likemick

Latest Posts by likemick

trying to prove a point to the boys at school

reblog this if you believe trans men are real men like this if you dont

Honestly wouldn’t mind as long as I can bang you back.

Y/N: *banging a pen on the table out of frustration*

Wanda : Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table?

Y/N: I—

Y/N: I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

Happiness Will Come To You.

Fanfic authors are some of -if not- the BEST AUTHORS in existence. I’m not gonna lie, and that’s a hill I’ll die on. Because baby … I’m always hooked. 😭😭

Oh Sarah betta watch out calling Charlie the n-word? I fight kids and they parents.

The Loud House Chapter Twenty One

The Loud House

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist 

Follow my side blog for fic updates @natsxaddiction2

Summary: Natasha and Reader are happily married with a family that rivals the Brady bunch. When they get the call for another child both moms have to adjust to married life with six children, a new space, parents living with them, and teenage woes - based on the family from It’s Christmas

Pt 1

W/c: 5.7k

Notes: The not-so-calm before the storm. Charlie and R centered af .

You arrive at The Summit Country Day School an hour before lunch. The grand building exudes an air of elegance and tradition, with vermillion-covered brick walls and manicured gardens. You pull into an empty parking space, cutting the engine and unbuckling your seatbelt. You’re on a mission today. 

On the car speaker, your best friend Denise chimes in, and you engage in light-hearted chit-chat about something random. The conversation brings a sense of comfort and familiarity, like a warm blanket wrapping around you.

“Denise, they drive me up the wall constantly,” You sigh. “Not like work. Work is another beast entirely. I’d rather be a stay-at-home mom.”

“You could be,” Denise points out. 

“I could,” You nod in agreement. “I’d also go crazy doing that. The grass is always greener.”

“Indeed it is,” Denise says. 

“Well, I’m going to go into this school and get Charlie,” You inform her, gathering your purse and belongings, before you hover your fingers over the end call button. “Going to have a girl's day just us two. Talk with her a bit.”

“Okay, sounds good. Tell my niece I said hello.” Denise ends the call as you both say goodbyes. 

As you step out of the car, you take a moment to soak in the picturesque scene. The greenery at the school has transformed into a serene winter wonderland as delicate snowflakes gently blanket the landscape. The once lush and vibrant foliage now wears a coat of pure white, creating a captivating contrast against the school's buildings and structures.

The overall scene exudes a sense of tranquility and stillness. It's not just a regular school pick-up today; it's a special occasion—a girls' day with Charlie. You’ve been suspicious about her feelings for a while. So, you wanted to give her some time to talk and be with you until you got to the bottom of it. Seeing your daughter change, even as she tried to hide it, was hard to witness. You’ve been busy. Allowing each of the children to fall through the cracks a little. This was something that was more than important. Charlie’s usually bubbly, princess-coded personality was overshadowed by her recent crankiness and unwillingness to even play with her siblings like she used to. This needed to be addressed now. 

The thought of spending quality time with Charlie fills your heart with joy. As you enter the school, the familiar sights and sounds greet you, evoking a sense of belonging. You step into the warm and bustling front office of the school, wrapped in your cozy winter coat. The inviting scent of hot cocoa fills the air as you approach the front desk, where staff members attend to various tasks.

With a friendly smile, you kindly request, "Excuse me, I'm here to pick up my daughter, Charlotte Romanoff, in second grade. Mrs. Auburn is her teacher.  Is it possible for her to be brought to the front office? I’m taking her home."

The receptionist, warm and approachable, nods understandingly. They consult the appointment book, searching for Charlie's name. Finding the details, they assure you, "Of course! Let me notify her teacher. Please have a seat, and we'll bring her to you shortly."

You find a cozy spot on a nearby cushioned chair, taking in the vibrant surroundings of the front office. Display boards proudly showcase student achievements, colorful artwork, and upcoming school events, creating an atmosphere of pride and community.

As you wait, your thoughts drift to the things you have planned for the rest of the day. You imagine the laughter, conversations, and memories that will unfold during your girls' day. 

Within a few minutes, a school staff member approaches with a warm smile, accompanied by Charlie, radiating with infectious energy. Your face lights up as you embrace your daughter, feeling an overwhelming surge of love and joy.

“Mommy, I’m going home early?” Charlie asks with wide eyes. 

“Yes ma’am,” You pinch her cheek. “Are you ready?” You ask her as you notice her lack of backpack and coat. “Where are your things?”

“Aww,” Charlie pouts. “We were going to watch a movie today after lunch.”

“Well, if you’d rather stay be my guest,” You shrug. “I guess I’ll do the entire plans I had today for myself.”

“No way,” Charlie shakes her head. 

“You can show her to her cubby,” The staffing assistant, Perry, asks you to follow her back to Charlie’s class. In classroom 229, the air was alive with the vibrant energy of children engrossed in various activities, and colorful artwork adorned the walls. Mrs. Auburn, a warm and nurturing teacher, with pepper-colored hair, greeted you with a smile.

"Hello, Charlie and Mom," Mrs. Auburn said warmly. "It's wonderful to see you. Are you ready to gather Charlie's belongings?"

With a beaming smile, you replied, "Yes. We’re almost all set."

Charlie led the way to her cubby, a small personal space where her backpack and cherished items were neatly stored. As you helped her gather her belongings, you could feel the stares of the children in the class. 

Suddenly, a little girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes approached, her eyes filled with admiration and a hint of shyness. "Wow, Charlie! Your mom is so pretty!" she exclaimed.

“Why thank you, you’re pretty too,” You smile. “So polite also.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see Charlie roll her eyes as she stuffs her arms into her coat. 

“I thought you have two moms,” Sarah questions. Charlie sighs. 

“I have two,” She doesn’t seem to be up to answering the little girl’s nosiness. “My mama is away for work right now,” Charlie says. You can see a subtle tension hanging in the air between Charlie and the girl in the class. You, perceptive as ever, chose not to mention it, letting the moment pass without disruption.

Savannah, Charlie's close friend, joined in, grinning from ear to ear. "Hi, Mrs. R.” 

“Hi, girlie, I love your shoes today,” You comment on her sparkling pink boots. 

“Thank you-” Savannah grins. 

"Charlie, guess what?" Sarah said, demanding the attention be on her. “I have a new dollhouse at home. It’s huge.”

Charlie's scrunched her nose. "Oh, cool.”

Observing the unspoken dynamics between Sarah and Charlie, you maintained your composure, choosing to focus on the positive interaction unfolding between her and Savannah. You’ll have questions later. 

With a warm smile, you bid farewell to Sarah and Savannah. "It was great talking with you both. Have a good day.”

Excitement radiated from Charlie as she tightly held your hand. "Ready for our girls' day, Boo?" you asked, your smile filled with anticipation.

Charlie nodded eagerly. "Yes, Mommy. Even though I don’t know what it is.”

Leaving the busy classroom behind, the sound of laughter and chatter gradually faded into the background. At that moment, as you stepped into the hallway, you listened as Charlie began to chatter about her day. 

She was more than excited about what was in store for her. 

*************

The first stop of the day was your favorite nail salon a few miles from home. The nail salon enveloped you and Charlie in a cheerful ambiance, filled with the soothing scent of aromatic lotions and the gentle hum of soft music. Lively colors adorned the space, along with delicate decorations and plush pedicure chairs.

You guided Charlie towards the array of nail polish bottles, giving her the freedom to choose her colors for the manicure and pedicure. Her eyes widened with excitement as she spotted a delightfully childish and girlie shade—a whimsical glittery pink that shimmered with possibility.

Charlie's voice bubbled with excitement as she eagerly presented her choice.

"Mom, can I get this one? It's so pretty!"

A warm smile crossed your face, fully embracing the spirit of the girls' day. "Of course, sweetie. It's perfect!"

With Charlie settled into a cozy pedicure chair, her little feet dangling just above the bubbling water, you took your place in the adjacent chair. The comforting warmth of the water enveloped your feet as you both prepared to indulge in some pampering together.

As the nail technician approached, Charlie's eyes sparkled with curiosity, ready to embark on her first manicure and pedicure adventure.

"Hello there!" the technician greeted, a warm smile gracing her face. "Are you excited for your manicure and pedicure today?"

Charlie nodded eagerly, her enthusiasm evident. "Yes! I've never had one before. How does it work?"

You watched proudly as the nail technician patiently explained the process to Charlie, taking her through each step. Charlie absorbed the information with genuine fascination, eager to learn more.

"So, what's the base coat for?" Charlie asked, her curiosity shining through. "Does it make the color last longer?"

The technician's eyes lit up, impressed by Charlie's keen observation. "Absolutely! The base coat helps the polish adhere better to your nails, creating a smooth surface. It also aids in the longevity of the color and prevents staining."

Charlie beamed with pride, reveling in her newfound knowledge. Her desire to understand the process and engage in meaningful conversation warmed your heart.

As the technician began working on Charlie's toes, a friendly exchange unfolded between Charlie and the technician. Charlie couldn't contain her excitement and started sharing stories about her school experience.

"Guess what ?" Charlie exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "We're learning different languages at school! I know how to say 'hello' in French. It's 'bonjour'!"

The technician's eyes twinkled with delight. "That's wonderful, Charlie! How about you teach me something new?"

Charlie's face lit up, embracing the opportunity to share her knowledge and teach others.

"Sure!" Charlie replied with a wide grin. "Once you're done with my toes, I'll teach you how to say 'thank you' in Spanish. It's 'gracias'!"

You watched with pride as Charlie engaged in a delightful conversation with the technician, witnessing her curiosity and eagerness to share her knowledge. It was a testament to Charlie's natural curiosity and love for discovering new things.

As the technician continued to pamper Charlie's toes, Charlie confidently began to converse with the woman about all the reasons she loved her school. Your heart swelled with pride, cherishing the moment of connection between your daughter and the nail technician. It was a testament to Charlie's growing confidence, something you hadn’t seen in a while, and her ability to engage with others in a warm and friendly manner.

********************

You and Charlie arrive at Taste of Belgium, a charming restaurant in Cincinnati that she has been eagerly begging to visit. The restaurant's inviting ambiance and mouthwatering scents greet you as you step inside, heightening your anticipation.

The interior of Taste of Belgium exudes warmth and comfort, with its rustic wooden accents and the smell of freshly baked bread filling the air. Conversations mingle with the clinking of cutlery, though it’s quite empty considering the time of day, creating a lively atmosphere that envelops you and Charlie as you enter.

Together, you find a booth toward the back of the restaurant, seeking a touch of privacy amidst the bustling crowd. As you settle into the cozy booth, Charlie can't contain her excitement, proudly displaying her new sparkly pink nails, the light reflecting off the glitter.

"Mom, look at my nails! They're so pretty! I love the glittery pink!" Charlie exclaims, a radiant smile lighting her face. You can't help but share in Charlie's excitement, admiring her newfound sense of confidence and self-expression.

"They do look good on you, Boo!"You respond affectionately. "The pink suits you perfectly. You have impeccable taste."

A friendly server approaches your booth, ready to take your order. Charlie's eyes widen as she peruses the menu, her anticipation growing.

"Can we get the Belgian frites, Mom?" she asks eagerly. "They're supposed to be the best here!"

You nod, embracing Charlie's enthusiasm for the iconic Belgian fries. "Sure. We'll have the Belgian frites."

The server jots down your order, and you also request glasses of refreshing water to accompany the meal.

As you wait for the food to arrive, conversation flows effortlessly between you and Charlie. You delve into her day at school, exploring her favorite subjects, and discussing the adventures she hopes to embark on during the upcoming break.

Excitement fills Charlie's voice as she shares her latest discovery.

"Mom, guess what? Mrs. Auburn said we're going to have a science fair soon! I can't wait to come up with a cool experiment!" she exclaims, her eyes shining with anticipation.

You listen intently, impressed by Charlie's enthusiasm for learning and her growing curiosity about the world.

"That sounds fantastic, Charlie!" you reply, beaming with pride. "Just let me know and I’m sure Melina will help too. That’s her subject.”

“I think it would be cool,” Charlie nods. 

Just as the conversation reaches its peak, the server arrives, carrying a generous plate of crispy Belgian frites. The golden fries are accompanied by an assortment of tasty dipping sauces, tempting both you and Charlie. You reach for fries at the same time, biting into one as Charlie kicks her legs happily.

"Mommy, I really want to join ballet!" Charlie informs you. She double-dips her fries, before stuffing a few into her mouth. "Savannah is in it, and she says it's so much fun. And guess what? Mama did ballet when she was a kid too!"

You listened attentively, a warm smile gracing your lips. You were taking in all of the information she was giving you as it came. 

"I think that’s a good idea,” You replied.  "Ballet is a beautiful art form, and it sounds like you have a true passion for it. I'm so proud of you for wanting to explore new interests."

Charlie's eyes lit up with hope, eagerly awaiting your response.

"So can I join?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

You took a moment to reflect, fully aware of the demanding schedule that already filled your days. But as you looked into Charlie's eager eyes and heard the genuine excitement in her voice, you understood the significance of nurturing her passions.

With a tender gaze, you replied, "Charlie, I want nothing more than to see you pursue your dreams. Ballet is a wonderful opportunity, and I'll do my best to make it work in our schedule. We'll find a way."

Charlie's face was illuminated with joy, gratitude shining through her expressive eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered the courage to broach a topic that had been on your mind.

"Charlie, sweetheart, can I ask you something?" You began gently, your voice filled with love and concern. You observed Charlie's expression change, her once bright eyes now clouded with uncertainty.

"What is it?" Charlie responded, her voice tinged with caution as if anticipating a difficult question.

“I was wondering why you asked me for a haircut the other day?”

You reached out and gently clasped Charlie's hand, wanting to convey your unwavering support and understanding. "You know you can tell me anything, right, I'm here for you, no matter what."

Charlie's gaze wavered for a moment, searching your eyes for reassurance. With a deep sigh, she finally relented, allowing her true feelings to come to the surface.

"Mommy," Charlie began, her voice tinged with vulnerability, "I just want a short haircut. Like Aunt Maria’s.”

“Is that all?” You encourage her to go on.

“My hair is different from the other kids'.” Charlie points out. “Savannah is the only one that looks like me in my class. Her hair is nice. Mine isn’t. It's so curly and big, and sometimes people make fun of it, like Sarah."

Your heart ached at Charlie's admission, the weight of her words echoing in the air. You had suspected that there might be more to her desire for a haircut, but hearing her articulate her struggles tugged at your heartstrings.

Gently brushing a strand of hair away from Charlie's face, you looked into her eyes with unwavering love and compassion. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Please know that your hair is absolutely beautiful, and it's part of what makes you uniquely you."

Charlie's eyes welled up with tears, a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "But Mom, it's hard sometimes. I just want to fit in and not be different. Sarah is a popular girl and she rules the whole second grade.”

Cupping Charlie's face in your hands, you spoke with tenderness, your voice filled with reassurance. "I understand that it can be difficult when others don't appreciate the wonderful qualities that make you special. But remember, fitting in isn't about changing who you are. It's about finding the people who love and accept you exactly as you are."

Charlie's tearful eyes met yours, seeking comfort and understanding.

"You are perfect, my baby," You continued, your voice filled with unwavering belief. "And if a haircut will make you feel more confident and happy, then we can certainly explore that together. But always remember, your worth and beauty go far beyond your appearance."

Taking a moment to gather your emotions, you looked at Charlie with a mixture of concern and determination.

"Charlie, I want to understand what Sarah does exactly, "You said, your voice steady but filled with an undercurrent of anger. "Can you tell me more about it?"

Charlie hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours, before she took a deep breath and began to explain.

"Well, sometimes Sarah tugs at my hair like she's trying to pull it out," Charlie began, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "And she calls me the n-word. I never heard that word before. Well, in music sometimes but you told us it's bad. Savannah told me it was bad. That’s how I know. She keeps saying hurtful things about my mom being the Black Widow and how she's a bad person. She even tells other kids not to hang out with me because of it."

Your heart ached at the cruelty that Charlie had endured, the weight of her words resonating deep within you. Anger swelled within your chest, but you knew you had to rein in your emotions for Charlie's sake.

With a gentle touch, you reached out and held Charlie's hand, conveying your unwavering support and love. "Charlie, I am so sorry that you've had to go through such hurtful experiences. You don't deserve any of that." You sigh. “It is a bad word. It’s a mean and nasty word and no one should ever call you that. Not now not ever.”

Charlie's eyes welled up with tears, the pain is evident in her voice. "It makes me so sad, Mama. I just want to be treated like everyone else."

Your voice filled with empathy as you reassured her, "Charlie, you are a wonderful and beautiful person. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens." You push your chair back to gesture for her to come and sit on your lap. “I didn't know this was going on. I’m so sorry baby. I’m so sorry.” You whisper to her as you kiss her head. 

Concern etched on your face, you asked, "Has Mrs. Auburn ever noticed anything that's been going on?"

Charlie's expression grew solemn as she nodded slowly. "There was one time when Sarah said something mean to me in class, but Mrs. Auburn didn't seem to notice. She's usually busy with all the other kids."

Your heart sank, realizing that the one person who should be ensuring Charlie's safety and well-being in the classroom seemed unaware of the extent of the situation. Determination filled your eyes as you made a silent vow to address the issue with Mrs. Auburn and find a resolution.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at Charlie, your voice filled with love and determination. "Charlie, I want you to know that you're not alone in this. We will work together to make sure that things change. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect, and I will do everything I can to ensure that happens. I will talk with Mrs. Auburn about doing better.”

Charlie's eyes met yours, a mixture of sadness and hope shining through. 

"Is Mama a bad person?" Charlie asked, her voice filled with uncertainty and concern.

You squeezed Charlie a little tighter to you. You look around making sure you’re still relatively alone as you continue your conversation. 

"Oh, Charlie, it's not as simple as that," You began, your voice filled with a mix of compassion and understanding. "Mama, like all of us, has made some bad choices in the past. But that doesn't mean she is a bad person."

Charlie's brow furrowed, her eyes searching yours for answers. It was a heavy topic to navigate, but you knew it was crucial to help Charlie grasp the complexities of human nature.

"People make mistakes, my love,"You continued, your voice steady and patient. "Sometimes those mistakes can hurt others, and that's where the problem lies. But what's important is what happens next. If someone recognizes their mistakes, takes responsibility, and makes a genuine effort to change and grow, they can make amends and become a better person."

You know it’s entirely too complicated to explain to a seven-year-old. Sometimes it's too complicated for you. You can only provide her with what you can. Charlie listened intently, her expression shifting from confusion to contemplation.

"So, even if someone has done bad things in the past, it doesn't mean they can't change and be better?" She asked, her voice filled with a glimmer of hope.

You nodded, squeezing Charlie's hands gently. "Exactly, my love. Apologies, growth, and making better choices can make a world of difference. It's about learning from our mistakes and striving to do better, to be kinder and more compassionate. However, I want to say these things are entirely different. Forgiveness also looks different for everyone. If someone is hurting you and making you feel that way you don’t have to forgive them.”

Charlie's eyes softened, and a small smile graced her lips. It was a relief to see the weight of judgment lifting from her shoulders.

"You see, "You continued, your voice filled with warmth, "People are complex. We all have our struggles and flaws, but it's how we respond to them that defines us. It's about choosing to be better and treating others with kindness, even when we've made mistakes."

Charlie nodded slowly, a newfound understanding and acceptance taking hold. At that moment, you knew you had planted a seed of empathy and forgiveness within her.

You leaned in, wrapping Charlie in a comforting embrace, letting the love and reassurance envelop her.

"We will always strive to be better," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering devotion. "And remember, the most important thing is that we love each other."

Charlie nodded, a sense of peace washing over her. In this quiet corner of the restaurant, you shared a powerful lesson about forgiveness, growth, and the capacity for change.

“Now, I have something else planned,” You wipe away her tears with your thumbs. “If you really want that haircut I can take you. Or I can allow you to get any style you want. You have a choice to make.”

“I can get pink?” Charlie questions. 

“If that’s what you want,” You shrug. “What are you thinking?”

“I want braids,” Charlie nods decisively. “I don’t want to cut my hair. Cara has long hair and Paige has long hair. We’re sisters so we can match in that way. I think.”

“I think that’s very insightful,” You pat her leg. “Braids will look great on you. I do have to warn you with your hair length this could take a while. Hours even.”

“Can I have your iPad?” She suggests. 

“Sure kid. Dessert or no dessert?” You gesture to the menu. 

“Definitely dessert,” Charlie pulls the menu towards you so you both can look. “I’m glad you’re my mommy. You and Mama make me feel better all the time. I miss her.”

“I’m glad I’m your mommy too,” You kiss her head again. “It’s the best job in the world. Also, Mama will be home soon. I know it’s scary for all of you but she will be home soon.” You hope. You could only hope. 

************************

As you approached the reception desk of the hair salon, a warm smile welcomed you. The receptionist, sensing Charlie's anticipation, led you both to a comfortable corner where a hair washing station awaited. The soothing sound of running water and the comforting scent of gentle shampoos wafted through the room.

Charlie's eyes widened in wonder, taking in the bustling activity surrounding her. This was all new to her—the traditions and rituals of the salon were unfamiliar, but she was eager to embark on this journey of transformation.

The friendly hairstylist assigned to Charlie's care introduced herself as Nyla. With grace and patience, Nyla guided Charlie through the process, tenderly washing and blow-drying her hair. Each stroke and movement seemed like a work of art, creating a sense of care and reverence.

The salon buzzed with lively conversations, laughter, and a vigorous exchange of stories. The women around you shared tales of their own experiences, offered beauty tips, and reveled in the community spirit that permeated the space.

Charlie, enthralled by the warm and welcoming atmosphere, eagerly engaged with those around her. Her curiosity sparked conversations and forged connections as she delved into stories of her family.

“Nyla, did you know I have four siblings?” Charlie listed off. “Cara is my oldest sister, and she's fifteen. She's incredibly smart and she plays sports. She’s my best friend. Even when she’s mean.” This causes a chuckle from the salon attendees. “James is my little brother—he's five and always up to something. He just broke his arm. Paige is so funny. She plays Barbies the best. And then there's Luke, who's almost one. He doesn’t walk yet but my Mommy says soon.”

Nyla listened with genuine interest, her skilled hands moving with practiced precision as she weaved Charlie's hair into intricate patterns.

“Wow, Charlie, your family sounds amazing!” Nyla distractedly responded.

You joined in the conversation, your voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and affection.

“Life is never dull. That’s for sure.” You quip. 

The salon buzzed with a sense of camaraderie, as the women understood the beauty and challenges of motherhood. They shared a collective understanding, knowing that amidst the chaos, there was an unwavering bond that held families together.

As Nyla skillfully completed the final touches of Charlie's exquisite braided hairstyle, the salon erupted into applause, celebrating the transformation. Charlie's face beamed with pride, her confidence radiating from within as Nyla held up a mirror for her. 

“Oh girl, you are a show stopper,” Nyla smiled.  “All that beautiful hair. Wow.”

“Thank you,” Charlie gushed shyly. “I really like my new braids.”

“Does it hurt?” You ask as you poke her head and she flinches away. “Core memory unlocked.” You chuckle. “How much do I owe you?”

“One hundred fifty even.” Nyla helps to put place pink lotion into her hair. “Now do you sleep with a bonnet every night?”

“Yes,” Charlie nods. She listens attentively as Nyla explains to her how to take care of her braids. You pay, offering a tip also before you help Charlie out of the chair. Walking out of the salon hand in hand, Charlie's braids swaying with every step, even her beads made noise. She seemed so much happier than when you picked her up that morning. 

*******************************

The car glided smoothly into the garage, and you turned to your daughter, instructing her to join you in the front seat. You settled into the driver's seat, watching with anticipation as Charlie climbed into the front, her youthful energy filling the space beside you.

"Hey, sweetie, how are you feeling? Are you okay?" You asked, your voice infused with a tenderness that only a mother could provide.

“Yep, I’m fine,” Charlie nodded, her braids swinging as she shook her head. 

Charlie took a moment to collect her thoughts, her expression contemplative. Her emotions were written across her face, a delicate balance of vulnerability and resilience.

With a gentle touch, you placed your hand on her cheek, offering reassurance and understanding.

"You know, Charlie, I want to make sure you're always okay," You began, your voice filled with love. "Sometimes people can be unkind, and it's important to stand up for yourself."

Charlie's eyes met yours, a flicker of uncertainty dancing within them.

“Like fighting?”

"I want to be clear," You continued, your tone steady and unwavering. "I don't condone violence, and hurting others should never be the answer. But when someone is violating your space, crossing your boundaries, you have every right to defend yourself."

You watched as Charlie absorbed your words, a mixture of contemplation and relief playing across her face. It was crucial for her to understand the distinction between self-defense and aggression.

"You see, Charlie, boundaries are important," You explained, your voice filled with conviction. "Your personal space and well-being should always be respected. If someone is making you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, you have the right to protect yourself."

Charlie's gaze met yours, her understanding deepening. She wanted to be kind, but she also needed to feel safe. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

"I know you have a gentle heart, baby," you said, your voice softening with empathy. "But remember, defending yourself when your boundaries are being violated is a special case. It's about asserting your right to safety and making sure that others understand the importance of treating you with respect."

A sense of relief washed over Charlie, her shoulders relaxing as she absorbed your words. At that moment, you knew you had empowered her to navigate the complexities of standing up for herself while upholding her compassionate nature.

"I love you, Charlie," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering support. 

Charlie nodded, a mixture of gratitude and understanding reflected in her eyes. 

“Can I go show everyone my hair now?”

“You absolutely can.”

Charlie eagerly stepped through the front door, her heart brimming with excitement. She couldn't wait to show her new hairstyle to her siblings, knowing they would be just as excited as she was. The sound of laughter and playful chatter filled the air, drawing her attention to the living room.

As Charlie entered the room, her eyes lit up with delight. There, gathered together, were her siblings, each engaged in their own playful activities. Cara sat with a book in hand, James was building a tower with colorful blocks, and Paige was busy scribbling on a notepad. 

With a joyful smile, Charlie approached them, her braids swaying with each step. Her heart skipped a beat as she caught sight of little Luke, who seemed both curious and impatient.

“Guess what, everyone! Look at my new braids!” She did a spin for dramatic effect. 

The room fell momentarily silent as Charlie's siblings turned their attention toward her.

“They look amazing. Love the beads.” Cara gave a thumbs up. 

James stood to approach her. “Cool! Can I touch them?” He asked politely, already having a hand out for him to take. 

Charlie's face beamed with pride, her heart swelling with joy at their positive reactions. She nodded, granting permission for James to explore her braids.

“Can I have beads in my hair too, Charlie?”

Charlie giggled, enjoying the playfulness of her little brother. She gently shook her head, explaining that beads in his short hair might not work as well.

“You look like a princess, Charlie! Like Mommy,” Paige pointed out. 

Charlie blushed, her cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink. The loving support of her siblings filled her with warmth and happiness.

Luke watched with wide eyes, his little hands reaching out to touch the shiny beads in Charlie's hair as she sat next to him on the couch.  Frustration crept onto his face when he realized he couldn't grasp them.

“Oh, Luke, those beads are special for my hair. You can't take them off, but you can look at them, okay?”

You scooped Luke into your arms as his attention shifted to welcoming you home. 

As the room filled with chatter and laughter once more, Charlie basked in the love and acceptance of her siblings.

You carry Luke in your arms, making your way toward the kitchen, ready to set up for homework time and prepare dinner. But just as you were about to step into the kitchen, your phone buzzed, indicating an incoming call. You pulled it from your pocket, glancing at the screen, and saw Peyton's name flashing across it.

Your heart skipped a beat, a mixture of anticipation and concern flooding your thoughts. You answered the call, holding Luke securely in your arms.

"Hey, Peyton! What's going on?" Your voice carried warmth and concern.

Peyton's worried voice echoed through the phone. "Hey, sis. I talked to Mom earlier, and she mentioned that things seem to be tough for you lately. Have you heard from Natasha? Is everything okay?"

Your expression softened, gratitude mixed with a hint of stubborn independence. You had always been fiercely protective of your family and hesitant to ask for help, even when things were difficult.

"Thanks for your concern, Peyton. I appreciate it. Things have been a bit challenging, but I'm managing. I don't need any help right now. We're doing just fine," You reassured her. You cradled the phone between your neck and shoulder as you began to gather pots and pans. “Hey, kids, homework, at the table. Now.” You instruct.

Peyton's voice softened, laced with sibling love and concern. "Are you sure, y/n? You know we're here for you, right? We're family."

You took a deep breath, your love for your sister is evident in your voice. "I know, Peyton, and I appreciate that. But I've got enough on my plate, and I want to make sure I can handle it on my own for now. Trust me, we're going to be okay."

As the conversation continued, a doorbell rang, interrupting the exchange. Your curiosity was piqued, wondering who could be at the door. Setting your phone down for a moment, you carefully balanced Luke in one arm and made your way toward the front entrance.

Opening the door, you were greeted by the unexpected sight of Peyton, accompanied by Brandon and Willow. Surprise spread across your face. You weren't expecting them at all.

i need validation for this one obvi

next part

The last part got me. Like when did I ever mention a man?

Nat: So, what's your type?

You: Kind, redhead, dumb, good sense of humor

Nat: That sounds like me. Too bad I'm not a boy.

You: ...Did I mention dumb?

Nat: Yeah

You: Okay, just making sure.

Thanks for tagging @wandussyfantasy

Relationship status: Single and shrimping over fictional characters

Favorite Color: Blue, Red, Green, and Black

Last Song Listed: Don’t Leave Me Girl by Blackstreet

Favorite Food: Pasta!! Or Noodle foods

Song Stuck With My Head: Let It Burn by Shaboozey

Dream Trip: I’d love to travel cross country Europe with my wife.

Last Thing I Googled: The meaning of the name Izogie (From the Women King)

Do it or don’t no pressure @wandasbbg @natsxaddiction @russosdiary @leahwilliamson @yelenabemylova @killmongerdispussy @lesbian-deadpool

thank you for the tag @kkomaism <3

Rules: Tag 10 or more people you want to get to know better

Relationship status: not single

Favorite color: pink and blue

Song stuck in my head: Seven by Jungkook

Favorite food: that soup my grandma makes with chinese cabbage, potatoes, carrots and meat and if it has a salty boiled egg oh my god it hits i'm so good nomnom

Last song listened to: uhhhhhh Seven by Jungkook LMAO otherwise I want to end my life by Takayan

Dream trip: like uhhh all over asia! i wanna go back to vietnam at least once, maybe thailand too, travel to taiwan with my friends and being by their side is the best treasure i have in my life, anywhere is a dream trip HAHAHA

Last thing I googled: "crueller" was trying to figure out why my gdocs was telling me to write cruller instead of crueller and wondered if i actually spelt crueller wrong somehow

tagging @yoodokjas @ekanatsume @rusquared @yukarishoodie @lee-hakhyun @headphonemouse and anyone who wants to join <3

Literally me 😭

when u create too many ocs and dont have the time to develop them all equally and ur brain just wants u to focus on one or two at a time but u keep making more and more and u feel like ur abandoning the ones u havent done anything with for a while

Please reblog if you think that “they/them/theirs” is a valid set of pronouns.

this post must be reblogged by everyone

Y/N: *walks into the room*

WandaNat: *turns to look at her*

Y/N: “I saw a murder today.”

Wanda: “You what?!”

Y/N: “I saw a murder today.”

Natasha: “And you didn’t go to the police?”

Y/N: “Why would I?” *confused face*

Natasha: “Did someone threaten you?”

Wanda: “Were you threatened?”

Y/N: “What? No. Why would someone threaten me over a group of crows?”

WandaNat: *over it expressions*

Natasha: “That’s your wife.” *looking at Wanda*

Wanda: “She’s our wife” *shaking her head*

That had me hollering

i’m screaming

“I say we plunder their homes and slaughter them as we ravage everything. Leave them with nothing, not even their lives. Dishonor on you for anything other than hands on.”

“No, darling. Slaughter is too messy. Make them a nice dinner and start off by apologizing for you being wrong. And as their faces turn pale and colorless look them in the eyes and smile.”

“What is I just kill them in a staged home robbery? I’m still “plundering” and I get to look them in the eyes as the life drains from them. And after we go out for a drink?”

Uncyber

Uncharted 4 and Cyberpunk 2077

I reblog the money pigeon because he fly

reblog the money pigeon for a financially stable future

I … wow …

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 | n.romanoff

you visit the strip club downtown with your co-workers to let off some steam, but it seems like you've caught the eye of none other than the 'black widow'.

🖤 pairing: sub!stripper!natasha x fem!cop!reader

🖤 word count: 3145

🖤 note: SMUT (18+), this one been marinating in my drafts like im preserving wine

main m.list | AO3

You don’t know why you let your co-workers drag you to a strip club on a Friday night, but you’re sure as hell not complaining.

There are plenty of women, everywhere. Women in bikinis, women in stockings, women in thigh garters. You're in wonderland, honestly.

Hey, cops needed to let off some steam too, okay?

The cheers and hoots surround your table as Carol gets a lap dance by a brunette stripper. The blonde woman is blushing – you didn’t know she could do that – but she’s having the time of her life.

As Carol slides a bill between the stripper's tits with no lack of embarrassment, you laugh and get up to go get another drink.

It wasn't an overly rare occasion for you to be letting loose, but it was infrequent enough that your co-workers quite physically hauled you to this adult entertainment facility after a particularly taxing case.

ULTRAVIOLET was the most popular strip club in Queens, New York City. They served both men and women, with sparkling reviews about customer service and atmospheric aesthetics.

Carol, Valkyrie, and Maria would simply not shut up about the 'Black Widow', who was supposedly the sexiest, most stunning stripper any of them had ever laid their eyes on.

"She fuckin' looked at me in the eye," Valkyrie had moaned on a Monday morning, speaking of this stripper they so revered. "I can't look at anyone the same no more." 

You were about to make a quick-witted retort about Valkyrie’s dramatization of mere eye contact, but Maria had only nodded solemnly in agreement and you had to admit you didn’t take Maria’s judgment lightly.

Aside from the talk about the Black Widow, you were hit with the novelty of the strip club once you stepped foot within.

As the Commanding Officer of the New York City Police Department, 104th Precinct, the boundless freeness of this place was quite a sight to behold. What with the heavy music, and the beer-tinged scent of the air, and nude women – the sensory overload did wonders to take your mind off work.

"You here alone?"

You spin on the barstool at the sound of a sultry voice. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping to the floor at the sight of a breathtakingly gorgeous woman.

Scantily clad in matching sequined undergarments and fishnet stockings, stands a redheaded woman leaning against the bar counter, looking at you with magnificent green eyes.

"I'm not alone- I mean, not in that way, because I'm just here with friends. Well, co-workers, but they're my friends as well-"

Splendid job, Deputy Inspector Y/N L/N, you say internally. You can look in the eye of murderers and terrorists, but one look at a pretty woman and you're fuckin' gone.

"You're cute," the lady interrupts with a small tilt of her head, saving you from digging your own grave further.

You swallow harshly, feeling her manicured nails trace the curvature of your bicep. 

"Just cute?" you ask, trying not to sound too hopeful. Her fingers move down to the collar of your white shirt, fiddling with the fabric. Call it stupidity, but you feel the urge to reciprocate the contact. You move your hands to her hips.

The lady smirks. "Hm, maybe not just cute. But I think you need to show me." 

The redhead hasn't broken eye-contact all the while. Your eyes feel like they're burning. You slide your left hand down to the hem of her panties, and tug slightly. When her panties snap against her skin, she jolts with the impact.

You smirk with victory, pulling her in by her waist so your mouth is pressed against her skin. "I'll show you," you murmur, kissing the warm with a fervour you didn't know you possessed. 

The woman's breath hitches and she pulls your head closer. You accept the invitation, beginning to leave a hickey on the sensitive spot of her neck.

After a few moments of your concentrated work on her neck, the woman finally lets out a sigh-turned-moan of pleasure, and you nearly pass out from how sexy it is.

She tugs your head away and pulls you in by the collar for a kiss. Your eyelids flutter close.

Your quavering breaths meet in a frantic harmony, and you want to explore her mouth, but she ends it as quickly as it begins.

"What's your name?" the redhead asks, warm breath on your lips. "Y/N," you say hoarsely, trying and failing not to sound like you were left high and dry. 

You slide your hands to the bare skin of her torso, silently delighting in the way it raises goosebumps. You need to get more of her, feel more of her. "Do I get to know your name?" you ask.

The lights in the strip club suddenly dim, and the music takes on a far more sensual tone. 

The woman slides out of your grasp like sand falling through your fingertips, and you're left with the ghost of her burning embrace. Your question remains unanswered.

"Let's give it up for our next dancer," the bar owner says into his mic, and the noise dramatically fades away. "The Black Widow!"

Blue and violet lights dance in your vision as the woman who had kissed you just moments before, approaches the stage, hips swaying in time to the music. 

Your eyes narrow, and you down the bourbon in one shot. You'd need it.

When the beat drops, The Black Widow throws her head back and she begins to move.

God, it's criminally sensual, the way she danced, unlike anything you'd ever seen before. You couldn't put into words the allure she possessed.

The redheaded woman runs a hand over her own skin, dipping into every curve, as the music crescendos, and you know you're not the only patron with their heart thrumming in their chest.

When she begins twirling on the pole, you see men clearing out a month's paycheck for this divine woman, and honestly? You don't blame them.

Money gets flung onto the stage and catcalls get yelled as perhaps the most erotic scene unfolds before your very eyes.

When The Black Widow lifts up a thigh to show off her tight stockings, you're unable to hold back any longer, drawn to the stage like a moth to a flame.

Sitting back down into your original seat, leaving the empty glass of bourbon behind, all else fades away. Your world stumbles on its axis as the woman makes her way over to you, running a hand through her luscious locks of hair.

Your mouth dries up as The Black Widow turns around in front of you and fully bends over, exposing the delicious curve of her ass. You sink back into your seat, bringing two fingers to your lips in silent contemplation. Internally, you're fighting the goddamned World War II with your libido.

She's still swaying in beat to the music, and spins around as the sound of a saxophone starts playing. The last thing you see is a playful wink from the gorgeous woman before an ample asset of tits covers your vision.

Fuck, you're not going to survive.

Your nose quite literally gets buried between her tits as the woman climbs onto you. You would pay to see your co-workers' faces right now. How would you ever face them at work again?

“Get it, Y/N!” you hear Maria call in the distance, and a shrill whistle follows. 

You smirk against the pair of tits in your face, inhaling the scent of her perfume, and her sweat, and simlply her. You let the stripper work her magic.

After a few more minutes of your paradise, she pulls away, skin flushed. 

You regard her with a darkened gaze, pulling out your wallet. You stuff a bill in the side of her thong, making sure to snap the fabric in the same spot as you had previously.

The woman's face flickers in recognition. She shakes her head, then dips her head down to whisper in your ear.

"11pm. Room 8. Private session. Don't be late."

Like it was planned, the music comes to an end. The redhead doesn't wait for your response before she gets off your lap, raising her arm in acknowledgement of the roaring cheers. Her hips sway as she walks away from you, and you don’t even pretend that your eyes are glued to her curves.

Money gets thrown onto the stage once again, all in hopes of earning a fraction of what you had just experienced. 

"Holy shit, Y/N, what was that?" Carol yells at you over the noise, slapping your back. You shrug plainly with a stupid smug smirk as Valkyrie whines in jealousy. 

Oh, you were so fucking ready for 11pm.

.

"A private, fuckin' session for Deputy Inspector Y/N fucking L/N. Who would'a thought," Carol slurs, banging a shot glass onto the round table.

You roll your eyes at Carol's dramatization. It wasn't as if your status as Commanding Officer steered women away from you – in fact, some of them were quite into it.

But for your prevalently horny friends who had women over just about every week, you were considered starved of sweet pussy and were in dire need of quenching that thirst.

So when you broke the news that the most sought-after stripper in the most famous strip club in Queens, had just offered you a private session, lo and behold the chaos that ensued.

"Shit, girl, I would get down on my knees for that lady. You are one lucky bastard," Valkyrie adds in, ruffling your hair as you grumble. 

"You'd get down on your knees for any woman, actually," Maria says, the usually composed woman more laid back in the environment of the strip club. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

Valkyrie lets out an aggrieved noise, sitting up to whack Maria's arm, but in her drunken state she misses and slaps Carol's drink out of her hands. 

"Oi!" The blonde cries out indignantly, looking at the drink that had splattered onto her clothing. 

Carol grabs Maria's martini out of her hands and throws it at Valkyrie in retaliation.

Before you know it, your three idiot friends have gotten temporarily suspended from the strip club for 'causing a ruckus'.

Just like that, and the clock ticks down to eleven o’clock.

.

It’s 11pm, and you're overly aware of your police badge at your belt and your gun in your holster.

Or at least, you were, until Natasha swung one leg across your lap and sat herself down with an unspoken grace, effectively sitting on your lap. In the privacy of the enclosed room, you unashamedly stare down at her cleavage, eyes several hues darker than they were before.

“See something you like?” Natasha asks breathily, running her hands over her full breasts, pushing them up to elicit a reaction from you.

The moving lights in the dark room cast shadows, and when you back look up with a sinful smirk and half-lidded eyes, Natasha swears she feels herself get wet.

All the air in your lungs dissipates when Natasha begins grinding on your thigh in beat to the music, hips moving skilfully in the sexiest fashion imaginable. 

Fuck, this woman was going to be your demise.

Your hands feel like they’re on fire as you watch her put on a show, simply aching to move and touch. Natasha trails her fingertips down your tensed arms, running over the curve of your biceps. She smirks at the goosebumps it raises, her hands dwelling to the edge of your pants.

Your breath catches as her fingers find the outline of your police badge tucked underneath your shirt. The Black Widow looks up at you, expression a no-tell. “You on duty?”

“Nope.”

“Is that why you’ve got a gun in your belt?”

“Nah, that one’s just for pretty girls like you,” you respond slowly, hands tentatively going to rest on her thighs. When the smirk reappears on the stripper's face, you relax and let your shoulders untense.

“If you say so, officer,” she comments huskily, leaning forward to nip at your earlobe. The shiver runs through your bones. 

You’re about to counter with a quick retort of your own before Natasha begins grinding on that bulge in your pants, treating your gun like it was a strap.

“Shit,” you say breathlessly, hands burning at being unable to touch. Behind your back, your nails were digging into your palms so hard you swore you had already drawn blood.

Fuck, it was torture. 

Her pretty moans and breathy whines ring in your ears as she moves her hips roughly, a torment to your demise.

After a while, you come to the realisation that you can feel how wet Natasha is through her undergarments, soaked from having just dry-humped your thigh.

“Fuck me,” she says, and your throat dries up. “What?” you ask, dazedly, still staring at her bouncing tits in front of your face.

“I said, fuck me,” Natasha repeats, head tilting to the side, halting all her movements so you would look at her.

You splutter. “But the sign said–”

“What can I say, officer, you wanna make me break the rules.”

That’s all the confirmation you need before your hands can finally touch her, finally, meeting and warm skin and sweat droplets and everything you’d ever wanted. 

You let out a huff of amusement as Natasha wraps her pretty lips around your fingers and sucks, making lewd noises with her tongue. Your ears burn, now, having been tainted with the beautiful symphony of this woman’s pleasure.

“You’re very naughty,” you comment, your other hand slipping under her top to reach her full breasts. Palming at the mounds in your hand, you face moves to the bare skin of her collarbone and begin kissing it.

“Don’t make marks,” Natasha says breathlessly, when you let your teeth nick the soft skin there, and there’s a pit of desire in your stomach that growls in frustration, but you know you have to respect her wishes and instead move your mouth down to her chest.

Natasha doesn’t remember when you slipped off her bra, but she isn’t complaining about your haste and instead throws her head back when your mouth latches onto her breasts.

“Mhm, that feels good,” she moans, weaving her fingers through your hair and scratching at your scalp. You hum in acknowledgement against her flushed skin, your tongue paying special attention to her hardened buds.

When both your hands move to the underside of her thighs and lift her up, Natasha lets out an embarrassing squeak at the sudden change of position. But as you lay her down on the sofa with your body weight pressing into hers, those whimpers turn into filthy moans.

You stall for a moment, hovering above her with your silver necklace dangling right above her face. She looks so pretty like this, her hair all splayed out, the sheen of sweat on her skin making her look tantalizing.

Natasha catches your swinging necklace between her teeth, winking seductively at you, and you’re snapped out of your moment, a laugh taking over.

“Have I told you that you’re incredibly bad?” you say, in between kisses scattered between her breasts, down her sternum and to her stomach. 

“You- you have,” Natasha replies with some difficulty, as your kisses get lower and lower. “Maybe you should punish me for it, officer;” 

She shuts up when you slowly spread open her thighs, revealing the dripping heat that is Natasha’s cunt. You maintain eye contact with her as you lower your mouth to her pussy, her lust-filled stare making your head spin.

When your tongue meets her cunt, it was game over.

“Fuck,” Natasha moans, already unable to continue looking at you in the eye, hands moving to grip the cushion of the sofa. Her thighs clamp around your head, and you’re suffocating, but in a way that feels so good you could die in bliss.

You lap at her dripping cunt like you were starving, like you would die without it. Natasha’s moans get louder. You move your mouth in rocking motions, pushing your tongue further in with each thrust. 

“More,” she gasps out, and you quicken your pace, fingertips digging bruises into her plush thighs. In retrospect, you don’t remember how long you stay there, ravenously eating her out like your life depended on it. 

When you feel her breathing get faster and more shallow, breathy little whines that get louder and louder, and you know she’s about to cum.

Instead of gently bringing her to a high, you internally say fuck it and decide that if this was the one chance you had, with the most sought-after stripper in Queens, you were going to make it an unforgettable one.

You move your mouth up to wrap your lips around her swollen, throbbing clit, and you suck on it, hard. In tandem with that, you easily slide two fingers in, curling them inside her to hit that sweet spot. Natasha positively screams, and you swear it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Her orgasm floods the lower half of your face and your fingers, and the little mewls of your name Natasha lets out as she comes down from her high is one you’d always remember.

Finally, you emerge from between Natasha’s thighs. Slowly, you kiss up her stomach and her breasts, up the way you came down from, and you meet Natasha’s blissed out face.

You take a moment to take in her tousled hair, her swollen kissable-pink lips, her smudged makeup, her shallow gasps for air, and the pure lust in her eyes.

Just like that, and another jolt of arousal hits you. Before you can act on it, Natasha pulls you into a messy kiss, hot and sweaty.

“You look so fucking good-” Natasha says in between the frantic meeting of your mouths. “With my cum all over your jaw.” 

You bite back a growl at her words, wanting to let her know just how exactly good you can make her cum. Natasha catches your hand that slides down to her wet cunt, before bringing it up and placing a kiss on your fingertips. “Our time is up,” she whispers, nodding to the clock behind you that now reads 11.31pm. “One private session lasts 30 minutes.”

This woman was going to be the death of you.

You turn back to The Black Widow with dilated pupils, slowly reaching into your pocket for that leather Saint Laurent wallet, and the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

In the wee hours of twilight the next day, you leave the strip club with your wallet emptied, a searing cramp in your hand, and the memory of an unforgettable woman whose real name you hadn’t even known.

Boy, you had one hell of a story to tell your friends. 

i think i'm not gonna taglists anymore, sorry yall. there's just so many usernames and i have to constantly update it :(

main m.list | AO3

Yo… this was by far one of the BEST Ramonda fics I’ve ever read. And I need more. Y’all need to come get u one of these

King

queen! Ramonda x king! reader

“Your Highness-”

“King. Do not be afraid to say it.”

Warnings: ANGST, explicit language, implied homophobia, mentions of misogyny and sexism, character death, gore, mentions of blood, violence, etc, ends in fluff

Word Count: 8.5k+

Tags:

@percsanej @k3nn3dyxo @doms-fav @sweetalittleselfish-honeyy @g4yforu @widowmakker @becauseimswagman11 @zayswriting @inmyheadimobsessed @malltake12 @msudaku @faeriah-thvv @mbakuetshurisprincess @honey-teaaaaaaaaa @pinkcorns @takeyakii @yamsthoughtss @thethickersidee @shurisbathwaterr @shurismainbxtch @justariellovee @blackgirlfariyy @chocoflagcutiii @taiiunknownn @zhanylai @ziayamikaelson  @beautybyfire @pinkwrightt @jenlouvre @letitiasleftfoot @6-noir @kya-rosee @saintwrld @ilikegecos @shurismainbxtch @motheroffae @marsolgy @verachiii @shuriszn @playgurlxoxo @ashleighshaw @te-23 @iminlovewithdomandtish @limbozqueen @letitiamyevangeline @youralphawolf72 @biganimeweeb246 @vampzxi

Requested by: @mysteryofthe90s

A/N: Takes place in an AU where Ramonda marries reader instead of T'Chaka. Reader is of a royal bloodline and Wakanda is far less progressive than we see in our movies.

The request was literally just "reader gets kidnapped and Ramonda goes to any lengths to get her back", but of course I had to take that and run with it, but yall, I'm sooo freaking proud of this one and of the work I've been putting out recently. I hope you guys enjoy!

No greater love story exists than that of Wakanda’s rulers. 

King and Queen.

Bound together since childhood, she didn’t make a move without your hand intertwined with hers. 

She had a calculating young mind, moving about life like a chess piece in a game she was never to lose. 

Truly, Wakanda had no greater ruler than your queen. All the kingdom’s operations, all its policies were in her hands. Behind the scenes, nothing moved unless she did, not even you.

Her bronze eyes fluttered back and forth with apparent boredom. What others thought was her simply blending into the background, you recognized as profound observation. She stood, soaking in the fast-paced words of the elders far quicker than you could have imagined. 

Game plans came to play right before her with everything they tried to throw at you. 

This meeting was truly pointless, and it only called for you, but today was special, and you weren’t about to leave her out of any of the day’s events.

The elders were strategic. One fuck up on your behalf, that’s all it would take for the unforgiving geriatrics. 

“What do you foresee you are to do if the country is unsatisfied with a female as their sole protector?”

She saw the way your brows furrowed at the question. The corners of your mouth barely moved south, just a millimeter or two. You were growing frustrated with the hypotheticals. They’d been throwing them at you for over an hour now and it was taking the patience of a God to keep you respectful. 

You hadn’t ingested the heart-shaped herb yet, and you were sure telepathy wasn’t a power it would bestow on you, though you would see no use for it. King and Queen have been together so long, you’d become one- mind, soul, and body. 

Your pitch-black irises sparkled with fury, settling on her much softer ones. Her brown beauties extinguished the fire within you, even if only for a moment.

Words didn’t even need to be exchanged. You could hear her voice in your head loud and clear, though her lips remained sealed. “Control.”

Control yourself. Walk with grace. Handle your shit. 

The mantra flowed so smoothly through your mind. It was comical, how tired you’d grown of hearing it. She’d been repeating the same words, over and over and over again since you were adolescents. She found no other way to control your temper than that statement, so simple, yet so effective. 

“I do not believe my father left his throne for his daughter to be disrespected on, hm?”

Your distinguished voice led the elders to drop theirs to a mumble. What should have been complete silence at their King speaking were whispers instead. 

“Should’ve been a son-”

You couldn’t pinpoint who had said it. A disadvantage of not yet having the panther-like hearing. 

“And yet, it wasn’t; perks of being an only child. My father was proud to have a daughter, Elder. He brought me up as an heir, so that I may one day take over the mantle, both as king and as Black Panther, so with all due respect, hold your tongue.”

The smile may not have played across her face, but it danced behind her eyes. Your queen was proud; you so often attempted to ignore her when she vocalized what you did not want to hear, but clearly, you’d been listening. You spoke in such a way, the older aged Wakandans winced as though they’d been burned. 

“Your majesty, tradition states that you were to marry and-”

You did marry. She was right there in the room with you with the title of ‘Queen’ having been bestowed upon her for quite some time now.

“I did marry.”

And that was her cue.

With her head held high, the queen made her way across the board, past the onlooking pawns, through the bishops and rooks, not a knight in sight, straight to her place beside her King. 

What a handsome couple the two of you were. Her white dress contrasted deeply with your dark suit, creating a beautiful eyesore. Night and day, black and white, a menacing pair.

Though her head was absent of its crown, she stood beside you poised perfectly as though a line of string ran from her spine to the ceiling, holding it in the straightest of lines. 

“We mean no disrespect to the queen, however-”

They always mean disrespect, regardless of what they said. 

“Then I suggest you quit talking before I get disrespectful.” These closed-minded seniors could get your blood boiling like no other. Your voice wavered with anger, though your Queen’s steady words rang in your ears. “Control, my King.”

A deep breath was all it took for you to continue. “Our country is far more advanced than the small-minded council that attempts to run it. They reacted with enthusiasm when I took the throne after my father’s passing. They welcomed my Queen with open arms. I do not foresee them having a problem with my taking of the Black Panther mantle, just as my father did before me, and his father before him.”

Her hand rested on your shoulder before you could continue. To outside eyes, it was an empty gesture; to you, a hidden “well done.”

“Your Highness-”

“King. Do not be afraid to say it.”

Their hesitation proved that they were indeed, afraid to say it. The council continued to speak, your title not daring to utter from their lips. 

“What are you to do if they are not as welcoming to a female protector as they were to a woman King?”

All heads swiveled when it was not you to answer, but instead your Queen. “Do you see any reason why they would have a problem with it?”

What a funny sight, the view before you. Five ancient leaders, all mouths gaping like fish out of water. 

“Ramonda, the question was directed to the throne holder-”

Rage fueled you to your feet. “You dare speak her name, yet refuse to utter mine?”

Their cowardly forms sat silenced. Ramonda stood behind you, unfazed by your outburst, still standing straight and proud. 

“We are through here. Meeting adjourned.”

Hands intertwined as they always were, you and your Queen made for the door. You were through with this damn council, with these damn elders. How your father put up with it for so long, you had no idea. No wonder he’d rather the ancestors than this-

“Your Majesty, uh, King-” The word was spit from their lips like it hurt. “What are you to do if someone were to challenge you for the title?”

Truth be told, this question sounded more like a threat than a hypothetical. Your steps froze in place, your Queen standing just before you. “I shall fight for my title, council.”

They could hear your footsteps retreating from the room with an echo that could surely be heard across the country.

The giggle she let escape as soon as the throne room doors were closed was far too loud. The queen’s lips were pinned to your cheeks, pecking at your nose, your lips, your forehead.

It broke your hardened exterior, planting a too-wide grin across your cheeks. “Did I handle my shit, my love?”

“Yes, ukumkani wam (my King), you handled your shit.”

The waters rushing your feet were a good distraction from the loud chanting that came from the crowd of onlookers surrounding you. 

She stood at the front of it, baring a corset far too tight and a face of armor, both of which she’d expressed her hatred for. 

“Will this be long, sithandwa sam? This corset is very uncomfortable, and I’d like to get it off-”

“So long as nobody has the sense to challenge me, my love, this won’t be long, no. Then I can peel that corset off of you myself.”

You hadn't needed to see her cheeks redden to know your words caused her to blush. Even now, though she stood quite a bit away, you knew they burned with the wideness of her smile. 

The rocks beneath you were slick and admittedly hard to walk on. You truly prayed that this would be an unnecessary occasion, one that would go by uneventfully. 

The chanting ceases, producing an eerie silence. Zuri’s voice was booming, his royal purple robes being soaked at the hem due to the rushing waters. You stood, tall and ready, spear in one hand, shield in the other, with lightweight clothing adorning your figure. 

“Victory, in ritual combat, comes by yield, or death! If any tribe wishes to put forth a warrior, I now offer a path to the throne.”

“Yuh!” It was loud and resounding, coming from your furthest left. The members of the tribe ingested the call and threw it back into the crowd. “The Merchant Tribe will not challenge today.”

“Haye! The Border Tribe will not challenge today.”

“Ibombe! The River Tribe will not challenge today!”

Three tribes refused to challenge. Perhaps this would be easy after all.

“Aye! The Mining Tribe will not challenge today!”

Four down- one to go. 

“Mayafa!” His tribe doesn’t take the liberty of repeating him as the other tribes did. A silence passes over all Wakandans present. Your Queen is doing what she does best- observing. 

You can feel the uneasiness present in her bones as your eyes never leave the Jabari warrior. 

“Zakar, what are you doing?” Zuri’s usually thunderous voice is brought down to a whisper. He can’t hide the shock that rings in his words. 

“It is Challenge Day; and I, Zakar of the Jabari Tribe, wish to challenge for the throne.”

Gasps and murmurs sprinkle across the crowd. Between your pulled-together brows are anger and surprise as well. Even your calculating Queen seems thrown off. 

Zakar was nothing more than a muscle man with an ape-like brain to match his ape-like proportions. 

If it was a challenge he wanted, a challenge he would get. 

All eyes were on you as you stepped toward the brute. Shoulders squared and chest out, you stood as your father taught you to. “I accept.”

“My King-”

Bast-bless Zuri. His worry for you was not very well hidden beneath his aging features. He’d surely watched your father through his own Challenge Day, standing amongst him as a friend more than a mentor and it would be your will that he stand beside your own son or daughter for theirs as well.

“It is okay, Zuri.” His hands squeezed yours with a passing gesture as you stepped toward your newfound enemy. 

Nose-to-nose and eye-to-eye; Zakar showed no signs of intimidation. His breath was hot, his nostrils flared, and a disgusting grin plastered across his face. “Well, Princess?”

“King,” you corrected. “I am your King. And I accept.”

Ramonda’s breath caught in her throat. 

His facial armor was replaced and a weapon identical to yours was thrown into his hands. 

Your eyes wandered to his primate-like shape. He and you would have surely trained in different weight classes. His reach was much larger than yours and it would take quite a few hits to get him down. You didn’t want to have to impale him to get him to yield. 

You were sure, though, that he would not show you the same mercy. That spear of his weapon would pierce your flesh with no mercy and you’d be damned if you were to die in front of your Queen in such a brutal way. 

Someone grabbed her hand, but she wasn’t sure who. Everything around her went blurry, fading into a mess of colors. Ramonda’s only focus was you. 

How dare you accept such a challenge? The two of you hadn’t spoken of you fighting today and for you to just go and accept it- You were going to die. Zakar wouldn’t hold back; the larger man’s strength was what yours wished to be. He was going to kill you, for sure. 

How dare you take the chance to drop dead in front of your Queen?

The Dora Milaje and Jabari Warriors barely had time to take their stances before the blunt end of Zakar’s spear came swinging toward you. 

The ugliest sound echoed through the waterfall as your shield just barely saved your fate. His quick actions confirmed what you already knew- He would not be playing fair. 

Ramonda could feel every muscle in her body tense. She so badly wanted to jump in, to help you, save you, fight with you. You more often than not trained together; she was just as skilled as you were. 

And had it not been for the strange hand squeezing hers, she probably would have. 

Every swing, every jab, she followed. She waited, breathing ceased, for you to take the upper hand. His spear swung hard to your left, so you dodged right. He came at you with his shield, so you retreated. You couldn’t even pick up your own weapon, too busy escaping his. 

The edge of the waterfall grew closer and closer. The rocks beneath you held no grip and exhaustion filled your lungs. 

Zakar’s patience was dwindling. “Stop running, Princess.” 

Princess. That’s all you would be to them. A princess beneath her father, the true king. A princess who was handed the title and did not earn it. You were still that little girl adorned with bows and lace, and not Wakanda’s king who would bear the crown proudly. 

The elders saw it, Zakar and the Jabari saw it, hell you wondered if your people saw it as well. You didn’t have time to meet your Queen’s gaze, though you could feel it stuck on you. She was watching; she was always watching. 

Ramonda was watching, counting on you, rooting for you. She saw you as Princess and now she sees you as King. 

The flesh on your arm burned as Zakar’s spear sliced it open. The ivory color of your bone peeked through. It was the arm that gripped your weapon and it nearly buckled out of your hand. The breath was knocked straight out of your lungs when he followed up with a fist to your gut. Your scream pierced the air, fueling Ramonda’s body forward as yours fell to its knees. Several hands attached to several invisible bodies held her back, though they could not hold her tongue. “Sithandwa sam! Sithandwa sam-”

“I will give you a moment before I finish you, princess. Address your wife.”

Your eyes fluttered upward, vision blurry and hazed as it rested upon your Queen. “M-Mondie-”

Her loose curls bounced to and fro. No nicknames, no affection. Maybe later, but not now. 

“Zilawule, sithandwa sam!”

Control yourself, my love. 

Your gaze bore into her distressed features. Your lids were heavy and your arm hurt like hell, as did your ribs. 

“Hamba ngobabalo!”

Walk with grace.

Your head fell, eyes filling with tears that fell into the waters beneath you. 

“Ndijonge (Look at me) Y/n!”

“Ndijonge, sithandwa sam,” she begged, much softer. 

Your gaze was drawn away from the rushing waters and back onto your wife. 

“Phatha ikaka yakho.”

Handle your shit.

“I am your Queen, my love! That is an order.”

Every damn thing hurt when your injured arm moved to pierce the rocks under you. Your legs were shaky, barely able to hold your weight.

Zakar’s chuckle was booming. “You attempt to get up, girl? Fine, then. I’ll just knock you right back down.”

“Remind me to have you banished for the way you speak to your King, Zakar.”

“Banishment will not be possible when you are with the ancestors. Just ask your father-” 

Had he said it loud enough for everyone to hear, they’d surely react the same way you had. 

The roar that came from you was ugly, followed by the crumbling sound of Zakar’s mask as your spear came in contact with it. Your backhand swing had been too quick for him to foresee and the clay mask shielding his face broke into many pieces as it fell into the water. 

The headache that would plague him tonight would be one from hell. Your foot came in contact with his chest, barely knocking him back with the first kick, but succeeding on the second one. Thank Bast for the slippery rocks that you stood on; there was no way you’d have been able to get him down otherwise. 

His large body hit the ground hard and you could see the anger flickering behind his eyes. The blunt end of your spear almost broke with the force you used to shove it into his shoulder. You were prepared to pop the bone right out of its joint.

“Yield, Zakar.”

He stayed silent, stare never leaving you. Your weapon dug further into his aching body.

“Yield. I can not let you up unless you do, because I am certain you will not let me live, and if that is the case-”

Your spear flips, drawing the sharp end into his flesh instead. “If that is the case, Zakar, then I can not let you live.”

It feels as though the entire kingdom of Wakanda is holding its breath. Slowly, the sharp weapon sunk further and further, disappearing within his tissue. His face was contorted with pain, teeth-baring a grimace. “Yield, Zakar, before you bleed out!”

His eyes were animalistic, his voice low enough so only you could hear. “Is that not what you want?”

Zakar gave you no chance to answer. “I yield.”

In unison, everyone in the crowd breathed a sigh of relief. You felt a weight lift from your shoulders and nodded a ‘thank you’ to the warrior on the ground. “Take a deep breath.”

He did and in that same breath, remained silent as you pulled the spear from his shoulder. Zuri rushed over as the Jabari tribe picked their leader up from the ground. 

The pendant that your father wore on his challenge day, and his father before him was heavy, adorned with panther teeth as it hung around your neck. Your right hand was lifted into the air, fist up as Zuri’s deep voice declared “Y/N Y/L/N, King of Wakanda, and the Black Panther!”

Louder than any other screams and cheers was Ramonda, leading the chant, fist-pumping into the air. 

The chambers that held the heart-shaped herb were way too hot and way too dark. You wanted nothing more than to be in the presence of your Queen, your Mondie, promising that she’d be awaiting your return from the ancestral planes. 

You couldn’t ignore the impending feeling of doom as you lay down, arms crossed over your chest in a salute. The herbal drink had been prepared and it was your move as to what happened next. Zuri stood above you, placing the bowl to your lips as he spoke. 

“Allow the heart-shaped herb to bestow the powers of The Black Panther and take you to the ancestral plane.” The drink was bitter and burned like liquor as you swallowed. Convulsions wrecked your body as your system digested it.

“Azzuri, we call on you. Come here, to your daughter.”

The sand. That was the part you dreaded the most. It began to cover your body and you inhaled deep, thankful to breathe while you still could. Everything became muffled when the first grains hit your face. 

“Praise the ancestors,” Zuri’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

Everything was dark.

The gasp that came from you was desperate, as though you’d been drowning. Dirt surrounded you, and you willed your eyes to adjust to the low light. 

The garden you sat in was familiar. You hadn’t been in it in quite a while, but you’d never forgotten its layout. You stood, allowing the white garment you were clothed in to flow around you. 

It was instinctual, the way your feet led you to a bench in the far corner, concealed with desert roses and blue lilies. It wasn’t a surprise to see your usual place already occupied.

The gentleman wasn’t as old as he should have been to leave this life. He was dressed in white clothes of his own with a gentle smile greeting you as you approached.

“Baba-” You sat next to him, in disbelief that you could see him again, so alive, though he wasn’t.

“Uyenzile (You did it), intombazana yakho (my daughter).”

Your smile was bright, though your eyes were dull with the tears that threatened to spill. “I did it, Baba.”

“You are King.”

“I am King.” It hurt to get the words out. It was the only time you’d said it and truly fucking meant it. 

His shoulder pushed into yours, joy prevalent in his features. “Who did you have to fight, hmm? Who dared challenge the daughter of Azzuri?”

“Nobody at first. Then the Jabari made their entrance-”

Just as quickly as it came, his smile was gone. “The Jabari? Zakar?”

Your head bobbed. “Zakar.”

“Are you- were you hurt?”

You couldn’t look at him and tell him you’d gotten injured. You attempted to pivot the conversation instead. “I did it, baba.”

He wasn’t swayed. Your father was too smart a man. “Be careful, y/n/n.”

“Be careful? Of what? I won. I am King, I am The Black Panther; he can not challenge me again.”

His head hung, shaking slowly. “Tradition says he can not challenge you again.”

“As it says, then it shall be!”

“Ukususela nini, intomba (Since when, daughter)?”

Your silence failed to satisfy him. 

“Tradition says that when your mother and I had you, we were to conceive again, for a son, an heir.”

You didn’t want to hear him.

“Tradition says that when I died, you were to marry a man, and he was to be king.”

You didn’t want to listen.

“Tradition says that he- your husband- was to be the Black Panther.”

He knelt in front of you, grasping your hands in his own and squeezing tight. His hold on you caught you both off guard; neither of you could have fathomed a second chance at a moment like this. 

“You have broken tradition since you came out of the womb, y/n, my girl. And I am so proud of you for it. Wakanda needed to progress, and you-” His hand released yours, gently holding your cheek instead. “You are exactly what this country needs.”

Tears fall down your cheeks at your father’s hold. You embraced it, knowing that after this, you’d never feel it again. “Am I truly meant to be King, baba?”

“Have I not raised you so?”

Your bottom lip curled back into your mouth and your head nodded ever so slightly. “But heed my warning, my girl. Zakar will not take lightly being bested in front of the country, especially not by a woman. Especially not by my daughter.”

Your brows pulled together into a focused furrow. “I’ll be careful.”

His lips press to your forehead gently. “I know you will do wonderful things. You were born to do wonderful things.”

He stood and began to retreat. You panicked when his hand left yours, not ready to say goodbye again. “W-wait, Baba. Don’t go-”

“Eh? Y/n, what have I taught you?”

“Y-you said you’d never leave me, but-”

“And have I?”

Your hands outstretched to beckon the unfamiliar world around you. “What would you call this, Baba?”

His steps grew closer to you and his fingers lightly pierced your chest. “I have not left you. I am here.” His hands moved to your temple. “And here.” They moved once more to cup your face. “And here. You look just like me, you know.”

“Now go. Rule your kingdom.”

“Baba,” You hated the way your voice sounded, so whiny and helpless. “Ndiyakuthandana (I love you).”

He was fading away fast and you could feel yourself being pulled back to reality. His words were so faint, you thought you’d imagined hearing it. “Ndiyakuthandana, my girl.”

Zuri’s face was filled with worry when you shot up from beneath the sand, gasping in the dusty air that surrounded you. “Are you alright?”

You accepted the hand he was offering you, using it to stand. “Never bury me alive again.”

Night fall crept on the Wakandan horizon and Ramonda’s usually still mind was flooding with unease. The hem of her skirt swept the palace floors as she wandered aimlessly. 

It was such a large space for just the two of you and without you there, it was so quiet. Dora stood at every outbound door and while they shared her polite smiles, they didn’t speak. 

It had been hours since Zuri swept you away for the ancestral planes and while Ramonda was uncertain how long the private ceremony would take, something didn’t feel right about the seven hours you’d been gone. 

She was an hour into her mindless stroll down the same halls of the royal residence before it was abruptly interrupted. 

“My Queen, are you alright?”

Had they not spoken, Ramonda would have run them over. She blinked slowly, taking in the figure before her. She hated to admit she recognized neither the face nor the voice, yet she did recognize the armor; red and gold with beautiful neckplates and shoulder pads to match.

“General- I apologize, I didn’t see you there-” Her words are steady through the nerves that shake her being. 

“It’s alright. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you alright, your Majesty?”

Hesitation almost silenced the Queen. How would it appear that she be so disheveled and muddled?

But she needed help. There were many royal customs that were foreign to her and she had no way to navigate them. 

“General, has my wife returned from the ancestral planes yet?”

The worry Ramonda tried so hard to shove down resurfaced when the General’s face contorted to a look of confusion. “She left the planes hours ago. She was making her way back toward the palace last I saw of her.”

Ramonda’s legs almost gave out underneath her, but the composure she held was truly that of a Queen. “S-she left-”

“Has she not returned, your Majesty?”

Ramonda’s head just swayed back and forth.

The General was quick to turn on her heel with a brisk walk that the Queen struggled to keep up with.

“Qokelela (Gather)!” 

A sea of red poured into the halls, all heading toward the throne room. Dora Milaje, all with their spears drawn and their steps nimble. They were surprised to see the white crown among the swarm of bobbing bald heads. 

The throne room scarcely seemed large enough for the bodies that rapidly filled it. In the forefront stood the General and their Queen, heads held high through the dread that sank to the pit of their stomachs like cement. 

The Dora General was silent, awaiting Ramond’s orders. All eyes were on her and it was a feeling she was unsure she’d ever get used to. 

A deep breath steadied the rapid drumming of her heartbeat. Control yourself.

“General, around what time did you see my wife returning home?”

“1300 hours, your Majesty.”

“It’s going on 2200 hours now, ladies. I’m hoping this is just an overreaction, but really, I’m not sure. Go to the grounds, the tribes, the herbal garden, search even the castle. Bring my King home, please.” Walk with grace.

With a harsh tap of their spears on the stone floor, the room empties just as quickly as it filled. Only the General and the Queen remain and Ramonda feels the deep breath she was holding finally release. 

“Your Majesty-”

Many coily curls frame the young royal’s face and they bounce when her head shaked to and fro. “I will have to grow used to being called that as well, hm?”

“I believe so.”

“You won’t just call me Ramonda if I asked you to, will you?”

The smile that plays on the General’s face is sympathetic and she can see the idea form in the Queen’s mind before she even says it. 

“General, I am just Ramonda. Call me Ramonda.”

Pearly white teeth shine behind her dark smile. “Queen Ramonda, I am Esi. Call me Esi.”

“Esi, are you the first friend I have made here?”

“If so, then I am honored to be.” With a bow of her head, she begins to walk off, but not before Ramonda calls her back.

“Esi, bring me Zuri, please. And keep me updated. Once I have finished speaking with him, I will be joining you and your army in the search.”

“We’ve got the search covered-”

“I have no doubt that you do. However, I will be joining you regardless. I’m bringing my wife home.”

Zuri hadn’t expected to be awoken in the dead of the night, nor was he expecting the Queen of Wakanda to be awaiting his arrival.

“Your Majesty,” both of her hands fit in his like a glove and his tight squeeze is full of compassion. “What is the matter?”

Ramonda doesn't appear to be a spouse in distress. Every feeling of fear, or doubt or dread was unreadable on her features. “Zuri, my friend. Where is my wife?”

“Y/n? Is she not here?”

“She is not. She never returned from the herbal gardens-”

The older gentleman’s head shakes in disbelief. “She did. She had to have returned; where else could she be?”

“That is what I am trying to find out.”

A beat of silence passes between the two, unspoken thoughts swarming their minds. 

“Zuri-” The Queen hesitates, knowing that what she is about to ask is such a personal question. “Do you know who she saw? When she went to the ancestral planes?”

His nod is slow and sad. He can never hide how much he misses his old friend and Ramonda knows the answer before he even speaks it. “Baba?”

“Azzuri, yes.”

“Was it- Did she say anything about it? Did anything happen that would cause her to run away for any reason?”

“Not that she mentioned. You know how that girl was with her father; I can not foresee it having been a bad encounter.”

Ramonda is silent. It was a stretch that you would have willingly not return to her, but your genius Queen had to dot all her I’s and cross all her T’s.

“She did repeat something he told her-”

Ramonda was all ears, focused in on every word Zuri spoke. “What did she say?”

“He told her to watch her back. That Zakar wouldn’t take too lightly to having been defeated by her.”

An insincere chuckle left Ramonda’s lips. It was an ugly sound as anger flooded her body. The corner of her lips curled into a grisly pucker and Zuri scanned her face, interpreting her reaction.

“You suspected Zakar, didn’t you?”

“I did, however, as Queen, I can not go throwing around false accusations.”

“Is it a false accusation if you know it to be true?”

A sad smile looks so out of place on Ramonda’s mouth. 

“Zuri, you know how this works even better than I. I have no proof to accuse Zakar and I can not start a civil war with the Jabari that she will have to clean up when she returns.”

“If she stays in the hands of Zakar, that when will become an if.”

The cloak covering the Queen’s shoulders floats to the floor with a slight shrug. The crown atop her head is removed and underneath, her bountiful curls are braided tightly against her scalp. She’s stood aside long enough, talked long enough. Thoughts of bringing you home were all that played through her mind and the mountainside home of the Jabari tribe was her destination.

“I will not let that when become an if, old friend.”

Handle your shit.

She’d never stepped foot in the land of the Jabari before and was illprepared for the snow that coated the ground and the below zero temperatures. She realized it foolish to have come alone, and had she been in her right headspace, she would have realized it sooner. 

Eyes of the Jabari watched her from every direction and the entrance to a cave drew closer and closer. It was guarded well, by bulky men whose faces were concealed by gorilla masks. The opening of the cavern was blocked off as she approached.

“I need to see Zakar.” Though her body shivered from the cold temperatures, her voice remained steady and firm. The men didn’t budge. 

“Zakar is not taking any visitors. He is healing.”

Had smoke been able to come out of her ears in a cartoonish fashion, Ramonda was sure it would have. Her composure did not sway, nor did her expression change. “I need to see Zakar.”

One of the men bent to the Queen’s height, meeting her eye-to-eye. Her knees didn’t buckle and her gaze didn’t dare look away. “What did I just tell you?”

Ramonda’s set to respond, hell, she’s set to exile the whole damn tribe. A faceless voice breaks the tension between the two; the voice she’s there to see. 

“Let her in.”

It would have been a childish thing had she stuck her tongue out at the bruly warrior as he stepped aside to let her in, so she refrained. Instead, she walked through the wall of broad men, straight to the wide throne that held their awful leader. 

His thick brows were deep set on his eyes, weighing heavy on his face and his left arm and midsection sported a collection of white bandages. 

He didn’t look thrilled to see her and she mirrored the feeling. “My Queen,” 

How disgusting it sounded coming from his mouth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Your calculating Queen stood silent for a moment, scanning the room around her. It was cold, so fucking cold, with icy stares to match. Every corner held a warrior, equipt with armor and weapons. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was the norm or if it was only due to her company.

“Zakar-” She hated how his name tasted, rolling across her tongue. “I think thanks are in order.”

“For what?”

“For giving us quite the eventful day. My wife couldn’t just take the throne that was rightfully hers and go about her way, hm? You had to step in and give us a challenge.”

“You are thanking me for getting my ass beat in front of the entire kingdom? And by a princess?”

Ramonda’s jaw was hardset and it took every ounce of control within her body to respond respectfully. “King. Your King.”

When Zakar stood, Ramonda couldn’t help the slight intimidation she felt at the way he towered over her. Her body took a step back without her permission and she cursed herself for it. 

“My king would have balls, your majesty-”

“It is common to want in a leader what we cannot have ourselves-”

Zakar laughed at her rebuttal and it angered the Queen. He continued as though she hadn’t even spoken. “You see me as the villain in your little happily ever after, but that is not the case. It is the other way around, honestly. You and your wife come in and shake up tradition, age old tradition. Excuse me for trying to put things back the way they should be.”

“Who is to say that is the right way and my way is wrong?”

Hmm, Zakar’s deep voice rumbles the entire cave. “Why have you come here, your Majesty?”

“I have reason to believe you have something that belongs to me.”

“Are you accusing me of thievery?” At his words, the Jabari soldiers in the room draw their weapons across their chests, armed and ready.

Your wife is quiet, choosing her next words carefully. Before she can get them off her tongue, Zakar speaks once more. “Let’s say I do have something of yours; I suggest you act tactically. You want this thing back in the same condition that I received it, do you not?”

That’s all she needed. That was enough proof, hell, it was a whole fucking confession. 

Ramonda stepped toward the gorilla-like man, not caring of the weapons that were pointed at her. 

“Unlike my wife, Zakar, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Her words were so low, the brutish man barely even caught them. His eyes were dark and angry when the Queen pulled away and began to retreat further into the snow, toward the cave entrance once more. 

“Leaving so soon, your Majesty?”

Ramonda’s middle finger was pointed to the sky, directed straight to the Jabari leader as her back stayed turned to him.

“Ramonda!”

The sound of her name bouncing off the stone palace walls caught her off guard. She hadn’t heard it be called in such a way since childhood. 

Her entire body swiveled to see Esi running straight toward her, anger dancing across her features.

“You’ve finally referred to me by my name-”

“You went to the Jabari tribe, alone?”

Ramonda winced at the General’s tone of voice. Her scolding was loud enough for outside listeners to pick up. “I did-”

“What were you thinking? They could have killed you-”

“They have her, Esi.”

Esi’s sigh was annoyed, her eye roll expectant. “Yes, your Majesty, we know that.”

The Queen didn’t have time to focus on the formal terms she and the General seemed to be back on. “You know?”

“We know. We have dozens of Dora surrounding their borders as we speak. We’re trying to find an in without jeapordizing her safety. We still do not know where in the land they are keeping her, though we assume its close to Zakar so that he may keep tabs-”

“Let me take lead on this-”

It would not have been possible for Esi to control the surprise that overtook her at the Queen’s declaration. “Let you what? No! Absolutely not-”

“She’s my wife, Esi-”

“And she is our King-”

“She’s my wife! Damned with your king, she is my wife, and I need her home.”

Ramonda was becoming emotional. The day’s events were catching up with her, as was the reality that you were laying cold somewhere in his midst, hurt or worse.

“Ramonda,” Esi’s voice was soft, her gentle hands grazing the Queen’s forearms. “We are trained for this; willing to die for this. We can not let you-”

“Esi, I hope you can still consider us friends after this.”

“After what-?”

“I am stripping you of your title as General. Step down. That is a direct order-”

“Ramonda-!”

“I am appointing myself General and-”

Tears swam behind Esi’s lids. “Your Majesty-”

Ramonda grabbed Esi’s hands and held them. She needed a deep breath to continue, fighting back tears of her own. “I will reinstate you, my friend. I am sorry, but I-” Her voice broke, and with the grace of a true Queen, she continued. “I must bring my wife home.”

The Dora Milaje stood in salute, awaiting instructions from their new General. Ramonda stood before them, silent with Esi on her right, face set hard with an emotion impossible to read. 

“The Jabari have Y/n.” This wasn’t new information to anyone in the room; they didn’t stir. Ramonda continued.

“We’re bringing her home, by any means necessary. We have suspicions she is being kept either in or just outside Zakar’s throne room. It is a cave covered in snow and ice and flooded with Jabari warriors who are just as willing to die for this as we are.”

Her eyes searched through the crowd. Staring back at her were various hues of brown, all armed, all ready. 

“We’ve already got the border surrounded; they know we’re coming and what we’re coming for. Get her out, alive.” The stress she put on that last word didn’t do justice for how much she meant it. Alive was the only option.

“Get me as close to Zakar as you can. I do not care if he gets out of this alive or dead; I will distract the ape man while you locate and retrieve the king. Understood?”

“My Queen,” Esi’s voice is quiet and still holds the authority it did before her title was stripped from her. “Aren’t we to get you out alive as well?”

The words were hard to get out, but Ramonda knew she meant them. “Get her out, alive,” she repeated. “If the King has been located and retrieved, then retreat.”

“Your Majesty-”

Ramonda’s clenched teeth were bared, displaying the force it took for her to echo herself. “Retreat.”

Nobody dared question her again and with a quick nod and cross of her arms, the Queen was satisfied. “Masihambe (Let’s go).”

It seemed as though the mountainside had grown colder since Ramonda was last there just hours ago. The Dora Milaje marched in step behind her, Esi at her side. The cave entrance was just before them, and it was blocked off completely. Jabari men and women stood, shutting off the cavern to the outside world and they didn’t budge when Ramonda approached. 

Nobody spoke, not a single word uttered. Their curved staff mirrored that of their leaders and they seemed angsty, ready for a good fight. 

“Shukuma (Move).” Ramonda’s voice was loud and declarative and still, they stayed. 

A voice even louder boomed over the brigade of bodies. “Let the woman through.”

Zakar’s men move at his command, but not before one of them tries to be ballsy. His staff swings for Ramonda’s head, just missing clipping her scalp before his weapon falls to the ground with a clank. The Queen turns just in time to see the spear of a young Dora fly through his thigh.

She can’t hold back her gasp when the large body drops to the ground, crying out in pain. Everyone is frozen, awaiting the move of another. The Jabari warriors let the weight of what just happened sit on their shoulders for a moment before preparing to attack. Another readies his staff to swing, preparing to rip the girl’s head straight off her body, but Zakar’s words keep him in place.

“Yibambe simile (Hold off).”

His men recollect themselves, reestablishing their blockage of entry to the cave. 

“Yiza,” His command is directed at Ramonda now, and she continues her trek to his throne. 

“Your Majesty, I was trying very hard to be nice. But you align your army at my borders, push your way into my home, and injur one of my men.” He rises from the wooden seat, staff ready in his uninjured hand. “I do not take very kindly to that.”

Ramonda doesn’t speak. Her eyes are on his movements, his actions. He’s slower to move on his injured side, which makes sense. It’s the side you impaled and he hadn’t allowed himself enough time to heal before starting shit with your kingdom. 

His right side, however, is much stronger; she has to guess it’s his dominant side. And though he may be damaged on the left, he had a room full of people to make up for his handicap. 

Realistically, it’s too many people. She’s unsure if the large army is due to the impending threat looming over everyone present, but it still wouldn’t make sense. They’re all huddled around his throne, not spread about where they could be more useful.

She takes a closer look at the large seat that Zakar refused to leave unattended. It was wide and tall, which wasn’t unusual, because of his size and stature. But why leave a wooden chair guarded?

Your Queen truly was a genius. It didn’t take her long to figure it out and when she did, it took everything she had to remain expressionless. 

“I do not take very kindly to kidnapping, Zakar.”

“There you go, making empty accusations again-”

The spear in Ramonda’s hand is itching to take out the gorilla man’s other shoulder. “I am not willing to play mind games with you, indoda embi (ugly man). Is this really something you wish to do? Cut the Jabari off from Wakandan resources and protection? Risk the greatest country in the world turning against you?”

“What good is the greatest country in the world if it is run by imbecils whom are incapable of-”

“What makes me incapable? What makes my wife incapable?”

The brute man is silenced.

“You and the elders of this country are so focused on what we have between our legs, more so than the minds we have. We have shown you no reason to doubt us, and yet you do because we are women? I thought we were supposed to be more progressive as a nation than that.”

Zakar is flustered, unable to find the right words and vocalize them.

“Tradition states-”

“To hell with tradition!”

“That is your problem, your Majesty-”

“Thula (Be quiet), Zakar.”

Silence once again. Zakar is frozen in place as Ramonda takes timid steps toward him and his throne. 

“To hell with your misogynistic, sexist, homophobic traditions. This is my kingdom now.”

She gets closer, ignoring the staffs drawn and pointing at her from every direction. 

“This is our kingdom now.”

The sharp end of her spear is pointed to the wooden throne. Ramonda has no doubt that the thick wood will give way with a stab or two of her vibranium weapon, but she’s worried. She doesn’t know how far underneath the piece you are and she doesn’t want to risk stabbing you. 

It’s a chance she’s going to have to take.

“This is our kingdom now!”

The first hit cracks the wood and debris fly back at her. The Jabari warriors surrounding the piece prepare themselves to swing at the Queen, but their hesitation is their downfall. The Dora outnumber them by hundreds and it only takes a second for their staffs to be pressed against their windpipes, holding them in place and out of Ramonda’s way. 

“This is our kingdom now, and we shall make new traditions!”

The second swing of the sharp object shatters the wood and splinters take the air. Zakar wasn’t expecting the throne to breakaway. His thick staff coming in contact with your Queen’s thigh release the gut-wrenching sound of bones crunching. 

Just as quick as he was able to get his hands on her, they hit the flood with a disgusting squelch. The bright crimson of his blood shines on the fresh white snow and his scream causes the entire cave to shake on its foundation. 

Where his hands once were are gorey blood and flesh. Esi’s spear is covered in the same blood that spurts from his body. 

You’re curled up in a hole underneath the space where Zakar’s throne once sat. Ramonda’s heart breaks to see you in the fetal position, unconscious and unresponsive. 

Her breath catches in her chest as she watches, waiting for yours to rise and fall. It does, but it’s so slow, that she worries it won’t continue for long.

It’s an agonizing pain, one that travels through her very being, trying to stand on her now broken leg. Her spear is used more as a crutch as she hobbled over to the giant, brought to his knees. 

“W-What did you do to her?”

He doesn’t respond. 

“Answer me, Zakar!”

Silence.

Esi’s still-bloody spear digs into the side of his neck, just enough to draw a fresh cut. “Unless you want your head to roll with your hands, I suggest you answer your Queen.”

His voice is strained when it finally speaks. “I did nothi-”

“Lies! She is lying here, unconscious! What did you do?” Esi’s anger mirrors Ramonda’s.

She turns back to your body, lying so still and quiet and the hole full of ice that you lay in. Her calculating mind goes to work once more. “Wait, Esi. Zakar, did she take the heart-shaped herb before you took her?”

“Took sounds so harsh-”

Esi’s spear presses deeper, drawing a steady flow of blood, causing the big man to change his words. “Y-yes, she had already taken it.”

“So she already had the powers of the Black Panther?”

“Yes.”

Ramonda nods, a sigh of relief escaping her. “She’s in hibernation.”

“Hibernation? Your Majesty, you’re telling me that if our protector experienced too-cold temperatures, then she’s down for the count?”

“No, Esi, not usually, but she’s been buried in a box full of ice.”

“Is she okay?”

“She will be,” Ramonda’s head points to you, her beloved, still curled into yourself. “Yiza,” she commands. 

While your army come and retrieve you from your frozen slumber, Ramonda hops over to a still-kneeling Zakar. She drops until they’re face-to-face, thankful to relieve some of the pain radiating through her leg. 

“I should have had them kill you.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Ramonda is hushed. Why doesn’t she? He shattered her leg, took you prisoner-

“I don’t know, to be honest.”

Zakar’s eyes are filled with surprise as he drags them upward to gaze at the Queen sitting before him. He’s even more surprised to see hers full of empathy. 

“Come back to the palace with us. We have a lab, filled with doctors who can fix you and your injured men-”

“Why should I accept your help?”

“What other choice do you have?”

The sound of your voice is truly melodious to Ramonda. Her head spins and if her leg weren’t shattered, she would have run right to you. 

Your words were shaky as your body tried to regulate its temperatures. Dora surrounded you, wrapping you in the garments of their winter wear and as you stood on unsteady legs, they moved with you, every step. 

“You ought to be thankful of my wife, for showing you mercy. Had it been the other way around, I would have let Esi behead you.”

Her snicker could be heard from her place behind the Jabari leader. Ramonda’s eyes were on you and they refused to leave, too afraid you’d leave her presence again. 

“If you do not accept her offer to be patched up, you’ll surely bleed out here, will you not?”

He didn’t respond and you bent beside your Queen, lowering yourself to his level.

“Zakar, as beautiful as this red looks, contrasting with the white snow, I believe it best you accept.”

Silence.

“Well, unlucky for you, to have a stubborn King. Aye,” You called out to your army, awaiting their attention. “Mthathe (Take him), and his injured men too. Esi, notify the lab that we’re on our way.”

Ramonda was all too grateful when you scooped her into your arms, bridal style. Her arms fell into place wrapped around your neck and you held her close, tight, too afraid to let her go. 

“My Queen,” you greeted softly, rubbing the tip of your nose to hers. 

“My love,” the tears she’d been holding back for far too long finally spilled over and her hands moved to cup your face, pulling you close. 

“I see you handled your shit, sithandwa.”

Ramonda’s chuckle was full of relief and my god, it was such a beautiful sound to hear. 

“Yes, my love. I handled my shit.”

This whole thread is fucking hilarious. I’m ova here dying 😂😂

I just know T’Challa found out what Erik said to Shuri and they got into a fight over it

this is the money garf. reblog for untold pasta and riches to come your way

Let’s fucking go!!! I love that for us.

!!!!!!

This was … yeah

100/10 would recommend

could you do an okoye x reader, where the reader went on a mission even though okoye didn’t want them to go because of how dangerous it was, and they end up going missing for a while?

please bare with me💀 this is my first request 😭

ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀɴᴅ

Pairing: General Okoye x Black!Fem!Reader

Genre: Fic

Synopsis: When you go MIA during a mission in America, the search for you has Okoye coming to terms with her true emotions. 

Warnings: one-sided pining in the beginning, cursing, mentions of main character death (T’Challa’s passing), reader is injured, mentions of blood, implied friends with benefits, maybe some ooc okoye and shuri

A/N: This is a whopping 10.5k word count, the longest anything that I've ever written, so prepare to sit for a minute with this reading!! Present time takes place during BP2, past/flashbacks take place during BP1. Some songs to listen to while reading: Lauren Hill's "Ex-Factor", "When It Hurts So Bad", and "I Used To Love Him" ft. Mary J. Blige ;; Tate McRae's "uh oh", "that way" and "you broke me first".

Tags: @verachii @inmyheadimobsessed @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @chrome-edition @bestfriend491 @daddyshuri

It had been three days since any last known contact between you and Wakanda. 

Aneka and Ayo had never witnessed their general in such distress. Okoye was possibly the most skilled in the Dora Milaje when it came to masking emotions. It was a tactic taught to the warriors so they could not be read and exploited through their emotions. A tactic taught ferociously by Okoye herself. To see the woman’s mask cracking brought worry to the two high-level Dora’s.

The general kept fidgeting with the holographic screen. With Princess Shuri’s lab being one of very few places able to track locations via kimoyo beads Okoye found herself taking after the gifted scientist, confining herself to the pristine white premises. She had been stuck in the same never-ending loop; typing in your last name and mission location only for it to come up as ‘unavailable’ in bright, red, blocky letters on the screen. She would get frustrated, grumbling curses under her breath, her clear-polished nails scratching the surface of the counter top.

It was clear Okoye’s only consolation would be you back on Wakandan soil.

“Is she still at it?” A voice called behind the two guards. Each turned to their side to see Princess Shuri walking down the corridor. The young royal’s attire never ceased to amaze the militant warriors, ever faithful in their tradition, compared to the futuristic aesthetic the princess held.

The two guards executed the proper Wakandan solute to the gifted scientist, of which Shuri returned with a tight smile. The sight of the general, her long-time companion, swiping and pressing away at the holographic screen with haste, confirmed Shuri’s suspicions. 

“Since six o’clock this morning, princess,” Ayo confirmed.

“And still nothing, I presume?” Shuri asked. The silence of the two guards, and their sympathetic glances to their general, was enough of an answer for Shuri.

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Aneka questioned.

Technically speaking, without the kimoyo beads, tracking via technology would be rendered useless. The last known trace of (Y/N) was in a body of water - a Great Lake in the US, to be precise. If the two could pinpoint a starting location for a city along said lake…

“There may be,” Shuri whispered, more to herself than to the two Dora soldiers. “Would you two give us a moment?”

Aneka and Ayo saluted to the princess, before briskly walking to the end of the corridor to take up position there. With each woman taking their stance against each wall of the corridor entryway, a sigh of relief was released simultaneously.

“I sincerely hope this is able to be resolved soon,” Aneka comments, “I can’t bear to witness General Okoye in such distress.”

“Glory to Bast, be it so,” Ayo responds. “You do know why she is on such a sharp edge?”

Aneka looked at Ayo, subtle confusion painting her face. “(Y/N) is her best friend, is she not?”

At this, Ayo released a small chuckle. “I will tell you this so that you may understand, my love. But make no mistake - the General and (Y/N) have more to their relationship than what meets the eyes.”

“No, not that way! You are using too much force!” The distant voice of Princess Shuri rings in Ayo’s ears as she recalls the memory, of which she was subject to due to her guard station being inside the laboratory at the time.

(Y/N), who had become the subject of Shuri’s weapon testing for the day, was testing out a new toy the princess had forged. The armorer was always willing to indulge in the princess’s antics, much to the distaste of General Okoye, who grounded herself in the traditional use of the signature Dora spear.

“You never said anything about force dynamics, Princess!” (Y/N) retorts, playfully of course. The two had a sort of older sister-younger sister relationship, and so it wasn’t uncommon to see the two bicker whenever they were in each other’s presence.

“Perhaps being around so many spears has made your mind one-tracked. Anyone would think to not lunge it that hard,” Shuri shot back, “you could have broken through the window!”

“Do you see how she talks to me, Ayo?” (Y/N) scoffs to the guard stationed at the threshold of the lab. “I greatly donate my time and this is how she treats me! My heart is wounded, dear princess!”

“You should be thankful that I save you from the torture of which Okoye puts you through! I hear training with her leaves all the Dora in excruciating pain!” Shuri retaliates, as she moves over to the holographic screen to swipe and type away.

Ayo laughs as the scene plays out - it was always an entertaining shift whenever (Y/N) visited the laboratory.

“Excruciating pain, eh? Shall I give you a taste of it?” 

In a split second, (Y/N)’s arms are around Shuri’s midsection, and the princess shrieks as she is swung around like a sack of yams. It is a sight that makes many of the laboratory staff pause their projects and take a short break to witness the playful interaction, laughter being shared amongst everyone in the room. Even the Dora warriors who stand guard break their stoic personas, letting a smile or a chuckle pass through their masks at Shuri’s pleads to be put down, unhanded by the stronger woman.

Just as quickly as the atmosphere in the laboratory warmed up into something familial, the laughter and the murmuring comes to a halt. It is quickly replaced with the stone cold silence native to this space, and when (Y/N) puts Shuri down, she realizes why everything has suddenly went quiet.

King T’Challa and General Okoye have arrived.

(Y/N) was quick to put up her salute to the king and Okoye as mortification ricocheted throughout her body. While she and the princess were more like sisters than royal and subject, T’Challa’s new title made the armorer unsure of how her actions would be perceived.

(Y/N) went to apologize for her behavior, but T’Challa cut her off before she could speak, “As you were, (Y/N).”

She dropped her arms from the ‘x’ position on her chest, and stood straight to meet T’Challa’s eyes. The king had a smirk on his lips, “I think I will just take a hug - I do not wish to be thrown around like a sack of yams.”

The king’s playfulness made your embarrassment from earlier sink away, as you first clasped your hands together, pulled them away with a snap, and ending the shake with a first bump and a side hug. Though your hug could not be initiated, as Shuri hurriedly shoved her way in between the two of you. Like the child she was, she stuck her tongue out at you while wrapping herself around her brother’s midsection.

“Do you see this, my king?” You scoff, referencing the lack of manners  on the princess’s behalf.

“Shuri, I am starting to think you deserved to be swung around like a sack of yams,” says T’Challa, his large hand coming down to ruffle the girl’s head of braids. Shuri protested this, pushing his hand off with a huff. “You are my brother! You should be on my side-!”

“-and what side is that, princess?” (Y/N) cut her off with a snarky look on her face. “The side of which taunts her subjects?”

“I think you have more than my taunting to worry about, (Y/N).” Shuri retorts, sticking her nose up at (Y/N). The armorer is confused for a moment before she follows Shuri’s gaze to Okoye, who stands next to T’Challa, examining her nails. Suddenly, (Y/N) remembers something important in regards to the general.

“So, this is where you hide when it is time for the scheduled maintenance work on the spears?”

Shit, that was today.

“Um…” (Y/N) attempts to try and find an excuse to justify her forgetful nature, but all that comes out of her mouth is a questionable “no?”

“Ooooo, (Y/N)’s gonna get iiiittt!” Shuri taunts the armorer, as if her antics did not play a part in this confrontation. T’Challa takes his free hand and flicks Shuri’s forehead, to which the young scientist winces audibly. “Be nice, Shuri.” He scolds. 

At that moment, Shuri conveniently remembers she had something to show her older brother, and she whisks the clueless man off to the lower level of the laboratory. Leaving (Y/N) to face Okoye’s wrath alone. How cheeky of her.

“Okoye, I can explain-”

“You were testing incredulous weaponry again.”

“In my defense, she asked me!”

Okoye scoffs as she turns on her heel to leave. (Y/N) follows closely behind, stuttering about how it was actually a decent weapon and that she could give it a try - but Okoye ignores her excuses as she continues her beeline out of the laboratory. (Y/N) stops as she is just at the threshold, meeting eyes with Aneka.

“Pray for me, Ayo, I fear I have gotten on her bad side again.”

“In Bast’s name, you make it out of that armory alive.” says the Dora with a sympathetic smile, as (Y/N) continues her trudge in Okoye’s footsteps.

Though it was not her first time witnessing such an interaction between the two, Ayo could attest that the manner in which Okoye addressed you was not the same manner she would address her, or Aneka, or any Dora Milaje. In fact, it could easily be considered the easiest the military general has ever been on anyone. Ever.

“Our General is not forgiving, Aneka; you know this as well as I do,”

“This is true. However, the General is known to be apprehensive to change. Have you forgotten how she reprimanded me for using the knives Shuri gifted me?”

“I warned you not to bring them, my love-”

“While that may be true, I disagree that that encounter alone would be enough to solidify the idea that (Y/N) and the general are more than good friends.”

Aneka did have a point. To anyone outside of Okoye’s inner circle, the encounter could still be deemed as Okoye being her normal, authoritative self, someone who mocks technology despite its evident positive service in the advancement of the country. Okoye was a traditional woman through and through, and where she mocked technological science, you embraced it. Anyone could see how that would cause bickering between.

“There is another incident…” Ayo began, hesitance laced in her voice, “an incident I was not meant to see.”

“You would think, as head of the armory, you would be more careful around sharp objects,” Okoye scolded, her attention focused on your hand as she worked to disinfect the wound. In an attempt to catch a falling spear, the blade cut into your flesh. The injury sustained was not so dire in which you had to seek medical attention from Shuri, but the wound would make it difficult to work with your hand for a while, as the gash was from the place between your thumb and forefinger and straight across your hand.

You winced as the antiseptic was used on your hand, the slight sting of the liquid bringing you discomfort. “In my defense, I underestimated the length of the spear.”

“‘In my defense’ my arse,” Okoye scoffed, her use of profanity wasn’t common in her nature. She only used it around you, someone she didn’t have to hold her authoritative persona up around, “you need to be more careful. You can not run to me whenever you are hurt. We are not children anymore.”

“Oh, but you have always been better at healing me than anyone, Okoye,” you chimed at the woman, who rolled her eyes at your silliness. In an attempt to defy your statement, the general pulled the gauze wrap around your hand a bit too tight. It caused you to gasp in pain, but it became quickly apparent what Okoye was doing. “You- Bast, why do you insist on hurting me?” You remark, as Okoye returns to wrapping your wound.

At the time, there was a hidden message in those words, a message neither of you were truly ready to confront.

“I hope this will teach you to be more mindful of where you put your hands,” Okoye said with a sigh as she packed up the first-aid kit. She stood, and walked with the kit in hand to return it to it’s rightful storage place in the corner of the armory room.

“I do not recall that being an issue the other night.”

“Oh, Bast, purge this woman’s mind of the filth she speaks!”

Okoye’s reaction caused you to laugh hysterically. It was jokes like these that could only be shared between the two of you in certain privacy. Okoye had an image to uphold, and you understood that. Even so, it did not stop you from your attempts at flustering the woman, even more so freely now that you did not have to share her with her husband anymore.

Okoye returned to your side, taking your hand into hers and examining her work. “How does it feel?”

“It’s fine, it’s alright.”

“Not to tight now, right?”

“Okoye, it’s fine.”

“No, it doesn’t look wrapped right-” You cut Okoye’s words short by taking your uninjured hand and grasping onto her wrists, restraining them in your lap. Your bandaged hand went to cup her cheek, the clean white of the gauze contrasting greatly, yet beautifully, with her cocoa-colored skin.

“It. Is. Fine. You did good, do not worry yourself over a simple cut.” You chastised, your voice soft yet firm to the general.

Okoye begrudgingly allowed her hands to relax in your grip, and to lean in to your hand. A moment of silence was shared between the two of you.

“How do you feel?” You asked, after what felt like forever staring into her eyes. Eyes of which held so, so much, in such a small, small window.

“I am…” the general’s words trailed off as she averted her gaze elsewhere. For Okoye, this was not a simple question to answer.

She had lost her husband to treachery, his mind blinded by revenge so much so that he went against his own country, forcing her to take a stance she never thought she’d have to take, but nonetheless, stepped up to the occasion. This was the man she married, the man she hoped to bear children with, to leave behind a legacy of love and loyalty to each other, to their people, to their country.

And it was gone, just like that. “How does one feel when their entire world was stripped from them?”

It was a question you couldn’t even ask yourself, as you couldn’t even begin to put yourself in her shoes.

The general took your uninjured hand into hers, squeezing it tightly for comfort. “I am here. I am with you. That is…all I can be, right now.”

It took everything in you to not take that second statement out of context, close to heart. Yet, you couldn’t stop your heart from swelling with pride at the idea that Okoye deemed you worthy of her presence, when everyone else she had casted away.

“And I am here with you, my friend.” you replied, though the word ‘friend’ had become harder and harder to speak nowadays. You returned the gesture, squeezing her hand to let her know that she was not alone. 

“And I thank you for being here with me, through all of this,” Okoye uttered, “you have stood by my side through everything. Glory to Bast that she has blessed me with such a friend as you.”

Where your heart once swelled with pride, was deflated by the confirmation of your friendship. And when Okoye brung herself to wrap her arms around your neck in a close hug, your heart battled ferociously with what emotions you should allow yourself to feel. 

To be in her warmth was all you’ve ever wanted; to bask in her love was a thought you guiltily indulged in every night. Yet, the reality of it all, was that the only way to gain even the closest proximity of being deemed worthy of her affections, was through the friendship you had maintained since you were children.

If the only way to feel her love and affection was through the lenses of friendship, then you would break your own heart every time with the mention of the word. Anything was worth keeping Okoye content.

It was only when the general had left to attend to other business, and you heard the massive door to the armory close shut, that you let the tears that had been prickling at the brim of your eyes, fall onto the white gauze wrapped around your hand, dampening the fabric to a soft gray of despair.

Aneka remained silent after Ayo finished her recollection of a few months prior. She did not know what stunned her more, the fact that Okoye had only been open to (Y/N) about her emotional turmoil of everything thus far, or the fact that the general, who prized herself on reading opponents skillfully, had been oblivious to her supposed best friend’s true feelings after all.

“Convinced now, my love?”

“Indeed so.”

It was a tragic love story indeed. However, the two hoped that it wasn’t too late, that this love story would not end prematurely.

“Ayo, Aneka!”

Shuri’s voice could be heard down the corridor, Each warrior peered their head down the hall, as Shuri walked briskly towards them. “Gear up. We leave in an hour.”

“Gear up?”

“Leave?”

When Shuri made it to the end of the corridor, she turned to face the two. “We have a location. It is not concrete, and we have to move fast. It has been three days too long, we cannot waste another second.”

Ayo and Aneka looked at each other, then back to Shuri. With a nod and salute, the pair of Dora rushed to prepare for departure.

The first thing that hits you when your consciousness returns, is the water.

It’s very distinctive. The smell, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. The seagulls that make their home in nests along the rocky cliffs near the body of water. 

It’s peaceful. Serene. There’s an urge to return to the neutral comfort of unconsciousness, but something tells you to resist. A calm, soothing voice, easing you away from the darkness of slumber, coaxing you to tread into the blinding, warm light. The further you fall into it, the clearer the voice becomes.

You reluctantly peel your eyes open. Your vision is blurry, and there's an uncomfortable ringing in your ears. Everything begins to hit you all at once; the pounding headache that crashes in waves through your skull, the soreness of your body, especially in your midsection, and the overwhelming feeling that you’re not supposed to be here.

Then again, where exactly is ‘here’?

And who exactly were you?

It takes a moment for you to notice the young girl who hovers above you, a worried look on her face. You see that she calls out to someone, but your hearing is still slightly overwhelmed by the persistent ringing in your ears.

Your body begins to act on its own. Despite the intense pain that swarms you when you move, you attempt to sit up. Your back finds something hard and wooden to lean against, giving you a wider view of your surroundings. You are starting to have questions, and someone needs to answer them.

It’s as if your thoughts were spoken into existence, as another figure, older than the young girl who sits beside you, enters from the wooden doorway. It’s here you finally notice that you are outside, on some patio, connected to some cabin like structure. This is why you were able to be soothed by the sound of the waters - a massive lake is a few mere meters away.

You hear the older woman ushering the child inside. In her hand she holds a cup, and your mind begins to wonder what could be inside. Water? Tea? Or perhaps something more sinister.

No, this woman doesn’t give off a sinister aura. If anything, she seems to be a caretaker. The same questions begin to muddle in your head more profoundly - where were you, who were you, and what happened to you?

The woman approaches you slowly, with her free hand held into view to show she was not a threat. While your body tensed in defense, you allowed her into your space. She didn’t pose an immediate threat, but you had to keep your guard up while your senses were still recovering.

“You’re awake; that’s good. You were out for a minute there,” She speaks, though her voice is still slightly muffled. Once she’s kneeled at your side, she positions the cub in her hand to your lips, urging you to drink. “Trust me, you need it.”

Slowly, you allow the liquid from the cup to flow into your mouth. It’s water - cold, refreshing, and for the first time since you’ve woken up you realize just how parched you are. With some unknown strength you managed to conjure up, you take the cup from the woman's hand and down the rest of the water in one gulp. The feeling of it washes through your being, and now you can feel some sense of strength return to your body.

“Where am I…?” you ask, voice hoarse and raspy from lack of hydration. The cup is discarded at your side, opposite of which the woman sits.

“You’re at my cabin; I live here on the lakefront,” She answers. “We  found you a couple of days ago washed up on the shore. You were hurt pretty bad, we did the best we could-”

“We?” You questioned, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Myself and the children,” The woman clarifies. “The girl that was just here, Yasmine, she found you when she was outside collecting from our garden. Saw your body near the water and came to get me.”

Your head stiffly follows to where she points to - an area a little bit off into the distance where other children currently played. 

“My name is Shara,” the woman speaks once more, and you nod in acknowledgement. “Do you remember anything?”

You shook your head no, but the pain from your head caused you to wince audibly. With your vision clearing up, you could finally take in the woman who helped you. Dark skin, long locs with gold and silver adornments. She wore earth tones and sported an oversized cardigan that covered much of the top half of her body, her bottom half covered in a long, flowing skirt.

Shara took note of your response, as well as looking over your midsection. Your shirt was pinned up just below your breasts, which gave easier access to your stomach area. White gauze was wrapped around your midsection with a spot on your lower right stomach bleeding through with a dull red.

“It’s about time to change your bandages again,” She noted, as she began to stand up.

You were confused at first, until you slowly looked down to see your midsection expertly bandaged up. It made sense now why your abdomen hurts way more than anywhere else on your body.

Shara muttered that she would be back in a moment, leaving you alone on the patio. You turned your head to the lake, staring at the way the waters met with the shores, then pulled back, only to do so once more; your mind began traveling somewhere deep into the banks of your memory.

The waves crashed against the shoreline, the sound of land meeting water overwhelming your senses. Your eyes were closed as you took in your surroundings through your other senses. The dry sand that your feet stood on, the boulder of which you sat on, the smell of the water, the sound of the waves and the birds. It was home to you. The waters brought you solace in distress, and validated your rage, accepting you in silence for who you were.

Okoye had asked you to meet her here at dusk, and yet, you found yourself on the sandy shores an hour earlier. Whatever she wanted to talk about, it had to have been important, and whether it was good news or bad, the urgency of which she called you made anxiety pool in your stomach. Your mind still tried to guess what she may have wanted. Though, the guessing game was cut short when you saw her approaching in the distance.

Once she was close enough, you stood from your seat on the bolder, and you walked side by side along the shoreline. She on the side of water, you on the side of land.

“Now, what could be so important that you would drag me all the way out here to tell me?” You ask, your tone playful. The question brings a smile to her face; a genuine smile, a beautiful one. It makes your heart skip a beat. You could compare it to the brightness of the sun.

Though you know the answer to part of your own question. Okoye was never one to show emotion around other people. It had been this way since your childhood years. You were thankful to Bast that she deemed you worthy of being present in her more vulnerable states.

“Oh, please. You act as if you did not want a reason to escape from that dark, dingy armory chamber,” She shoots back, nudging you with her shoulder. You  returned the favor, a chuckle escaping your lips. “Perhaps…but that does not answer my question, General.”

Okoye takes a deep breath, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “Do you remember the man who courts me?”

“Yes. W’Kabi of the Border Tribe…He does not have a face one can forget.” You reply, a hint of mischief in your voice in the way you describe the Border Tribe member.

“(Y/N)!”

“I am simply saying he has a very…distinguishable face! Nothing More!’

You did not like this W’Kabi man. Frankly, you never liked anyone who approached Okoye in an attempt to enact courtship. They all had ill intentions, which were proven right thanks to your keen perception. And for the most part, Okoye would take heed to your advice and steer away from these suitors.

Your feelings had no dealing in those matters, and neither did they this one.

However, Okoye was stubborn when it came to W’Kabi. Despite your numerous attempts at telling her to keep the man at arms length, Okoye was certain that he was the one for her. He had proven himself worthy to be a suitor and while he left an ill-taste in your mouth, Okoye was strong in her decision, and so you relented. Even if you did feel a tightness in your chest whenever you saw the two together.

“Well…he has proposed.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Suddenly, the crashing waves were no longer comforting; they became violently overwhelming as your chest began to tighten in an emotion you could not put a name to, did not know you could feel.

W’Kabi…proposed?

“-(Y/N), did you not hear me?”

The general had stopped a feet or two in front of you, looking at you with a raised brow. Okoye’s voice grounds you, clears your hearing, but the tightness in your chest still lingers. “W-What?”

“I said, do not be upset now that you may have to share me.”

You were quick to come up with a cover, though whether or not she was able to see the crack in your persona, you did not know. You just had to keep the conversation going.

“I am just surprised…did not think he had the gall to do it.” You replied, a truthful statement be it so, but nonetheless, a coverup for what you really wanted to say.

“Yes, indeed. I did not think so either.”

As breathtaking as her smile was, and even though mere moments ago it had warmed your heart, it cut you deeply to know that she was smiling for another. Another man. Another man who had proposed to her-

“And what of you?”

“I accepted.”

-Another man she is to wed.

Okoye took two steps towards you, closing the distance between the two of you. She takes hold on your hands, and makes direct eye contact with you. You struggled to hold her gaze, but in order to keep it together, you persisted.

“I accepted, and I want you there.”

‘Bast, have you forsaken me?’ You thought.

“You are the only friend I have ever known. The only person I have ever truly trusted. Even as children, you have stood beside me. Protected me. We have protected each other. And if I am to wed, I need you there beside me.”

Without thinking, you nodded. “Of course, Okoye. You will have me there.”

And while on the outside you were grateful for Okoye finally finding her happiness, on the inside, a piece of you died, knowing that not only does her heart belong to another, you would have to watch her marry a man who’s place should have been yours.

“According to my calculations, we should be in our target area by nightfall.”

The princess’s words were exact, and with Ayo and Aneka piloting the triangular shaped ship, the four would arrive at their destination in no time.

“Once we touch ground, we will split up into teams of two - Ayo and Aneka will search north, Okoye and I will search south…”

Shuri, noticing that Okoye was not paying attention to the breakdown of the plan, released a soft sigh as she turned off the holographic screen above the sand table that sat in the middle of the aircraft. 

For the most part, Shuri, Aneka and Ayo were still unaware of the cause of this entire ordeal. Shuri had her suspicions, after being approached by her mother, Queen Ramonda, of how (Y/N) came to her and the council specifically to request permission for a week-long extraction mission. (Y/N), a palace official in charge of weaponry, who barely left palace grounds since her instatement as Royal Armorer, requested an extraction mission on the other side of the world to recover an artifact of Wakandan origins; the item in question being laced with vibranium.

Something was not right, and the queen-mother brought this up to Shuri in hopes that the princess could get some answers out of Okoye in a more gentle manner, that wasn’t just responding to an authoritative figure.

For Shuri, (Y/N) was an older sister. Someone who could confide in when she could not even turn to her mother. (Y/N) trained Shuri in basic combat, assisted the princess in weapon testing, and even entertained the princess when she went on pranking tyraids in her youth. The armorer was a comforting shoulder for the princess during the mourning period of T’Challa’s death, and provided a sense of stability to her. Of course, (Y/N)’s actions were off. And Shuri had an idea why.

“General Okoye, may I speak with you for a moment?” Shuri says as she starts to walk towards the exit at the back of the pilot cabin. Okoye acknowledged the words the princess spoke, but for some reason, did not not show signs of movement. “In private, please.”

Aneka and Ayo shared a look, and then their gaze connected to Okoye’s. The general, who had been deep in thought, fiddling with her spear, placed the weapon back into its holding rack, and followed the princess outside of the pilot cabin. Aneka and Ayo were left to pilot the ship, conjuring up theories as to what the Princess needed to speak to Okoye about in private.

Leading the Dora general into the cargo section of the ship, Shuri turned on her heel to face the general, and began to unfold her interrogation. “You seem distracted, general. Would you care to speak your mind?”

Okoye stood firm and straight, and while she wore the mask she always dawned as a faithful member of the Dora Milaje, Shuri could see that pieces of it were beginning to crack. “I am simply worried about (Y/N), Princess.”

“We all are, Okoye,” Shuri replied. She took a couple of steps towards the warrior, closing the distance between them. “It is just me, Okoye, there is no need to be so stiff.”

Shuri watched for a moment as Okoye;s figure began to ease from the aforementioned stiff position she took. One could tell that the weight of this mission was getting to her.

“We all are worried for (Y/N),” Shuri reiterated, “so in order for this rescue mission to be successful, I need to know what happened between you and her.”

There was a moment of silence. Shuri kept a close eye on Okoye’s face as the general searched for an explanation. And that was when she saw it.

Another crack in the general’s mask.

“We had a…disagreement on a certain matter, nothing more-”

“Okoye, do not-” Shuri stopped herself mid-sentence to compose her voice, taking another step closer to the general. They were face to face now.

“Okoye, this is (Y/N) we are talking about here. (Y/N), the Royal Armorer, who never leaves city grounds, let alone palace grounds. (Y/N), who dedicates her life for the betterment of the Wakandan armed forces via her position as weapons specialist.”

Shuri pauses, taking a breath, and when seeing Okoye’s eyes divert once more, she continues in her speech.

“One month ago, everything was fine. I would even go as far as to say things were like how they were before when Brother was alive. And then, a week ago, (Y/N) goes to my mother and the council requesting a week-long extraction mission, in a very dangerous part of the world-”

“I told her not to go, Shuri-”

“And while that may be true, Okoye,” Shuri took another pause, watching Okoye’s face intently, “something else happened. Something else happened, between the two of you, and I need to know exactly what.”

Shuri’s eyes bore deep into Okoye’s searching for a sign of breakthrough into the general's psyche. If Okoye knew what was best, then she would confess whatever she was hiding.

Okoye turned away, stepped away until her side faced the princess. Raising a hand to her face, Okoye bit her fist, fighting back the urge to scream out her confession into the steel gray walls of the cargo cabin.

“It is my fault,” the general choked out, as she knocked her fist into her forehead out of frustration.

“What is your fault, Okoye?” Shuri asks, approaching the general once more. Okoye turns back to face the princess after a moment of self-contemplation. Her mask has fallen.

“Everything,” Okoye whispers, as she recalls the night of your argument as if it had happened the night prior.

“I deserve an explanation, Okoye!”

Your voice rose higher than the sound of the crashing waves, as you marched after the general ahead of you. It was nightfall, with the moon high in the sky and the stars shining bright in the blanket of night. Despite the beauty that the scene may have held, havoc was about to be wreckin.

“Leave me be, (Y/N)!” Okoye warned, several steps ahead of you. She did not want to talk right now; about anything, and sure not about you.

The warrior felt your hand grip onto her forearm and spin her around to face you. Your face held many emotions, as did hers, but you could not care how far your mask had slipped. You had already laid bare everything you had felt for Okoye months ago. Both of you in a drunken daze, one high on love, the other drowning in heartache. One thing led to another, and the morning after, you found yourself having to sneak back into your room before you were to meet with Shuri about weapon modifications.

You had suspected it to be a one night thing, an event never to be spoken of out of the confines of each other's presence. But when Okoye found comfort in your arms, something you had always dreamed of becoming reality, your heart gave in to her whims. Night after night, you would forget the world in which the two of you lived in, and indulge in each other. A world in which her husband was banished from Wakanda, dissolving their marriage, and her heart aches for the traitor she married. A world in which she would never see you as the lover you wished to be. A world in which you selfishly wished Okoye would be yours, and you hers. A world in which she would never return your affections.

And yet, the more it keeps happening, the more you’d wake up in her arms, in awe of the halo that adorned her dark, half-covered figure from the sunrise seeping into your room, the more you hoped that maybe, just maybe, things would be different.

Perhaps you were foolish to will yourself to believe things would turn out in your favor. But you did not initiate anything, and you have done no wrong against Okoye, so what reason did she have to pull away?

“I will do no such thing,” you retorted. “Why? After so long, why is it now that you wish to stop?”

“I told you- I cannot do this anymore-” Okoye replied, using her hands to gesture between the two of you, “-this, whatever this is, I can’t do it!”

“And what is it that we do, Okoye?” You questioned. “Love? Act as lovers? If it had stopped after that night, I’d understand, but you- you continued! You came back to me, again, and again, and again, and I let you!”

“It was a mistake to begin this in the first place!” The general blurted out. “What reason do we have to continue?”

“What reason do we have not to?!”

“(Y/N), please-” Okoye choked out, reaching out for your hand, “I do not need this right now- I just need you to stand beside me-”

“I HAVE STOOD BESIDE YOU!” 

You yanked your hand away, and to this, Okoye flinched. Of all your years of knowing her, never once have you yelled or screamed at her. It is now that she sees your face - your eyes puffy and bloodshot from crying, tears running streaks down your face.

“I stood beside you when we were children,” You choked out through your tears, “I stood beside you when unworthy suitors came to your door, and you still gave them a chance. I stood beside you as you married a traitor, a man who’s place I could have been in! I stood beside you when Killmonger took the throne, and the Queen and Princess had to flee to Jabariland for protection! I stood beside you as you mourned your marriage! If I have done anything, I have always! Been! Beside you!”

Okoye is at a loss for words as she watches you brush a hand down your face, dampening your skin with the salty water that leaks from your eyes. “And yet, when I only ask to stay in your arms for a little while longer, suddenly my sacrifices are invalid? My love, is invalid?”

Okoye could not speak, whatever words she wanted to utter were stuck under the lump in her throat as her eyes began to swell with tears.

“I have lied to myself, hoping that one day, you would see my love for what it is truly worth. But I cannot live in a lie anymore. And if your wish is to leave you be….then so be it. But one thing will always remain clear,” Okoye’s eyes became fixated on your finger that pointed towards her in accusation.

“I have never not been by your side. No matter how much it killed me, I have always been there. And you, Okoye, Daughter of Wakanda, have just murdered the last of me.

“Thank you,” You replied, as Shara handed you a cup of tea.

She had changed your bandages earlier in the day, and since you had regained most of your strength, you were able to sit and stand on your own now. Shara was a natural healer, and you were thankful for her ability to patch you up so well.

It was nightfall now, the moon hanging high in the sky and the stars shining brightly alongside it. The children of Shara’s cabin played near the water a bit into the distance. The sight of them having fun and enjoying themselves brought a smile to your face.

Shara sat next to you, hiding her hands under her arms to keep them warm from the cool night air. “How are you feeling?”

“Nothing is as sore anymore. Aside from not remembering anything, and…obviously, the injury, I cannot complain.” You reply. “Though…earlier, I had this…recollection, of sorts. Of a memory.”

“Really?” Shara whispered, shocked.

You nodded, staring into the cup of tea she had handed you. “Of a woman. We stood at a beach, similar to this one. She skin was dark, the color of coffee beans. Her eyes held wonders. And her smile…it was as bright as the sun itself.”

Shara tilted her head a bit with a chuckle, “You sure you didn’t love her?”

“I….I think I did.” You confirmed. “But…she was to wed another. And while it was only a memory, I felt the tightness in my chest just as intensely.”

“That’s…so sad. I’m so sorry.”

“If it is true, then there is nothing I can do. Especially in this state, with no memory.”

There is a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you as you both watch the children in the distance attempting to catch fireflies. The struggling of the smaller ones made you chuckle, as well as Shara, as the older children try to teach them how to catch the fireflies gently.

“I am curious,” You begin, turning your head to face the healer, “what is your story? How are you connected to this place?”

“Hm, well, I’ve lived here most of my life.” Shara began, raising her knees to her chest and placing her chin on them. “My mom died when I was pretty young. My father didn’t want me to be surrounded by grief, and so we relocated here. He built this cabin with his own two hands. And the children you see playing, well, he adopted them in a sense.”

You nodded along to her story as your took your first sip of the tea she had made you, relishing in the flavor and the warmth that pooled into your stomach from it.

“He died two years ago. He was the person that taught me everything I know about healing and spiritual herbalism. And I pass that teaching onto the children here. We are his legacy. One day they’ll go out into the world, learn more, teach more. And then their pupils will go further out and learn more and teach more. It was kind of my dads dream, you see. He wanted to cultivate the next generation of healers. I swore to myself that I would continue his dream after he passed.”

“You are a good daughter. Your father is proud, in whatever plane of existence he resides in.”

Shara watches as you take another sip of the tea, a proud smile making its way onto her lips. “Do you like it?”

“It is definitely a good drink. What is it, exactly?”

Shara thought for a moment, before reply, “It’s something called Black Panther Lily? It’s from my father’s secret stash. It felt appropriate to give it to you,” her words trailed off as you looked at her, confused on the name. “Black Panther Lily?”

“Mhm. I believe he said he got it from Wakanda?”

“Wakanda, you say…”

At the mention of the country, your eyes trailed back to the cup holding the delicious black liquid. The more you stared at your reflection in the cup, the deeper your mind seemed to travel back into your subconscious. The word kept ringing in your ears, and you could have sworn you heard it before.

Suddenly, the black liquid in the cup turned into dark onyx eyes, sported by the same woman who you had described for. You saw flashes of yourself with her, flashes of other people you were close with. Muffled words began to bleed into your ears, phrases of description, endearment, love, friendship. And your name…a montage of these people saying your name, and it became louder and louder until the voices became overwhelming and-

The next thing you know, the cup laid fallen on the ground, it’s context spilled and seeping into the earth below. Shara holds a hand on your upper harm, her face showing concern. You must have been out of it.

“Are you alright? You weren’t responding, I-”

“I know who I am now.”

Shara allowed her sentence to be cut off, as she released her hold on your arm, and looked at you with watchful eyes, seemingly asking you to reveal yourself.

“My name is (Y/N)...I am a daughter of Wakanda.” You muttered. It was at this moment you realized your wrist felt bare. Your other hand instinctively went to feel at the wrist which would normally be occupied by your kimoyo beads, but you found that space empty.

“Where are my beads?” You questioned the healer, as if she had any dea what you were talking about. She stared at you, confused for a moment, before her face turned to an expression that resembled realization. She got up quickly, disappearing into the doorway, only to return a moment later with a purple sack in her hand.

“I’m not sure what beads you’re talking about,” she confessed, “but when Yasmine found you, these remains were in the sand. We salvaged what we could find.”

You took the sack from her hands, opening the bag and examining the contents inside. Whatever had attacked you completely demolished your kimoyo beads, ruining any ideas you had for initiating communication back home. Also inside the bag were your twin blades, a gift to you from Shuri, and one of them had the blade separated from the hilt.

“And how long was I unconscious?” You questioned.

“Not counting today, three,” Shara replied, her worry growing, “what’s going on, (Y/N)?”

You muttered a curse under your breath. Three days since last contact, and a week and a half since you’ve been on Wakandan soil. They’re definitely looking for you.

It was at that moment a loud whirring sound made itself present, the volume startling the children. But it was what made the sound that had them running back to the cabin and rushing inside the wooden structure for safety. You and Shara stood up simultaneously; while she remained on high alert, her main goal being to guard the door and protect the children inside, you on the other hand, went to guard her. You were unsure of who was on the ship, but if it was any Dora, or worse, the General, it would be without a doubt they would suspect Shara as an enemy and attack. 

Once the massive ship had settled into it’s standby position, the mouth of the aircraft opened, and descending the walkpath were two women dressed in Dora Milaje attire, and the Princess, sporting one of her many futuristic streetwear outfits.

Your feet began to act on their own, taking a couple of steps towards the trio. Part of you was relieved that they found you. You remembered that before you blacked out, the last place you were was in the middle of the lake, retrieving a long lost artifact from a marine data collection ship. With your kimoyo beads being shattered, there was virtually no technological way of tracking your location. They would have had to go old school and search on foot. Had they?

As you made the conscious decision to stop walking, Shuri sprinted from Ayo and Aneka’s side, crashing into you with an embrace full of relief, thankful for your safety.

“Thank Bast you are safe!” The princess cried as you returned her hug, enveloping the younger woman in your arms. 

Though, what was a sweet moment turned sour when you felt her fist jab right into the area of injury.

“What were you thinking!?” Shuri shouted at you as you collapsed onto the ground, holding your midsection for dear life. “Are you a fool for taking on a mission such as this? You could have died! In all my years of knowing you, this is truly your most profound act of madness!”

“What the fuck did you just do!?” Shara’s shout of distress reminded you of her presence. You should have warned her of the princess’s rage, perhaps explain the relationship you two had, but it was all too late now.

“It’s fine, Shara!” you reassured through gritted teeth, “I deserved that- I really deserved that.”

It was a moment before the blinding pain had stopped. With the release of it being almost instantaneous, you could only assume Shuri had lifted your shirt from your back and slipped one of her kimoyo beads into the bandages to stablize the would she probably reopened. Once you were able to breath again, you confirmed as such by feeling the small bump underneath the white bandages on your back.

“I am getting you back for this, I hope you know,” you warned the princess as you sat up straight, now able to move without caution. Though, Shuri paid no mind to your warning, as she hugged you again, this time without ill intentions.

After your moment of embrace, you pulled away, remembering the healer behind you. It would be inappropriate to not introduce the two. Lifting Shuri up from her knees, you guided her closer to the cabin, where a shooken Shara still guarded the entrance way.

Shara attempted to warn you both to stay back, but you cut her off, “Shara, It’s okay. I am good, I promise. She poses no threat to you or the children.”

With your words, the healer seemed to relax a little, but still would not move from her position in the doorway.

“Shara, this is Princess Shuri of Wakanda. Shuri, this is Shara.” The princess and the healer exchanged an awkward wave, as Shara was still in disbelief of her actions towards you. “She started the healing process on my stomach - which I am sure you have reopened, thank you for that.”

“I apologize for frightening you,” Shuri said, a genuine look of regret painted on her face. “I promise you, I bring no harm. That is just, eh…how we are.”

“Uhuh…” Shara muttered, still overly confused by the entire ordeal.

“I guarantee you we have a stable, healthy sisterhood!”

Shara’s gaze turns to you, questioningly, “This is the woman you had that flashback about?”

It took a moment to remember what Shara was referencing, but once you did, you shook your head feverishly. “Oh-Oh hell no. This-This is my sister, I cannot imagine anyone who would want to date her-”

“Excuse me?” The princess says, with a facial expression equivalent of the phrase ‘say it again, I dare you’.

“I mean-” you backtracked, “-you are so lovely! Anyone would be grateful of your courtship!”

“That is what I thought.”

Though, reflecting on Shara’s words, you did notice that there were only two Dora accompanying Shuri, and not three.

Had Okoye not come? 

A part of you ached at the idea that she may not have come with them, but given the severity of your argument prior to your mission, if you were in her position, you would not come either.

You remember the harsh words you spoke to her, out of anger and desperation. It made you want to rip the kimoyo bead from your back and welcome back the pain in your abdomen, if it were to replicate whatever Okoye must have felt in that moment. How could you have hurt the woman you loved you deeply, with words that flew from your mouth based on emotion and not rationale.

You were too deep into your thoughts to notice that Shuri was gesturing for you to snap out of it. Apparently Shuri and Shara had been talking for a moment before noticing you had dissociated. You gently shook your head of the fuzz that formed in your mind, responding with a low “Huh?”

“Has she been doing this often?” Shuri asks, her question directed to Shara.

“It happened maybe once or twice earlier, but like i said, she’d been out of it until today.”

“Why do you wound my heart, princess…” You whined, feigning distress as you gripped your heart dramatically. The action brought a smile to Shuri and Shara’s face, and as they found entertainment in your dramatics, you bent down to pick up the purple sack long forgotten on the ground.

“As great as this encounter has been, we must return home,” Shuri's voice was filled with something along the lines of dejection, as if she did not want to leave this newfound acquaintance just yet. “Someone has some explaining to do.” The princess added on, and to you, her words held much more meaning than what meets the eye.

Shara nodded in response, ready to bid you two farewell. But as you began walking off with the princess, something along the lines of unease settled in your stomach. You could not distinguish the cause, but when you turned your head back to watch Shara reassure the children that were peaking their heads from the doorway, something deep inside urged you to ask her one final question.

You told Shuri and the pair of Dora that you would join them in a little bit, as you turned back to approach the cabin once more.

“Shara,” you called out, and the healer raised her head, diverting the attention she was giving to the child at her leg to you. As your feet stopped at the edge of the patio you found yourself waking up on early that morning, you inhaled deeply, clenching and unclenching your fists for grounding.

“Ungubani(Who Are You)?” You spoke in Xhosa.

There was a long pause as the two of you held eye contact for what felt like an eternity. Then she responded.

“I am T’Jari,” Shara answered, “daughter of N’Joba and Zusu.”

Your stomach’s unease was finally quelled.

“Did you know I was…?”

“I had my suspicions,” Shara confessed, “the pieces of those beads and the weapon I found scattered in the sand around you were unlike any technology I’ve ever seen before. Certainly not American. Her reference to the kimoyo beads and your twin blades made you instinctively grip onto the neck of the sack a bit tighter.

“It’s also why I gave you the Black Panther Lily tea,” Shara continues, “my father had a stash hidden away. If cultivated and used the right way, it’s properties can allow for memory restoration in the event of amnesia on any level. It was the first thing my father taught me…when my mothers health started to fail and her memory was leaving her…”

You recalled the story she had told you of her origins. A mothers death, a father’s wish for contentment for his daughter.

“Besides my name, everything else I said was true,” Shara responded to your silence, as if she knew you had been questioning the validity of her identity.

“Why don’t you come home?” You asked, without thinking, without taking into consideration how this cabin by the lake was the only home she’d ever known. “You could be a healer in Wakanda, and you could bring the children. Your skills rival that of the elders, I’m sure it would not be hard to find work-”

“I can’t, (Y/N),” Shara interrupts you, her face holding remorse. Her response silenced you. “I will not rip these children from the only home they’ve ever known, and I cannot tear myself away from this place my father built with his own two hands. And there are people here to teach, people who want to learn. I can’t leave,”

Her determination and drive reminded you of the war dogs of your country, those who valiantly serve the outside world, attempting to make it a better place for future generations to come. And from Shara’s appearance she reminded you of a certain war dog who stole the heart of a certain royal long ago.

“I understand.” You replied, solemnly.

“That doesn’t mean go and become a stranger,” Shara reassured, “I’m sure the princess knows my location now. Come and visit! Just…not washed up on the shore anymore.”

You laughed at Shara’s words, bidding her farewell, before turning on your heel and walking to the ship.

You found yourself sitting on the same boulder from your memory, feet firm on the ground, and the sound of the waves from the water crashing into the shore overwhelming your senses. The smell of the water was calming, and soothed your heavy heart.

You and Okoye had to talk.

Despite being on the same aircraft, neither of you were ready to speak. You shared an embrace with one another; she approached you first, crashing into you in a flash of red, and for a moment, everything that had been the cause of this whole ordeal washed away when you wrapped your arms around each other.

Besides that, there had been nothing but silence between the two of you since you’ve returned home. But you needed to talk. You needed to clear things up and apologize. You needed closure.

It was dusk. The sun sat half way along the horizon, casting a beautiful golden hour that made your skin glow like gold. But when you saw Okoye walking up from the distance, your breath caught in your throat by the wonders the golden shine did to hers.

You made space on the boulder for her to sit and for a moment, there was silence between you two. Your gaze was straight, admiring the way the water met with the shore, engulfing the sand, but pulling back, only to do the same thing again.

“Hi.”

“...Hi.” For the first time you found yourself unable to speak.

Another moment of silence passed before Okoye spoke again. “A lot has happened on this beach, hasn’t it?”

“Mmh,” was all you could muster. It was strange how the words you planned to say left the moment she came into your presence.

“I owe you an explanation,” she spoke again, but your eyes stayed steady on the water. “A pause.”

“I did not know how I felt about you. You were a friend to me,” ‘were’; past tense.

“Someone I could depend on when I had no one. And I valued it with my life. And then W’Kabi happened. And I did not know how greatly I hurt you when you had to watch me be given away to him. I had my…suspicions, about how you felt. It was selfish of me to ask that of you, and for that I am sorry.”

You licked your lips, still silent, as Okoye continued.

“And when our marriage dissolved, you were still there. As you always were. You held me and comforted me in my heartache. And when I longed for a comfort I thought no one else could provide, you were there. And you provided it. And we…indulged. I continued to take, and take, and take from you, and you willingly gave, and gave, and gave to me without question. I acknowledge that my actions have drained you beyond replenishment, and for that, I am deeply sorry.”

Okoye watches your face. Unmoved. Tears  began prickling at the edge of your eyelids.

“I wanted to stop because I was confused. I thought I was committing some act of injustice, that what we were engaging in was not sincere-” You wanted bite back at her here, question her on exactly who she thought was not sincere in your engagement, but you bit your tongue and let her speak, “-and I could not comprehend your affections and how genuine they were…I did not wish to be betrayed again.”

There it was. The explanation you so desperately prayed for. And as the truth was revealed, the tears which formed in your eyes began to trickle down your face.

“But when you left - when you went on that mission, without telling me, despite detailing the dangers you were to face…I was losing my mind.”

You finally divert your eyes to face Okoye, only to see she had been looking at you the entire time.

“I was losing my mind. I could not sleep. I did not eat. I only worried about you. And when you did not return, I felt as if I were going mad. Deranged at the thought of losing you. And it was at that moment that my emotions became clear to me.”

Okoye’s hand reached for yours, and you let her take hold of it. She interlocked your fingers, and encased your hands with her other one. You watched as she did so, your eyes slowly raising back to meet hers.

“I cannot lose you. In any proximity. You are more important to me than anything in this world. And…if you would have me,” the general paused, taking a deep breath to stabilize her breathing, “I promise to live for you, and work to right the wrongs I have done to you.”

By now your face was ridden with tears, your voice long gone. There was a long pause in which you searched the other woman’s eyes, unsure of what you were looking for. A crumb of a lie, a sliver of deceit, perhaps. But you found none. Only ingenuity. Only affection.

After what felt like an eternity in silence, the sound of the waves your only background noise, you raised your free hand to rest at the back of her neck. You rested your forehead on Okoye’s, closing your eyes, and finally releasing the breath you didn't know you were holding.

Okoye’s eyes fluttered closed as well, and for a moment you just rested there, basking in each other’s presence. 

“I will have you,” you whispered against her lips, “I will have you until my dying breath, when Bast calls me to be with the ancestors.”

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

Can we talk about how in the very first episode of Stuck In The Middle not even 3 mins in Jenna Ortega said that if her family was a week she’d be Wednesday and 6 years later … here she is Wednesdays child full of Woe.

Lately I’ve been getting a lot of Shuri fics on my timeline and I just feel like … if r is white it don’t fit well. Now I’m not tryna be discriminative or prejudice. But I also don’t think they’ll take it well in Wakanda. I mean they call white folks colonizers and such…

He has SEVERAL crane wives who can’t know about each other.

SEVERAL children with these wives who could of mated each other. So … is that slick incest or …

Definitely do

if you would be so kind as to reblog this if you feel insecure about your writing skills.

So true and atp I’m not even mad at myself no more 😂

Y’all I need help finding this Nat x Reader fix where it starts with them cuddled up on a couch watching movies with the Avengers and every time a blast of boom sounds in a movie R covers Nats ears …

apple.news

Biden signs "historic" executive order to protect LGBTQ people — Axios

President Biden signed an executive order Wednesday to strengthen protections for people in the LGBTQ community as states attempt to pass a

This is genuinely a major good story that needs to be shared! Biden has also been active in pushing the DOJ to fight in the courts the Republican laws that have been set up against lgbt youths and their families across republican led states.

Y’all need to get into @natsxaddiction writing. I swear she’s great.

Room Chapter 1

Mama!Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Wanda Maximoff

Masterlist | General Masterlist

W/c: 3.9k

Summary: Held captive in an enclosed space for years, Former Avenger Natasha Romanoff devises a plan on her daughter’s fifth birthday to set them free

Warnings: sexual assault, kidnapping, violence, language, children conceived through sexual assault, angst, mentions of suicide, murder (just a lot of pain)

Note: Bringing this over from A03 for those that want to read

There was a shift in the comfortable silence that surrounded her peaceful slumber. The familiar buzzing of the refrigerator in a corner stopped just as she reached a peace that wasn't quite peace. She could hear the lock of a door and heavy footsteps trailing away. The solid crunch of leaves, or maybe snow, smashed against her eardrums as she waited for the silence to meet her again. Wide-eyed and alert she didn't dare move her face from under the covers. Didn't dare make a sound as the silence of the room captured her again. In the darkness of the night, she could just make out the shapes of furniture in her space. A room. She couldn’t quite tell these days if that’s what it was. Taking a shuddering breath, she pushes against the mattress with her hands just barely touching the springs through the thinness of the material.

He’s gone. Her left foot touches the ice-cold concrete below her. Then her right. Flexing her toes, she tries to ignore the dull ache between her legs. She tries not to scream out at the pain shooting up her spine. She doesn’t want to think about that now. There’s only one thing on her mind as she stands to her feet. The wardrobe leans against a wall just inches from the bed with only a nightstand keeping them apart. She tries her fingers along the faded wood feeling for the slight opening she’d left. Natasha pulls the door open gently and grabs what’s inside. It takes a minute to get a proper grip but she does lifting with what little strength she has and hoists the tiny figure into her arms. Chubby fingers grab at her before settling with a shushing sound to her ear. Natasha transfers the child onto the bed in a position closest to the wall. It groans under their weight. Long hairs tickle her bare arms nuzzling closer to her.

“Ma?” A tiny voice whispers.

“Shh, go back to sleep.” She whispers back. Climbing into the bed and pulling the child to her again she pulls the blanket just to their shoulders. She waits with bated breath for the girl to stir again but she never does. Natasha feels safer. As safe as she could in this hell hole.

Letting the sounds of her child's breathing lull her to sleep for a brief second she wonders if life will always be like this.

It’s the child who wakes first just a couple of hours later. Her eyes blink open quickly as she lifts her head to look over to her mother. With an excited whisper, she brushes her hair out of her face and pokes a finger into Natasha’s face.

“Ma, I’m five,” She smiles to no one in particular. It’s her birthday. She’s finally five. That’s a big number. Natasha smiles before opening her eyes. No matter how much she doesn't feel happy, there's a reason to be happy. The child smiling brightly at her brings her a sort of joy.

“You are,” She rasps, pulling her into a hug.

“I’m so old now,” The girl exclaims, relishing in the feeling of her mother against her.

“You’re such a big girl now, Myshka,” Natasha says into her hair.

“Yeah,” She agrees.

Guess it was time to get their morning started.

Natasha busies herself making their breakfast as the child greets her favorite things in their room. There’s a cheeriness that Natasha herself can't reach as she pours the boiling water into a bowl for each of them for instant oatmeal.

“Good morning, lamp.” The little girl touches each thing she sees. Clad in only a t-shirt and underwear she doesn't feel the cold breeze in the room. “Goodmorning, Dollie, good morning egg-snake.”She reaches under the bed to pull her craft out. They did that together a few months ago when Old Nick decided to bring them a Sunday treat. There’s a small plant on the nightstand she places it next to. The clink of the bowls grabs her attention and she comes to stand next to her mother. “Mama, I’m five now. So big right?”

“Yes, Myshka.” Natasha sighs. She drops a spoon into both bowls and guides the girl to her seat. She’d never sit down otherwise. Natasha takes her time opening a small ziplock bag and taking out the chewable vitamins. Two. She presses them into the child’s waiting hands. “Take your vitamins.” She instructs before pulling another small bag into view. Her own vitamins taste just as bad if not worse than the ones she’s had before. She doesn’t know exactly what they are but Old Nick promised her they were good for her. That they would help the both of them. She can’t say she trusts him but there’s no other choice.

Natasha takes a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth hoping that her actions would be followed. They are. She tries to hide the small groan as the pain inside of her mouth shoots through her. She was having a lot of pain these days. Green eyes look over at her curiously.

“Is it bad tooth again?”

“Yeah,” She nods. “It’s fine. Pain only makes you stronger.”

“That’s right. Just like Captain America.” The young girl nods in agreement. Natasha wants to roll her eyes at the mention of him. Her former teammate. Her former partner. One of The Avengers. She’d been one herself Once Upon a Time. One of the best if you ask her. She regrets letting her child watch that special on Avengers a year ago. How was she to know the girl would become obsessed with the team? America’s Greatest Heroes. It tasted bitter on her tongue. It was physically ailing for her to hear about them and how they moved on. As if nothing happened. As if nothing happened to her.

She gripped her spoon a little harder as she thought of the many times she’d watched the news and saw glimpses of their faces. Tony wasn’t seen as much anymore. He opted to live a life by the lake in upstate New York with Pepper and his daughter. Steve was rumored to be dating Sharon Carter. She remembers briefly the time she’d encouraged him to ask the woman out. He had been so adamant about being too busy to date. Guess that had gone out of the window. They even had a new person on the team. One they called Captain Marvel. Carol Danvers. She was good. If circumstances were different Natasha thought they might have been friends. That’s all over now though. If anything the mere thought is despicable. It disgusts her to think about them. She feels a bit jealousy every time she sees their faces on the small TV screen in the corner of their room.

How could she not? They never came looking for her. Never found her. Here she was six years in this place and there wasn’t even a mention of her. Not anymore. They didn’t know a damn thing and weren’t looking to. She’s suffered alone. Here in this god-forsaken place, she wasn’t an Avenger or an ex-KGB assassin or a former Red Room spy. She was just Natasha. Just weak and plain Natasha. Before here, before this room, before Old Nick, she would have broken someone’s nose at the thought of calling her weak. This room had broken her in more ways than one. Now she didn’t have a clue who she was.

She’s tried everything she could to break out of here but it all proved worthless. She’s tried fighting, picking the locks, sending messages in her trash, hell she’s even tried to break the skylight above their heads right now. None of it proved anything but the fact that she was stuck here. She didn’t know who had taken her or how she was taken. The entire ordeal is a blur to her.

She's on a mission. It was an easy in and out. She’d been on a level 6 multiple times before. She was keeping a steady communication with Steve and Maria Hill. There wasn’t anything to fear or worry about. She had completed the mission or so she thought. It’s a little unclear to her. Why were they there in the first place? Fury had given them leads to a new Hydra safehouse on his radar. It was supposed to be a quick raid. One minute she’s kicking some serious ass and the next she’d been knocked unconscious and woke up here.

In the beginning, she’d been handcuffed to the bed. A method she was all too familiar with from her days in The Red Room. Then he would come in. Old Nick. He would come in and make conversation with her. She was never very receptive to his play at friendliness. That was his angle. Get her to trust him. She was violent with him. Doing everything in her power to break him. She would find out who he was working with or working for if it was the last thing she did. He didn’t stutter once, only becoming increasingly hostile towards her.

One time, she was feeling particularly angry and had broken free of the cuffs only to be met with electrocution. Something she’d had similar to her Widow Bites. Only this didn’t immobilize her. It knocked her out. Left her in an almost catatonic state. He would push and push and push until finally, she stopped fighting. She stopped resisting. He would come as often or as little as he liked. He would take what he wanted and leave.

If there was an organization backing him she wouldn’t know. All she saw was him. All she could see sometimes when she looked at the little face in front of her was him.

No. Wanda was hers. Wanda was good. She is good. There was no fight left in her but for the little one in front of her, she would do whatever she could.

So she would make her birthday as fun as possible. Working with what she had was a strong suit.

“Hey, do you know what we’re going to do today?” Natasha set her spoon down. She wasn’t as hungry as she thought.

“What?” Wanda tilted her head. “More egg-snake?”

“No,” Natasha smiled. “We’re going to bake a birthday cake.”

“A cake?” Wanda gasped, sitting just a tiny bit straighter. “A real cake? Like from TV? Cuz’ I’m five?”

“Yep.” Natasha couldn’t help but share in her excitement. Wanda was good. She’s always been good. “It will have sprinkles and everything. We can start on it as soon as you’re done with your oatmeal.”

“Wow.” Wanda hurriedly got back to her meal scooping spoonfuls of oatmeal into her mouth. She couldn’t wait to make a real live birthday cake. She’d never had one before.

The rest of their morning went as planned. She helped Wanda to brush her teeth. Two minutes. Thirty seconds on each side. Then it was time to pick out their clothes. They didn’t have much. Just what Old Nick would bring them for a Sunday treat. She found the first clean shirt available and helped Wanda out of her old ones. She listened to the chattering of the five-year-old as she raised her arms.

“Mama, do you think my cake can be red, blue, and white?” Wanda’s voice was muffled as the shirt was pulled onto her head. “Like Captain America?”

“I don’t know, Myshka.” Natasha passed her a pair of pants. Wanda was always firm in her choice to do this part herself.

“Well, I hope so.” Wanda almost falls to the floor as she attempts to put a leg into the jeans. Natasha’s steadying hand prevents her from doing so. Wanda pushes a stray hair out of her face as she sucks in her belly and uses both hands to button her pants. Raising her hands again, she smiles. “See, Mama, I did it.”

“You did it.” Natasha bops her nose. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I think it’s because I’m five and I get superpowers.” Wanda grinned. Natasha knew it was just Wanda being a child but the idea of her having superpowers felt all too real. It felt all too haunting. Too much of a reminder of the life she was missing.

With a pat on Wanda’s head, she moved to the other side of the room. Their bowls were tossed into the sink. Natasha flipped the nozzle to the tap water and began to scrub them. She could hear the click of the TV being turned on and the Dora the Explorer theme song reached her ears. Wanda would be distracted if only for a little. She went about her day scrubbing the floors and keeping her area clean. Not once did Wanda turn to her to ask a question. The mini redhead is too enthralled by the actions on the screen.

“Okay, time for morning stretch and measure.” Natasha clapped her hands. Wanda scurried across the room closer to the door. The only door leading to the outside world. She leaned her head patiently against the wall and looked up. Natasha used a dull pencil to scratch Wanda’s height into the frame. She couldn't quite tell the exact numbers but there was some growth there.

“Mama, I am taller.” Wanda cheered. “I think it’s because I’m five now.”

“You are,” Natasha agreed. That’s how a lot of their conversations went. Wanda was more enthusiastic and fresh. Everything in life was new to her. It was all a wonder. Even getting taller. Their stretching went off without a hitch. Natasha was more of an instructor as she avoided overexerting herself after last night. After what he did. Wanda was compliant as she went into a downward dog. Her giggles were music to Natasha’s ears as she tried to keep her balance. Her long locks brushed the floor in a puddle of red. Finally, Natasha poked at her gently until she fell over.

“Mama, no fair.” Wanda smiled from her place. Her arms coming up to her chest as she pulled off the cutest pout one had ever seen.

“No fair?” Natasha raised a brow. “No fair is you using my own pout against me. I invented that pout.”

“Nuh-uh,” Wanda shook her head.

“I did,” Natasha challenged her. “Now do you want to argue further or do you want to make a cake?”

“Cake, cake, cake!” Wanda scrambled to her feet. She followed Natasha around their small kitchenette. Natasha gathered the ingredients from the fridge and set them all on the table. It wasn’t necessarily a homemade cake but they were working with what they had. She listened to every instruction given to her. Making a cake was so much fun. She was even allowed to crack the eggs into the bowl. Next was the butter. A solid block thick and creamy.

“Butter!” Wanda cheered as Natasha flipped over its container and allowed it to drop into the mix of eggs and the rest of the batter. She attempted to smash it down to mix but was met with a bit of resistance.

“Why don’t you handle some of that, baby.” She allowed Wanda to take the reins of mixing. In an attempt to play it off she stepped back and shook at her wrist. It had never been the same since she’d broken it in a fight with Nick. A lot of her body wasn’t the same anymore. Wanda was all too happy to take over. Once the batter was finally finished Natasha took over the baking part while Wanda worked to clean their dishes. She was an efficient helper and didn’t complain one bit.

Finally, after waiting what seemed like a billion years, the cake was ready. She waited in her seat with a hand over each eye as Natasha carried the cake over to her.

“Okay, Myshka, you can open now.” Natasha crouched down to be eye level. She used a small lighter with just a bit of fluid to light the dollar store candles on the cake. Wanda opened her eyes excitedly, wiggling just a tiny bit in her seat. She counted the candles slowly, her smile quickly fading away from her face.

“There’s five,” She whispered dejectedly.

“What’s that?”Natasha questioned. She wasn’t clear on the apparent shift in Wanda’s demeanor.

“There are not ten candles,” Wanda pointed to each one with a frown. “There has to be ten. For me, and for Pietro.” Oh. Natasha’s heart stopped for just a second. Pietro. Wanda’s twin. Her other child. She sometimes tries to forget that there were two of them. She’s surprised that Wanda remembers.

Natasha sighs. She’d been thirty-four weeks pregnant when she’d gone into labor. A miracle that she hadn’t known was possible and yet there she was. In the room all alone giving birth on the very same bed they sleep in now. After begging and pleading for Nick to take her to a hospital she’d given birth and delivered her babies on her own. Only expecting one, she was pleasantly surprised when she had given birth to a second. She remembers holding a wailing Wanda in her arms and feeling the need to push again. She took matters into her own hands and cut the umbilical cord with dull scissors in anticipation for the second baby. She would set aside a newborn Wanda as she bared down with her own scream. Only this time she wouldn’t be met with the soft wails of her second child. She was met with silence. Pietro, she decided to name him, was born still with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Natasha remembers that day as if it were yesterday. How she attempted to feed one newborn and mourn the other at the same time.

She would carry and hold a still Pietro in her arms in an attempt to keep him warm for six hours. It was six hours before Old St. Nick visited her again. He would proceed to rip the baby from her arms with the broken promise of burying him somewhere safe. She still doesn’t know if he kept his promise.

So she moved through the next five years raising Wanda as best she could. She raised her as one half of a pair she didn’t know she could ever have. Some days Natasha would question it. How she’d been able to conceive and give birth to a child. Two children. The Red Room had made sure this wasn’t a problem. Or so she thought. Children weren’t even a thought in Natasha’s mind before being trapped here. Now being here with Wanda she couldn’t think of anything else. She kept Pietro’s memory alive for as long as she could for Wanda. Over time she stopped talking about him so much with the pain of his lifeless body still fresh in her mind.

Here she was with her five-year-old opening wounds that were never really closed.

“Wanda, there wasn’t enough for ten candles,” She says gently. From the wobble of Wanda’s bottom lip, she could tell that if this situation went wrong there would be a huge problem.

“You said birthday,” Wanda moans. “That means me and Pietro. Candles for two. Not one.”

“Wanda,” She sighs. How in the world was she supposed to explain this to her? “It’s still a birthday cake for you. I think that we should celebrate and you can pretend that they’re for Pietro too. How does that sound?”

Wanda looks down then back up as if she has the brightest idea in the world. “You should ask Old Nick for more candles for Sunday treat.”

“Wanda, it’s Monday. We would have to wait six more days-”

“So,” Wanda pushes.

“Your cake would be old and we wouldn’t be able to eat it.” Natasha realizes that her attempts to reason with a five-year-old would be futile. “Why don’t we blow out the candles and try the cake?”

“No,” Wanda frowns. She doesn’t want to do it this way. Mama always used to tell her she and Pietro would share the same birthday. Even if he wasn’t here, why shouldn’t they share the same cake? There had to be ten candles. Then they could say goodbye. It’s how they did it in the movie on TV. When someone died they said goodbye or said a prayer or had a funeral even. Pietro didn’t get any of that. Why couldn’t they do it now?

“Come on, I know you’ll like it, Myshka, go on try it.” Natasha urges her again to try the cake.

Faster than she can react Wanda lashes out angrily “I said NO!” and the candles are blown out without either of them realizing how. Natasha takes a deep, deep breath. Wanda lets out a whimper and a whine. It wasn’t like Wanda to raise her voice. Tears of frustration pricked Natasha’s eyes as she pulled Wanda into her embrace.

“Wanda, Mama, doesn’t like it when you yell.” Natasha chastises. “I know you're frustrated but this isn’t how we act.” She feels Wanda nod against her.

“Next week, when I turn six, ask for more candles,” Wanda whispers brokenly.

“Next year,” She corrects her. Next year. She couldn’t imagine being in this place one more year. Looking up, she notices that the small piece of sky she can see through the skylight is clear. Next year will be different, she's sure of it.

Hours later she’s sitting in the tub with Wanda, the candles and the cake half-eaten and their crisis long forgotten. She doesn’t hide her naked body and neither does Wanda. She doesn’t know any different. She takes a bit of the soap from the edge of the tub and lathers it in her hands to wash Wanda’s hair. It’s not shampoo and it certainly isn’t the best soap but she’s clean. Wanda giggles as she swirls their clothes around in the suds of the water. It’s the only way they’ll get clean. It’s an odd thing to do but after having a bit of practice she doesn’t think twice about it.

They don’t get much in here. Natasha doesn’t know much about what’s out there. She allows herself to wonder again if Old Nick is working alone. If so, he’s pretty damn crafty. She wonders if he has some kind of camera set up to watch her. Watch them. She looks around the room. If there was anything she’d have found it. She’s searched the place so many times and found nothing. The slosh of water brings her back to reality as Wanda hisses.

“Soap in my eye,” She rubs furiously at them. She turns to Natasha for help.

“No, don’t rub,” With one of their articles of clothing, she takes it and helps to clean the soap from Wanda’s eye. “There, all better.” She says. Wanda’s wide green eyes meet hers.

“All better,” Wanda repeats.

The idea comes to Natasha when she and Wanda are cuddled in bed. Wanda is pressed against her with her face pressed into Natasha’s breast as she suckles gently. Realistically, Natasha knows she should be weaned by now. She knows breastfeeding a five-year-old is an insane amount of time. She’s not ready to lose the connection. She’s not ready to take away the one thing that always brings Wanda comfort. Not yet.

So as Wanda contently falls asleep at her breast releasing her nipple gently from her mouth Natasha comes up with a plan. They were getting out of here. One way or another they were getting out of here.

They would be free.

Pt 2.

I-

*Natasha using this one chance after getting kidnapped on a mission to call you*

Natasha: "Do you remember playing hide and seek when we were kids?"

Y/N: "You bring that up because you used to cheat?"

Natasha(letting out a pained chuckle): "I did not"

Y/N: "Absolutely you did, you used to hide in my parents office even though we were never allowed to be in there"

Natasha: "Once maybe-"

Y/N: "Noooo, all the time"

Natasha: "Well, why was it so hard for you to find me?"

Y/N: "Cause I was scared... I didn't want to break the rules"

Natasha: "Or maybe you were hoping your parents would catch me and punish me"

Y/N: "No, I wasn't scared I'd get caught... I was scared for you, Nat"

*Natasha let's out a small, pained sigh as tears start to roll down her face*

Y/N: "Why do you bring up hide and go seek?"

Natasha: "Because you're never going to find me" *line goes dead*

Why is this so true tho … well there women Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff and Luisa Madrigal

Y/n: I’ve come to a conclusion—

Yelena: Oh my god.

Y/n: I would give away my life for two woman, Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff.

Yelena: Second gay confession in one hour. New record.