Chapter Text
Okoye shifted against Attuma, trying to gain a bit more comfort in the hammock strung across their patio. At nearly 34 weeks pregnant, no position was truly comfortable for long, but she didn’t want to move. Post-nap cuddling had become an essential part of their routine at some indeterminate point during her pregnancy, and she wouldn’t get up unless absolutely necessary. Attuma lay behind her, the big spoon to her little, sheltering her in his broad frame. He had one strong arm slung across her waist, hand resting low on her protruding belly, the other bent at the elbow, acting as a pillow for her head.
She sighed deeply, cozy and content in the evening breeze, and pressed her head back into his chest. Her hand came to rest on her upper left side, pushing gently on the small foot that had taken its daily residence between her ribs.
“Molo, mncinane [Hello, little one].” she whispered, rubbing small circles over her ribcage. Her other children moved within her, a swift kick causing her to grimace and groan quietly.
“Are you well, in yakunaj?” Attuma asked, sitting up slightly.
“Mhm. Just one of your stars giving their daily hello,” Okoye replied, placing her hand atop his. She interlocked their fingers and squeezed gently to reassure him.
Attuma worried more than a mother duck as her time came closer. It was sweet, if a little stifling. But she wasn’t going to complain. Carrying three children was no simple feat, but Attuma’s steadfast love and attentive care made even the hardest days feel light.
He moved their hands back up to her side, murmuring his own greeting. A reciprocal push against his palm and the flutter of movement across her abdomen made her laugh as their children responded enthusiastically to the sound of their father’s rumbling timber. She could feel Attuma’s proud smile, and her heart swelled with affection for the Talokanil general. Okoye could easily admit to loving these little moments most of all. Bast knew there weren’t enough words to properly articulate how deep her love ran, but she tried to express it anyway.
She pressed a kiss to the cerulean forearm beneath her head. “I love you,” she whispered against his warm skin.
Attuma pressed a long kiss to the top of her head, returning the sentiment in the same hushed whisper. He slid their entwined hands across her bump, rubbing wide circles, and began humming a soft lullaby. The tune was familiar by now, taught to him by his mother, and he used it to soothe the excited flutters of their little stars. His dulcet notes, combined with the gentle sway of their hammock, nearly lulled her into another nap. They lay in their little bubble of peace, basking in the warmth of the setting sun, until her kimoyo beads chimed, alerting her to the hour.
Okoye untwined her and Attuma’s fingers, pressing a bead to turn off the quiet alarm. Attuma wrapped both arms around her, cradling her gently as he sat them up. He pulled her onto his lap and swung his legs to the ground in one fluid motion that made her more than a bit jealous of his grace. At this stage in her pregnancy, she had all the finesse of a baby hippo.
“Would you like to go for another walk before dinner, in K’iino’?” Attuma asked, shifting her forward to massage the ever-present ache in her lower back.
Okoye bit back a moan, bracing her hands on her knees as his thumbs began working firm circles on the strained muscles. There truly were not enough words to express her gratitude to every deity for this man. Leaning back into the massage, Okoye made a disaffected noise at the question. She was not interested in going on another walk before dinner. They would, of course, but she was decidedly unenthused at the prospect.
Beautiful as this pregnancy had been, she could say with firm resolution that she was done. It was time for her children to make their way into the world. Sooner rather than later, if she was being honest. Still, Okoye had reservations about medically inducing, so her doctor gave them a list of things that would hopefully encourage her body to begin the process naturally.
They tried everything. Massages, sex, acupressure, exercise, more sex, different foods and teas, and even nipple stimulation, which, invariably, led to more sex. She wasn’t complaining, of course. Attuma certainly wasn’t inconvenienced by their efforts. But Okoye was tired. She needed these babies out.
Everything and everyone was ready for the trio’s arrival.
The nursery was complete, an easy mix of Wakandan and Talokanil cultures with enough clothes and gifts Okoye was sure her children wouldn’t actually be able to use. The go-bag Ayo bought for them had been by the front door for the last three weeks, packed with color-coordinated outfits sewn by, Yoltzin, Attuma’s mother, and the matching blankets her mother had woven and embroidered. Nakia and Toussaint had returned to Wakanda last month, and Shuri had designed and built a hi-tech birthing chamber at the palace, retrofitted with every gadget and monitor she could pack in. The princess had also created an entire AI protocol to alert everyone in their family when her time came, Attuma’s family included. Not that it was necessary. Namora and Yoltzin called nightly, determined not to miss a single moment of her pregnancy.
They were all waiting on the babies. And Okoye was doing everything in her power to get them out— which included going on two or three short walks every day, per Dr. Langeni’s orders.
“Just along the riverbank, yeah?” Okoye said, groaning loudly when he hit a particularly sore knot, her eyes fluttering shut. “I’m not interested in receiving more parenting advice today.” The aunties at the marketplace were always ready with a litany of things she should and should not be doing, stopping her every few meters to offer unsolicited advice. Okoye blinked and swung her legs out, catching sight of her swollen ankles. She sighed, “And I don’t want to wear shoes.”
Attuma huffed a laugh and effortlessly shifted her into a bridal hold, standing so he could set her on her feet. “Whatever you desire, in K’iino’.”
He held Okoye’s waist, allowing her to steady herself against his solid frame. In another life, her pride would’ve been bruised at the amount of help she required these days. But being with Attuma was different. He never made her feel less than for needing him, and Okoye trusted him to bolster her weak places and shield her vulnerabilities. Even with all the history she and W’Kabi shared, things had never come this simply. There was always a fight to be had or a compromise to be negotiated. Her relationship with Attuma had an ease she’d never experienced before, and even when she didn’t need his help, she wanted it.
Here, with him, there was no bruised pride or wounded egos to be had. Only love, deep and abiding.
She tilted her head up to kiss him gently, thanking him, and grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers in the same manner as their souls. “Come on, Indoda Krebe. Let’s see if we can convince your pups to make an appearance today.”
They returned from their walk to find a delicious aroma filling the house and her mother bustling about in their kitchen, not an uncommon sight these past few months. She'd temporarily moved from her home at the Border into an apartment in Birnin Zana, a quick five-minute train ride from Okoye’s own, and had insisted on coming over at least three times a week to help. Her “help” mostly meant cooking too much food and stuffing the triplets’ nursery with more toys and clothes than three babies needed, but Okoye appreciated her all the same. They’d invited her to stay in the house with them, of course; Okoye had two extra bedrooms aside from her own and the nursery, but her mother insisted that she needed her own space. Okoye suspected it was to hide whatever unnecessary purchases she made in the name of spoiling her yet-unborn grandchildren.
“Hi, umama,” she called, drying her feet on the mat by her kitchen door. Attuma followed in after her, activating the overhead sonic dryer to avoid getting water on the floors after his dip in the river.
“Hello, intombi, unyana,” her mother smiled from behind the island.
Okoye waddled over, greeting her mother with a kiss on the cheek, resting her head on her shoulder. She inhaled deeply, peering down at the covered pot simmering on the stove. “Smells good; what’s for dinner?”
Her mother chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Oxtails.”
Okoye’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, does it have-”
“Cassava? Ewe kunjal [Yes, of course], ntombi,” she replied with a smirk. “I wouldn’t dare deprive you of your beloved starch.”
Behind them, Attuma laughed. “Thank Chaac for your forethought, Mama. I fear K’iino’ wouldn’t survive a day without her medicinal potatoes.”
Okoye turned and cut her eyes at him. “Keep it up, and you can sleep on the couch, krebe.” She walked around her mother to the fridge, opening it to grab two water bottles.” I have a body pillow that does everything you can,” she snarked, holding one out to him.
“I doubt that, in yakunaj,” he retorted, snagging her wrist instead of the bottle. Tugging her into his arms, he ducked his head to whisper in her ear. “In wojel ba’ax ma’ je’el chup teech jach ma’alob bey in polla [I know it cannot fill you as well as my cock].”
“Yeka!” she hissed through grit teeth, swatting his arm.
He chortled and kissed her wrist, cracking open his water bottle and swapping with her. Okoye rolled her eyes and took the bottle, sipping the cold water slowly. She ambled over to the dinner table, easing down, and asked her mother when the food would be ready.
“If you two can manage to keep your hands off of each other, we can sit for dinner in 10 minutes,” she responded, unimpressed by their antics.
Attuma slid next to her mother and wrapped an arm around her. “Ndixolele [Forgive me], Mama,” he said, fixing her with his most charming smile, dimples on full display. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her mother was no more immune to his charm than Okoye was, and she pinched his dimpled cheek with a grin, instructing him to set the table for six. It seemed they were expecting company, and she had a good idea of who would be in attendance. The timely chime of the doorbell, followed by the sound of shuffling feet in her foyer, confirmed her thoughts.
“Hello? Is anyone home?” Nakia’s voice called loudly from the entryway.
The quick patter of little feet announced her nephew’s arrival, and Toussaint rushed down the hall before his mother. He skid to a stop at Okoye’s knees. “Umakazi!” he cried excitedly, throwing his arms around her neck.
“Oh!” Okoye beamed, wrapping the young boy in her arms as much as possible. “Molo, intsini yam encinci [Hello, my little laugh]!”
Toussaint released her neck and stood between her legs, both hands on her belly. “Hello, babies,” he greeted softly. His gap-toothed grin lit up his face, reminding Okoye of a young T’Challa greeting Shuri the same way while the Queen was pregnant.
Nakia sauntered into view, dropping two bags on the sofa out of her sight before coming over to hug her quickly, ignoring the suspicious look Okoye shot her way. She floated into the kitchen, greeting her mother and Attuma in turn, and grabbed plates to help set the table. Toussaint wiggled out of her arms and climbed on the chair next to her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce on Attuma. As his mother and uncle rounded the kitchen island, her nephew leaped from the chair.
“Uncle ‘Tuna!” The boy shouted, all giggles as Attuma caught him deftly in one arm, shifting the basket of injera bread to the other.
“Hello, chan báalam [little jaguar],” he greeted warmly, pressing his forehead against Toussaint’s.
Attuma set the bread basket on the table and took Toussaint back into the kitchen to greet her mother, who showered him with kisses just as she used to with T’Challa. Her heart twinged at the sound of his young voice calling her “umakhulu!” knowing he would never truly know his grandparents. Okoye blinked back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. T’Challa had them, and that would be enough.
“So,” Okoye said, clearing her throat, “how many bibs did you buy today? Or is it onesies this time?” She smiled at Nakia, who finished laying out their flatware.
Nakia stopped short and opened her mouth to deny any such bib purchases but was stopped short by the sound of the doorbell again.
“You’d better still be pregnant, sisi!” Shuri’s voice rang as she glided into the house.
“I am still very much pregnant, Shuri,” Okoye replied, rolling her eyes playfully.
“Good.” The lanky woman-child slung her arms over Okoye’s shoulders, resting her chin on her head. “I’m upgrading the filtration and drainage systems of the Amnio tonight, so my nieces need to stay put.”
Attuma set Toussaint down and fixed Shuri with a challenging smirk. “Your nephews will come in Ix Chel’s time. But I would suggest that you cease making updates to your Amnio. In K’iino’s time is almost upon us.”
“Auntie’s gonna have the babies soon?” Toussaint asked, staring up at Attuma.
“Yes, chan báalam. If not this week, then the next. You will soon have cousins.”
The boy smiled, giddy at the prospect. T’Challa didn’t quite understand that the babies wouldn’t be able to play for a while, but his excitement was a delight.
Her mother came out of the kitchen, setting the pot of oxtails on the table with a wide smile amid the ongoing chatter. Okoye mirrored her expression as she gazed around the table at her family. They were missing a few members, but this was her family. Her eyes locked with Attuma’s, and he smiled softly at her.
Their family.
She couldn’t wait to welcome their children into it.