A/N 1: Pinky swears are very serious things that I take very seriously. This chapter is a behemoth of nearly 5k words... ridiculous.
A/N 2: Massive, huge, ridiculous, enormous thank you to @xenokattz for all your help!! Love you forever 💕💕💕
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The Amnio was brilliant.
When she’d first told them about it, Shuri had made it out to be a simple birthing chamber, but it was far more than that. She had converted an entire floor on the lower level of the Citadel’s residential tower into a birthing suite of dreams, complete with an operating room, a miniature neonatal ICU, and a near-exact replica of Okoye’s upstairs apartment with an added nursery for their post-delivery stay.
The main space was wide and cavernous, with a wall of windows that allowed the sun to illuminate the room and provided an incomparable view of the night sky. At its center was a circular in-ground pool with a series of wide ledges that helped accommodate varying depths within the water. Four holographic displays lined half of the pool, one for each baby and the last for her, their vitals being monitored by the patches affixed to her stomach.
Okoye kneeled on the second step below the outer ledge of the pool, her forearms folded across her mother’s knees as she breathed heavily, panting through the latest contraction. She’d been in the water for hours now, the night dragging on as her body prepared to deliver her children into the world. Her head was bowed, resting on her arms, her face twisted in a grimace as the labor pains reached a new height. Attuma kneeled behind her, massaging her submerged lower back and stomach while her mother cradled her head, murmuring words of comfort. Nakia and Ayo bracketed her mother, both coaxing her through breathing exercises in soft voices.
Nakia’s fingers entangled with hers. “You’re almost there, usisi. So close now.”
Okoye did not feel close. Each contraction felt like an hours-long battle, challenging everything she thought she knew about pain. What started as a dull ache in her lower back rose to a roaring fire as her muscles constricted tightly, stealing the breath from her lungs. She fought to regulate her breathing, exhaling forcefully in a loud groan.
“Good, intombi,” Her mother praised, dabbing the sweat from her brow. “You’re doing so good. It won’t be much longer.”
She heard Ixtli and the nurses who’d accompanied her singing beneath the water, a wordless melody of highs and lows in time with the waves of pain crashing over her. Attuma and Namora joined them, and she sighed gratefully as each note eased the sharp bite of the cramping across her lower body. Thank Chaac and Bast for Talokanil siren singers.
An early point of contention in her pregnancy had revolved around whether they would observe Wakandan or Talokanil traditions when the time for her delivery came. She and Attuma had argued relentlessly about it until Namora suggested a merger of the two traditions; Okoye would deliver their children on the surface, in the water, with a Talokanil midwife and a Wakandan obstetrician. That Namora's mother happened to be an iyom k'exelom was a happy coincidence, and Okoye couldn’t be more grateful to the woman and her melodious analgesic.
As the contraction passed, Okoye whimpered as she felt Attuma move to her left, missing his presence immediately. She pulled her fingers from Nakia’s and unfolded her arms, reaching for him desperately. Attuma leaned in close, holding her hand in his, and pressed his nose to her cheek, muttering a string of reassurances and praises in both their mother tongues.
She wanted him closer.
Ixtli surfaced, rebreathers firmly affixed to her face and gills, informing them that her body was ready. It was time to push.
She needed Attuma.
Using what little strength she had, Okoye used the stair above her and her beloved’s shoulder to support herself as she sat back on her knees.
“K’iino’?” Attuma’s voice was wary, trying to gauge her intent as he sat up with her.
“Behind me, please? I just… I need…” Okoye didn’t know how to adequately verbalize what she was feeling.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to; Attuma wrapped his arms around her, shifting them gingerly until his back was flush with the outer ledge of the pool, only their legs remaining beneath the water. Her back rested on his chest, skin-to-skin; their hearts beat in tandem, soul-to-soul.
“Good?” he whispered against her ear, and Okoye nodded, a stray tear slipping down her cheek. This was everything she wanted, everything she needed.
“Don’t leave me?” she pleaded.
“Never, in K’iino’,” came his fierce response.
Her family corralled around them. Ayo, Namora, and Shuri stood on the outer edge of the pool, each holding a different colored blanket for their corresponding godchild, ready to carry them from the water after they were born. Her mother and Nakia stood on either side of her and Attuma, grabbing her hands and helping her into a low squat.
Namora’s mother crouched between her legs, gently cradling her belly. “Are you ready, Nacom?”
Okoye gave a hoarse hum of approval and steeled herself. She was tired and terrified, but they were at the end now; the battle was almost won.
“When the pain comes again, listen to your body and bear down,” she instructed. The Talokanil midwife looked contemplative for a moment and pressed on the lower right side of her distended abdomen. “This one first, hm? He’s ready.”
Okoye wanted to question her, but the force of her contraction punched the air out of her, and she clamped her jaw shut. The urge to push came, and she did as she was told, a long groan escaping her gritted teeth as she bore down. Long agonizing seconds passed before Ixtli stopped her, letting Okoye catch her breath before commanding her to push again.
Her mother and Nakia spoke quiet words of encouragement as she labored, and she squeezed their hands as they continued on in the arduous cycle of pushing and breathing. Attuma blew softly on her head between each push, extolling her strength and courage as he urged her to keep fighting.
Ixtli ducked her head under the water quickly and resurfaced with a chuckle. “Uts ka a k'iino' yanak ti' juntúul paal il le eek'o'obo'. [It is fitting that your Sun would have one who looks to the stars.]” she said to Attuma in rapid Mayan, GRIOT translating for the room to hear.
“What- what does that mean?” Okoye asked, leaning back on Attuma’s shoulder, breathless. “Are they okay?”
“The baby is fine, General. He’s just facing the wrong way,” Dr. Langeni waded over from the fetal monitors, placing a reassuring hand on her knee as she explained. “It’ll make things a bit harder, but we’re watching carefully, and if we need to intervene, we will.” She nodded over to the wall of glass partitions on the right side of the room, behind which lay the operating room and NICU. “For now, just focus on letting your body do what it was meant to.”
Ixtli nodded, confirming her counterpart’s words, and when the next contraction struck, Okoye bore down again, her groan ending in a sharp cry as she felt the burning stretch of her son crowning.
“Dudula, Okoye!” “Yiza, emnandi, tyhala.” Nakia and her mother spoke words of encouragement, urging her to push, and squeezing her hands back as she tightened her grip on theirs.
The Talokanil nurses had resumed their song, and their voices grew in pitch as Okoye pushed again, a low scream erupting from her throat. The feeling of something giving way was followed by a rush of relief flooding her, and she collapsed against Attuma’s body. He peppered kisses onto her forehead, praising her strength and wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. Gasps of awe and resounding echoes of praise came from everyone around them, but Okoye only had eyes for the tiny, screaming baby in Ixtli’s arms. The midwife stood and laid her son on her chest, and she instinctively cradled his small body even as the elder woman used a soft towel to wipe him down.
Her son.
Wriggling and squalling and hers.
Theirs.
Attuma’s hand rested over hers, his chin over her shoulder as they took in the new life they’d made together.
They had a son.
“Molo, mntanandini. [Hi, sweet baby.]” she whispered as his cries softened.
He was magnificent.
Ixtli wrapped her firstborn in a towel, plucking him from her chest, and passed him to Shuri, who stood ready, having swapped places with Nakia to receive her godson. Okoye smiled weakly as the princess beamed at the baby.
“Molo, mncinane,” she murmured, gathering the small boy in a yellow woven blanket, “I’m your Aunt Shuri.”
Okoye craned her neck, watching closely as her sister carried him out of the water to the designated team of nurses and doctors ready to check him over. She winced as the smarting ache washed over her, despite her rush of joy. She felt the urge to push again, and it seemed her son’s twin was more than ready to join the world.
“He will come easier; his brother has made the path clear.” Ixtli said, once again pressing on her abdomen. “Now push, child.”
Attuma sat them both up, and Nakia rejoined her, grasping her hand fiercely as her mother did the same on the opposite side, the three of them helping to support her body as she bore down yet again, and they re-entered the cyclical pattern of pushing and breathing. The singing resumed with her efforts, but the song was different this time. Through the haze, Okoye made out the words to a familiar chant from the River Tribe, sung in perfect harmony by the nurses and Namora. Even Attuma sang with them, his voice a gentle rumble against her back. Her eyes darted to Nakia, who grinned at her as they sang the steady, cadenced tune.
Letting the song strengthen her, Okoye braced herself for the next wave.
She pushed.
And groaned.
And pushed again.
A burning flash drew a harsh cry from her lips, and her second child entered the world, as quiet as his brother was loud.
She held him to her chest, marveling at his scrunched face and soft cries. He was smaller than his brother but no less wriggly.
Another son.
Perhaps Attuma was right, she thought with a tearful laugh.
Her second son settled quickly, gazing back at her with Attuma’s dark, wide eyes.
He was beautiful.
Like they did with their first, Okoye and Attuma cradled their secondborn son together. “Okoye… in yakunaj… two...” His voice was choked with emotion, but she understood perfectly what he meant.
They had children.
Two children.
Two sons.
She cooed down at him, welcoming him to the world in a hushed whisper as Ixtli wiped him down before gingerly passing her son to Namora. The Talokanil general wrapped her secondborn in a blue blanket Okoye’s mother had woven, whispering sweet words to him in Mayan. Okoye settled back against Attuma, watching as her friend carried her baby out of the water, passing him to the team of nurses and doctors waiting to ensure he was hale and healthy.
“Rest now. The next will not be so easy,” Ixtli said, drawing their attention back to her. “The youngest rarely is.” She shot a pointed look toward Namora, who scoffed from the medical bay, making Okoye laugh weakly. “Let your body work to expel the afterbirth while I consult the stars for your first two children. I will return when it is time.” She cupped Okoye’s cheeks, touching their foreheads together. “You have done well, Nacom Okoye. Chaac and Ix Chel have blessed you with the strength of a thousand warriors.”
She smiled tiredly and thanked her. The Talokanil midwife exited the pool, and Dr. Langeni followed, promising to bring an update on the children when she returned.
Okoye looked at her mother. She was crying, tears of joy, Okoye presumed, and she blinked, a few tears slipping down her own cheeks. “Don’t cry, mama.”
She reached out a hand, and her mother took it, squeezing her fingers gently. “I can’t help it, emnandi. It’s not every day a woman becomes a grandmother; I should think I’m entitled to a few tears,” her mother sniped jokingly, and they shared a quiet laugh. She leaned forward to kiss Okoye’s cheek. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, intombi. You did wonderfully.” She kissed Attuma’s cheek as well. “You both did.”
Okoye grinned, then winced slightly as her body continued laboring. The contractions were far milder than her earlier ones, and one of the Talokanil nurses rubbed her ankle in encouragement, speaking words she couldn’t understand. Attuma murmured the translated instructions and a steady stream of compliments between light kisses to her head and hair, and the afterbirth passed easily, requiring little effort on her part.
She lay in the cradle of Attuma’s arms, glancing intermittently at the medical bay where her children rested. Okoye itched to hold them, to study their faces and catalog the pieces of her and Attuma in every feature. Nakia passed her a cup of ice chips, and she shot her sister a grateful smile, chewing them carefully between her contractions. She was slightly relieved for the short rest before their third child was born. She chose not to ask how Ixtli knew there would be time between the twins and their thirdborn or how she knew her children would be boys before their birth; the woman had forgotten more about childbirth than Okoye would likely ever know.
Dr. Langeni returned and had a quick GRIOT-assisted conversation with one of the Talokanil nurses before wading over to Okoye. “Molo, umama, baba,” she said with a soft smile. “Everything is looking good; both boys are hale, healthy, and quite possibly the cutest newborns above or below the surface. You did very good,” the doctor chuckled with a wink. She pressed a button on her kimoyo beads, activating a holographic display of her womb. Her lips twisted in a frown, and she sighed. “It looks like Baby C is still transverse. Which means we have two options: we can attempt to maneuver them in hopes that they turn on their own, or we go in for a C-section now. Should they prove reticent despite the maneuvers,” she paused, arching a pointed brow at them, “we’ll have to go in surgically.”
Okoye narrowed her eyes at the implication but couldn’t argue. Be it a maternal or paternal trait, headstrong children were a given between her and Attuma, and she was already praying for the strength and patience to match wits with whichever aspects of herself would be reflected in her children.
“How long would we try the maneuvers for?” she asked, shifting against her beloved and placing a hand over the monitoring patch of her youngest.
Dr. Langeni turned to the displays outside the pool, studying the remaining monitor. “Should Baby’s heart rate remain within acceptable parameters and the placenta intact? We’ll say 20 minutes.”
Okoye nodded and glanced at Attuma, silently asking him to weigh in.
He tilted his head, looking contemplative. “It is up to you, in K’iino’. I will be by your side no matter what you choose.”
Her heart fluttered, warmth flooding through her at his words, knowing he meant them wholly. She pressed her head into his chin and considered each option before taking a fortifying breath. “Let’s try the maneuvers.”
~~~
In the darkest hours of the morning, Okoye’s youngest child finally decided to cooperate with the efforts of the medical team. They’d guided the baby downward between her contractions, firm hands pushing hard through her abdomen. She grit her teeth through every attempt and nearly regretted her choice on a particularly hard press. The Talokanil surrounding her had resumed singing the euphoric analgesic of earlier, dulling the sharp pain, and Okoye groaned, breathing heavily. Attuma blew cool breaths along her head again, providing an anchor of solace in the sea of pain, but her relief proved temporary as her muscles tightened in a fierce contraction.
Ixtli had returned shortly before they began; she and Dr. Langeni worked in tandem, the Wakandan doctor maneuvering the baby while the Talokanil midwife swam beneath her, singing a soft siren call to draw the child down. Ixtli resurfaced, a visible smile showing through her rebreather, and she proclaimed it was finally time to push. Okoye sighed gratefully, thanking the gods. Dr. Langeni gave her an encouraging smile and waded to the side of the pool with her mother, Nakia, and Ayo. Okoye slid forward, squatting low on the step below Attuma, her chest and head remaining above water. He slid his arms under hers, helping her to brace her elbows on his knees.
“One last battle, Nacom,” her iyom k’exelom said, giving her knees a reassuring squeeze, “Let us see what the dawn brings.”
The woman sank beneath the water, and Okoye sucked in a deep breath as she felt the next contraction roll into her.
She pushed hard, biting back a scream, until Ixtli squeezed her calf, commanding her to stop. She leaned against Attuma, who spoke words of comfort and praise between blowing cool breaths of air on the crown of her head, each breath meant to hasten the delivery of their child. She rested for a moment before the Talokanil midwife’s head surfaced, coaxing her to push again, and they fell into a steady rhythm: Okoye pushed, Attuma blew, and Ixtli coaxed.
Again and again, until she felt like she couldn’t anymore.
She sagged between Attuma’s legs, her head thrown back as tears ran down her face.
“Ko'ox, Bah’te. K'a'abéet a ba'ate'el! [Come on, Warrior. You must fight!]” Ixtli urged in a stern voice. “We’re nearing the end, Okoye; Yaantal a to'on jolkanil.”
Find your courage.
Bast help her; Okoye didn’t know how much she had left.
She screwed her eyes shut before opening them to meet the deep umber of Attuma’s. They shone with love and pride, and he bent to kiss her forehead. “Ngakumbi kancinci [Just a little more], in yakunaj,” he whispered against her sweat-slicked skin. “Ungayenza. [You can do it.]”
She looked into the eyes she loved beyond all measure and found her courage.
The next contraction ripped through her, and Okoye tucked her head into her chest and bore down, crying out at the searing flash of white-hot pain.
Ixtli dipped back into the water, coaxing her through a final round of pushing, their youngest child slipping free of her body as the sun broke over the horizon.
Okoye cried in relief, her body slumping from exhaustion, and Attuma hauled her into his arms. Ixtli emerged from the water, holding a small baby who began wailing seconds after tasting the air.
“A son?” she asked, a weak smile on her lips.
Ixtli grinned, a fierce, proud thing.
“The Dawn has brought you a daughter,” she proclaimed, laying the baby on her chest.
Okoye clutched the small body, her daughter, to her, blinking in shock. Faintly, she heard the excited exclamations of her family, but her focus was solely on the tiny, wailing infant on her breast. She let out a shaky breath, staring at her daughter in awe.
She had a daughter.
Okoye held her close as she screamed, wondering how one so small could make so much noise.
She put her brothers to shame.
Okoye laughed as hot tears ran down her face, gently attempting to shush the squalling infant while Ixtli cleaned her.
She was perfect.
Attuma laid a large hand on her back, nearly covering her entire body, humming the lullaby he sang throughout her pregnancy, and they marveled as she quieted almost immediately, her robust cries softening to hushed whimpers.
“K Eek'e' asab chichanen. [Our littlest star.]” Her beloved murmured, smoothing his finger over her furrowed brow.
Their youngest grizzled, nose crinkling.
“Welcome to the world, ntomba ethandekayo.”
Ixtli swaddled their daughter in a towel and placed her in Ayo’s arms, her sister-in-arms greeting the child warmly, wrapping her in the soft green blanket Okoye’s mother had woven for their third child. “Good morning, little one. Today is your birthday.”
She exited the water gracefully, speaking to the baby in full sentences, making Okoye chuckle despite her exhaustion. She watched through half-lidded eyes as the final team of nurses and doctors engulfed their baby girl. As their daughter was tended to, Attuma pressed long, tender kisses to her head, muttering an incomprehensible jumble of praise and thanks between each one.
“Óoxtúul paalal [Three children], in yakunaj,” he said into her hair. “Ts'o'ok a taasik to'on óoxp'éel… [You have brought us three…]”
“Three stars,” Okoye replied softly. “Our own little sea."
~~~
They moved her from the water to a large bed once she passed the afterbirth, and she lay reclined against Attuma, clean, changed, and content. They talked quietly with her mother and Dr. Langeni about what to expect these next few days as they waited for Ixtli, the trio, and their godmothers. Okoye’s exhaustion was bone deep, but she wouldn’t sleep a wink until she had held each of her babies. Nakia slipped into the room, having ducked out earlier to retrieve the rest of their family. She led M’Baku, Yoltzin, and Aneka in, Junior still sleeping in the early morning hours. They stood at the end of the bed, smiles abounding.
Attuma’s mother came to their bedside, pressing her forehead against Okoye’s, then Attuma’s. “Ki'imak óolal, waal. [Congratulations, daughter],” Yoltzin said, grinning brightly. These weren’t her first grandchildren, but they were her eldest son’s, and she’d been giddy with joy the moment Attuma had informed her of Okoye’s pregnancy. She rounded the bed to stand beside Okoye’s mother, the new grandmothers embracing each other.
“Three babies in one night! You truly are Wakanda’s greatest warrior,” M’Baku smiled proudly, gently squeezing her ankle through the bedding. “Where are the little shark pups?”
His question was answered by the sliding door, and Ixtli entered the room on quiet feet with Shuri, Namora, and Ayo trailing behind her. Each woman held a brightly swaddled bundle in their arms, and they formed a line by her right bedside.
Shuri passed the baby in her arms to Ixtli, who unwrapped him slightly and placed him on the far right side of Okoye’s exposed chest. “This is your firstborn. A son who looked upon the stars as he entered the world, a war cry on his tongue. What name will you give to him?”
Okoye looked at her eldest son, whose eyes were closed as he slept peacefully, tiny brown fingers curling into her skin. The small yellow cap on his head hid most of his hair, but Okoye could see the gentle wisps that curled along his forehead. She lifted his small hand with her finger, an awed breath leaving her as he gripped it firmly.
He looked like Attuma.
Her beloved carefully traced the soft fuzzy hair of his son’s brow and answered Ixtli. “T’Khwezi Cadmael.”
The Star Chief.
Okoye heard Shuri and Yoltzin gasp quietly, and she glanced between her little sister and Attuma’s mother. Both women’s eyes were watery, and Okoye reached out, entangling her fingers with Shuri’s. She squeezed, providing a gentle reassurance, and nodded to Yoltzin. Neither T’Challa nor Cadmael would ever be forgotten; their spirits lived on through them. Shuri smiled tearfully, muttering a wet thanks before releasing her fingers, and Yoltzin hugged Attuma briefly. The princess slid from her place in line, crossing behind Namora and Ayo to stand with the rest of their family at the foot of the bed.
“This is your secondborn. A son born beneath the Great Weaver, swift and sure of his path.” Ixtli lifted their son from Namora’s arms and placed him on the right side of Okoye’s chest. “What name will you give to him?”
Okoye gazed down at her son, watching him nuzzle into her skin. His skin was warm, and his body was heavier than she expected. He looked nearly identical to his brother; the deeper cleft of his chin was the only difference she could see between them. Like his siblings, their son had thin, dark lines along his collarbones, alluding to the presence of gills. Dr. Langeni had already confirmed that the organs were vestigial and had no function. Her children were blessed with the ability to respirate air through their lungs and water through their skin, much like the King of Talokan.
The first to be born between the land and sea, her children represented the cementing of the Wakandan/Talokanil alliance. The two nations were connected by blood, woven together by love. Her son required a name that fit their future.
“Chii’kaan B’atz’,” Okoye said after a moment.
The Feathered Serpent Weaver.
Attuma cupped her face gently, looking deep into her eyes. “K’iino, are you certain?”
Her beloved knew there was no love lost between her and his king. It had taken time for her to tolerate his presence in Birnin Zana, never mind their home. Okoye hadn’t even called him K’uk’ulkan until she reached her second trimester of pregnancy. To honor him in this way was a step beyond, but in order for their nations to grow strong together, grace was necessary. She would never forget, and likely never forgive, but the past was immovable and unchangeable. They could only go forward.
“I’m sure” Okoye nodded. “We are bound by blood, my love. Our children are equal parts, Wakandan and Talokanil. We must honor both as we move forward.”
Attuma’s eyes melted with her declaration, and he kissed her forehead, her nose, then her lips softly. “Ndiyakuthandana, Okoye.”
Okoye smiled and returned his kiss, just as soft. “In yaakunech, Attuma.”
“The mother of your children is a wise woman, Nacom. K'a'abet a sutk'esiko'ob le ti' a watan,” Ixtli said with a sharp grin.
Okoye didn’t understand everything the iyom k’exelom said, but she did know watan. Wife.
She and Attuma shared a knowing smile.
We will be married when in K’iino’ is ready to have a husband again. That’s what he’d told her mother.
She never thought she would have another husband, not after the bitter betrayal she’d faced. She hadn’t thought she could tie her soul to another man before Attuma. She hadn’t thought she could love someone so wholly, so thoroughly that she felt incomplete without them as she did with Attuma. He held her heart; married or not, their souls were irrevocably bound.
“Tu k'iinili' [In time],” her beloved responded with a sly smirk.
Ixtli nodded and turned to Ayo, lifting their youngest from her arms. Like she’d done with the other two, the Talokanil midwife unwrapped the baby and laid her on Okoye’s chest, right between her brothers.
“This is your thirdborn. A daughter born at the dawn's breaking, ushering in victorious joy. What name will you give to her?”
Okoye craned her neck down to stare at the smallest of the three curled against her chest and felt her heart sing. She was their unexpected gift, a joyful surprise after the birth of two boys.
She looked at Attuma, who’d been so certain they would have three sons, they hadn’t bothered to discuss what they might name a girl. He looked just as baffled as she felt. Carefully considering Ixtli’s words, Okoye smiled down at her daughter, who grizzled and grunted even while she slept.
“Ixazaluoh.”
Yoltzin’s water-distorted voice spoke from the other side of the bed, offering up the name.
Attuma hummed and placed his hand on their daughter’s head. “It means ‘dawn,’” he explained lowly.
Okoye echoed his hum. “Very fitting, Na’,” she grinned. “Ixazaluoh, then. Ixazaluoh Kenura. The dawn of our joy.”
Her beloved’s smile was wide and bright. “Perfect.”
Attuma kissed her head, running gentle hands over each of their children. “They’re beautiful, in K’iino’.”
Staring down at them, Okoye couldn’t help but agree.
They would grow in time, surrounded by love and supported by their family. But for now, it was enough that they were here.
Small and sleeping and theirs.
Beautiful, indeed.
A/N 3:
I tried not to be too graphic with the L&D, but she did have 3 babies naturally so... it wasn't ever gonna be short.
There's a fourth part to this somewhere in my brain... it might take a lil longer cuz I gotta work on that OT3 thing 👀👀
a 500 word fluffy drabble about timeskip!ushijima and his love for you (gn)*
the softest hours are the hours spent in bed with the golden rays of sun peeking through the translucent curtains, when the sun's warmth barely shows but the the warmth between your bodies pressed together is warmer than the hottest of days. on his days off, he'd rest his hands around your waist, pulling you closer as he nuzzles his face into your neck. the soft sharpness of his hair tickling the back of your neck never fails to give you the butterflies; fluttering violently like the pounding of your heart.
"good morning, darling," is what he would say, and the next thing you knew, you felt his slightly cracked lips on yours, your lips touching as you'd bring your hand up to ruffle his already messy hair. you know he doesn't say much, but he shows his love in the soft hums of approval and in his gentle touches- he places his arm around your shoulder, unconsciously massaging your shoulders as his eyes threaten to shut because, as he always says, "you never give me enough sleep, love." despite saying this, you both know that he doesn't mind it one bit- it's the love flowing through in these gentle moments that warms his heart in a way no one else can.
time spent together is always comfortable; even in between the moments of silence and the playful teasing. he has slowly learned to tear his walls down around you, and you feel a tingling sense of pride; that just maybe, you've shown this man how to love. whether it's breakfast thrown together from the leftovers or a drive out to the coffee place in pyjamas, the comfort that you're always there with him is how he knows you love him- strung between these everyday moments was this pure, unadulterated love that he knows he can go at his pace with.
he knows that he's usually away for practice or away games, which gives him all the more reason to cherish you with every second he has, and he knows you'd always do the same. his heart always sinks with an unknown weight whenever you're apart, but you always tell him that you'll see each other soon enough, and sometimes, he catches himself looking to the benches for your familiar figure. even when he thinks he's being discreet about how much he misses you, it's painfully obvious, and his teammates always playfully tease him for that. "they don't know what love is and how it's like," he thinks, and the moment he walks through the airport gate, he'd scan for the sight of you, before dropping all his baggage to open up his arms so that he could catch you whenever you ran towards him.
the people staring in the crowd didn't matter; all that mattered was the familiar smell of home and the hastened beating of your hearts as you melted in his embrace.
and as long as he could pridefully call you his, he'd feel like the luckiest man on earth for the rest of his life.
-
@baeshijima hi sophie darling this one’s for you! thank you for always being such a positive light in my life, i really appreciate you for being here 🥺 thank you for being a reason i look forward to opening this hellsite HAHAH jokes aside,, i love you and please don’t stop being amazing ❤️
taglist: @sugasugawarau @yams046 @akaxshii || info
Genre: Fan Fiction
Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader
Warnings: N/A
Rating: G
Length: Drabble
Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.
A/N: I like dogs. A lot. We need floofy Henry. Then the Kal videos happened on IG and well...
Catch Up Here
There he was, running across the grass, whistling and calling the giant black and white dog behind him. The dog trailed along, his tongue hanging, as he rushed through the short grass of the park. Every morning, at approximately 8AM the two showed up. Except for the weeks – months – when they were away, for one reason or another.
You weren't spying or trying to be stalkerish, the only reason you knew this was because this was the time of day the park was quietest and Moose could romp around and have his own playtime. The red merle Australian Shepherd bounced and barked at your feet, waiting for you to throw the ball. He didn't much care about the man or the other dog.
Waving at you, the pair halted, the dog panting and the man huffing his own breath. “Good morning, you two.”
“Morning, Henry.” You greeted the man. “Kal.” You nod to the dog, taking Moose's ball and throwing it. Kal was tuckered for the moment, giving Moose a chance to chase the ball in peace.
“Lovely morning.” He noted the glint of sunlight flirting through the clouds.
Giving London hope for a decent day. Nodding, you reach down to take Moose's ball from the eager dog, throwing it again. Kal still tired from his sprint, rests in the grass, watching the other canine exert his endless energy.
You had officially met Henry and Kal about three months ago. It had been a usual morning at the park, you saw them running by, a brief wave and smile as they passed. Routines of strangers. Then it happened. Out of nowhere the rabbit emerged from the bushes and both dogs were gone.
Moose had locked onto the poor thing first, darting out barking an alert. Kal stopped his forward trek, wheeling around to chase after the other dog he passed by daily. Rushing off into the thicket, you winced for the poor rabbit.
“Kal, no.” The dark haired stranger ran after the dogs.
“Moose!” You shouted, not too far behind.
“Kal!” His voice rumbled, deep and assertive. “Stop. Now!”
“Moose, Moose.” You were trying your best not to be hysterical.
Shy of grabbing the poor, innocent rabbit the two dogs lunged butting heads and sliding to a tumbling stop. Kal was twice the size of Moose, yet the shepherd took the hit like a pro. Breathless with a racing heart, you stopped a few feet behind the dogs. Thankful for the rabbit's get away and thankful the dogs had the sense to stop.
Dogs settled and humans calm, Henry had been the first to introduce himself. Sticking out his hand, his eyes hidden under a black Kansas City Chief's ball cap. You didn't live under a rock, you knew who he was, even if you were never going to tell him that. Until that moment, he had been nothing more than the man in the park with the black and white dog.
Every morning since, the four of you met in the park purposely. Some mornings it was coffee, others it was to throw a ball until your arms felt as though they would fall off. This morning, Kal was laid back and Moose was slowly wearing down. By dinnertime, Moose would need a second walk.
“So, I was thinking. We should finish up here and then head back to mine for breakfast. Kal and I discussed it, we want French Toast.” Henry smiled, stretching his arms over his head. This wasn't the first morning one of you had decided the make the other something to eat.
“French toast?”
“Mmm,”
“How bold of you to assume we would want to join.” You smirk, playing with him.
Henry sighed, running his hands over his hair and shrugging. “Suit yourself, but I also have real maple syrup to go with it.”
How dare he. Exploiting your weakness.
“Alright, alright. You have me convinced.” You laugh at his attempt. He had you at breakfast. “Moose.” You whistle and call the dog. “Moose, come. We're going for breakfast.”
Hearing his name, Moose perked up, tail wagging as he trotted along beside. Kal with his second wind, on his feet dancing and bounding around like a puppy on speed. The two dogs heading back for the trail, racing and yelped at one another.
“I think they enjoy this.” Henry commented watching the dogs race around one another.
“Is that a bad thing?” You slowly walk in step, pulling your sweater around your body.
“For any rabbits in the area, yes. For me? It's not bad at all.”
