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justhockeythings-blog1 · 3 years

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With You

A/N: So Two in one week huh? I wrote this a lot faster than I thought I would! Also I decided to make my own collage to go with this one! I really really like this one, so I hope you guys do! Feedback is always appreciated!

Request: “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” with Andrei Svechnikov

This was not the end to the season that anyone wanted. You felt your shoulders drop, along with your stomach. Your heart on the other hand had shattered into a million pieces, seeing Andrei’s heartbroken and frustrated face blasted across the television. You sat alone, in your shared apartment, wearing the same Svechnikov jersey that he had cheesily gifted you on your first birthday together. You made it a tradition to wear it every game you watched at home, making sure to send Andrei a picture. It had become as much a part of his pre-game ritual as having Martinook scream in his face. You hadn’t expected this game to be the last time you got to engage in your self made ritual,

You could feel the tears brimming your eyes, if not from the fact that you had so much hope for the boys to move on, for the sad faces of all your friends and your boyfriend as they shook hands with Tampa Bay. You waited until the very last second where the Canes players could no longer be seen before you shut off your TV, sitting in silence. You didn’t bother holding the tears in as you let a few slip, this was your time to be sad about it because the second that Andrei called you, you had to pull it together. You needed to be strong for him.

You knew your boyfriend well, you had seen him at the highs of the wins and the lows of the losses. He was going to take this personal, he had been battling himself all year. Saying how he hadn’t been having a good season, how he needed to improve, staying late after games to put in the extra time. You constantly had to remind him to take time for himself, to not be so hard on himself. There were countless times that you would have to force him to relax, letting his body rest, knowing that he would return to a hard training regime at the next practice. This wasn’t just any old loss though, this was a Stanley Cup elimination game loss. You were going to have to pull out all the stops to make this one feel better and you had a limited amount of time. You assumed that Andrei would be going back home at some point in the off season, neither of you had really talked about it recently. Then again, neither of you had planned on a playoff elimination.

You wiped the last few tears off your cheeks and stood up, collecting the snacks you had laid out, setting them in the kitchen before you went to change. After you came back out, you decided you needed to do something to pass the time until Andrei called, and you began busying yourself with cleaning. It was a habit that you had when you were nervous, you picked something to do and you fixated on it, usually until Andrei stepped in to stop you. It would be no different tonight, the shrill ring of your phone pulling you out of your trance. You glanced around you, seeing the kitchen of the apartment spotless before you rushed to the living room to snatch your phone off the coffee table where you left it.

“Hey.” You breathed out, hearing a slight chuckle from the other end.

“Were you running?” He asked, knowing that it was far too late for that. You, on the other hand, knew that he was avoiding the inevitable but you could hear the sadness in his voice.

“From the kitchen, didn’t want to miss your call.” You explained, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. This was the first sign that he wasn’t going to let on how upset he was in the moment, he had called you rather than facetime you. “How are you doing?”

You knew it was a stupid question but you had to ask. If you didn’t make the first move then odds were he wouldn’t bring it up and judging by the sigh that came from the other end, he was hoping that you wouldn’t.

“You gotta talk about it Andrei…” You encouraged gently, settling back on the couch and tugging a blanket over your legs. “Before you get on the plane.”

“It’s hard.” He began and you hummed, another gentle encouragement that you were listening. “We really thought we could do it. You know? We had them, we outplayed them every game and it wasn’t enough.”

The frustration was clear in his voice. You had seen the statistics and on paper, the Canes had come out on top, but unfortunately that didn’t translate to the ice.

“I wanted us to go all the way, these guys are my family and nobody deserves the cup more than them, and I couldn’t get them there.” You could hear the defeat in his voice and it was like someone took your heart and threw it on the ground.

“Andrei… You cannot put that pressure on yourself. Hockey is a team sport, you all left it all out there on the ice. You did you best and the weight of this loss does not fall entirely on your shoulders. Please.” You practically pleaded with him before you heard voices in the background.

“I have to go.. We are getting ready to board, I love you. I’ll be home late so don’t stay up okay?”

He hung up after you returned his goodbyes, leaving you once again sitting in the silence of your apartment. This time though, the exhaustion of everything set in and you pulled yourself to go to bed. You left a light on in the hallway so that Andrei didn’t have to stumble around in the darkness, slipping into your bed and quickly falling asleep.

When Andrei got home, well past three AM, he knew that the house would be quiet but it didn’t make it any less suffocating. It felt like silence was the only thing he had heard since the boys departed the locker room, each one caught up in their own heads. A few of the older guys, who had spent a good number of years in the league, did their best to offer some kind of comfort to the younger men on the team but it was clear that in the moment it was half hearted. Everyone had wanted to beat Tampa, everyone had wanted to make it to the end and hoist that cup. It was their year and they had done everything right only to lose to a team who had a goalie like a brick wall.

He set his bag down by the couch quietly, having mastered the technique of coming home quietly after waking you up one too many times. He carefully made his way down the hallway to the bedroom, smiling a little to himself as he saw you curled up in bed, tucked into one of his shirts. The season may not have ended the way he wanted but at least he still had you to come home to.

Slipping into the bed, he was careful not to wake you as he wrapped one arm around you and quickly fell asleep himself, his mind shutting off for the first time since this morning.

When you woke up the next morning it was to the weight of an arm carefully laying across your waist and the sound of gentle breathing beside you. A setting you were very familiar with, but today you couldn’t enjoy it. You had a plan that you needed to get started on before Andrei woke up, which is why you were secretly praying that the late return home would play in your favor.

You glanced back at him, smiling at the peaceful look on his face before you skillfully wiggled your way out of his grasp, pausing on the edge of your bed to make sure he remained asleep. After a few minutes you stood up and grabbed his bag, sneaking out of your room.

First things first was to get his laundry started so you made a beeline to the washer and dryer you guys had, setting the bag down and carefully emptying the clothes, checking all of his pockets to make sure they were empty. There had been a mishap one time of airpods in the washer and you both had quickly learned your lesson.

You felt a small box tucked into one of his pockets, pulling it out and setting it into a small basket with other things you found. You didn’t pay any mind to it as you started the washer, carrying the basket and setting it on the dining room table where he could collect it when he woke up.

Part two of your plan involved slight rearrangement of your living room, a number of blankets and pillows, and a fully charged laptop. After nearly twenty minutes, including a quick peak into the bedroom to make sure that he was indeed still sleeping, you had a blanket fort all made up and ready. Which was the easiest part of the plan, the real trick would be getting Andrei into it.

You moved back to the kitchen, pulling out all of the things you needed to make a real breakfast. Not the coffee and yogurt that you scarfed down on work days. You started the coffee pot, humming to yourself as you carefully dialed Evgeny’s number. It was times like these you were thankful that Andrei had introduced you to his brother and you two had a good standing relationship. You cut Evgeny’s greeting off gently, explaining that you didn’t have much time before Andrei woke up but you needed to know how to make his favorite breakfast.

At some point during your phone call with Evgeny, who thankfully walked you step by step through a homemade breakfast that he and Andrei had grown up on, Andrei made an appearance from the bedroom. He stood back and watched as you worked, hearing his brother’s voice over the speaker.

He smiled to himself, it was no secret to anyone that Evgeny was an important person in his life. When he had first introduced the two of you, he had been a little nervous that Evgeny and you wouldn’t get along. Which would have left him in a very awkward predicament. Seeing you in the kitchen though, clearly taking instructions from his brother over the phone, stirred something inside of him. Whatever he was feeling though quickly screeched to a halt, a small jolt of panic ran through him as he saw the small box on the table, quickly grabbing it and stuffing it into the pocket of his shorts just as you turned around.

“Oh hey! Evgeny, he’s up, I gotta go. Thank you so so so much for all your help! I owe you one!” You hung up with his brother and smiled sheepishly, holding up the plate with your finished work. “Surprise?”

You clearly hadn’t seen the glimpse of panic that crossed his face, quickly replaced by a smile and a look of awe when it registered in his mind what was on the plate. Sure you cooked often, but it now made sense to him why you had called his brother.

“If it’s bad you can blame your brother, but I just… I wanted to do something nice for you, especially since I didn’t stay up for you last night.” You explained, pulling him over to sit at the dining room table and setting the plate down in front of him.

Andrei was speechless, which you had learned was a hard feat to accomplish, as he watched you fill two mugs of coffee, making it the way both of you liked it before coming to sit down beside him. You hadn’t brought up the game yet and he wasn’t sure if you would but in the moment he didn’t care, he couldn’t stop staring at you.

“So is this really all it’s cracked up to be?” You asked, watching as he took the first bite. You had spent twenty minutes listening to his brother rave about it.

“Yes, I mean maybe not to other people but Evgeny and I ate it every weekend growing up. Is this why you called him?” He asked as he ate, reminiscing with every bite. His heart growing with love for you when you nodded behind your coffee mug sheepishly.

“I didn’t know how to make it but I remembered you mentioning it. I figured waking your brother up and dealing with his wrath would be worth it.” You teased, Evgeny had never been anything but nice to you and he probably appreciated this gesture as much as Andrei did.

“Also, I hope you didn’t have plans for the day or at least part of it. I wasn’t sure if you had to do something for the team or not.” You trailed off as he finished eating, grabbing the plate from him when he was done and carried it to the sink.

“I uh, I’m not sure. I think they’ll text me if I need to be there but I don’t think I need to today. Why?” He asked, though you didn’t answer him. You just grabbed his hand and pulled him to the living room, smiling as you looked at him.

He froze, seeing the elaborate blanket fort laid out in the living room, snacks and water already inside of it with your laptop. Part of him wondered if you had done thing last night and he had missed it in his tired state or if you had managed to do all of this, on top of breakfast, this morning. Before he could ask though you were tugging him to crawl into it, forcing him to drop to his knees to follow after you.

“What is all of this?” He asked after you settled in the pillow fort, laying on your back as you smiled up at him.

“This is me forcing you to relax and take a minute to yourself. I know last night did not go how you wanted, how any of you wanted, and maybe there’s nothing I can say right now that will make the thoughts in your head go away. Which I hate by the way, you’re way too hard on yourself but I just wanted you to take a day and not think about the game or about hockey or about what you could have done differently. I just, I know it’s not a lot but-”

Your rambling was cut off, as it so often was, by a quick kiss to your lips. You felt your shoulders drop as his hands cupped your cheeks, melting a little into the kiss before he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours.

“Thank you.”

It was a simple two words, but it was enough. It meant that he was accepting this, your plan to relax and just spend time together. Maybe it worked and maybe it didn’t, but all that mattered was he was willing to give it a chance.

The two of you spent most of the day in the fort watching movies, leaving only if you needed to use the bathroom or you needed more snacks. At some point the sun was beginning to sit lower in the sky and you both knew you would need to leave to make dinner, especially considering lunch had been nothing but snacks yet neither of you wanted to make that move.

You rolled onto your side, tucking your body even closer to his when you felt a bump against your thigh.

“That better just be your phone.” You teased and he looked at you confused before he realized that the small box that he had gotten well before the roadtrip was now pressed up against you. He sat up quickly, reaching into his pocket to pull it out, though you still couldn’t see it.

“Hey, I was just teasing.” You pouted, reaching for him as he chuckled and shifted to look at you. It was then you caught a glimpse of a familiar sized box and you found yourself sitting quickly to look at him.

“Andrei…” You began softly, it wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him but you two were both fairly young and had never discussed the prospect of marriage before.

“No! No, I mean. It’s not what you’re thinking, not yet.” He rushed to explain, his accent forcing the words to run together. It was something you had picked up, whenever he was angry or excited, his accent made it hard to differentiate what he was saying.

Instead of continuing his explanation, he opened the box to show you the very thin band, with three tiny diamonds in it. You could feel the breath leave your throat as you stared at it. It was beautiful, there was no doubt in your mind about that and it was your style. Simple, understated, something that you could wear with anything and it would never look out of place.

“So if not… that, then what is this?” You asked confused, looking up at him again with nervous eyes.

“It’s a promise and you don’t have to think of it as anything more than that. No other strings okay? I just. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know we haven’t talked about it before, but I wanted to make you the promise that one day, it’ll be a different ring and I had hoped to do it after a winning game, but this… I think this is much better.” He explained quietly, keeping his eyes on the ring, watching as you carefully pulled it out of the box.

This was not at all how he had planned on doing this, in his mind it was much smoother. It was after a winning game, probably not in your living room, and he also wouldn’t be stumbling over his words and half tempted to switch back to Russian. Despite all that though, he didn’t want to wait any longer and there was no taking it back now that it was out there.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too.” You smiled, carefully slipping it on your right ring finger for now and smiling up at him. “ Don’t want to give people too many ideas now do we?”

You heard him chuckle before leaning down to kiss you again. The game may not have gone how you two wanted, the season may have ended early, but one thing was certain for the both of you.

You had each other, now and for the rest of your lives.

#andrei svechnikov imagine #Andrei Svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov writing #andrei svechnikov story #nhl #nhl writing #nhl imagine #nhl story #hockey story #hockey imagine #hockey writing #carolina hurricanes #carolina hurricanes imagine #carolina hurricanes story #carolina hurricanes writing

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.

#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fic #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #nobody does it like you do #ndilyd #im so nervous to post this lol #hope you all enjoy #cw: past drug abuse #cw: minor character death #cw: violence

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reincarnated70sbaby · 3 years

Text

linger

listen before you read!

robert plant xfem!oc

warnings : drug use, swearing, trucklot of angst ;)

word count : 2.1k

an: was listening to ‘linger’ by the cranberries and I couldn’t pass up this angsty idea I got 😎 timeline is off but yolo ig...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sloane leaned down to the table to take an extra line for her pre-performance nerves. She felt a little more nervous today, this particular concert being one of the largest yet. She was the front woman of The CAPs, who were opening for Led Zeppelin for their summer of ‘69 tour. This was exactly the break the band needed, finally getting recognition for all their talent and hard work over the last two years.

She applied a little powder to her face, and patted on her classic red lipstick to her slightly chapped lips. Securing the clasps of her platform red heels, she shook her body in hopes of shaking away her anxious jitters. Once she had finished her body-shaking ritual, she walked out from the wings of the stage.

As she walked across to centre stage, wind blowing through the holes of her white crochet dress. The crowd cheered loudly as the band waved to them.

“How’s everyone doin’ today? It’s so hot today, my boobs are sweating off!” She greeted the crowd with her bubbly nature. Adjusting the mic stand to her height, she continued to address the huge crowd. “Today’s set list will have a slight adjustment to it, we’re starting off with a new song I wrote just last night. It’s a little softer than our other music, so just sit back- or should I say lean back on the person behind you - and relax. This is called ‘Linger’ "

While she was speaking to the crowd, a teenage roadie ran onto the stage and placed a stool, for Sloane to sit on, and disappeared again in a heartbeat. The crowd, didn’t even take notice of the young boy, entranced with the tawny blonde singer as usual.

Sloane sat down, crossed her legs and nodded toward Rory, to begin. Rory started picking a simple guitar melody on his trusty Gibson acoustic, the first guitar he ever picked up. Sloane swayed lightly to the rhythm, eyes on the horizon above the crowd. Soon after, Marshall joined in with quiet, but strong beat on drums. At the same time, Oscar added the baseline to the song.

Taking a deep breath, Sloane began the song.

If you, If you could return, Don’t let it burn, Don’t let it fade, I’m sure I’m not being rude, It’s just your attitude, It’s tearing me apart, It’s ruining every day

I swore, I swore I would be true, But honey so did you, So why were you holding her hand? Is that the way we stand? We’re you lying all the time? Was it just a game to you?

Sloane sang gently, her eyes closed with a pained look on her face. She thought back to the day before, when everything fell apart.

———

“Sloane, honey, please tell me what’s wrong! You’re being so closed off with me today!” Robert pleaded, grabbing her hand while she was walking away. Sloane yanked her hand away and walked towards an empty storeroom in the hotel corridor.

“Don’t get any ideas, we need to talk privately” Sloane commanded as she entered into the storeroom. It had barely enough space for both of them to fit, being crammed full with towels and bedsheets.

“Please, love, jus’ tell me what’s bothering you, I wanna make you happy”

“Oh fuck off Robert, you’re so fake and a liar. These past couple of months have all been a lie!”

“What’re talkin’ about? I have never lied to you once”

“Seriously? ‘I’ve never lied to you’? Are you actually for real right now? Do you know what I just found out Robert? You’re fucking married! And she’s coming here tonight! You didn’t think I would deserve to know that!” She yelled, ignoring her previous statement about keeping this private.

“I didn’t tell you because I was scared okay? I have never felt like this before with anyone else. All the groupies were just for sex, but when I met you I had fallen for you Slo, you make me a better person in every way”

“I don’t care how I make you feel, you’re still married! With kids! How would they feel if they found out their father was in a relationship with a woman other than their mother? I can’t believe you did this to me willingly, even after I told you what happened with my parents. That messed me up, seeing my father with another woman, and leaving my mother for her. Never seeing him again, choosing his new family over me and my siblings. That hurts me the most Robert, you knew my history and you ignored it!” Sloane cried out, tears falling freely on her face, running her dark eye makeup.

“I never meant to hurt you love, you mean so much to me. I just didn’t think- I never fuckin think, but I my feelings were so strong for you, I never thought about Maureen, I’m shamed to admit it” Robert plead, guilt weighing on his conscience. He reached out to wipe her tears away, but Sloane turned her head, the same pained look on her face.

“We’re done. I can’t stay with someone who could forget about their own wife and kids, and forget to tell their girlfriend that she’s actually a mistress. Goodbye” Sloane said, pushing her way out of the cramped closet, before running to the elevator at the end of the hall.

———

But I’m in so deep, You know I’m such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to? Do you have to let it linger?

Sloane sang emotionally, a single tear escaped her tear duct. She took the break for guitar solo to take a couple deep breathes, and to calm her heightened emotions down.

Oh, I thought the world of you, I thought nothing could go wrong, But I was wrong, I was wrong

If you, if you could get by, Trying not to lie, Things wouldn’t be so confused, And I wouldn’t feel so used, But you always knew, I just want to be with you

———

Sloane sat at the large round table, sipping her wine. The two bands had just completed all the concerts in France, and were having a celebratory dinner for the night. The lights were dim in the fancy restaurant, but Sloane could still see the heartbreaking sight of Maureen and Robert cozying up to eachother. She longed to be the one Robert was dedicated to, to be his Maureen, to be the one who sipped on his beer instead of her wine for a change, to rest her hand on his knee. She wished to be the one who would sleep with him in bed each night, without a worry of cheating or unfaithfulness. Her heart was also broken for Maureen, she was so inlove with Robert, as was he with her. She was also probably the greatest mother out there, being a single parent for a lot of the year.

Sloane switched her focus from the smitten couple, to Marshall and John Bonham's discussion on gongs, congas and all exotic drums.

Everything had been going so well, the concerts each night going to wonderfully, the bands got on great together. Even all the touring crew and management got on well with eachother. It was like one, big, slightly dysfunctional family.

Sloane wished she could vent to one of her bandmates about her case of ill fated love, but she knew if she told any of the CAP boys, tension would arise between the bands, and she simply couldn't bear to break the harmony.

“I’m sorry everyone, but I feel a bit ill and I think it would be best if I went to my room” Sloane announced, rising from her chair. She briefly locked eyes with Robert, before averting her eyes that threatened to fill with tears.

“Are you sure you’re okay Slo? I can come up and look after you if you feel faint or anything?” Rory asked genuinely, concerned for his little sister, he noticed she had been a little less bubbly than normal today.

“I’m fine Ror, I’ll think being on the go and travelling for the last couple of months has caught up with me. I’ll call you if I need you. Love you” she said, hugging him tightly.

“Love you, stay safe sis”

A chorus of goodbyes were heard as she left the table and walked out of the brassiere restaurant.

As soon as she entered her large room, she decided to clean up her stuff in order to distract herself. She folded all her clothes, tucked all her shoes into her suitcase, and cleaned up her makeup station on the vanity, placing the assortment of beauty products in the black makeup bag she owned.

After she was done cleaning, she ordered a couple bottles of wine, with some croissant from room service, taking advantage of the readily available French delicacies.

Lowering herself into the warm bubble bath she ran while waiting for her room service, her mind wandered to the whole situation, creating lyrics in her head. Luckily she brought her songbook, so there was no need to get out of the bath in search for it. She poured her heart out into the lyrics. After finishing the lyrics up, she soaked for a little longer, until she felt herself pruning and wrapped the fuzzy bath robe around herself.

She was about to turn off her bedside light to sleep, when she heard a light knock on the door. Her head scrambled, trying to figuring out who it was. Must be Rory checking up on me she thought. Opening the door, her heart skipped a beat at the visitor.

“Sloane let me-“

“Robert, please, I told you we were over”

“Will you let me speak, I need to talk to you”

Sloane stepped aside from the door, letting him in. She guided him to the seating area of the room, not wanting to risk being near the bed.

“Uh, d’want tea or something?” Sloane asked the blonde man, the air heavy with awkward tension.

“Yeah sure, love. That’d be great” Robert answered warmly.

“So, what do you want to say” Sloane asked, pushing his tea on front of him.

“Sloane, I’m sorry. I still do love you and I hate that I fucked everything up. I was just so infatuated- I still am, and I regret that I made you feel upset. I just want to say sorry”

“I- I still love you too Robert, it wasn’t just one sided, I really thought you were the one”

“Sloane, I don’t know what to say… If- if you ask me to, I will. I want you. I want to be yours.”

“Robert- I. I can’t do that. As much as I want to love you and be with you, I can’t be a homewrecker. I’ve seen the way you are with Maureen, you love her. I know in my gut that you’re better off with her. She loves you and deserves you 100%” Sloane’s face was wet with tears.

“Uh, okay. I’m sorry love, I really wish I didn’t fuck up our relationship. I really hope that one day we can be friends again, when you’re ready” Robert got up to leave, but was stopped when Sloane grabbed his hand.

“There’s a part of me that will always love you Robert. This was wonderful while it lasted” She spoke with a sad smile on her face.

Robert squeezed her hand in agreement, before exiting the room.

———

And I’m in so deep, You know I’m such a fool for you You got me wrapped around your finger, oh, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to? Do you have to let it linger?

Oh I’m in so deep, You know I still have love for you, My love has wrapped me round your finger, oh, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have? Do you have to let it linger?

The CAPs finished their song, and Sloane stood up to thank the crowd.

“Robert, darling, there you are. Was that singer at the dinner last night?” Maureen asked warmly to her husband, joining him in the wings.

“Uh, yeah, but she left early because of travel sickness y’know the sort” Robert answered absentmindedly, his deep blue eyes trained on the lead singer, who was preparing for the next song in the band’s set list.

“I must have missed her. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? I love that song she just sang, great voice” Maureen mused, admiring Sloane’s confidence , akin to her husbands.

“Yeah, yeah she is. She’s a beautiful person, inside and out”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

my first Robert fic!!! I’m more of a Jimmy girl, but I love the golden god too (Leo men <3)

as always, any criticism/ideas are welcome in my inbox or comments 🤍

tag list : @dreamersdrowse @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @princesspagey ask me if you would like to be added!!

#classic rock #led zeppelin #robert plant #robert plant x reader #my fic tag #frans fics #golden god

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wolf-and-bard · 3 years

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The Geraskier Soccer Parents AU of my dreams (in an early morning strike of weird-brain):

-Geralt knows he isn't the best dad ever. He tries so goddamn hard, but his job is demanding and consumes so much time and even with Ciri being seven already, he still has essentially no clue what he's doing. He sometimes falls into bed, half-dead, and she is the one to give him a good-night kiss. He sometimes forgets she prefers cheese and puts ham on her sandwiches. He is sometimes too happy to have her sleep over at her friends rather than invite them to their house. He doesn't read her all the children's classics, doesn't go trick-or-treating with her, doesn't even pretend Santa Claus is a thing. He isn't the best dad ever. He tries.

-There is one thing he never, ever fails to do and that is take Ciri to soccer practice. Ciri picks up and drops hobbies, interests, even tastes by the week, still unsure what she wants to pursue, but soccer isn't only her favourite pastime, it's theirs. Practice is twice a week and they have a ritual for it. Geralt picks her up from school and drives her there, she tells him about what the dumb boys in her class said, how her art project is going etc. Geralt is there throughout practice, tucked in between Foltest - a guy who is constantly worried for his daughter Adda to get hurt and also very much anxious for her to do well - and Tissaia - a woman who has not one, but three girls in Ciri's age group and several more in others, and knits like a magician - and watches. He takes notes, silently cheers for Ciri.

-After their games and while Ciri changes, Geralt chats with her coach Vesemir - who used to be Geralt's coach, but now prefers to train the girls' teams - about the progress of the team, upcoming tournaments etc. Sometimes when Vesemir is indisposed, Geralt even leads the practice. When Ciri is all done, Tissaia usually has another hat or mitten finished and Geralt and her drive with their girls to whatever food place the girls are in the mood for. They have an early dinner in which Tissaia lectures the girls on their form and in which Ciri is sometimes allowed to sit on Geralt's lap - but only if Fringilla or Yen don't tease hear about it - but in which she definitely gets to steal his milkshake (Geralt hates milkshakes). Geralt only praises her when they're back in the car and Ciri tells him he's too much of a softie with her and should be more like Tissaia. Should maybe marry Tissaia. They both laugh because that is never going to happen.

-Life is good that way. It's not perfect, it's not without bumps, certainly not without tears and scrapes, but whatever the job, whatever injury Geralt carries with him, however long he has to drive, he never, never ever misses soccer practice.

-The season's just kicked off in the year of Ciri's eighth birthday when Geralt and her arrive early on the field to find the stands empty save for a girl in the most ridiculously colorful excercise clothes and blond hair that is braided intricately around her head. With her is a man, maybe five years Geralt's junior. Ciri bolts towards them with a bright grin and Geralt is hesitant to follow. He knows neither the girl nor the man, but from what he can gather she wants to join the team which is just what they need as they're one girl short this season. "Hi, I'm Ciri, I adore your braids." Geralt holds back on the eye-roll. It's nice Ciri can make friends this easily, but his house already is a shrine for role-playing and board games, dolls and random DVDs and another friend means more things Ciri will want to try out. "Thank you," the girl replies and tilts her head to better show them off. "My uncle Jaskier braided them for me, I'm sure he can do yours too." Both girls look up expectantly at the man and Geralt only really notices him then. He is averagely built with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. His floral print shirt has three open buttons and his pants barely reach his ankles. He has the look of a flippant music teacher or a hipster coffeeshop owner. His eyes meets Geralt's and, wait, did he just wink? "I'd love to, dear," he says in a smooth voice that absolutely does not go straight to Geralt's guts. Geralt turns on the spot and decides to pressure check the balls, but he can hear the others giggling as Jaskier braids Ciri's hair. "I'm Priscilla by the way. What's up with your dad?" - "Oh, don't mind him, he's bad with meeting new people." - "Very intense." That's Jaskier. Oh, Geralt will show him intense.

-Ciri invites them to their after-practice dinner. Geralt wants to begrudge her that, but she and Priscilla have latched onto each other in record speed and Jaskier actually fights Tissaia on some of her more strict stances and he braids Yen's and Sabrina's hair too, only Fringilla doesn't want him to touch hers which he respects. Geralt and Tissaia glance at each other. Come to a silent agreement. They may not befriend Jaskier, but he's sunny and so good with the girls and they can use someone like him among their ranks, someone who doesn't have Calanthe's tendency for swear words or Crach's tendency to break out beer in the middle of practice or even Nenneke's tendency to relate everything to the workings of god.

-Jaskier is as faithful as Geralt, perhaps the only one who shows up every time without fail. Shani's parents only drop her off and Crach switches between Cerys' and Hjalmar's practices and Tissaia sometimes texts Geralt to pick up her girls. Jaskier is there, every time, earlier than any of the others. He chats with Vesemir about his day-to-day, brings home-baked cookies for everyone, he cheers and whoops and tries very hard to understand soccer even though it's evident he doesn't. Geralt never wonders why it's him and not Priscilla's parents that come, it's none of his business. He begins to tolerate Jaskier, but he knows that is where he has to draw the line. He has his hands full with Ciri and his job and his brothers too. He can't afford friendships that extend beyond the field.

-Jaskier doesn't let him off though. He always takes the spot next to Geralt (technically an improvement over Foltest's sweaty visage) and prattles on and on, at least until the game begins. When it does, Jaskier divides his attention between the girls and the stack of paper on his lap which he annotates during practice. It's often either sheet music or the illegible scrawl of pre-teens or wonkily drawn instruments. Jaskier already told him, but from that too it is obvious that Geralt's hunch was right, he is a music teacher. Geralt finds his eyes darting to Jaskier's long fingers, nimble and calloused from the various string instruments he plays. Finds himself glancing at where Jaskier's tongue peeks out in concentration. He listens to the man's ramblings and hums his replies and comes to dislike the days when Vesemir isn't there and he has to focus all his attention on giving the girls a good practice. Not that he doesn't want to, it's just that having Jaskier at his back unnerves him.

-(Jaskier for his part doesn’t care at all about soccer, but he cares about Priscilla so he convinced her parents to let him take her; after that, she said it would be fine if he dropped her off and picked her up again, but Jaskier pretends he is super invested in the sport and the team and he is, but mostly he’s invested in charming Geralt)

-After an entire season of mutual pining and obliviousness, Tissaia decides she's had enough and rallies the other parents. She has Foltest organize a big party at his country house, has Nenneke promise to look after the girls (the woman doesn't drink) and has Crach whip out the finest spirits he has in storage. Calanthe makes a phenomenal playlist and it's Tissaia's job to get Geralt to the party (Jaskier's not a problem) and dress up nicely. Only Aridea, Renfri's stepmother, refuses to pitch in, but she's been a bitch anyway.

-When Geralt picks up Jaskier at his downtown flat he has to grip the wheel of his rover hard in order not to short-circuit. Jaskier has done something to his hair that Geralt can't name but that makes him go woozy inside. He wears a plain shirt that compliments his eyes and hugs his body just right and he looks high on life with color in his cheeks and the most dazzling smile. He's gorgeous. "Darling, don't you look dashing," Jaskier says excitedly and props his feet up on the dashboard, only after kissing Geralt on the cheek. Which is not fair. "Likewise," Geralt mutters, then blushes furiously. He didn't want that to come out, oh no. Jaskier either didn't hear or acts like it and they drive in silence to Foltest's country house. Well, aside from the songs Jaskier hums under his breath, some new composition no doubt.

-At first, Geralt thinks it's a nice enough party for someone who doesn't like parties. Foltest's grilling burgers, they all have cocktails, the music is mellow. Not that that stops Jaskier from swirling an already quite drunk Calanthe over the terrace in dazzling moves. Geralt wants to be swirled like that. "You really have it bad, don't you?" Crach comments when he notices Geralt staring. Geralt downs his beer (he's no cocktail drinker) and tries pointedly not to stare at how Jaskier's swinging his ass around.

-The buzz makes it easier and he relieves Foltest at the barbecue for a bit. But then Jaskier walks up to him, a little short on breath and grinning his most flirtatious little grin. It gives him fucking dimples. Sigh. "Hey you big strong man," Jaskier says. He smells like pineapple and coconut, but isn't even a little drunk. "Jask," he says, pointedly flipping a burger. "Foltest says he has an old karaoke machine in the shed, but it's too heavy for me. Help me?" - "...fine." Geralt gestures for Foltest to keep up with the meat and he and Jaskier make their way along a garden path that winds through thickets and by a small pond. The shed is painted blue and white and Geralt and Jaskier find it very much cluttered, but not dirty which is nice. Geralt only understands it's a trap when it's already sprung on them. The tiny click of the look is almost inaudible over Jaskier's anxious commentary of their search for the machine. There is only one small window and no light Geralt can see. Fuck.

-"Ehm, Jaskier?" he reaches out and gently touches Jaskier's shoulder which has the other man yelp and jump. Which doesn't bode well for what Geralt has to tell him. "I think we're trapped." The effect is immediate. Jaskier goes rigid, his breath catches. Is he afraid? Claustrophobic perhaps? Shit, so he can't be in on the joke. "Jask?" - "Geralt. I know we aren't the closest, but I need you to hold me right now." And he launches himself at Geralt. Maybe he is in on the joke? No, he's trembling too hard for that. Geralt catches him and does as asked. "I am absolutely going to die," Jaskier whines into Geralt's neck and Geralt can't help a small chuckle as he rubs Jaskier's back soothingly. This is... surprisingly nice for a trap. Also likely Tissaia's doing. Geralt has a rare idea. "What if I distract you until someone finds us?" he murmurs against Jaskier's hair and Jaskier draws back a little. In the half-dark his eyes glisten, widen when they meet Geralt's. "You would?" - "Close your eyes, Jaskier." Geralt feels a surge of daring, perhaps granted by the intimacy and seclusion of the situation. He catches Jaskier's lips with his own. When they part, Jaskier grins, shaking from something other than fear. "I thought you didn’t much like me," he whispers. "I thought I got on your nerves." - "Idiot." They kiss again and, faintly, Geralt can hear someone cheer from outside.

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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me lámh le do lámh - Part VIII

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They left the next day just after the sunrise broke watery through the clouds still lingering overhead, not wanting to overstay their welcome. The walk back to the nearby village was an easy one, the air still cool from the recent rain. The innkeeper hadn’t given their pre-paid room away to other guests despite the fact that they hadn’t used it for anything more than storage, which was a surprise. It was noon by the time they made it back, and they were easily able to secure the room for another evening so early in the day. Jaskier agreed to play at dinner, so they even managed to get a slightly reduced rate.

When they made it up to the room, Jaskier flopped immediately down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. “Melitele, I could sleep for a week,” he groaned, slightly muffled. “I haven’t been this sore in years.”

“Good for you to finally get some exercise,” Geralt smirked as he checked on their belongings. Everything was where they’d left it, luckily. Geralt let out a breath of relief to see his potions all secure in their bag, the oathstone nestled amongst them.

Jaskier lifted his arm enough to glare at him. “As if walking day in and day out at your side isn’t work enough.”

“You’ve ridden Roach more than I have over the last week,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier put his arm down, head tilted to the side to look in Geralt’s direction. His hair spilled messily across the pale sheets. “I suppose I have,” he said, a small furrow appearing in his brow. The easy energy he’d had since they’d woken this morning was gone; now he seemed tense. His eyes lost their focus, his mind clearly going elsewhere.

Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to go and see if they have any contracts for me. We won’t be stopping much over the next few weeks.”

At this Jaskier refocused, curious. “Where are we going next? We have all the pieces for the ritual, right?”

Geralt nodded. “The last piece is a location. We’re going back to Posada.”

The journey from the Brokilon to the Blue Mountains was one of weeks, rather than days. At this time of year the River Sodden and her many roads were wide open, and they were able to easily pass south under the Mohakams. This far south, spring was already giving way to summer, the warm vestiges of the Nilfgaardian desert winds finding their way to the pockets and hills of Angren and Rivia.

It should have been a pleasant journey. It was one they’d taken many times before, once Nilfgaard was no longer an issue, and they were both well familiar with the area. They kept the river to their south and traveled during the cooler parts of the day, stopping often. The wide river offered a constant source of beauty and convenience, and they were able to wash and fish regularly. Rivia, though not Geralt’s home by any stretch of the imagination, was friendly and offered plenty of places for them to stop and rest at the halfway point.

It should have been downright delightful, but instead it was… tense. Jaskier was quiet and contemplative much of the time, reserved in a way Geralt had rarely known him to be. He barely touched his lute, to the point where Geralt asked after it, only receiving a vague and unconvincing answer about saving the strings from the humidity. He spent the evening hours scribbling away in his journal, or simply lying and staring up at the stars. Sometimes, disconcertingly, he watched Geralt, especially when he seemed to think Geralt wasn’t paying attention. The furrow between his brow had grown to be near constant, and his shoulders had lost their easy swoop. When they spoke, something about Jaskier’s words felt needling, as if he was testing the waters for something. What, Geralt couldn’t even begin to guess.

He wanted to ask about it, but he found himself unable to find the words to do so. Jaskier didn’t seem mad at him—he knew what that looked like well enough, and this wasn’t it. He wanted to ask, but if he did it seemed possible, probably even likely, that Jaskier would admit that he’d figured out that Geralt was hiding something from him. He might even have realized the extent of Geralt’s feelings, or what the ritual really meant. Maybe Silvandrel had said too much, or Geralt had been too expressive, or too generous. Whatever it was, Jaskier was smart, maybe the smartest man Geralt had ever known; it wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together. As he found Jaskier’s eyes lingering on him more and more frequently, it seemed also more and more likely that Jaskier was just trying to find a way to let him down easily.

Still, it wasn’t unbearable. Traveling with Jaskier in a mood was still better than traveling alone, and as always Geralt relished the chance to spend such uninterrupted time together. It was the best in the evenings, when their camp was already set up and the heat of the day had dispersed, and they had nothing better to do than sit and talk before both of them grew too tired to stay awake.

“What��s it like?” Jaskier asked one evening, lying on his bedroll with his ankle propped up on one raised knee. His lute was in his hands, a rare thing nowadays, but he wasn’t really playing it, just plucking a tune here or there. Testing the waters, it seemed.

Geralt was sitting with his back propped against a ragged tree stump, charred at the top where lightning had once struck. He looked up from where he was examining Roach’s tack, taking too long to reply as he was caught up in the image of Jaskier in the firelight. “What?”

Jaskier swiveled his head to look over at him, looking uncharacteristically pensive. “Being immortal. Or—not mortal. What do you even call a witcher, anyways. Semi-mortal? How long do you usually live? I’ve never gotten a straight answer about it.”

Geralt shrugged, the bridle dangling between his knees as he set his elbows to rest on them. “No one really knows,” he admitted. “Vesemir is… three hundred? We’re not sure, that’s based on references he makes, but Lambert swears sometimes he says things just to throw us off. Witchers don’t really… die of old age.”

“Surely some of you must retire,” Jaskier insisted. “Maybe not lately, but in years past…”

Geralt shook his head. “If they did, I haven’t heard of them. The Path is our life; we meet our end while on it. I know we can live for several human lifetimes, at least. I was older than you are now when we met.”

Jaskier’s mouth twisted in a smile that ached with bitter nostalgia. “I must have looked like a child to you.”

“You were a child,” Geralt laughed.

Jaskier threw something at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his knee. An acorn; the entire area was thick with oak trees. Clearing the ground beneath their bedrolls had been a pain. “Ass,” Jaskier chidded, but he was chuckling too. “I suppose we must all seem rather young to people like you though. Yennefer is the worst, she shouldn’t be allowed to poke fun at my very dignified salt and pepper and then turn around and call me an infant the next moment.”

Young man, Silvandrel had said, with that odd patronization that came only to those who would outlive most people they met. “It’s… not exactly like that,” Geralt allowed, studying Jaskier’s profile painted in orange and gold and dark dusky blue shadows. “Age isn’t the same as experience. There are eighty year olds who have done less in their lives than you had at twenty-three.” Jaskier looked over at him again, with a distinct expression of surprise and awe that Geralt was beginning to recognize as his reaction to Geralt giving him a compliment. He pushed on, turning his own gaze back to the tack in his hands. “I just mean, you don’t seem young, or inexperienced—at least not anymore,” he added, unable to resist throwing Jaskier a quick smirk.

“So Yennefer just calls me a toddler for her own enjoyment,” Jaskier said, squinting at him.

“Well, yes,” Geralt snorted. “But, it’s—you’ll understand. After. It’s not that you all seem young, necessarily, it’s just that you all seem sort of… I don’t know.” He shrugged. It was difficult to articulate the strange sense of fragility and youth that he associated with all humans, no matter their age.

“Temporary?” Jaskier offered, and Geralt grunted an affirmation. Of course Jaskier would be able to identify the feeling without ever experiencing it himself. Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement, and was quiet for a few moments, as if mulling that over. His fingers played over his lute strings, picking out a melancholy tune. After a while, he said, “It sounds a bit lonely. Knowing that almost everyone you meet will die a hundred years before you do. That they’ll never understand the way you view the world.” His eyebrows were knotted together as he contemplated the night sky.

Geralt bit his lip. “It… can be. Even amongst ourselves, we never know who’ll make it back after a year on the Path.”

Jaskier’s foot tapped the empty air where it hung over his knee. “Everyone I know, went to school with, taught with in Oxenfurt. They’ll all be gone before I will, if this works.”

Geralt felt dread unfurl within him, but this wasn’t something that he could deny Jaskier. This was the reality of Geralt’s offer, of what he was asking Jaskier to do. “Yes,” he said. But you’ll have me, he didn’t say, even though it burned at the tip of his tongue. You’ll have my brothers, and Ciri, and even Yennefer, and you’ll have me, always. That’s the point.

Jaskier looked over at him, eyes bright. He looked like he could hear Geralt’s thoughts, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. And then he grinned brightly and said, “I’ll outlast Valdo Marx by a century.”

Geralt couldn’t help the startled bark of laughter that left his throat. Jaskier launched into an excited diatribe against Valdo Marx, something about destroying his legacy after death, and Geralt allowed the babble to wash over him as he went back to fixing Roach’s tack.

After a while the conversation turned to other things, and they spent the rest of the evening in relative quiet. Eventually it was time to bed down for the night, and they banked the fire and crawled into their respective bedrolls. Just as Geralt was on the edge of sleep, Jaskier’s voice slipped through the quiet darkness around them.

“I don’t think I’m going to be.”

Geralt shook himself, turning to squint at Jaskier’s grey form, two aching feet away from him. His entire body itched to roll closer, but he focused instead on Jaskier’s words. “Hmm? You won’t be what?”

Jaskier let out a deep breath into the night air, soft like a secret. “Lonely.”

Posada was much the same.

Geralt didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been back. He knew he had been here post-Filavandrel incident, and he suspected Jaskier had as well, but they’d not returned together to the little valley at the edge of the world since the beginning. It had to have been at least ten years since he’d last been here on his own, but the small town was relatively familiar looking still. It had grown a bit since the war, likely as refugees from the south settled in the area, and there were new houses clustered around the outskirts. Still, the bones of it remained unchanged, and the inn was right where they’d left it.

They said nothing as they made their way into the town and headed in that direction. There was, so far as Geralt knew, no other place to find rooms for the night, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Stepping inside the small downstairs tavern should have been just like stepping into any other of the thousands like it that he’d been in, but it wasn’t. Things had been rearranged, of course; the furniture had been shuffled, and now a long table sat on the far side of the room before the fire. The small, cleared out space that Jaskier had stood in to sing was gone, filled with a cluster of tables and chairs. But the lone table in the back corner was, somehow, unmoved.

Geralt turned to Jaskier and found him staring at the spot as if entranced. He brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s forearm, and the bard blinked at him, startled back into the moment. “We should get a room,” Geralt said by way of explanation, and Jaskier nodded.

The man who arranged for their stay was not the one who had done so the first time, or the time after that, but his features were similar, so perhaps this was a son. He was amiable enough, and though Jaskier didn’t make any commitment to playing he offered them a fair rate.

Jaskier did end up playing, after they’d sat and eaten a quiet meal, avoiding the table in the corner in silent agreement. His fingers had worried at the edge of his lute case for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, and then something determined had steeled over his face and he’d stood.

There was a decent crowd this time around, bigger than the last time—the first time—that Jaskier had played here. Geralt remembered the stumbling notes, the ridiculous stories that spilled from the bard’s lips, unrefined. The way that the patrons of the bar had heckled him until he dipped sheepishly off the stage. He could understand why Jaskier might be nervous about playing here; even if no one remembered him, this had obviously been one of Jaskier’s first real performances for an honest audience.

It was like night and day. Jaskier had the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand in moments, as he always did, and his voice was clear and strong. Geralt recognized most of the songs, and almost all of them were about him, though he didn’t think any of the patrons put two and two together. Whereas Jaskier normally poked and prodded at Geralt throughout a performance to let everyone know that his muse was present, tonight he was subdued, letting Geralt watch quietly from a side table without dragging him into the proceedings. He might have thought that Jaskier had forgotten his presence entirely, if not for the occasional glance he caught Jaskier throwing his way, stealing his breath each time.

When he was finally done with his set and bowed his way out to the cheers of the audience, he made his way back to Geralt with his lute tucked under his arm. Jaskier leaned against the table in the space next to him, their knees just barely touching where Geralt’s was thrust out away from the chair. Jaskier looked down at him with almost a sheepish expression, giving him a quirked smile. “So. Three words or less?”

There were so many things he could say to that. So many things he wanted to say. You’re so beautiful, he thought, his eyes catching on the way Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around the neck of the lute, how his eyes shone in the low light of the inn. I loved it. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Instead, he said, a bit hoarsely, “Definitely more accurate.”

Jaskier laughed, some of that tension he’d been carrying for weeks breaking, and Geralt felt sweet relief at the sound. “Well I’d certainly hope so, after nearly thirty years of tailing you. At the very least I know my drowners from my nekkers.”

“At least there’s that,” Geralt chuckled, passing Jaskier a tankard of ale as he sat. “Glad to see you got something out of it.”

Jaskier took a sip of his drink, leaning his cheek on his fist. His eyes were bright when he looked at Geralt, and his expression was one Geralt recognized—he was bothered about something, but trying to keep his demeanor jovial. On anyone else, Geralt expected it would be an immaculate deception, but Geralt knew him. He wasn’t fooled by Jaskier’s court masks.

“Was it worth it?” Jaskier asked, taking another sip of his ale. His eyes left Geralt’s, flitting around the room.

Geralt frowned at him. “Was what worth it?”

Jaskier looked back at him, expression unreadable. “Letting an ambitious and no doubt obnoxious bard leave this tavern with you all those years ago.”

Geralt couldn’t help it; before he could think to stop himself, he had reached out to set his hand over Jaskier’s where it still held the handle of his cup. Jaskier jerked a bit at the touch, a drop of ale sliding down over their layered hands. “Of course it was,” Geralt said vehemently, not bothering to keep the earnestness out of his tone. Jaskier had to know. Even if he already suspected that something was afoot, even if this was some sort of test, Geralt couldn’t risk letting Jaskier think that he regretted a single moment of it. “You’re… Jask, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Geralt could hear the sharp intake of breath at that, could see the way Jaskier looked down at their overlapped fingers and blinked rapidly. A small smile stole across his face, though there was a twist to it that seemed almost sad. “I’m glad, Geralt. Truly.”

Geralt wanted to ask, And for you? Was it worth it? But the tavern goers were quickly heading out now that Jaskier’s set was finished, and it was obvious that they would soon be the last ones remaining. And he found himself afraid, as he so often was nowadays, of the possibility that Jaskier would say no, that he should have spent the last thirty years playing in noble houses and courting beautiful women, rather than trekking endlessly after a surly witcher. He knew that it would make sense for Jaskier to have regrets, but he found that he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear them spoken aloud.

So instead he transferred his touch to Jaskier’s wrist, giving it a light tug. “We should head up,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. They pulled apart, and Jaskier finished his drink, and collected his lute. As they both turned to walk up the stairs, Geralt found his eyes catching once again on the little table in the corner. It had sat empty the entire night, as if waiting for something—or someone—to fill its seats once again.

Almost done folks! Just two more parts, and tomorrow’s includes the last piece of art for this story!

tags: @whereismymonsterlover

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher #big bang #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #me lamh #geraskierbigbang #multichapter

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subjecta5newtella · 3 years

Note

you know that trope where person a is having a really hard time and person b spends time with them to calm them down at night and they are about to leave so person a can get some sleep but person a grabs their hand and asks them to stay. you know that trope. but it’s nalby in the glade

this was supposed to be like. 200 words. the all-consuming love for pre-thomas glade dynamics hit me and now it's 2.3k. god help me.

Alby tries to tell himself it’s just habit that brings him to the Map Room at the same time every day, not some kind of ritual or anything. Surely it’s normal to hate a break in routine, to feel just a little off-balance when something requires his attention and he doesn’t arrive in time to walk to dinner with the Runners.

All the Runners. Definitely not one particular Runner. The second-in-command shouldn’t be playing favorites.

He’s been late the last couple days, tasked with shuttling the new Greenie around when Nick needs to attend to other things, but the kid has attached himself to a group of the Builders to the point where Alby feels like he can leave him for a while (and thank god for that, honestly, because he’s one of the ones that talks all the time when he’s nervous).

He watches the Runners file out of the Map Room one by one, but Minho comes out last and locks the door and there’s still one missing.

“Where’s—“ Alby starts, but Minho cuts him off before he can even get the question out.

“Finished his map early and headed off. He’s been weird all day.”

“Why?”

Minho shrugs. “Fuck if I know, dude. You know how hard it is to get answers out of that guy when he doesn't want to talk? Might work for you, though.”

There are a hell of a lot of implications there, a lot of observations he’s made that Alby hadn’t noticed him making, but Minho isn’t in charge of the Runners for no reason. Talking to him is easier once you remember that, as much as he sometimes makes it hard.

“I’ll try,” Alby says, and sets off to find Newt.

Newt’s not in the first place he looks, which is probably good because that particular spot behind the Homestead is where Alby had found the wreckage of him one time in the early days, a time bad enough that they just don’t speak of it. He’s not in the gardens either, and as Alby treks back across the Glade to head towards the trees, he curses Newt’s tendency to vanish when he’s upset. It could be worse; he’s not picking fights or breaking shit or any of the other, more destructive coping mechanisms Alby’s seen from some of the Gladers, but since the anxiety doesn’t go away until he finds Newt, he wishes Newt was a little less opposed to being found.

Alby finally finds him just past the area where most of the Gladers sleep, half in the woods but not quite. He’s brought his sleeping bag with him as well, as though he expects to stay there until morning, as though he thinks his wouldn’t be one of the most visible absences possible for the rest of the evening. He’s staring up at the trees, flat on his back and face still a little red, and when Alby comes to sit next to him he turns his head and pushes himself up into a sitting position, but doesn’t say anything.

Newt’s an odd creature sometimes. Alby knows him better than anyone else, but there are still times when he’s not sure if the best thing to do is get him to talk or leave him alone. Maybe this time the right thing to do is not to talk, but with every second the quiet feels more and more like a weight pressing down, and Alby breaks.

“What’s going on?”

Newt won’t look at him for a moment, just at his own hands, but then he seems to come to some kind of decision and makes eye contact. “I don’t think there’s a way out of here,” he says, and then everything spills out of him like bile or blood. “I think Minho thinks the same thing, he just doesn’t want to admit it. And that feels bad all the time but it feels worse when there’s a new Greenie, because it’s bad enough that there’s another kid stuck here with us, but then we’re supposed to give them hope. They find out about the Runners and they get told we’re looking for a way out, and they start to think it’s actually possible.”

And that…. well. Alby doesn’t begin to know what to say to that. “Are you sure it’s not?”

“I mean, no, I can’t say with absolute certainty or anything, but... it just repeats. I think we’ve found everything we’re gonna find.”

Alby doesn’t really do optimism—he’s not as much of a pessimist as Newt is sometimes, more of a realist if anything—but he can’t let that linger, can’t even look directly at it for too long.

“So you don’t know for sure. Which means it might all be fine, and maybe tomorrow one of you will figure out something new, and we’ll all get out of here.”

“It’s not that bloody simple,” Newt snaps, and Alby bites back a retort, because he’s fucking trying, okay?

Instead he just says, “I know. Just... trying to help.”

Newt sighs. “Yeah, sorry. That wasn’t fair. Been a bad day, that’s all. Bad couple days.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t the one who put us here. Unless I’m missing something, in which case you might want to admit to it now while I’m too tired to kill you.” And sure, it’s almost all a joke, but Alby can’t help but feel like it’s a little bit true. For all that Newt is kind, for as much as he cares about every single person in the Glade, or maybe because of all those things, he has a hatred for the Creators like nothing else Alby’s ever seen from him.

Still, he’s pretty sure he’s safe from that kind of threat, or at least as safe as someone with no recollection of their past can be, so he says, “Not as far as I know.”

Newt’s quiet for a minute, and then he says, “What if it was one of us?”

“Why would we put ourselves here if it was?”

Newt shrugs. “I guess.”

He falls silent after that, and this time Alby lets him stay that way, at least for a while. Eventually, though, he checks his watch and realizes they can’t wait any longer if they want to eat, and starving isn’t exactly going to do Newt’s mood any good.

“Alright, you need to eat before dinner’s over. And shower, and then you can continue staring at nothing if you really want.”

“That genius for planning is why you’re second-in-command, huh?” Newt says with an asymmetrical smile, and Alby says, “Sure,” because sometimes Nick’s justifications for it don’t make a lot of sense to him either.

He gets to his feet and turns to pull Newt up with him, and they head for dinner. Frypan gives them a look for being late, and Minho spares a glance, eyes flicking from Newt to Alby before he nods just a little, but no one says anything about the way they arrive after everyone and as a matched set. They’ve all just got enough of their own problems, maybe. A lot of eyes still on the Greenie, too.

After dinner and showers and Alby spending the whole walk back fighting the urge to tuck the chunk of hair that’s fallen out of Newt’s mess of a bun back into place, they end up in the same spot, mostly hidden from where the rest of the Gladers are setting up for the night.

This time, Alby chooses the second option. He waits to see if Newt will talk, and when he doesn’t, he leaves the silence alone. It’s not a comfortable emptiness, not when everything Newt had said earlier still lingers, but pushing any further seems like it might hurt more than mend.

That’s one possible answer, at least. Another is that he’s scared to lean too hard on whatever it is between them for fear that it might break. A third is that he’s afraid of all the things that Newt might say. So he waits, and he hopes that his presence is any kind of reassurance.

Eventually, though, night starts to set in and he can’t justify keeping Newt awake any longer. He goes to stand up, but Newt’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist and good god, Alby sometimes forgets how fast he can move.

“Don’t leave.” Newt says, and Alby shakes his head.

“You should get some rest. Don’t want you running the Maze tired tomorrow.”

Newt says, “You being here doesn’t prevent me from resting,” which is true, sure, but not something Alby had been ready to assume. You don’t set up for the night in the middle of the woods if you want company, at least not in his own experience of things, but if Newt wants him to stay, what other choice can he make?

“Can I at least go get my own sleeping bag?”

Newt’s fingers uncurl in response, and Alby gently tugs his wrist away, going to collect his things. On the way back he runs into Nick, making the rounds before bed, which is a thing Alby usually accompanies him on except that he’s been a little distracted.

Nick’s gaze drops to the sleeping bag and pillow in Alby’s arms, and Alby mentally curses the sense of order that had led him to sleep in the same place since the beginning, meaning that now any kind of rearrangement looks unusual.

“Is everything okay?” Nick asks, brow furrowed.

Alby doesn’t lie to Nick. He doesn’t lie in general, really, but especially not to Nick because the Glade doesn’t function if communication between them breaks down. But this... he’s not ready to tell Nick what Newt suspects. It’s still only a suspicion, one that could easily be proved wrong, and he’s not ready to damage morale that badly without proof.

So he lies, or at least omits part of the truth. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Newt’s just in a mood, and I’m keeping an eye on him to make sure he’s not gonna be out of it in the Maze tomorrow.” There’s no point in trying to say it like he’d do this for any other Runner, not with the way he and Newt have been bound since the early days by something still unvoiced, but he can still pretend at least a little.

Nick knows there’s no truth to that last part at least, but Alby knows how much time he spends picking his battles, so he’s not surprised when Nick just nods. “Sounds good. Don’t want him getting injured.”

“Yeah. Sorry for ditching nighttime rounds.”

“It’s fine. You might have to take the Greenie tomorrow if the supply meeting goes over, so we’ll call it even.”

It’s an empty threat, given that Alby’s most useful skills as a leader lie in allotment and record-keeping, but he takes the way out Nick’s offering him. “Fine.”

Nick nods. “Alright, go ahead. Deal with whatever you’re dealing with.”

“Thanks,” Alby says, and heads back to the space in the trees.

Newt looks up when he approaches, propping himself up on his elbows. He mostly just looks tired now, which is an improvement at least, even if it doesn’t do wonders for Alby’s confidence in sending him out into the Maze in the morning. “Forgot you’re supposed to have a job to do. Wouldn’t have stolen you from Nick if I remembered.”

Alby spreads out his sleeping bag, laying down on top of it. It’s too warm in the Glade to sleep inside it, which kind of feels like an oversight on someone’s part. “I ran into him on the way back, it’s fine. He’s threatening to make me take over with the Greenie if the meeting tomorrow runs long, but it’s probably an empty threat. Hopefully.”

Newt worms his way close enough to bump Alby with a shoulder. “Be nice to the new kid, Albert.”

“I’m trying, he just talks so much.”

“Can’t be worse than Kuo.”

Alby snorts. “You haven’t met him.”

“I met him the first full day he was here!”

“For three minutes! And it’s not like he even asks a ton of questions, I can either answer those or deflect fine, but he’ll just say things and I have no idea how I’m supposed to react to them.”

“I’m sure he’s just scared.”

“Yeah, I know. I think he’s gonna get absorbed into the Builders soon enough anyway, he’s already halfway there.”

“That helps.”

“Yeah. I keep hoping that Nick will get that I’m shit at this, but I guess sometimes there aren’t other options.”

Newt shrugs. “You’re good at plenty of other things, and you haven’t killed a Greenie yet.”

“I don’t think I like ‘yet’ in that sentence.”

“I’m confident in your ability to not kill a Greenie. Better?”

“Yeah, sure.” Alby readjusts his pillow, doing his best not to acknowledge the root under his head because proximity takes priority over comfort right now. “Sorry. Didn’t come back just to complain.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Took my mind off everything a little.”

“Are you gonna be okay tomorrow?” Alby asks, knowing as he does that it’s probably only going to make Newt mad, but he can’t just not ask.

Sure enough, there’s a bite to it when Newt says, “I’ll be fine,” that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Don’t get pissed off at me for caring about you. It’s just dangerous out there, and—“

“Yeah, I have figured that out, actually. I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t, don’t start acting like I did.”

“No, you just—“ Newt stops himself and sighs, looking away. “I’m sorry. I’m… yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Alby reaches out and interweaves his fingers with Newt’s, half-expecting him to pull away and ready to let go if he does. He doesn’t.

When he wakes before dawn with Newt’s face pressed into his shoulder, Alby thinks he could almost be happy staying in the Glade like this, but only almost. One of them has to believe they’ll get out of here, and if that means he has to play at optimism for a while, it’s one more role he’ll do his best to handle.

#tmr newt #tmr alby #nalby #tmr fic #gluednewts #society if I worked on anything I was supposed to be working on but ALSO..... Them.

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fruitcoops · 4 years

Note

Idea for jules staying with coops... Jules gets a bad dream and crawls into bed with them? Only if you want to ofc! I love e everything you write, that k you for sharing it with us! -🌼

Part three! Find Part 1 here and Part 2 here. Sweater Weather/ Jules credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for nightmares (plane crashes and cracking ice)

Lily Potter was a goddess. That belief was only solidified when she called Remus the morning of the game and offered to take care of Jules for the day while they went through their regular pre-game rituals. Jules, of course, was only too happy to go—he adored Harry and was still in the stage where babies were just gross enough to be cool.

And yet it was strange having the house to themselves. Remus kept checking over his shoulder for Jules, and Sirius called him down for lunch twice before remembering that he wasn’t there. Hattie got plenty of extra attention in his absence.

They arrived at the rink two hours before game time; there was minimal delay getting out of the house without wrangling a ten-year-old, but to be honest, Remus kind of missed it. Fans were already flooding into the stadium when they arrived and he scanned the crowds for red hair or a pompom-topped beanie, even though Jules was much too small to be easily seen in the rush.

Shake it off, Loops, you’ve got a game to win.

The locker room hummed with energy as everyone taped up and buckled in. Sirius gave his usual fearless-leader speech, Frank’s voice boomed outside, and then they were on the ice.

“Heads up, Loops!” James called, passing him the puck for a quick tap-around. Remus rolled his shoulders out and took a deep breath—he knew he had to trust Lily and the girls to keep an eye on Jules. It’s just a couple hours. Get in the zone.

It was a fast game. The Ravens may not have been the biggest team, but they were lightning on their blades and had a knack for hard hits when the opposition least expected it. Remus got checked twice in the first five minutes alone; that snapped him out of his worried haze quick enough, and he dug his skates in. Time to win.

“Twelve!” he shouted over the roar of the stadiums, slamming the puck toward Sirius and hip-checking number 18 into the boards as he flew past. Sirius caught it—of course he did, Remus thought with a small smile—and looped around for a beautiful goal. “Hell yeah!”

The fans erupted in cheers and he caught a glimpse of Jules’ face near the glass on the opposite side, sandwiched tightly between Lily and Regulus. The last latent tension melted away and he let out a slow breath, skating over celebrate Sirius’ goal.

“I found Jules!” Sirius said, tilting his head toward the glass when he arrived. “He’s okay!”

“I know, I saw!” Remus knocked their helmets together before returning to his position.

The Lions were on fire after that, steady and inevitable against the quick movements of the Ravens. When those blue jerseys tried to slip between the defense, the line tightened and netted them like fish; when they tried to get between the Lions offense, James and Remus circled back around and laid in wait for a pass.

The final buzzer went off and the stadium roared: Lions win, 3-1. Jules was jumping up and down and yelling himself hoarse as the teams shook hands and went back to their locker rooms to clean up for the media.

When all interrogations were vaguely answered and Remus’ hair was dry enough not to freeze in the nighttime air, he and Sirius walked back into the lobby to collect their kid. Jules waved when he saw them from his perch on Regulus’ shoulders—Sirius made a soft noise at the sight and gave Remus’ hand a squeeze.

“Hey, buddy, how was the game?” Remus asked, reaching up for a fist bump when they wandered over.

“It was awesome!” Jules practically shouted. “I got a Twix!”

“Did you?”

“We split one,” Regulus clarified, glancing up at Jules with unbridled fondness. “More of a seventy-thirty situation, to be honest.”

“Got it,” Remus laughed. “Lils, how’s the baby?”

“He napped, shockingly enough.” She turned so they could see Harry’s smushy baby face blinking back at them from his chest wrap. “I don’t think the Ravens worried him that much.”

“There they are!” James appeared in the crowd and swept Lily in for a kiss, then bent to place a million on Harry’s head until he shrieked with giggles. “Hey, sunshine!”

“Here, my shoulders need a break.” Lily carefully unwound the wrap and helped James slip into it; immediately, Harry reached for his glasses, babbling happily.

“Are you ready to head home, buddy?” Sirius asked Jules, who was watching Harry with wide eyes.

He paused, looked down at Regulus, then nodded. “I guess so. Bye, Regulus.”

“See you later, kiddo.” Regulus bent down to let him off his shoulders, then startled a bit as Jules turned around and hugged him tight around the waist. “I’ll stop by before you leave, d’accord?”

“Thanks for letting me sit with you,” he said, voice muffled by the red sweatshirt.

“Thanks for sharing your Twix.” The edges of Regulus’ eyes crinkled and Remus leaned closer to Sirius’ side, running a thumb over the back of his hand. “Alright, I think our pain-in-the-patootie brothers want to get out of here.”

Jules looked up at him and frowned. “You can say ‘ass’ around me, you know.”

“Jules!” Lily, James, Sirius, and Remus exclaimed at the same time as Regulus burst out laughing.

“What? It’s true!”

“Come on, gremlin,” Remus said, grabbing his hands and letting him stand on his feet as they walked out. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Make dinner?”

Remus laughed, even as the cold air made them all shiver. “I think I can manage that, sure.”

“Lily made pasta for lunch and it was so good.”

“Yeah?” Sirius shared an amused look with him. “I’m glad you had fun.”

“We did a puzzle, and I got to play with the baby, and then we made some cookies—” He closed his mouth abruptly. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“…can I swear?”

Sirius snorted. “Sure.”

“She said the two of you would throw a bitch fit if you found out she made cookies and didn’t let you have any.” He grinned upward as Remus scoffed in disbelief. “Then she apologized for swearing and gave me three.”

“I say we make some brownies with caramel, send her a picture, and then refuse to give her any,” Remus suggested as they reached the car. “Those are her favorite. We’ll see who throws a bitch fit then.”

Sirius made a face and closed the trunk. “I mean, she is taking care of a baby and is married to James Potter. I think she’s entitled to a bit of a bitch fit now and then.”

“Fair point. Buckle your seatbelt, Jules.”

“I always do!”

“Just checking.”

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

Jules was asleep by nine, just as Remus expected. It had been a busy day for him—going to the game would have been enough to knock him out pretty well, but combined with a full day of activity it was a miracle he lasted that long. He took a picture of the sleeping kid and sent it to Lily with a quick ‘thank you’ and the promise of caramel brownies. She really did deserve some.

“D’you want to go to bed?” Sirius asked as he settled down on the couch next to Remus while he read.

Remus yawned and checked the clock; it was barely ten pm. “Yeah, sure.”

They stumbled up the stairs, both dead on their feet and sore as hell, then tugged on pajamas and slid under the covers for a good, solid cuddle. Remus pressed his back into Sirius’ warmth, feeling the heavy tide of sleep roll closer. “Love you,” he whispered in the darkness.

Sirius smiled against the back on his neck and wrapped an arm around his ribs, pulling him even closer with a kiss to the shell of his ear. “Love you, too, mon loup.”

Remus dreamed of ice. A frozen pond, to be specific, where Jules flew past him on his skates and Sirius followed, both laughing so hard they gasped with it. Sirius caught his hand as he passed, pulling him along as the three of them—no, five, his parents were there as well—looped in wide circles.

A bolt of fear shot through him when he heard the telltale sound of cracking ice and he reached for Jules’ coat collar; the soft fleece of the inside brushed his fingertips, but he was too far away to pull him to safety. Jules was going to fall. Didn’t he hear it? Didn’t he understand?

“Re?” A soft, terrified voice broke through his dream and his eyes flew open. The room was dark, save for a bit of light from the hallway. Sirius was still against his back, breathing steadily as he slept. And Jules was standing about a foot away from the edge of the bed with tearstains on his face.

“Jules?” He scrubbed a hand over his cheek and sat up. “What’s going on?”

“I had a nightmare.” His lower lip trembled as he stared at Remus, clearly shaken.

“Oh. M’kay.” Next to him, Sirius inhaled deeply and shifted, reaching for him; Remus brushed his dark hair off his face and shushed him softly. “Go back to sleep, love.”

“I didn’t mean to wake Sirius up.” Jules sniffled and blinked a couple times.

“Don’t worry, buddy, it’s fine. Do you want me to tuck you back in?” Jules shook his head as tears spilled over and Remus swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, pulling him close for a hug. “Hey, shh, you’re alright. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

“It was awful,” Jules sobbed, clinging to Remus’ shoulders as he buried his face in his chest.

“What was?”

“My nightmare.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Jules shook his head; Remus kissed his forehead and kept his lips there, closing his eyes. “Oh, buddy.”

“ ‘s everything okay?” Sirius mumbled as he sat up. He frowned in the dim light before he saw the two of them and concern covered his face. “What happened?”

“Jules had a nightmare,” Remus explained quietly. Jules pulled away and wiped furiously at his face with his sleeve.

“I’m fine.” His voice broke on the last word, though, and he stared down at the floor.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Sirius said gently, scooting over to see him better. “Nightmares are really scary.”

Jules’ breath caught. “I dunno if I can go back to sleep.”

“We can stay up for a bit.”

Remus tipped Jules’ chin up and wiped a stray tear away. “Do you want to make hot cocoa?”

A sniffle. “Yeah.”

“Alright, come on.”

Sirius stood up as well, which seemed to surprise Jules if his lingering look was any indication. He plastered himself to Remus’ side as they walked into the kitchen, then climbed up to sit on the countertop as Remus began collecting ingredients. Sirius dampened a paper towel with warm water and tapped his nose with it to make him smile before handing it over so he could wipe his face.

They worked in silence for a few minutes until the milk steamed and Sirius took three mugs down from the cupboard. Remus leaned on the counter and made sure Jules had taken a few sips of cocoa before he spoke. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jules shook his head, then paused. “The plane crashed.”

“Which plane?”

“Mom and Dad’s.” Tears welled up in his eyes again and Remus reached over to rub his back. “They couldn’t get out.”

He heard Sirius sigh and gathered Jules up in his arms, giving him a little squeeze. “That sounds really scary, buddy.”

“It felt so real.”

“I promise it wasn’t.”

“How do you know?” The hint of a sob hitched in his voice and Remus let go of him for a second to grab his phone off the counter.

“Here.” He unlocked it and tapped the text app, holding it out. “See? I talked to mom this morning when she wished us good luck for the game. They landed safely and have the memorial tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Jules reached out and touched the screen, snuggling against Remus as he nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah. Sorry I woke you up.”

“I’m glad you did,” Sirius said over his mug of cocoa. “It’s hard to deal with that alone.”

“Do you want to try to sleep, or should we stay up a little longer?” When Jules stayed silent, Remus wracked his memory for whatever he could remember about dealing with nightmares when they were kids. “We could put the Princess Bride on?”

Jules nodded and slid off the counter, cupping his mug tightly between his hands as the three of them padded into the living room. Hattie jumped on the couch and curled up on top of Jules’ feet with a low, contented rumble. Sirius set up the movie as Remus tucked a blanket around their legs, then joined them on the sofa as the opening credits began.

Fifteen minutes later, Jules was stretched across Remus’ lap with his head on Sirius’ thigh, snoring under his breath. Remus put his arms beneath his knees and shoulders and stood, walking slowly toward the stairs as Sirius turned the movie off and put their cups in the sink. He tucked Jules back in, placed a kiss on his forehead, and left the nightlight on just in case before going back to their bedroom. I was easy to fall asleep after that.

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

“Hello? Can you see us?” Remus set the phone up against the toaster.

His mother’s face broke into a wide smile. “There you are! Hi, boys!”

“Hi, mom!” Jules beamed at her, nearly bouncing right out of his chair.

“Where’s Sirius? I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Oh, I’m here.” He stepped into frame, waving shyly as he set the duster down. “Hello.”

“There you are, honey! I was afraid they’d chased you off already,” she teased, making all of them laugh. “How have you been? Has anything exciting happened? We miss you so much.”

“Things have been good,” Remus said, propping the phone up with a spare fork as it began to slide down. “We’ve had so much fun, right, buddy?”

“Yeah! I get to go to practice, and see the games, and we watched Jurassic Park—”

“Of course you did,” his father said with a playful eye roll.

“—and we’re hanging out with Leo and Logan and Finn this afternoon to play board games since practice is in the evening!”

Remus shared a look with Sirius, both of them stifling their laughter at his overwhelming enthusiasm for their weekly routine. “We’ve definitely been busy.”

“We’re so glad you’re having fun.” Lyall smiled. “Grandma Lillian sends her love. We all watched the game yesterday—great job, both of you!”

“Thanks, Dad,” Remus laughed. “Yeah, the season’s looking good.”

“Well, we don’t want to keep you too long,” Hope said. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you and we just wanted to check in. Re, keep sending us updates, and Jules, behave. Sirius, we’ll keep you in our thoughts and prayers.”

“I appreciate it,” Sirius said with a grin.

“Love you!” Lyall added as they waved goodbye.

“Love you, too!” Jules and Remus chorused. The screen went dark a few moments later.

163 notes · View notes

tchallasbabymama · 4 years

Text

Slow Down

Happy Valentine’s Day, lovelies! Here’s Chapter 10 of Playlist, I hope y’all enjoy it. It’s a long one.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my stories, and take a look at my masterlist HERE to check out the rest of my work.

Word count: ~12,800

CW: smut

T’Challa snuck away from the palace and made his way through the city completely unnoticed under the cover of darkness. He turned his hoverbike off the busy street and made his way to the end of the cul de sac before hopping off and knocking on the door. Chidi answered and let the king in, looking behind him to make sure nobody noticed him.

“T’Challa, what is this about?” Bisa came around the corner as her husband smiled back at her.

“He has something important to ask us, dear.” he winked and she perked up, immediately catching his drift.

“Come, sit down. Would you like some tea? I’ll make tea,” she said as she scrambled off to the kitchen.

T’Challa sat and fiddled with his fingers until Bisa came back with the red tea and sat down. Chidi was tickled by the king’s anxiety since he already knew what was coming.

The king cleared his throat, “Chidi, Bisa...As you know, I love Ashanti very much-”

Bisa unsuccessfully tried to hold in a squeal, and T’Challa couldn’t help but crack a smile. He knew they knew what he had to say, but it still had to be said.

“-and it would be my honor if you would give me your blessing to marry-”

“Yes!” Bisa jumped up and hugged him.

“He wasn’t finished, Bisa,” Chidi chuckled at his wife.

“Oh he got the main point out,” she waved him off and pulled T’Challa in for another hug.

“Well, my wife speaks for both of us, son,” he pulled him in for a hug as well.

The three of them sat down for tea and T’Challa answered all of their questions about royal weddings.

“We’ll have a private ceremony first, just between us and Bast and the Ancestors. The second day will be the public wedding, and the third will be her coronation.”

“And what part do we play in all this?”

“You two have an integral role in each day. You two will lead the pre-wedding rituals the day of the private ceremony, and during the public ceremony our parents must bless the union by giving us away. N’Jadaka will be standing in for my father that day, but as an elder you have to be the one to bless me during the ritual, Chidi. Finally, during Ashanti’s coronation you two will be the ones to crown her.”

“Wow...I-I don’t know if I can be in front of all those people,” Chidi wondered aloud.

“I promise, it's not as scary as you think it is, and if it is a serious problem, Shuri can always give you some Vibax to calm you down.”

“Anything for my baby girl,” Chidi let out a huff as Bisa grabbed his hand.

“So how will you ask her?”

A huge smile appeared on T’Challa’s face.

“Well, as the king, it is customary for me to present my intended with a crown of my own design, and I figured that since she loves American movies so much I should also get her a ring.”

“Why a ring?”

“It is an American thing, the women are presented with a diamond ring for their marriage proposals.”

“Ah. I think she would like that”

“Have you started designing her crown yet?”

He beamed from ear to ear and pulled the projection up on his beads. Their jaws dropped as tears came to Bisa’s eyes.

“My baby...a queen.”

--------

A week later, Ashanti was at Taj’s feeling overwhelmed with all her work. She had been having trouble focusing all week and got next to nothing accomplished so she decided to take a nap and hope the inspiration could come to her. She packed up her things and headed out to the front of the store. It was moderately busy, but she knew her two employees could handle just about anything. In fact, she was thinking about letting them run the store completely so she could focus full-time on her jewelry. She would discuss it with them another time.

“Hey Z, I’m heading out.”

“You ok? You look tired.”

“I just need a nap. If you two need anything-”

“You’re just a call away, we know. Go on and get some rest,” Jafari called to her from where he was fixing the paint brush display.

She decided to stop by Zana Cafe before she went home since she knew she wouldn’t feel like cooking later. As soon as she plopped down in the booth her dad descended.

“What’s up nugget?”

“Just tired and bloated and bleh.”

“That time, huh?”

“Yeah I guess so, I’m a little early though.”

“Better than late!” Chidi joked and they laughed until Ashanti got a whiff of something from the kitchen and gagged before running off to the bathroom. Bisa saw her daughter dash by as she came out of the kitchen.

“Is she ok?” she asked, concern written all over her face.

“Maybe she’s sick…”

Bisa went in to check on her babygirl and she was there on the floor, heaving up everything she had eaten that day. She put the back of her hand to her clammy forehead to feel for a fever, but felt nothing.

“I think my period is coming early,” Ashanti was able to get out despite the soreness of her throat.

“I thought the birth control took care of your nausea, though,” Bisa mused while tying her daughter’s hair back.

Ashanti’s eyes flew open.

“Fuck! No, no, no, no-” she jumped up, still lightheaded, and paced around the bathroom.

“What’s wrong?” Bisa slowly made her way up from the floor, concerned even more. Chidi knocked on the door after hearing the commotion and came in to check on his baby girl.

“Is everything ok in here?”

“N-no, I...I...I was so swamped with work I got my shot a week late.”

“Your shot? What sh-...Oh my Bast.” the realization dawned on Chidi right as the door chimed to signal a new customer. “I’ll be back,” he pointed to Ashanti then turned around to greet the customer and take their order.

When he left Ashanti broke down crying in her mother’s arms.

“What’s wrong sithandwa?”

“Mama, what if I’m pregnant?”

“Then you’re pregnant.” Bisa shrugged.

“But I-I’m not ready, T’Challa and I-” she gasped, a realization dawning on her, “T’Challa can’t have a child out of wedlock, he’s already pushing it too far by being with me in the first place. This, this could-”

Bisa shushed her and held her close, wishing she could ease her daughter’s mind with the secret she had to hold onto.

“It’ll be ok baby, I promise. Besides, you don’t know for sure yet.”

Bisa knew for sure, her daughter was pregnant.

“I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow, I think I need to lay down for now.”

Ashanti leaned into her mom and took a deep breath.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” Bisa ushered her daughter out of the restaurant and into her car. She got them back to Ashanti’s house in no time flat and when Ashanti turned to look at her mother before getting out there were tears in her eyes.

“Sithandwa, it will be ok, I promise.” She kissed her forehead and Ashanti slid out of the car. She turned to wave her mother off after she opened her door. When she turned and entered she could have thrown up again from the smell.

“What is that?!” she wretched as she walked towards the kitchen.

“What do you mean? The food? It’s your favorite!” Binta looked up from stirring her oxtails.

“It smells like bloody dirty socks.”

“Ew, what the fuck?”

“I just-” she gagged again and ran out of the room. She was fine once she got upstairs away from the smell, but she lit a scented candle Kwame had given her, just to be sure. She stripped down to her underwear and laid across her bed, arms resting on her lower abdomen. Tears started running down to her ears as she let the emotions wash over her.

She didn’t need a test, she knew. Ashanti’s anxieties took over as she worried over the council’s reaction but most importantly she worried about his reaction. They had wanted more time to themselves and didn’t plan on having kids for a couple more years at least, yet here she was, growing his seed.

His seed. T’Challa’s baby. Ashanti giggled through her tears and rubbed her belly, thinking about how good of a baba he’d be. She had always hoped for a girl, but she’d love a little mini T running around just as much. Just as she started to daydream about him talking to her belly, her beads started trilling with her love’s special tone. She sat up and answered the call, allowing the communication bead to slide down her hand.

When he appeared in front of her his face instantly cheered her up.

“Hey baby.”

“What’s wrong?”

She was taken aback by how easily he sensed something was off. It would be harder than she thought to keep this to herself until she knew for sure. She would definitely have to talk to Binta after this.

“I’ll tell you later. Tomorrow hopefully.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, but he let it go knowing she’d tell him when she was ready.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days, I miss you.”

He sighed, “I miss you too. I have been busy and just so exhausted... I think I’m coming down with something-”

She shot up from her position on the bed.

“What are your symptoms?” she asked cautiously.

He was confused by her sudden intensity, but continued nevertheless, “I’ve just been so tired all day, and that hardly ever happens. I’ve been sleeping just fine, so I don’t know what the issue is. And I got nauseous earlier, which makes so sense. I must be sick, but I feel fine otherwise.”

She went quiet.

“Are you ok, love?”

“Y-yeah, I just...I need to tell you something.” tears welled up in her eyes. “Can you come over?”

T’Challa’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, but of course he agreed and was there in 10 minutes.

Binta let him in and his stomach turned at the smell of the oxtails still cooking on the stove before taking the stairs two at a time and knocking on Ashanti’s door. He twisted the doorknob and grew uneasy when he saw her pacing back and forth around her room.

“Kitten, talk to me,” he went over and wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him before kissing her temple. She turned around and he saw the tears in her eyes threatening to fall.

“I haven’t confirmed it yet, but I,” she grabbed his hand and placed it over her womb. “I’m pregnant, T’Challa.”

His head tilted to the side as he felt the slight firmness of her lower abdomen.

“I don’t understand-...how?”

“One: you’ve never pulled out of anything a day in your life, and two: I was a week late getting my shot. I didn’t think it would be an issue since you had yours, but-” she started crying again and he wiped her tears away.

“Don’t cry, kitten. Look at me,” he held her face in his hands and smiled down at her. “You’re really pregnant?”

“Ye- T’Challa!”

He picked her up and swung her around.

“Bast! You- you’re so beautiful,” he gazed at her slightly rounder face. He had noticed she put on a couple pounds, but he assumed it was “happy weight”. He could kick himself for not seeing it sooner.

“I’m going to be a baba?” he asked while peppering her face with kisses.

She couldn’t help but smile at his joy and his tickling kisses, “Yes, Challa.”

“Thank you,” he looked at her with tears in his eyes and pulled her in for a deep kiss. They pulled back and just stared at each other as he rubbed her belly.

“The council-”

“Fuck the council, you’re having my baby!”

“She what?!” they heard from outside the door.

Binta had been walking by on the way to her room and since the door hadn’t closed all the way she overheard his exclamation.

“Binta, I-”

“That explains the oxtail. Girl I thought you had gone crazy, but oh my Bast! You're pregnant?”

“I’m like 99% sure-”

“Oh she’s definitely pregnant,” T’Challa said with a smug smile on his face and Ashanti hit his chest.

“Have you taken a test? How far along do you think you are?”

Ashanti went and grabbed her friend’s hand in hers.

“Don’t be Binta the doula right now, just be Binta my best friend for a moment.”

The two squealed and Binta hugged her friend tight.

“You’re going to be such a good mama,” she said with tears threatening to fall as she turned to hug the king, “and you’re going to be such a good baba.”

“Thanks girl.”

“Thank you, Binta.”

“So, despite what I said a minute ago, I was wondering...would you be my doula?”

“T-they don’t have special royal doulas?”

Ashanti turned and looked at T’Challa questioningly.

“You are the special royal doula. I’m the king, my word is law,” he shrugged as Ashanti’s arms made their way around his neck and she pulled him in for a hug.

“Thank you Challa!”

“Anything for you, kitten.”

“Wow,” Binta looked on, trying to blink the tears away. “Well, I’ll give mama and baba some privacy, just let me know if you need anything.”

“Of course.”

Binta squeezed her hand one last time before leaving and closing the door behind her.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Challaaa-” she complained.

“I know, I know, but I promise it’s a good one,” he kissed her forehead then her nose then her lips. “Let’s go back to the palace.”

She threw on her clothes and the two of them walked hand-in-hand out to his hoverbike.

“Is this thing safe for, you know-”

“It’s safe, I made it myself.”

That immediately quelled her fears so she hopped on behind him and they took off. They made it to the palace in no time flat and he escorted her up to his quarters.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.” he left back down the elevators and Ashanti made herself comfortable on the bed. She ended up falling asleep and was awakened by his kiss about an hour later. Her eyes blinked open and she was met with the sight of candles everywhere with soft music playing in the background.

[Skip Marley]

Slow down

Let me love you

Darling, I care

I care for you

More than my own self

Darling, I'll share

I'll share with you

All goodness and wealth

“Challa, what is this?” she asked through a yawn.

“Just the beginning, my love.” he kissed her cheek and went to his closet and came back out with her favorite dress. “Put this on and meet me downstairs.”

[Skip Marley]

Seh, we can have just one night

Or we can one whole life

If we play it cool, yeah

We can have that one thing

Or we can have everything

If our hearts are true

Girl, slow down

Let me love you

Darling, slow down

Let me get to know you

“Where downstairs?”

“You’ll know!” he said as he jogged out of the room, quickly closing the door behind him.

Ashanti shook her head and stared at her flowy red dress with double leg slits, “What is he up to now?”

She stepped into her dress and zipped up the side, checking herself out in his mirrors and grabbing the gold sandals she usually paired with it. She added a little jewelry and checked her hair before heading towards the door. When she opened it she was caught by surprise by a trail of violet petals leading an open elevator door. She got in and the doors closed before taking her down to the main floor, playing the same song that she heard in his room.

When she got out she could hear the music playing throughout the palace, and she continued to follow the violet petals when she came upon Ramonda and Shuri with huge smiles on their faces.

“You look gorgeous, dear.”

“Thank you,” she blushed. “Do you have any idea what T’Challa is up to?”

“Of course we do, but we're not telling you,” Shuri teased, falling into step behind the other two women and pulling up her beads to secretly record.

They walked through the palace in comfortable silence when Ashanti saw her parents near the door to the gardens.

“What are you two doing here?” she ran and hugged them.

Chidi shrugged and held out the crook of his arm for his daughter to take, and she looped her arm through his. The five of them walked through the gardens, following the purple petal road through the hedge maze. Ashanti’s heart beat faster with every step she took and she nearly burst into tears when she saw Kwame and Binta.

“Didn’t I just see you like five minutes ago?,” Ashanti joked, greeting Binta for the second time that night. Kwame pulled her in for a tight hug and she nuzzled into his chest. She knew why her friends and family were here and she couldn’t be more thankful for being surrounded by all their love.

Ramonda and Bisa grabbed her hands and walked her into the center of the maze.

[H.E.R.]

Seh, uh

Baby, I've been fantasizing

Just looking in your eyes

You know I'm looking for more

And you're what I've been praying for

This kind of love don't come around like this

I'm not one to play around like this, it's so real

And I love how it feels

I love it when we slowly sway

I love it when we think the same thing

I love the way we move

The way we move

T’Challa stood there looking crisp as ever in his Bast-tailored black suit with his panther necklace out over his red shirt instead of a tie or scarf. Tears came to her eyes at seeing him wear her tribe’s colors as she took in the scene around them.

The violet petals stopped in front of a pedestal with an intricate wooden box sitting atop it. He walked over to her and grabbed her hand, leading her over to the pedestal.

We can have every night, yeah

We can have every day

Ooh, I want you too

I need you

“Ashanti...kitten,” everyone in attendance aww’d with the exception of Shuri of course, whose face twisted up in disgust at the nickname. “You mean the world to me, and you have ever since I walked into your store that day. I know you already know what I’m going to say-”

She nodded, “Mhm, but go on anyway.”

[Skip Marley & H.E.R.]

Darling, slow down

Slow down, slow down

Let me love you

Slow down

Slow down, slow down

Let me get to know you, yeah

Baby, slow down

Everyone laughed, but there wasn’t a single dry eye in that maze.

“Ashanti Iman Mostafa-”

“Yes?” She asked through tears. Everything was happening so fast, first a baby, now this, but she knew in her heart what she wanted.

“Will you do me the honor of being my queen?” He opened the box for her and she audibly gasped.

“T’Challa! I- Oh my Bast, it’s beautiful,” tears streamed down her face as she looked at what was to be her crown. “Yes, yes of course baby.”

“You’ll marry me?”

“Yes!”

[Skip Marley & H.E.R.]

I wanna see you tomorrow

Not just the thrill of today

Don't let our love just be borrowed, no

This is the choice that we take

Girl, slow down

Let me love you

(I need you, you, you)

Darling, slow down

Let me get to know you

Let me get to know you now darling

Hey, we can have just one night

Or we can one whole life

If we play it cool, yeah

Cool (So cool, oh)

We can have that one thing

(We can have that one thing)

Or we can have everything

(We can have everything)

If our hearts are true

Yeah, girl, slow down

Their families cheered and Ramonda held up her hand so they could see N’Jadaka’s and Nakia’s holograms broadcasting from the Outreach Center.

All the noise was lost on Ashanti and T’Challa who might as well have been alone in their own little world.

“I have one more thing for you.”

“More?”

He laughed, “Yes, more. I’ll give it to you once we get back to our room.”

“Our room,” she kissed him, “I like the sound of that.”

“Try it on!” Shuri shouted over the commotion, prompting everyone to echo her sentiment.

T’Challa lifted the crown from its silk bedding and placed it on her head, making sure it was secure.

“My baby,” Bisa cried and ran to hug her daughter. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you mama.”

Chidi joined them, and it was obvious he was trying to hold it together.

“Congratulations, nugget-” his voice hitched and Ashanti wrapped her arms around his waist just as Bisa went to hug her new son-in-law.

She winked and whispered to him, “I told you she’d love it.”

Congratulations were thrown around and eventually their audience dissipated, leaving the two of them alone.

“So do you really like it?’ T’Challa asked nervously.

Ashanti put her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level for a kiss.

“More than anything in this world,” she kissed him again. “I can’t wait to be your queen.”

“You’ve always been my queen.”

--------

“So when are you moving in?” Bisa asked as she and Ashanti waited for the pregnancy test results. T’Challa had gotten called on a last-minute mission with the Avengers, and he almost cancelled until Ashanti urged him to go. They had been up all night, laying in bed and just staring into each other’s eyes while talking about their future. One big thing that came up was his travel for work.

“What about when you’re gone for work?”

“Well if it’s not for something dangerous, I don’t see why you two couldn’t come with me.”

“Who would be in charge then?”

“Shuri, N’Jadaka, mama, whoever. We would work it out.”

Ashanti nodded before another question dawned on her and she propped her head up on her elbow.

“What are my responsibilities as queen?”

“Mama will walk you through everything, but pretty much the same as mine, minus the Black Panther part of course. You’ll preside over council meetings and do all the boring paperwork you always see me pouring over. The good part is, you’ll only have to do half. The rest is up to you, really. Mama started a gardening initiative in the city-”

“I remember that! I didn’t realize that was her.”

“Yes, she doesn’t like to have her name attached to her projects.”

“So I take it that’s where you got your little ‘anonymous buyer’ idea from, huh?” she nudged him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grinned.

“Mhm, I bet.”

He smiled as his hand found its way to her stomach again.

“What do you want, boy or girl?” he asked her.

“Well the selfish part of me wants a mini-me, but the other part of me wants to see a mini-you. I don’t really care either way.”

“Mm. I wouldn’t either, but I’ve always wanted a baby girl.”

“Oh my Bast, you would spoil her rotten.”

“Like you won’t?”

“Hush,” she playfully hit his chest and looked down at the ring glistening on her finger. Every time she looked at the big, beautiful ruby resting in a nest of diamonds her heart skipped a beat. “ Ok, I have one more question…”

“I’ve got all night.”

“How soon can I move in?”

“Half of your stuff is already here, I’d say you moved in months ago. Why not go ahead and bring everything? I want my girls close by.”

Ashanti’s leg couldn’t stop bouncing, she was so anxious despite being mostly sure she already knew the answer. Still, something about waiting for test results always triggered her nerves.

“We, uh, talked about it last night actually. I didn’t really know how to bring it up to you, but I’m, uh, moving out this weekend.”

“I’m surprised you’re waiting that long,” Binta joked right as the doctor re-entered the room.

“Congratulations, Ms. Mostafa, you are definitely pregnant.”

A wave of relief washed over Ashanti at finally knowing for sure.

Pregnant.

She was going to be someone’s mother.

The thought had crossed her mind over the last day, but it didn’t really sink in until now.

Her hips would spread and her feet would swell. She’d soon outgrow her clothes and her breasts would fill with milk. She’d have cravings and kick T’Challa out of bed in the middle of the night to satisfy them. Her bladder would be crushed and her back would hurt, all for that little bundle of joy that she hoped would look like both of their parents. She felt an odd combination of calmness and anxiety at her body no longer being hers, but theirs.

Binta shook her out of her stupor, “You ok?”

Ashanti smiled at her friend, tears welling in her eyes.

“I’m having a baby,” she hugged Binta close.

“And I get to help bring them into the world!”

The two laughed and then settled in for the rest of the appointment. The doctor had plenty of questions and lots of advice, but there wasn’t much Ashanti could say seeing as how she couldn’t tell this random doctor who the father was. Then it dawned on her, would this even be a normal pregnancy? The child was half Black Panther afterall...

“Thank you Dr. Obi, you’ve been a great help,” she said as she grabbed her bag to leave.

“You are welcome, do you need me to set you up with a midwife, or do you already have one in mind?”

Ashanti’s thoughts travelled back to her conversation with T’Challa the night before.

“So is there, like, a royal midwife or something?”

“Of course. Ramla delivered me and Shuri, and I would like for her to deliver our baby as well if that is ok with you.”

She kissed him.

“That’s perfect.”

“We already have one. Thank you!” The two ladies left the office arm-in-arm and walked through the city on their way to Zana Cafe.

“So when are you telling everybody?”

“Mama and baba already know. I got sick in the restaurant yesterday- they’ve just been waiting on me to tell them if it’s for real or not.”

“Do you want to tell them now?”

That was the one question she forgot to ask T’Challa. Did he want to wait to tell the family? Did he want to do it together?

“Not yet, I’ll wait and see what Challa wants to do.”

“You mean your fiancé? Your betrothed? Your intended-”

“Ok, ok, we get it,” Ashanti laughed at her friend as they entered her parent’s restaurant and sat in a booth towards the back. Thankfully, whatever they were cooking smelled like heaven and when Bisa brought them bowls of the fragrant lentil stew, Ashanti dug in like she hadn’t eaten in months.

“This was my mama’s recipe, you know. When I was pregnant with you, I ate it almost every day.”

Binta laughed into her bowl at Bisa’s sly attempt.

“Really? How interesting, mama. It is delicious as always.”

“Mmhm.” Bisa turned and left the girls to their food.

“You know she knows.”

“Oh I know. You heard her, ‘when I was pregnant with you I ate it almost every day’” she mocked her mother lovingly.

Their giggling was interrupted by a text from her fiancé.

T: How are you feeling today?

She smiled and responded.

A: Still pretty tired. Guess what...

T: What?

A: Binta and I went to the doctor. It’s official, you’re a baba!

T: Yes! I knew it. How far along are you?

A: About 9 weeks

T: That sounds about right

A: I have a question, though…

T: The answer is probably yes…

A: It’s not a yes or no question lol. When did you want to tell people? Mama and baba kind of already know, Binta knows, why not tell everybody?

T: I am sure mama knows as well. I’ll be back tomorrow, how about we do it then?

A: Deal.

T: I have to go now, but I’ll call you tonight, love.

A: Be safe

T: Always.

“Ok, he comes back tomorrow so we can do it then.”

“Ugh I have to hold this in for another day? You know how hard it is to keep something from Kwame? Damn near impossible, that’s how.”

“Well you were the one eavesdropping-”

“Ma’am I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t hear him yelling. Your man was excited.”

The two of them laughed and Ashanti’s mind drifted to how bright his face would be when they told his family. N’Jadaka and Nakia were flying in from Oakland and M’Baku was going to come down from Jabari Land to celebrate their impending union over a big celebratory dinner. Steve might even come back to Wakanda with T’Challa to join the festivities.

“So about this dinner tomorrow...who all is going to be there?”

“N’Jadaka, Nakia, M’Baku and Shani, probably Steve and Bucky, you and Kwame, mama and baba, Shuri and Queen Mother, and Okoye if she’s off.”

“Are any of them single?”

“I think N’Jadaka is. Bucky is either single or with Steve, they’re very close so it is hard to tell. I think Okoye might have someone...Why, what happened with Kiki?”

“She’s a great person, but we sort of grew apart. It was a mutual decision, we’ll still hang out from time to time,” she shrugged.

“Well that’s good, but I’m sorry about the breakup.”

“No big deal...about these single people, though.”

“I’m pretty sure N’Jadaka will fuck anything that breathes and walks on two legs.”

“As long as he has his shots, I couldn’t care less. And the White Wolf? I never thought I’d say this about a colonizer, but that man can get it. I wonder how dextrous those metal fingers are...”

Ashanti popped off her pinky, “Pretty dextrous.”

“I always forget you have that thing!”

The two of them broke out into a fit of laughter and Ashanti grabbed more bread for her stew.

--------

“Are you sure you’re ready, kitten? We can wait if you’d prefer,” T’Challa asked of his bride-to-be.

“I'm ready,” she said with a smile before grabbing his hand and signalling for the guards to open the door to the formal dining room that was much bigger than the small family dining room upstairs. All the seats were taken with the exception of the head of the table and the seat on its right hand side. They all looked up at the couple as they entered and stood to cheer for their impending union, causing Ashanti to blush.

The two took their seats and the dinner commenced. Everyone seemed to be getting along fine, including Binta and Bucky, and before the dessert course could make its way to the table T’Challa stood. He held out his hand to help Ashanti up and cleared his throat, never letting her hand go.

“We want to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate me becoming the luckiest man in the world.”

There were chuckles around the table as Binta and Ashanti’s parents looked on expectantly.

“But there is one last thing you all need to kn-”

“We’re having a baby!” T’Challa just couldn’t help himself, it slipped out.

“T’Challa!”

Everyone spoke over each other and crowded around the couple, showing them love.

“I knew it!”

“Wow, congratulations!”

“My baby’s having a baby.”

“Alright! Congrats, man!”

“My little girl...making me an umakhulu.”

“Congratulations, brother.”

“I’m going to be an auntie!”

“My son…”

“My nigga…”

Eventually the commotion died down and everyone took their seats again as the mango pudding was brought out.

“So how far along are you?” Shani asked.

“Just about nine weeks. We want to wait until I’m out of the first trimester before we tell the council, maybe even longer before we go public.”

“That’s smart. When I was pregnant with M’Bari our council practically lived in my uterus with him. Avoid that as long as you can,” she cautioned.

Ramonda looked up from her pudding to agree.

“When I was pregnant with Shuri the council found out before we could announce it to them...total disaster.”

“We trust that you all will keep this between us until we go public.” T’Challa added.

“Of course, we will,” Nakia smiled at the couple fondly.

“How have you been feeling, dear? Carrying the child of the Black Panther takes a lot out of you.”

“It does? What’s different about it?” T’Challa asked his mother.

“We’ll discuss all that later, but Ashanti are you sleeping well?”

“All I want to do is sleep.”

Binta and the mothers at the table laughed knowingly.

“That’s just how the first trimester goes, intyatyambo. You’ll have more energy in the second trimester.”

“Well I know one thing, she hates the smell of oxtails now,” Binta added.

“So do I.”

“You’re already experiencing her symptoms?”

“Woah that can happen?!” N’Jadaka asked, horrified.

“Especially if you have the heart shaped herb in your system,” Ramonda added.

“I’m just gonna go ahead and get snipped then.”

“Good luck with that,” she laughed into her pudding.

“So I know it’s too early to tell, but what do you think you’re having?” Nakia asked.

“I don’t know, I’m fine with whatever as long as my baby is healthy.”

“As am I,” T’Challa kissed her hand then stage whispered to the rest of the table, “Baby girl.”

A chorus of chuckles and “awww” rang out around the table once more as the king and queen-to-be smiled at each other.

“Well that was easy,” she leaned in and whispered to him while the mothers continued their back and forth over pregnancy symptoms, shocking the men without children into silence over the way they casually spoke of such horrors.

“Now for the council.”

“You know, we could always just tell them about the wedding, have it pretty soon, then drop the baby news on them after,” she offered.

“You just can’t wait to be married to me, huh?”

“Well, that’s part of it too...I don’t want to look pregnant in our wedding pictures, so we either do it now or wait until after this baby is out.”

“Now it is, then.”

--------

“That went smoother than I thought it would…” Ashanti mused as she kicked her feet up and placed them in T’Challa’s lap when they got back to their chambers after the council meeting.

“Eh, they saw it coming. I have already referred to you as my queen multiple times.”

“You have?” her eyes lit up.

“Yes, they needed to learn to respect you.”

She looked at him with stars in her eyes. This man, her man, was so sure in his love for her, and it made her feel safe and warm.

As usual these days, the two fell asleep just like that on the couch, but were awakened by both their beads trilling. They untangled their bodies and answered the call, seeing both of their mothers side by side.

“Where are you two? You were supposed to be here 20 minutes ago for the fittings.”

“Shit, we fell asleep. Coming, mama!” Ashanti bolted up and the king followed as they both ran out the door, down to the tailors.

“Sorry we’re late,” Ashanti said through a yawn as they finally made it to their fitting.

“Sleep again, huh?”

“That’s all I can do these days, sleep and eat. I’m a cat,” she said, exasperated, before falling back into a soft, cushiony chair.

“No dear, you’re just carrying a panther,” Ramonda chuckled at the frustrated look on Ashanti’s face. She certainly did not miss the feeling. “So, now that you two are here we have to get you fitted for your traditional attire, your robes, and your outfits for the feast in your honor.”

“Mama, the tailors already have my measurements, why-”

“Hush, boy. You need to be here just as much as she does.”

Ashanti chuckled at how quickly he shut up before Bisa shot her a look and she stopped, too.

“Now, T’Challa you come with me. Ashanti, you and Bisa will be meeting with Deka, one of the royal tailors. She designed my and Queen N’Yami’s wedding robes-”

“May she rest in peace,” Bisa said as Ashanti squeezed T’Challa’s hand. His biological mother wasn’t often brought up in conversations, but when she was he always grew tense. She died during childbirth and T’Challa barely made it out alive himself. Thankfully, with the help of therapy, he was able to let go of the survivor's guilt he held onto all his life.

Ramonda nodded in deference to her predecessor and introduced Deka to Ashanti and her mother. They hit it off right away, and the fitting went off without a hitch. Meanwhile, down the hall, T’Challa wasn’t having much luck with Dakarai, his usual tailor.

“Nothing looks right,” he said as he fiddled with his collar.

“That’s because your mind is elsewhere. Tell me, what is bothering you?” Ramonda asked her son as he smoothed out his sleeves. “Dakarai, could you give us the room please?”

“Absolutely, your highness. I will be in my office.”

“Thank you.” She waited for the doors to close and turned back to T’Challa. “So?”

He let out a deep sigh “I think it just hit me that I’m becoming a husband and a father at the same time.”

“It’s a lot to take in.”

“It is...I’m excited, though. I want this more than anything, but why do I feel so…”

“Stressed, nervous, immobilized by fear?”

“All of the above.” he huffed and sat down in an open chair, careful to avoid the pins in his clothing.

“Unyana,” she sat down next to him and pulled his hand into hers, “There is nothing scarier in this world than becoming a parent, but I can only speak from a mother’s perspective. Maybe you should talk with Chidi and M’Baku, hm? They have both been where you are, well not the rushed wedding, but you know what I am saying.”

“Yes, mama,” he chuckled. “That’s a good idea.”

“I have them from time to time,” she stood up and kissed the crown of his head. “I’ll go get Dakarai.”

T’Challa went to his beads the moment she turned to leave, texting both Chidi and M’Baku to see when they had time to talk. Surprisingly, M’Baku texted back almost immediately.

“M’Bari must be close by,” he thought to himself before chuckling fondly at his friend. M’Baku hated their modern technology, but entertained the kimoyo beads simply for communication purposes. He had mastered the holograms, but was still a little shaky when it came to texting. The king was used to his responses taking a while, so this was a pleasant surprise.

His fingers were already flying across the keyboard when Chidi texted back. He was busy running the restaurant while Bisa helped with wedding plans, but offered up Zana Cafe as a meeting spot so he could still be present. T’Challa had just finished confirming plans when Ramonda and Dakarai re-entered.

“Guess what I just saw,” Ramonda sang excitedly

“What?”

“Ashanti’s dress for the feast!”

His eyes lit up at the thought and it took all his strength to keep himself from running down the hall and seeing for himself.

“Your wife-to-be looks lovely, your majesty.”

It was as if all his nerves dissipated on the spot just thinking of her, and the rest of the fitting was smooth sailing.

With only a week until the wedding, Ashanti was just as nervous as her fiancé, though her fears were a little more on the irrational side.

“But mama, what if ten years down the line he wakes up and realizes he made a huge mistake, and he’s stuck with me, but-”

“Now, sithandwa, you know that man loves you to pieces. Don’t let that baby work you up over this.”

Ashanti laughed at her foolishness, realizing her mother was right. She had been getting emotional over the littlest things for the past few days, and she knew it would just be getting worse from there.

“Do a little spin for me.”

Ashanti carefully twirled around while her mother’s proud eyes took in every inch of the gown as she turned.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, intyatyambo,” she said through the tears that quickly formed in her eyes.

Ashanti couldn’t help but cry when she saw Bisa crying, and pretty soon they were both a mess.

“My baby is getting married...starting a family of her own,” she fussed with Ashanti’s hair as she spoke. “I know you’re grown and have been for a while, but...Bast, you were just a child not that long ago! It feels like you just took your first steps, and now here you are. My baby isn't my baby anymore...my baby is having a baby.” she whispered the last past since Deka was in earshot. They laughed through their tears and embraced each other carefully to avoid causing any harm to the dress.

--------

“Thank you for coming early, M’Baku.”

“No problem, brother. Now, what is this about?” he leaned in just as Chidi came over.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about, he’s freaking out.”

“Is that true?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” T’Challa rested his head in his hand.

Both of the married men chuckled as Chidi set out food for the table.

“Wedding or baby?”

“Both, but mostly baby.”

“Hm. You know, the day before Bisa and I got married I had a panic attack because I didn’t think I’d make a good enough husband for her.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I almost called the whole thing off. Then she called me right in the middle of it, like she could sense something was wrong. She didn’t want anything, she just missed my voice, so we ended up talking all night. Later I found out she was just as scared as I was and called to calm herself down...The point is, don’t get too into your head about it. You two love each other and that’s what matters.”

M’Baku nodded along as T’Challa ruminated on Chidi’s words.

“And as for the baby, well that is terrifying no matter how you look at it.”

“What do you mean?”

“M’Baku, don’t scare the poor man.”

“I am just being honest. Nothing can prepare you for the feeling of being a parent. You think you have an idea, but trust me, you don’t. It is the scariest, most fulfilling, draining job you will ever have. And yes, I am including running a whole country. Being a husband is not all that hard. You love and support your wife in whatever way she needs, you two work as a unit, and if problems arise there’s always couples therapy. A child, however...it’s like inviting a stranger into your home that you have to keep alive and every day they do something either extremely frustrating or terrifying or adorable.”

“Like the first time they smile at you,” Chidi added.

“Or when they call you baba for the first time. I cried like a baby.”

“And those first steps. We recorded Ashanti’s, I’ll show you later.”

“Watching their personality develop-”

“Their little shoes-”

“Hanuman, I want another...I will bring it up to Shani tonight.”

T’Challa shook his head, surprised his friend didn’t already have his own little tribe of children by now. He knew that had to be Shani’s doing.

“I’m happy we had just the one, but Ashanti always wanted to be a big sister. Thankfully her umakhulu helped us keep her from being a lonely child.”

T’Challa nodded in understanding. He knew Ashanti wanted two for that exact reason, and the thought of having another child with the love of his life warmed his heart.

“I will use that excuse with Shani. Let’s see if it works.”

The king’s trepidations slipped away as his friend and father-in-law answered his questions on fatherhood, marriage, and surviving their wives pregnancies.

Just as M’Baku had begun describing Shani’s third trimester the rest of their party arrived.

“Let’s get this party started!” Prince N’Jadaka loudly burst through the doors flanked by his two favorite colonizers. He looked around and deflated, “You got less strippers here than I expected.”

“On that note, I’m going to take my leave. You all have fun,” he turned to T’Challa, “but not too much fun. I’m not above regicide.”

The group snickered at T’Challa and Chidi left them to their shenanigans.

“So what’s the plan?”

“Strippers, obviously. Just not in his father-in-law’s restaurant,” Bucky added with a roll of his eyes. He and the prince generally got along fine, but continuously worked each other's nerves.

“Strippers, obviously,” N’Jadaka mocked. “I know that, I mean when we going?”

“Right about now,” T’Challa said with a smile.

“To the- wait what’s this place called again?” Steve asked.

“Jungle Cat Lounge,” T’Challa snickered.

“To the Jungle Cat Lounge!”

“You ever been to a strip club before, blue eyes?” N’Jadaka antagonized Steve.

“Well, no, but uh-”

The prince clapped him on the back and smiled devilishly, “You’re in for a good time, man.”

The lounge had been shut down for the private party of five, with all the best dancers performing for their king and his guests. T’Challa and M’Baku mostly just threw money around and appreciated the womens’ athleticism on the pole, meanwhile the other three had the time of their lives. N’Jadaka was right at home as he got lap dance after lap dance and eventually disappeared with one of the girls for a private dance. Bucky and Steve’s eyes were bugged out of their head most of the time and T’Challa laughed at the dumbstruck looks on their faces. Despite the fact that he doesn’t drink and could care less about the dancers in his face, he was having a good time out with his friends until the thought of Ashanti crossed his mind and he had the strongest urge to be with her. He decided to text her to check in.

T: How are my girls?

He figured she was probably busy with her friends at her own party, but her text came back with a quickness.

A: What a coincidence, I was just about to text you. And we don’t know for sure about the baby yet, Challa!

T: Is everything ok?

A: Yes, you just crossed my mind.

M’Baku looked over and noticed the king smiling at his beads.

“How is she?”

“Hm?” T’Challa saw the smirk on his friend’s face and knew he’d been caught. “Oh, uh, she’s good. Just missed me, that’s all.”

“She missed you or you missed her?”

“Yes,” the king chuckled into his glass of club soda.

“I was the same way. My brothers took me out the night before my wedding, too...all I wanted was to be with my Shani.”

T’Challa nodded, “These women are beautiful, of course, but I’m enjoying their reactions more than anything.” He pointed over to his American friends who were both surrounded by women, mouths hanging open in disbelief at all the ass gyrating in their faces.

“They are quite entertaining,” M’Baku laughed at the two of them before taking a sip of his rum. “I used to enjoy places like this, but it’s not the same anymore.”

T’Challa nodded in agreement and went back to his beads.

T: It must be because I miss you.

A: Strippers not doing it for you?

T: Not this time, I’d rather be with you.

A: Well after tomorrow you’re stuck with me forever…

T: Sounds like a good way to spend eternity

A: You flatter me, kumkani

T: That’s not all I want to do to you.

A: You just can’t behave, can you?

T: Nope.

A: You’ll survive a little longer.

T: Will I?

A: This whole “no sex until the wedding” thing was your idea. You’re such a drama queen.

T: I’m your drama queen

A: And don’t you forget it. Well, the girls just left and I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ll probably be knocked out when you get back, so good night kumkani.

T: Sweet dreams, kitten.

--------

The next morning the couple was awakened by heavy knocking.

“Get up, busy day ahead!” Ramonda called through the door. T’Challa grunted and rolled over to look at the time, sprouting up when he saw it was half past 9 already. He tried to wake Ashanti but lately she had been sleeping like the dead.

“My love, it’s time to wake up,” he sang as he kissed all over her face. “I get to marry you today, so get up. We’re already late for our rituals.”

She groaned and her eyes fluttered open.

“That’s it. Come on, we’re late. It’s already 9:30,” he said hopping out of bed. “I’ll start the shower.”

Ashanti dragged herself to the bathroom and they quickly showered together and were ready in time for N’Jadaka to bang on the door.

“Yo, Auntie said if y’all don’t come on I can break down the door-”

Ashanti yanked the door open and glared at her cousin to be, “Don’t even try it.”

“Someone’s in a mood on this joyous day.”

“Don’t antagonize pregnant women, umzala,” T’Challa sauntered over and clapped his younger cousin on the shoulder before the three of them headed down to the dining room where everyone was finishing up their meal.

“Well mholo to you both,” Nakia said as she looked up from her conversation with M’Baku. She had been the first to notice the couple enter and soon after a chorus of good mornings filled the air.

After breakfast Kwame and the women went one direction as the rest of the men escorted T’Challa back to his chambers to get him ready for the day. Ashanti and her group travelled to her parents’ home where they had laid out all the necessary items for their ritual.

First, Shani drew her a warm bath filled with coconut milk, special herbs, and flowers, then they all prayed over her as her mother washed her from head to toe. Next, they cleansed the air with incense smoke as Ashanti meditated and allowed her body to air dry from her spiritually cleansing bath. Ramonda wrapped her in a silk robe as Nakia dried her hair and styled it in bantu knots that she would take down the next day to have beautiful fluffy curls. Shuri painted her toes while Kwame painted her fingers and Binta painted ancient symbols onto the rest of her body in white clay.

Bisa and Ramonda recorded the beautiful moment on their beads, and when they were done and Ashanti was all made up Bisa tried her best not to cry, but failed. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as the mother and daughter embraced each other once more, careful to avoid smudging any of her body paint. Bisa held her daughter’s head in her hands and wiped her tears away.

“My baby girl.”

Meanwhile, at the palace, Steve and Bucky were very uncomfortable at seeing more of T’Challa’s body than they had ever hoped. Especially Steve, since he hadn't realized just how...free the Wakandans were. N’Jadaka ran the bath before Chidi washed T’Challa just like Bisa did with their daughter. The men prayed their blessings over him and when he was done, M’Baku lined the king up. After he got dressed in his traditional shorts, N’Jadaka placed the original Black Panther necklace on him as Chidi dipped his brush into the white clay to start painting T’Challa’s face and body.

After the two were made up and covered in the blessings of their loved ones, each group travelled to the City of the Dead to begin the ceremony.

T’Challa arrived first, taking his position at the temple doors and waiting for his betrothed. She arrived shortly after, and when their eyes met and they took in each other's forms they both started to cry. Here they were, in their wedding paint, about to face Bast’s judgement together. T’Challa’s hand found its way to the fertility symbol Binta had painted over her womb and he planted a light kiss on her lips.

“You ready?”

“Let’s do this.”

He kissed her again and grabbed her hand before signalling the priestesses to open the doors. The two of them stepped into the temple, leaving their loved ones behind at the door, and followed the high priestess Hasina deep into the catacombs. They arrived at the garden of the heart-shaped herb and Ashanti was in awe at the sight before her, never having seen one in real life before.

“So this is where the magic happens?” Ashanti asked, trying to keep it light to calm her nerves.

“Quite literally, sister Ashanti,” Hasina winked at her. “You will see.”

Hasina instructed them to lay next to each other and hold hands while they were both given a concoction that would take them to the ancestral plane. The last thing Ashanti saw before she shut her eyes was the warm red sand covering her body.

She felt a squeeze in her right hand and sat up from the dirt, taking in her surroundings. She had been here before of course, but the circumstances were very different and she wasn't able to really appreciate it for all its beauty. Her mouth hung open as she marveled at the purple skies and the acacia tree in the distance filled with panthers lazing on the limbs. Three panthers jumped down and made their way over to the couple, making Ashanti move in closer to T’Challa for protection.

“It's ok, look,” he pointed as the panther closest to Ashanti stood up and transformed into Taj.

“Umakhulu!” Ashanti almost tackled him with a hug. She turned back around to bring T’Challa forward and panicked upon seeing tears stream down his face. “Baby, what-”

She stopped herself when she noticed the two people standing in front of him and the dam behind her eyes broke, too. There she was, Queen N’Yami in all her regal glory, meeting her son for the first time.

T’Challa was frozen on the spot. He felt a light touch on his arm and looked down to see Ashanti smiling back up at him. He took a deep breath and looked towards his parents as T’Chaka spoke up,“T’Challa, there is someone you should meet. This is your-”

“Mama...I know…”

N’Yami stepped forward, placing her hands lightly around her son’s face.

“Everything I went through and he has the nerve to look just like you, T’Chaka.”

The former king laughed and shook his head.

“Now N’Yami, you cannot possibly think those eyes are mine.”

“I suppose,” she continued to examine him with a smile on her face. A single tear rolled down her cheek as her voice cracked. “I missed so much...I am sorry, unyana, but it was my time.”

“I know, mama,” the king croaked out. “I just- I needed you.” He broke down in his mother’s arms as Taj held Ashanti close, wiping her tears away. T’Challa and N’Yami’s sobs filled the ancestral plane and the more they cried the more relief washed over both of them. When their tears subsided, T’Challa looked towards his love and her grandfather, both of whom had tears in their eyes as well. He smiled and reached his hand out for her to take, and when she did he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Mama, baba...this is-”

“We know exactly who this is. Ashanti, my dear, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“We’ve heard so much about you.” N’Yami sent a wink Taj’s way.

Ashanti greeted them both with the Wakandan salute and stepped forward. They pulled her into a hug just as Taj did the same for T’Challa.

“My boy, it is good to see you.”

“You as well, sir. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making her come back home when she wanted to stay here.”

“I just knew she had a lot more living to do.”

The five of them continued to get acquainted with each other when T’Chaka noticed the colors of the sky changing.

“She will be here soon.”

“Who?”

“The goddess.”

Ashanti’s throat closed up and T’Challa grabbed her hand in his before bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“It’ll be fine, kitten.”

She nodded and took a deep breath, pushing her nerves away when all of a sudden a huge panther could be seen on the horizon. The five of them waited hand-in-hand as she approached and when she got close enough for them to reach out and touch her, she stood up and transformed into a statuesque woman with the head of a jaguar. Her gold bangles stood out against her dark skin and her naked body seemed to glow.

She said no words as she examined the couple, staring into their innermost selves. A smile appeared on her face as she nodded to Ashanti and backed up, turning back into her jaguar form and walking back the way she came.

“T-that was it?” Ashanti asked, unsure of what just happened.

“That was it, nugget. She would have ripped your head off if she didn’t like you.”

Ashanti’s eyes grew wide and she turned to T’Challa who was shaking his head with a smirk on his face.

“Not literally, but I knew she’d like you.” he said nonchalantly.

“Especially with my umzukulwana in there,” N’Yami pointed to Ashanti’s belly. “May I?”

“Of course, I’m still in my first trimester so there’s not much to-”

Ashanti felt a tingling in her stomach when N’Yami touched her.

“Would you like to know what you are having?”

“You can tell already?” T’Challa chimed in.

“Of course I can,” she winked, “Now, would you like to know or not?”

The couple looked at each other and nodded in agreement.

When they burst through the sands back in Wakanda they were greeted by cheering from the priestess and temple aides. T’Challa helped her up and they dusted themselves off before going to rejoin their family members that were waiting anxiously outside. Upon leaving the temple they were immediately bombarded with hugs and congratulations from their loved ones, but they were both still in a daze.

A baby girl.

They both always wanted a baby girl and now here she was, slowly making her way into the world through them. Neither could contain their excitement, so when N’Jadaka asked who they saw, they almost didn’t hear him. Ashanti was the first to come out of their daze and answer.

“We saw my umakhulu...and T’Challa’s mama and baba. They all said hello.”

There was a moment of silence while everybody registered what she had said. The king had finally met his birth mother, and the thought made most of their eyes get mistier than they already were.

“That’s wonderful,” Ramonda smiled at her son and he smiled back. He had always wished that Ramonda had been his birth mother, but now he knew he was blessed to have two mothers. One in the ancestral plane watching over him, and the other right in front of him supporting everything he does.

Ashanti’s eyes finally travelled from her loved ones to the darkening sky, “How long were we in there?”

“About 4 hours, time moves differently in the ancestral plane. Come, it’s almost dinner time.” Ramonda answered, gesturing for them to get moving back towards their transportation.

“What were you all doing all that time?”

“Oh we had our own little party out here while we waited,” Chidi chimed in.

The entire wedding party made its way back to the palace for a celebratory meal and Ashanti felt her nerves slowly creep back up on her thinking about the next couple days.

Only one down, two more to go.

--------

The public ceremony went by in a blur. Ashanti just remembered them being paraded around the city on palanquins before being brought back to the palace steps to be given away. Chidi and Bisa gave Ashanti away while Ramonda and a surprisingly emotional N’Jadaka gave away the king, but the rest of it sort of flew by. As far as she was concerned, the real wedding was yesterday and this was just for show.

The coronation was another story. When the boats arrived at the drained waterfall and hovered down to drop the tribes off in their respective areas, Ashanti felt the knot in her stomach get even more twisted. She looked over at T’Challa who seemed cool as a cucumber, and she realized it wasn’t morning sickness. Just nerves. Becoming T’Challa’s wife hadn’t shaken her in such a way, but becoming his queen and ruling beside him was definitely causing some anxiety to surface.

“I can hear you thinking too much,” T’Challa said, kissing her hand as they disembarked and walked to the center of the falls.

“I’m trying not to, this is just a lot.”

“I know, kitten,” he kissed her forehead. “Just think about all the fun we can have after.” he winked and she chuckled. Just how he could think about sex at a time like this, she would never understand.

He stepped forward to address the crowd and Ashanti zoned out, catching every other word until it was her time to act. She stepped forward and Hasina brought out the wooden box that held her crown and passed it to Chidi. He opened it and Bisa carefully secured the crown on her daughter’s head, making sure the panther teeth were standing tall in their gilded foundation. Ashanti turned to bow to Queen Mother, whose snow white locs were flowing down her back, no longer hidden under her crown of choice.

“You will make an excellent queen, my dear.”

“Thank you, Ramonda.”

Then she turned to her husband, her king, and he pulled her in for a deep kiss, making the crowd go wild.

“I told you you’ve always been my queen.” he pecked her lips before letting her go. They turned back to the crowd and nodded to each other before crossing their hands over their chests.

“Wakanda forever!” they shouted as Wakandans everywhere, whether watching from the falls, from home, and even the war dogs overseas, saluted them back enthusiastically. Mostly. There were a couple who were less than excited about the goings on, but they kept their contempt to themselves.

Finally, there was the feast. Ashanti looked regal in her panther tooth crown and hand-beaded and embroidered royal purple gown, and T’Challa looked every bit a king in his matching suit and panther claw necklace.

After days of ripping and running all over Wakanda for this wedding, Ashanti wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next week and stuff her face full of food. She was thankful her baby girl had been on her best behavior and didn’t make her sick at all during the proceedings of the last few days. She hoped her luck would continue into the feast, though they made absolute sure no beef was on the menu.

The king and queen danced and filled their bellies all night before saying good night to their loved ones and sneaking upstairs around midnight. On any normal night they’d be tearing at each other's clothes in the elevator, but this time they were so tired that had they not been in uncomfortable formal clothes they would’ve just fallen flat on the bed.

T’Challa helped her out of her dress and heels and she undid the buttons on his tunic. They crawled into bed naked and laid in their usual position before drifting off to sleep.

The next day, the King and Queen of Wakanda lazed about in their bed, so drained by the last few days that the two introverts just laid there in silence exchanging light kisses and even lighter touches. They had their breakfast brought to them in bed before they showered and got ready together, still in comfortable silence. Nobody spoke until both of their beads rang as they were leaving their room. He cleared his throat as they activated their communication beads.

“Good morning lovebirds, the Talon is ready for you whenever you wish to depart.”

“Thank you, general. We will be down shortly,” T’Challa spoke to Okoye’s hologram before her image disappeared. They were going away for two weeks, to a private island off the coast of Greece, and T’Challa was more than happy to travel for pleasure instead of work like he normally does. He couldn’t wait to see her laid out on the white sand beach, her beautiful dark skin contrasting with the bright blue and white background.

Ashanti paused on the way to the door, “Do we have everything?”

“We have everything we need, love,” he said as he kissed her forehead and reached for the door to hold it open for her. His arms found their way around her waist in the elevator and he rested his head on top of hers while rubbing her slightly bloated-looking belly with his large hands.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Hm?”

“Touching my belly, your hand almost always goes straight to her.”

“I didn’t even realize I was doing it this time,” he chuckled in disbelief.

“I don't mind, it’s good for her to get to know you. You should try talking to her.”

“She doesn’t have ears yet-”

“Neither do plants, but they still respond to sound.”

He nodded, taking in her words and letting her go, turning her around and lowering to his knee.

“Hello babygirl, it’s your baba,” he kissed Ashanti’s belly and her hand cupped the back of his head as he spoke. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

He stood and kissed his queen before pulling back just as the elevator stopped on the ground floor, “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome,” she giggled out and he smiled at the cute little crinkle above her nose when she laughed. He hoped his babygirl took after her mother.

The two aforementioned lovebirds strode through their palace hand in hand with huge smiles on their faces. They made their way to the Talon and were seen off by all their loved ones before heading to their Grecian honeymoon. As soon as they arrived on the island Ashanti was mesmerized by the beauty of it all, eyes wide like a child taking in everything around her. When they got to the villa she could have cried, and almost did. The blue and white building was situated at the top of a hill overlooking the most beautiful beach Ashanti had ever seen.

“I’ve never been to a beach before...this is…” she couldn’t find the words, so she hugged him tight instead. “Thank you Challa!”

“Anything for you, my love.”

She kissed him, and the kiss turned hot and passionate. She could tell he was getting worked up, so she pulled her lips from his.

“Give me the tour?”

“I have a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to fuck you in every room in this villa,” he whispered into her ear as she giggled at the feel of his breath on her. He backed her up to a wall and leaned into it, trapping her with his body.

“Let’s start in the bedroom and go from there,” she whispered back and he quickly grabbed her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist before taking off down the hall.

T’Challa dropped her on the bed and when she tried to sit up, he lightly pushed her back down so that she sat up on her elbows. He leaned over and slipped her his tongue while running his hand up and down her thighs.

He pulled back and kissed along her collarbone as he spoke, “Will you let me worship your body? Show you how much I love you?”

She nodded, biting her lip, “Yes kumkani.”

He pressed a kimoyo bead and “Slow Down” started to play through the villa. She smiled wide at their song as he kissed down her clothed body, all the way down to her ankles before unbuckling her sandals and sliding them off slowly. He kissed and massaged her feet for a few minutes and Ashanti moaned from the feeling of his strong hands kneading her flesh. He moved his lips up to her calves and his gifted hands followed before moving up to her thighs. Her moans grew louder as his lips peppered her inner thighs with kisses, moving up towards her naked pussy, but skipping it and kissing her stomach. He kissed his way to her breasts as he removed her skirt and she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Challa, please,” she begged as he pulled her top off and took her nipple into his mouth, twirling his tongue around her pebbled bud while his fingers tweaked her other one.

“Uh-uh, you said I could worship your body. That’s what I’m doing,” he said as he worked his way up to her collarbone, kissing her from shoulders to her fingertips. He picked her up and flipped her over before kissing down her back to her luscious ass, biting each cheek for good measure.

“Ass up, kitten,” he said, getting her into position. “Spread your legs...that’s it.” T’Challa instantly buried his face in her pussy from behind, causing her to cry out to Bast at the way his thick tongue worked her center. He moaned as he ate, the vibration stimulating her clit even more, and as his tongue slowly made its way inside her she let out a deep moan from the depths of her soul at the way it flickered across her g-spot.

“If this is how you fuck your wife I should've married you years ago,” she joked through her moans. He chuckled, but didn’t break his concentration on the job at hand. His fingers slid up and down the top of her erect clit, coming down to pull back the hood and suck on it like he was starving for what she had to give.

“Mmmm, kumkani, you’re gonna make me-” she cut herself off with a high pitched scream as an ocean poured out of her. Her body contracted and convulsed as she covered him in her wetness. When she looked back she could see the liquid dripping down his face and onto his bare chest. She had no idea when he got naked, but as usual she was thankful for the sight of her husband’s naked body. She attempted to turn over, but he stopped her.

“Stay just like that,” his voice was a low grumble at this point. His hands found their home at the dip of her hips and he teased her entrance with the head of his meaty dick.

“Babyyyy,” she complained as her hips wound back into him.

“Patience, kitten. I want to take my time with you.”

He straddled her as he slowly slid into her warmth and they both let out a moan of relief at the feeling of him being sheathed inside her once more. His hips rocked slowly into hers, stirring her insides and making her whimper under him. He leaned down and nibbled on her earlobe as he whispered to her.

“I love you so much.”

“You take me so well.”

“Mmm, Ashanti you feel so good around me.”

“You like it deep like this?”

She tried to answer him, but couldn't.

“That’s ok, kitten, kumkani understands,” he chuckled, his hips rolling impossibly deeper into her.

“I-I-”

“What is it? Hm?” he picked up the pace a little and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he thrusted into her.

“S-stay right t-there.”

“You like this spot right here?”

“Yes!”

“Anything for you, kitten.”

T’Challa’s precision was out of this world, hips reaching that exact spot over and over making her toes curl as he pounded her harder with each thrust. His hand wrapped around the front of her throat and pulled her head up to meet his. His tongue left his mouth and met hers for a sloppy kiss, and as they explored each other’s mouths she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down. He growled at the pain and thrust faster. She was right on the edge and he knew that what he was going to say next would take her over the edge.

“Will you let me fill this pussy up?”

She cried out, orgasm approaching.

“I want you overflowing with my cum. I want you sloppy, I want it dripping down your legs-”

“Yes.”

“You want me to cum in your pussy?”

“Please, kumkani,” she gritted out, hands holding onto the sheets for dear life as his hips slowed back down, bringing her to a long and drawn out orgasm as he spilled his seed deep inside of her. He pulled out and flipped her over, hooking his hands under her knees. Her hands went around his neck as he picked her up and placed her down on his dick. He controlled the maddeningly slow pace and she stared into his almost black eyes in disbelief. No matter how many times they fucked, he always managed to make her body feel like it was the first time.

“You feel so good,” she huffed out as he repeatedly brought her down onto his thick, pulsating dick. He turned his back towards the bed and sat down, leaning back and allowing Ashanti to have the floor.

Her hips cycloned round and round like a corkscrew, pushing him deep and using his dick to reach all her favorite spots.

T’Challa couldn’t help but to take in her beauty as she rode him. He wondered how her body would feel as it changed and grew, and he couldn’t wait to find out. Her pudgy stomach would grow rounder, as would her already heavy breasts. She would look even more like a goddess than she already does, and he wanted to worship at her feet.

His hands gripped her hips as she bounced up and down on him, tightening her kegel muscles as she rose and relaxing them as she met him pelvis to pelvis.

His hand found its way to her throat and he lightly pulled her down for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and spread his legs, giving himself the leverage he needed to really give it to her how he wanted. Their kiss intensified as his hips moved inside her and she moaned into his mouth. His thrusts went deeper and her eyes began to fill with tears that eventually streamed down her face. T’Challa was used to this by now and kissed away his wife’s tears as he fucked her deeper and deeper.

He could feel Ashanti clenching around him and sped his hips up, causing her to scream out.

“T’Challa!”

He chuckled. He loved when she forgot herself and called him the wrong name, and normally he would punish her for it, but he let it slide this time.

Her body spasmed again and a high-pitched moan escaped her lips as he pushed her over the edge. He wasn’t too far behind, releasing inside her with a growl.

The king and queen stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, still connected, until they drifted off to sleep. A couple hours later, Ashanti was awakened by the feel of his dick moving inside her.

“Mmm, kumkaniiii,” she whined as his hips rolled into hers.

“Wake up, love. We should eat something,” he said, looking at the time.

“Ok, but since you started it-” Ashanti rolled her hips and pulled a moan out of him. The two of them went a couple more rounds before finally separating and making their way into the kitchen for some food. The entire honeymoon went like that: they’d lay naked on the beach in the mornings, and fuck most of the day away between meals. When it was time to leave Ashanti almost couldn’t let go of the time they spent there together.

“We can always come back, love,” he said as he kissed her temple and grabbed her hand, walking her back to the Talon and to their new lives as King and Queen of Wakanda.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @ljstraightnochaser, @determinednot2fall

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #playlist #t'challa #t'challa x oc #black!oc #ashanti #danielle brooks

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croscupsroom · 3 years

Text

True Happiness (T, pre Sam/Castiel, 1.5 k.) True happiness lies in the mundane (and it’s bedtime for Sam and Castiel). Set some time after 14.08. Read on AO3.

AN: if it looks familiar, i have posted this before but accidentally deleted that account. thought i'd reupload it since i put it on AO3.

AN: short mention of cas having skipped meals, towards the end.

In the evenings now, Castiel likes to go down to Sam’s room, and hangs out in it doing quiet activities or watching TV until Sam comes to bed. They’ve had this routine for a while, only skipping nights when the brothers are out of town. This time, it’s not exactly the evening — more like the middle of the night, not that long before it crisps into early morning.

Sam doesn’t have the healthiest of sleep schedules. He sleeps too little, at imprecise hours. That doesn’t bother Castiel. He doesn’t sleep at all, so Sam’s lack of habits doesn’t inconvenience him. What preoccupies him is Sam’s health. He listened to a podcast episode, once, that detailed how exactly lack of sleep could impact human bodies. Hearing that made him think of Sam, sluggish; of the cogs in his brain rickety from too few hours of rest. It made him worry about future outcomes.

“Alright, Dean,” Sam says from outside his bedroom door. This signals the end of a conversation Castiel wasn’t privy to. Like most of theirs, really.

Cas sits on the bed, legs extended in front of him. His shoes are on the floor, by the bottom of the bed. He’s wearing pajamas. Something tells him that the flannel feels pleasant, where it falls on the outside of his shell.

The last time they went to Goodwill together to shop for Jack, Sam pointed out the set on the rack. Maybe you’ll like this better than sitting in your clothes all night long , Sam said like the subject might bristle Cas.

Castiel is an angel. Clothes are all the same to him. What the remark told him, though, was that it must bother Sam for him not to change himself at bedtime. Why else would he suggest it at all, or so cautiously? Castiel wondered if it was that the trench coat’s noise bothered him, whenever some of the polyester canvas rubbed on itself in soft scratches that made him cringe. Maybe it was that Castiel disrespected some social convention without realizing it, and Sam was hinting at some way to fix it.

Looking at the flannel on the hanger, Castiel wondered if it was that Sam might want him to get undressed at night, and act as though they were going to bed together.

Of course , Castiel said then. I’d like that better.

You sure? Sam retreated, like he was worried that he had pushed Cas too far, and forced his answer.

I am, yes. I’m sure this sleepwear will be more comfortable. That was a lie, but one that he hoped would reassure his friend.

Sam, swelling up in relief, put the pajamas in the cart and waited for Castiel to follow him to the next rack.

Since then, Castiel changed into the pajamas in the evening before Sam turned in for the night. They developed their own little rituals, like maybe Sam was hoping to by suggesting the pajamas in the first place.

“What’re you watching?” Sam asks. The TV’s on, the volume barely above a whisper. He kicks off his shoes, his feet now bare on the concrete.

“I’ve been rewatching Arrested Development.”

“Oh, yeah? Again?”

They first watched it together years ago, when Castiel started spending his evenings in Sam’s room. He rewatches it sometimes on his own. Even after all these times, it still eludes him.

“The humor puzzles me.”

“Yeah. I can see it being hard to take in.” The remark could come off as condescending, but it doesn’t. Sam is trying to understand where Cas is coming from.

As Sam begins brushing his teeth at the sink, Castiel pauses the show. Sam has his back to Cas, and his eyes are focused on the porcelain below. He doesn’t own a pajama set — he always just puts on sweatpants and an old t-shirt for bed.

Sometimes, it seems like Sam is more weathered every time he comes into Castiel’s consciousness. He’s very different from the young man Castiel met not so long ago — a dull translucent rock, from what was once a sharp-edged fragment of a glass bottle.

Castiel hasn’t spent much time thinking about the effects of underground living on human morale. He imagines it can’t be too good, living in a bunker without windows like Sam and Dean do. Troglobites are hardly the most vibrant lifeforms. Human societies, if they can help it, do not choose this environment for themselves. If he tried, Castiel could surely find a podcast episode available about the subject — something about miners maybe, and their getting hopelessly stuck in a shaft somewhere. But that wouldn’t help. That’s nothing like Sam’s situation at all.

“Do you want to finish the, uh, documentary series?” he asks. They started that one a few nights ago. These past two, Sam shook his head no when Cas asked him, saying he was too tired. He’s about to do the same, but seems to think better of it.

“Yeah, sure.” They have three episodes left. They can get through at least one tonight.

Usually, Castiel lays on top of the bed, postured impeccably, while Sam slouches underneath the covers. This time, Sam holds up the sheets for longer than usual after he gets in, as an invitation. So. Castiel tucks his legs alongside Sam. The bed is a double — not exactly meant for two men’s size — so their physical closeness is pure happenstance. Sam’s head resting on his upper arm, as it is right now, is the most they ever touch.

“Play it,” Sam says. He gestures vaguely to the remote in Castiel’s hand.

The series exposes an unsolved string of murder, the botched investigation, and the cover-up around it. It’s quite harrowing. Castiel is always amazed at how Sam will relax by listening to the most gruesome stories. Often, he’ll fall asleep to episode collections of Forensic Files. Castiel will turn it off for him, once he’s out.

At the end of the episode, Sam is already almost asleep, his lids heavy .

“Sam, you should go to sleep,” Castiel tells him, prying him off his side.

Sam nods, yawns again. Castiel turns off the TV, then hands Sam the remote so he can put it on his side of the bed.

As he turns to lay back down, Sam stops for a moment, resting on his elbow, turned towards his friend. “Hey, Cas,” he murmurs. His eyes are quiet and waiting, in the dim light. “You know, uh. I really like it when you spend the night with me, you know that?”

Castiel doesn’t know that. Sam’s never said that, not in so many words. It’s just something they’ve been doing. It’s nice to have this time just for themselves, to do things that aren’t related to killing anyone.

“I like spending my nights here, too,” Castiel replies. He means it. “Do you want the light on or off?”

“On is fine, thanks. Night, Cas.”

“Alright.”

He usually says that, as a courtesy, if Castiel doesn’t keep watching TV after he’s gone to sleep. Cas can see just as well in the dark, after all — he’s not constrained by the visible light spectrum.

Castiel picks up the book by his bedside. Sam lent it to him, after he said he was looking for a novel to read. It’s a quiet activity that passes the time at night, so he can stay beside Sam without bothering his sleep. Sam’s copy is the English version of the novel, translated from Kikuyu by the author himself. If he wanted to, Castiel could easily read the original. Human languages are all more or less one and the same, or so he’s observed for himself. He thinks about the myriad of dead languages Sam can decipher, and the countless living ones he’ll never understand. Maybe it’s about picking his battles. Kikuyu would come in handy less often than Latin or Aramaic in his line of work.

In any case. Castiel hasn’t considered seeking out the original in any serious way. He likes the idea of reading from Sam’s copy, dog-earing the pages along the same creases, seeing which passages he underlined.

Castiel leans back against the headboard. His foot rests somewhere along Sam’s shin.

This is a nice moment. He likes living it.

Almost unnoticeably, the world around Castiel dims.

A blip brings him back. He collects his presence. He checks on Sam sleeping beside him, and the weight of the room. It all feels odd — like he’s just an inch aside from himself.

Just now, Castiel felt as though he was falling backwards, although his body remained upright, solid. Like he was caught over the eyes by shadowy hands and yanked backwards, speeding through sludge, caving into the outline of himself. It reminded him of when he was human, and hadn’t eaten enough.

He’s not human, however. His body can’t get weak from skipping meals. He has no use for food.

To his right, Sam is already asleep. His pretty head is turned towards Castiel, his hair spread on the pillow. Castiel will have to be more careful. Every time, the dimness lasts longer, becomes darker.

Castiel stares at the pages in his hands. “Good night, Sam,” he says.

#my writing #spn #OS

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livingforcoopsandoknutzy · 4 years

Note

love your writing! if you’re still taking requests could you do 61 and 63 for o’knutzy?

"Hey, woah. Don’t pass out on me.” + “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this sick.”

Characters belong to our lord and savior @lumosinlove

TW: sickness/throwing up/blood

Out of the three of them, Logan was least likely to get sick. No one really knew why but he simply never got sick. Leo tended to get colds and cases of flu mostly while Finn had the unfortunate habit of getting every stomach bug known to man.

So it was very odd for Logan to feel bad but since he didn’t get sick he didn’t want to worry anyone about it. He was slow getting ready but Finn and Leo had both gone to practice early so they weren’t there to see him stumble to the coffee machine clutching his head.

Logan had to turn the music off in his car because it was making the pounding in his head worse. That was the first major red flag since he always always listened to music in the car, it was like a pre-practice ritual.

The next red flag was when his depth perception started getting bad. He had meant to grab his helmet off the wall in his locker but managed to slam his hand into the door a few inches away. He had played it off as being clumsy but was well aware of Remus and Dumo watching him closely after that.

He was on the ice when he saw specks of blood on the ground, he tried looking around to pinpoint who was hurt when he saw more splatter on the ground under him. Was he the one bleeding? He brought a hand up to his face and it came away bloody.

He stood still for a while, not paying much attention to the others skating around him while he realized it was his nose that was bleeding so bad. He was about to take his helmet off when Sirius hit him checked him.

That was considered a light tap and normally Logan could have avoided it all together but even if he hadn’t managed to avoid it, it shouldn’t have sent him to the ground. Everything was spinning when he finally opened his eyes.

Sirius was standing over him with concerned eyes and soon Finn and Leo were next to him leaning down to help Logan up. Logan reached blindly for them and Finn caught his wrist, staring at his hand distraught.

“Lo, you’re bleeding.” At this point, Remus, Dumo, and James were all standing close as well. “I’m fine.” Logan slurred slightly. “Jus’ my nose.” He said, closing his eyes so the world would stop spinning.

“I knew I should have talked to you when you got here, you look pretty bad Tremzy.” Remus said quietly, somehow attuned to the headache Logan was having.

"Thanks for the input Loops." He said trying to ignore the weightlessness that was settling in his bones.

Leo grabbed his other hand and hauled him to his feet, the room spun around him and he clutched Leo's arm in an attempt to stay upright.

"Hey, woah. Don't pass out on me." Leo said concerned as he wrapped his other arm around Logan's waist. Logan wanted to retort but he was too busy trying to fight the stars blotting his vision.

Finn slipped his arm around Logan's waist, helping Leo keep him upright. "Is he alright? Did I do that? Merde, I swear I didn't mean to." Sirius said, skating in front of them while Remus skated behind in case Logan fell.

“No, I’m fine.” Logan said, much softer than he had intended. Sirius frowned and continued biting his lip. Logan felt a wave of nausea rock through his stomach and was relieved when Leo settled him on the bench carefully. Finn helped him get his helmet off and he heard them all give soft gasps and Logan reached up to his nose again.

It came away bloody again and another wave of nausea settled and he slumped against Leo’s side. Finn knelt in front of Logan and put a gentle hand on his forehead before pulling it away cursing. “You’re so hot Lo.” Logan felt a goofy smile pull at his lips. “Why thank you, baby, so are you.”

He heard the delirium in his own voice and laughed loudly before doubling over the trash can Remus had just put in front of him and emptied his stomach into the can. Leo rubbed his back soothingly and Finn held back the hair that fell into his face.

Remus cussed quietly and Logan found himself laughing again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this sick before.” Remus said, turning and asking Moody to do something before turning back to Logan.

“This is worse than the time we all got food poisoning in our freshman year of college.” Finn said, his nose wrinkling up as he remembered throwing up in the sink since Logan had already claimed the toilet. Logan heaved again and Remus lightly slapped Finn’s arm. “Not right now Finn.”

Logan groaned and sat back, this time resting his back against Leo’s chest. Leo kissed his damp hair and rested his chin on Logan’s shoulder. “You want to go home baby?” Leo asked softly, his thumb coming up to wipe some of the blood away while Finn grabbed a rag and wiped Leo’s mouth before handing him a water bottle at Remus’s request. Logan frowned, his fever red cheeks growing a dark crimson as they babied him.

He swatted at Finn’s hand weakly. “‘m fine.” He said but was immediately contradicting himself when he started coughing loudly. Leo kissed his forehead before standing up and reaching down to help Logan up. “Wait, let me take his temperature first.” Remus said, grabbing the thermometer from Moody and gently placing it in Logan’s mouth.

Logan rested his forehead on Finn’s stomach, Finn’s hands playing with his hair absentmindedly. It was silent for a minute before the thermometer started beeping annoyingly. Remus took it out of Logan’s mouth and looked at it, frown deepening as he took in the numbers. “It’s 105 so you’re definitely sick, how come you didn’t tell anyone?”

Logan just shrugged, not bothering to lift his head from Finn’s toned stomach. “Started yesterday morning.” He mumbled before standing up, grabbing Finn’s arms to stable himself as the room swam around him.

“Come here, Lo.” Leo said, bending down in front of him. Logan didn’t think twice as he climbed on his boyfriend’s back and rested his head on Leo’s back. Finn grabbed their bags and talked to Remus for a second while Leo carried Logan to Finn’s car.

Leo helped Logan get in the back before climbing in the back with him, maneuvering Logan until he was laying down with his head in Leo’s lap. Logan made a happy noise and turned to bury his face in Leo’s abdomen. Leo chuckled slightly as he watched Logan curl into him with a contented sigh.

Finn came out two minutes later, quickly throwing their bags in the car before getting in the driver’s seat, glancing at his boyfriends in the back seat. “He okay?” Finn asked as he started the car, Leo looked up and nodded as Finn pulled out.

It was a relatively fast car ride, Logan had fallen asleep about five minutes into the ride. Finn helped Leo get him into their room and they stripped him, putting him in more comfortable clothes.

Logan had given them a suggestive smile when they had started taking his clothes off which made them both laugh as they shook their heads saying ‘not now.’ Finally having gotten him changed into Leo’s hoodie and Finn’s sweatpants they lowered him into bed and under the covers.

Leo changed quickly and Finn took a shower before crawling into bed with his two boys. Logan was playing with Leo’s fingers making incoherent noises and Leo met Finn’s eyes with an amused smirk.

Logan turned to Finn quickly when he laid down but paused halfway, his eyes flickering every which way in a telltale sign that the room was spinning for him. Finn pulled him against his chest. “Close you’re eyes, we’ve got you. You need to rest so you’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine.” Was Logan’s only response but he curled closer to Finn despite his words. Leo laughed softly and kissed Logan’s neck gently, Logan let out a quiet hum and Leo rested his forehead between Logan’s shoulder blades. Logan felt Finn rest his chin on Logan’s curls and smiled sleepily.

Logan couldn’t help but think despite being sick, he loved being sandwiched between his two favorite people. The comfort and care radiating off of them was enough to loll him into sleep almost instantly.

#o'knutzy #finn o'hara #leo knot #logan tremblay #fanfics for a fanfic #lumosinlove #sweater weather #sw #c2c #coast to coast

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jj-ktae · 4 years

Text

Sucre D’orge (M)

Banner : Courtesy of the horniest of the horniest aka Jacqueline @jaebeomsmullet !! Thank you !!!

Title : Sucre D’orge (Candy Cane) Pairing : Lim Jaebeom x Reader Words : 1773 Genre : Crack, smut, oral (male receiving), creepy innuendos, overall it’s kinda weird but when is it not when I write smut. Do not read if you’re underage.

Summary : Jaebeom said he would take care of the Christmas dinner and he is a man of honour. That is, until he forgets to get the dessert.

AN : I know I’m late but here is the Jaebeom smut involving Candy Cane I mentioned a few decades days ago. Don’t judge me.

---

Sucre D’orge

Jaebeom knew he felt lighter than he should have when he left the supermarket. Somewhere between the condiments and the vegetables, the thought of getting something sweet crossed his mind - very quickly but it did.

He knew he should have rushed to the area especially made for Christmas delicacies but his eyes caught these amazing sausages on sale and all holiday thoughts left his mind.

What can he do when he has the attention span of a goldfish.

So upon entering his place he knew he’d have to be creative. And creative he is, just not in the kitchen. He promised he would deal with it, that you wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing, that going to a restaurant was too bougie.

Yet here he is, looking at the rotting box of cookies, all as hard as rocks all the while questioning his life choices.

You’re going to tell him that it doesn’t matter, but it does to him.

Jaebeom is a man of honour. If he says he can handle it, he has to handle it.

Rummaging through the pantry brings discoveries Jaebeom didn’t even know existed. None of these are useful enough to come up with a dessert and even if they were Jaebeom is quite doomed.

He has no idea how to bake.

While preparing the food he thinks and thinks, eyes wandering the kitchen as he almost chop his fingers off. Time ticks and so are his nerves, not satisfied with the thought of messing up.

Maybe he should order a cake ?

He has no idea what to do.

In one last attempt at finding something to do, his eyes fall on your baking box, the one containing all the decoration and useless things you buy online because it’s cheap.

When he opens it, an idea comes up instantly.

And Jaebeom is almost sure you’ll like it better than any other pastry out there.

It’s been a long day. A day of dealing with unhappy customers and people rushing to get some last minute presents to put under the Christmas tree. The cold is freezing your bones and numbing your toes, making you rush faster toward your warm home, where Jaebeom assured you he was done and is currently waiting for you.

He is in charge of the Christmas dinner.

Maybe you’re wrong, but the last time you checked Jaebeom had only three recipes in his portfolio, all involving fried rice and stew. When he insisted on making dinner for such a festive occasion, you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him no, even though you were dying to try that new restaurant next to your workplace.

You open the door and find nothing but silence, along with a neat table. The tablecloth is a deep red, along with golden decorations and it’s so unlike Jaebeom to be this delicate when it comes to anything food-related.

Your fingers scrape the soft material, amazed by the chandeliers and fairy lights adorning the plates and cutlery.

He really did a good job.

And by he you mean Jaebeom, who is nowhere to be seen. Knowing him, he’s supposed to be boasting right now, claiming he can do anything once he puts his mind to it.

But it’s silent, and if it wasn’t for the message you received less than ten minutes ago from him, you’d believe he was asleep.

Well, ten minutes are enough to knock him out anyways.

Carefully, you walk toward your bedroom, where the usually opened door it shut and you finally hear the soft tapping of the cats coming from the guest room.

He definitely locked them up in another room but for what?

You’re full of questions when you open the door, and while you’re expecting your boyfriend to be sleeping like a log after a full day of preparations, you find none of that.

Jaebeom is not asleep.

He is pretty much awake and lying on the bed, surrounded by candles and legs covered. Why is he not wearing a t-shirt ?

Most importantly, why is there a tiny tent under the thin sheet ?

“I thought we’d have some dessert first.” Is all he says, ignoring your shocked face.

Jaebeom must be drunk.

It’s not like he isn’t into that sort of thing, but roleplaying and cringy talks are not part of his sex ritual. You understand he might feel the need to do something unusual as a Christmas gift.

You walk toward the bed, your hands busy as you’re removing your coat and when you sit on the bed he shifts, his lips red and cheeks not their usual colour.

“Where do I start?” You try, eyeing him from head to toes, yet stopping on his middle part which is lifting the sheet so sweetly.

Jaebeom snorts, mildly offended. His hands find their way under his head “How about you kiss me first?”

You lift a brow at his request but still lean on the bed, lips now around his and he instantly becomes needy. His hands leave their spot to trap your head, holding you while his tongue licks your own.

Jaebeom lets you go when you moan into the kiss and leans back on bed, breathless.

“Before you lift the sheet, I’m extremely serious about this. So I swear if you laugh-”

“If I laugh? Why would I?”

When he doesn’t answer you grow curious and lift the said sheet, discovering something that makes you instantly freeze.

In front of you, what was lifting the sheet earlier is now out for your eyes to see. Jaebeom’s dick, unrecognisable, painted like a candy cane...

...with the tip wrapped around a red ribbon and leaking what surely is not sugar.

“Wh-ho-why...huh-” You stammer, head definitely not getting around what is going on.

Jaebeom makes a sound but is definitely too embarrassed to speak, so he just thrusts his hips in the air, signalling you to just go for it.

It’s shocking but not in a bad way. Jaebeom knows your bad taste when it comes to sex and even though he often allowed you to do whatever you wanted with him, he never went as far as transform his dick into a candy cane.

This is exactly what you’d call a Christmas miracle. You love it.

“That’s a cute candy cane…” You muse, kneeling on the floor while resting over the mattress. Your finger teases the ribbon just enough to add pressure around Jaebeom’s tip and he hisses, half-aroused and half-annoyed.

“I wonder what it tastes like. This is the dessert, right ?” You glance up at your boyfriend who is now gripping the bed with all his strength.

Jaebeom nods, biting his lip yet not shy enough to look away despite his reddening cheeks. “How about you give it a lick and tell me?”

“I might just do that.” You conclude, fingers pulling on the ribbon to free his hard flesh. It left a mark but you’re quite sure Jaebeom didn’t hate it as much as he will tell you it did once this is over. “Look how thick…” You moan, grabbing his penis before rubbing it, smearing the edible paint and coating your hand with a mixture of sugar and pre-cum.

Jaebeom hisses when you suck on your fingers.

“Delicious. Where do they sell such awesome desserts…?”

“It’s a secret-” Jaebeom whispers, stopping when you rub him again. “don’t play with food, though…” He tries, making you smirk.

You nod, leaning more over the bed and until your lips are close enough to peck the hot flesh of his thigh, now trembling under your breath. He says nothing and lets you enjoy his skin, becoming obedient even when you spread his legs to move in between them.

He almost hits his head against the wall when you open your mouth to suck on his balls.

You’re taking that degustation theme a bit too far.

He is completely gone when you wrap your lips around his tip to give it a strong suck. He looks down only to find your lips painted in red and white and he feels himself leaking more strings of pre-cum into your mouth at the sight.

It has never been this hard to hold it in.

You rarely deal with such a submissive Jaebeom. He never lets you play for too long, his impatience enough to have him bend you over when he can’t take it anymore.

Today though he only moans and thrusts incredibly slowly. You love it, how he eases himself so sweetly, eyes stuck on the place where he disappears into your warmth and sighing at the feeling.

You caress his skin to tickle his reflexes, nails dipping into the thin skin and scratching painted veins on his hard dick. Jaebeom takes the torture, making all sort of noises and inaudibly encouraging you.

He is apparently praising you to have you unwind yourself on his dick once and for all.

So when you finally decide to descend on him and swallow his dick wholly, he becomes a mess.

You let him go with a smirk, your hand wiping the smeared paint mixed with saliva coating your chin. You look like the most gluttonous bitch out there.

“i’m such a sucker for sweets…” You say before dipping again. Jaebeom doesn’t have the time to answer before you lash out on him, ready to eat all that edible paint and everything else coming from him.

And he wouldn’t mind feeding you with his dick every time you’re hungry.

You speed up and it suddenly is too much for him to handle. His penis is almost clean from the paint, which is now also all around his pubic hair and it’s going to be hell to clean but the orgasm is coming and Jaebeom doesn’t give a shit about anything else but the way he is going to fill your throat until you choke.

And cumming he does, thick ropes oozing out and landing on your chin and mouth while your hand is frantically milking him. Everything is blurry for Jaebeom but not your tongue, out of your mouth and collecting his semen.

It gets too sensitive when you don’t stop moving your hand and even after desperate whimpers, he finds you licking all the remains of his climax.

Jaebeom has no idea why he did this and you will probably make fun of his Christmas candy cane dick for the next decade but when he looks down he finds you, incredibly pleased.

You’re undressing yourself when you say what makes your boyfriend choke on air.

“How about the main course now ? I say stuffed turkey.”

72 notes · View notes

shhhlikeme · 4 years

Note

I ALMOST NEVER SEE ANYONE WRITE ABOUT ARAN SO IM JUMPING IN- ;-; Can I ask for his girl helping him relieve some stress, massaging him and his hands then just a nice cuddle session after..? also Ive been shy to hop in but hi you're pretty and Id love to be friends with you ;-;

UMMM A BIG ACCOUNT LIKE YOURS THAT JUST REACHED 1.25K followers (congrats beb!!) peeps my work ?? And compliments me + gave me my first Aran requestttt ?!

*faints*

I feel like this is a proposal and the answer is YES boo 💍🥰 friendssss 🥺🤗

Anyway I hope you like it newest friend💞

————————————

Some Aran Ojiro x Reader Romance 😩🌹

————————————

you and your boyfriend Aran haven’t been able to see eachother much in the past year at all

He just made the Japan National Team which meant he was practicing and travelling all the time

You two keep up with nightly Facetime dates every night which is great but he almost always falls asleep on you in the first 20 minutes

sleepy muffin that we love so much

You don’t blame him considering his training regimen.

When he wakes up he’s literally talking your ear off apologizing because he feels like a shit boyfriend for falling asleep every time

“I did it again and I know you say it’s fine but it’s not. I’m so sorry Y/N. When I get home, I promise I’ll make it up to you baby girl, I promise. Have a great day Queen and remember I’ll be home to spoil you in 10 days. You’re not ready. I love you! Peace!”

As you lay in your empty bed the next morning, you just smile at the video of him apologizing to you while he is running around his hotel room to get ready for morning practice

Your man works so hard but he never fails to make sure he’s the first thing you see when you wake up and the last person you see before you fall asleep. It’s endearing

He is super super busy being a professional athlete but that doesn’t stop him from making you feel special in the little and big ways

Sometimes, he orders you breakfast or dinner from your favourite brunch or sushi spot that you two like to go to so that he can put a smile on your face when he’s travelling

All he asks in return is a cute selfie of you in your pjs and messy bun with the food and that is the only thank you he needs

Seriously send it though or he’ll spam your phone lol

Can I tell you a funny story related to your mans sweet foodie gestures?

Okay so One random night last weekend.....

You heard a knock on the door of your condo and you quickly paused your Netflix movie to dust the popcorn crumbs off Aran’s t-shirt you were wearing

You opened the door excitedly thinking it might be another Uber Eats surprise from your boyfriend but instead you see a grumpy looking Osamu standing in the delivery guys place

“Your boyfriend is annoying.” Osamu deadpanned as he glanced at you once before letting himself in.

“Uh, Nice to see you.....too, Osamu-san.”

Samu murmured something in response grumpily and went over to your kitchen island to place down a large brown paper bag.

“Stupid professional volleyball playing friend and brother,” He muttered under his breath. You watched him take out lots of food from his restaurant from your spot by the door, by the look (and amazing smell) of it the bag was packed with all your favourites. You were thrilled even though the grey haired boy in your kitchen wasn’t.

“Look at me! I’m Aran. My stupid Uber Eats app won’t work from mutant-spider Australia so instead of just chilling like a normal person I call and beg my very handsome and very successful restaurant-owner friend to make my girlfriend all her favourite dishes and drive them over in the middle of a rain storm. A rain storm!”

You held your ground back at the door (knowing good and well not to get in the way of Samu when he was in one of his signature bitchy moods) as a smile crept on your face. It felt like someone was squeezing your heart as you watched Osamu comfortably rummage through your cabinets and find your dishes. He plated your food beautifully like the professional chef he is, all while mumbling angrily under his breath about his quote unquote “Simp of a best friend.”

When he was done with the food, Osamu also pulled out a bottle of your favourite wine from his restaurant that only Aran knows about and poured you a glass perfectly, swaying the liquid around first to make sure it was rich. Satisfied but still annoyed, Osamu cleaned his restaurant’s paper bag contents away and then walked over to your spot on the couch to take a handful of popcorn. Still a grump, he met you back at the door.

Samu looked down at you with the irritated expression you’ve become accustomed to over the years.

“Aran also told me to give you this.” He deadpanned before leaning down to kiss the top off your head then left. You smiled, unable to stop bubbling over in giggles because you knew Aran just added that to annoy his affection-challenged best friend. You poked your head out to the hallway of your condo building, seeing Osamu’s retreating figure you sang:

“Thank you, Samuuuuuu! 🎶”

Effectively adding to his annoyance just like your boyfriend would have wanted you to.

Without looking back, Osamu just lifted up a cool peace sign that your boyfriend and the two brothers were notorious for.

That trio, man.

dinner that night was the best you’ve had in forever

Not only was it delicious but

You realized that very night that your boyfriend was the most remarkable human in the world and you didn’t deserve him

You checked your phone as you sipped your wine because you received several texts from your boy asking where his picture of you eating is and also asking how funny Samu’s reaction was

You giggled as you read the text and then you had an idea! 💡

You put down your phone and quickly changed into some lacy lingerie for the picture:

Your boyfriend always asked for simple ‘rates PG’ pics because he loved to see you bare faced and wearing his big clothes. It was so cute to him.

he would make each new picture you sent his two backgrounds on his phone and he relished in the fact that you were so beautiful when you didn’t try

You knew this, but you also knew that your man deserved a little ‘sumn sumn’ for making tonight so special for you 😉

You put on a little sultry makeup to go with your sexy number and went back to the kitchen to your food and wine

You took a much sexier picture than he would ever expect

Actually you chose to send him a boomerang:

one of your hair slightly disheveled and your tits basically out despite the lacy cover. You pressed the wine glass to your red lips and winked in the boomerang, wiggling your hips ever so seductively

•••

in a luxurious hotel in Australia, your stunning boyfriend just finished his shower in his hotel room

He dried his face with a towel and opened his iMessage app on his phone... effectively ignoring the:

“🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼it’s done.🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼”

text from his best friend Osamu and clicking your name instead

Aran swiped left on his phone hoping to see another cute picture of his girlfriend being sent to him that makes his day the brightest but what he actually sees instead almost makes him drop his phone out of his wet hands

No Deadass he almost dropped it! it slipped out of his hands 4 times

His heart beating because of his phone but mostly because you were the finest woman he’s ever seen, he replays your sexy boomerang 30 times, literally engraving every detail about you into his mind. If his teammates weren’t so nosy he’d love to make what you just sent him his background on his phone......but that wouldn’t work

He really treasured you and what you sent though. For Aran, the next 9 days at this Global Tournament could not go by fast enough.

Aran’s never asked for naughty pictures from you not once because he doesn’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, but seeing that you did it on your own, of course it made him want to skip his National game tomorrow just to fly back and make love to you all night then rub your back the way you like until you fell asleep

Mans is in LOVE, you feel me?

He wanted to show you just how treasured you are for sticking by his side through all this travelling shit. He wanted you to always know you were his queen even if he was miles away

So, by you sending this sexy Boomerang and treating him like a King even though you didn’t have to, your man fell even harder for you

He had so much planned when he came home like always: spoil you with a shopping trip with your girls, a romantic spa trip for you both and a trip to the amusement park, but it seemed so far away now

Frowning, Aran texted you back a paragraph telling you how beautiful you are and how lucky he was to have you in his life for a plethora of reasons

He Facetime’d you for the expected classic 20 minutes while you wore that lingerie BUT he actually stayed up for 36 minutes because he was fighting sleep like a damn boxer. He wanted to see you... but of course his fatigue got the better of him and he fell asleep with a big smile on his face because you whispered goodnight

•••

the next day, after sleeping in, Aran woke up for his first tournament game and did all of his pre-game rituals which included calling you, and his best friends Kita & the twins.

He proceeded to his 6:00pm game as planned in the grand court of Sydney.

Aran sweetly signed autographs and Jerseys with his name on it that fans and little kids eagerly presented to him before and after the game that they had won.

“Mr. Ran’! Mr. ‘Ran! Volleybwall is my most favouritest sport to pway , too! Can I have hug???” Asked a particularly bouncy little African-Australian girl in the crowd. Aran glances at the dad for permission and upon granting Aran nodded kindly and picked up the toddler so she was propped up on his hip. The girl wrapped her miniature arms around the big volleyball star’s neck and squeezed tightly. Aran chuckled in his deep voice, exclaiming an “Ow! You’re a strong one, aren’t you? A future Ace for sure.” The little girl gasped at her idols words and hugged him harder. The dad had to literally rip her out of Ojiro’s arms because she didn’t want to let go.

“Don’t break the volleyball player, honey. They’re sore.” Said the father to his daughter.

Aran reached in his gym bag to collect a clean tournament shirt from his bag and handed it to the hysterically crying little girl. “Sore is an understatement. But....here, ‘future Ace.’ When you make the National Women’s Team and I’m the one at one of your games, maybe you can give it back to me.”

The little girl’s whole life was made as she immediately stopped crying and smiled widely, hugging the shirt close to her chest as if it might disappear if she let go.

Because he was a teddy bear and wanted to sign as many kids memorabilia as possible, plus give the youth encouraging messages....Aran usually stayed an hour or two later than the other players after their away games. Telling his teammates to go on ahead back to their hotel without him

HE’S PERFECT 😩

Sore as hell and more tired than ever after his big games, he picked up his phone to call you on his way back to the hotel

He loved hearing your voice it was so soothing to him

No answer. He tried 5 times.

Thinking you were probably working hard from home, Ojiro dragged his feet past the hotel concierge and used all of his slumped body weight to push open the door to his hotel room.

He didn’t remember it being this dark in here or even shutting off the lights when he left, but being too tired to care he dropped his huge bag on the floor, gripping his aching shoulder as he took one step to the right to flip on the lights

When he did, he had to rub his sleepy eyes because he couldn’t believe what he saw

“Y-Y/N?!”

Standing in the middle of his hotel room, you smiled brightly and ran to your boyfriend, wrapping your legs around his waist in a koala hug. You wore that lacy number you used in the picture you sent him last night. Your man stumbled back from the impact and overall surprise but once he was stable he hugged you back tightly.

“Oh my God, you look incredible, what-what are you doing here?!” He asked, still in disbelief.

You pecked his lips and jumped down. “After last night I missed you so much. So I just called into work, booked a 9-hour direct flight and now I’m here! I’m staying for the rest of the tournament. Hi, handsome!!!!” You had so much happiness and light in your eyes that it literally woke up your boyfriend by contentment, even though he was just on the verge of collapsing on his bed from fatigue minutes ago.

He grabbed your face softly in his large hands and tilted your head up towards his to give you a proper kiss, letting you know how happy he was through the kiss.

You pulled away. “Whoa! Someone’s happy to see me!” You poked his tummy.

“An understatement—Wait, what is that?” Finally looking away from your face for the first time since he entered his room, Aran looked behind you in awe. There was a rather large massage table set up in the centre of his suite.

“Oh, that old thing?!” You questioned playfully as you jogged over to the big table and showcased it with your hands like a Wheel of Fortune prize girl. “I tried to book a massage for you for tomorrow because I know you always forget, but they were all booked obviously so I just asked the guy downstairs—after name dropping you—if they could bring this up and they had no problem with it!”

Aran looked at you incredulously so you continued. “Lay down, babe. I know you must be sore after your game. I ordered food for you too but they said it will be up here in an hour and a half. So, I’ll get out some of your kinks now, we’ll eat, and then I can massage you more until you fall asleep.”

Aran couldn’t believe this was happening.

“But you just got off a flight, Y/N! You must be tired, too! I couldn’t possibly—“

You gave your boyfriend your best Osamu impression with your seriously annoyed frown. “Aran. You do everything in your power to make sure that I’m feeling more than amazing every single day even when you are halfway across the world. So now since I’m a mere halfway across the room, I want to do this for you. Please. Let me return the favour.”

Feeling too tired to bicker and knowing you meant business, your big man gave in. He removed his shirt when you asked and settled face down on the comfortable table.

You put on some soft r&b and took out the essential oils you bought from the spa and began to give your man a sensual but remarkable rub down, taking immense care in soothing his muscle pain in his legs and back

You listened for his groans when you reached particularly sensitive spots on his back and spent a lot more time in those areas

When you were massaging his shoulders you made sure to lean down every few minutes to kiss the side of his neck and Aran would sigh in delight every time.

“Y/N. I know you want to get all of my kinks out and trust me this feels amazing, but, if you keep kissing me dressed like that I’ll stop this massage to make love to you on this table. Okay?”

You giggled and smacked his booty.

“Kay.” 😇

When the food came, you and Aran opted to sit on the couch and eat, feeding eachother and kissing and just being all cute n shit—🙄

A/N: Can you tell how jealous I am?

After dinner and your night routines, you told your baby to give you his hands in bed.

you lotioned them in between your smaller ones and gave him a long, much desired, kneading hand massage in the pitch black room until he was on the verge of falling asleep.

“I love you, Y/N.” whispered Ojiro, his deep voice slower because he was half asleep. “Please be here when I wake up....” He whispered before succumbing to a deep slumber.

You stopped your massage, kissed both of his hands and cuddled into his warm body.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, Aran.” You closed your eyes too, feeling sleep wash over you as well.... “I’ll always be here.”

#aran ojiro #aran ojiro x reader #aran ojiro x y/n #aran ojiro x you #black anime fans #fluff #hq fluff #haikyu romance #hq romance #haikyu fluff #fluffville #kaylas fluffville #inarizaki #kiba hq #haikyu headcanons #osamu hq #hq atsumu

219 notes · View notes

cockasinthebird · 4 years

Note

Number 11 please!

Hello hello hello!! ✨

11. “If this is a booty call then yes.”

I went with a Modern Day College AU for the sake of texting and, well, booty calls, I hope that’s to your liking!!! Thank you so much for sending one in, I’ve gotten so many and each one of you all hold a special place in my heart! 🤗💕

Just above 3k words! Enjoy~

Fuck fuck fuck.

He groans in exasperation and throws his head back onto the pillow, dark hair spreading, clean and still a slight bit damp from the shower. Every night, to wind down from another stressful day of studying and classes, he goes through an intricate ritual to unwind and calm down, spending close to two hours in the communal bathroom on this floor, using a dozen different skin care products and hair masks. It makes him feel better about himself, makes him feel pretty despite only being able to sleep for about four hours every night.

But sometimes it isn’t quite enough to make him relax.

Stress, anxiety, parental pressure, all of it is keeping him awake and it’s definitely going to have him grow gray hair and wrinkles all too early. Not that he wouldn’t absolutely rock the shit out of silver hair, but he likes his brown hair, thick and deep in its color, although Billy has been talking about how good highlights would look.

Hmmm Billy

Billy Billy Billy

Now there’s someone that doesn’t cause him any grief, if you look past the few fist fights they’ve been in in the past, at the start of the semester, and the occasional teasing.

Steve thinks some more about Billy, the gorgeous, handsome lit major, moved here from California, skin kissed and beloved by the sun, body hard and firm with sculpted biceps and rippling abs.

He chews a bit on his lower lip as he looks to his phone, peeking out from underneath his pillow, daring him to just text him. Billy’s only two floors up. And Steve’s been spending the last half hour fingering himself and jerking off, craving that sweet, delicious relief, but all he’s gotten so far is a half chub and exhausted fingers.

The more he thinks about it, the better of an idea it seems, so he wipes his fingers clean of lube and grabs his phone.

Bambi: U up 💕

Despite it being 1am, the response is near immediate.

👑💘🌹: If this is a booty call then yes

👑💘🌹: 🍆👌💦

And Steve feels heat rush to his gut immediately, proving way more effective than his own touch - way to be biased, body.

Bambi: Tommy’s spending the night w/ Carol

👑💘🌹: 👍👍👍

He smiles wide with a clear blush to his cheeks and shies away, covering his face with a hand. So maybe he’s got a crush, but who cares! He can handle it, it’s fine, Billy’s not the “relationship type,” as he explained before their first time together, and it is fine.

Quickly he throws the phone back onto the mattress, jumps up and starts shoving dirty laundry under his bed, papers and books get crammed into the drawers of his desk, and he just barely manages to check his hair in a mirror before there’s a gentle knocking.

Billy must have hurried down here, and just so, Steve rushes to open the door to his dorm room.

“Did anyone see you?” he quietly asks Billy through the slightly ajar opening.

“If they did, I doubt they’d tell anyone; wouldn’t wanna get caught sneaking around past midnight.”

And Billy doesn’t wait for Steve to invite him in before pushing through. He looks around the dimly lit room, taking in all the barrenness of dorm life - it being nothing like they show in the movies or on instagram.

“Looks the same as last; you ever gonna put up poste-” he goes mum as he turns to Steve, now realising that he’s naked and hard.

The devil is in his grin, and it makes Steve’s soul ache, cock twitch, as he looks back with heavy eyes, dark with lust, grabbing Billy by the collar of his tee to pull him into a deep and desirous kiss, tongues out to taste, hands slipping down his pale back to squeeze his exposed ass, eliciting an erotic, “A-ahh.”

“You’re so eager, huh pretty boy?” Billy drawls all sensuous as he gropes Steve, bringing their hips flush together, fingers inching between cheeks, closer and closer and-

He leans away, staring at Steve with his mouth slightly open, watching him as he presses one finger all the way in.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps loudly.

Billy’s slack jaw tenses to a grin, and he chuckles as he licks across his teeth. He doesn’t pause, keeps pumping his finger in and out, and Steve can feel how Billy’s cock grows hard against his own leaking prick, caught between them.

“Hmmm been thinking ‘bout me, babe?” Billy hums in the most mischievous way, drives the finger as deep as he can go and wiggles it around.

Steve squirms, rutting his hips against Billy, moaning all too loud with just one finger and some friction against his impatient dick. He tries to kiss Billy, have his lips muffle him, keep him quiet, but the blonde just dodges out of the way with a shitty smile.

But when Billy presses a second, thick, rough finger in, it becomes impossible to not pant and cry like he always does, making him weak in the knees, like pudding in Billy’s hands.

“I love how easy it is with you,” Billy growls and moves down Steve’s neck, sucking and biting and licking, marking him with gorgeous purple hickeys. “Already so wet and stretched out perfect for my big cock.”

Steve wants to retort, say something of equal vulgarity, tell him just how bad he needs Billy to fuck him blind, shove his head into the pillow and pound into his ass. But all he can do is push onto those two fingers, whimper breathlessly against Billy’s lips, and clutch his hands in the fabric of his shirt.

“Gotta keep quiet, baby, can’t have you waking up the whole campus. Think you can do that for me?”

He nods, profusely, and stumbles through his words, “Yes, yes, I’ll shut up, please just… I-I need to relieve some goddamn stress.”

Billy’s self-satisfied smirk cracks open a little to show teeth as he chuckles, a low and dark rumble that Steve feels beneath his palms. “I can help you with that.”

And Billy kisses him again, licks into the sweetness of Steve’s mouth, swallowing every little whimper that comes whenever those digits curl, fully inside of Steve’s ass. When he pulls them out he leaves behind an aching emptiness; Steve feeling so needy he’s actually a slight bit uncomfortable in the absence of being filled and stretched.

“Go sit on the bed,” Billy demands, smirking with lidded eyes, gazing at Steve with such promises, he can’t help but melt a bit.

Steve doesn’t hesitate before sitting down on his bed; it’s a small and wooden frame, big enough for one person, two if they’re on their sides or on top of one another. All kinds of things are possible even with limited space, as these two have discovered through the last half year.

Billy lifts off his shirt and drops the shorts, exposing his steely, veiny cock, standing to full attention at Steve’s eye height, and he feels his entire body twitch with far too much enthusiasm, mouth running at the sight like a fucking dog and bone. Billy moves closer, spreads his legs and plants them on either side of Steve.

“Wanna suck me off, pretty boy?” it's barely an ask, as Billy brings one hand to drag his fingers through Steve’s hair, the other to angle the tip of his fat dick towards Steve’s lips.

Steve gazes up at him through his lashes, looking almost thankful for the opportunity, and he’s not gonna lie, there is something so enjoyable about having Billy’s cock heavy in his mouth, although he’s not super into swallowing, he’d do it for him.

So he wets his lips, runs his tongue flat and broad against Billy’s blunt head like it’s a goddamn ice cream cone, watches how he bites his lip, staring at how Steve tentatively tastes him before sinking down abruptly, all the way till his nose brushes against Billy’s lower abdomen, his dick hitting the back of Steve’s throat.

“Fuck, Harrington,” Billy groans out and brings a hand against the wall to support himself as he bends forward.

Steve works his tongue, swallows around the head, hollowing his cheeks as he slowly pulls off again till he can suck at the tip, then goes back down, starts bobbing and moaning.

Billy “helps” a bit, catching on to the rhythm and thrusting along to it, testing to see just how deep and fast he can go before Steve would start complaining. Which proves to be quite a bit more than Steve offered up initially; with a fist locked tightly in his hair, he relaxes as much as he can to allow Billy free reigns of fucking into his mouth, sloppy and careless and obscene, spit running down Steve’s chin as he does nothing but enjoy being used by Billy.

Billy Billy Billy

Billy’s scent is incredible, musky and dominant and salty, his sweat tasting all the same, and Steve has started to notice that whenever they’re together, whenever they’re intimate, Billy doesn’t bother with cologne or deodorant or anything that might obscure his smell. Maybe Billy doesn’t care to be all fancy and proper around Steve like he is with the girls or other guys around campus. Maybe he knows it drives Steve wild.

Steve had gotten so lost in the moment, that when Billy pulls all the way out it’s a sudden awakening, and Steve swallows only spit and pre, wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand and is left gasping for air like he just ran a marathon.

“Where do you keep your condoms?” Billy sounds just as out of breath, probably having been all too close to cumming already.

Eagerness so apparent when he throws himself onto the bed it’s almost embarrassing, as he dives for the large box underneath his bed. It takes a second of rummaging through dildos and vibrators and lubes to find a condom wrapper, and barely does he get to offer it up before Billy yanks it from his fingers.

He fiddles a bit with the foil, grinning in a way that makes Steve’s skin crawl wonderfully, then asks, “Want me to take you from behind? Fuck you hard into your bed?” each word a lascivious little promise.

“Please…” Steve’s voice quivers with wanton.

Loves getting absolutely railed by Billy, he trusts him explicitly, would let him do anything. Even if Billy doesn’t feel the same way about Steve, Steve can’t get enough of him; hasn’t been able to think of anyone else or even be with someone other than Billy since they started this little affair months ago.

Billy Billy Billy.

He gets on all fours, gathers his legs and bends down to press his face into his pillow, arching his back. Heart beats faster, full erection twitching where it dangles alone, as he feels the mattress dip on either side of his knees when Billy positions himself behind.

“Mmmh, I like it when you say please and beg for it.” With the condom on, he rubs the fat head of his cock against Steve’s clenching entrance, but then slips it between cheeks, swaying his hips back and forth as he teases with too little.

“Please, Billy,” Steve whines, moves his ass closer for more, but a pair of strong hands stills him. “Please please please, Billy, I need you to fuck me so bad, I-I want your cock, please.”

And Billy pulls away. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” Bucks his hips as he shoves his girthy cock all the way in in one fell swoop.

Steve clasps his hand flat over his mouth to keep in the surge of moans that comes from Billy setting a relentless pace, slow but rough, skin slapping together louder than Steve’s own croons and keening.

“Like that?” Billy laughs, nasty and snide, grinning like a wolf staring down at a helpless sheep.

A sheep whose cries gets suppressed by a pillow, as Steve bites into it in his tries to keep quiet, but the way Billy fucks him all brutal and savage feels absolutely incredible, making his eyes roll back.

“God, you take my cock so well, princess,” his growl hot and predatory.

Billy bends forward, grabbing Steve by the neck for support, hand like a vice and pressing him harder into the bed, the other hand on his hip.

“That ok for you?” he asks as if he cares about Steve.

Or maybe that’s just how Steve hears it.

“Y-yes, ahh, fuck!” he says in a hurried tone before biting down on his lip again to keep those kinds of bawdy sounds in.

“Good.” And Billy picks up the speed, thrusts going shallow as he shoves into Steve like both their lives depend on it, making the bed shake and creak beneath their weight.

Each deep plunge more phenomenal than the other, driving straight into his prostate; he won’t last long if Billy keeps this up, waves of the purest arousal drowning out all his other senses, and Steve lets himself get pulled under the current.

“Fuck, baby, love how tight your ass is, arrh, best hole in all of Indiana,” Billy’s voice deep and gravely as he praises Steve with words dipped in honeyed lust. “So eager to suck me dry, all needy and starved for my cock.”

Anyone that has ever had even one conversation with Billy Hargrove will know just how much he loves to listen to himself talk, but Steve can’t blame him, for now there’s nothing more in his world than Billy’s thick erection and sultry voice. Praising him, calling him dear names, groaning and cursing about how fucking good he is. He could listen to it all night; wants to listen to it for the rest of his life.

“Feel so good, princess.”

Billy…

“So nice and warm and soft inside of you.”

Billy…

“Wanna cum inside of you so bad.”

“Billy, I’m-I’m… so close, ah-h-” Steve’s voice a mess in contrast to how cool and collected Billy remains.

“Shh, gotta be quiet,” his tone soft and delicate as he continues to utterly ram into Steve’s sensitive body, pounding like a hammer.

He bends down, snakes his arm around Steve to cover his mouth, and angles him to the side to kiss across his cheek, nibble at his jawline, bite down his neck.

“Show me how good I make you feel, let me watch you ruin your sheets.”

Steve moans out in agreeance into his hand strong and calloused against his lips, then brings his own down to fist at his leaking prick, throbbing and filled and oh so close, he’s toeing the finish line, only a few strokes away from doing as told, wet and slick with pre, seeking to find the same rhythm as Billy fucks into him, like a rabid dog.

His orgasm is sudden, like being shoved into a pool of euphoria, bottomless and filling his lungs.

“God, yes, fuck, just like that,” Billy growls into his ear, burning hot and white, bringing an extra, warm, thick wave of thrill through Steve’s emptying cock.

He jerks quick and uncontrolled as he spills onto his sheets, toes twitching on the edge of cramping up as his body tenses, Billy’s girthy cock still drilling into him, and when Steve is ready to go limp, blissed out and finally relaxed, Billy leans away.

Grabs him by the hips to continue thrusting, bucking, slapping skin together as he pulls out to the tip just to slam right back in, tugging at Steve’s hips till he’s fully buried to the hilt, then once more, twice, thrice, ramming into Steve where jolts of over stimulated pleasure and a burning sensation makes him cry into his pillow.

And Billy digs his nails into soft flesh as he brings them together, crude and deep as he cums, breathless with a stutter, he brings a hand next to Steve’s head for support. It’s short and silent and uneventful, perfected from years of hiding and fucking around; he once told Steve that loves to fuck in all too public places, dangerous and with high chances of getting caught. Said he wanted to bring Steve to some of those places.

Steve’s… kinda hard again. Sore, exhausted, satisfied, sure, but definitely not entirely flaccid.

Billy kisses him down his back, across every bump of his spine that he can reach, rubbing soothingly against where his nails have left marks, then pulls out and gets off the bed. He pulls off the condom and throws it into the trash can, untied and reckless.

“How you doing?” he asks as he gets dressed, back turned to Steve.

Who’s still bent over, legs spread out to steady himself a bit, but nevertheless unmoving, staring at Billy’s gorgeous back muscles.

“I’m… yeah, I’m good,” Steve chuckles with a light heart and a way too satisfied and appreciative smile.

Bluest of eyes glance at him over a shoulder, and after putting on his shirt again, Billy goes to kneel by the bed, where he pushes aside a few locks of hair so that he can properly look Steve in the eyes.

Steve thinks it unfair, that the way Billy touches him gently like this burns more than when he holds him down like he did tonight. He hates how easy he is, how needy he is for pure affection, and he can feel it creep up in red on his cheeks.

“You should probably clean all that up before it dries,” Billy says so nonchalant, like their tender little moment here just doesn’t affect him at all.

And Steve can’t do anything but sigh, hopelessly in love with someone who is, as Billy puts it, “A man of the people.”

“Yeah… it’d be real gross if I slept like this,” Steve huffs and sits back on his heels.

“Just get some tissues to wipe it off then sleep on a towel till you can change your sheets tomorrow,” Billy explains, eyeing the wet stain seeping into the fabric, “It’s what I do.”

Then he stands up again, stretching and scratching his stomach with a tired and pleased groan, before heading for the door.

“See you next time, Harrington.”

#Harringrove #My Writing #Lemon #Mystery Prompt #500 Followers #College AU #Modern Day AU #sergeantjamesrogers

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inkweaver22-blr · 3 years

Text

HOLY. MOLY.

This has to be the Lóng-est chapter I’ve written so far! It took me almost two whole days to complete!

Please enjoy the fruits of my labor as we all see what Tang gets up to next!

AO3 Link

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Seven: Scaled Siblings

Tang wakes up in Mei's mansion.

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Tang woke from the usual dream signaling the start of a new cycle when his alarm went off. With a sigh he sat up and reflexively clapped his hands. He blinked a bit in surprise when the lights turned on in response. He quickly put on his glasses and looked around.

The room he was in was not one he recognized. It was much larger than he was accustomed too, being the same size as either of the apartments he usually lived in. The opulent decorations also screamed wealth and old money to Tang, something he certainly never had.

As he climbed out of the king sized bed, Tang began to suspect where he was. The amount of green accents and jade adornments everywhere made it fairly obvious.

He was in the Lóng family’s mansion.

Shivering a bit as he rubbed his bare arms, (apparently this version of himself slept shirtless), he quickly made his way over the huge mirror that was standing upright in between a fancy dresser and antique armoire. He needed to know what was going on.

Tang’s mouth hung open when he saw his reflection.

He was young.

He was buff.

Tang gaped at his own body for a few moments. Sure, the scholar had never technically been out of shape in most timelines, but dang he had never been this fit before either.

Blushing in embarrassment once he realized he had just been staring at himself for over a minute, Tang did his best to refocus.

(But damn did he look good.)

He was much younger than usual as well. If the scholar had to guess, he’d say he was only a few years older than MK and Mei now.

He really needed to find out what was happening.

Tang took a breath and began his remembering ritual.

“I am Lóng Tang. I am the current heir to the branch of the Lóng family descended from Huánglóng, the Yellow Dragon.”

What the hell?!

Tang rubbed his temples as he felt a headache coming on. He thought being Tripitaka had been confusing enough, but this was on an entirely different level of unexpected. He needed to keep going or he’d get stuck on this single fact for much too long.

“Every family descended from a dragon traditionally takes on the name Lóng. Even though we aren’t tied by blood, all the Lóng branches consider each other family and treat each other as distant relatives.”

Fascinating, but that didn’t really help ease his confusion much. Next detail.

“I’ve been living with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, who are descended from Ao Run, the Dragon King of the West Sea, for the last four years.”

Well that explained why he was in Mei’s mansion.

“I’ve done so at the request of my aunt and uncle, who are hoping that by setting a good example, Mei will learn from me, grow out of her childish pursuits, and become a proper heir.”

What. The. Hell.

Tang searched his memories thoroughly. There was no way Mei’s parents would have said such a horrible thing to him directly.

He came up with no concrete evidence of his aunt and uncle having ever implied that they found Mei lacking in any way. It seemed this version of himself had simply made that assumption himself.

Tang rolled his eyes. He certainly knew how dangerous making assumptions could be. He needed more information to get a better conclusion.

“Luckily for Mei, I find her to be fun and do my best to act as a buffer between her and her parents. She introduced me to her friend MK back in my first year living here, and he quickly befriended me once I began sharing stories about the Monkey King with him. We all like to hang out at MK’s adoptive father’s noodle shop whenever we all have some free time.”

Tang smiled in relief. At least some things never changed.

“Right now, I should be making my way to the mansion’s training room for my daily workout before heading to my job at the city library.”

Tang blinked as he finally checked the time. 5:17 AM. Eurgh. He should not be feeling this energetic this early.

With a resigned sigh, Tang pulled out a set of exercise clothes from the ridiculously nice dresser and got dressed.

He had always heard exercising was a good way to help clear your head when you had a lot to think about. At least, that’s what a lot of martial arts fiction implied. He hoped that it worked the same in practice.

----------

Tang had never felt so in control of his own body before. The way it seemed to flow from one movement to the next as he began some warm up sets was extremely satisfying.

Just as satisfying was the fact that he was trained in martial arts in this timeline. He never had a real desire to fight, but just knowing how to defend himself was a bit reassuring with what he knew would be coming in the future.

He let his mind wander a bit as he let his muscle memory lead him through his pre-workout routine.

This cycle had broken Tang’s previously held conventions on what he had come to expect within these timelines. He had originally categorized them into five types.

The ones where there were no changes to the original timeline.

The ones where there were only small, relatively insignificant changes.

The ones where new events outside of the ones in the original timeline occurred.

The ones where he was the immortal Tripitaka instead of just his reincarnation.

Finally, there were the ones that combined any number of changes from the previous three types.

Tang moved on to a second, more difficult set as he pondered on this shift in perspective. It was obvious this was a new, sixth type of cycle he simply hadn’t encountered before. This one had completely rewritten his and Mei’s background, making huge alterations to their past that would surely affect the coming future events.

Tang felt a shiver of fear creep down his spine but kept his form steady.

Now that his personal history was almost completely unrecognizable, what did that mean for the “No Interference” rule? It didn’t seem to apply whenever Tang himself didn’t know what the outcome of events could be. So with him having an altered life, did that mean the outcomes of the events he knew of would have been altered as well? Could he get more involved than before now as he never knew what those outcomes would have been? Perhaps he couldn’t directly affect the outcomes, but surely he wouldn’t be punished for offering a bit of backup and support now that he could provide it.

Right?

He smoothly moved onto his final warm up set as another complication occurred to him.

This wouldn’t be the only cycle that would drastically change his and his family’s past. Like the other variants, now that he had experienced one, more would begin to show up with increasing frequency as time went on.

What worried Tang was that they would also share the unpredictability of the others. The vast amount of probable changes were too numerous to even begin guessing what might happen until a cycle began and he could remind himself of his history within it.

He supposed that there was nothing he could do about that until those cycles actually happened, so there was no real point in fretting over it now. He let his worries go as he finished his warm up and took a deep breath.

Tang felt good.

Better than good, actually, he felt energized. Charged up, so to speak. It was exhilarating.

With a grin, Tang focused on the part of himself that was dragon in origin. The energy that swirled within him was powerful; a strange mix of wild strength and immovable sturdiness.

He let warm power fill him as he held out his hand. In a flash of golden-yellow light, the young scholar summoned his family’s own sacred weapon to him. Tang examined it in awe.

Dàdì Zhī Yá.

Fang of the Earth.

It was a masterful work of art.

The magical guandao had been a gift to his ancestors from Huánglóng himself and, just like Mei’s Dragon Blade, seemed to be made entirely out of jade.

It wasn’t the same green jade however. It was made up of three other types of the precious mineral.

The intricately designed blade was a bright yellow jade, matching the color of the scales of its creator. The shaft of the weapon was a rich brown jade, symbolizing the element of Earth Huánglóng was associated with. Finally, the connector for the shaft and blade and the counter-weighted capstone at the butt of the shaft were a deep black jade. It was said to represent the color of ink as Huánglóng had supposedly gifted the knowledge of writing to mankind.

The only part of the weapon that wasn’t made of jade was the royal purple silk tassel that hung from the connecting piece near the blade. It complimented the earthy colors of the rest of the guandao rather nicely.

Tang took the weapon in both hands and got into the proper stance to begin his drills.

He had earned the right to wield the Fang of the Earth roughly six years ago according to his memories and had practiced diligently with it ever since.

Being chosen to be worthy of possessing it had forged a sort of connection between him and the guandao. Normally, the weight alone should have made it impossible for him to lift it, but the connection allowed him to hold it with little difficulty. He had still struggled a bit with how heavy it was despite that, but the years of training had helped him gain the strength and muscle to wield it with incredible precision and control.

Simply being able to pick it up wasn’t the only benefit to being connected to his family’s sacred weapon. It seemed to bond with the dragon energy within him, allowing the scholar to summon it to his side at will. The only drawback was that his hands had to be completely free to do so.

He wondered if the Dragon Blade worked similarly for Mei back in his original timeline.

Tang swung the guandao around skillfully, thinking about his cousin in this cycle.

Lóng Xiǎojiāo. Mei.

The young woman was an endless fountain of optimism and positivity. She had a passion for life and its experiences. Riding her motorcycle was just one of the ways she connected to her innermost self and channeled her enthusiasm for existence.

She was fiercely loyal to her friends and family. She may not be formally trained in a fighting style, but if you hurt her precious people you’d face her wrath.

Mei was generally cheerful and outgoing in most aspects of her life. The single exception had been her relation with her family and their legacy.

Tang frowned as he continued his drills.

In the original timeline, Mei had constantly been under the pressure to behave properly. At least she had until the Dragon Blade had been stolen and she unlocked its power. By embracing being a part of her family despite their differences and by being herself, she had become a worthy successor to her clan’s lineage.

But that was still four months away according to the current date. This was certainly the earliest he’d even woken up before the original events.

His presence here wasn’t helping matters. While he and Mei had become good friends, he couldn’t help but feel that she thought she was constantly being compared to him by her parents.

Again, he had no strong proof about whether that was the case in this cycle. It was just a suspicion he had.

Tang hummed to himself, trying to think of some way to fix this problem while slashing downwards with the Fang of the Earth.

He couldn’t do anything overt that could change things so that she accepted her place in her family too early. He was sure that violated the “No Interference” rule despite the changed history.

Perhaps he could try subtly raising Mei’s self confidence? But how could he go about doing that?

Tang twirled the guandao around him before ending his first set.

As he looked down at his own family’s legacy and heritage, he couldn’t help but think that learning to use the weapon had made him more sure of himself over the years.

Tang blinked.

Huh.

Perhaps he could use that.

He started into his next set of drills, already brainstorming about what he would need to make his plan work.

----------

Tang was certain his earlier suspicions about Mei’s parents were, thankfully, completely wrong. The dinners they shared as a family proved to him that they loved their daughter completely. They just didn’t see eye-to-eye on some things.

He was also able to get their permission and help with the idea he had. That showed how much they actually cared considering the things he had asked for weren’t something people only obsessed with their image and wealth would agree to.

It took nearly three weeks to prepare but he was finally ready.

“Uncle, do you remember that issue we discussed a few weeks ago,” he asked at dinner that evening.

“Oh, is it ready?”

“Yes Uncle.”

“Wonderful! Mei darling,” his uncle addressed the young woman, who eyed him warily.

“Yeah dad?”

“Tang here has come up with a bit of a surprise for you. Would you be willing to join him in the training room after dinner so that he may share it with you?”

“Uhh… I guess so,” Mei agreed hesitantly, glancing over at her older cousin.

“Don’t worry. It’s a good surprise,” Tang reassured.

“It’s also one we support and gave our full permission for,” Mei’s mother added. “Listen to what your cousin has to say and try not to dismiss it right away, dear.”

Tang winced a little as Mei glared down at her plate.

He clamped down at the growl that wanted to roll from his throat at the slightly tactless comment. Dragon instincts had been interesting to deal with these past few weeks. Especially the protective ones.

Dinner finished soon after and Tang led Mei to the training room.

“So what’s this big surprise you’ve got for me,” Mei asked, slouching as she looked around the room.

“Don’t sound too excited now,” Tang drawled as he pulled out a wrapped package.

“I don’t know. Something that has my parents' full support sounds soooo cool,” Mei snarked, earning a snort from the scholar.

“Trust me on this. You’ll like it,” Tang said, slowly unwrapping the item. “How would you like to learn how to wield a sword?”

“Wait, what?” Mei straightened her posture in surprise. She gasped when Tang finally unveiled what he was holding.

A replica of the Dragon Blade.

“Wha- But- How?!” Mei gaped at the sword. It wasn’t an exact copy, but it had the same dimensions as the original.

“Your parents allowed me to commission a copy of the Dragon Blade so that I can begin teaching you how to use it.”

That had been a bit of a hard sell. He had to agree to only go through a smith of their choice and all schematics of the blade had to be destroyed afterwards. But they had gone through with it, at least once he explained it was for Mei’s benefit.

Mei’s expression flickered between several emotions before settling on anger.

Uh oh.

“Oh I get it! This is because I’m ‘undisciplined’ isn’t it,” she bit out, a growl rising in her voice. “I need to be reined in! Taught how to be a dignified heir to the clan like you, right?!”

“No! That’s not-” Tang took a breath. He wouldn’t get through to her if he started yelling too. “That’s not what’s going on here, Mei.”

“Oh? Well it sure looks like it is to me!”

“Will you please let me explain?”

“Ugh!” Mei threw her arms in the air before crossing them and looking away in a huff. “Fine! But once you’re done I’m out of here.”

“That’s okay. No one said you had to go through with this if you didn’t want to,” he reassured. That seemed to make some of the tension ease out of her.

“First, this was my idea, not your parents’. The only thing I needed permission from them was to make this replica.

“As for why... I just wanted to spend more time with you is all.”

“Huh?” Mei looked up at the nervous scholar. “But we hang out all the time!”

“Yes, but that’s usually with MK as well. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Tang hastily added at her sudden glare. “I love the kid, really I do!

“But we don’t really do anything that’s just for the two of us. Since I enjoy training with a weapon, I thought it could be something we could share?”

Mei had her brows furrowed in uncertainty.

“But… Why go through the trouble of making a copy of the Dragon Blade then? Couldn’t you just teach me how to wield a guandao as well? That is the weapon you actually know how to use.”

“I suppose that’s a fair point,” Tang conceded. “But what about when you claim the real Dragon Blade for yourself? Shouldn’t you know how to properly use it when that happens?”

“When I-” Mei’s breath caught. “You think I-! I’m not-! My parents would never-!”

“Mei, Mei!” Tang placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. “Take a breath. In and out.”

The young woman took a few deep breaths, calming herself. Then she stared into Tang’s eyes, looking for any deception.

“Do you really think mom and dad would ever let me use the blade?”

“I’m not sure what they might do.” That was a slight lie, but he couldn’t force her into a realization about her family too early. He was pushing it as it was just by telling her he thought she’d get the blade.

“But I do know you. You’re optimistic. You’re funny. You’re loyal. You’re incredibly brave. I’m sure that just by being yourself everything will turn out.” That was not a lie. His cousin was all those things and he admired her for it.

Mei, who had tears in her eyes, launched herself at him and pulled him into a hug. Her grip was powered by her dragon strength, but luckily for Tang this time, he had his own so he wasn’t crushed in the embrace.

“Thank you Tang.”

“No problem, Mei.” He held her for a moment before pulling away and asked, “So does this mean you want to learn swordplay?”

“Heck yeah it does!” Mei pumped her fists into the air. “This is going to be awesome!”

“Good.” Tang gave a mischievous smirk. “Then I expect you to be here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Mei froze in her celebrations.

“Uh… How early, exactly” she asked nervously.

Tang’s grin was filled with too many fangs as his eyes sparkled with humor.

“5:30 sharp.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” Mei’s dramatic cry of horror and slump to the floor made Tang burst out in laughter.

Who knew teasing a younger relative could be so much fun?

----------

Tang grit his teeth as he slashed through another bull clone with Fang of the Earth.

It was finally the day of Demon Bull King’s invasion and the group had just returned from the volcanic ring where MK had seemed to perish. They were fighting their way through the army of bull clones in an attempt to get to the center of the city where Demon Bull King was.

What they were planning to do once they reached him, Tang still had no clue no matter how many timelines he lived through.

Tang dodged a strike from his left and countered with a quick sweep of his guandao.

There were definitely way more clones than there were originally. He supposed that this was whatever higher power that controlled the cycle's way of balancing out his ability to actually help out.

He dispatched the group of enemies surrounding him and looked around.

There was Pigsy who was beating away clones with a loose pipe. Sandy stood next to the chef, deflecting any attacks that came their way with two trash can lids. Where was-

Tang’s pulse quickened when he heard Mei scream.

He searched frantically, dodging or redirecting the strikes coming his way when-

There!

Mei was backed up against a building, surrounded by clones. She was holding a gash on her arm and the broken remains of her training sword lay at her feet.

She looked scared.

Tang could feel it as his eyes narrowed into slits and a menacing growl tore from his throat. With a roar of fury, he leapt into the air towards Mei.

He let his power loose, manifesting an avatar of his dragon form behind him as he filled the Fang of Earth with golden-yellow energy.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER!”

He landed in front of Mei and shouted in rage as he stabbed the ground with the guandao. A shock wave of power spread through the earth around them, causing it to spike up to stab any clone it passed.

The energy dissipated once all the bull clones in the area had been destroyed. Satisfied they were safe for the moment, Tang swiftly turned around and began checking over Mei.

“Are you alright Mei?! What am I saying, of course you aren't! You’re bleeding! Let me see that.” The dragon scholar fussed over the young woman, inspecting the wound before tearing off the hem of his robe to serve as a bandage.

“Did… Did you just call me your sister?” Mei’s eyes were wide as she stared at him.

Tang froze for a moment. Had he?

Oh. He supposed he had.

Well that explained where the fondness and protective feelings he had developed for her over the course of their daily training came from.

Tang finished tying off the bandage before looking at Mei.

“Is… Is that okay,” he asked nervously. “Because if you aren’t okay with it I won’t call you that again- oof!”

He was cut off by Mei launching herself at him and hugging him tightly.

“Of course it's okay you goof!” He could hear her sniffles as she fought back tears.

“Oh! Well… That’s, uh, good,” Tang relaxed into the hug as his nervousness melted away.

Mei snickered and pulled away, giving him a blinding smile.

“Come on, big bro. We’ve got a city to save!”

Tang felt his own face light up as he picked up Fang of the Earth and followed his sister to regroup with Pigsy and Sandy.

He knew they were no match for Demon Bull King and would have to wait for MK’s arrival to defeat him, but right now Tang felt like he could take on anything.

----------

Tang grew accustomed to being able to help in fights. They had all been scaled up in scope so that while his support was useful, it was never the tipping point that could change the outcome into something different.

The cycle moved on swiftly.

He celebrated with Mei and her parents when she obtained ownership of the real Dragon Blade.

He fought in their resistance when the Demon Bull King invaded a second time.

He did his best to be there for MK when the signs of his stress began to show.

All too soon, the day of training in the desert came.

Lady Bone Demon’s attack was just as brutal as ever.

However, when he and the rest of the group jumped to attack her once MK got caught, Tang instinctively dodged out of the way of her retaliation.

Before he could think of the potential consequences of attempting to change the outcome, he began to slash downwards with the Fang of the Earth.

Only to be stopped dead in the air when the Mayor grabbed the blade with no effort.

Tang felt dread crawl up his spine as the demon smiled nonchalantly at him. Flashbacks to that early cycle triggered in his mind, causing him to freeze up.

The Mayor casually ripped the guandao from Tang’s loose grasp, tossing it over his shoulder like a discarded piece of trash. Then he punched the dragon scholar with enough force to launch him back onto the ship.

Tang could only assume the events continued as normal from there.

He was too busy having a panic attack to notice.

Years of training and experience and still he was powerless against that man! He vaguely acknowledged he had started to cry at some point.

“Tang! Big brother! It’s okay. He’s gone. We got away.” Mei was holding him as he sobbed.

“M-mei?”

“I’m here, big brother. We’re safe.”

Tang began to breathe deeply in order to calm himself. He wanted to be composed when Wukong showed up with MK so as not to worry them too much.

He hugged Mei fiercely before pulling away.

“T-thanks, little sister,” he said with a shaky smile. She just smiled back and helped him to his feet.

As he leaned against the younger woman, Tang couldn’t help but feel extremely lucky to have gotten to know her like this.

She was fierce, loyal, brave, and kind.

She was the best sister someone could have ever asked for.

----------

Welcome to the Golden Dragon Tang AU!

This is my own personal creation, and most of the prominent details (minus Tang knowing the future from timeline jumping) are laid out in this chapter. If I got any of the details about the Yellow Dragon wrong I apologize! I'm not a mythology expert.

A guandao is basically the Chinese equivalent of a glaive; a short sword mounted on a 1-2 meter pole. I may get around to drawing Fang of the Earth at some point. Also please forgive me if the Chinese for the name is wrong for I am but a humble google translate user.

In case you haven’t noticed, a few of the chapters have been dedicated strictly to character studies of the other members of the Monkie Kid crew through Tang’s perspective. Mei’s just happened to occur at the same time as my really long debut of the cool AU I had made up! Also does anyone have some good fanon names for Mei’s parents? I was dying never referring to them by name.

And yes, Tang does still have some issues with the Mayor. I’m sure that won’t be too relevant in the future.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought and see you next time!

#Ink Writes #Monkie Kid #Scattered Cicadas #Golden Dragon Tang AU #Tang #Tang Monkie Kid #Mei #Lóng Xiǎojiāo #Mei's Parents #MK #Pigsy #Sandy #Demon Bull King #The Mayor #Sun Wukong

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thepandapopo · 4 years

Text

Weak - Sylvix Week Day 2: PDA

Sylvain and Felix embark on the road to becoming a couple in typical Sylvain and Felix fashion – completely backwards and embarrassingly obvious.

Felix is weak for Sylvain.

Four times Sylvain initiates PDA and the one time that Felix does instead.

Felix really should have known better.

He should have known that this joke, this mockery of his pent-up feelings, would become more than a one-off thing. But he is weak; so very weak to Sylvain and even if he could, Felix doesn’t think that he would have put a stop to it anyways because despite all his hissing and cursing, he really is touched starved for the fool.

Yet here they are again, about to ride off into yet another battle – because that’s what war is; just a never ending string of blood and death and loss – and Sylvain is leaning down from atop his warhorse, looking every bit the intimidating Dark Knight that he is with his black armor shining boldly in the afternoon sun, and threading one large hand between the inky strands of Felix’s hair to bring his face closer to his prize.

Felix has lost count how many kisses Sylvain has bestowed upon him in the calm before the storm. It’s a testament to just how many battles they have gone through together, how many wordless promises they have made to each other to come back alive and whole after the blood has finished soaking into the earth beneath their feet.

However, no matter how many times Sylvain brings his warm, soft lips to Felix’s own rough, chapped ones, Felix still feels the strength drain from his legs and all his senses hone in on the heat of lips on lips, sliding easily over each other with practiced movements slicked with spit.

“Come back to me alive, yeah?” The words are murmured so close to him that Felix can feel the brush of Sylvain’s lips even as the hot air escapes between them, flushing both of their faces with soft crimson.

Felix scoffs – a typical Felix response – and that’s more than enough of a promise for Sylvain who straightens back on his horse and gives his lance a practice twirl with a grace that belied his fierce strength.

“I always do. You’re the one who needs to be careful, what with your dismal training regimen.”

And it’s true. Felix always keeps his promise and comes back to Sylvain. After all, he thinks to himself, he still has yet to confess his feelings for his childhood friend and Felix knows, just as he knows that the sky is blue and that Sylvain’s hair is more beautiful than any sunset will ever be, that he will always come home; home to Sylvain.

How else will he get another kiss?

ii.

Felix is weak for Sylvain.

But then again, that was something that Felix had already established early on in his life – even before they had made what Ingrid liked to call their ‘morbid childhood death pact’.

Not many could say that they could annoy the Fraldarius heir to the point of sputtering without making an immediate acquaintance with the sharp end of a blade. Even fewer could get away with initiating physical contact with Felix outside of training, much less casually throwing an entire arm around his shoulders and then proceeding to whine like a child about anything and everything.

But the most telling sign of Felix’s softness towards Sylvain is the fact that the Gautier heir is the only person who is allowed to touch his hair.

“Tilt your head down a little.” A calloused broad hand cradles the back of his head gently and pushes Felix’s forehead to meet the warm muscle of Sylvain’s shoulder. They must make an intimate picture, Felix thinks to himself as he inhales the warm citrusy scent of bergamot and honey that he has come to associate with his childhood friend. They are in Felix’s room behind closed doors and it is still early morning. Were anyone to enter his room, the sight of Sylvain kneeled at the edge of the bed between Felix’s legs with his hands buried in raven locks and Felix with his face in Sylvain’s shoulders would have invited more than a few salacious rumors to the monastery grounds.

“Ow. Be careful.” Felix hisses at the not-so-gentle snag of fingers against a tangle.

“Sorry, Fe.” The puff of hot air grazes the back of his neck and sends shivers down his spine.

In the back of his mind, Felix recognizes that it’s probably a colossally stupid idea to let Sylvain tie his hair up every morning while he is recovering from a broken arm. The fact that the Fraldarius heir allows himself to indulge in their pre-battle kisses is already torture enough; but letting Sylvain run his long fingers through his raven strands to pull and tame them into his customary ponytail?

It isn’t an exaggeration to say that Felix’s nights have since gotten more restless.

“Your hair is longer now.”

It’s a plain statement. Neutral grounds in terms of speech, but the sinful way Sylvain tugs his hair, landing a little on the side of deliciously hard, makes the words drip with suggestion and invitation.

Felix must be going crazy if he thinks he can hear anything other than plain, factual observation in Sylvain’s tone. But if it is the madness that conjures images of the Gautier heir yanking his hair to expose the expanse of his neck and suck his claim… then he decides that insanity must not be half bad.

It is both an eternity and not long enough when Sylvain finally announces that he is done with a breathy whisper. Reluctantly, Felix pulls back and reaches his good arm up to pat the neatly tied strands under the pretense of checking Sylvain’s work. If Felix secretly revels in brushing his fingers along the lingering warmth clinging to his hair, then that is his own business.

A familiar strip of leather lays on the desk to the side.

“You didn’t use my normal hair tie.”

Sylvain smiles as him just a little too wide. Wide enough that Felix is suspicious.

“Yeah. I figured it was starting to get really old so I got you a new one.” Sylvain says very matter-of-fact. The sincerity in his voice sends Felix’s heart thumping wildly in his chest and he feels the heat in his cheeks even as he scowls.

“I am perfectly capable of buying my own hair ties.”

As usual, Sylvain is an expert in understanding Felix-speech and simply laughs. You’re welcome rolls off his tongue with ease born from years of enduring harsh words and learning to read the subtext behind barbs.

Even as they walk through the monastery hallways together down to the dining hall, Sylvain rolls with the punches and their conversation doesn’t so much as falter for even a moment, instead slipping into a familiar and achingly comfortable banter that hides years of unspoken emotions.

No one mentions anything about how Sylvain seems to stick more closely to Felix now that his arm is in a sling.

No one mentions the bright Gautier-red leather strip that stands out so glaringly obvious against the dark canvas of Felix’s hair.

No one mentions anything when Felix hands Sylvain that same hair tie the next morning to complete their new morning ritual, the unspoken subtext wrapping soothingly around them as Felix once again bows his head in the only surrender he will ever acquiesce.

I’m yours.

iii.

“Felix!”

Pain. Screaming. Panic. Sylvain.

Where is Sylvain?

“Fe! Fe, stay with me. Don’t you dare die, you stubborn asshole!”

The part of his mind that is still rational and conscious tries to cajole the rest of his body into letting out an indelicate snort, but all that comes out is a wet cough that sends pain and blood spilling out his mouth.

“Mercie? Lin? Marianne? Healer, please, anyone! I need a healer!”

Felix’s arms feel more like dead weight than limbs at this point given the numbness of his extremities, but that doesn’t stop an agonizing lance of pain from shooting through him as he feels his body lifting up and being cradled against a cold metal chest plate.

A low moan manages to slip its way unbidden past his chapped lips.

“I know, Fe.” Warm honeyed words wash over him. Even in his half unconscious and delirious state, Felix can hear the unbridled fear that lurks beneath the forced calm. “You’ll be okay. I’m gonna get you to Mercie and she’ll fix you right up, okay? Stay with me.”

Sylvain’s voice cracks at the end along with Felix’s heart.

He doesn’t like it when Sylvain is in pain.

With herculean effort, Felix manages to pry his eyelids open just enough to look at the underside of Sylvain’s clenched jaw.

Huh. When did he get on a horse?

“Are you… okay?” The words are harder to wheeze out than Felix is comfortable with, but he forces his lungs to work with him because above the pain and fear for his own life looms the overwhelming need to make sure that Sylvain is unhurt.

Otherwise the axe he took to the side would have been for nothing.

Sylvain lets out a choked laugh, “yeah. Yeah, of course I’m alright. Fuck Felix, you shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way like that.”

You should have trained more, is what Felix wants to reply, however his mind and body are no longer working in tandem and somewhere along the line his heart decides to step in instead.

“Don’t…cry, Syl…”

In all their years together, Felix can count on one hand the number of times he has seen Sylvain cry; most of them in their childhood before Glenn dies. The last time Sylvain had allowed his emotions to bubble up to the surface was the day he shoved his lance into Miklan’s chest in an attempt to give him a merciful ending rather than living on as a demonic beast.

But none of those times can compare to the wrecked look and unending rush of tears that are carving their way through the grime and gore on Sylvain’s cheeks.

Felix doesn’t hear the reply that Sylvain gives, but knows that he must have said something given the comforting rumbling he feels against his cheek.

The world is dark now. There is nothing but a large black pool of nothingness and Felix can feel himself slowly sinking down, down into the depths.

He does not know how much time passes, but through the empty void Felix can hear fragments of words from someone he knows is important, but for the world cannot seem to remember.

Stay with me, sweetheart.

Don’t leave me, please. I can’t do this without you.

I love you.

Come back to me, Fe. My heart.

Felix clings to those words and the warmth that they bring. It takes an eternity, and slowly but surely, he manages to pull himself from the darkness and into the light.

When he wakes, he wakes with a full body ache and in the familiar arms of his crush, who apparently is still dripping salty tears on him and refusing to let him go despite Mercedes insisting that he’s fine. Of course that idiot is too busy sniffling to notice that he’s no longer unconscious.

“I told you to stop crying, didn’t I?” Felix croaks, bringing both Mercedes’ and Sylvain’s attention to him.

A new batch of tears well up in his favourite honey brown eyes and piercing relief crumples Sylvain’s expression like a house of cards in the wind.

“Fuck, Felix. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Sylvain’s voice wobbles as he clutches at Felix just a little tighter, pressing his head to his chest as if trying to hide him away from the world.

The rapid staccato thumping against his cheek stays Felix’s hand and he lets himself (in what is starting to become a concerningly frequent habit) indulge in the physical display of affection, not caring that the rest of the world inside the infirmary can see them.

Right now, there is only Felix, Sylvain, and their beating hearts. And if that’s what Sylvain needs to chase away his fears, then Felix will happily concede because there is nothing that he wouldn’t do to protect Sylvain from the world and his own demons.

iv.

For a person born in the second coldest region of Faerghus, Felix does not do well when the temperature plummets.

Although his regular outfit consists of at least three separate layers - one of which is fur lined, for crying out loud – the cold somehow still manages to seep its way into his bones, rattling his entire core with shivers.

“Shitty night to not have a tent, huh?” Sylvain laughs humorlessly from where he is huddled up beside him, his long legs folded up as close as possible to his chest to conserve heat; his Gautier crest emblazoned cloak is thrown of his shoulders as are two more thin blankets that also cover Felix as well. Their sides are pressed together like two halves of a whole and on a regular day, Felix would have spontaneously ignited at their close proximity, but right now the heat that is radiating off of Sylvain is the only thing that keeps his body from succumbing to the cold. At their backs, Sylvain’s trusty warhorse acts as a third source of heat and also as a sturdy wall to lean against.

“Fucking bandits just had to torch our shit.” If they weren’t already lying six feet under buried in a shoddy, half assed grave, Felix would have personally saw to it that every single one of them died a horrible and painful death by his blade.

All around them their friends and comrades sat in huddled pairs, much like him and Sylvain. The sad, dismal fire they had managed to start did little to stave off the chill, but when literally everything around you is wet with sleet, it is already a small miracle that there is any fire at all.

“At least we’re together and alive though, right?” Sylvain smiles at him and it’s the small genuine one that Felix recognizes is specially for him; the one where burnt sienna glows molten and the corners of his eye crinkle with rarely used crow’s feet. “It was a pretty nasty ambush and we’re honestly pretty lucky that we had a small enough unit to quickly mobilize and pivot.”

Felix scoffs but it comes out as more of a pathetic chattering of teeth.

He doesn’t know when it happens, but he and Sylvain have become closer over the last few weeks. Close enough that Sylvain’s eyes no longer hold a shadow of doubt whenever he leans in for his pre-battle kiss, as if he now knows that Felix will give into him even as obligatory protests escape his lips. Close enough that Sylvain doesn’t even ask for permission anymore, but instead just silently reaches over to play with stray locks of hair that have escaped his updo after a long day.

Close enough that Sylvain now just takes whatever he wants from Felix because there is a mutual, silent understanding that no matter how much Felix protests, Sylvain just needs to look into his golden irises and find all the consent he needs from there.

“Come here, Fe.”

Felix often forgets that despite his awful training schedule, Sylvain is still a soldier through and through and is much stronger than Felix thinks. Such strength Sylvain currently demonstrates as he is quickly lifted like he is no more than a sack of potatoes, and gently deposited in a very warm lap.

If it weren’t for the cold, Felix would have run his childhood friend through with a sword for his audacity.

Of course, it’s only because of the darned cold that Felix’s hands slip under the outer layer of Sylvain’s armor to fist themselves in the fabric of his undershirt.

And it’s only because of the darned cold that Felix instinctively cuddles up to the human furnace next to him and presses his nose into the warm divot at the base of Sylvain’s throat, causing the older man to shiver at the hot puffs of air against his neck.

Yes. It’s only because of the darned cold.

“Better?” Sylvain’s voice is rough even as his words smooth over Felix like a balm. The one hand that isn’t curled around Felix’s back and supporting him reaches over to pull the two blankets around them so that they are swaddled in a little cocoon of warmth, leaving only their heads visible above the swathes of fabric.

Although a large part of his brain is screaming that this is wrong, dangerous, and too close; Felix cannot stop his body from betraying him as the shivers slowly subside and he begins to melt into Sylvain. Underneath the blankets and hidden away from the world, a gloved hand moves to settle near his upper thigh and rubs hot little circles that sends heat of a different kind flushing through him.

It’s unfair how his heart and body have decided to stage a mutiny against his mind.

Fuck Sylvain and his stupidly beautiful smile and his stupid velvet voice.

“Yeah.” Felix mutters, squeezing his eyes tight against the orange glow of the fire.

He practices counting his breaths using the meditation technique Glenn taught him back when he was only ten years old and manages to wrangle his heartrate into less of a sprint and more of a steady gallop. Whether Sylvain notices or not, he makes no indication that he can feel Felix’s heart trying to escape his chest, though Felix is pretty sure he can tell based on their proximity.

Instead, Sylvain lets his body curl loosely around Felix’s until his chin rests on the crown of midnight hair, barely disturbing the tresses even as his breath evens out and he falls to the persistent clutches of sleep.

Of course, it’s because of the darned cold that eventually Felix also lets himself be dragged under into dreams of memories long past when he never used to be fear being touched.

It was quite well known that Margrave Gautier was not a patient man.

It has not even been three moons since the fall of Enbarr when a letter arrives at the Fhirdiad castle sealed shut with ink the color of crimson and emblazoned with the Gautier crest.

“Father wants me to return home to meet a potential suitor.”

The teacup clatters loudly against the table, spilling Almyran pine over the dainty white tablecloth. In the pits of his stomach, Felix can feel the claws of jealousy and anger sink into his gut and travel up into his throat.

Perhaps it is because his mind is still in a daze trying to process the fact that the war is finally over, or maybe it is because Felix is half delirious from lack of sleep (no one had told him how much more exhausting cleaning up after a war would be than actually fighting it) that the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“I’ll go with you.”

And fuck if Sylvain doesn’t light up like he was just told it’s his birthday, the millennium festival, and Valentines day all in one.

Felix is weak for Sylvain.

No matter how many times Felix repeats it in his mind, that statement has gone far beyond simple fact now into the realm of absolute truth. And it is exactly because it is an absolute truth that Felix rides with Sylvain non stop through the night all the way back to Gautier castle, and it is because it is an absolute truth that Felix finds himself eavesdropping outside the large oaken doors leading to Margrave Gautier’s study where he is introducing some noble girl to Sylvain who looks like he would rather be anywhere else.

“Olivia here is the daughter of a minor lord from the Gideon territory. Their family has done well with managing their lands and they have also made a name for themselves through the war.”

The margrave prattles on, completely ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable look on Sylvain’s face even as he tries his best to plaster on his signature fake smile.

From his position, Felix can only see Sylvain and his father through the tiny gap where the door sits ajar, but thankfully he does not need to strain to hear the conversation.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Gautier.”

Of course her voice sounds like wind chimes. She’s also probably fucking beautiful too given the Margrave’s tastes. It makes Felix want to dry heave just listening to this and he can’t imagine how Sylvain must feel having lived this exact situation hundreds of times.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Sylvain replies without missing a beat even though his voice comes out a bit strangled.

“The war has been rather unfortunate with our people and crops this year, but Olivia’s father has mentioned that their lands have an overabundance of yield that he has agreed to share with us should the wedding take place before the first snowfall.”

“What?” For the first time, Sylvain’s mask falters and there is an abject look of horror in his eyes.

“Preparations will need to be made immediately, but –“

“Father, this is too sudden. I cannot –“

“You will hold your tongue and stay silent. I have given you time to find your own wife, but you have done nothing but squander my generosity. This is no longer a choice you get to make.” Venom coats his words and the poison seeps into Sylvain’s veins as his mind automatically falls back to the terrified little boy who could never disobey his father.

Sylvain is pale and shaking, his eyes darting around frantically looking for, at the very least, a physical escape from this hell that he has walked into.

“As I was saying, preparations will need to be made immediately. I have already sent for a caravan to retrieve the dowry, but when it arrives, you will need to accompany them to ensure that they return safely. I expect that you will inform his highness of your engagement prior to your departure so that he has ample time to ensure his attendance.”

“I… no – this… I don’t…”

“Shut up, boy. I am your father and you will do as I say.”

“Like fucking hell he will.”

The door slams loudly against the wall and all three occupants jump at the sound. They whip around to stare in various expressions of shock as Felix stomps up to them burning with a fury that he has never felt before.

His heart is pounding out of his chest like it wants to escape, but the only thing Felix can focus on right now is trying to stifle the overwhelming urge to draw his sword and cut down the Margrave where he stands.

“Fraldarius.” Like the reptile that he is, Margrave Gautier hisses his surname and spits it out like venom.

“That’s Duke Fraldarius to you.”

Sylvain chokes on his own spit.

“Duke Fraldarius-” ugh, just hearing his voice makes Felix’s hand twitch for the hilt of his sword. “-I would implore you to keep your nose out of business that isn’t yours. This is highly improper to interrupt-“

“I don’t fucking care if it’s improper.” Shifting slightly, Felix positions himself closer to Sylvain while engaging in a stare down with his father. Eye contact be damned, Felix will not let himself lose this silent battle of wills even though all he wants to do is look away. “Sylvain is not marrying this girl.”

“Oh? You dare to come to my home and tell me what I can and cannot do with my son?”

His blood is boiling and images flash across his mind, filling his head with memories of a younger Sylvain looking so scared and sad every time the summers came to a close and he has to return home.

No. Never again. Felix will never let Sylvain go back to a life where he is shackled and beaten into submission by a family that only conditionally tolerates him and uses him for their own benefit.

“Sylvain is not marrying this girl,” Felix repeats adamantly.

“And why not?”

This is the moment.

Felix can feel the tension in the air; he can feel the Margrave’s furious and challenging glare on him, daring him to speak and make a fool of himself; he can feel Sylvain standing rigidly next to him, barely a hair breadth’s away watching with wide, fearful eyes (Nonono Fe, stop it please, I can’t let him hurt you too. Never you).

It might be 26 years late, but Felix finally figures out how he can give Sylvain the home that he has always deserved.

“Because…”

Confidence blooms in his chest and Felix is proud when the gloved hand he extends to tangle in the collar of Sylvain’s jacket does not shake nor tremble under the weight of what he is about to do.

“…he’s mine.”

Felix yanks and tilts his head up to catch Sylvain’s lips as he stumbles forward, their noses slotting against each other like two puzzle pieces and their lips meeting in the same practiced way they’ve done hundreds of times.

The kiss lasts only for a moment, but when they part, Sylvain is gasping for breath like Felix has stolen all the air from his lungs. Honey brown irises are nearly eclipsed by blown out pupils and the strong jaw that Felix so desperately wants to nibble is hanging agape in shock.

Felix doesn’t wait around for the aftermath of his actions. Immediately locking his fingers with Sylvain’s, his cloak flutters around him as he spins on his heels and proceeds to walk out the door with a shell-shocked Gautier in tow.

Later, it occurs to Felix that he didn’t even spare a look at the girl, so he will never really be able to confirm whether or not she was beautiful.

Not that it matters.

Right now, as Felix makes a beeline for his guest room to retrieve his belongings, the only thing that matters is getting Sylvain out of this wretched place and back to Fraldarius where he will never have to deal with that pathetic excuse of a father ever again.

“Felix, wait. Felix!” Sylvain tugs on his hand forcing him to turn around when they are finally behind the safety of closed doors. “Holy shit. What the… holy shit.” Reluctantly, Sylvain releases Felix and instead settles one hand in his own hair, tugging on it as if trying to ground himself with the pain.

“Go pack your things, Sylvain. You’re not staying here with that pathetic waste of space anymore.”

“What? But where are we going?”

For the first time in years, Felix allows the walls around his heart to come down as he looks as Sylvain. He has wasted too much time already punishing himself by depriving himself of the one thing he thought he could never have, but after five years at war with only stolen moments to motivate and push him towards survival, Felix would be a fool to ignore this bond between them any longer.

“What do you mean, where are we going? We’re going home, idiot. Back to Fraldarius.”

Sylvain freezes for a second as if he has misheard, but when auburn eyes detect no hint of a lie, the smile that blooms on his face is one that Felix has never seen before. It is radiant and genuine and everything beautiful that Felix knows is Sylvain.

And just like that, Felix is falling for him all over again.

“Hey Fe?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“…I love you too, you idiot. Now go pack.”

BONUS:

Halfway to Fraldarius territory, Sylvain hums thoughtfully and turns to his now-boyfriend.

“Hey Fe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I be your trophy husband?”

“Shut up.”

#sylvixweek2020 #sylvix #sylvain x felix #felix x sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #margrave gautier #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem 3 houses #fanfiction #popo writes #pda #prompts #day 2 #4 + 1 fic #angst #fluff #pining #all the good shit

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