”

“What?”  He finally dropped his thumb from his still-kiss swollen lips and looked at you.  His eyes were wide like a frightened animal and you could tell his head was somewhere else entirely.

“Are…are you ok?”  You were almost afraid to hear the answer.  You weren’t sure if Niall was going to cry or if he even knew who he was at this point.

He nodded slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully.  “I think…I think I need to call some people.”  You raised your eyebrows at him, an inkling of concern starting to take hold in your stomach.  “I need to find a contractor.”

You pulled your face in, confusion sweeping through your body.  “A contractor?  What the hell do you need a contractor for?”

His eyes focused on yours, and you finally saw a glint of mischief behind them.

“Cause I’m building a yoga studio in the house.  Immediately.”

You choked out a laugh and leaned over the center console.  Grabbing him by the thin cotton of his shirt you pulled him in and smacked a wet kiss to his lips.  He smiled against your mouth and growled playfully at you.  “You’re a nutter, you know that Niall Horan?”

He pecked another kiss to your lips and leaned back into his seat.  “Nah, just a man who knows what he likes.”