Chapter Text
Shuri stirred and snuggled deeper into the curve of Namor’s body. His warmth surrounded her, his arm draped protectively across her growing belly. His hand splayed wide, thumb brushing over her skin in slow, lazy circles. She let out a soft sigh as his lips grazed her shoulder.
“Good morning,” Namor murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
Shuri hummed in response, her voice still groggy. “Good morning.” She turned her head slightly, her lips meeting his in a warm, unhurried kiss. When she pulled back, she smiled at the sight of his barely open eyes, his messy hair giving him a boyish air.
“Wish you didn’t have to go to that stupid medical conference,” Shuri mumbled, leaning back into him, her hand resting over his on her belly.
Namor sighed, his chin settling on her shoulder. “I know. I don’t want to go either,” he said. “But the guest speaker backed out at the last minute.”
“Remind me how that’s your problem again?” she asked.
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through her. “Because I’m on the board,” he explained, brushing a kiss against her temple. “I kind of signed up for this.”
Shuri groaned dramatically. “Sounds like poor planning to me. They should’ve figured it out without dragging you into it.”
Namor laughed, low and deep. “It’s only a few days,” he promised, nuzzling her neck. “Then I’ll be right back here, where I belong. We’ll finish this last stretch together, and before you know it, babygirl will be here.”
Shuri twisted slightly in his arms, giving him a mock glare. “What kind of man just leaves his very pregnant girlfriend to fend for herself?” she said, feigning outrage.
Namor chuckled again, the sound vibrating against her skin as he pressed a kiss to her neck. “The kind who’ll make it up to her,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower.
His hand slid down to the hem of the oversized shirt she slept in. Slowly he lifted it, exposing her bare skin to the cool morning air.
Shuri’s breath hitched as his fingers skimmed over her hips, his palm cupping and kneading the soft shape of her behind. He loved the changes in her body, the new curves that came with carrying their child.
She let out a soft sigh, leaning back into him, her body already responding to his touch. “How exactly are you going to make it up to me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Namor didn’t answer right away.
Instead, his lips grazed her shoulder as his other hand reached into the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He pulled himself free, his length already hard and ready, he gave himself a few slow, languid strokes.
Shuri felt the shift in his breathing, the heat of him pressing against her. Her heart raced as his hand moved to gently lift her leg, opening her to him.
When he slid into her, a low, guttural moan escaped her lips, her head tilting back against his shoulder. Namor let out a deep groan of his own, his grip on her tightening as he pushed deeper, savoring the heat of her wrapped around him.
“I’ll show you,” he murmured, his voice a promise.
******
Later that morning, Shuri stood by the bed, folding the last of Namor’s clothes into his suitcase. The sound of the shower running in the bathroom served as a backdrop, the scent of his body wash lingering in the air. She smoothed a hand over the navy sweaters she’d packed, biting her lip in thought.
“Hey!” she called out, raising her voice over the running water. “I’m packing both navy sweaters! They look so good on you.”
The water shut off, and Namor’s voice carried through the door. “What would I do without my personal stylist?”
Shuri rolled her eyes, chuckling softly. “You’d be showing up to conferences in mismatched socks, that’s what.”
A moment later, Namor stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair was damp, and droplets of water clung to his bronzed skin. Shuri paused, her hands stilling on the suitcase as her gaze trailed over him. Despite countless mornings together, the sight of him still managed to cause her heart to skip a beat.
Namor caught her staring and smirked, stepping closer. "See something you like?" he asked, closing the distance between them.
“Nope,” Shuri replied quickly, though her cheeks warmed. She turned her attention back to the suitcase, busying herself with arranging his shirts.
Namor came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching as she fussed over his clothes. “You’re too good to me, you know that?” he said, his voice soft in her ear.
“Someone has to make sure you’re presentable,” Shuri teased, but her voice lacked its usual playfulness. There was a hint of vulnerability beneath her words, something Namor didn’t miss.
He tightened his hold on her slightly, turning her gently in his arms so she faced him. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, his tone serious now.
Shuri hesitated, her hands resting lightly on his chest. “I just hate that you’re leaving,” she admitted.
Namor leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I hate it too,” he said honestly. “But it’s just for a few days. And then I’m yours for as long as you want me.”
Shuri let out a small laugh, her hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. “Forever sounds good,” she murmured, tilting her head up to kiss him.
Namor smiled against her lips. “Forever it is,” he whispered, holding her close.
Namor paced back and forth, his suitcase parked by the door. Shuri stood nearby, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her eyes trailing him. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but it was hard to hide the slight pout tugging at her lips.
Namor stopped abruptly and turned to her, a small smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Just you and Namora?” he asked. “I can arrange for her to stay with someone else if you want—maybe a sitter or one of her friends’ families—”
Shuri rolled her eyes, playfully swatting his chest. “Namor, stop. We’ve been in a good spot lately, Namora and I. Honestly, a girls’ weekend might actually do us some good.”
He studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, as if searching for any cracks in her confidence. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, his hands settling on her hips. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Shuri smirked, tilting her head up to kiss him softly. “I do.”
Namor chuckled, his hands tightening slightly on her hips. “Of course you do.”
They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other, until Namor reluctantly pulled back. He turned toward the living room, raising his voice slightly. “Namora! I’m about to head out!”
From the living room, the muffled sound of Game of Thrones paused abruptly, followed by the faint sound of footsteps. Namora appeared moments later, dressed in an oversized hoodie and leggings, her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail. "Alright, see ya, Dad," she said quickly, already turning to retreat.
Namor raised an eyebrow, hands planted firmly on his hips.“That’s all I get?”
Namora groaned dramatically, throwing her head back before trudging back toward him. She wrapped her arms around his middle in a loose, somewhat reluctant hug. "Have a nice trip, Dad," she mumbled.
“That’s more like it,” Namor said, squeezing her tightly before pulling back to look her in the eye. “Okay, so here’s the deal: I’ll be gone for a few days, and you’ll be staying with Shuri. It’s going to be a good time. And I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
Namora’s gaze flicked briefly to Shuri, who offered her a soft, reassuring smile. After a moment, Namora’s lips twitched in what could almost be considered a smile as she turned back to her father. “Yeah, yeah, everything will be fine,” she agreed.
“That’s my girl,” Namor said, pulling her in for another hug and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He then turned and moved back to Shuri, pulling her close for one last kiss and resting his hand on her belly. “I’ll call as soon as I land,” he promised.
“You better,” her voice softened as she leaned into him.
With one final squeeze, Namor grabbed his suitcase and headed out the door, the rumble of an idling Uber waiting just outside. Shuri and Namora stood side by side, watching the door shut behind him, leaving the two of them in the stillness of the foyer.
A beat of silence hung between them. Namora shifted awkwardly, glancing at Shuri before clearing her throat. “I’m gonna… go finish my show.”
Shuri nodded, her smile warm. “Sounds good. I’ll be in the kitchen working on some photo edits if you need me.”
“Cool,” Namora said, already turning to head back to the living room.
Shuri watched her go, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. As Namora disappeared into the other room and the sound of Game of Thrones resumed, Shuri headed toward the kitchen, already mentally planning how to make the weekend with Namora a success.
*****
The rain hadn't stopped all day, falling in thick, heavy sheets. Shuri stood at the stove, carefully flipping a golden-brown grilled cheese sandwich in a pan. A pot of tomato bisque simmering on the next burner.
She had one earpiece in, her phone balanced precariously against the sugar jar, a call in progress.
“So,” Aneka drawled. “How’s it going with Namor’s hellspawn?”
Shuri sighed, rolling her eyes as she pressed the spatula into the bread. “Aneka, don’t call her that,” she admonished lightly. “She’s not a hellspawn. She’s a thirteen-year-old girl.”
“Same difference,” Aneka replied. “Come on, you’ve been stuck with her for over 24 hours now. Be honest, do I need to start sharpening my claws?”
Shuri chuckled despite herself, shaking her head. “No claws necessary. We’re actually… getting along.”
Aneka paused, clearly skeptical. “You’re getting along? Like, no passive-aggressive comments? No glares? Nothing?”
“Well,” Shuri admitted, reaching for the knob to turn off the heat, “there was an eyeroll or two, I chalk that up to regular teenagedom. But yesterday, we did end up bonding over her Game of Thrones binge.”
“Game of Thrones?” Aneka repeated. “What does a thirteen-year-old even know about Westeros?”
Shuri laughed softly, reaching for the soup ladle. “More than she should, probably. But the good thing is I think she’s warming up to me. At least, she hasn’t kissed her teeth at me in the past 24 hours, which feels like a win.”
“Well, thank God,” Aneka said dryly. “I was dangerously close to having to throw hands with a child.”
Shuri chuckled, shaking her head as she poured soup into two bowls. “You’re the worst.”
“I’ve been told,” Aneka said breezily. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about my niecey-pooh. How’s my girl doing? Just a couple more weeks now!”
Shuri glanced down at her round belly, resting a hand on it. The baby shifted, a soft kick pressing against her palm. “Ready to meet her? Absolutely. Ready for labor?” She scoffed. “Not even close. I’ve been torturing myself with childbirth videos.”
"Why would you do that to yourself?" Aneka groaned, genuine horror threading through her words. "Shuri, you're supposed to be smart."
“I wanted to be informed,” Shuri said, plating the sandwiches. “But now I know what the ‘ring of fire’ is, and I kind of regret it.”
"The what?" Aneka's voice dropped to a wary whisper.
Shuri smirked as she ladled soup into bowls. “It’s the part of childbirth where the baby crowns. Apparently, it feels like an actual ring of fire. Like your body is being torn in half.”
Aneka's response was immediate—a strangled, visceral noise. "Oh my God, stop. I think I'm going to be sick."
Soft laughter bubbled from Shuri's throat. "You're so dramatic."
"I am an actress, you know this," Aneka shot back, her horror very real. "That sounds terrifying. Why did you tell me that?"
"I like to share," Shuri said simply, carrying the plates to the counter.
Just as she set them down, she heard the sound of footsteps. She looked up to see Namora standing in the doorway.
Shuri smiled faintly, tapping her earpiece. “Hey, Namora’s here. I’ll call you back later,” she told Aneka, who gave an exaggerated groan of disappointment.
She ended the call and turned her full attention to Namora. “Dinner’s ready,” she said, gesturing toward the plates. “Nothing as fancy as what your dad would probably whip up, but…”
Namora shrugged, stepping closer to inspect the food. “I love grilled cheese,” she said simply.
Shuri grinned. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Namora said, grabbing a plate and a bowl of soup. She hesitated for a moment, then glanced up at Shuri. “Hey, uh… can we eat in front of the TV?”
Shuri blinked, caught off guard by the request. Her first instinct was to say no—Namor was very particular about meal times being at the table. But he wasn’t here, and she wasn’t about to sour the growing goodwill between them over something so small.
Shuri smiled softly. “I don’t see why not,” she said, deciding to pick her battles wisely.
Namora’s face lit up, a genuine smile crossing her features. “Sweet,” she said, already heading for the living room with her plate and bowl.
Shuri watched her go with a smile.
Teenagers.
Shaking her head. Shuri grabbed her own plate and followed a few steps behind.
When she reached the living room, Namora was already curled up on the couch, the TV glowing softly in the dimly lit room. The unmistakable opening theme of Game of Thrones filled the air, and Shuri chuckled under her breath.
As she sat down in a nearby armchair, Namora glanced over at her. “You can sit here if you want,” she said, patting the space beside her on the couch. Her tone was casual, but the offer was significant.
Shuri hesitated for a moment, then smiled and moved to join her.
Shuri settled into the couch next to Namora, balancing her bowl of tomato bisque on her belly and biting into her grilled cheese sandwich. The storm outside was relentless, rain hammering against the windows. The only other noise came from the television, its light flickering across their faces.
On the screen, Game of Thrones unfolded in all its grim, chaotic glory. Shuri had to admit, the show was captivating. She’d seen a handful of episodes here and there but never enough to grasp the full scope of the story.
Namora had been eager to fill in the gaps, rattling off family lineages and bloody betrayals in a way that would’ve made even the most devoted fan proud. Shuri didn’t mind—it gave them the perfect excuse to talk.
As the episode progressed, Shuri found herself genuinely drawn in. A character—a young woman, it seemed—pulled off a mask, revealing a different face underneath. The visual was striking, but she was completely lost.
“Okay, explain this to me again,” Shuri said, turning her head toward Namora. “Who’s that supposed to be?”
Namora’s face lit up. “That’s Arya Stark,” she said eagerly, nearly bouncing in her seat. “She’s my favorite. Total badass. She’s been through all this horrible stuff—like, really horrible—but she just keeps surviving. And now she’s, like, this master assassin who can wear people’s faces and sneak into anywhere. She’s the best!”
Shuri's eyebrow arched. "Didn’t she just make some old guy eat a pie made of his own sons?"
"Yes!" Namora erupted, her grin wide and slightly manic. "Revenge, baby! I've watched this scene like ten times."
A snort escaped Shuri. "I'm sure that won't have any lasting psychological effects."
Namora giggled, turning her attention back to the TV. Shuri watched her for a moment, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
We’ve come a long way. She couldn’t help but think.
A few months ago, this kind of moment between them would’ve been unthinkable. Namora had barely tolerated being in the same room as her, much less sharing a couch and laughing over grilled cheese and a show about medieval power struggles and unintentional cannibalism.
Miracles do happen, Shuri thought, biting back a grin.
Her pleasant reverie was shattered by a sudden, sharp cramp that radiated through her abdomen. Shuri winced, squeezing her eyes shut and sucking in a breath through her teeth.
Namora turned to her instantly, her brow furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”
Shuri opened her eyes to see the teen watching her with worry.
She offered a weak smile. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Just my body getting ready for your sister’s arrival. It’s called Braxton Hicks. Practice contractions, basically.”
Namora tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Is it like… cramps? I get those sometimes. Mom usually gets me a heating pad for them. Maybe that will help?”
Shuri’s heart warmed at the earnestness in her tone.
“That’s sweet of you to suggest,” Shuri said softly. “I might try that later. But unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about these. Just means your sister will be here soon.”
Namora nodded thoughtfully, glancing back at the screen before something seemed to occur to her. She turned back to Shuri, her expression mildly skeptical. “So… are we just going to keep calling her ‘my sister,’ or does she actually get a name?”
Shuri sighed, setting her plate down on the coffee table. She leaned back into the couch, her hand resting lightly on her belly. “Your dad and I are… stuck,” she admitted. “We’ve narrowed it down to two: Kaya and Xareni. But we can’t seem to agree.”
Namora wrinkled her nose, her brow creased in thought. After a moment, she said bluntly, “Both of those kinda suck.”
Shuri’s mouth dropped open, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. “Seriously?”
Namora shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips. “Just being honest,” she said, turning back to the TV like she hadn’t just delivered a brutal critique.
Shuri let out another laugh, shaking her head. “Wow,” she said. “Thanks for that.”
“Anytime,” Namora replied, her eyes glued to the screen.
Despite the teens frankness, Shuri couldn’t help the smile that remained on her face as the rain continued to pour outside.
The storm continued throughout the night. It drummed steadily against the brownstone, a backdrop to Shuri’s restless tossing and turning.
The Braxton Hicks contractions were continual, coming in irregular waves that left her moaning softly into the darkness. At one point, she’d heard the creak of the bedroom door and looked up to see Namora poking her head in. Her face tired but concerned.
“You okay?” the teen asked softly, her voice just audible over the rain.
“I’m fine,” Shuri assured her, waving a hand weakly. “Go back to bed. It’s just practice contractions.”
Namora paused for a moment, her eyes scanning Shuri’s face before nodding and retreating. Once the door clicked shut, Shuri sighed, clutching her belly and silently willing her body to let her sleep.
But the relief never came.
By the time dawn broke through the heavy gray clouds, Shuri was utterly exhausted. Her limbs felt heavy, and her eyes burned from lack of rest. But staying in bed any longer wasn’t an option. She swung her legs over the edge, wincing slightly as her feet hit the floor, and shuffled toward the bathroom to freshen up before heading downstairs.
Once in the kitchen, Shuri decided on breakfast tacos—a simple but hearty meal that she figured Namora would enjoy. Pulling out eggs, tortillas, and an assortment of fillings, she set about preparing the ingredients, letting the act of chopping vegetables and cracking eggs soothe her nerves.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, lighting up with a string of missed texts from Namor.
Namor: Tried to get an earlier flight.
Namor: Conference wrapping up sooner than expected.
Namor: But the storms have grounded flights. Looks like I won’t be back until late tonight.
Shuri sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. She had been holding out hope that he’d make it back sooner, but the weather had other plans. She was about to type a reply, maybe even tell him about her rough night, when a strange sensation stopped her mid-text.
It wasn’t pain exactly, but it was distinct—a sudden pressure, followed by what felt like a balloon popping deep inside her.
Then came the gush. Warm liquid rushed down her legs, soaking through her pajama shorts and pooling in a small puddle at her feet.
She stared down at it, momentarily frozen, her mind racing to catch up with what had just happened.
“Ewww! Gross, Shuri!”
Her head snapped up to see Namora standing in the doorway, her hair messy from sleep, a look of pure disgust plastered on her face. “Did you just pee on yourself?”
Shuri blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“This isn’t pee, Namora,” she finally said.
A beat of silence.
“I think my water just broke.”