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Chapter Text

Shuri tugged absently at the hem of her bridesmaid dress as she settled into the cushioned seat in the corner of the reception hall. The floral arrangement beside her wobbled precariously in its crystal vase, but she was too tired to care if the entire thing came crashing down. Her feet ached from being stuffed in glittery, sky-high stilettos all day; she’d finally given in and kicked them off beneath the table. 

The cool floor felt like heaven against her soles, blissful relief from hours of pictures, line dances, and the big moment of walking in step down the aisle.

The satin bridesmaid dress, a soft periwinkle that Namora had insisted would “bring out everyone’s undertones”—clung to her frame as she reached for her third signature cocktail of the night. The “Something Blue” as it had been dubbed on the drink menu, was deceptively strong despite its playful appearance.

She took a long sip, wincing slightly at the burn of vodka beneath the sweet blueberry flavor. Her gaze drifted to the dance floor where Namora and Bucky swayed together, lost in their own world. Namora’s white dress caught the light with every movement, making her appear to glow from within. Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off her, his hands respectfully placed at her waist as they moved to the music.

Three years. 

That’s how long she’d spent with Joaquin, imagining herself in a white dress someday. Now here she was, watching someone else live out that dream while nursing sore feet and a bruised heart.

“You did well, you know,” Shuri murmured to herself, massaging her arch with one hand. “Made it through the ceremony without crying, gave a killer speech… now just get through a few more hours of this romantic wonderland without drowning in self-pity.”

She took another deep gulp of the cocktail. Shuri reminded herself that tomorrow morning’s hangover would be brutal, but tonight…tonight she wanted to feel numb. 

If only for a bit.

Her gaze drifted back to Namora and Bucky. The bride’s face glowed, still flushed with the excitement of the ceremony. The groom’s expression was one of devotion. He held her gently, as if she were a priceless treasure he’d just discovered. 

Their sway was slow and intimate, two silhouettes turning in time to a ballad, something soft and romantic. 

They looked so in love.

Shuri tried not to feel any envy, she had known what it felt like once, or at least she thought she had. But that was before everything with Joaquin fell apart. She’d wanted to believe that she and Joaquin—charming, adventurous pilot Joaquin—were meant to go the distance. 

A year ago, she had let herself daydream of being the one wearing a gorgeous white dress with her friends dancing around in lavender or pink, cheering for her the way they’d cheered for Namora earlier today. Instead, those daydreams had disintegrated after months of him traveling constantly and their relationship devolving into mere text messages and fleeting airport goodbyes.

At least, she thought, they had ended things on amicable terms. There hadn’t been a nasty fight or an ugly blowout. Just heartbreak, acceptance, and a sense that maybe this was all for the best. That’s what she tried telling herself, anyway, on nights when the bed felt lonelier than usual.

She rubbed a palm across her face, refusing to let the tears resurface. Not here. 

Not at Namora’s wedding. 

The day had turned out beautiful; her best friend deserved only positivity and delight. Now that Shuri had survived her big speech, she’d spent weeks perfecting it. 

It was time for her to disappear into the edges of the crowd, keep hold of the strong drink in her hand, and conjure a smile whenever someone passed by.

She was so lost in her thoughts, that she nearly missed the presence sliding smoothly into the chair beside her. It took the rumble of a deep voice to pull her from the spiral.

“Glad he cut that ridiculous long hair for the occasion.”

She turned to find Namora’s father, Namor Almehen, studying the newlyweds with a critical eye. Even in his fifties, the man commanded attention. His tailored charcoal suit fit his athletic frame perfectly, and the subtle silver at his temples only added to his distinguished appearance.

Shuri felt that all too familiar flip in her stomach—the same sensation she’d fought off whenever, as a teenager, she realized that yes, her best friend’s father was undeniably hot. It had been her first big crush realization, one she’d buried deep and never spoken of.

“His hair wasn’t that bad,” Shuri teased, her lips quirking up. “The man-bun suited him.”

"The man bun," he repeated, pronouncing the words like they were in a foreign language. "Is that what that was called? It looked like a small animal had made a nest on his head."

Shuri laughed despite herself. "Don't let Bucky hear you say that. He was very attached to that hairstyle."

"Quite literally," Namor replied dryly. His dark eyes shifted from the couple to Shuri. “You look lovely tonight, by the way. That shade suits you.”

Shuri felt a warmth creep into her cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Thank you. I’m just grateful Namora didn’t go with her original color choice. Neon yellow is not my friend.”

“And your speech was excellent,” he continued. “The story about Namora’s first disastrous attempt at cooking for Bucky was particularly entertaining.”

Shuri laughed, remembering the desperate phone call she’d received that night. “She was so determined to impress him. I’ve never seen someone so panicked over a burnt lasagna.”

“It took you a while to prepare that speech, I imagine.”

“Weeks,” Shuri admitted, running her finger around the rim of her glass. “I must have written and rewritten it a dozen times. How do you distill twenty years of friendship into five minutes? And make it funny but meaningful, personal but not too inside-jokey…”

“You struck the perfect balance,” Namor said. “I saw Namora wiping away tears between laughs.”

Shuri smiled, glancing back toward the dance floor where her friend was now doing some elaborate twirl under Bucky’s arm. “Mission accomplished, then.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, watching the celebration unfold before them. Namor’s presence was solid and reassuring beside her, familiar in a way that came from years of interactions.

Birthday parties, graduations, holidays spent at the Almehen household when her own parents were traveling for work.

“You don’t look particularly happy tonight,” Namor observed finally, his voice lower. “For someone who just witnessed her best friend’s happily ever after.”

“What? No, I’m fine,” Shuri protested quickly, straightening in her chair and fixing a smile on her face. “Just resting my feet. These shoes are beautiful torture devices.”

Namor gave her a look that told her he wasn’t buying it. “Shuri, I’ve known you since you were running around my backyard in pigtails. You’re many things, but a convincing liar isn’t one of them.”

She hesitated, then sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s paying attention,” he replied.

Shuri stared into her blue drink, swirling it gently. “It’s silly. I’m genuinely happy for Namora. It’s just…”

“Always a bridesmaid, never a bride?” Namor supplied quietly.

She looked up, surprised by his perceptiveness. “Something like that. This is my fifth time being a bridesmaid, you know. Fifth. At twenty-five. At this rate, I’ll have enough satin dresses in my closet to open a boutique before I ever get to wear white.”

Namor tilted his head slightly. “Ah. The pilot guy, right?”

“Yeah,” Shuri sighed. “The pilot guy.”

“Joaquin,” Namor nodded, his expression unreadable. “He seemed… pleasant enough.”

Shuri couldn’t help but laugh at his clear attempt at diplomacy. “You hated him.”

“I didn’t hate him,” Namor countered. “I simply found him… unmemorable.”

“That’s worse!”

“Is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were being honest.”

Shuri shook her head, but found herself smiling despite herself. “We were together for three years. I thought we were heading somewhere serious, but then he got that international route assignment and…” She trailed off with a slight shrug. “Turns out ‘I’ll make it work’ sounds a lot more romantic than it is practical.”

“Long distance is difficult,” Namor acknowledged. “Even for the most committed couples.”

“I know. And it’s not like either of us did anything wrong. It just… faded.” She took another sip of her drink. “Which somehow makes it worse. There’s no one to blame, no dramatic story to tell. Just two people who loved each other but couldn’t figure out how to stay together.”

Namor was quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting back to the dance floor where Namora was now laughing with a group of bridesmaids. “Sometimes love isn’t enough on its own,” he said finally. “It needs the right circumstances, the right timing, the right choices to flourish.”

Something in his tone made Shuri wonder if he was thinking about Namora’s mother. Lyra had died of cancer when Namora was just six, leaving Namor to raise their daughter alone. He had never remarried, never even dated seriously as far as anyone knew. Namora had once confided that she thought her father had loved her mother too deeply to ever consider replacing her.

“I suppose you’d know something about that,” Shuri said softly.

Namor met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them. Then, before she could decipher it, he stood and extended his hand toward her.

“Dance with me,” he said. It wasn’t quite a question, but neither was it a command.

Shuri blinked up at him, caught off guard. “I… my shoes—”

“Leave them,” he said with a slight smile. “No one will notice.”

She hesitated only a moment before placing her hand in his. His palm was warm and surprisingly smooth, his grip gentle as he helped her to her feet. Shuri’s heart quickened as he led her toward the dance floor, weaving between tables with assuredness. 

The quartet had transitioned to a slow melody, something classical that Shuri couldn’t name but found soothing. Namor guided her to a spot near the edge of the dance floor, turning to face her with an unexpected hint of uncertainty in his expression.

“I’m afraid I’m rather old-fashioned when it comes to dancing,” he said, placing one hand lightly at her waist.

Shuri smiled, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I think I can manage to follow your lead.”

They began to move together, finding their rhythm easily. Namor was a surprisingly good dancer, guiding her with subtle pressure and maintaining a respectable distance between them. Shuri was acutely aware of his hand at her waist, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his eyes occasionally met hers before glancing away.

“So,” she said after a moment, “how does it feel? Watching your little girl get married?”

“Surreal,” Namor admitted. “I still remember the day she was born. How impossibly small she was. And now…”

“She’s starting her own family.”

He nodded, a mixture of pride and melancholy crossing his features. “It happens so quickly. One day you’re teaching them to tie their shoes, and the next they’re walking down the aisle.”

“You did an amazing job with her,” Shuri said sincerely. “After everything… She’s incredible. Kind, smart, driven. That’s all you.”

“Not all me,” Namor corrected gently. “She had her mother’s compassion from the start. And she had you. The sister she never had by blood but found in friendship.”

Shuri felt a lump form in her throat at his words. “She made it easy to love her.”

They danced in silence for a few moments, the music wrapping around them like a cocoon. Somehow, they had drifted closer, the space between them diminishing until Shuri could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“It’s a bit lonely, isn’t it?” Namor said suddenly, his voice so low she almost missed it.

“What is?”

“Watching someone you love start a new chapter…one you’re not the central character in anymore.” His eyes met hers, and Shuri saw a vulnerability she’d never witnessed in him before. “Being happy for them while feeling left behind.”

The simple truth of his words struck her deeply. “Yes,” she whispered. “Exactly that.”

“Namora will always be my daughter, but she has a husband now. A partner. As it should be.” He executed a perfect turn. “But it does leave a certain… emptiness.”

“I understand more than you know,” Shuri admitted. “Namora and I have been inseparable since we were five. We had this pact in high school—that we’d be each other’s maids of honor, that we’d raise our kids together, that we’d grow old as those crazy best friends who still have sleepovers at seventy.”

“And now?”

“And now she’ll be living across town with Bucky. Having couple friends. Building a life that I’m a part of but not central to.” Shuri sighed. “Don’t get me wrong—I love Bucky, and they’re perfect together. But things change. They have to.”

Namor nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps we can keep each other company, then,” he suggested, his tone deliberately lowering to a smoky rumble. “Two people left somewhat adrift by the same wedding.”

Shuri’s heart skipped a beat. 

The flips in her stomach intensified to full somersaults. There was no mistaking the intent behind his words, the way his eyes lingered on hers a beat too long.

Was he propositioning her? 

Namora’s father? 

The man she’d known for two decades? 

The very idea should have been absurd, inappropriate even. Yet Shuri couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him—a pull that had always been there, submerged beneath layers of propriety and circumstance.

Before she could formulate a response, a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Namora appeared beside them, radiant in her wedding gown, Bucky at her side with his bow tie slightly askew.

For a horrifying moment, Shuri thought her friend had somehow intuited the charged moment between her and Namor. But Namora’s expression held nothing but joy as she reached for Shuri’s hand.

“You two look so serious,” she teased. “This is a wedding, not a funeral!”

Shuri forced a laugh, dropping her hands from Namor. “Just catching up with your dad. Comparing notes on your evolution from hellion to bride.”

Namor stepped back, his composed expression revealing nothing of their interrupted conversation. “I was just telling Shuri about your unfortunate bowl cut phase.”

“Dad!” Namora groaned. “We agreed never to speak of that again!”

“Did we?” Namor’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “I don’t recall making such a promise.”

Namora rolled her eyes before turning back to Shuri. “Anyway, I want to dance with my best friend. We already did the father-daughter dance,” she added, waving her hand dismissively. “Now I want to get down with my day one.”

She turned to Bucky, giving him a gentle push toward Namor. “You dance with my dad.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Uh…”

“Go on,” Namora insisted. “Consider it your first official son-in-law duty.”

Before either man could protest, she grabbed Shuri’s hands and pulled her toward the center of the dance floor, where the DJ had just started playing a popular hip-hop song. Shuri glanced back over her shoulder to see Bucky awkwardly taking Namor’s arm, dragging the clearly unamused older man into the crowd of dancers.

But it wasn’t Bucky’s discomfort that caught her attention—it was the look Namor gave her as he was led away. A look that seemed to say their conversation wasn’t over, that his suggestion still stood. 

Shuri quickly turned away, her heart racing as she focused on Namora, who was already enthusiastically moving to the beat. But the flipping sensation in her stomach refused to subside, and she found her thoughts returning to Namor’s words, his touch, his gaze—even as she danced with her best friend on the happiest day of her life.

“You okay?” Namora shouted over the music, noticing Shuri’s distraction.

“Perfect!” Shuri called back, forcing herself to smile and move more energetically. “Just perfect!”

And as the night continued, as she laughed and danced and celebrated, Shuri couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if Namora hadn’t interrupted them. 

What Namor had truly meant by keeping each other company. 

And why, despite all the reasons it was inappropriate and complicated, a part of her desperately wanted to find out.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The reception had wound down to its final moments. Guests lined the path outside the venue, clutching handfuls of rice and rose petals. Everyone was eager for the grand send-off, a perfect conclusion to the beautiful celebration they’d witnessed.

Shuri stood in the front row of well-wishers, her bridesmaid dress glimmering under the lights that adorned the venue’s exterior. 

Despite the ache in her feet and the emotional weight of the day, she maintained her bright smile. She’d been the perfect maid of honor throughout. 

Delivering a heartfelt speech, organizing the bridal party, keeping everything running smoothly. And she wouldn’t falter now at the final moment.

A collective intake of breath signaled the emergence of the newlyweds. Cheers erupted as Namora and Bucky burst through the double doors, their faces flushed with happiness and perhaps a bit too much champagne. Namora’s dress caught the evening light magnificently, the delicate beadwork sending prisms of light dancing across the pathway. 

Bucky couldn’t stop grinning, his arm protectively around his bride’s waist as they made their way down the steps.

The classic Rolls Royce waited at the curb, its vintage cream exterior polished to a mirror shine. Someone had decorated it elegantly with “Just Married” calligraphy and trails of silver cans that glinted and chimed with each subtle movement of the vehicle. Inside, champagne and strawberries awaited the couple for their drive to the honeymoon suite.

“Here they come!” someone shouted, and the air filled with flying rice and petals as Namora and Bucky made their final dash.

Shuri threw her handful with enthusiasm, whooping loudly. 

“Go get ’em, Mora!” she called out, using the childhood nickname that only she was allowed to use.

Namora paused at the car door, scanning the crowd until her eyes found Shuri’s. With a teary smile, she blew a kiss to her best friend before allowing Bucky to help her into the vehicle. The gesture nearly broke Shuri’s carefully maintained composure. Twenty years of friendship condensed into that simple exchange. From playground promises to late-night study sessions, from heartbreak consolations to wedding planning marathons.

The Rolls Royce pulled away amid cheers and applause, trailing silver cans across the cobblestone drive before disappearing around the corner.

“They’re perfect together, aren’t they?” gushed one of the other bridesmaids—Kamala, Namora’s college roommate—as she appeared at Shuri’s side, dabbing at misty eyes.

“Absolutely,” Shuri agreed, still watching the spot where the car had vanished. “I’ve never seen her so happy.”

“I honestly wasn’t sure when they first got together,” Kamala confessed. “Bucky seemed so serious, and Namora is such a free spirit. But seeing them today…” She shook her head in wonder. “It’s like they were made for each other.”

“Sometimes opposites just work,” Shuri replied, thinking of how Namora’s exuberance perfectly balanced Bucky’s quieter nature. “They bring out the best in each other.”

“And the reception! That band and that DJ were incredible.” Kamala sighed dreamily. “The whole day was like something out of a fairy tale. The flowers, the vows, that first dance, I’m not ashamed to admit I sobbed through it.”

“Namora wouldn’t have it any other way,” Shuri laughed, remembering the extensive Pinterest boards and countless planning sessions that had preceded this day. “Remember how many cake tastings we went to? Seven! I thought I’d never want to eat cake again.”

“Worth it though. That almond cake with the raspberry filling was divine.”

They continued chatting as the crowd began to disperse, guests moving back inside to collect belongings or heading toward the parking lot. Shuri made the rounds, her social smile firmly in place as she exchanged pleasantries with friends and relatives she hadn’t seen in years.

“Shuri, darling!” Namora’s great-aunt Cecilia captured her in a floral-scented embrace. “Such a beautiful ceremony. And your speech was just divine, had me in tears!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Almehen,” Shuri replied warmly, extracting herself from the elderly woman’s surprisingly strong grip. 

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

“Now, when is it going to be your turn, hmm?” The older woman patted Shuri’s arm with a conspiratorial wink. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t wait too long.”

The familiar question landed like a stone in Shuri’s stomach, but her smile never faltered. “Whenever the right person comes along, I suppose.”

“Well, you caught the bouquet, dear! That’s a sign if I ever saw one.”

Shuri nodded politely, remembering that mortifying moment. Namora’s aim had been deliberately obvious to everyone present. The bouquet had practically hit Shuri in the face while she stood frozen, not even attempting to catch it. The flowers had landed in her reluctant hands as the crowd erupted in cheers and knowing looks.

“Next time it’ll be your turn!” several well-meaning guests had exclaimed afterward, while Shuri clutched the flowers and forced her lips into something resembling a smile.

“I should grab my things,” she finally said, seizing the opportunity to escape further matrimonial predictions. “It was lovely seeing you again, Mrs. Almehen.”

All the while, her feet throbbed in her discarded heels, which she’d reluctantly put back on for the send-off. The periwinkle satin shoes had been dyed to match their dresses—another detail Namora had insisted upon for aesthetic perfection. They looked stunning in photos but felt like medieval torture devices after eight hours.

The reception hall was nearly empty when she re-entered, save for the venue staff who had already begun breaking down tables and sweeping up confetti. The room looked different now—less magical, more practical as chairs were stacked and centerpieces disassembled. It was like seeing behind the curtain of a theatrical production, the mundane reality behind the enchantment.

Shuri’s clutch and shawl remained at the table where she’d abandoned them earlier, alongside the bouquet she’d caught. She gathered her belongings, sighing with relief at the prospect of finally heading home. The night had been emotionally exhausting in ways she hadn’t anticipated. All she wanted now was to kick off these shoes, remove the fifteen bobby pins stabbing her scalp, and collapse into her bed.

Outside, the night air had cooled considerably, bringing goosebumps to her bare shoulders. Shuri wrapped her shawl around herself and stepped to the curb, pulling out her phone to summon a ride. The venue was at least forty minutes from her apartment in normal traffic, likely longer at this hour. The thought of enduring small talk with a driver made her wince, but alternatives were limited.

As she entered her address into the app, a sleek dark green Mercedes pulled up directly in front of her. The car was so dark it appeared almost black in the night, its polished surface reflecting the venue’s lights like liquid obsidian.

Her heart performed a peculiar double-beat as the tinted window rolled down smoothly, revealing exactly who she’d expected to see.

Namor sat behind the wheel commanding even in the confines of the luxury vehicle. His suit jacket was off, and bow tie now hung loose around his neck, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone to reveal the hollow of his throat. His dark hair was slightly mussed, giving him a raffish quality that contrasted with his usual impeccable appearance.

Their eyes locked, and the electricity that had sparked between them on the dance floor reignited instantly. For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were the purr of the luxury car’s engine, the faint music emanating from within, and the distant laughter of departing wedding guests.

Shuri felt pinned in place by his gaze—those dark eyes that seemed to see through all her carefully constructed defenses. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that stretched across the space separating them.

Then came the soft but distinctive click of the doors unlocking.

Shuri glanced around quickly—too quickly to be subtle—at the dispersing guests. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.

Everyone was focused on their own departures, exchanging last hugs and promises to meet soon. Most wouldn’t recognize Namor’s car anyway, as he rarely attended social functions that didn’t directly involve Namora.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she gripped the door handle and pulled it open. In one fluid motion, she slid into the leather passenger seat, the slit in her bridesmaid dress riding up as she did to reveal more of her thigh than she’d intended. The interior smelled of expensive leather and Namor’s subtle cologne.

“Buckle up,” Namor said smoothly, his voice a low, intimate rumble in the closed space. There was a undercurrent of authority in those two simple words that sent a shiver down her spine.

Shuri complied, her fingers fumbling slightly with the seatbelt clasp. When it clicked into place, Namor nodded once and eased the Mercedes away from the curb. The car moved with barely a sound, gliding into the night with the same effortlessness its owner possessed.

They sat in charged silence as Namor drove. The only sounds were the occasional click of the turn signal, the whisper of tires on asphalt, and the mellow notes of jazz playing softly through the car’s premium sound system. Shuri recognized the piece, something by Miles Davis, she thought, though she couldn’t name the track.

Her mind raced feverishly.

What did getting into his car mean?

Had she just answered his earlier question about keeping each other company? Maybe she was reading too much into his statement. Maybe that wasn’t what he’d meant at all. Maybe he was just her friend’s father giving her a ride home, a courtesy extended out of decades of familiarity. Maybe this was nothing more than a kind gesture to ensure she got home safely.

But if that were true, why did the air between them feel so charged?

Why was she acutely aware of every movement he made, every breath he took?

Why did the confined space of the car suddenly feel both too small and not small enough?

Her spiraling thoughts crashed to a halt as Namor’s large, warm hand found her knee where it was exposed by the dress’s slit. The touch was sure but not presumptuous, his fingers resting lightly on her skin as if giving her every opportunity to pull away.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked, his velvety voice somehow both casual and intimate. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, his profile illuminated intermittently by passing streetlights.

“It’s fine,” she replied, her voice embarrassingly shaky to her own ears. The heat of his palm seemed to radiate through her entire body.

His thumb began a gentle, circular caress on her bare skin, the touch so light it might have been unintentional if not for the deliberate way it moved. “Relax,” he said, still not looking away from the road.

Shuri let out a nervous laugh that sounded foreign to her own ears. “I’m relaxed…ish.”

Namor’s warm chuckle filled the car, the sound sliding over her skin like rich caramel. “You and Namora with your made-up words. She’s been doing that since she was little. ‘Daddy, I’m hungryish.’ ‘This movie is scaryful.’ ‘I’m just a little bit sleepsome.’”

The mention of Namora brought reality crashing back down, breaking through the sensual haze that had begun to envelop Shuri.

This was her best friend’s father.

The man who had watched them grow up, who had driven them to soccer practice and school dances, who had threatened their prom dates with bodily harm if they didn’t have the girls home by a decent hour.

The man who had comforted Namora through every heartbreak, who had beamed with pride at her college graduation, who had walked her down the aisle mere hours ago. Namora adored her father, spoke of him with a reverence that bordered on worship.

What would she think if she knew Shuri was sitting in his car right now, her skin tingling beneath his touch?

Shuri swallowed thickly, gathering what remained of her courage. “So… keeping each other company, huh?”

She immediately cringed in horror at her own awkwardness.

Real fucking smooth, Udaku. Real smooth.

Of all the seductive, sophisticated things she could have said, she’d chosen that?

To her surprise, Namor chuckled again, the sound deeper and more intimate than before. His hand remained on her knee.

“What I meant earlier,” he began, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, “is that I don’t particularly want to be alone tonight. Not after watching my daughter begin her new life.” He paused, his thumb resuming its gentle stroking. “Seeing her so happy, so complete in her joy… it’s everything I’ve ever wanted for her.”

Another pause as they stopped at a red light. For the first time since she’d entered the car, he turned to look directly at her, his dark eyes reflecting the traffic light’s crimson glow.

“But it also serves as a reminder of what I no longer have. What I’ve been without for a very long time.” His gaze was intense. “And I suspect you don’t want to be alone either. For different reasons, perhaps, but with similar emptiness.”

The light turned green, and his attention returned to the road. But something had shifted between them, a door opened that couldn’t easily be closed again.

Shuri considered his words.

He was right.

She didn’t want to be alone.

Earlier that day, her plan had been simple: get drunk at the reception, take a rideshare home, and crash into unconsciousness to avoid thinking about being perpetually single while her friends paired off one by one. What Namor was offering, against her better judgment, sounded infinitely more interesting.

“It’s entirely up to you,” he continued, his tone carefully measured. “This can just be a ride home. I’ll drop you at your door, wish you goodnight, and that will be the end of it. No expectations, no awkwardness.”

His hand remained on her knee, neither advancing nor retreating…a question in physical form, awaiting her answer.

Shuri took in Namor’s handsome profile silhouetted against the passing streetlights. The strong line of his jaw, the aristocratic nose, the intensity in his eyes even when focused on something as mundane as driving.

She felt the heat of his hand on her knee, the lingering effects of the cocktails, and the complicated emotions swirling within her…the pain of her breakup, the melancholy of watching yet another friend marry, the subtle but persistent attraction she’d felt toward this man for years.

It wasn’t like she’d be the first maid of honor in history to hook up at the bride’s wedding.

Yeah, but how many with the father of the bride? a traitorous voice cut through her mind.

She tried to imagine how she would feel tomorrow, when the alcohol had worn off and reality came crashing back.

Would she regret this moment of weakness?

Or would she regret not taking this chance, not following this unexpected path?

The Mercedes glided through the night. Whatever choice she made, Shuri realized, Namor would accept it.

There was no pressure in his touch, no demand in his voice—only invitation.

She pushed away her doubts. Instead of answering with words, Shuri placed her hand on top of Namor’s, her smaller fingers settling between his larger ones. Then slowly she guided his hand further up the slit of her dress, past her knee to the soft skin of her thigh.

Namor hummed in approval, a deep sound that reverberated through her. His eyes never left the road ahead, maintaining perfect control of the vehicle. But the slight tightening of his fingers against her skin told her everything she needed to know about his response.

“Your apartment?” he asked, his voice lower and rougher than before.

Shuri nodded, then realized he wasn’t looking at her. “Yes,” she managed, surprised by the huskiness in her own voice.

The Mercedes continued its journey through the night, carrying them toward something neither had anticipated at the beginning of the day, but that now seemed inevitable.

As the city lights blurred past the windows, Shuri let herself lean back against the leather seat, her body relaxing as her mind quieted.

Tomorrow would bring what it would bring.

Tonight belonged to this moment, this choice, this man.

And for once, she wasn’t thinking about being anyone’s bridesmaid.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter Text

The morning after

The first thing Shuri became aware of was the ache.

It was everywhere — in the deep pull of her thighs, the tender muscles of her lower back, the languid, well-used soreness humming between her thighs.

She shifted under the covers, bare against the cool sheets, and a low, involuntary sigh escaped her lips. Even that small movement sent ripples of sensation through her body — raw and sweet and devastatingly good.

For a long moment, she simply lay there, motionless, adrift in the delicious ache.

The next thing she noticed was the weight beside her.

The steady rhythm of breathing. The faint rustle of fabric against skin.

Slowly, hesitantly, Shuri turned her head on the pillow.

And there he was.

Namor.

Asleep, sprawled across the mattress like he had every right to be there — like he belonged there.

The sheet barely covered his hips, the smooth, bronze line of his back exposed to the weak morning light filtering through her curtains. His hair was an unruly mess against the pillow, dark strands curling over his forehead. One strong arm was draped loosely over the bed, the other tucked beneath him, his hand relaxed and open against the mattress.

He looked undone. Human.

Beautiful.

Her face flamed instantly, a tidal wave of heat rushing up her throat.

She jerked her gaze away, her heart hammering against her ribs, and stared down at herself instead. The sheet pooled loosely at her waist, leaving her upper body exposed to the cool morning air.

Tentatively, Shuri lifted the covers higher, peeking beneath.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Bruises bloomed across her skin — scattered like galaxies along the landscape of her body. Faint, fresh marks at the tops of her thighs. Darkening smudges along her hips where his fingers had gripped her. Purpled impressions on the curve of her lower belly, the tender swell of her breasts.

Evidence.

Of his mouth.

His hands.

His devotion.

The heat in her face deepened to a near-painful intensity. She dropped the sheet and let her head fall back against the pillow, covering her eyes with one trembling hand.

She should have been mortified. Should have been wracked with guilt, shame, something.

But all she felt was an overwhelming sense of stunned disbelief — and under that, something quieter, more dangerous:

Satisfaction.

Possession.

The dawning certainty that no one had ever touched her like that before — and that part of her, the part she tried to keep locked away, wanted to be touched like that again.

She dragged her hand down her face, exhaling shakily, and turned her head once more toward Namor.

Still asleep.

Still devastating.

And instead of panic, a strange, settling calm washed over her.

Because she remembered everything.

And none of it—none of it—felt like a mistake.

Facing him fully now her mind drifted back unbidden, helpless against the onslaught of memory.

The night before 

The tires of the Mercedes made a low crunch against the concrete as Namor guided the car down into the underground parking garage of Shuri’s building.

His hand hadn’t moved from her thigh the entire ride.

Not once.

Not even when they passed through the well-lit security gate, not when they descended the spiraling ramp into the darker, quieter levels. His palm remained steady, branding her skin.

Shuri’s mouth was dry. Her heart was a wild, fluttering thing trapped in her ribs.

She tried — and failed — to make a joke as the car eased into a parking space near the elevator.

“We’re here,” she said, her voice only a little too high, too thin.

Namor turned the engine off with a quiet click, his hand withdrawing from her skin at last. He turned to look at her fully, dark eyes gleaming faintly under the low light.

“Indeed,” he said simply.

Shuri swallowed, forcing her fingers to move. She unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed the door open, climbing out into the heavy silence of the garage. The air smelled faintly of concrete dust, engine oil, and something metallic.

The sound of Namor’s door slamming echoed through the cavernous space.

A beat later, she heard the low beep-beep of the car locking. Heavy footsteps, followed hers across the cement floor, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Her heart thudded louder with every step.

Each echoing footfall felt like a countdown she didn’t know how to stop.

The walk down the hallway to her apartment was both an eternity and a blink. Her heels clicking softly on the tile, his heavier steps a constant shadow at her back.

When she finally stopped in front of her door, her hand trembled so visibly that she fumbled the keys against the lock.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath, biting her lip in frustration.

Before she could try again, Namor moved in closer…so close she felt the hard line of his body against her back, the unmistakable pressure of his thigh against hers, his chest against her shoulder blades.

One large hand landed lightly on her waist.

The other covered her hand at the lock, fingers curling around hers with a sure, deliberate gentleness.

Shuri froze, her breath hitching.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice impossibly low and rough, right against her ear.

Together, their hands turned the key, the bolt sliding back with a muted thunk.

Namor pushed the door open with a careful nudge of his foot.

The hinges creaked softly.

The dark, familiar interior of her apartment stretched out before them.

He didn’t step back.

He stayed right behind her, the warmth of his body bleeding into hers, until she forced herself to move.

The door clicked shut behind them.

The sound echoed like a gunshot in the stillness.

Shuri squared her shoulders, forcing a smile onto her face. a shaky, brave thing, and toed off her heels by the door. Her feet felt blessedly free against the cool wood floor.

“So,” she said, voice artificially bright, “um… living room’s this way.”

Which he knew, of course. He had helped her move in a year and a half ago, along with Namora and Joaquin. She remembered how effortlessly he’d directed the movers, how he’d insisted on assembling her bookshelf himself when the instruction manual proved too confusing.

She led the way, not daring to look over her shoulder at him. Her bare feet soundless on the floorboards as she crossed into the small but cozy space.

Namor followed, unhurried, a silent presence at her back.

When she risked a glance, she found him lowering himself onto her sofa, sprawling there like he owned the place, his dark eyes tracking her every movement with a heavy, unreadable expression.

She needed something…anything to do with her hands.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll get us something to drink,” she said, backing toward the kitchen. “You want something? Wine? Whiskey? I think I have-”

“Water is fine,” Namor said quietly, cutting her off.

His voice wasn’t sharp. 

It was just… certain.

“Water,” he repeated. His eyes didn’t waver from hers. “And you should have some as well. You’ve had enough alcohol tonight.”

The unspoken command in his words rooted her to the spot for a moment longer. She nodded quickly, ducking her head to break the eye contact before she did something reckless — like close the distance between and climb into his lap.

“Right. Water.”

She fled into the kitchen, the low pendant light above the island shining a soft glow over the granite countertops.

Her hands weren’t quite steady as she reached for two glasses, filling them at the sink. The water ran loudly in the otherwise silent apartment, masking the frantic beat of her heart.

She could feel his gaze on her the whole time.

Watching.

Waiting.

Not pushing.

Not rushing.

Just… there.

When she finally turned around, glasses in hand, her breath caught again at the sight of him.

Namor sat back against the couch, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest, legs spread in an easy, predatory sprawl. His jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, his bowtie off and draped loose around the arm of the seat. The top buttons of his shirt gaped open, revealing the strong lines of his throat, the hint of chest.

He was beautiful and dangerous and utterly patient.

Like he had all night to wait for her to decide.

Shuri swallowed hard, forcing her feet to move.

She crossed the living room…one step…another.

Namor’s eyes never left her.

She placed one of the glasses into Namor’s waiting hand.

“Here you go,” she said, a little breathless.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the simple words low and rich, sending a shiver skittering down her spine.

She sat down opposite him in the armchair , trying to create a safe, manageable distance. Trying and failing to make it feel normal.

She clutched her glass like a lifeline, taking a too-quick, too-large sip of water, hoping it would ground her.

It didn’t.

Namor set his glass down almost immediately on the side table, the soft click loud in the otherwise hushed room.

When she dared a glance up at him, she found his gaze already fixed on her.

Unmoving.

Unwavering.

Shuri looked away instantly, feeling absurdly exposed.

She drank again, a longer gulp this time. Draining almost half the glass before she forced herself to stop.

When she finally, reluctantly, lifted her eyes back to him—

Namor was watching her with the smallest, knowing grin curving the corner of his mouth.

Amused.

His voice was soft, teasing, impossibly warm.

“Am I making you nervous, Shuri?”

Shuri almost dropped the glass.

“Nervous? Me?” she said too quickly, setting the glass down with a clumsy thunk. “Nope. Never. I mean— not never. I’ve been nervous before, of course. Plenty of times. Like before a big work presentation, or a— a dance recital when I was little and Namora dared me to do that stupid robot move in front of everyone—”

She could feel herself spiraling, the words tumbling out faster and faster, helpless against the tide. “Not— not from sitting on a couch alone in my apartment with my newly-married best friend’s hot dad. Nope. Not nervous at all.”

The second the words were out, she wished she could claw them back.

She clamped her mouth shut, mortified, face burning.

Namor’s chest rumbled with a laugh. Deep, genuine and warm. And when she forced herself to look at him again, the fondness in his expression nearly unraveled her.

“You know,” he said, his voice a little thicker now with something harder to define, “this reminds me of that time you and Namora stole my car when you were sixteen.”

Shuri blinked, the sudden shift catching her off guard.

“You two snuck out to that ridiculous party,” Namor continued, smiling at the memory. “Got pulled over two blocks from the house. Nearly arrested.”

Shuri groaned, hiding her face in her hands for a moment before peeking at him through her fingers.

“You remember that?” she mumbled.

“I remember getting a call at two in the morning from the police station,” he said, chuckling again. “Coming down there ready to kill you both. Finding you sitting in the lobby, flustered out of your mind, rambling so fast the poor deputy couldn’t get a word in.”

Shuri dropped her hands and laughed, the memory warming her cheeks even more. “Namora left me hanging! She pretended she couldn’t speak English!”

“Smart girl,” Namor said, his grin widening. “Left you to charm your way out of it.”

“You’re the one who bailed us out!” Shuri pointed out, pointing a finger at him. “You— you just walked in, gave them that look, and somehow everything was fine. They let us go with a warning.”

“I could never stay mad at you,” Namor said simply, his voice quieter now, almost serious. “You were always so… earnest.”

Shuri’s smile faltered at the softness in his tone.

She had known this man her entire life.

He had been a fixture of her childhood, her adolescence.

Someone safe.

Someone steady.

She had never felt anything but comfortable around him.

And whatever this was… this spark, this shift, this dangerous new current weaving between them…

She trusted that he would handle it with care.

The thought eased some of the tightness coiled inside her chest.

Namor leaned back against the sofa, his arm draped along the backrest, his posture deceptively relaxed.

He watched her for another long, heavy beat, that small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.

Then, softly — intimately —

“Why don’t you come over and sit closer to me, Shuri?”

Shuri hesitated for the barest of seconds, heart jackhammering in her chest.

Then she drew in a deep breath, forcing her legs to move.

She rose from the armchair, crossing the space between them, and sank onto the couch beside him.

Thigh against thigh.

Namor shifted his arm lazily across the back of the couch, his hand brushing her bare shoulder.

He let his fingers stroke lightly along her upper arm

“Shuri,” he said, voice deep and low, almost like a secret.

She turned her head to look at him, drawn helplessly by the sound of her own name on his lips.

Their eyes locked.

The room shrank, the air thickening around them.

“There seems to be more sitting on your chest,” Namor murmured, fingers still tracing lazy circles against her skin. “Let it out.”

Shuri gave a breathless little chuckle, shaking her head.

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, buying herself time.

“I feel like…” she started, then stopped, biting her lip. “I feel like we should talk.”

Namor tilted his head slightly, his expression patient. Amused.

“Shoukd we,” he asked, “I was under the impression we’d been talking all evening?”

She let out a short, incredulous laugh, her nerves bubbling up again.

“You know what I mean,” Shuri said, her voice pitching slightly higher. “This—whatever this is—it’s… complicated.

“Is it?” Namors fingers continue their gentle stroking. “Two adults, both unattached, both attracted to each other. It seems relatively straightforward to me.”

“Except for the minor detail that you’re my best friend’s father,” Shuri countered, her voice rising even higher. “My best friend who just got married today. Who I’ve known since kindergarten. Who would probably have a heart attack if she knew you were sitting in my living room right now with… with that look on your face.”

“What look would that be?” Namor asked, his voice deceptively casual.

“Like—like you want to…” Shuri gestured vaguely, words failing her.

“Devour you?” Namor supplied, his tone dropping to a register that made heat pool low in her belly. “Because that would be accurate.”

“See? That’s exactly what I mean. We can’t just—”

“Can’t we? Shuri, I am fifty-two years old. I’ve spent the last twenty-six years of my life being a father first, everything else second. I raised my daughter. I built my company. I fulfilled my obligations.”

He shifted even closer, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the subtle flecks of amber in his dark eyes.

“And now,” he continued, his voice lowering further, “my daughter is married to a good man who loves her. My company runs itself. My obligations are fulfilled.” His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. “For the first time in my adult life, I am free to pursue what I want. Who I want.”

Shuri’s breath hitched. “And that’s… me?”

Something softened in Namor’s expression.

“It has been for longer than I care to admit. Longer than would be appropriate to confess.”

The implication sent shock waves through her system. “How long?” she whispered.

Namor’s jaw tightened momentarily. “Long enough that I’ve questioned my own morality. Long enough that I’ve kept my distance whenever possible.” His eyes held hers, unflinching. “Not when you were young,” he clarified quickly. “I’m not that kind of man. But these last few years…”

He trailed off, and Shuri felt understanding dawn with startling clarity.

The way he’d always found reasons to be elsewhere when she visited Namora after college. The polite but reserved greetings when they did cross paths. The careful distance he maintained even at Namora’s engagement party.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” she admitted, the realization making her chest tight. “I thought maybe you blamed me when Namora and I got into trouble, or…”

Namor’s laugh was soft and without humor. “Quite the opposite. I had to limit my exposure to you.” He raised one hand, carefully, giving her every opportunity to pull away, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I needed to be your friend’s father. Nothing more. It was the right thing to do.”

His fingers lingered near her temple, “But tonight, watching you across that reception hall, looking so beautiful and so… lonely…” His voice roughened. “I’m tired of doing the right thing, Shuri. I’m tired of denying what I want.”

The raw honesty in his voice stripped away her last defenses. Sitting there next to him on her couch, still dressed in her bridesmaid finery, Shuri made her decision.

“What do you want, Namor?” she asked softly, lifting her chin in challenge. “Tell me. Exactly.”

Something dangerous flared in his eyes—hunger, relief, triumph. His hand moved to cup her cheek fully now, his palm warm against her skin.

“I want to take down your hair,” he said, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “I want to peel that pretty dress from your body. I want to taste every inch of you.” His voice dropped to a near-growl. “I want to make you forget every man who came before me.”

Shuri’s heart hammered against her ribs. She should have been scandalized by his boldness. Should have moved back, laughed it off, reminded him of all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

Instead, she leaned into his touch and whispered, “Then do it.”

For one suspended moment, Namor remained perfectly still, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. Finding none, he closed the remaining distance between them.

His kiss wasn’t gentle.

It was possession, pure and simple.

The culmination of restrained desire finally unleashed. His mouth claimed hers, the pressure firm but not bruising, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips in silent demand.

Shuri yielded instantly, opening to him with a soft sound of surrender that seemed to ignite something primal in Namor. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him as the kiss deepened, became hungrier, with teeth and breath and mounting need.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Namor pressed his forehead to hers.

“Last chance to send me home,” he murmured, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. “Say the word, and I’ll go. We never have to speak of this again.”

Shuri wound her arms around his neck, pressing herself more firmly against the hard planes of his body. “Stay,” she said simply. “Please stay.”

The word “please” broke something loose in Namor. With a quick motion that took Shuri by surprise, he lifted her onto his lap into a straddling position.

Namor’s hands slid beneath the slit of Shuri’s dress, gripping the backs of her thighs as he pulled her close.

She looped her arms around his shoulders, heart racing, lips still tingling from the kiss that had left them both breathless.

Their foreheads still touched, breaths now mingling.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

“Stay,” she repeated, voice steady this time. “All night.”

A single beat of stillness…then he rose, lifting her with him. Shuri gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he started toward the hallway. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his hips; satin whispered against his shirt, every step fanning the heat that pulsed between them.

Half-lit pictures blurred past: the framed photos of her and Namora at graduation and prom, the stack of half-read novels on a hallway table. Nothing felt real except the steady rhythm of Namor’s heartbeat where her chest pressed against his.

They reached her bedroom. He nudged the door with his shoulder; it swung inward on a hush of hinges.

Light spilled through sheer curtains, silvering the unmade bed. Namor set her on her feet at the edge of the mattress but kept his hands on her waist, thumbs stroking slow, reverent circles against the fabric.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice rough.

Shuri did.

His fingers found the hidden zipper beneath her arm. The dress loosened, sliding over her shoulders, down her body, pooling at her feet. She felt the cool air kiss her skin…and his warmer hands follow in its wake: up her spine, over her ribs and chest, along the delicate column of her throat.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, as if the word were an oath.

She turned back to him and, with shaky hands, unfastened the remaining buttons of his shirt.

The fabric parted to reveal the hard planes she’d only glimpsed earlier. She splayed her palms over his chest, felt the solid beat beneath. When she brushed her lips to the hollow of his throat, Namor’s answering groan rumbled through her bones.

He kissed her again, slow this time, deep and savoring, guiding her backward until her knees hit the mattress.

Shuri gasped softly against his mouth at the shift in balance, her hands flying up to clutch his open shirt, crumpling the fine fabric between her fingers. A strong arm sliding low around her waist, holding her against him.

He broke the kiss only to whisper, rough and sure against her lips, “Lie back for me, sweetheart.”

Shuri obeyed, sinking slowly back onto the mattress, the coolness of the sheets shocking against her overheated skin. She propped herself up on her elbows for a moment, unable to tear her eyes from him.

Namor stood at the edge of the bed, still half-dressed, haloed in silver moonlight pouring through the curtains. His shirt hung open on his shoulders, his chest and abdomen bared to her hungry gaze.

Which matched the look in his eyes, like a starving man.

Namor shrugged off the last of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor without a second glance. His hands went to his belt, the soft slide of leather sounding sensual in the quiet room.

Every movement was methodical, like he was savoring the moment as much as she was.

He didn’t climb onto the bed right away.

Instead his hand reached down to trace the line of her bare shin, up over the soft dip behind her knee, along the curve of her outer thigh.

“Spread your legs for me, Shuri,” he said, voice molten dark.

She obeyed before she even realized she was doing it, letting her knees fall apart, her heart hammering so violently it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.

Namor’s hand smoothed up the inside of her thigh now until it brushed the flimsy scrap of lace at her center. His fingers toyed with the edge of her thong, barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound of manly appreciation.

“These,” he said, plucking the thin waistband lightly, making it snap against her skin, “need to go.”

Without waiting for her response, he hooked his thumbs into the sides of the thong and dragged it down her legs, knuckles grazing the insides of her thighs, making her whole body tense and shudder.

The thong pooled at her ankles.

Namor crouched to gather it in one large hand. He brought the delicate scrap of lace up to eye level, letting it dangle from his fingers.

It was barely three strings and a hint of mesh.

He looked at her with a dark, slow-burning smirk that made Shuri’s toes curl into the sheets.

“Why wear anything at all,” he said, a low, wicked chuckle rumbling in his chest.

She could only watch, wide-eyed, her blood roaring in her ears, as Namor brought the thong to his nose and inhaled deeply, his eyelids fluttering half-shut.

A bolt of pure heat speared through her, pooling between her legs.

Namor let the thong fall from his fingers, forgotten, as he pressed his hands to her knees, spreading her open wider.

“My sweet girl,” he murmured, gaze burning into her center. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Before Shuri could find breath to respond, he gripped her thighs firmly and pulled her down the mattress toward him with effortlessly.

She let out a soft gasp, hands fisting in the sheets above her head.

Namor didn’t hesitate.

He ducked his head between her thighs and buried his mouth against her with a growl of sheer need.

Shuri’s hips jerked instinctively, a high, helpless sound escaping her lips.

Namor held her in place easily, his broad palms pressing into her hips, anchoring her to the bed.

He licked her slowly, a deep, thorough stroke from root to tip that made her spine arch off the mattress.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her, his breath hot and teasing. “Perfect.”

And then he set to work in earnest.

He licked and sucked with slow, maddening swipes, using his tongue like a weapon and a worship all at once. Every flick, every press, every lazy sweep was calculated to unravel her.

Shuri writhed, a low, desperate moan spilling from her throat.

She couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stay still under the relentless onslaught of his mouth.

Namor chuckled against her, a wicked, satisfied sound.

“Stay still for me, Shuri,” he said, voice rough with command.

One large hand slid up, pressing gently but firmly against her lower belly, holding her steady.

“Good girl,” he praised when she obeyed.

Shuri clawed helplessly at the sheets, her body trembling, every nerve ending alive and sparking under his touch.

When he closed his lips around her tight, aching bundle of nerves and sucked — hard — she shattered.

Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave.

Shuri cried out, her thighs clamping around his head, her back arching high off the bed.

Namor held her through it, his mouth relentless, coaxing every last tremor from her body with slow, savoring licks until she sagged boneless into the mattress, gasping for breath.

He finally lifted his head, his mouth glistening with her slick, his smile dangerous and utterly triumphant.

“You taste even better than I dreamed,” he said, voice slurred with pleasure.

Shuri could only stare at him, dazed and aching, her body still humming from the aftershocks.

And when Namor rose up over her, muscles rippling, desire etched into every line of his face…she knew he was just getting started.

Chapter Text

Morning after

A soft rustling beside her pulled Shuri from her memories back to the present moment.

Namor was stirring, his breathing pattern shifting as consciousness slowly returned. She watched, heart suddenly hammering, as his dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks before his eyes opened fully.

For a terrifying moment, Shuri wasn’t sure what she’d see in his gaze.

Regret?

Awkwardness?

Disappointment?

But when Namor’s eyes found hers, they were warm. Knowing. And utterly without apology. There was something almost territorial in the way he looked at her, like he was cataloging every mark he’d left on her skin, every place his hands had claimed in the night.

“Good morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep, that familiar hint of amusement dancing at the corners of his mouth.

Before she could spiral into panic about what to say, what this meant, how they should handle the daylight reality of what had happened, Namor’s arm slid around her waist and tugged her against him.

His mouth found hers in a kiss that was thorough, unhurried, and all consuming.Like he was marking his territory all over again, reminding her exactly whose name she’d been crying out just hours before.

When he finally pulled back, leaving her lips swollen and tingling, Shuri felt breathless and reassured all at once. The panic that had been building in her chest dissipated like morning mist.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, leaning in to press a soft kiss on her bare shoulder. His lips lingered there, and she could feel the curve of his smile against her skin.

“Best I’ve slept in a long while,” she admitted, surprised by how easily the truth came. Her body still hummed with satisfaction, every muscle loose and languid. “Though someone wore me out pretty thoroughly.”

Namor’s dark chuckle rumbled through his chest where she was pressed against him, the sound making her stomach flip in the most delicious way.

“Is that right?” His eyes gleamed with mischief as he shifted beneath her in one smooth motion. The sheets slid down to pool around their waists, cool morning air kissing her skin and making her nipples peak.

She was suddenly, acutely aware of every point of contact between their bodies - the hard planes of his chest against her softer curves, the warm length of him already stirring to life beneath her. “I hope I didn’t wear you out too much.”

The heat in his gaze left no question about his intentions, and Shuri felt an answering warmth bloom low in her belly despite the pleasant ache that still lingered from the night before.

She found herself straddling him, her hands braced against the solid warmth of his chest, feeling suddenly bold in the morning light. The position put her in control, and she could see the way his pupils dilated as he took in the sight of her above him - hair wild from sleep and sex, skin still flushed, wearing nothing but the marks he’d left on her.

“I think I might have some energy left,” she said, surprising herself with the teasing note in her voice. She rolled her hips experimentally, feeling him harden further beneath her, and watched his jaw clench with the effort of restraint.

“Good,” Namor murmured, reaching up to cup her face with both hands. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

The kiss that followed wasn’t rushed, but it held an unmistakable hunger.

She felt his hands move from her face to her hips, thumbs tracing the sensitive curves there as he let out a pleased hum against her mouth. The sound vibrated through her, settling somewhere deep in her core and stoking the fire that was already building there.

“I could get used to this,” his hands sliding up to explore the line of her spine as they broke apart. “Waking up with you like this. Having you in bed, under my hands…”

She looked at him, his hair wild from sleep, salt and pepper stubble shadowing his strong jaw, the creases at the corners of his eyes softening with affection.

He looked completely unbothered by the implications of what he was saying, by the suggestion of permanence in his words.

It was… jarring. And more dangerous than anything he’d done to her body the night before.

“Well,” Shuri said, trying to sound breezy, even as her heart did strange somersaults, “you might want to be careful what you get used to. I hog the covers and I tend to talk in my sleep when I’m stressed.”

Namor raised a brow, that infuriating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You think that’s going to scare me off? After those delicious noises you made last night?” His hands squeezed her hips for emphasis, and she could feel heat creeping up her neck at the reminder.

Shuri face warmed, gasping a little laugh and swatted his shoulder. “Behave.”

“Mm,” he hummed, hands sliding up to her waist again. “But you didn’t say no to waking up like this again.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, voice dropping to that low register that made her toes curl. His fingertips ghosted along her ribs, just beneath where the sheet had pooled. “But I would very much like to pick up where we left off last night…”

Shuri felt her body respond immediately, muscles clenching in anticipation even as her mind tried to catch up with what was happening.

Namor’s hands roamed lower, thumbs sweeping under the curve of her ass as he pulled her tighter against him. The hard length of him pressed against her core, right where she was already growing slick with want, and she couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped her lips.

“Feel that?” he asked, voice rough with desire. “Feel how much I want you again?” He rolled his hips slowly up into her, the friction making her eyes flutter shut and her breath hitch in her throat.

Instead of answering with words, Shuri shifted her hips, reaching between them to guide him until the head of his cock was poised at her entrance. Her eyes locked with his as she began to sink down onto him, taking him inch by torturous inch.

“Fuck,” Namor groaned as she enveloped him, slow and steady, her body opening to accommodate his size. “You feel even better than I remembered.”

Shuri’s breath left her body in a shudder as he filled her completely. The stretch was intense, bordering on too much after the thorough attention he’d given her the night before, but it was exactly what she needed. What she craved.

“Oh, God…” she breathed, her head dropping to his shoulder as she adjusted to the feeling of him inside her again. Her fingers curled around his biceps for balance, nails digging into the firm muscle there.

“ Come for me, Shuri,” he’d whispered the night before, one hand braced against her headboard while the other held her hip steady, driving into her from behind with deep, relentless strokes that had her crying out his name until her voice was hoarse.

The memory crashed over her like a wave, and she whimpered against his skin, hips beginning to move in a lazy, experimental rhythm. Namor’s hands guided her movements, letting her set the pace, his mouth brushing against her jaw, her shoulder, her collarbone with soft kisses.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he growled into her ear, hips snapping hard against her ass. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this. How long I’ve wanted to make you mine.”

She whined at the memory, her rhythm faltering as pleasure surged higher through her body. Namor noticed immediately - of course he did - one hand sliding from her hip to her breast, thumbing her nipple until she cried out and arched into his touch.

“You’re remembering, aren’t you?” he whispered against her ear, voice dark. “How I touched you. How you screamed for me when I made you come on my cock.”

Her breath hitched. She nodded, unable to form coherent words as the memories and present sensations blended together into something overwhelming and perfect.

Namor sat up suddenly, one strong arm wrapping around her back to keep her steady, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that stole what little breath she had left. Their bodies pressed together, chest to chest, heart to heart, as she rode him faster, the tension in her belly tightening like a bowstring ready to snap.

He pulled back just enough to watch her, his eyes dark and full of promise. “Come for me again, Shuri,” he commanded, voice rough with his own building pleasure. “I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

The words were her undoing. Shuri cried out as the orgasm rushed through her, fast and electric and all-consuming. Her walls clamped down around him like a vice, her head thrown back in abandon, body arching as she shattered completely in his arms.

“That’s it,” Namor groaned, his own restraint finally breaking at the sight and feel of her coming undone. “That’s my good girl.”

Before she could fully come down from her high, he flipped her onto her back with shocking speed and hooked her legs over his forearms, opening her completely to him. The new angle had him hitting deeper than before, and she could only hold on as he drove into her with relentless, punishing thrusts that had the headboard slamming against the wall.

The slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixing with her breathless moans and his guttural groans. Her name fell from his lips, and she could feel herself building toward another climax already.

“Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping to her shoulder as his rhythm grew erratic. “You feel too good, I can’t hold back anymore.”

She wrapped her arms around his back, feeling the play of muscles under sweat-slicked skin, holding him tighter against her. “Come inside me,” she keened, voice trembling with need and desperation. “Please, I want to feel it.”

That was all it took.

Namor buried himself to the hilt and came with a rough, deep groan that she felt in her bones, his hips jerking against hers as he spilled inside her. He held her like he was drowning, like she was the only solid thing in the world.

They stayed like that for a long, breathless moment, hearts racing in tandem, bodies still joined and trembling with aftershocks. Shuri stroked the damp hair at the nape of his neck, her own heart still racing as she tried to process what had just happened between them.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her. His expression was unreadable…but soft.

“Not a bad way to start the morning,” he murmured, brushing her cheek with his knuckles.

She smiled lazily, blinking up at him through the warm haze of satisfaction and endorphins. “Speak for yourself. I might need a stretcher after that.”

He laughed quietly, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “No complaints here.”

They lay in silence again, the sound of their breathing the only thing filling the room. Outside, she could hear the city waking up - car horns, distant voices, the everyday sounds of life going on while they existed in this perfect bubble.

Then Shuri stirred, brushing her fingers through his messy hair and trying to ignore the way her heart clenched at how domestic the gesture felt.

“I should shower,” she said, voice still low and rough from screaming his name. “I’m… we’re both a mess.”

Namor raised a brow, that familiar smirk returning to his lips. “Want company? I could wash your back… among other things.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t say no.

Instead, she sat up slowly, wincing at the ache between her legs.

“Don’t make me regret it,” she said, tossing him a look over her shoulder as she padded toward the bathroom.

Namor lounged back against the pillows, watching her with that same calm hunger.

“Never,” he said simply.

And when he rose to follow, his eyes on her naked form, Shuri felt something bloom in her chest.

The scent of garlic and butter lingered in the small kitchen, curling through the air. Beneath it, the sharp sizzle of eggs meeting hot oil cut through the hum of the espresso machine, now silent, its cycle long finished.

Shuri was perched on the counter beside the sink, bare legs swinging slightly, the cool edge of the marble pressing against the backs of her thighs. Her curls were still damp from the shower, piled into a loose puff atop her head. Her skin clean and flushed, dewy from heat and steam and whatever was still coursing under the surface of her skin.

She wore a faded concert tee that hit the top of her thighs—black with peeling silver foil letters. It had once belonged to her ex. The tiny shorts underneath weren’t really doing anything but protecting her pride.

Watching Namor move was… distracting, to say the least.

His back flexed with each motion of the spatula, muscles shifting and bunching under golden-brown skin as he tended to what smelled like the most perfect omelet in existence. He’d pulled on his boxers from the night before, but that was all, leaving her with an unobstructed view of the broad expanse of his shoulders and the narrow taper of his waist.

And the scratches…her scratches, were still there. Trailing down his shoulder blades, red and angry against his golden-brown skin. Some were already fading to pink, but others were still angry and raised against his skin.

She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as the memories crashed over her.

“Hold on to me,” his voice had been low and hoarse, teeth grazing her shoulder as he’d thrust into her again and again from behind. Her knees had been hooked over his forearms, his grip like steel against her thighs as he held her open and helpless. The world had gone blurry around the edges, nothing existing except the feel of him inside her and the bed creaking beneath them as he fucked her like he had something to prove.

“That’s it,” he’d growled when her body had started to tremble, when she’d begun that telltale climb toward oblivion. A hand had slipped between them to stroke her where she was swollen and slick, and the dual sensation had nearly killed her. “Give it to me. Let go.”

And she had. God help her, she had let go completely, surrendering control in a way she’d never done before with anyone.

Shuri blinked hard, snapping herself out of the vivid flashback that had her shifting restlessly on the counter. Her lips parted slightly at the intensity of the memory, and she could feel that familiar ache pulsing to life between her thighs again, as if her body was already preparing for another round.

“Shuri.”

Her head snapped up, startled by the sound of her name. Somehow, she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed him turn around.

Namor was facing her now, holding a plate in one hand, a knowing and absolutely indecent smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The amusement in his amber eyes was downright sinful, like he could read every dirty thought that had just been playing through her mind.

“You’re drooling,” he said with a smirk, walking the plate over.

“I’m not,” she grumbled, though her face went hot in betrayal. Her body’s response to him was becoming embarrassingly obvious, and she had the distinct feeling that he was cataloging every gasp, every quickened breath, every unconscious shift of her hips.

“You are,” he said easily, stepping between her legs and placing the warm plate beside her on the counter. “I’d ask what you were thinking about, but I already know.”

She blinked, feigned innocence. “Emails,” she said quickly. “Work’s been really demanding lately, and I was just thinking about everything I need to catch up—"

“Ah,” he interrupted, leaning in to brush his lips against hers in a soft, knowing kiss. “So that look on your face - that dreamy, satisfied, thoroughly-fucked expression - that was about… emails?”

She nodded, lips still tingling. “Urgent ones. Very… pressing matters.”

“Mm-hm.” He didn’t sound convinced. His brow arched, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You sure you weren’t thinking about me fucking you until you were screaming my name loud enough to wake the dead? Because your neighbors certainly know my name now.”

“Namor,” she hissed, swatting at his chest as heat flared under her skin. The reminder of how loud she’d been, how completely she’d lost control, made her want to hide her face in mortification and beg him to do it all over again.

He only grinned wider, that lazy, satisfied smirk spreading across his face like the devil himself had taught him how.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he picked up a fork, scooped a bite of the perfectly golden omelet, and held it in front of her lips with an expectant look.

“Eat.”

*****

When the plates were rinsed and placed in the dishwasher, Shuri found herself leaning back against the marble counter, arms folded loosely as she watched Namor stretch his arms above his head, revealing the defined V of muscle that disappeared beneath the waistband, and she had to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

He turned toward her and caught the hungry look in her eyes immediately, his own gaze sharpening.

“No pressing matters to tend to today,” he said, voice casual but loaded as he stepped between her legs once more. His hands came up to brace on the counter on either side of her, effectively caging her in while his body heat enveloped her like a second skin. “No meetings scheduled, no conference calls, no obligations whatsoever. Just you, if you’ll have me.”

Shuri blinked up at him, surprised by the flutter of something that might have been hope in her chest. “Just like that? You’re completely free for the entire day?”

Namor leaned in, brushing his lips over the sensitive skin of her cheek with featherlight pressure. “Free as I’ve ever been in my adult life,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “And right now, the only thing I want to do…” he pressed a soft kiss just below her jaw, making her shiver, “…is fall back into bed with you and not come up for air until the sun sets over the city.”

The promise in his words made her knees weak, and she was grateful for the counter supporting her weight.

They made their way back to her room and tumbled back into bed, his hands gliding up Shuri’s thighs, thumbs tracing patterns that stole her breath. She lay before him, her hair a wild crown of curls against the white pillowcase

“You really don’t tire easily, do you?” she murmured, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him with eyes that sparkled, “Most men would be unconscious by now.”

Namor only hummed in response, too focused on pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her knee to form proper words.

She let her legs fall further apart in clear invitation, and he wasted no time accepting it, settling between her thighs.

When his mouth finally found its target, Shuri gasped so sharply that her hand flew to the back of his head, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair. His tongue was relentless but patient, knowing exactly how to build the tension higher and higher before backing off.

Her hips arched toward him of their own accord, chasing every stroke, every flick of his tongue against her oversensitive flesh. When his fingers joined his mouth - two sliding inside her while his lips sealed around her clit with perfect suction - Shuri’s head fell back against the pillows with a choked cry that might have been his name.

“Fuck, Namor, don’t stop, please don’t—”

Her second orgasm built like a tidal wave, starting deep in her core and radiating outward until her entire body was trembling with the force of it. She could barely catch her breath before he was crawling up her body with a satisfied glint in his eyes, licking his fingers clean, casually obscene while maintaining eye contact.

“Your turn,” she whispered breathlessly, using the last of her strength to flip their positions until he was sprawled beneath her.

Namor watched her through half-lidded eyes as her hands began their own exploration, fingers tracing the defined lines of his abdomen.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupted firmly, already wrapping one hand around the base of him while her lips curved in a smile that was equal parts innocent and sinful. “I’ve been thinking about this since I woke up.”

The confession made his breath catch, and when she lowered her mouth to take him between her lips, his head fell back against the pillows with a guttural groan that seemed to come from his very soul.

“Fuck, Shuri… your mouth is going to be the death of me.”

Her tongue worked in perfect tandem with her hand, alternating between slow, torturous strokes and quick suction that had his thighs flexing on either side of her head. She took her time, learning what made his breathing stutter, what made his fingers tighten almost painfully in her hair, what made those beautiful sounds spill from his lips.

When he finally came down her throat with a sharp curse in what might have been Spanish, she swallowed everything he gave her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before crawling back up his body to collapse against his chest.

They lay there in the aftermath, breathing hard and completely sated, his arm draped possessively around her bare back.

“I thought you’d be different,” Shuri said quietly after her breathing had returned to normal, her cheek pressed against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Different how?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice as his hand shifted to stroke the curve of her hip.

“I don’t know… more intense, I guess. Brooding. You’re Namora’s father, this powerful, successful man who always seemed so serious and untouchable. I figured you’d be emotionally repressed or something. All business, no play.”

Namor’s laughter rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her cheek. “That sounds absolutely exhausting,” he said with genuine amusement. “Maybe I was like that when I was younger, too concerned with maintaining some kind of image. But now? Life’s too short to pretend to be someone I’m not. I know what I want, and I’m not afraid to go after it.”

“And what is it you want?” she asked softly, lips brushing against his collarbone as she spoke.

He was quiet for a moment, his hand stilling on her hip. When he finally answered, his voice was serious.

“You,” he said simply. “I want you, Shuri. Not just for today, not just for great sex, though that’s certainly a bonus. I want to know everything about you. What makes you laugh, what makes you angry, what makes you cry, what you dream about when you sleep.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for once in her articulate life, she found herself completely speechless.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze.

They dozed.

Fucked.

Talked.

Fucked again.

They tried nearly every position the cramped queen-sized bed would allow, slow and tender spooning where his hand cradled her jaw and his cock dragged against the deepest part of her, her body melting with each slow thrust.

Reverse cowgirl that left his hands gripping her ass while she rode him, eyes fluttering as he held her exactly where he wanted her.

And in between it all, they shared pieces of themselves. Namor told stories about growing up in a coastal village in Mexico, always getting into some type of trouble. Shuri talked about the mischief she and Namora used to get into, things he’d never known. They laughed over a shared love of terrible movies, debated favorite bands, and bonded over food.

Everything and nothing.

Shuri was beginning to understand something dangerously revelatory: it wasn’t just that the sex was the best of her life. It was that Namor was genuinely fascinating. He was funny. Clever. Gentle when he wanted to be and filthy when she begged for it.

This was her best friend’s father, she kept reminding herself. But somehow, lying there with her head on his chest while he told her about the first time he’d tried to cook for a woman and accidentally set her kitchen on fire, that fact seemed less and less relevant.

By the time the late afternoon light was filtering through the bedroom curtains in golden streams, they’d finally managed to pull on some clothes and migrated to her living room couch.

Some Law & Order rerun was playing on the massive flat screen, but neither of them were paying much attention to Detective Benson’s latest case. Instead, they were curled together like teenagers, stealing kisses and snuggles.

Shuri was practically in his lap, her legs draped over his thighs while he held her close. Every few minutes, one of them would lean in for a kiss until they were both breathing harder and the television might as well have been showing static.

“I want to take you to dinner,” Namor said suddenly, his lips still brushing against her temple as he spoke.

“Hmm?” she asked, distracted by the way his fingers were now toying with the hem of the shirt she wore.

“Real dinner,” he clarified, pulling back just enough to look at her properly. “Somewhere with cloth napkins and wine lists and waiters who judge you for ordering dessert first. I want to take you out, Shuri. To see you in candlelight, to watch you argue with the sommelier about wine pairings, to have other men look at you and know that you’re going home with me.”

The possessive note in his voice made her stomach flip in the most delicious way. She laughed, the sound slightly breathless, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “That sounds suspiciously like you want to date me, Namor.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” he said without hesitation.

“I want to date you properly. The whole thing. Flowers, opening doors, taking you out. I don’t want to just be Namora’s father to you. I want more than that. I want all of it.”

Shuri felt her heart skip several beats as she stared at him, searching his face for any sign that he was joking or just caught up in post-orgasmic bliss. But his expression remained sincere.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, cupping his jaw as she leaned in to kiss him again. “You say things like that and expect me not to climb you like a tree right here on this couch.”

“I absolutely expect that,” he said, grinning against her lips in a way that was both boyish and predatory. “In fact, I’m counting on it. I plan to spend the rest of my life saying things that make you look at me exactly like you’re looking at me right now.”

Her heart did something complicated in her chest at the casual mention of “the rest of his life,” but before she could process that particular revelation, she was already moving. Her arms wound around his neck as she kissed him like the world might end.

Like she didn’t care what came next as long as it involved more of this.

Which is exactly why neither of them heard the front door open with its distinctive squeak that Shuri kept meaning to get maintence to fix.

Why they didn’t register the familiar jangle of keys being dropped on the entry table, or the sound of multiple footsteps on the hardwood floor.

Why they were still liplocked, Shuri’s hands tangled in his hair and his palms sliding down to cup her ass, when a voice cut through their bubble like a knife.

“—told you we should have called first, but no, you said she’d definitely be home— WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

The shriek was sharp and immediate.

Both Shuri and Namor froze like deer caught in headlights, their heads whipping toward the source of the voice with identical expressions of horror.

Namora stood in the archway between the foyer and living room, her face a mask of shock and dawning comprehension as she took in the scene before her, and behind her, Bucky Barnes was doing his best impression of someone who desperately wanted to disappear into the floor.

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity, broken only by the continued drone of the television and the sound of Shuri’s heart hammering against her ribs so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it.

“Dad?!” Namora’s voice cracked on the word, her eyes darting between Shuri’s obvious state of undress and the pile of discarded clothing that was definitely visible on the floor near the couch. “Shuri?! What… how… WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?!”

Shuri’s stomach dropped as reality came crashing back with all the subtlety of a freight train.

This was her best friend.

Her best friend who was currently staring at her like she’d grown a second head while she straddled said best friend’s father’s lap wearing barely anything.

“Oh hey, Namora,” she managed weakly, her voice coming out as barely more than a squeak. “I can… this isn’t… we were just… So I can explain.”

tbc