Wanda in Wakanda

“Why are you…”

Wanda did her very best not to scream at T’Challa’s voice. She stared wide-eyed away from him, hoping the **** of sheer denial alone would make her situation better.

A slight squeak escaped her lips regardless.

She clutched her arms over her front, stead-fastedly trying to convince herself that it was only Vision that could see her.

She looked pleadingly to Vision. He seemed just as bewildered.

“We’re, ah, unsure,” Vision said. Wanda flushed scarlet.

She fidgeted, just about managing to look down at herself, only for her cheeks to burn all the more. Tits pushed up by an arm, barely covered at all, and long bare legs with only her hand over their join.

Don’t think about how she looked form behind. Don’t think about how she looked from behind.

“I…” T’Challa began.

After a moment he said something louder to his people in isiXhosa, the native language of the Wakandans. Wanda squeaked, the reminder that yep, this had been a battlefield, there was a literal army behind her was something she’d been trying to avoid.

“What? What did you say?” Wanda said, voice high.

“I needed to say something,” T’Challa said, somewhat apologetically. “Wakanda does not see many outsiders, I thought it would be less… awkward if they did not think you’d simply chosen to…”

“Why would I choose to-” Wanda said.

She turned around on instinct and froze, gaze suddenly greeted by the sight of this part of the Wakandan army, dozens upon hundreds of men and woman who’d just had a front row seat to her bare behind.

Her words faltered, ending in a squeak, staring, mortified ahead at them and their King.

Oh god, oh god…

“Exactly,” T’Challa said. “I said you had… misunderstood one of our traditions.”

“You have a tradition for this?!” Wanda yelped. “What kind of-”

“No,no,” T’Challa said quickly. “We have ritual combat where participants forgo armour and usually shirts, no more than that, but this was a battle, and, well, you lack a shirt. It was the best I could come up with.”

“What?!” Wanda squeaked.

So not only had all those people ended up seeing her ass, but they thought she’d just chosen to strip down after fighting Thanos because… why?! She blushed furiously, nervously adjusting her arms.

God, no matter how she laid them it never felt good. And they’d already seen-

“King T’Challa!”

Wanda screamed at a sudden voice from behind her, whirling back around-

Oh god, another division of the army, another few hundred strangers seeing her, and-

She whimpered. Wait, where was she meant to face? One way and T’Challa’s army could see her behind, the other way the newcomers could, and the other would still see her front like this, the curve of her tits, cleavage and a hint of the underside, bare thighs and a scarlet face…

Wanda swallowed.

And faltered, distracted from her panicked squirming and indecision by the sight of a handful of the Dora Milaje with the newcomers. Toned black women she’d expected to see stand tall in their distinctive armour, rather obviously lacking their armour.

At least she assumed they were Dora Milaje, most of the women on the battlefield had been. It wasn’t all of them, but-

“Nakia?” T’Challa said, focusing on one of them, a particularly embarrassed looking woman.

Wanda glanced around. She wasn’t alone at least, that…

Didn’t make her feel much better. She whimpered; what the hell was going on?! She bit her lip, glancing at Vision to silently ask for help.

“Huh,” T’Challa said slowly. “Maybe it_ is _a tradition now.”