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lottiecrabie · 1 year

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rockstar girlfriend – matty healy

tired of being treated like the girlfriend and not like the rockstar, you decide to pull a very rock move in the studio

warnings: 18+, oral (male receiving), fingering, soft dom!matty, praise, bit of degradation, drug use

2696 words

The New York Times calls you ‘everyone’s favorite rockstar’s girlfriend’. Twitter fan accounts gather a curated four picture reel of your best candids and caption it ‘rockstar bf it girl gf’. E!News’ periodic articles updating the world on all your recent outings read ‘Matty Healy and his girlfriend’. (Matty Healy and his girlfriend enjoy a steamy kiss outside a club in Manchester. Matty Healy and his girlfriend spotted in New York City with Coppola Cafe to-go cups. Matty Healy and his girlfriend hold hands as they wait for the London underground.) MusicoCritics title their deep dive on you ‘Matty Healy’s girlfriend’s album is a surprising masterpiece’.

Nevermind that it’s your fourth critically acclaimed album. Nevermind that your living room shelves ⁠— clustered with flower-pressed poetry books, esoteric trinkets found in thrift stores worldwide, potted plants on the edge of death ⁠— hold multiple well-earned awards. Nevermind that you’ve been singing for fifteen years, scribbling incoherent lyrics in the corner of books for longer than that.

Nevermind that you’re a fucking rockstar yourself.

You are Matty Healy’s girlfriend; you are the appendix of a musician. Your boyfriend’s name collects apostrophes while yours dust away, forgotten under aliases, rotting from underuse.

And, well, you’re fucking pissed. An entire career, fifty-seven songs, countless of voice-killing concerts, and it pales to practical inexistence for a nine months relationship.

Not that you don’t love Matty. It’s just⁠— You want to be more, you want to be whole.

You’re in your rented studio, sitting on the dirty couch, reading countless Reddit comments asking ‘who’s Matty’s gf’ and ‘i didn’t knwo she made music lol’, fuming. You should be working on your fifth album, the idea of a ballad lingering in a corner of your brain, but you are too busy driving yourself nearly insane. Injustice grips your guts, twists up around it. You want to scream.

Matty sits beside you, lighting up a joint. His hair is unmade, falling messily around his head. Smoke pours out of his lips. “Stop reading that bullshit,” he says, not unsmartly.

Your lips purse. “I know, I know.” You groan, head falling on the back of the couch. “Fuck, I just can’t help it. This is actually fucking shitty.”

In an effort to distract you, or perhaps loosen you up, Matty passes you the joint. He has two rings, silver and chunky, and chipped nail polish. There is something incomprehensibly attractive about his hands, callused and masculine; long, dexterous fingers around waxed paper. Desire pools in your stomach. You lick your lips, looking away, taking a hit.

“You should go crazy. Be a fucking cliche rockstar just in spite.” Matty grins. “Smoke a ton, do even more drugs. Destroy your voice. Show up late. Be too drunk to play.”

You snort. “Fuck groupies.”

“I might have something to say against that.”

“Die young.”

“You’re already past 27. You’ve lost your chance.”

A smoky laugh leaves your lips. Still, you consider his words, cocking your head. An idea half-blooming somewhere in you. “I think you’re onto something.”

“What?”

“I should make a rock album,” you say. “Be super fucking obnoxious about it, too. Make all these references, interpolate all the greats.” You smirk, giving him a teasing glance.

A curl of hair falls over his forehead. His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a drag of his joint, cheeks digging it, brown eyes closing in ecstasy. He’s so fucking hot. You’d tell him if it wouldn’t go straight to his head, blow it up until he couldn’t fit through the door at all.

Cheekily, you throw a leg over his legs, straddling his lap. He welcomes you easily, a lazy hand holding onto your hip. “I’ll be the rockstar. You can be my eye candy,” you continue, fingers hungrily climbing to his shoulders.

“Is that so?” His fingers tighten, dragging you closer to him. Your hips roll over him with precision, clever hand working you at just the right angle. Your mouth parts, a strike of pleasure climbing up your spine. You stare at him through your eyelashes. He’s entirely too casual, too pleased. Cocky as he watches you, makes you rock your hips again.

“Yeah,” you nod, breathless.

You grind slowly, teasingly. As soon as you try to speed up, a powerful hand halts you. A puppet to a cruel man who smiles as you fail to get any real action going. The pace is torturous, lighting up your body until all parts of you are aware of him, of his hardening cock. You feel him most of all in the ache between your thighs, in the absence of him.

Frustratingly, your hands dig in his shoulders, clawing at the cotton. It’s unfair how little he reacts, how put-together he seems in his white button-up shirt, watching you grow desperate. Brattily, you add, “Yeah, you’re almost pretty enough.”

Matty laughs, but you can tell he’s a little peeved; overblown ego shot down with your cheeky smirk. He adventures a hand under your band tee, pinches your side, digs his nails into your back, encouraging your hips to rock faster with a rough, ruthless hand. Victory feels like a wave of toe-curling pleasure. Heat spreads under your skin, tightening your muscles. A small, self-indulgent whine leaves your mouth.

A grin breaks his face, cocky and pleased. How quickly the upper hand slips from you. Huffing, desperate to wipe it off, you crash your lips against his, swiping it away with a greedy tongue.

The kiss leaves you hungrier. Matty has always known how to coax the wanton need from you. How to leave you rocking furiously against him, hot and desperate, thoughtless except for the overwhelming need to get off. Throbbing and uncomfortably wet, a high-pitched moan slips into his mouth.

You break away to pant in his parted lips. Your hands hide in the mess of his hair, tugging at the roots, vengeful, careless. Still, Matty groans, rolling his head backwards. You smile too, just as cheeky, just as proud. He puts out the dwindling joint on your sofa, throwing it thoughtlessly in the studio. Finally free, he slips under your shirt, grabbing a handful of your breast.

You bury yourself in the side of his neck, licking and biting under his jaw. With expert fingers, you undo the buttons of his shirt until pearls of breathy, pained moans spill out of him. It sounds like a song, like the rhythm of your favorite melody. You’d bottle it up if you could, burn it on a CD to listen for later.

You sit up, spine straightening, practically ripping your mouth from him. The movement is so sudden you feel it reverberating in your head. Your hips still as thoughts spin in your soupy brain. Matty whines unhappily, hand digging in your back.

It takes five seconds. Once the idea fully forms, you look back at him with a mischievous smile. You start your rolls again, tantalizingly slow. You whisper, half to him but more to yourself, “I’ll be the rockstar, alright.”

Matty frowns. Out of breath, he says, “What?”

You don’t bother explaining. Instead, you stand up, leaving another moan to fall from his lips. Hands tumble from your shirt. Turning around to your mixing board, you hit the record button.

He’s even more confused when you come back to him, standing between his open legs. You take your time, racking two hands through your sweaty hair. Towering over him, you feel power gather around you, a heady mixture leaving you wetter than before.

You’re drunk on him, on the taste of weed and toothpaste, on the look of his thoroughly destroyed hair, of his red, swollen lips hanging onto your every possible word. His chest rises up and down in quick succession. A tempting tent in his slacks draws your eyes lower.

You ignore the throb. You ignore the need. You ignore the coil of building tension. You say, “I’m gonna make you scream.” You fall to your knees.

His legs widen, hips rising in excitement. “Fuck,” he groans just from the sight of you. Mesmerized, he watches in sacred silence as you work on his belt buckle. “Fuck, love, look at you.”

Matty’s own hand helps at his pants, ring twinkling in the low light. Finally, you manage to free his cock, hard and up, begging. You stare at it for a second, appreciating its glory. Your eyes snap back to his.

You follow every expression as it overwhelms his face when you first wrap your hand around it, allowing one slow stroke. His eyes close, his lips part, his head falls. He’s an atheist experiencing religion for the first time. He’s breathing your name, he’s worshiping it.

You smile. Your lips wrap around his tip, sucking on it. His hips jump in surprise. Matty’s eyes snap open, staring at you with a gasp. Exactly what you wanted.

“I want you to look at me,” you say, licking up his shaft. “Don’t stop looking at me.”

You could tease him. A part of you wants to, hand burning to slow down. A bigger part of you wants to ruin him.

You swallow him down. Matty’s breath comes out in heaving puffs amidst the scattered moans. You feel his thighs flex under your hands; his open shirt reveals a taut, tattooed stomach, muscles rippling with ecstasy.

You bob up and down, an electric pace that has you swallowing back a gag. Whatever you can’t fit, you stroke with deft fingers, twisting your wrist just like he likes. Feeling particularly devilish, you moan around his length just to hear him mutter a pained, “Shit.” His hips rise, but you push him back pointedly. Payback is salty and lingers on your tongue.

Feeling yourself choking, you release him, spitting on his dick to lube it up. Matty thrusts up in your hand, eyes rolling back until he remembers your order.

You lick at his tip, swirling your tongue around it, before taking him back in your slick and swollen lips. “You’re so pretty,” Matty says, voice hoarse. “Fuck, you were made for this, weren’t you?” You moan in agreement. “Yeah, that’s right. Made to be drooling on your knees for me.”

Perhaps embarrassingly, you feel a pool of arousal gather in your stomach from his words. Your thighs clench, hips rolling against nothing in hope of relieving that burning ache between them. Your clit feels criminally ignored.

Matty’s hands fly to your hair, racking through the mess he’s made of it. “Show me your tits,” he orders. Your eyebrows shoot up, but he’s only peering down at you with challenge.

Releasing him with a bop, saliva stringing from your lip to his dick, you take your shirt off. You can’t bother to unhook your bra, lowering the cups down and grabbing one of your nipples with your free hand. You pinch meanly, just like he would, and the pleasure spreading through you feels heavenly. A broken groan leaves your lips. “That’s it,” he breathes. “What a good girl, giving me a show.”

You whine. You can feel the control slipping from your hands with every ticking second, but your thighs are so sticky, your clit so swollen, your climax so far.

He gathers a handful of your hair, bringing you to his dick. Your head stings, but you welcome him back with an open mouth. This time, you do none of the work, letting him thrust himself in your throat. Your eyes water as he goes deeper.

“Shhh,” he sighs as tears stain your cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re doing so good, baby.” You nod, coaxing a desperate groan out of him. “What a good, little slut. Taking my dick so well.” Again, you nod, mouth full. Your hips shift, moving left and right uncomfortably. You can’t seem to get any real friction going, but you feel your insides throb against nothing.

“Poor baby,” Matty coos. “You want to come too?” Needy screams muffled by his cock. Matty sneaks his booted foot between your thighs, pressing so deliciously against your clit you cry out. “There you go, baby. Grind.”

And so you do, furiously rocking against his boot. Your hand not busy playing with your nipples wraps around his leg, gripping his calf. The pleasure is so pure your eyes roll back in your skull.

“Eyes on me,” Matty’s rough voice rings through the room. You open your eyes, locking with his darkened ones. “That’s right. I want you to look at me.” His face breaks with a victorious grin. Payback probably tastes like sweat and sweet moans to him.

You can feel both of you grow frantic. Matty bucks into you with a merciless, frenzied pace. His hold onto your head is ruthless; his fingers dig into your scalp, but you only scream more. Your hips follow his rhythm, each leather drag over your cunt making sweet euphoria grip your stomach.

“Gonna come for me?” He thrusts with abandon, practically choking you. Tension builds in your core, pussy clenching. “Gonna come all over my boot?” Bold words coming from a man just on the edge of an orgasm.

To prove your point, you hollow your cheeks, watching with glee as cries break out of his throat, eyes scrunching tight, cum spilling out of him. You suck on his tip indulgently as he comes in your mouth, cock still pulsing while strings of incoherent promises fall out of him. He strokes your hair tenderly as he slowly comes to himself.

Matty cracks an eye open. He falls out of your mouth and you swallow his seed, watching him as you promised as you lick your lips. Another rough moan leaves him, half stitled by a chuckle. Ringed finger swipes your chin, gathering a forgotten rope of cum he shoves back in your mouth. You suck on it.

He seems to realize then you still haven’t come. Face grimacing in shame, he grabs you by the armpits, putting you back in his lap. “Poor baby. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you whine.

Matty pouts, nodding indulgently. “It’s okay. I got you.”

He sneaks two fingers in your pants. You should be ashamed by the amount of wetness; sticking thighs greeting him home. You’re too gone for that, of course, just sighing happily as he rubs tight circles on your clit.

Your head falls on his shoulder. “I know,” he says, imitating your spineless whine, thrusting two fingers inside of you. You’re so wet there’s not even any resistance, cunt opening to let him in easily.

His thumb continues his drawings on your bundle of nerves. He fucks his fingers into you, rapid and wild. You’re close again before you have time finishing a coherent thought, moaning in his open mouth.

“Right there,” Matty encourages. “Come for me.”

Your body shudders as you scream. You finally lose the tyrannical strings holding your body together. Euphoria spreads to each limb, making your head fall back as the edges of the world blur around you. Tension leaves your body in wiping waves. You flutter around his fingers, clenching and unclenching as you cry out his name.

It takes you a few moments to come back to Earth. Matty takes his fingers out of you, wiping the wetness on the couch. You slap at his shoulders, but he simply laughs. “I love you,” he whispers in your hair, bending down to kiss you.

When you finally regain control of your legs, you stand up to reach your mixing board. Hitting pause, and then play, Matty’s needy groans fill the studio. You throw him a look over your shoulder, but not even a pornographic recording of him could make Matty Healy blush.

And, maybe your fifth album features a song named Blow You. Maybe deep, masculine sounds of pleasure accompany the chorus ⁠— just out of reach enough for people to be incapable of pinning it down. Maybe countless news outlets try to figure out, articles upon articles attempting to elucidate if it really is your boyfriend, Matty Healy, moaning on the track. Maybe they call you by your name. Maybe they even call you a genderbending, masterful, classic rockstar.

#matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #matty healy x reader #smut #writing #filthy filth #i'm sorry lol #rockstar girlfriend

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thedarlinglimited · 2 years

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It's The begining of the New Year for Me and my daughter Lily🦄; there are new adventures to embark on and new reasons to smile and new winter adventures await!🐻‍❄️

Our style at this moment is inspired by the super vintage, candy-colored ode to winter The Grand Budapest Hotel.

For anyone who isn't familiar with the pink and peculiar film of Wes Anderson then I'll explain in a pastel pink Mendls bakery box tied with a ribbon. The quirky caper of comedic errors and stylish silliness takes place against a beautiful backdrop of a wintry hotel wonderful that's as visually stunning as it is incredibly vintage.

The vibes at the Jean Gorges Tin building at the soul street seaport have the same vibe. Walking distance from Michaeli's bakery ( the sweet apple raisin babka that almost tastes like rustic stollen pastry is incredible) and nestled amongst the most stylish ships is the most incredible ode to vintage visuals that I have ever seen in NYC. Maybe it's the glowing art deco globe lights that dot the golden ceilings almost like golden clusters of grapes or maybe it's the attention to detail that's so Impeccable there isn't a napkin holder that doesn't reference a richly vintage European era of cafe society...but this building is cinema at its best.

To chill in such a lush building one needs to wear something statement making. Lil and I chose candy pink. To match the vintage candy shoppe all pink and gold and white and magical. My pink vintage trench by French brand apostrophe is vintage and a gift from one of my best friends. My light pink sweater, also vintage, and glasses-warby Parker are also a reference to mid-century sophistication that is as polished as it is Parisian. My daughter Lil also wore all pink and to usher in a sweet new year we had candy and coffee and marveled in the magic of the place.

We definitely recommend visiting the south st seaport and if your feeling really grand wear a conversation piece something vintage something and something unexpected.

#wes anderson #vintage #vintage style #grand budapest hotel style #style #pink #jean gorges tin building

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tomboyjessie13 · 4 months

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Part 4 here: "Now, let the Fun Begin!" — Medea's Little Secret - Part 4 (tumblr.com)

Medea's Little Secret - Part 5

First floor art gallery, DIO's Mansion A few hours later

It was already nighttime, Telence T. D'Arby was dusting the paintings in the hall, minding his own business when suddenly he hears a doorbell ring.

*DING DONG*

T. D'Arby: Comiiiiing~ *Floats there with [Atum], he then answers the front door*

J. D'Arby: *Standing there* Hell-

T. D'Arby: *Starts to shut the door on him*

J. D'Arby: *Stops it with [Osiris]* Hey, don't shut me out!

T. D'Arby: *[Atum] fights to shut the door on him* Sorry brother, but Master DIO isn't seeing anyone right now, you'll have to comeback some other time.

J. D'Arby: I'm not here for Master DIO.

T. D'Arby: *Rudely* Then beat it, I'm not interested in playing games with you.

Medea: *Walking down the stairs* Oi! Knock it off, Trent! He's here for me.

T. D'Arby: *Let's go* Oh? That's a first, I thought you hated my brother.

Medea: Of course I do, but I need him for something, that's why I called him.

T. D'Arby: Oh alright. *Sets aside* Get in.

J. D'Arby: *Enters the mansion* Thanks. -_-*

Medea's Room

Medea: *Making sure they're out of earshot* Good, no one's following us. *Closes door*

J. D'Arby: So where's this kitten you've been talking about?

Medea: She should be hiding somewhere. *Kneels down* Shu shu shu shu, Cyndiiiii~

Cyndi: Mew~ *Comes out from under the bed and brushes up against Medea's hand* Mew~

J. D'Arby: *Amused* Well ain't she a pretty little thing? May I?

Medea: *Picks her up* Sure, just be careful, she's only a baby. *Gives him Cyndi*

J. D'Arby: Hello little one, I'm D'Arby, D-A-R-B-Y. The "D" has an apostrophe.

Medea: *Rolling eyes*

Cyndi: *Purring up against his hand*

Medea: Looks like she likes you.

J. D'Arby: She must've smelled my cat on my person, that must mean she'll be good friends with him.

Medea: You know how to introduce cats to each other slowly?

J. D'Arby: But of course, and feed and bathe them.

Medea: So that would mean you'll take her in.

J. D'Arby: I think I'll manage, i'll just have to make sure she steers clear of the cafe's clients until she's old enough to be on her own.

Medea: *Relived* Oh thank Christ. TTvTT

And so Medea was able to find a home for Cyndi, although she doesn't like the Gambler, he is great with cats and will gladly look after her, thus giving her a happily ever after....However, despite careful planning, no one ever noticed that an interloper had been watching and hearing these events unfold for the past four days.... mostly due to being the black sheep of DIO's Agents.

Third Floor

Nukesaku: *Listening through the floor with his ear to the ground*....

Medea: *Muffled* So will you take her tonight?

J. D'Arby: *Muffled* I would but I don't have a pet carrier with me, and I promised my bartender that I take the night shift. I will stop by tomorrow afternoon though.

Medea: Sounds like a plan, thank you so much.

J. D'Arby: You're welcome, dearie.

Medea: Don't push it, buddy.

Nukesaku: So, Medea plans to give away contraband to D'Arby Elder? I have all the proof I need to punish her for disobeying Lord DIO! *Jumps to the ceiling and starts crawling on the walls* He must know of her crimes! I can't have her escape with the evidence! *Laughing maniacally* Hahahahahahaha!

DIO's Third Floor Bedroom

Woman: *Getting her blood sucked* Ah!~ Ahhh~ Mmahh~ Y-yes!....Ahhh~....L-Lord....DI....O~....*Falls limp*............

DIO: Wryyyy~....*Feeling refreshed but covered in blood, he let's her go*

Woman: *Falls to the floor, dead, with finger-sized holes in her neck*....................

DIO: *Does his signature pose* Mmmm~ Now that's more like it, much better than the previous one that failed to satisfy me~

*KNOCKING*

DIO: Yes?

Nukesaku: *Enters*

DIO: Ah, just in time, I left my leftovers for you. *Goes to clean the blood off of himself*

Nukesaku: B-bless you, Lord DIO, but I'm not here for your offerings. I came to tell you that Medea have been breaking one of your rules for the last four days!

DIO: *Washing himself off with a wet hand towel* ....*Glares at him* And you didn't bother telling me this sooner because?....

Nukesaku: *Nervous* Oh! I was uh gathering evidence! I mean everybody knows you can't accuse someone without any evidence, right?

DIO: ....*Calms down* Oh very well, since there is nothing wrong with finding proof, I will show mercy.

Nukesaku: *Sighs in relief* ....*DIO steps on him like a bug* GAH! *In pain* Ngh! Ahh!

DIO: I will however change my mind if you don't show me what rule is Medea breaking right now.

Nukesaku: Y-Yes, sir! TToTT

Medea's Room A few minutes later

Medea watches out the window, seeing Daniel J. D'Arby leaving the estate by car, she then turned to Cyndi and starts brushing her nose against the kitten's fur, happy knowing that she has a new home, but unaware of the tragedy that would unfold. Behind her bedroom door was DIO and his vampire toadie.

DIO: ............

Nukesaku: *Whispering* She's just beyond the door with that filthy animal, she's planning on giving it to one of your Glory Gods thinking she can get away with it.

DIO: Hmm........... *Summons [The World]*

*TIME STOP*

DIO: .... *Tries opening the door, it was locked* Of course.... *He then quickly goes to the other bedroom where a window is available, then flies over to Medea's window, seeing her playing with the small kitten, the Small fry was right, she was indeed breaking one of his rules*........*Sighs disappointedly, shaking his head* Oh that girl, she irritates me sometimes.... *He then flies back just before time ran out*

*TIME RESUMES*

Nukesaku: You can bust her door down and c-

*TIME STOP*

DIO: *Drags Nukesaku away from the door, and into the hallway*

*TIME RESUMES*

Nukesaku: -onfront her about it, maybe eve-....Huh!?

DIO: It's too late to be dealing with her, she's about to get ready for bed with the doors locked.

Nukesaku: B-But Lord DIO....

DIO: I'd rather wait until she leaves during the day, I want to get a closer look on that animal without her interfering.

End of Part 5

#tw: character death #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo oc #oc #daniel j. d'arby #telence t. d'arby #nukesaku #dio brando #drabble #kitty

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dinaswimmerr · 6 years

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This Stunning Cafe is by @something-wicked-sims

#it drives me insane that I can't add an apostrophe #lol #but it's okay #ig #Jade this cafe is soooooooooo cozy 😭#juniper #Zaiden #nonstory related

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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years

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scene four: tongues

one time someone asked me to say sorry.

'huh?' the asparagus clamped between my chopsticks began to slide towards the bottom of my lunch box, forgotten. i frowned. 'did i do something wrong?'

'no,' he said, laughing. 'i just want to hear how you pronounce it.'

'so i'm saying it wrong.'

'that's not what i mean.'

'then what do you mean?'

'i mean i'm curious.'

i stared at him. 'no.' i picked up my asparagus. he poked at his biscuits with his fork. time passed, birds sang overhead, snow fell outside the window.

'you know-' he started.

the asparagus on sundays sucks. on weekdays they roast it but on sundays they boil it in a huge pot of water in that grim, white-tiled kitchen that i've only gotten a few glimpses of and then it's a straight path to the metal pans that appear behind the glass when you step into the dining hall, hoping someone will betray your well-set expectations and for once, the 'fish' will be 'salted'. i didn't know why i'd asked for it to begin with. last week i hadn't. this week i had brought what i hoped would become a friend with me, though he was, by all accounts, still a stranger.

'what.'

'the way you say sorry feels kinda canadian to me,' he said thoughtfully. 'not justin bieber-canadian, but, like, old-fashioned canadian. see? like this.' he puckered his lips. 'sooh-ree.' he nodded to himself like he'd just accomplished an incredibly impressive feat. 'the way you emphasize the 'oooh' sound. no one says it like that here.'

when i was ten i had a weird phineas and ferb phase. we didn't have cable tv so i'd look up the episodes on youtube in splintered halves and thirds, watch whatever i could find in 240p and look up the plot synopsis for the bits i couldn't. perry the platypus was my favorite character at first, because he was turquoise (turquoise was my favorite color when i was ten) and he had a cool hat and he had a knack for appearing in places that one typically didn't expect a platypus to appear in, which both resonated with and annoyed me, but eventually i lost interest because perry the platypus didn't have a voice. he was a platypus, after all.

'huh.' there were still two spears of asparagus left in my box but i didn't feel like eating them anymore.

he leaned over the table, his eyes bright and searching, like a child's.

'am i right?'

when i was ten i sounded sort-of-american for a few months. i remember even my mom picked up on it after a while, commenting mildly over dinner that i was speaking differently wasn't i, i almost sounded like i did when i went to the international school, and i remember flushing with pride, choking on my rice, having to excuse myself to the bathroom immediately afterwards to hack it all up in the sink. after all, i'd been practising. if perry the platypus had had a voice, i would've practised his lines too. but he didn't. so i practised with the others. i hit pause and play and pause and play, repeating things out loud, sounding out the vowels, trying to nail each word to the wall on the other side of my room like i was holding a pistol in a gunfight, not my heart.

the first time i went outside in america we were in washington dc and my friend took me to target. it took everything in me to say thank you to the lady behind the counter. i don't know if she heard me.

am i right?

i shrugged. 'i dunno.'

'admit it,' he said smugly, which i thought was quite bold of him seeing how all i really wanted to do right then was punch a hole through the wooden floorboards and drop into the freezer section of the cafe below like a cannonball, killing myself and everyone in a fifteen-mile radius around me instantly. 'i got it right.'

there were a lot of things i could've said to him in that moment. i could've said i was born in texas nineteen years ago to parents from fifteen other parts of the world, or i could've told him about the dream i'd had last night where i was stuck in a supermarket and someone had ripped my vocal chords out but left every other part of me intact, or i could've told him about how there are between nine and ten thousand species of birds on earth and all of them are pretty cool, what do you think of birds, dude, what do you think of this country? did you know? most americans don't think they speak with an accent. to them the american accent is the default, is the way english should be spoken, is the thing they'll stick in the dictionary that the martians will discover thousands of years from now when humanity finally wipes itself out and the trees are left to retrieve their hands from their coffins. when you're american you're always right. the rest of us are deviations from the norm. aberrations. mistakes.

the first time i saw asparagus in america i was getting dinner in the dining hall and it was monday, so the asparagus was roasted, not boiled. 'can i get the asparagus?' i asked. the lady behind the counter looked at me for a moment, expressionless, then pointed at the stalks of green vegetables in the metal tray to her right. 'you mean the asparagus?' i nodded.

in the spring i took a class called intro to linguistics, taught by a kind, square-shaped man with round glasses and minecraft stans for kids who told us on the first day of class, his green beatles background flickering awkwardly behind him, that there is no such thing as bad english. i didn't believe him at first the way i am inclined not to believe anything i'm told without being slapped in the face with it a few times in times of dire need, but eventually i came around. 'i feel like every time i open my mouth i am standing on a big empty stage with a microphone in one hand and everyone is waiting for me to speak,' i wrote in my first assignment for that class. what i meant was: i am scared to death of being heard. what i meant was: i do not feel like a person here.

did you know? as far as we're aware, humans are the only species on this planet that uses words. we built this damn thing out of sawdust and sadness, pouring centuries of sound and sight and sensation into a system that's so fucked up, your only options are either to be born in it or to force your way in with a chainsaw. every day some guy in the youtube comments section of your favorite video, you know the vine where the kid smiles into the camera like she's just shaken hands with god and then points at the field of ducks behind her and goes, 'look at all those chickens!', every day some guy goes to that exact video and replies to some stranger's comment to let them know it's 'you're' not 'your'. every day someone derails a discussion about bitcoin on reddit with a well-placed apostrophe. every day someone laughs at a friend and says they sound a little old-fashioned, a little canadian, none of the kids say it like that anymore, you know? it's weird. you're weird.

so be weird. be a public riot. be that one guy who goes into the dining hall every day and mispronounces half the words on the board, because who the fuck learns how to pronounce asparagus in history class? english literature? i don't even LIKE asparagus. i'm just trying to eat my fucking vegetables, for fuck's sake. i'm just trying to make sure that every once in a while when i open my mouth and something climbs out, someone else catches it. like maybe one day it'll be something beautiful. like maybe one day it'll be a star.

and if you're ever trying to eat your fucking vegetables and someone tells you you're speaking funny, breathing funny, shaking your left leg under the table funny, and if ever you find yourself far from home and struggling to make the words look less like monsters and more like symbols for sadness and someone laughs at that, someone thinks your pain is amusing, then you know what? eat them too. and don't you even think of saying sorry.

in the remastered version of this scene he asks me am i right and i say no, you're a dick, and then i leave.

05.24.21

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

Isn’t She Lovely

Hey beautiful people, here’s chapter 11 of Playlist. Check out my masterlist here to catch up and to read my other stories.

Also, In a couple weeks I’ll be starting up “Ménage `a Trois”, a T’Challa x OC x M’Baku throuple fic. Check out the preview here! Word count: 6800

CW: pregnancy complications, a lil smut

“What about T’Kiri?”

“What is it with you all and these apostrophe names? No. How about Adana?”

T’Challa shook his head and scrunched up his nose.

“I hooked up with an Adana once, pass.”

Ashanti rolled her eyes, “Well maybe if you weren’t such a whore back in the day this would be easier.”

Shuri caught the tail end of their conversation and cackled loudly as she entered the kitchen.

“Still trying to come up with names?” She asked as she sat next to Ashanti, now towards the end of her second trimester. The princess grabbed a mango and started slicing away, handing some to Ashanti without her even needing to ask.

“Yes, and half of the girl names I suggest remind your brother here of his sordid past.”

T’Challa rolled his eyes as he continued to fix her a plate of fish and plantains, her latest craving combination. “My past is not sordid, in fact it was quite fun-”

Ashanti stared at him with vibranium daggers in her eyes and he changed his tune, clearing his throat.

“What I mean is, um-”

“Mmmhm. Anyways, this baby will be here before we even know what to call them,” Ashanti put her head in her hands and Shuri rubbed her back.

“Are you open to suggestions?”

“Sure, why not?” Ashanti gave in.

“I’ve always liked Jendayi for a girl.”

“Jendayi…”

The parents both rolled the name around their mouths and looked to each other for confirmation.

“Ok I like it, it’s going on the list.”

“How many names do you have so far?” “We have Nailah, and Jendayi for a princess. A prince would either be Dakarai, Hasani, Kendi, Shaka, or Omari.” Ashanti pulled the prince names out of thin air since they knew they were having a girl, but wanted to throw her off their trail.

“Oooh, good choices.”

“Thank you,” she playfully stuck her tongue out at T’Challa and he gave her the “you’re gonna get it later” look. Her face got hot and she looked away, knowing she had been working his nerves all day long. Ashanti dug into her food and smiled at how even when she was being difficult he would pull out all the stops for her. He scooped some fish and plantains onto his plate and stood with his back against the counter, devouring his food.

“So I see you two are still on that weird ‘baba pregnancy’ thing.”

“Thank Bast for the heart shaped herb or I wouldn't be able to fit into my suit,” T’Challa mused before he and Shuri heard a small sniffle.

“Lucky for you. I feel like an elephant.”

“Oh, my love, I didn’t mean-”

“I know, I just. Ugh, hormones,” she laughed through her tears and he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and rubbing her baby bump as he rested his head on top of hers, wishing his baby girl would kick for him.

The princess watched the adorable interaction and sighed. The more she saw of Ashanti’s pregnancy, the more she realized she would never put herself through that ever in her life. Shuri felt she was destined to be the Cool Aunt, not someone’s mother.

“Well I just came for a snack, I’ll see myself out before the two of you start practicing for baby number two.”

They chuckled, but understood. Lately they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other and oftentimes forgot to tone it down when there were other people in the room.

“We can behave, we promise.”

“Speak for yourself,” T’Challa grumbled into her ear, causing her to giggle.

Shuri wretched loudly as she left the room.

“She’s so easy,” T’Challa laughed at his sister’s habit of disappearing whenever they got too close.

“She’ll be a great auntie though. Imagine her teaching our little girl, she’ll be a genius!”

“Who do you think taught Shuri?” he asked, slightly taken aback.

“I just sort of assumed she came out the box fully assembled.”

He laughed at her and reached for her plate.

“No, I’ll get it baby, you do so much for me,” she turned around on her stool and gave him a kiss before hopping off and grabbing her plate. Before she made it around the counter T’Challa got a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach and she faltered, dropping the dish with a loud crash and fainting into his arms.

When she woke up she was in Shuri’s lab with her midwife, Binta, T’Challa, and Shuri all surrounding her.

“What happened?”

“You fainted, love,” T’Challa’s voice was shaky.

“Am I...is the-”

“They’re ok, but dear...you have preeclampsia. Your blood pressure is through the roof, it’s amazing this didn’t happen sooner,” the midwife, Ramla, pointed out. “And you’re lucky the king was there or it could have been much worse.”

T’Challa intertwined their fingers and squeezed her hand. She could tell he was shaken up.

“Ok so what now?” the queen asked. Binta grabbed her other hand and looked to both the soon-to-be parents.

“You’re on bedrest, sweetie.”

“What does that mean?”

They all locked eyes with each other in a silent conversation.

“It means we need to keep your stress levels down so you and your baby can stay healthy.”

“You mean, keep me from getting worse…” her voice softened from the emotions welling up inside her.

T’Challa looked to the midwife and she nodded before leading everyone else out of the room. Once they were alone her tears flowed freely and he wiped them away, letting a couple of his own fall right along with hers.

“You scared me, Kitten,” his hand found its way to his daughter, like always. “I thought I lost you...both of you.”

“We’re here, baby,” her hand cupped his face and brought his lips down to hers. She kissed him lightly and wiped away his tears now. She knew that although anybody would have been scared in that situation, T’Challa was especially worried about the same thing happening to Ashanti that happened to his mother, and now his worst fears were coming true. She kissed him again and he leaned against the table to get closer. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not, I’ll go drag you back myself.”

Ashanti chuckled, but she knew he meant every word.

--------

T’Challa pulled up to the small home on the outskirts of town and parked his hoverbike around back before heading up to the door and knocking. When the door opened he was met with the sight of a short and stout woman with long gray hair braided down her back. Her face lit up when she saw him and her warm eyes crinkled as she smiled. Her smile was short-lived though as she quickly reverted to fussing at him.

“It’s been too long, T’Challa.”

“Yes ma’am, I know. My apologies.”

“Mhm, get in here.” she opened her arms and he came in for one of her famous hugs that made all your problems disappear.

“You should stop by and say hi to your old nanny more often,” Ada chastised him. “But I’m glad to see you. Come in, make yourself at home. Are you hungry? I just finished dinner, I’ll get you a plate.”

He wasn’t, but he knew better than to turn down food from Ada.

“So what brings the king to my doorstep?”

“Ada, you changed my diapers, I’m not ‘the king’ to you.”

“See that’s where you’re wrong, you were always a king. Plus it’s just so funny to say ‘I used to wash the king’s ass’,” she set down a plate just as he took a seat, both laughing. “So, what’s bothering you?”

“Why does something have to-”

“Boy please, get to talking.”

He had hoped he could work his way up to the conversation, but Ada could always read him like a book. He let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his seat.

“It’s Ashanti…”

“Hormones driving you crazy already? It’s just going to get worse from here, so strap in.”

“No, well yes, but I can handle her mood swings...mostly. It’s about her health...she was diagnosed with preeclampsia just the other day and I…,” he sighed again and ran his hand down his face.

“I understand,” she said, taking his hand in her much smaller ones. “T’Challa she’s not your mother.”

“I know that on some level, but it’s the same ailment and I just can’t get those thoughts out of my head.”

“Of course.”

“And she still hasn’t kicked-”

“She? Awwww, you’re going to spoil her rotten.”

“That is what Ashanti and mama say. You all act as though I have no self-control.”

“You won’t once she stares up at you with those big brown eyes and goes ‘pleeease baba’. I’d bet money on it.”

“You three have no faith in me,” he chuckled as he shook his head.

“Oh I have all the faith in the world, dear. You’ll be a great baba, just as I’m sure you are a great husband.”

“I am trying. She’s supposed to be on bedrest relaxing until the baby comes, but you know her.”

“Mmmhm, stubborn as a rhino,” Ada said, head shaking from side to side. “I bet getting her to stay in bed takes an act of Bast.”

“It’s been two weeks and she’s already going stir-crazy. I just wish I could do something, I feel so helpless.”

“All you can do is keep that woman off her feet and away from stressors.”

“Ugh, she lives for stressors. I can’t get her to stop working. You know, she almost went down to Taj’s yesterday.”

Ada let out a belly laugh. She had known Ashanti almost her whole life, too. When her parents opened Zana Cafe, Ashanti would be across the street in her art supply store all the time browsing the aisles and coming up with all kinds of creative ideas. She knew the girl was head-strong, but her downright stubbornness tickled Ada. Ashanti was hard headed just like her umakhulu, and just like her husband.

“You’re not much better. Ramonda told me they basically had to drag you from the throne kicking and screaming when you caught that bug a few years ago. The image in my head is quite hilarious.”

“It wasn’t that dramatic, and I’ve since learned to take days off. If I hadn’t I never would have met Ashanti.”

“Yes, well thank Bast for-”

“Small miracles,” he smiled at her, completing her sentence. She would always say that to him when he was younger, and it stuck with him into adulthood.

“So you did listen to me,” she said with a smirk.

“Of course, more than my own baba at times,” he said sheepishly. “How have you been, Ada?”

“Getting old, but I can’t complain too much.”

“Ada you’re barely 70, you’ve got another 30 years in you.”

“Tell that to my bones,” he waved him off and he chuckled. “I can barely take a step without something aching or rattling.”

“You know, Shuri can help with that. Not the aging, but the pains.”

“I might have to take you up on that. How old is she now, nineteen?”

“Just turned twenty last month.”

“Bast, you kids are getting old. I can’t even call you kids anymore.”

T’Challa smiled warmly at his former nanny, reminiscing on his childhood before taking a bite of his meal.

“Mmm, Ada you’ve outdone yourself.”

“I know,” she winked at him and took a sip of her tea. “So, while you’re here can I get you to change a lightbulb for me?”

“Of course, you don’t have to bribe me with food,” he said and she shrugged, reaching for his plate as he moved it away from her hand. “I’ll take it though.”

T’Challa spent the afternoon with Ada, just catching up and doing odd jobs around her house before he got a call from his wife.

“You’ve been hiding out here all day, you better take that,” Ada warned as he took a deep breath and pressed his communication bead.

“Hello, my love.”

“Hi baby, what are you up to?”

“Visiting someone special,” he turned his beads towards Ada and she sent the queen a wave. Ashanti’s face lit up at seeing the older woman.

“Miss Ada, hi!”

“Well hello miss thing, what’s this I hear about you not listening to the midwife?”

Ashanti glared at T’Challa but he looked off to the side, pretending to care about the wallpaper.

“I’m listening...kind of.”

“Well, ‘kind of’ isn't good enough dear. Our princess there-”

“Challa! You told her?!”

“It slipped out!”

“Can you blame him for being excited?”

“No, I guess not. Oh! The reason I called,” she panned her beads down to her belly, “I think I felt a flutter.”

“Awwww.”

“She kicked?!”

“Not a full kick, just a little movement. Maybe she needs her baba to come sing to her after he picks up some sugared dates from that booth we really like.”

“Gladly,” he chuckled. He knew she had a sweet tooth and had planned to bring her some anyway. They said their goodbyes and T’Challa finished up dusting the fan blades before saying goodbye to Ada, too.

“Don’t let another year go by, T’Challa,” she fussed as he kissed her cheek.

“I wouldn’t dream of it! Come by the palace for dinner sometime, you know you’re always welcome. I’ll make your favorite,” he sang.

“Well if you’re cooking I’ll be there, just say when.”

“Tomorrow? N’Jadaka’s in town.”

“Oooh I’ll definitely be there. You know, if I were forty years younger I’d be your cousin-in-law.”

“Goodbye, Ada,” he chuckled as he took off on his hoverbike towards the bazaar.

--------

The King and Queen of Wakanda laid in their bed, silently watching trashy reality shows as they spoiled their dinner with sugared dates when T’Challa’s laugh made Ashanti sit up suddenly.

“What’s wrong?!” T’Challa panicked, his hand immediately going to her bump.

“Nothing, I thought I felt something.”

The two of them stayed still waiting to see if their baby girl was finally ready to make herself known. They must have sat there for five minutes before T’Challa gave up hope.

“Maybe next-”

“I felt it again!”

“Where?”

She moved his hand over to her left side and they locked eyes.

“Say something again…”

“Uh, what do I say?”

“Did you feel that?”

“No, nothing,” his voice was soft as he visibly deflated.

“Hey,” she brought his face back to hers and kissed him softly, “she’ll kick soon, I can feel it...no pun intended.”

He chuckled and kissed her back.

“Maybe try talking to her some more, she seems to like your voice,” she stroked his curls as he laid his head right below her breasts, his large hand rubbing slow circles around her belly.

“Molo isipho sam, it’s your baba. Will you kick for me? Please?”

“Keep going, I feel that flutter again in the same spot.”

He brought his lips down to kiss over it before placing his hand there.

“Come on, baby girl…”

They spent the rest of the night like that, ordering their dinner to be brought to them so T’Challa could continue coaxing his daughter out of hiding. He spent the whole night periodically checking in with her to see if anything had changed, but she just wasn’t ready to kick yet. He was a little hurt, but was happy to know she responded to his voice. Even as Ashanti drifted off to sleep he continued to talk to his little girl about nothing and everything before wrapping his arms around his wife and following her to dreamland.

--------

T’Challa sat up from the dirt and looked around, confused by his surroundings. His heart beat out of his chest when he saw the far-off acacia tree filled with panthers.

“Relax, son, you’re not dead.”

His head jerked to the side and he locked eyes with N’Yami.

“Wh...how am I here?”

“Bast’s will. And I wanted to talk to you, unyana,” she reached out her hand to him and he took it, rising from the ground and dusting himself off.

“Is something wrong? Is it Ashanti? The baby?!”

N’Yami chuckled, “No, it is you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you’re going to worry yourself to death about this pregnancy.”

“I’m just concerned about-“

“History repeating itself...I know, that’s why I brought you here,” she said with a smile before grabbing his hand, “walk with me, son.”

The two of them strolled along the plane in relative silence until they came upon the same lake Taj brought Ashanti to when she was in her coma. N’Yami waved her hand across the water and as the ripples travelled across the surface they carried an image with them. T’Challa could see himself asleep with his wife, chest rising and falling in rhythm.

“See? Not dead. Now look at this.”

She waved her hand across it in the other direction and another image came to view of T’Challa and Ashanti walking with a little girl teetering between them, holding their hands while she looked up at her baba. Much like his dreams of Ashanti before they met, he couldn’t make out his daughter’s face, but the sight of the three of them together warmed his heart. He felt his entire body relax, releasing tension he didn’t even realize he was holding on to. A big, lopsided smile took over his whole face and N’Yami looked on with pride as they both watched him with his family.

“I can’t see her face, but she’s beautiful,” he said in awe of his daughter. “Can you tell me her name?”

N’Yami chuckled, “It is not Bast’s will for me to do so...but you should know, the two of you chose well.” She winked and he smirked at her cryptic answer before turning his attention back to his daughter.

He could have sat there all night watching her, but he knew he’d have to get back to the plane of the living soon enough so he tried to commit every detail he could to his memory.

“Thank you for this, mama,” he hugged her and kissed her temple. They stayed like that for a few moments until N’Yami pulled away and looked at her son with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“You should also know, she is a very special child...as is your wife.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” she said with a snap of her fingers. T’Challa opened his eyes to see he was back in his bed with Ashanti, very much alive and sated with knowing his girls would be fine.

Just as he was about to get his day started, Ashanti rolled over and threw her leg across him before nuzzling into his side. He placed his arm around her and his other hand rested on her bump. Ashanti’s light snores filled the air as he rubbed her belly in circles with a smile on his face, thinking back to his dream. It was a little fuzzy, but he remembered seeing his birth mother and deep down he was no longer worried about Ashanti and their princess. As Ashanti slept he let his mind wander to thoughts of their future. Would they have more children? When would they step down? When would he let her take over being the Black Panther?

“So many questions, little one,” he mused aloud as he sighed, but his eyes quickly lit up at feeling the smallest little tremor right under his hand.

“So you do like my voice, eh?” he felt it again and Ashanti shifted next to him, undoubtedly feeling the movement as well.

“Wake up, Kitten,” he whispered in her ear and a smile spread across her face before her eyes slowly fluttered open. “Watch this.”

He lowered himself to her belly and his eyes flitted back up to Ashanti.

“How was your sleep?”

“It- Bast! Did you feel that? You had to have felt that one.”

He nodded with a goofy smile on his face, “Just a little bit.”

Tears came to Ashanti’s eyes as she sat up in bed. More came and T’Challa grew concerned, pulling her into his arms.

“What is it, uthando? Talk to me,” he tilted her chin towards his face and wiped her tears before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I was worried something was wrong since she hadn’t moved yet,” the queen sniffled.

“She’s ok, just a late bloomer,” the smile returned to his face as he felt movement beneath his palm.

“She really loves her baba.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Uh-uh,” she leaned in to kiss him, slipping her tongue past his lips.

“Kitten…” he warned, “The midwife said-”

“Ugh I know what she said, but I’m horny as fuck. That’s gotta be another stressor or something, right?”

He laughed at her insistence. “Only if you choose to stress about it, my love. Don’t make me call Binta...or Bisa.”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“Wouldn’t I? You won’t listen to me, so-,” he pretended to reach for his beads.

“Ok fine!” Ashanti pouted and T’Challa chuckled at her bratty behavior.

“You act like I don’t miss it, too. Trust me, the second you’re all healed up, you’re in for it.”

With that he got out of bed and padded his way to the shower, turning it on to their desired temperature and catching a glimpse of her out the corner of his eye as she walked into the bathroom, yawning. When she turned towards the shower his jaw could have dropped.

“You get more beautiful every day,” he pulled her in and his fingers trailed down the dark line down the middle of her stomach as she rolled her eyes. “What? I’m serious, look at you.”

He pulled her in front of the full-length mirror in the shower and stood behind her with his head on top of hers and his arms in their usual place on the underside of her belly. He studied her round face as she squirmed in his arms.

“Challaaaa,” she whined and poked out her lip, “I don’t feel like it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know how to explain it...I just don’t feel like it’s my body anymore. I don’t feel like myself, I don’t feel beautiful or sexy or any of that stuff you tell me. I just feel...sick that this body that’s supposed to keep my baby safe and do all these wonderful things could harm her instead,” she didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt T’Challa’s thumbs on her cheeks. She buried her head in his chest and sobbed as he stroked her back. “This was supposed to be a beautiful experience and it just sucks. Plus I’m constantly horny but I can’t even have sex with my hot ass husband. I fucking hate preeclampsia.”

“Me too, Kitten,” he sighed and she pulled back to look at him. She hadn’t really considered how he felt in all this, understandably wrapped up in her own web of emotions. “She will be fine though, I just know it. You both will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He grabbed the loofah and squirted some of her black soap bodywash into the middle before lathering her up.

“Last night, I had a dream but it’s sort of fuzzy. N’Yami was there and...I think she gave me a glimpse into our future. I don’t remember what I saw, but I woke up happy.”

A slight smile appeared on her face.

“And as for the sex, well the midwife said if we can get your blood pressure down it’s a maybe...so let’s focus on keeping you relaxed, ok?”

Ashanti nodded before he grabbed her chin and forced her eyes on his. “Because I miss my pussy,” he kissed her passionately before he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “You walking around here looking like this while I can’t touch you is gonna come back to haunt you later, trust me. I know you don’t see it right now, but you look like Bast herself.”

T’Challa knelt down to wash her legs and feet and she moaned at the feeling of being pampered by him. He chuckled and rose to his full height before she began washing his body in return. He stopped her when she began to kneel, but she got down anyway.

He had missed how she looked from that angle and she tried her best to ignore his thickening member right in front of her face. He had just taken care of her, what harm could it do to return the favor?

She looked up at him with a playful look in her eye and just as he registered what she was going to do, his dick was already halfway down her throat.

Her head bobbed up and down his length as he leaned back against the shower wall, sloppy sucking noises filling the air. His hand palmed the back of her head, but didn’t push. It just stayed there, riding out the waves of pleasure shooting through him.

Her tongue explored the head of his dick as her left hand fondled his balls while her right hand stroked his shaft. He let out a loud moan when she took him all the way in and swallowed around him, deepening the suction as she did her damndest to suck the cum right out of him.

“K-kitten, mmm. Let me cum on that pretty face of yours,” he growled out. She removed her lips from him with a pop, but a trail of spit still connected her to him.

“Ewe Kumkani,” she said as she stroked his dick with both hands. “I hear you at night, in here stroking your dick because you can’t fuck me. Let me do it for you, baby.”

“Mmmhm,” was all he could say as her grip tightened around his length and her other hand cupped his balls, making his cum shoot out and paint her face.

“Stay just like that,” he grabbed his beads from outside the shower and pointed them towards her. She smiled as he snapped a picture of her covered in his essence. He helped her up from the floor and kissed her before they finished their shower and went their separate ways for the day: T’Challa to the throne room and Ashanti to the couch to catch another trashy tv marathon.

--------

“Are you sure you feel up to this? We can cancel if we need to,” T’Challa fretted as he put on her shoes for her since she couldn’t reach her feet anymore. She was eight months pregnant with their active little girl and was finally getting to have some fun for the first time since she was placed on bedrest.

“Challa, we’re not cancelling my party. We’ll be fine, remember?” She alluded to his dream from several weeks ago as she took his head in her hand and brought it to her face for a kiss.

“I know, I just want you to be comfortable.”

“What’s more comfortable than being showered with gifts and praise?”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead then her nose then her lips. He reached for his beads and she stopped him.

“If you call for that transport chair, I swear to Bast-”

“It’s too far for you to walk, my love.”

“It’s just downstairs, I’ll be fine if we walk slowly.”

T’Challa agreed before holding out his arm for her and the two of them leisurely walked downstairs to join their friends and family that awaited them for a small party in Ashanti and baby’s honor.

When they walked in they were met with the smiling faces of their loved ones all around the beautifully decorated living area. Ashanti’s eyes watered at the sight and everyone smiled empathetically at her tears. Bisa approached her daughter and led her to the throne she never gets to sit in anymore, what with being bedridden and all. They had it brought upstairs for the night just so she could sit on it like the proper queen she is.

“Look familiar?” Chidi joked as she sat down gingerly.

“Barely, I forgot what it looked like!”

Everyone laughed and she looked around, confused.

“Where’s yours?” she asked her husband.

“Today is not about me, it’s about the queen.”

“Nah we got some stuff for you too, you just don’t get a throne,” N’Jadaka shouted from the kitchen, looking over the snack table before his auntie pulled him away.

T’Challa chuckled and made himself comfortable in a normal chair next to her. He couldn’t take his eyes off of how she looked sitting on that throne. Ashanti looked more regal than ever and he fell in love all over again. She caught him staring and he sent her a wink, so she sent him one right back.

Zina giggled at their interaction and Ashanti turned to ask her about the shop when T’Challa stopped her, “No work today, uthando.”

“How did you-”

“I know you,” he turned to their loved ones, “So, what now?”

“Now I get gifts,” Ashanti said with a devilish smirk on her face, making the room erupt in laughter.

“That you do dear, and I think your parents wanted to go first,” Ramonda stated, moving out the way so they could get to their daughter.

They were both already fighting tears as they hugged their baby girl tight. When they pulled back, Chidi handed her a gift wrapped box that she quickly tore into. When she removed the lid, she paused.

“Was this-”

“Yours, mhm. It’s your baby blanket,” Bisa sniffled as Ashanti pulled the woven blanket from the box, tracing her fingers over the symbols and fighting tears of her own. She handed it to T’Challa and he looked over it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Ada was next, pulling a stuffed panther from behind her back.

“I made it myself,” she bragged as both of the soon-to-be-parents’ faces lit up.

“Miss Ada, it’s beautiful!”

“Nothing but the best for our future prince or princess,” she said with a wink. So far she was the only person who knew the gender besides the two of them and they wanted to keep it that way for now.

One by one, their loved ones presented them with gifts for the baby and parents. N’Jadaka got the baby a tiny pair of limited edition Jordans, Zina and Jafari made the baby a little Taj’s apron and an IOU to paint a family portrait once the baby arrives, and Shuri made a bassinet that could track the baby’s vital signs and growth. M’Baku and Shani gifted them with furs to keep the baby warm when they visited their aunt and uncle in the mountains. Nakia got the future monarch hand-sewn vibranium cloth diapers, sure to keep in whatever messes they made. Naturally, Okoye gave them a small practice spear, and Steve and Bucky sent a box of Cuban cigars for T’Challa to crack open after the birth. However, Kwame and Binta’s gift was apparently not to be opened in public since it was “for when that pussy heals.”

Ramonda purposefully went last, handing them a storybook of Wakandan folktales.

“Open it,” she said to T’Challa with a gleam in her eye.

He cracked it open and the kimoyo bead lodged in the spine of the book activated. A voice rang out that hadn’t been heard in years.

“One day, Ari the panther was out walking by the river when she looked up and saw a monkey swinging from the tree above…”

“H-how?” T’Challa choked out as Ashanti reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“He had the idea a long time ago and figured he should go ahead and do it ‘just in case’.”

Everyone, aside from N’Jadaka, who would truly never forgive his uncle in life or death, was misty-eyed.

“Now they can know their umakhulu, even if it is just his voice.”

“Thank you, mama. Thank you all, this has been…” his voice trailed off as his eyes found their way back to the storybook.

“You don’t have to thank us, we do it because we love you. All three of you.”

The little party continued through the night, with Ashanti on her throne looking to her loved ones with a smile on her face. Her right hand almost never left her bump as she thought about all the love their little girl would be surrounded by her whole life. She was lost in her thoughts for a moment before yawning and bringing herself back to the present.

Bisa caught the tail end of it and shook her head, “Someone’s tired.”

“This is the most excitement I’ve had in months,” Ashanti chuckled “I guess I just can’t hang anymore.”

“You’ll get back to it once baby…” Chidi trailed off, hoping a name would slip out one of the parents’ mouths. “Oh, come on!”

“We haven’t even picked a name yet, baba. Actually,” she looked to T’Challa for confirmation and he gave a slight nod, “we were wondering if you all could each give us one suggestion.”

“No playing favorites, though!” Kwame pointed out, making everyone else nod along in agreement.

“Yes, you should not pick my suggestion just because it is mine, but because it is obviously the best,” M’Baku grinned from his corner of the room and Shani rolled her eyes at her husband’s antics.

“Everyone, text me your suggestions and I’ll send them over. I already gave them a name the other day,” Shuri offered the group and her beads already started buzzing before she could finish her sentence. About a minute later, all the names were in and Shuri sent them off to Ashanti’s and T’Challa’s beads. “There you go. Have fun picking my name anyway.”

As the group argued amongst themselves about whose name would win, Ashanti leaned into her husband and whispered in his ear, “I love this, but I can’t keep my eyes open and Baby Girl is cranky and won’t stop kicking. Can we go?”

T’Challa leaned down and kissed her belly, “Princess, be nice to your mama.”

The kicking stopped and Ashanti glared at T’Challa.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to do?”

“Apparently,” he shrugged and kissed her temple before standing up. “Let’s go, love.”

He reached out his hand and she grabbed onto it, rising from her throne.

“Thank you everybody. I love you all, but I can’t stay awake any longer or I might just pass out.”

“Go get some rest, dear,” Ramonda kissed her cheek before turning and kissing her son’s. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

The couple said their goodbyes and went back to their quarters. They quickly got undressed and slid into bed, immediately getting into their usual position as of late with Ashanti curled into his side with her leg thrown over him and his hand resting softly on her bump. However, the princess wasn’t ready to go to sleep after today’s excitement.

“Challa, tell your daughter to go to sleep, mama’s tired,” she whined as her child turned cartwheels in her womb.

He scooted down to her belly and placed a kiss on it, rubbing the sides and softly singing a lullaby his baba used to sing to him. He remembered that it always knocked him out, and apparently it worked for his wife and child, too. They were both out within minutes and he smiled at a job well done.

--------

Around 1am, Ashanti got up to go to the bathroom, as usual, but when she got back in bed she just couldn’t seem to get comfortable. T’Challa’s light snores filled the room as Ashanti sat up in bed, rubbing her belly and thinking about what their future would be like when she felt a wetness between her legs.

“The fuck?” She stood up and saw a wet spot on the bed that reminded her of the fun times she and T’Challa had in the past. However, while she was still the culprit, this time it was a little different.

She waddled her way to the bathroom and wiped herself up, but it kept slowly leaking out of her.

“This is it, she’s coming,” she said aloud to no one in particular with a smile on her face before waddling back to the bed and shaking the sleepy king awake.

“Mmm, ice cream or peanuts tonight?”

“Neither.”

His eyes opened slowly and he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Ok, do you want me to cook something?”

Ashanti giggled, “No...I think the baby’s coming-”

“What?! She’s early-”

“- but don’t panic, Binta said we have plenty of time from when my water breaks to when I actually start active labor.” She grabbed his hand, “Yes she’s early, but so were we. Calm down baby.”

T’Challa nodded, trying to remember anything Binta or Ramla had said over the last few months, but drawing blanks every time. “Ok, so what now?”

“First, I’m going to take a shower-”

“But-”

She held up her finger, silencing his protest.

“I’m going to shower before the serious contractions kick in, then we can talk about names. Binta said it’s all about staying comfortable until it’s go-time.”

He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t win the argument. “I’m coming with you.”

The two of them showered together and T’Challa kept a watchful eye on her as her face twisted in discomfort at the cramps coming from her womb.

“Are you sure this is ok?”

Ashanti pulled him down and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“I’m sure.”

They finished up their shower and he covered her in cocoa butter before doing the same thing to himself. T’Challa then stripped the sheets from the bed and the two of them laid down, pulling up the list of names on their beads. They argued over a few of them and one was already on their list, but one of the names stood out to both of them and they finally came to an agreement just as Ashanti’s contractions intensified.

“Ok we should start timing them,” she said through gritted teeth.

T’Challa nodded and set the stopwatch on his beads before texting Binta and updating her on Ashanti’s progress. Ashanti climbed out of bed and started walking around, one hand supporting her lower back and the other on the underside of her belly. T’Challa felt helpless as he watched her face contort in pain again, and looked down at his beads.

“Twenty minutes.”

Ashanti labored in their room for another hour or so before the contractions reached ten minutes apart and they transported her to the royal birthing chamber.

The birth was a blur. All Ashanti remembered was the feel of the warm water and her husband’s solid body behind her. She knew there had to have been pain, but seeing her daughter’s face when they laid her on her chest made it all disappear. Her parents wept when they first saw her and her first cries were music to their ears.

“Does she have a name?” Ramla asked as Binta wiped the new mother’s forehead with tears streaming down her face, too.

T’Challa spoke without tearing his eyes away from his daughter, “Siyanda. Her name is Siyanda.”

After Ashanti delivered the placenta, Ramla and Binta helped the new family out of the tub and into the bed. Ashanti’s eyes could barely stay open, so she fell asleep and T’Challa took his daughter into his arms.

“Hello, my princess,” she opened her eyes and stared up at her baba for the first time, causing his breath to catch in his throat. She had his mother’s eyes.

A little yawn escaped her tiny mouth and he was amazed as though he had never seen a yawn before. Every little thing she did blew his mind and as she yawned again he realized she was waiting on him.

He chuckled before shaking his head, “Oh I know what you want.”

He quietly cleared his throat and began singing to her softly, watching as she drifted off to sleep just like her mother.

“Isn't she lovely?

Isn't she wonderful?

Isn't she precious?

Less than one minute old

I never thought through love we'd be

Making one as lovely as she

But isn't she lovely made from love?

Isn't she pretty?

Truly the angel's best

Boy, I'm so happy