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novoaa1writes · 1 year

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pairing(s): queen ramonda x reader, queen ramonda & okoye (platonic)

summary:

“No.” You’re quick to stop her, scurrying forth and taking her hand in yours. Speaking out of turn, laying hands upon a member of the royal family… all punishable offenses. If the Dora Milaje saw it, they’d have you face-first on the ground surrounded in a ring of gleaming spearheads before you could blink. But now, here, she is not Wakanda’s Queen. She is Ramonda—your Ramonda.

Her hand is warm and lax in yours, and the way she’s looking at you… so open, so trusting. So patient. “This is my home, s’thandwa. A place where I feel safe and loved. But it cannot be that if you do not feel it, too.”

Or: Okoye can be a little overprotective sometimes, especially when it comes to Ramonda. You cannot fault her for it.

cross-posted on ao3.

word count: ~1,600

rating: general audiences

warnings: spoilers? for wakanda forever? i guess? tbh the only “spoiler” here is just that i mention ramonda’s hair in brief detail, because it’s different from the first movie’s look. also vague allusions to reader’s past relationship(s) being not terribly fulfilling.

notes: reader’s gender is not specified here. with me, i write these with the reader-insert characters in mind being typically female, non-binary, or transmasc, but it’s really all up to you

— —

The Queen returns in a mood. The way she strides through the rounded entrance to her chambers with downturned lips and all the intrepidity of a woman on a mission is enough to tell you as much.

You’d only been lounging about in her chambers for a short time, having stopped to visit with Shuri in the laboratory on your way over.

You were not native to Wakanda; as such, your visits spanned few and far between. Though, admittedly, that had been subject to change as of late—what with your increasing… familiarity (for lack of a better term) with her Queen.

With this familiarity, you were granted certain privileges. The most obvious one being: You were permitted access to her private chambers—yes, even when they were empty. A weighty concession, to say the least.

The others, though not quite so rife with implication, were no less significant: You could walk freely around Birnin Zana as you pleased, provided you wore a set of Kimoyo beads and checked in with Ramonda—or someone she trusted—every hour or so. As guest of the Queen, you were permitted an additional (non-Wakandan) companion to Wakanda—that is, a plus-one—provided that they were vetted first by the Dora Milaje, and second by the Queen herself. You’d never exercised that particular exemption, and did not foresee a point in time that would find you doing so—but the offer was there all the same, and its connotation was not lost on you.

And so on, and so forth.

These allowances aside, your, shall we say, place in Wakanda is in its infancy, still. Fragile, one might say. Since the start, the Wakandan sentiment towards you has ranged from wary acceptance to unequivocal mistrust.

… This, as evidenced by Okoye’s unwavering presence at the doors of Ramonda’s chambers. She’s been watching you like a hawk since the moment you arrived, spear poised, ready to strike at any moment.

You’ve not bothered asking her why she does so. Despite what people seem to think, there do indeed exist stupid questions, and that would unequivocally be one of them. Similarly, you do not dare do her the injustice of attempting to offer any well-meaning sentiments, or assurances that you do not seek to do the Queen—or Wakanda—any harm. Actions speak louder than words, they say. And Okoye—who’s said scarcely more than five of them to you since your first meeting—quite plainly agrees.

You do try. You tell her ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye,’ and, when the setting permits, you’ll even ask her how she is, or communicate that you hope she is faring well. (More often the latter, since any question you ask of her—those excluding an official matter—are continually left unanswered.)

It helps that you’re not white, as Shuri told you. Ramonda had scoffed at her daughter’s impudence, but did not disagree.

And yet, the fact remains that you are not Wakandan—nor African, even—and before you lies a long, uphill path to gaining the Wakandan people’s esteem. For better or for worse, you are determined to climb it.

Regardless—in the present moment, you shut the book you’d been reading when Ramonda enters, turning to give her your full attention. She displays no indication that she’s noticed you, merely dismisses both of her trailing attendants and Okoye with a wave of the hand and a quiet, “Out.”

The attendants exit swiftly, and Okoye is quick to follow—though, not before giving you a look. You imagine it translates (roughly) to: If you make this worse, I will not hesitate to skewer you.

You give the barest hint of a nod in reply, but it is in vain—Okoye is gone. The doors shut behind her with a quiet noise, leaving you and the Queen alone.

Wordlessly, Ramonda divests herself of her headpiece—a gorgeous, deep-purple, crown-like thing—and discards it neatly on the dresser. Her hair is shorter these days, a neatly-trimmed ‘fro with springy, platinum-white strands. You know it was not done out of vanity, but you cannot help thinking it suits her all the same.

As you watch, her eyelids flutter shut and she lets loose a long, measured exhale. You can practically see the tension seeping out of her; the taut line of her shoulders easing, the furrow between her brows dissipating. The queenly affect, the burden of her crown—all of it seems to divest itself of her in waves. And, in its wake: the woman herself, tall and proud.

Your heart clenches, strangled with affection (and, perhaps, something stronger), but you do not speak. You dare not tarnish the moment. You know all too well that it is likely the first truly quiet moment she’s had all day.

You’re content to wait patiently until her eyelids flutter open and her calm gaze sweeps the room, seeking—

She looks down. The furrow in her brow reappears when she spots you sitting cross-legged on the carpet, her painted lips pushed out to form a frown. “S’thandwa sam,” she murmurs, “why are you sitting on the floor?”

An embarrassed flush heats your cheeks. Your skin is too dark to render it visible, but Ramonda will notice it all the same. She notices everything about you.

“I, erm…” You scramble uncouthly to your feet, cheeks aflame. “Okoye was here.” You feel quite underdressed, all of a sudden; Ramonda, a vision in her ceremonial robes before you, and you in… socks and street clothes.

Ramonda’s lips twitch with something like amusement even as she cocks a single brow and prompts, “Oh?”

Something twists in your gut. This time, it’s not anxiety. You shove it back down; tell it to take a Valium. “She… She does not trust me,” you manage.

Concern flares in Ramonda’s gaze. “You did not wish for her to see you in my bed,” she surmises, the teasing pretense having fled entirely from her tone.

“I don’t… I don’t wish for her to think that I take my…” you pause, wanting for the proper word, “position here for granted.”

Ramonda considers this for a moment. “Okoye will think what she wishes to,” she tells you gently. You nod. “But,” she adds, her features hardening as her tone grows cutting, “it is certainly not her place to make you feel unwelcome. I will speak with her—”

Warmth erupts in your chest at her sincerity. You stroke gently over the skin of her knuckles in an effort to convey it. “Okoye is protective of you—” Ramonda cocks a brow as if to say ‘You think? ’ “—but I’m sure it will not be news to you when I say it is because she loves you. I cannot fault her for that.” The ‘because I love you, too’ goes unsaid. (For now.) “To be entirely truthful, it actually reassures me, somewhat.” At Ramonda’s inquisitive glance, you shrug and add: “I know you’re in good hands.”

Ramonda’s brows creep higher up. “I am more than capable of looking after myself, you know,” she retorts, though her tone is not contentious—but rather, tinged with mirth.

“I know, my Queen—you are very strong and mighty,” you acknowledge, only partly in jest.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “And you, my little minx, are quite mouthy today.”

You feel a renewed flush heat your cheeks (again), and a telltale clench in your belly, but you refuse to let it derail you. You still have more to say, and, by the slight tilt of Ramonda’s head, she can tell.

“Maybe…” you trail off in a quiet voice, all pretense discarded. “Maybe I’m just a little protective of you, too.”

The effect is immediate: A broad, delighted grin splits Ramonda’s features. Her hand drops yours and snakes its way around your waist, the other reaching to cup your jaw and hold you like you’re something precious, something treasured.

“I will not leave you, dearest,” she soothes, tracing circles into your cheek with the pad of her thumb. “I am yours, and you are mine.”

Your throat swells with emotion, a dam bursting in your chest. You bite your lip to bear it. When you speak, your voice is hoarse, choked with oncoming tears: “No one’s ever treated me like you do,” you murmur quietly, so quietly it’s like a confession—a secret. The truth of it burns like magma in your lungs, and the tears that trace your cheeks are not nearly hot enough to match. And Ramonda—bless her—she wants to reply, seeks to comfort you, but refrains because she knows you have more to say. Because she’s listening, truly and earnestly. That just makes you want to cry even harder. “I am going to be worthy of you, Ramonda. I promise.”

“Oh, s’thandwa sam,” she murmurs, placing a feather-light kiss upon your forehead. Her fingers nudge your jaw, raising your teary-eyed gaze to meet hers. The sheer measure of love and care you see in her eyes is enough to make your heart feel as though it’s imploding in your ribcage—all butterflies and warmth and love beyond measure. “You already are.”

— —

end notes: okay, i did some reading up on xhosa language and term of endearments for the couple that i used here, and i'll toss those sources down below (along with other sources i used) if anyone's interested. (also, if you've read this, and you're knowledgeable about xhosa + have some corrections / commentary /etc., please please please do not hesitate to message me! i did my very best to make sure i wasn't throwing any terms around, or refusing to do my due diligence, but this is not an area of knowledge i'm terribly well-versed in, and as such, i'm kind of bumbling around here despite my best efforts. let me know!)

update: a special thank-you to a reader on tumblr who messaged me and corrected the xhosa terms of endearment!! i have included the updated ones below. much appreciated<3<3

s’thandwa sam | my love, love of mine s’thandwa | love, sweetheart

sources:

queen ramonda | just an extra source to inform upon ramonda's character and canonical background

symbolism behind the hairstyles in wakanda forever | a brief article about, well.... what it says on the tin

traditional south african dress | since the xhosa-speaking people are indigenous to a particular region of south africa, i wanted to look into traditional south african dress, particularly where it pertains to the marital status of a woman. but then i read up on queen ramonda's headdresses ('cause i wanted to know if i should take that part out for this fic if i wanted to make my canon a little different and say she was never married), which does indeed draw inspiration from some of the traditional headpieces worn in southern africa by married women, but in a wakandan context, it seems that her headdresses (particularly in this second film) are also to indicate her queenly status. so.... uh. yeah

“love, courtship, and marriage in africa” | this is the seventh chapter of a book titled a companion to african history (first edition). this particular chapter gives writing credits to nwanda achebe, who is one of the editors of the book. it includes pretty much what it says on the tin—traditional courting rituals and the like—along with terms of endearments in various african languages.

“wakanda forever: wakandan for emphasis” | this is an academic article written by sarah scott-nelson and alyssa penner. they delve into a sociolinguistic analysis of the use of isixhosa as a national language of black panther's fictional country of wakanda. it's a shorter read (~9 pages), and one i thought was pretty interesting!

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link to masterlist

#queen ramonda x reader #ramonda x reader #queen ramonda #stuff i wrote #reader-insert

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