#Tower Survey
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How CAD Technology Transforms Accuracy and Efficiency in Land Surveying
Land surveying is a critical process in the fields of construction, engineering, and land development. It involves measuring and mapping the terrestrial or three-dimensional space to determine boundaries, land features, and property lines. Traditionally, land surveying relied heavily on manual techniques and rudimentary tools, leading to time-consuming and often error-prone results. However, with the advent of Computer-Aided Design (CAD) technology, the landscape of land surveying has transformed dramatically. CAD has brought about significant improvements in accuracy and efficiency, revolutionizing the industry. In this blog post, we will delve into the various ways CAD enhances land surveying and explore its benefits in detail.
The Role of CAD in Land Surveying
CAD, or Computer-Aided Design, is a technology used for creating, modifying, analyzing, and optimizing designs. In the context of land surveying, CAD software helps surveyors create detailed and precise maps and plans of land areas. The integration of CAD in land surveying involves the use of specialized software that allows surveyors to input data, process measurements, and generate accurate digital representations of physical spaces.
Enhanced Accuracy
One of the most significant advantages of CAD in land surveying is the enhanced accuracy it provides. Traditional surveying methods often involved manual calculations and hand-drawn maps, which were susceptible to human error. In contrast, CAD software offers tools that automate many of these processes, reducing the likelihood of mistakes. Here are some ways CAD improves accuracy:
1. Precision in Measurements: CAD software can handle and process complex mathematical calculations with precision. Surveyors can input raw data collected from the field directly into the software, which then accurately converts these measurements into detailed maps and models. This eliminates errors associated with manual data entry and calculation.
2. Detailed and Scalable Maps: CAD allows for the creation of highly detailed and scalable maps. Surveyors can zoom in and out without losing accuracy, enabling them to examine specific areas closely and ensure every detail is accounted for. This level of detail is crucial for identifying potential issues and making informed decisions.
3. Real-Time Data Processing: Modern CAD software can process data in real time, providing surveyors with immediate feedback. This capability allows for quick adjustments and corrections in the field, ensuring that the final survey is as accurate as possible.
4. Integration with GPS and GIS: CAD software often integrates seamlessly with Global Positioning System (GPS) and Geographic Information System (GIS) technology. This integration allows surveyors to import precise location data directly into their CAD models, further enhancing accuracy and providing a comprehensive view of the surveyed area.
Increased Efficiency
Efficiency is another key area where CAD excels in land surveying. The traditional surveying process was labor-intensive and time-consuming, often requiring surveyors to spend days or even weeks in the field. CAD technology streamlines many aspects of this process, leading to significant time savings and increased productivity. Here’s how CAD boosts efficiency in land surveying:
1. Automated Data Processing: CAD software can automate many of the repetitive and time-consuming tasks involved in land surveying. For example, it can automatically generate contour lines, calculate areas and volumes, and create cross-sections. This automation reduces the workload on surveyors and speeds up the overall process.
2. Simplified Data Management: Managing large amounts of data can be challenging, especially in large-scale land surveying projects. CAD software offers robust data management tools that allow surveyors to organize, store, and retrieve data easily. This simplifies the workflow and ensures that all information is readily accessible when needed.
3. Collaborative Capabilities: CAD software often includes collaborative features that enable multiple team members to work on the same project simultaneously. This collaborative approach enhances communication and coordination, leading to faster completion times and fewer misunderstandings.
4. Efficient Fieldwork: With CAD, surveyors can use mobile devices and specialized equipment to collect data in the field more efficiently. This data can be uploaded to the CAD software on the go, reducing the need for repeated site visits and minimizing downtime.
Visualization and Analysis
Visualization and analysis are critical components of land surveying, and CAD technology excels in these areas as well. The ability to create detailed visual representations of surveyed areas and perform in-depth analyses is invaluable for surveyors, engineers, and developers. Here are some ways CAD enhances visualization and analysis:
1. 3D Modeling: CAD software enables surveyors to create three-dimensional models of land areas. These 3D models provide a realistic representation of the terrain, allowing for better analysis and planning. Stakeholders can visualize the land’s topography, identify potential challenges, and make informed decisions based on accurate data.
2. Overlaying Data: CAD allows for the overlaying of different types of data on a single map. For example, surveyors can combine topographical data with utility lines, property boundaries, and environmental features. This comprehensive view helps in identifying potential conflicts and planning accordingly.
3. Simulation and Scenario Planning: CAD software can simulate various scenarios and predict their outcomes. For instance, surveyors can model the impact of construction on a particular area, assess potential drainage issues, or analyze the effects of environmental changes. This capability aids in proactive planning and risk management.
4. Detailed Reports and Documentation: CAD software can generate detailed reports and documentation based on the surveyed data. These reports can include measurements, calculations, maps, and 3D models, providing a comprehensive overview of the surveyed area. Such documentation is essential for legal, regulatory, and planning purposes.
Cost Savings
The improvements in accuracy, efficiency, and visualization brought about by CAD also translate into significant cost savings. By reducing errors and streamlining processes, CAD helps surveyors and their clients save money in various ways:
1. Reduced Rework: Accurate surveys mean fewer mistakes and less rework. Errors in traditional surveys often led to costly revisions and delays. CAD minimizes these errors, ensuring that the project stays on schedule and within budget.
2. Optimized Resource Allocation: Efficient data processing and management allow surveyors to optimize the use of resources, including time, labor, and equipment. This optimization leads to cost savings and better project management.
3. Minimized Site Visits: With the ability to process and analyze data remotely, CAD reduces the need for multiple site visits. This not only saves time but also reduces travel and labor costs.
4. Improved Decision-Making: Accurate and detailed surveys provide valuable insights that aid in decision-making. This leads to better project planning, fewer unforeseen issues, and more efficient use of resources, all of which contribute to cost savings.
Future Prospects of CAD in Land Surveying
As technology continues to advance, the role of CAD in land surveying is expected to grow even more significant. Emerging technologies such as Building Information Modeling (BIM), drones, and LiDAR (Light Detection and Ranging) are being integrated with CAD software, further enhancing its capabilities. Here are some future prospects for CAD in land surveying:
1. Integration with Drones: Drones equipped with high-resolution cameras and LiDAR sensors can capture detailed aerial imagery and topographical data. This data can be imported into CAD software for precise mapping and analysis. The use of drones reduces the time and effort required for fieldwork and provides access to hard-to-reach areas.
2. Building Information Modeling (BIM): BIM is a digital representation of the physical and functional characteristics of a building. Integrating BIM with CAD allows for a seamless transition from land surveying to construction planning and management. This integration improves collaboration between surveyors, architects, and engineers, leading to more efficient project execution.
3. Augmented Reality (AR) and Virtual Reality (VR): AR and VR technologies can enhance the visualization capabilities of CAD software. Surveyors and stakeholders can use AR and VR to explore 3D models in an immersive environment, gaining a better understanding of the terrain and potential challenges. This immersive experience aids in decision-making and improves communication.
4. Artificial Intelligence (AI) and Machine Learning: AI and machine learning algorithms can analyze large datasets quickly and accurately. When integrated with CAD, these technologies can automate complex analyses, identify patterns, and predict potential issues. This capability enhances the efficiency and accuracy of land surveying.
Conclusion
CAD has revolutionized the field of land surveying by improving accuracy, efficiency, and visualization capabilities. The precision and automation offered by CAD software reduce errors and streamline processes, leading to significant time and cost savings. As technology continues to evolve, the integration of CAD with emerging technologies such as drones, BIM, AR, VR, and AI will further enhance its capabilities, making land surveying even more efficient and accurate. For surveyors, engineers, and developers, embracing CAD technology is not just an option but a necessity for staying competitive and delivering high-quality results in today's fast-paced and demanding environment.
#Land Surveying#outsource cad drafting services#Surveying#Land Survey#Land Surveying Software#Land Survey Drafting Services#Land Survey CAD Drafting Services#Alta Survey#Subdivision Plats#Title Survey#Pipeline Surveys#Construction Survey#Site Planning Survey#Boundary and Location Survey#Topographic Survey#Residential Mortgage Survey#Tower Survey#Radius Map#Utility survey
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LEON
LEON YOUR EYEBALLS
#art#ride kamens#ride kamens spoilers#ride kamens episode 14 spoilers#can't believe i made a joke about it being his eye color AND THEN#i did see his updated sprite before i got to 13 but i didn't even notice it at first...#at least he also got a funky little face marking to go with it#shine on you super shitsuji!!!!#anyway I AM FINALLY CAUGHT UP#on main story anyway i haven't played the tower emblem event yet :')#but man i am loving this game#i was not expecting it to be a full-on mystery! with intrigue!#who is lying! who is telling the truth! who THINKS they're telling the truth but isn't!#punctuated by the most delightful nonsense like the unbreakable magic superhero covenants#where you gotta touch rings in the magical wedding chapel dimension that we teleport to sometimes to talk to our dead dad#(OR IS HE???????)#NO IT'S GREAT (and it does make sense in context i just love it)#still 50/50 on yellow beyblade man secretly being our dad but i can't get into theories now i don't have enough tags#man this really has the essence of what i love about rider ❤️#so far i do think agata is my favorite#but then there's leon...#let me put it this way: i would tell agata a hard truth about himself if i thought he needed to hear it#but there is no amount of money in the world you could pay me to say anything even slightly mean to our sweet leon#LET 👏 HIM 👏 HENSHIN 👏#WAIT SHOOT is it too late to redo my survey answers i need to demand that i be able to put hats on leon
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HELLO! Well, I wanted to do a poll, well, what is your opinion about the relationship between Peppino and Fake Peppino? I really see it as fatherhood although I wanted to hear someone's opinions, I don't know.
HOLA! Bien, quería hacer una encuesta, bien ¿Cuál es su opinión acerca de la relación entre Peppino y Fake Peppino? Yo lo veo como una paternidad realmente aunque quería escuchar opiniones de alguien, no sé.
For me it is like thist:
Para mí es algo así como esto:
#pizza tower#pizza tower fanart#fake peppino#peppino spaghetti#peppino fanart#pizza tower fake peppino#peppino pizza tower#survey#encuesta
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– 𐌓𐌀𐌕𐌉𐌄𐌍𐌂𐌄, 𐌍Ꝋ𐌕𐋅𐌉𐌍Ᏽ 𐌁𐌵𐌕 𐌓𐌀𐌕𐌉𐌄𐌍𐌂𐌄... (Patience, nothing but patience...)
– 𐌉 Ꮤ𐌉𐌋𐌋 𐌓𐌀𐌕𐌉𐌄𐌍𐌕𐌋𐌙 Ꮤ𐌀𐌉𐌕 𐌅Ꝋ𐌐 𐌀𐌍 𐌀𐌍𐌔Ꮤ𐌄𐌐... (I will patiently wait for an answer...)
– 𐌉 ᏔꝊ𐌍𐌃𐌄𐌐 𐌉𐌅 𐌙Ꝋ𐌵 Ꮤ𐌀𐌍𐌕 𐌕𐋅𐌉𐌔 Ꝋ𐌐 𐌍Ꝋ𐌕... (I wonder if you want this or not...)
– 𐌉𐌅 𐌍Ꝋ𐌕, 𐌕𐋅𐌄𐌍... 𐌉 ᏔꝊ𐌍'𐌕 𐌁Ꝋ𐌕𐋅𐌄𐌐 𐌙Ꝋ𐌵 𐌀𐌍𐌙𐌌Ꝋ𐌐𐌄, 𐌃𐌄𐌀𐌐 𐌵𐌔𐌄𐌐. (If not, then... I won't bother you anymore, dear user.)
*Click*
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I'd lived on the plains my entire life but had never seen the base of the tower. Besides it basically standing as a monument to the ruling structuralists, the entire idea of a tower invalidated our existence as plain-tenders, thus negating any curiosity or good will amongst the plainards it otherwise might have attracted. Providing a one-stop shop for travellers and outsiders, the commercial potential for a tower was obvious and not under dispute. The problem was that it not only stole the vast majority of commerce from the plainsmen's communities but essentially acted as a de-facto extension of the ruling state, dissolving the autonomy that had brought the plains their unique history and makeup. There's no need to cultivate the sands when the tower can provide the sustenance needed, constantly resupplied through a never-ending parade of vehicles and caravans. There's no need for a herdsman's knowledge when food is provided, slaughter-free, from one of a thousand restaurant options. There's no need for time-tested cultural tradition when the tower can import the latest and greatest technology and entertainment at a moment's notice. It's not necessarily that a tower and the Plainards couldn't co-exist, its that the structuralists don't want to and see no reason for an "old-fashioned" way of life. When a tower (or a hundred) can provide everything a population needs while also offering absolute control and oversight of the wild lands to the ruling class, there's no wonder why the tower system continues to grow or why the plainsman's reign in the region will soon come to an end. Today we travelled the last few miles to the Rift and, for the first time, glimpsed the base of the monumental structure. Our request for entry will soon be accepted and for the first and possibly last time, the Plainards will step off of solid ground.
#drawing#draw#scifi#fantasy#great survey#milwaukee#science fiction#illustration#moebius#art#tower#desert#short story#sci fi and fantasy#handmade#pen and ink#traditional media
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Hmm. No thank you <3
#Fallout 76#fo76#I climbed a survey tower to scan the surrounding area and this popping up was less than fun#But also it made me laugh with how awful each option was
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ToF Survey time
Survey in time to tell them what you want I asked for more time with Tian Lang and a outfit for him don't forget if you are playing PS5 and PC it should be in game if you are playing phone it might be easier to use the link but you need a google account ✨
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History notes: The Bastard Arms, Clipstone Street
Another pub stood to the right of where the Tower Tavern is. Photo: Linus Rees. The Tower Tavern on the corner of Clipstone Street and Cleveland Street stands next to the site of another public house that, according to some sources, had an unusual name. “This was originally called the Bastard Arms in 1826 in honour of Henry Fitzroy (1663-1690), the bastard son of Charles II,” wrote Mike…
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#Clipstone Street#ddd#history#history notes#public houses#pubs#Survey of London#Tower Tavern#University of Westminster
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imagine a two or three years before the marriage with arranged!gojo, when you’re in your late teens and the gojo family invited some of the noble families to their summer estate near the ocean to relax there for a while.
obviously you and your family were invited (despite how much it angered your fathers wife that you too were included in the invitation), so you, along with four other prominent families, made your ways up north for the summer.
you were excited to be away for a while, even more excited that you were going to have an actual room and access to more things. you knew the kids there weren’t going to hang around you, so you tried making yourself comfortable in some of the more secluded places of the gojo estate.
it's one reason why gojo didn't really remember you a whole lot when you two were first married. sure, he knew he knew you from your family and all of those gatherings, but you were usually always in the background.
the north was truly beautiful in the summer, especially by the sea, so you couldn’t be too butthurt over their rejection when you had such views to remedy your pain.
most days you’d hide away in a corner of the library or walk around the grounds, steering clear of your sisters and all the other kids your age. you could hear their faint laughter near the lake or the way they stayed up all night around a fire near the gardens.
one of the nights when you were out on the beach, watching the waves as you read a book, you heard a hoard of voices getting closer and closer to you.
your head whipped around in confusion, heart sinking when you realized the other kids were coming here too. you could’ve sworn they said they were going to be out at town till midnight.
you quickly packed up all your things, ditching your little blanket as you scurried up the hill, trying to stay hidden in the line of trees as you watched them come nearer.
you could see your sisters laughing as some of the other girls and guys stumbled out on the sand, their heads thrown back in laughter as they all started to strip out of their usual garments and into the swim ones they had underneath.
you were about to leave when you heard somebody ask loudly about your blanket, wondering if it was any of theirs.
while still staying hidden you saw how the tallest one of the group, gojo, picked it up, surveying it and then the foot tracks in the sand that led away from it.
his eyes looks up the hill, into the trees, and to your horror, watched as he decided to follow it.
he told the rest of his group to stay there and start swimming without him, he’d just been looking for a little bit and coming back.
you had heard of his excellent tracking skills, how he’d lead the north to a steady victory when up against some other neighboring lands, which unfortunately meant he was freakishly good at tracking a girl who was awful at hiding.
you stopped breathing, crouching behind a bush as you watched him enter the forest.
he looked around, blue eyes on the ground as they looked for the footsteps, taking note of the deserted basket of cheeses and the book you had taken with yourself.
before you knew it he was near your bush, looking through they leaves when he caught your frantic eyes.
gojo stands up, confusion laced on his face as he towers over your still kneeling body.
“what...what are you doing here?” he asks bluntly, his voice cold.
you grimace, standing up as well as you scratch the back of your neck.
“well, i was reading over there,” you point out behind his back to the shore, where all the other kids had swarmed into the water, “i thought you all had left to go to the town.”
gojo’s eyes rake over you. the two of you had barely spoke a word to each other since your arrival, and this was the first time he’s really taken a good look at you.
his focused on the downward turn of your eyes, his you evaded his look. he skimmed over the slope of your nose, the slight press of your lips. there was a sort of sad look about you that he's always noticed when staring at you.
his arms cross over his chest, white brows furrowed. you felt heat rise to your cheeks, feeling meek under his heavy stare.
“we came here instead,” gojo simply says, his tone clipped.
you nod, your lips pulling into an awkward smile as you bend down to pick up your book, flicking off some of the dirt on its cover with your hands.
“i’ll head back” you murmur, picking up your basket, noticing your blanket that was still in his hands.
you decide not to care, you’ll just find another one.
“alone?” he asks incredulously, voice slightly raised as you give him a skeptical look.
this is the first time the two of you had really acknowledged each other, aside from the polite head nods and the two-word sentences. why was he questioning you so much?
"that was the plan," you tell him, your eyes squinting a little bit in confusion.
gojo knows the grounds like the back of his hand. he and his family have been coming here ever since he was a young boy. the estate is close to the shore, yes, but it's getting dark and you've only been here once. he almost wants to applaud your confidence.
"i'll go tell one of your sisters so they can accompany you back. they know the way better." he finally says, looking like he is about to turn to leave, but you scramble, tugging him back by the fabric of his loose tunic.
he looks at you in shock.
"no!" you almost hiss, a pleading look on your face, "i know the way back. don't tell them," you put your hands up as if you were surrendering, packing up all your things in a hurry as you shoot him a hasty smile, "just pretend i was never here."
gojo's apprehension isn't warded off. if anything, he's even more confused by your frenzied state.
you're finding the trail to the estate, leaving him as you keep poking around, not noticing the way he was still following you.
"your sisters wouldn't mind," he tells you, and you look over your shoulder with a raised brow.
"maybe if it was you who was asking to be led back," you say with a scoff, shoving some stray twigs and leaves from nearby trees out the way, "but they'd rather haul a sheep carcass than accompany me."
gojo blinks slowly.
when he doesn't say anything, you shoot him another confused look. what was he not getting?
"you do realize who i am...right?"
gojo rolls his eyes, pursing his lips together.
"yes...but," he kicks some pebbles away, "they don't care about...that, right?" he's hesitant to acknowledge the truth. the fact that you're only related to them by father. the reason why they don't even speak about your mother is because she's probably in a brothel somewhere far away.
you give it a second to sink in before you laugh, your head tilting back as your arms fall helplessly to the sides. gods he was daft.
"that's all my family cares about," you tell him, your voice dripping with something else, a buried emotion that you've been hauling around for years, "i think they'd rather me be eaten by a bear on my way back," you admit with a smile, but he doesn't reciprocate it. he doesn't really seem to be one for jokes.
gojo's arms cross over his chest, thinking. this entire time he just thought you liked being by yourself. were you alone because you had to be? is that why you've been avoiding the group?
before he can say something the shouts from the other kids reel you back to looking at the shore. they're calling for him to come back, asking what's taking him so long.
he looks back at you, conflicted.
"the water's nice," you say, your voice a little quieter as you give him a small smile, pushing him to leave.
he rakes his fingers through his white hair, staring at you longer.
that smile, he thinks, is the most melancholic thing he's ever seen
"there aren't any bears here," he says, as if that would do anything to help.
but your smile turns into something easier, a laugh, a genuine one, falling from your lips. gojo decides he likes that sound. better than all the other laughs he's heard.
"i'll trust you on that," you say, ducking your head down in a final nod as you turn around a final time and disappear behind the shrubbery.
gojo stands there for another minute, thinking.
and then he heads back to the beach, where all the other kids have already gone into the water. he goes to take off his tunic before he realizes he's still holding your blanket, the fabric searing into his skin.
he brings it closer to his face, his nose scrunching at a distinct smell, a small smile forming on his face when he can still remember the lingering smell on you too from when you were speaking to him.
lavender.
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prince charming's mismatch
pairing: prince!heeseung x princess!reader
synopsis: you and prince heeseung have been rivals for as long as you can remember. what began as childhood clashes has grown into a deep-seated animosity over the years. but when your sister runs away on her wedding day, you're forced to take her place and marry heeseung—the last person you ever wanted to call your husband.
now bound in an unwanted marriage, you’re faced with navigating the tension between your unresolved hatred and an unexpected attraction. as palace intrigue and looming threats surround you both, you must confront the truth of your feelings. will the bitterness between you tear you apart, or will it ignite something far more powerful?
genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, arranged marriage au
warnings: highly suggestive content!!! kissing, hee and reader are mean at first, insecurities, jealous!hee
note: i've been meaning to write this plot for an year now, im happy with how it turned out! e2l with hee is always soo fun to write. enjoyy
word count: 11.5k
royally yours masterlist | next: jay
if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3
the first time you met prince heeseung, it was at a grand summer garden party hosted by your parents in the palace’s sprawling grounds. you were barely six years old, and he wasn’t much older, yet even then, the air between you crackled with something akin to competition. your governess had dressed you in your finest lace frock, with your hair tied in perfect ribbons, but none of that mattered. you were too busy building a grand sandcastle near the fountain, your little fingers carefully patting the turrets into shape.
that was when heeseung appeared, his shadow falling over your castle like a storm cloud. he crouched beside you without so much as a polite greeting, his royal title apparently excusing his lack of manners. his eyes, sharp for a child, surveyed your handiwork critically.
“that’s not right,” he declared, reaching out to touch one of your towers. “the walls need to be thicker, or it’ll fall.”
you frowned, already bristling at the unsolicited advice. “it’s my castle. i know what i’m doing.”
he smirked, a small, superior thing that made your blood simmer even at that tender age. without asking, he began "fixing" it, his hands too rough as he demolished what you had so carefully crafted.
“stop!” you cried, shoving him back with all the strength your little body could muster. heeseung stumbled, landing awkwardly on the grass, but instead of being chastened, he merely laughed.
“see?” he said, gesturing at the collapsed sandcastle. “i told you it would fall.”
tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you glared at him. “you ruined it! i didn’t ask for your help!”
heeseung stood, dusting off his fine clothes, a boyish smirk still plastered on his face. “you should thank me. i was doing you a favour.”
from that day forward, any time your families met, it was as if an unspoken rule had been established—whenever you were in the same room, you and heeseung would find something to argue about. it didn’t matter if it was who deserved the biggest slice of cake or who could recite their latin conjugations faster; the two of you were constantly at odds.
as the years passed, your mutual disdain only deepened. by the time you were ten, heeseung had already earned a reputation as the golden boy of his kingdom, a future king who excelled in everything he touched. your own accomplishments were always impressive—your parents had ensured you were well-versed in languages, history, and the fine arts—but whenever heeseung was around, it felt as though all your achievements paled in comparison.
“did you hear?” one of your tutors asked one morning as you sat in the drawing room, diligently practising your embroidery. “prince heeseung has been awarded top marks in his studies again. he’s to receive a commendation from the royal academy.”
you didn’t look up, but your needle paused for the briefest of moments. “how wonderful for him,” you muttered, the words heavy with sarcasm.
that evening, at another royal banquet, you couldn’t help but bring up your own accomplishments, eager for even a crumb of recognition.
“i’ve been practising my archery,” you said proudly to the gathered guests, though your eyes couldn’t help but flick toward heeseung, who lounged nearby, looking as regal and aloof as ever. “i managed to hit the bullseye several times this week.”
heeseung glanced up lazily, catching your eye with that familiar, insufferable smirk. “impressive,” he said in a bored tone, “though archery isn’t quite the same as, say, fencing. that requires real skill.”
your fists clenched under the table, your pride wounded by his casual dismissal. but this was the way it always went. no matter what you did, heeseung always found a way to make it seem insignificant, as though he were the sun and you were merely a star dimmed by his brilliance.
by the time you were both teenagers, the animosity between you had grown more complicated, though no less intense. you found yourselves at the same royal gatherings, balls, and court functions, and each time, it was as if the entire room held its breath, waiting to see what you and heeseung would clash over next.
at one particularly grand ball, you had been feeling proud of your debut. you wore a gown of the finest silk, and you’d received more than a few admiring glances from the eligible noblemen in attendance. you were certain this was your night to shine—until heeseung approached.
“you look well enough,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge that set your teeth on edge. “though i hope you don’t trip during the quadrille like last time.”
your cheeks flushed, remembering all too well the minor misstep you’d taken at a previous ball. “i won’t,” you snapped, glaring at him. “and even if i did, it’s better than fencing yourself into a corner like you did at the tournament last month.”
his smile faltered for just a second, but that was enough to make you feel victorious.
yet, despite the constant barbs, there was something else simmering beneath the surface now—a tension you refused to name. you hated the way your heart raced whenever heeseung was near, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of a room. and, though you’d never admit it, you hated even more that part of you missed the old days when your squabbles were simple, childish things.
it all changed the day your sister’s engagement to heeseung was announced. the prince who had been your lifelong nemesis was now to become your sister’s husband, the future king of your kingdom. it was a match made for political alliance, but it felt like a betrayal. you had expected more from him—well, not more kindness, but certainly more rebellion. yet, heeseung accepted the engagement with the same cool composure he did everything else.
for the first time in years, he stopped seeking you out, stopped picking those fights you had come to expect. he no longer bothered with sharp remarks or smug smiles. instead, he kept his distance, as though you were beneath his notice.
you told yourself it didn’t matter. after all, what did you care if heeseung ignored you now? he was going to be your brother-in-law, and that was enough reason to keep things civil. and yet, a strange, hollow feeling settled in your chest whenever you saw him and your sister together. he was colder now, more mature, but somehow more distant than ever.
little did you know, your rivalry with prince heeseung was far from over. if anything, it was only just beginning.
the night your world fell apart, it started with a simple knock on your chamber door. the palace had been abuzz with preparations—florists arranging garlands, tailors hemming gowns, and courtiers whispering about the grand union that would strengthen two kingdoms. you had spent the evening rehearsing your duties as maid of honour, biting back any remnants of bitterness that still clung to your feelings about the match. it didn’t matter that you had spent your entire life despising heeseung; your sister loved him, or at least, she was supposed to.
you were preparing to retire, brushing your hair by the dim glow of candlelight, when your sister slipped into the room, her face pale and eyes wide with fear. you’d never seen her look so frantic. your heart sank before she even said a word.
“i’m not going to marry him,” she whispered, wringing her hands in the folds of her silk nightgown. her voice trembled, but it was steady enough for you to know she wasn’t joking.
your heart lurched. “what are you talking about? the wedding is tomorrow!”
her wide eyes darted to the door as if she feared someone might overhear. she leaned in closer, gripping your wrist with trembling fingers. “i can’t marry heeseung,” she said urgently. “i don’t love him. i’m leaving tonight.”
the words hit you like a physical blow. “you’re what?”
“i’m eloping,” she said, her voice firmer now, as if saying it out loud gave her courage. “with lucien.”
lucien. you barely knew the man, a minor noble from another court, but he had charmed your sister quickly. he was handsome and witty, but far beneath her station. you stared at her, disbelief mixing with fury.
“lucien? are you mad? you can’t just abandon your duty for—”
“for love?” she interrupted, her voice rising in defiance. “yes, i can. i won’t be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who cares nothing for me.”
you swallowed hard, your mind racing. heeseung, distant and cold as he had been with you, had shown no signs of affection for your sister either, but this was bigger than personal feelings. the marriage was political, a union meant to secure alliances, peace, and power. your sister fleeing would bring nothing but chaos.
“you’ll ruin everything,” you whispered, your voice thick with the weight of the consequences. “our families, the kingdoms—this is bigger than you.”
her eyes softened with a mix of guilt and determination. “i know. but i can’t live my life for duty, not like this.” she stood, gathering a small satchel you hadn’t noticed before, already packed and ready for her escape.
“you won’t stop me, will you?” she asked, her gaze pleading.
you wanted to scream, to shake her out of this madness, but your throat tightened. she was your sister. you loved her. and you knew, deep down, that nothing you said would change her mind.
“i should,” you said, your voice quiet, brittle. “but no. i won’t.”
your sister smiled, a fragile, relieved thing, before pulling you into a tight embrace. the hug felt final, like the end of something neither of you could come back from. when she finally let go, you stood frozen in the middle of her room as she slipped out the window and into the night, her footsteps fading into the shadows.
the palace remained blissfully unaware of the catastrophe until morning, when your mother’s scream shattered the early dawn peace.
the palace was in chaos the next morning. servants rushed through the halls, panic etched on their faces as whispers spread like wildfire—the bride had run away. you stayed in your chambers as long as possible, trying to gather your thoughts, your emotions, trying to prepare for the inevitable fallout.
when the summons came from your father, it felt like a death knell. the walk to the throne room felt endless, each step heavier than the last. the moment you stepped through the grand doors, you saw heeseung standing beside your parents. his face was a mask of icy calm, but his eyes…his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, cold and unforgiving.
he didn’t even glance at you as your father spoke.
“your sister has disgraced this family,” your father’s voice boomed, his tone laced with anger and disappointment. “but the marriage cannot be abandoned. the alliance with heeseung’s kingdom is too important.”
you stood still, your stomach churning as you braced for what was coming.
“therefore,” your father continued, his gaze hard as stone, “you will take her place.”
for a moment, the words didn’t register. you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. you? marry heeseung? no, it wasn’t possible. you had spent your entire life in a silent war with him. the idea of marrying the man who had been your nemesis since childhood was unthinkable.
your mother’s voice, soft but firm, broke the silence. “the arrangements have already been made. the wedding will proceed as planned. you will become heeseung’s bride.”
“no.” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your heart racing. “i can’t.”
your father’s eyes narrowed, and your mother’s expression hardened with disappointment. “you will do your duty,” your father said coldly. “this is not up for discussion.”
duty. it always came down to that. your entire life, you had been prepared for moments like this, but not this moment. not like this.
finally, you turned to heeseung, desperate for any sign of protest, for him to say something—anything—that would stop this madness. but he was silent. his face remained expressionless, as though none of this affected him. he looked at you as if you were just a piece of the puzzle, another part of the kingdom’s grand design.
“is that all i am to you?” you asked, your voice shaking. “just a replacement? a stand-in for the bride who ran away?”
for the first time, heeseung’s gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, buried deep beneath the coldness. but his words cut through you like ice.
“you’re a princess,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “your role is to serve your kingdom. that’s all that matters.”
a bitter laugh escaped your throat. “you’ve hated me for years, heeseung. and now you expect me to just—what? pretend none of that matters?”
his jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. instead, he turned away, his indifference stinging more than any of the insults you had traded over the years.
your father spoke again, his tone final. “the marriage will happen. prepare yourself.”
the grand hall was suffused with the glow of flickering candles and soft sunlight filtering through stained glass windows. the scent of fresh roses—your sister’s favourite, not yours—hung heavily in the air, mocking the gravity of the moment. you stood at the entrance of the hall, your hands clenched so tightly around the bouquet that your knuckles were white. the murmurs of the courtiers echoed around you, a constant hum of speculation and judgement. no matter how well you carried yourself today, the whispers wouldn’t stop.
the switch of the bride was the scandal of the century, and you were at the centre of it.
ahead of you, heeseung stood tall, his face as unreadable as stone. the same detachment was in his eyes, his expression cool and composed as if this marriage was merely another political manoeuvre for him, another step toward the throne. he didn’t look at you with warmth, or even a hint of care. to him, you weren’t his wife—you were the replacement for the woman who had run away.
you walked down the aisle, every step heavier than the last, the reality of your situation crushing you. heeseung’s gaze was steady as you approached, but it wasn’t the gaze of a man looking at his bride. it was a look of cold calculation, a man who had resigned himself to duty.
when you finally reached him, your heart thudding loudly in your chest, you barely registered the priest's words. the vows—sacred, binding—felt hollow, like a cruel twist of fate. how could you stand here, repeating the words meant for your sister? they weren't meant for you. you were never supposed to be the bride.
heeseung took your hand, and the warmth of his skin was a sharp contrast to the chill that ran down your spine. his grip was firm, not gentle, but not cruel either—just dutiful. he spoke his vows with a steady voice, each word sounding rehearsed, as though they meant nothing to him beyond their formality.
and then it was your turn. you hesitated, the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders, your pulse quickening. your voice trembled slightly as you repeated the vows, feeling the eyes of everyone in the hall on you—expecting you to fulfil your role, to be the perfect princess. you could barely choke out the words, but somehow, you managed. and with every word, you felt the invisible chains of your new life tightening around you.
when the priest finally pronounced you husband and wife, heeseung’s lips brushed yours in the briefest of kisses—so cold and devoid of feeling that it felt more like a business transaction than the union of two people. the cheers of the court erupted around you, but in that moment, the applause sounded like the closing of a cage. you were trapped, bound to him, to this life.
as you turned to leave the altar, heeseung offered his arm, the tension between you palpable. his eyes flickered to yours for a brief moment, but there was no warmth there. just that cold, resigned look you had grown accustomed to. you were both playing your roles, just as you had been trained to do your whole lives.
but this wasn’t a game. this was your future, and it felt like a noose tightening around your neck.
the wedding feast had been a blur—a cacophony of forced smiles, hollow congratulations, and polite toasts that masked the underlying tension. you had barely spoken a word to heeseung throughout the entire affair. he hadn’t made any attempt to speak to you either, remaining as distant and composed as ever.
now, as you stood alone in the chambers that were to be yours and heeseung’s, the reality of your new life settled heavily on your chest. the palace chambers were far too quiet, the air thick with the tension that had been building between you and heeseung for years. as you stood in the centre of the room, staring at the enormous bed draped in rich fabrics, it felt like the walls were closing in. the room was elegantly decorated—ornate tapestries hung on the walls, and the grand four-poster bed was fit for a queen. but none of it mattered. the splendour felt like a mockery of the situation you found yourself in. tonight, this room was not a sanctuary but a gilded cage.
your breath caught in your throat as the door creaked open. heeseung entered, his presence commanding even in the subdued candlelight. the tension between you was palpable, stretching like a thin, fragile thread that could snap at any moment. his gaze flicked toward you briefly, but he didn’t speak, and the silence that followed was suffocating.
heeseung moved with practised grace, his movements calm and deliberate. he began undoing the buttons on his ceremonial jacket, the fine fabric sliding off his shoulders and landing in a careless heap on the chair by the vanity. you stood frozen, unsure of what to say, what to do. this wasn’t how you had imagined a wedding night would feel—though you had never dreamed this night would be with heeseung, of all people.
his back was to you now, his broad shoulders tense, though he did nothing to betray any emotion. you could feel the distance between you both, even though he was just across the room. heeseung had always been composed, guarded, but tonight, his coldness cut even deeper than usual.
he finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady. “it’s late. you should rest.” there was no affection in his tone, just the same sense of duty that had hung over the entire day. you weren’t his bride by choice, and he wasn’t your husband by desire.
you bit back a bitter laugh. rest? as if you could simply close your eyes and pretend this was normal. pretend that this marriage was something other than a trap. “is that it, then?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “we go to bed and pretend everything is fine?”
heeseung turned to face you, his expression as unreadable as ever. he didn’t answer right away, as if weighing his response carefully. “what do you want me to say?” his tone was measured, but there was an edge to it, a hint of frustration that matched your own.
“i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. i wasn’t supposed to marry you.”
something flickered in heeseung’s eyes, though it disappeared as quickly as it came. he regarded you for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he spoke again. “do you think i wanted this?” his words were quiet but laced with a bitterness that surprised you. “i didn’t ask for this any more than you did.”
you swallowed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. you hadn’t expected this admission from him, hadn’t expected him to show any vulnerability. “then what are we supposed to do?” your voice was softer now, the anger ebbing away, replaced by uncertainty. “how are we supposed to live like this?”
heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair, a rare moment of frustration breaking through his calm facade. “we do what’s expected of us,” he said, though there was a heaviness to his words, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “we fulfill our duties. that’s all we can do.”
“duties.” the word tasted bitter on your tongue. it had always come down to that, hadn’t it? duty to the crown, to the kingdom, to your family. and now, duty to heeseung.
the silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable. heeseung turned away, moving toward the window where the heavy drapes framed the view of the darkened palace gardens. his silhouette was stark against the faint glow of moonlight, his posture stiff, almost defensive.
after a long moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “i’ll sleep over there.” he gestured to the chaise near the window, a fine piece of furniture that now seemed woefully out of place in this awkward, tension-filled room. “you can have the bed.”
you blinked, surprised by his offer. it was the last thing you expected from him, but it was a relief nonetheless. “you don’t have to—”
“i’m not doing this for you,” he interrupted, his voice firm, but not unkind. “i just don’t want to make this any more difficult than it already is.”
with that, he moved toward the chaise, gathering a pillow and blanket from the wardrobe. his actions were efficient, almost mechanical, as if he had already resigned himself to this fate. he didn’t look at you as he arranged the blanket over the chaise.
you stood there, feeling a strange mix of emotions—relief, awkwardness, and something else, something heavier that you couldn’t quite place. this was your wedding night, but it was nothing like you had ever imagined. there was no closeness, no warmth—just two people bound together by obligation and circumstance.
finally, you moved toward the bed, the thick carpets muffling your steps. the soft fabric of your gown felt heavy as you climbed beneath the covers, though they provided no comfort. you lay there, staring up at the intricate canopy above, your mind racing. this bed, this room—none of it felt like yours.
heeseung settled on the chaise, his back to you, the distance between you both feeling vast despite the small room. the silence was oppressive, each second dragging on longer than the last. you wondered if he was as uneasy as you were, or if he had already steeled himself to this new reality.
for a long while, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the faint rustling of fabric as you shifted beneath the covers. the weight of the day, of the vows, of your new title, pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.
finally, you couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “heeseung,” you whispered, unsure if you even wanted him to respond.
he didn’t turn, but his voice was low and steady when he answered. “what?”
you hesitated, searching for the right words. “do you think... do you think this will ever get easier?”
there was a long pause before he responded, his voice quiet, almost resigned. “i don’t know.”
and with that, the conversation ended. heeseung remained silent, his back still turned to you, and you knew there was nothing more to say. you turned onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, though they offered little warmth. the room felt too big, too empty, despite his presence.
eventually, exhaustion crept in, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. but even as sleep began to claim you, a cold, sinking feeling settled in your chest. this was your life now—bound to a man you barely knew, a man who had been your enemy for years, and yet, somehow, your husband.
and as you drifted off into uneasy sleep, the last thought that crossed your mind was how strange it felt to be lying just feet away from heeseung, yet feeling as though he was a world away.
the morning after the wedding dawned cold and gray, mirroring the lingering tension between you and heeseung. you woke up in the large, empty bed, the space next to you untouched, a stark reminder of the distance that had been established on your wedding night. the air in the room felt thick, suffocating, as if the very walls were pressing in on you, reminding you of your new reality.
as you sat up, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings only worsened the tightness in your chest. this was your new life. not just this bed, but this room, this palace—heeseung’s palace—and you would share it with a man who barely spoke to you, who looked at you with that same cold distance he had always shown.
you dressed quickly, your movements mechanical, trying not to think too much. the maids moved around you silently, well-trained and efficient, but you could feel their eyes on you. it was impossible to escape the fact that everyone knew. the entire kingdom knew the story—the princess who had run away, and her sister forced to take her place. the whispers would never stop.
when you finally made your way downstairs to the grand dining room, heeseung was already seated at the long table, a plate of food in front of him. he didn’t look up when you entered, simply continued cutting into his meal with precise, practised movements. you hesitated for a moment, then took your seat across from him.
the silence was unbearable.
you picked at your food, barely tasting it, glancing at heeseung from time to time. his expression was as unreadable as ever, his attention focused on the papers beside his plate—likely matters of the kingdom that required his attention. he was already immersed in his duties, the weight of his impending kingship pressing down on him just as heavily as your new role as his wife weighed on you.
finally, you couldn’t stand it any longer. “do you plan to ignore me for the rest of our lives?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.
heeseung didn’t look up immediately, taking his time to finish his bite and set down his utensils with deliberate care. when he finally met your gaze, his expression was cool, detached. “i’m not ignoring you.”
you scoffed, unable to hide your frustration. “you’ve barely spoken to me since the wedding.”
he raised an eyebrow, his tone as calm as ever. “what would you like me to say?”
the question took you off guard. you hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. you opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. what did you want him to say? that he regretted everything as much as you did? that he hated this arrangement, too? or perhaps you wanted him to acknowledge the years of bitterness between you, to admit that this marriage was a farce.
instead, you said, “we’re married now, heeseung. we have to live together. we can’t keep pretending the other doesn’t exist.”
his jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm. “i’m aware of that.”
you waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. the silence stretched on once again, thicker than before, suffocating in its awkwardness. you pushed your plate away, no longer interested in eating. “fine,” you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly. “i suppose i’ll just get used to it, then.”
you turned to leave, but his voice stopped you. “you don’t have to like this any more than i do, but we have responsibilities now.”
you paused, your back to him, your hands clenched at your sides. “responsibilities,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. it seemed like that was all your life had ever been reduced to—duty, obligation, and responsibilities.
without another word, you left the dining room, the heavy doors closing behind you with a soft thud. you could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on you even more as you walked through the halls of the palace, each step echoing in the vast emptiness. you weren’t just trapped in this marriage—you were trapped in this life.
days passed, and though you and heeseung were forced to share the same space, your interactions remained minimal, stilted. in the mornings, you would find him already at the breakfast table, poring over documents and barely acknowledging your presence. he would spend his days attending council meetings and handling matters of state, leaving you to navigate the palace on your own, feeling more like a guest in your own home than its mistress.
at night, he would retire to the chambers late, often when you were already lying in bed, pretending to sleep. he would quietly take his place on the chaise near the window, far enough away to avoid any awkwardness, but close enough that his presence was a constant reminder of the divide between you.
it was during these nights that the loneliness settled in most heavily. the silence of the room, broken only by the occasional rustling of fabric or the soft crackle of the fireplace, was suffocating. you had grown accustomed to sleeping alone, but now, knowing heeseung was just a few feet away, the distance between you felt almost unbearable. there was an unspoken understanding that neither of you wanted to bridge the gap.
one evening, after yet another day of awkward meals and tense silences, you found yourself in the library, one of the few places in the palace where you felt at peace. the vast room was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, their spines worn and familiar. you had always loved to read, finding solace in the stories and histories of others when your own life felt too overwhelming.
you were seated by the window, the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow over the pages of your book, when the door creaked open. you looked up, surprised to see heeseung standing in the doorway. he paused for a moment, as if uncertain whether to enter or leave, his eyes scanning the room before they settled on you.
“may i join you?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.
you blinked, caught off guard by his request. this was the first time he had sought you out since the wedding, and the suddenness of it left you momentarily speechless. you nodded, unsure of what else to do. “of course.”
heeseung crossed the room, moving with his usual grace, and took a seat in the armchair opposite you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the library enveloping you both. he seemed content to sit in silence, his gaze wandering to the bookshelves that lined the walls.
finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “this is... one of the quieter rooms.”
you raised an eyebrow, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “it’s a library, heeseung. of course it’s quiet.”
to your surprise, he chuckled softly, though it was a dry, humourless sound. “fair enough.”
silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t as suffocating. there was something almost... peaceful about it, the weight of your shared presence not as unbearable as it had been before. you watched him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how tired he looked. the weight of his responsibilities was evident in the slight furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly.
after a while, you set your book down on your lap, deciding to break the silence. “it must be difficult,” you said quietly. “taking on so much.”
heeseung didn’t answer right away, his gaze still focused on the shelves, but eventually, he nodded. “it is.”
you hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, softer this time. “you don’t have to carry it all alone, you know.”
he turned to look at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something softer than the cold indifference you had grown accustomed to.
“and what would you suggest?” he asked, his voice quiet but not unkind.
“i don’t know,” you admitted. “but we’re in this together, whether we like it or not.”
heeseung’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. it wasn’t much, but it was the first step—however small—toward something more than just forced cohabitation.
the shift in your relationship came faster than you expected. it started with a challenge—a reckless, unspoken dare that neither of you could resist.
it had been a clear, crisp day, the first after several weeks of rain. you were restless, tired of the palace walls and the constant burden of your new role. you had gone to the stables, hoping to take one of the horses out for a ride, needing to feel the wind in your hair and the ground beneath you. but when you arrived, heeseung was already there, adjusting the reins of his own horse.
you paused in the doorway, surprised to see him. “you ride?”
he glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “you sound surprised.”
“i am,” you admitted. “i’ve never seen you ride before.”
he chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
the challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and you couldn’t resist rising to it. “care to prove it?” you asked, moving toward your own horse.
heeseung’s smirk widened. “what do you have in mind?”
you mounted your horse swiftly, the thrill of the challenge already coursing through your veins. “a race.”
heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “you think you can beat me?”
“i know i can,” you shot back, turning your horse toward the open field beyond the stables.
without another word, you spurred your horse into motion, not waiting for his response. behind you, you heard heeseung’s laughter, low and rich, before the sound of hooves thundering against the ground told you he had accepted the challenge.
you raced through the fields, the wind whipping through your hair, the thrill of the chase making your heart race. heeseung was right behind you, and you could feel the tension building, the competitive edge between you sparking like fire. it was like being children again, challenging each other at every turn, pushing each other to the limit.
but this time, it was different. the stakes were higher, the tension thicker, and the way heeseung looked at you when he finally caught up to you sent a shiver down your spine.
when he finally pulled his horse beside yours, you were both breathless, your faces flushed with adrenaline. you glanced over at him, and the look in his eyes—intense, dark, heated—made your pulse quicken.
“not bad,” he said, his voice low, rough around the edges.
you smirked, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “you almost kept up.”
heeseung leaned in just slightly, his gaze locking with yours. “almost?” he murmured, his voice sending a jolt through you.
you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. the space between you was too close, the air charged with something you weren’t quite ready to name. his eyes lingered on your lips for just a moment too long, and you could feel the heat of his presence, the tension that had always existed between you now manifesting in a way that was far more dangerous.
before either of you could say anything, heeseung pulled back, his smirk returning as if nothing had happened. “we’ll call it a draw,” he said, though there was a teasing edge to his voice.
you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, shaking your head with a laugh. “you wish.”
but as you rode back to the palace, the tension between you remained, simmering beneath the surface. it was no longer the resentment of old enemies, but something far more complex, far more dangerous. and for the first time, you found yourself wondering what would happen if that tension ever boiled over.
later that night, the air was thick with the remnants of the day’s energy. you couldn’t sleep, your mind still racing from the ride and the way heeseung had looked at you—how close he had come, how your heart had nearly betrayed you in that moment of suspended anticipation.
you wandered the halls of the palace aimlessly, your footsteps soft against the marble floors. the palace at night was a different place, quiet and still, the shadows long and heavy. it felt like a place where secrets lingered in every corner, where the walls whispered of things that could never be said aloud.
as you passed by the study, you noticed the faint glow of light beneath the door. curiosity piqued, you pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. heeseung was there, seated at the desk, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. he was reading, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted as he focused on the page in front of him.
you hesitated, but before you could turn away, he looked up, catching sight of you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. then, without breaking eye contact, heeseung set the book aside.
“couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, intimate in the quiet of the room.
you shook your head, stepping into the room. “no. you?”
heeseung’s gaze flicked over you, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your skin heat under his scrutiny. “i’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone soft but laced with that same dangerous tension that had been building all day.
“about what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved closer, drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
heeseung’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. “about you,” he said quietly. “about us.”
the weight of his words settled in the space between you, thick and intoxicating. about you. about us. it echoed in your mind, stirring something deep within you that you had tried to ignore for far too long. you weren’t sure if it was the late hour, the dim candlelight, or the fact that you had been dancing around each other for weeks now, but something inside you snapped.
your breath hitched as you looked at him, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name. but it was there—undeniable, pulsing in the space between you. and now that it had been spoken into existence, you couldn’t unsee it.
“what about us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. it was a challenge.
heeseung’s gaze flicked to your lips, and the tension in the room intensified, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like the air itself might shatter from the pressure. he stood slowly, his movements deliberate, and took a step toward you, closing the already-small distance between you.
“there’s always been something between us,” he said, his voice low, rough. his eyes never left yours, burning with intensity. “even when we hated each other.”
your heart was pounding now, so loud you were sure he could hear it. you wanted to deny it, to tell him that he was wrong, that it had always been pure hatred. but that would’ve been a lie. you knew it as well as he did—whatever had always been there between you, it had never been simple.
“and what is it now?” you asked, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even though every instinct told you to look away. to run.
heeseung took another step closer, his hand reaching up slowly, as though giving you the chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. his fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. his hand lingered there, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.
“maybe we’ve been fighting the wrong battle,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. the warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, and you felt your pulse quicken.
your throat tightened. every word he said felt like a dangerous line, one that you were teetering on the edge of crossing. the tension between you had always been a fire—burning too hot, too fast. and now, it felt like it was about to consume you both.
heeseung’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and your breath caught in your throat. his touch was tentative, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was real or if you would pull away at any moment.
but you didn’t.
instead, you took a step closer, closing the gap completely. the air between you was charged, thick with unspoken desire and the weight of all the years you had spent fighting against each other. your body was betraying you, leaning into him, drawn by a force you had denied for too long.
heeseung’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours, the heat between you almost unbearable now. you could feel the tension in every muscle, the way his hand trembled slightly as it cupped your cheek, the way your own body was responding without your permission.
then, in a breathless moment that felt like it stretched on forever, he closed the distance.
his lips pressed against yours—soft at first, testing, as though he wasn’t sure you would let him. but the moment your lips met his, something ignited between you. the kiss deepened, filled with all the pent-up frustration and longing that had been building for so long. it was a clash of emotions—anger, desire, need—all colliding in that single moment.
you responded instantly, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. the kiss was rough, almost desperate, as though you were both trying to make up for years of missed chances in that single moment.
his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped against his lips at the feeling of his body pressed so close to yours. the intensity of it was overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to stop. you didn’t want to think. you just wanted to feel.
but then, as quickly as it started, heeseung pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours. his hands still gripped your waist, holding you in place as though he couldn’t quite let go yet.
“this isn’t... what i expected,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. his breath was warm against your skin, and his eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for an answer in your gaze.
you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “what did you expect?” you asked softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair.
heeseung’s grip on your waist tightened for a moment, his eyes darkening once again. “i didn’t expect you to feel this way.” his voice was low, almost a growl, filled with the same intensity that had been building between you all night.
you opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. you had no idea what to say, no idea how to explain the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you. all you knew was that everything had changed in that kiss.
“i don’t know what i feel,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely audible in the heavy silence of the room.
heeseung’s lips twitched into a small, almost sad smile. “neither do i.” he stepped back, finally breaking the physical contact between you, and you immediately missed the warmth of his body against yours.
“but whatever this is... it’s dangerous,” he continued, his eyes locked on yours, as though warning you. “we’ve always been enemies. we don’t know how to be anything else.”
you felt a lump form in your throat at his words, because deep down, you knew he was right. but that didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the desire for something more—for the possibility of what could be.
“i don’t want to be your enemy anymore,” you said softly, the confession surprising even you.
heeseung’s eyes widened slightly at your words, his expression unreadable. for a moment, you thought he might say something—might admit that he didn’t want to be your enemy either. but then, he shook his head, the walls between you coming back up, brick by brick.
“this doesn’t change anything,” he said quietly, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.
and with that, he turned and left the room, leaving you standing there in the soft glow of candlelight, your heart pounding and your mind reeling from the kiss that had shifted the entire balance between you.
as the door closed softly behind him, you exhaled a shaky breath, your fingers brushing your lips where his had been moments before.
everything had changed.
the royal court was buzzing with tension, and for once, the tension wasn’t between you and heeseung. the kingdom was on edge, not from war or rebellion, but from something far more insidious—political manoeuvring. rival noble houses were plotting against heeseung’s rule, questioning his right to ascend to the throne, especially after the sudden marriage to you. the whispers had grown louder over the past few weeks, the courtiers’ gazes sharper, waiting for the first misstep.
you had known court life would be full of power plays and alliances, but this was different. it was personal. every snide comment, every hushed conversation behind closed doors, felt like an attack on your marriage, on your family’s legacy. and worst of all, it felt like an attack on you.
one afternoon, as you made your way through the palace corridors, you overheard a group of nobles—close to your family—voicing their displeasure over your sudden marriage to heeseung. it was the same old song—how your sister should have been the bride, how you were never meant for this role, how heeseung marrying you was a strategic disaster.
you felt your blood run cold, but you kept walking, your head held high. you had grown used to these remarks, but today, they stung deeper. not because they questioned your worth, but because they reflected the deep-seated insecurity you had always carried.
that night, you found yourself alone in the study, staring out the window at the darkening sky. the weight of the court’s judgement, the impossible standards, the constant comparisons to your sister—they were suffocating. and then there was heeseung, whose coldness had thawed just enough to show you glimpses of something deeper, something real. but he was still heeseung—your husband, your childhood rival, and now the man who held your future in his hands.
the door creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him. you had grown attuned to his presence, the way the air shifted whenever he entered a room.
“what’s wrong?” his voice was quieter than usual, but still carrying that edge of command. he always knew when something was off, as if he could sense the turmoil swirling inside you.
you didn’t answer immediately, your gaze fixed on the stars outside. “they’re saying we’re not suited for each other,” you murmured, finally turning to face him. “that i’m not fit to be queen. that you made a mistake.”
heeseung’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing in that familiar way, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you.
“let them talk,” he said flatly. “they’re just waiting for us to fail.”
“and what if they’re right?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, the fear and doubt bubbling to the surface. “i was never meant to marry you. this isn’t the life i was prepared for.”
heeseung stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“i didn’t choose you because you were an easy choice,” he said, his voice low but intense. “i chose you because you’re stronger than you realise.”
you blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his words. heeseung wasn’t one to offer praise lightly, and hearing it now, in this moment, felt more intimate than anything he had ever said to you before.
“there are plenty of people who want to see us fail,” he continued, his grip tightening slightly. “but they don’t matter. what matters is that we don’t give them the satisfaction. we fight together.”
the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you saw beyond the cold exterior he had always shown you. there was something deeper there, something raw and unspoken. a partnership.
but the closeness also brought something else—a heat that had always been there between you, simmering beneath the surface. his hands lingered on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the bare skin just above your collarbone, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the air thicker.
“you think i’m strong?” you asked, your voice quieter now, tinged with something more vulnerable. something real.
heeseung’s gaze flicked down to your lips, just for a moment, before returning to your eyes. his voice was rough when he spoke, low and filled with an unspoken promise. “i’ve always known.”
the charged air between you was impossible to ignore now. his fingers slid from your shoulders to your arms, the touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. it wasn’t just the weight of responsibility pressing down on you—it was him, his closeness, the undeniable pull you had both been dancing around for weeks.
you could feel the tension in every inch of your body, your heart racing as heeseung’s hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer, but still leaving just enough space for doubt. he hesitated, as if waiting for you to push him away, to remind him of the enmity that had defined your relationship for so long.
but you didn’t. instead, you leaned into him, your hands tentatively reaching up to rest on his chest. the fabric of his shirt was soft under your fingers, but beneath it, you could feel the steady beat of his heart, as rapid as your own.
“maybe i’ve been wrong about you,” you whispered, your breath hitching as the tension between you reached a breaking point.
heeseung’s eyes darkened at your words, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “maybe you have,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. but there was something softer there too, something almost tender.
before you could talk yourself out of it, you closed the distance between you and kissed him.
the kiss was like nothing you had ever experienced—fierce, desperate, and full of the years of unresolved tension between you. it was as if all the walls you had built around yourselves were crumbling in an instant, leaving nothing but the raw, undeniable attraction that had always simmered beneath the surface.
heeseung responded instantly, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.
it was overwhelming, the intensity of the moment, the way your bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, the way every touch sent a shockwave of desire coursing through you. you had spent so long fighting him, fighting this, and now, as his hands slid up your back, holding you close, you wondered why you had ever resisted.
when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. heeseung’s grip on your waist didn’t loosen, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat as wild as your own.
“we can’t keep pretending,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your lips still tingling from the kiss.
heeseung’s eyes met yours, the vulnerability and uncertainty in his gaze mirroring your own. “no, we can’t,” he agreed, his voice rough with emotion.
for a moment, the world hung in the balance. you had crossed a line, and there was no going back. everything between you had shifted, and the question now wasn’t whether you would move forward—it was how.
heeseung’s thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch so tender it nearly broke you. “we’re in this together,” he said softly, the weight of his words heavy with meaning.
this time, there was no need to say anything more. you both understood what had changed between you, even if neither of you was ready to fully admit it. and though the path ahead was uncertain, you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t facing it alone anymore.
weeks passed, and with each passing day, things between you and heeseung slowly shifted. the cold, sharp walls that had once kept you apart were crumbling, revealing a warmth and understanding that neither of you had anticipated. where there had once been biting words and icy glares, there was now laughter, quiet conversations, and small gestures of affection.
the palace felt different. it was lighter now, with the growing sense of partnership between you and heeseung. your bickering had been replaced with genuine care, and though the wounds of the past hadn't fully healed, you were both learning to forgive. but it wasn’t just the emotional connection that was shifting—there was something deeper brewing beneath the surface. unspoken feelings, simmering tension.
it wasn’t until a grand banquet in honour of a visiting prince from a neighbouring kingdom that these feelings came to a head. you stood at the centre of the ballroom, dressed in a gown that glimmered under the candlelight. it hugged your figure perfectly, catching the attention of more than just heeseung. the prince—prince seojun—had been particularly charming throughout the evening, his eyes lingering on you a little too long, his compliments a little too bold.
“you are by far the most captivating presence in this room, your highness,” seojun murmured, his voice low as he leaned in slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “if i had known such beauty awaited me here, i would have visited sooner.”
you laughed politely, glancing over your shoulder, searching for heeseung in the crowd. he was across the room, deep in conversation with some nobles, but even from the distance, you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and intense.
seojun continued, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he leaned closer. “perhaps we could steal a moment away from the crowd? i would love to know more about the woman behind such an enchanting smile.”
before you could respond, a sudden shift in the air caught your attention. heeseung appeared at your side, his posture tense, his expression a mix of barely contained irritation and something else—something more possessive.
“princess,” heeseung’s voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous edge to it. his hand slid around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side. the claim was unmistakable. “i believe your dance card is full for the evening.”
seojun’s smirk faltered slightly as he glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension. heeseung’s eyes never left the prince, cold and unyielding.
“of course,” seojun replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. “i wouldn’t dream of overstepping. after all,” his gaze flickered to you, then back to heeseung, “she’s your wife.”
the words hung in the air for a moment, charged with unspoken meaning. seojun bowed slightly, a smirk still playing on his lips, before taking his leave. but even as he walked away, you could feel the lingering weight of his gaze.
you turned to heeseung, about to make a light-hearted remark about the interaction, but the look on his face stopped you. his eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his grip on your waist was firm—almost possessive.
“did he touch you?” heeseung asked, his voice low and tight.
you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his tone. “barely,” you replied, trying to play it off with a soft laugh. “why? are you jealous?”
his eyes flickered with something dangerous as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “you’re my wife. i don’t like other men thinking they can take what’s mine.”
your heart skipped a beat at his words. the possessiveness in his tone, the way his body pressed protectively against yours—it was unlike anything you had ever experienced with heeseung. you had always seen him as cold, distant, but this... this was different. there was fire in his eyes, and you could feel it burning between you, a tension that neither of you had acknowledged until now.
“and what if i enjoy a little attention now and then?” you teased, testing the boundaries, wanting to see how far he would go.
heeseung’s eyes darkened even more, and in one swift motion, he pulled you even closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. “i don’t care how many men look at you, but remember this—” his voice dropped, sending shivers down your spine, “you belong to me and i belong to you.”
a thrill ran through you at his words, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind spinning from the intensity of his claim. the ballroom, the crowd, even prince seojun—all of it faded away as heeseung’s gaze held you captive. you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the possessiveness in his touch, and for the first time, you realised that this wasn’t just some marriage of convenience anymore.
heeseung cared—more than he was willing to admit.
your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the emotions flickering behind them. “and what about you, heeseung?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “do you want me to be yours?”
his eyes softened for just a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “you already are,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “and i’m not letting you forget it.”
the banquet had left the air between you and heeseung charged with an intensity that neither of you could ignore. his possessiveness, the fierce look in his eyes when he claimed you as his wife in front of prince seojun, had stirred something inside you—something that had been simmering for far too long.
as the last of the guests departed and the palace quieted down for the night, the tension remained, lingering like an unspoken promise. heeseung walked beside you in silence as you both made your way through the dimly lit corridors toward your chambers. though no words passed between you, the air was thick with anticipation, the unspoken pull between you stronger than ever.
when you reached your shared chambers, heeseung opened the door for you, his gaze never leaving you as you stepped inside. you could feel his eyes on you, burning with a need that matched your own. the soft glow of the candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but all you could focus on was the man standing behind you, his presence overwhelming.
you moved toward the vanity, fingers trembling slightly as you began to remove your jewellery. you were acutely aware of heeseung standing behind you, the weight of his gaze almost tangible as he watched your every movement. his silence spoke volumes, filled with desire and unspoken emotions that neither of you had fully confronted until now.
the tension was unbearable. finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, you glanced at him through the reflection in the mirror, your voice soft but steady. “you’ve been quiet,” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze. “what’s on your mind?”
he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the bare skin of your shoulder. the touch was light, tentative, but it sent a shiver down your spine. his fingers lingered, tracing the delicate curve of your shoulder before he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.
“i didn’t like how he looked at you,” heeseung finally admitted, his voice low and rough with suppressed emotion. his eyes met yours in the mirror, dark with jealousy and something more—something deeper. “or the way he made you laugh.”
your heart raced at the possessiveness in his tone. you turned to face him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes blazed with something primal. his emotions were raw, laid bare before you in a way that heeseung had never allowed himself to show before.
“it was harmless,” you replied, stepping closer to him, your voice softening. “but i can’t say i minded the way you stepped in.”
his gaze darkened, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you flush against him. you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours, the hard lines of his frame pressing against your softness. his eyes locked onto yours, filled with unspoken desire, but also with something more—something tender.
“i’m not the kind of man who likes to share,” he said, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “especially not when it comes to you.”
your breath hitched at his words, your pulse quickening as the fire between you flared even hotter. you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you at his possessive tone, the way his hands gripped you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.
“and what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, your voice daring, testing the boundaries as your lips brushed his, teasingly close but not quite touching.
heeseung’s response was immediate. his lips crashed against yours, fierce and hungry, as if he had been holding back for far too long. the kiss was searing, filled with all the emotions you had both kept hidden. his hands roamed over your body, possessive yet tender, as though he was staking his claim but also worshipping every inch of you.
you responded just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel every part of him against you. the tension between you, the unspoken desire, it all poured out in that kiss, in the way his body pressed against yours with a need that matched your own.
heeseung’s hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you toward the bed. the air between you was electric, charged with desire and the intensity of emotions that neither of you had allowed to surface until now. he laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze dark and filled with a hunger that made your heart race.
for a moment, he paused, his fingers brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of what had just passed between you. his eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability behind them—the raw emotion that he had been hiding behind his cold exterior for so long.
“are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky but laced with care, as if he was giving you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before it went too far.
you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you. heeseung, the man you had once considered your rival, your enemy, was now looking at you with a tenderness that took your breath away. you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek.
“i’m sure,” you whispered, pulling him down into another kiss, softer this time, but no less filled with the emotions swirling between you.
what followed was slow, deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that you had never expected from heeseung. his hands moved over your body with care, as though he was savouring every touch, every breath. the fierceness from earlier softened into something more intimate, more meaningful, as he explored you with reverence, his lips following the path of his hands.
your name fell from his lips like a prayer, whispered against your skin in the quiet moments between kisses. heeseung’s touch was both possessive and gentle, as though he was claiming you but also offering himself to you in return. the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, but it was the tenderness in his gaze, the softness of his touch, that made your heart ache with something deeper than mere desire.
and as the night stretched on, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, you realised that this wasn’t just about passion—it was about the connection you had been fighting against for so long. the rivalry, the bickering, the walls you had both built between you—it all crumbled away, leaving only the raw truth of what you felt for one another.
when it was over, you lay beside each other, your breathing heavy, your bodies tangled in the sheets. the room was quiet now, the only sound was the soft rustle of the fabric and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.
heeseung turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. his eyes, once so cold and guarded, were warm now, filled with an emotion that made your heart skip a beat. he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against his chest as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.
you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. it was comforting, grounding you in the quiet aftermath of everything that had just passed between you. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, soothing and gentle, as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.
neither of you spoke, but words weren’t necessary. the silence was filled with a sense of peace, of contentment that neither of you had known before. heeseung’s touch was soft now, filled with care as he held you close, his body warm and protective against yours.
and in that quiet, intimate moment, you realised something: this was more than just passion, more than just desire. it was something real, something lasting.
heeseung’s hand continued to trace gentle patterns on your back, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered softly, “are you alright?”
you smiled against his chest, your heart swelling with warmth at the tenderness in his voice. “more than alright,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him.
heeseung let out a soft sigh, his arms tightening around you as if he never wanted to let go. and as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, the weight of the past finally lifted, leaving only the warmth of the present and the promise of a future you were both ready to embrace.
the next morning, you woke to find heeseung already up, standing by the window of your shared chambers, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the early morning light. he looked deep in thought, his expression pensive as he gazed out over the kingdom.
quietly, you approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. he stiffened for a moment at the contact but quickly relaxed, his hands covering yours as he let out a soft sigh.
“you’re up early,” you murmured, resting your cheek against his back.
“i couldn’t sleep,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “i was thinking about everything that’s changed.”
you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “a lot has changed, hasn’t it?”
heeseung turned in your arms, his expression soft as he looked down at you. “i never thought this would work,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “but i’m glad i was wrong.”
you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with warmth. the man standing before you was the same heeseung you had known all your life, but now, you saw him for who he truly was—not your enemy, not your rival, but your partner. your husband.
“i’m glad too,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips.
and in that moment, you knew that this was your new beginning. the past, with all its bitterness and tension, was behind you. what lay ahead was a future you hadn’t expected but one you were ready to embrace—together.
as heeseung pulled you into a gentle kiss, the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the window, you knew that this was the start of something beautiful. your marriage, once forged out of obligation and resentment, had grown into something real, something lasting.
and as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realised that sometimes, the best love stories were the ones you never saw coming.
𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr
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price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat
girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡
18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words
John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.
Here’s part 2!
Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.
Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.
His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.
Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.
But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.
Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.
But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.
He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;
“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”
Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.
“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”
It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.
You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.
Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.
Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.
One, two, three, four…
At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.
There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.
With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”
Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.
“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.
“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”
A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”
“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”
You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”
With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”
“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.
He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”
You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”
Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.
With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.
“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.
He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.
“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.
But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.
Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.
As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.
Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.
“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”
Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.
“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.
“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”
Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”
“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”
Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”
Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”
He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”
Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.
He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.
So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.
“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”
Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.
“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.
You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.
“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”
“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.
You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”
Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.
He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.
Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.
But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.
“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”
“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”
You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”
“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.
So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.
But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.
“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.
You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.
“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”
You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.
“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”
Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.
“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.
You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”
That was a step over the line.
You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.
And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.
He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.
“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.
A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.
He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.
You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.
“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.
With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”
Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.
And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.
“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”
#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate#john price#call of duty fanfic#john price x reader#john price x female reader#captain john price#cod fanfic#john price x you#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price smut
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Strangers
Stripper!Javier Pena x f!reader // almost 9k
Time stands still and it's only us, what we feel started way before we ever touched... must be from a different life been here before and it just feels right
summary: you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number
warnings: mdni, 18+, javi is a stripper, he wears a man thong and gets pretty close to stripping it all off in public, there's cock and balls, unprotected p in v, f!oral receiving, lap dances for days, reader has breasts, a dress, and hair that can fall around her face and is internally conflicted about this man and his leopard thong, javi has a pov in this too
notes: i really don't remember what sparked this but here we are... it's been like a month or more of me working on this. I thought I was done and then I heard a single song and it pushed me to write even more. This was supposed to be just a smutty fic and then got some depth and I was like wtf. Anyway on to the thank yous, thank you to the 5000 people I have screamed to about this, and a massive thank you to @thundermartini for listening to me go on and on about this guy for a long time and then reading it for me love you baby! A special mention to @gothcsz for the thong idea, @evolnoomym, @milla-frenchy and @sawymredfox for being so supportive of this idea to @joelslegalwhre for reading and @syd-djarin for the moodboard
masterlist
The music thumped so loudly it seemed to shake the floor, the kind of bass-heavy track that rumbled through your chest. Your best friend’s bachelorette party was in full swing, and the rented penthouse buzzed with laughter, shrieks, and a significant amount of tequila-fueled chaos. The party planners had spared no expense, from the towering stacks of champagne glasses to the flashy male entertainment just about to take the stage.
And then, he walked in.
You couldn’t ignore the way the room seemed to shift when he entered. The man—Javier, as the MC introduced him—had an undeniable presence. Dressed in a tight police officer uniform complete with aviators, a fake badge, hat, and handcuffs, he adjusted his badge with a grin that screamed trouble. His dark eyes surveyed the room with the kind of confidence that could only come from knowing he was the main event.
Every woman in the room, including you, took notice.
While your friends ogled and whispered not-so-subtle comments, you tried—and failed—to keep your eyes elsewhere. He was gorgeous, sure, but this wasn’t your scene. Loud parties weren’t really your thing.
The first performance was for the bride-to-be, of course. When the lights dimmed and the music shifted to something playfully seductive, the room erupted into cheers and Javier made his way to the bachelorette.
“Ladies,” he announced, his voice smooth and teasing as he pulled a pair of fake handcuffs from his belt. “I hear there's a bride-to-be here who’s guilty of breaking hearts. I’m afraid I’ll have to take her in.”
Your best friend shrieked with laughter as he arrested her, securing one cuff around her wrist and helping her onto a nearby chair. The room buzzed with excitement as he began to dance, every move deliberate and designed to tease.
You watched the scene unfold, biting your lip to stifle your laughter. He was undeniably good at what he did. But you couldn’t focus on the theatrics as much as everyone else seemed to. Your attention had zeroed in on him—his broad shoulders, the way his shirt clung to his chest, and the effortless way he commanded every inch of the massive penthouse, the man was sex on legs. As he began to set up for the big finale, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.
Javier danced his way onto the makeshift stage in front of your bestie, spinning his hat off and tossing it with a flourish into the crowd. Almost causing a fight between a few of the women to break out.
His aviators followed, revealing deep, smoldering eyes that locked with yours for a moment too long. He’s just playing to the crowd, he has to look at all the women right?
The bassline shifted to a slower, dirtier rhythm, and he rolled his shoulders back, his body falling into perfect sync with the beat.
Then came the shirt.
He gripped the edges, peeling it off slowly, revealing inch by inch of sun-kissed skin stretched over a perfectly sculpted chest and arms. When he finally tossed the shirt aside, the room erupted in cheers and whistles.
And yet, all you could do was stare and clench your thighs together. Why was this affecting you so much? It’s just a party. It’s just a guy. Get a grip. But no amount of inner scolding could make you look away. Something about this man pulled you in.
His chest glistened under the soft glow of the light, each bead of sweat tracing a slow, tantalizing path over the chiseled contours of his body. Your breath hitched, captivated by the sheer allure of him—the way every ridge of muscle stood out, accentuated as his hand drifted slowly down his torso. He moved with deliberate ease, fully aware of the spell he was weaving, and the teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips made it clear that he was savoring every second of all the attention he was receiving.
But it was when his fingers moved to rip off his belt that the real show began.
The collective energy in the room surged as Javier teasingly ran his hands down his sides, and in one swift, practiced motion, he reached for his waistband and yanked.
The rip-away pants came apart with a sharp, satisfying sound, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The noise, a mix of gasps, shrieks, and raucous laughter, echoed through the penthouse. But none of that registered as you stared at what had been revealed.
Javier stood unabashed and grinning in a leopard-print thong that left very little to the imagination. Every inch of his sculpted body was on display—toned legs, powerful thighs, and that tiny scrap of fabric barely holding itself together. The cut of the thong framed his hips perfectly, the deep lines of his V cutting down, drawing your eyes exactly where he wanted them to go. The thin fabric of the thong clung tightly to him, leaving the unmistakable outline of his cock on display, straining the limits of the material. Javier seemed completely unbothered by how much was on show.
Your face burned as your gaze dipped lower, catching a glimpse of something even more scandalous. The tiny scrap of leopard print couldn’t quite contain him—on the sides, the curve of his balls was slipping free. You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering as he shifted his weight, the motion only emphasizing how precariously the thong was holding itself together.
The room exploded excitedly, women fanning themselves, throwing bills, and shouting over one another. But you could barely breathe.
And then, just when you thought the spectacle couldn’t get any more outrageous, Javier turned around with a deliberate, teasing spin, giving the room an uninterrupted view of his backside.
The thong was practically nonexistent, the thin fabric disappearing completely between the firm, sculpted curves of his ass. His glistening, muscular cheeks were on full display, round and perfectly defined, drawing another deafening eruption of cheers and whistles from the crowd.
Javier struck a pose, bracing his hands on his hips as he arched his back slightly, flexing for effect. He glanced over his shoulder with a devilish grin, clearly relishing in the chaos he was causing. The lights caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting every curve and line of muscle, leaving no question as to just how perfect he was from every single angle.
You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Your breath hitched and your pulse pounded so loudly in your ears it almost drowned out the music. Heat flushed through your body as your gaze lingered shamelessly on his backside, every inch of him a deliberate invitation.
After what felt like a torturous eternity, Javier turned back toward the crowd, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he surveyed everyone's reactions.
He strutted forward, running his hands up his torso and tossing a playful wink to the bride-to-be, who was practically falling out of her chair from laughter and shock. But his gaze kept flicking to you.
Your cheeks burned as he moved closer, spinning on his heel to give the audience another view. His movements were fluid and sensual, every roll of his hips and flex of his body perfectly in time with the music. When he leaned down to grab the bride’s hands to feel up his torso, his back arched in a way that emphasized the curve of his ass, and you bit your lip without thinking.
This man was a problem.
When he finally ended the dance with a flourish—dropping to his knees in front of the bride-to-be before flawlessly almost jumping back up to a standing position—the applause was deafening.
Javier laughed, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He took a playful bow, blowing a kiss to the bride-to-be before gathering his discarded pants and shirt. His bare torso glistened under the soft glow of the party lights, and the lingering smirk on his lips suggested he knew he had the entire room wrapped around his finger.
The girls were still cheering and clapping, their voices a mix of exhilaration and tipsy enthusiasm. But while the others were caught up in the wild energy of the moment, you felt a strange tightness in your chest, like the room had closed in around you.
You weren’t used to reacting this way to someone, and it unnerved you. The heat creeping up your neck was impossible to ignore, and no amount of pretending to be distracted by your drink could hide the fact that your eyes kept darting back to him.
And he noticed—like a magnet—his eyes locked onto yours.
Your stomach flipped.
For a split second, everything else faded; the noise, the laughter, even your own internal protests to look away. It was just him, standing there, looking at you with that maddening confidence.
Then he moved.
Javier began to dance again, hips rolling in slow, hypnotic circles to the bass-heavy beat. The fabric of the thong strained with every motion, but he didn’t shy away. If anything, he seemed to lean into it—one hand trailing down his torso to brush along the waistband, teasing as if he might remove it completely.
Your pulse fluttered wildly as he worked the crowd, making his way closer, dancing toward you.
Your breath caught as you tried to focus on literally anything else—your drink, the flickering candles on the table, the way your best friend was still howling with laughter. But there was no escaping the fact that Javier was now standing right in front of you, every inch of him radiating heat and presence.
“Having fun?” he asked.
You blinked up at him, your mouth suddenly dry. “Uh… yeah. It’s been… something.” Your voice wavered, betraying how flustered you felt. Something? Really? That was the best you could come up with? You scrambled for words, your brain short-circuiting. “I mean—great. It’s been great.”
Smooth.
His smirk widened. “Just great?” He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—mingling with the musky sheen of sweat on his skin. “Because you’ve been staring like you’re enjoying yourself a little more than tha?t.”
You nearly choked on your drink. “I—I wasn’t—”
“Relax,” he teased, his grin softening into something warmer, more inviting. “I’m just messing with you. Now come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “Let me make your night.”
“I’m good, thanks,” you replied, though your cheeks burned with the effort of maintaining composure. You crossed your arms to emphasize your refusal, but Javier didn’t look the least bit discouraged.
“Oh, I don’t think you’re good. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned closer, his voice just for you now. “But I’m more than happy to change that.”
Despite your best efforts, the laughter bubbling up from your chest betrayed you. He grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. But when you refused—again—he didn’t press. Instead, he winked, gave an exaggerated shrug, and moved on to another guest, leaving you strangely disappointed.
————
Later, after the performances ended and the room was quieter, you found yourself sitting on a chair in the back corner of the room scrolling idly on your phone, trying to drown out your lingering thoughts about him. A few drinks had loosened your resolve. You noticed a stack of glossy business cards on the table where he had tossed his hat earlier. Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked one up.
The card was sleek, black with gold lettering. At the top, in bold, elegant lettering, it read:
Elite Heat’s Javier Peña
To the left, there was a neatly organized list; a phone number, a Facebook link, which you immediately ignored, and a website address. But it was the bottom that made your breath hitch.
On top of a gold banner, the words Elite Heat: “The Best Sex Therapy” were printed in bold, confident lettering.
To the right was a photo of Javier himself.
It wasn’t a professional headshot - far from it. It was one of those casual yet devastatingly attractive pictures that looked effortless but likely required perfect lighting and timing. He wore a grey long-sleeve shirt that framed his broad chest perfectly, the top buttons undone just enough to tease without giving away too much. His hand, however, made it impossible not to stare—casually slipping beneath the fabric, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his defined abs. The way the light hit his skin added a subtle sheen, making the whole image feel like a deliberate invitation.
For a moment, you just stared at the card. The combination of professional polish and brazen confidence made your stomach twist in a way that annoyed you.
“The best sex therapy, huh?” you muttered to yourself, raising an eyebrow at the audacity.
Curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your phone and typed “Javier Peña” into Instagram. After scrolling through a few accounts that clearly weren’t him, you found the right one.
The profile itself was… an experience.
Picture after picture of Javier dominated the feed—some in his infamous uniform, others in casual attire, and far too many shirtless to be accidental. Every post was a masterclass in confident allure, and his captions were just as bold.
The comments were what really got to you, though. Endless lines of hearts, fire emojis, and thirsty declarations filled each post.
“Find something you like?”
His voice startled you so much that you almost dropped your phone. You looked up to see Javier standing in front of you, his shirt slung casually over his shoulder and he was wearing his uniform pants again. How long had he been there?
“I was just…” You trailed off, trying to think of a plausible excuse for stalking him online. His smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.
“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning in closer than necessary. “You can follow me. Might even follow you back.”
“I’m not interested,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice wavered as he placed a hand on the back of your chair, caging you in.
“You sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make you a deal sweetheart, one dance. If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone. But if you like it… well, you can give me your number when it’s over.”
You swallowed hard, your resolve crumbling faster than you wanted to admit. After all, what was the harm in one dance?
Javier’s confidence was infuriatingly contagious, and your curiosity was louder than the protests in your head. You nodded if only to prove to yourself that he wouldn’t get under your skin. A small, victorious smile curved his lips as he straightened, offering his hand. “Good choice.”
He didn’t give you much time to second-guess as he guided you to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the penthouse. Some of your friends hooted and hollered, clearly thrilled to see you in the spotlight. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step as Javier led you to a chair he had conveniently placed in the center of the room.
“Sit,” he commanded, his voice smooth but firm. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he waited for you to comply. Against your better judgment, you did.
The music shifted to something slower and sultrier. Javier grabbed his shirt from his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor. The movement was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way his toned chest and large arms drew every pair of eyes in the room. Including yours.
He stalked closer, and suddenly it felt like the room had disappeared. Just you, the chair, and the dangerously attractive man who seemed to thrive on the tension hanging in the air.
“Relax,” he murmured as he noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of the chair. “I don’t bite.” He winked. “Not unless you ask nicely.”
Before you could reply, he began to move.
It wasn’t the kind of dance you expected. Yes, it was provocative—every roll of his hips and glide of his body was designed to tease—but there was something more deliberate about it. He kept his gaze locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands didn’t touch you—not yet. Instead, they skimmed close enough to make you ache for the contact, only for him to pull away at the last moment.
He straddled the chair, his thighs framing yours as he dipped low, his chest hovering just inches from your face. His scent filled your senses, and your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re even more beautiful up close,” he whispered.
Your breath hitched, and you hated how easily he could see the effect he had on you.
Javier straightened, his hands gripping the chair on either side of you as he moved his hips in a way that felt borderline illegal. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, but he still didn’t touch. The lack of contact was maddening, and the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what he was doing.
The song ended too quickly, and he stepped back, leaving you feeling both relieved and oddly bereft. Your friends erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed on Javier as he extended a hand, helping you out of the chair.
“Enjoy yourself?” he asked.
You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he’d gotten to you. “It was… okay.”
He laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent another shiver through you. “Just okay, huh? I’ll have to work on that.”
Before you could respond, he winked and disappeared back into the crowd.
——
An hour later, the party was winding down. The penthouse was quieter, and most of your friends had migrated to the couches or left altogether. You were nursing your last drink of the night when Javier appeared again, a shot glass in each hand.
“For you,” he said, offering one with an easy smile.
You eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t put anything in this, did you?”
He looked genuinely offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt you’d even ask.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine,” he admitted, leaning in closer. “I did put something in it.”
You froze, and he smirked, finishing his sentence with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “It’s called tequila.”
Your laugh surprised even you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously charming,” he corrected, clinking his glass against yours. “Now drink up.”
Against your better judgment, you downed the shot, the burn of the tequila grounding you for a moment.
“Good girl,” he said. “Now, how about that number?”
Javier’s smile didn’t waver as he set his empty shot glass on the table. “Still hesitant, huh?” he asked, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.
You shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “I don’t make it a habit to give my number to strangers, especially ones who…” You gestured vaguely to his naked chest and the police hat perched crookedly on his head. “...do what you do.”
“Fair enough,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice softening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it out to you. “At least let me follow you on Instagram..”
You stared at the phone, then at him. The sincerity in his tone threw you off balance, and the way his dark eyes searched yours made it hard to hold onto your skepticism. Against your better judgment—again—you took the phone and followed your account.
“Here,” you said, handing it back after following him.
Javier glanced at the screen, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”
And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the night with the same confidence that had drawn every eye in the room earlier.
Javi
Javier leaned against the balcony railing outside the penthouse lighting a cigarette, the cool night air doing little to temper the heat still coursing through him. The party was still going inside, but his thoughts had drifted elsewhere—to you. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at himself. He’d performed for hundreds of women, charmed his way through countless parties, but tonight felt… different.
You’d thrown him off balance in a way he wasn’t used to.
Sure, you’d laughed at his jokes and taken the shot he offered, but there was something in your eyes—an intoxicating mix of curiosity and resistance—that had him hooked. He wasn’t sure what it was about you. Maybe it was the way you tried to keep your guard up even as he chipped away at it. Maybe it was the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking, like you couldn’t quite help yourself.
Or maybe it was the way he couldn’t stop replaying that moment on the dance floor in his head. The way your breath hitched when he leaned in. The way your lips parted, as though you were holding back words—or something else entirely.
The music from the party shifted the song echoing in the distance. Javier’s mind wandered as the melody pulled him into his own thoughts. It wasn’t just lust that gnawed at him—though, hell, that was definitely part of it. No, this was something deeper, something that felt unsettlingly like longing.
He ran a hand through his hair, the grin he’d worn all night slipping away. He’d never been one for complications, especially when it came to women. His job was to entertain, to tease, to flirt—but he’d never felt this kind of pull before. It was like a spark had ignited when he locked eyes with you, and now it wouldn’t go out.
For the first time in a long while, Javier wasn’t sure if he was in control.
The lyrics to the song playing in the penthouse hit him square in the chest.
Must be from a different life, been here before, and it just feels right. No, this ain't the first time for you and I, we ain't strangers.
The words struck a chord, leaving him standing there, staring out at the city lights, wondering how a single dance, a single moment, could unravel him so completely.
It's like it's driving me closer to you, every step back pulls me right back to you…
Maybe you wouldn’t give him your number. Maybe this would end here, tonight, like all the other nights before. But as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened Instagram, his thumb hovering over your profile, he couldn’t help but think—this didn’t feel like an ending.
It felt like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready to let go of.
———
Back in your hotel room, you flopped onto the plush bed with a groan. The events of the evening replayed in your mind, Javier’s smirk and the heat of his gaze lingering longer than you cared to admit.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for your phone. A quick check of Instagram confirmed what you suspected—he’d already followed and sent you a message.
Javier: See? Now we’re not strangers anymore.
You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. His confidence was irritatingly endearing.
You: I don’t think Instagram follows count as a formal introduction.
His reply was almost instant.
Javier: What would count? Because I’m pretty sure that dance was more personal than most first dates.
You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to admit that.
You: Is this your usual routine? Flirt with everyone at the party, then slide into DMs?
Javier: Nope. Just you.
You stared at the screen, your stomach doing an annoying little flip at his words.
You: Why me?
The typing indicator blinked for a moment before his reply came through.
Javier: Because you didn’t throw yourself at me like everyone else. And because you’re cute when you’re pretending not to be interested.
Your cheeks burned as you read the message, but you couldn’t help smiling.
You: I’m not pretending.
Javier: So you are interested?
You: I didn’t say that.
Javier: But you didn’t deny it, either.
You sighed, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to end anytime soon.
You: Don’t you have better things to do than bother me?
Javier: Nope. Not tonight.
Before you could come up with a snarky reply, another message popped up.
Javier: You could come over, you know. Save us both the trouble of texting all night.
Your heart raced at the suggestion, and you hesitated, typing and deleting a dozen responses before settling on one.
You: Not happening.
Javier: Why not?
You: Because it’s late, and I’m not that kind of girl.
Javier: What kind of girl is that?
You: The kind that sneaks into a stranger’s room after one tequila shot and a few texts.
Javier: I’m not exactly a stranger anymore.
You stared at his message, your lips twitching at the boldness. Before you could type out another response, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a photo. From Javier.
You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the image preview before finally opening it. The picture was simple yet devastatingly effective: Javier, shirtless, sprawled on a hotel bed, the faint light casting shadows that only emphasized his toned chest. His dark eyes smoldered into the camera, and his messy hair added to the whole “devil-may-care” aesthetic he wore so well.
Javier: Feeling really lonely over here. Could use some company.
Heat pooled low in your belly and you groaned, tossing your phone onto the bed as if distance could break the spell he seemed to have on you. But of course, curiosity won out, and you grabbed it again, typing out a response before you could second-guess yourself.
You: Flattery and thirst traps won’t work on me.
Javier: Who said it was flattery? Just being honest.
You: Still not happening.
Javier: Okay, how about a compromise?
You: What kind of compromise?
Javier: Drinks. Just the two of us. Down at the hotel bar. Public place, no pressure.
You bit your lip, weighing your options. Saying yes felt like walking into a trap, but a part of you was curious—and maybe, just maybe, a little tempted. The idea of sitting across from him, away from the crowd, felt… different. Safer. Almost.
You: Fine. One drink.
Javier: I’ll take it. Meet you there in ten?
You: Fifteen. I need to change.
Javier: You don’t have to change for me, sweetheart. You already look perfect.
You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you tossed your phone onto the bed and rifled through your suitcase. Fifteen minutes later, you stepped into the elevator, your heart pounding with anticipation and nerves as you descended to the hotel bar.
The bar was dimly lit, with warm amber hues reflecting off the polished surfaces. The low hum of conversation mingled with the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere both intimate and unassuming. You spotted Javier immediately.
He sat at a corner table, leaning back in his chair. He’d changed into a simple black button-down that clung to his frame in a way that was almost unfair. His gaze locked onto you the moment you entered.
“Right on time,” he said, standing as you reached the table. He pulled out a chair for you, a small but unexpected gesture that caught you off guard.
“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, settling into the seat.
“Noted.” His smile widened as he slid into the chair opposite you.
The server appeared almost instantly, and Javier gestured for you to order first. You requested a simple cocktail, while he opted for whiskey on the rocks. As the server walked away, his attention returned to you and it wasn’t long before they returned with them.
“So,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “What convinced you to come down here?”
You raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Curiosity, I guess. Wanted to see if you were as charming one-on-one as you are with a crowd.”
“And?”
You took a deliberate sip of your drink before answering. “Jury’s still out.”
He chuckled, “I’m not worried. I’m good under pressure.”
The banter came easily, the conversation flowing in a way that surprised you. He was quick-witted, teasing without being overbearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, he was easy to talk to, it felt like knew him without knowing him. The more you spoke, the more you caught glimpses of the man behind the cocky facade—sharp, observant, and surprisingly thoughtful.
Still, you made him work for it.
Whenever his compliments grew too bold, you deflected with a teasing remark. When he leaned in a little too close, you leaned back, though you couldn’t ignore the thrill that ran through you each time he tested your resolve.
“I like this game you’re playing,” he said after a while, his whiskey glass nearly empty.
“What game?” you asked innocently.
“The one where you pretend you’re not interested.” His gaze was unwavering, the heat in his eyes unmistakable.
“I’m not pretending,” you replied, though the words sounded less convincing than you’d hoped.
He tilted his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “No? Then why are you still here?”
You opened your mouth to respond, but the truth caught in your throat. Why were you still here?
Before you could come up with an excuse, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.
“Listen,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”
For the first time that night, you saw something unguarded in his expression—genuine sincerity that made your heart stutter. You hesitated, your walls cracking under the weight of his words. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, but something in you shifted.
“Okay,” you said quietly.
His brow lifted. “Okay, what?”
“Okay… you’re not completely unbearable.”
He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “High praise.”
“You know, I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “I just don’t know if this is a good idea.”
His smirk softened into something gentler, his fingers still lightly brushing yours on the table. “Not everything has to be a good idea to be worth it, sweetheart,” he said.
You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Is that your life philosophy, or just your way of convincing women to give you their number?”
“Both,” he said with a shrug, his grin returning. “And it’s worked out pretty well so far.”
You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you eased slightly. The conversation shifted after that, the teasing banter giving way to something more genuine. He asked about your life, your work, your dreams—and for every question he asked, he shared something about himself, too.
“I wasn’t always this guy,” he admitted at one point, swirling the remnants of his whiskey in his glass. “I used to be a cop. A real one. Back in Colombia.”
You blinked, surprised. “A cop? Really?”
He nodded. “Yeah. DEA, actually.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What made you leave?”
His expression darkened briefly, a shadow crossing his features. “Let’s just say… the job took its toll. And I realized I wanted something different. Something lighter.” He glanced at you then, a hint of humor returning to his voice. “Though I’m not sure stripping is what my father had in mind when I told him I was switching careers.”
The two of you laughed, and the conversation continued to flow. By the time your drinks were empty, you realized you were leaning forward, hanging onto his every word.
Javier glanced at the time on his phone and then back at you. “I hate to say it, but the bar’s closing soon.”
You nodded, a strange mix of disappointment and relief settling over you. “Guess I should head back to my room.”
“Yeah.” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “Can I walk you to your door?”
Your pulse quickened at the question, but you nodded. “Okay.”
The two of you rode the elevator in silence, the charged tension between you filling the small space. When you reached your floor, he stepped out with you, his presence at your side was both comforting and exhilarating.
When you finally stopped outside your door, you turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Well… this is me.”
“Home sweet hotel,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense.
You fiddled with your key card, unsure of what to say. He didn’t push, didn’t try to move closer. Instead, he simply smiled.
“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”
You swallowed hard, his words sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tequila. “Me too.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with unspoken possibilities, each one more tempting than the last. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft, hesitant at first—a test to see if this was really what you wanted. But the moment his lips moved against yours, everything else fell away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm and steady as he deepened the kiss.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you replied.
His smile was slow, almost lazy. “Careful, sweetheart. I just might take you up on that.”
As Javier lingered, you found yourself hesitating. The way he kissed you had ignited something within you—something raw.
You opened your door but didn’t step inside, glancing back at him. "Well, you coming?”
He arched a brow, that teasing smirk returning. “You sure?”
You laughed softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
Javier followed you inside. The dim light of the room cast shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines of his features. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he studied you.
“So,” he drawled, his tone playful but low. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I think you know Javier.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his fingers lightly grabbing your wrist. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed and his voice dropped an octave. “If we’re doing this, I’m in control, ¿entiendes?”
You nodded, and it must have been obvious how nervous you were.
“Relax,” he murmured, his hands brushing your knees as he stepped between them. “This is supposed to be fun.”
You exhaled a shaky breath, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Do me a favor,” he whispered. “Touch yourself. Just a little.”
Your eyes widened, your pulse skyrocketing. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said. “I want to watch you.”
When you hesitated, his hand trailed up your thigh, his touch light but maddening. “Go on beautiful,” he urged. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”
Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks and pooling low in your belly. Javier leaned back slightly, giving you space but never breaking eye contact. His gaze was dark, commanding, and utterly unapologetic. He wanted this. Wanted you vulnerable, open, and completely at his mercy.
You hesitated, your heart pounding like a drum, but the way his fingers skimmed over your thigh made it impossible to think straight. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, his voice coaxing yet dripping with authority. “I want to see every bit of you, mi amor.”
Your hand trembled as it moved to the hem of your dress. Slowly, you slid it higher, exposing more of your thighs to his burning gaze. He walked back and pulled up a chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, but his eyes never wavered from you. The way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was both thrilling and terrifying.
“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. The praise sent a shiver through your body. You could feel your arousal building, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.
Your breath shuddered as your fingers brushed the fabric of your panties, the dampness betraying just how much his presence, his words, his command, had affected you. You glanced at him, unsure, but his gaze was steady, his jaw tight, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse race.
Slowly, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric, the first tentative touch drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. Javier's expression darkened with hunger, his composure unraveling ever so slightly as he leaned forward.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me see how beautiful you are when you can’t hold back.”
Your fingers began to move in slow circles, your body responding to your touch almost instinctively. The heat between your thighs grew, and your hips shifted slightly, seeking more pressure. The room seemed to shrink, the air heavy with the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of your movements.
Javier's eyes never left you. His own restraint was evident in the way his fists clenched, the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back from me.”
You whimpered, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent as you lost yourself in the moment. Every sound you made, every twitch of your body, seemed to light a fire in him. His control was slipping, and it was intoxicating to know that you were the one unraveling him.
“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “Keep going, just like that.”
Javier’s gaze burned into you, the tension in his jaw betraying how tightly he was holding himself back. But then, he shifted, his hands moving to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one, exposing the golden skin of his chest. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if daring you to keep watching even as your own hand continued its rhythm.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, the sound vibrating through you. His shirt slid off his shoulders, and he let it fall to the floor. Then, his hands moved to his belt, the metallic clink making your breath hitch. He undid it in a single, fluid motion, the sound of the zipper following shortly after.
Your fingers faltered for a moment, your breath catching as your focus shifted entirely to him. He stood before you, stripped of all pretense, his movements deliberate and sure. When he pushed his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, your gaze locked onto him, and your thoughts scattered.
He was breathtaking. The sharp angles of his hips, the sculpted planes of his abdomen, the sheer strength of his frame—it was as if he had been carved just for you. Heat coiled low in your belly, a visceral reaction to the undeniable evidence of his desire for you.
Your eyes traveled over him, lingering shamelessly, drinking in every inch of him. His dark eyes burned into yours, filled with a heat that left you both vulnerable and electrified.
You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze despite still being partially clothed. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing he could see—made your pulse race and your chest tighten with need.
The air between you crackled with an unspoken hunger, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide how deeply he affected you.
His hand wrapped around his shaft, a groan slipping from his lips as he began to stroke slowly, matching the rhythm you’d set for yourself. “Look at me,” he said. “Don’t hide from me, nena.”
The sight of him, so confident, so completely at ease with his own pleasure, made your own need intensify. Your movements quickened, your body arching slightly as the tension in your core built. His gaze flickered over you, drinking in every shiver, every gasp, every movement of your hand.
“Dios mío,” he murmured, his strokes becoming faster as he watched you. “You’re so beautiful like this. I could watch you forever.”
Javier’s hand stilled suddenly, and you watched as he got up, his body exuding confidence and unrelenting command. He stepped closer, towering over you where you sat, his dark eyes still heavy with desire. He leaned down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his voice a seductive rasp as he said, “Come here.”
You hesitated, your heart racing, unsure of what he was asking. But he took your hand, pulling you gently to your feet, and his lips brushed your ear. “I want you to dance for me. Just for me.”
“I—I don’t know if I can,” you stammered, your cheeks burning. The idea made your pulse race, the vulnerability and intimacy of it all was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
His hands moved to your waist, steadying you. “Yes, you can, you’re perfect.”
His words wrapped around you, melting your hesitation. Slowly, you began to sway, your movements tentative at first, but his gaze never wavered, filled with encouragement and raw need.
Your fingers found the hem of your dress, and you began to lift it, inch by inch, exposing your skin. His eyes tracked every motion, his breaths deep and heavy, fueling your confidence. The dress fell to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. You turned away from him, your fingers trembling as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders before finally slipping out of your panties.
“Fuck, you are so beautfiul.”
You felt the power in his words, the way they stoked your courage and your desire. With each slow sway of your hips, you inched closer to him, the magnetic pull between you was impossible to resist. His heated gaze anchored you, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins.
You ran your hands down your body, over your curves, letting him watch as you closed the distance. His chest heaved as you straddled him and the tip of his cock brushed against your core, you froze, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “Just like that. Take your time, baby. Feel every second of it.
“Javi,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I don’t know if I—”
“Yes, you do,” he interrupted, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His touch was firm, guiding but never forcing. “You’ve got this, baby. Dance for me—on me. Take your time.”
The raw hunger in his voice undid you. He guided your movements as you began to grind against him, slow and sensual. Your body aligned with his as you slid against him, teasing him with every slow grind. His head fell back against the chair, his jaw clenched as he groaned your name.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands tightening their grip, encouraging your movements. “Just like that. Feel me, nena. Let me feel all of you.”
Slowly, deliberately, you adjusted, letting your slick pussy tease the length of him. The anticipation was maddening, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, his restraint barely holding. Then, with a deep breath, you angled yourself just right and began to lower yourself onto his length.
The sensation stole your breath as you took him inch by inch, your body adjusting to his size. His growl of pleasure rumbled through you, his hands guiding you down until you were completely seated. The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming and it felt so good.
“Now move, baby,” he urged, his voice strained. “Show me how good you can make us feel.”
You began to roll your hips, your movements slow and deliberate as you rode him, your bodies perfectly in sync. The connection between you felt electric, every thrust and grind drawing you closer together. His hands explored your body, his lips tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone as you moved, his murmured praises driving you to the brink.
Each undulation of your hips sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through you, and as you rode him, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in passion and ecstasy.
The sensation made you both gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as you began to move. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Ride me. Just like that.”
The tension coiled tighter with every roll of your hips, the friction building to a fever pitch as Javier groaned your name like a prayer. His hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding your movements, his thumbs pressing bruising circles into your skin as if to anchor himself. The entire time his gaze stayed locked on yours, dark and intense, as if he wanted to memorize the way you looked in this moment—completely undone above him.
“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”
The words lit you up, your pace quickening as you chased the edge, that blinding release that teased just out of reach. Your breaths mingled with his, sharp and ragged, the room heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin and the delicious symphony of your pleasure.
“Javi,” you gasped.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back to cradle your face. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
Something in his voice broke you, the sincerity laced with desire, the unshakable promise that he wouldn’t let you fall. Your body tensed, your movements stuttering as the first shockwaves of pleasure crashed through you, and you cried out his name as you shattered around him.
Javier didn’t falter. He held you steady, his grip firm as he ground his hips up to meet yours, pulling you through the aftershocks until you were trembling in his arms. The intensity of it left you breathless, and you slumped forward, resting your forehead against his as you tried to gather yourself.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice still thick with need, though his concern for you was evident.
You nodded, chest heaving as you caught your breath. “Yeah,” you whispered.
“Your turn to relax. I’m not done with you yet.”
Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he stood. A soft squeak escaped you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried you across the room.
“Javi, I can walk,” you protested weakly, though you made no effort to pull away.
“I know you can,” he teased, “but I like having you right where you are.”
The bed was cool against your back when he laid you down, but his body quickly chased away the chill. Javier followed you down, his weight settling between your thighs.
“Now,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face as his gaze softened. “Where were we?”
Javier’s lips captured yours in a kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every second, and you couldn’t help but melt into him.
His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of heat as he paused to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. His hands explored you, tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips before sliding lower. Every touch sent shivers through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasps escaping your lips.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your skin. “Every inch of you.”
Your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched into him, your body aching for more. “Javi, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
He chuckled softly. “Patience, sweetheart. You just taste so good.”
Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body arching involuntarily. “Javier, I need… I need you.”
He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re so beautiful like this. All mine.”
As his lips moved lower, he pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your thighs, his hands spreading you gently. The anticipation made your body tremble, your legs parting instinctively as you felt him pause, his breath hot against your core.
“Perfect,” he whispered, almost to himself, before he leaned in.
The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he worked you with slow movements. Javier groaned softly, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you open, the sound vibrating through you and heightening the pleasure.
Your hips bucked against him, and you gasped, “Javi, please, I’m so close.”
He lifted his head slightly, his lips glistening as he smirked at you. “I love hearing you beg for me, come on let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
His tongue and suddenly his fingers moved together in perfect rhythm, lapping, sucking and moving just right. The tension in your belly coiled tighter until it snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves that left you trembling. Javier didn’t stop until your body softened beneath his touch, his movements slowing as he kissed your thighs and worked his way back up your body.
By the time he reached your lips, you were breathless, your body buzzing with aftershocks. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.
“How was that beautiful?” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.
“Incredible,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw.
Javier groaned softly at your touch, his restraint visibly fraying. He kissed you harder, his body pressing into yours as his arousal became impossible to ignore. “You sure you’re ready for more?”
You answered by rolling your hips against him, earning a sharp inhale as he gritted his teeth. “I need you, Javi. Please fuck me.”
That was all it took. He positioned himself, his gaze locked on yours as he pushed into you in one slow, steady motion. The stretch was intense, and you gasped, clinging to him as your body adjusted.
“Jesus,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good, so damn tight.”
“Move..please,” you urged softly, your lips brushing his ear.
He obeyed, pulling back before thrusting in again, setting a rhythm that was slow but deep. Every movement drew you closer until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.
His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your most sensitive spot, teasing it in time with his thrusts. “You’re taking me so well.”
Your nails raked down his back, the pleasure building impossibly fast. “Javier,” you whimpered, your body tightening around him as the tension reached its breaking point.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “Come for me, give me one more.”
His words were your undoing. You shattered around him, your cries filling the room as pleasure consumed you. Javier followed moments later, his movements faltering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping him as he found his release.
For a while, neither of you moved, the room quiet except for the sound of your ragged breaths. Eventually, Javier rolled to the side, pulling you close against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips soft and tender.
He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”
You laughed softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re not so innocent yourself, Javier.”
His smirk returned. “Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over you both. “You’ll need it for round two.”
#javier peña x reader#javier pena smut#javier peña#javier pena x reader#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena x you
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hihi, how are u⁉️ may i request jealous crocodile and/or doflamingo smut? i am OBSESSED w ur fur & feathers story, you’re an amazing writer!! thank you sm 🙏🫶💓‼️
➤ pairing: sir crocodile x afab!reader
➤ word count: 2.6k
➤ warnings: dom!crocodile, possessive behavior, spanking, degradation, praise, belly bulge, overstimulation, mentioned breeding kink, established relationship, fem reader
aww i'm glad you like it! i decided to give crocodile some love since i already have a few fics about doffy :3 i had really bad horny brainrot writing this he drives me insane
NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu
Deciding not to join Baroque Works was your own choice, but you shouldn’t be suffering for it.
The crime syndicate’s leader and you had been in a relationship for quite a while. You’d long since accepted his dedication to his job and his workaholic tendencies – a serious job required someone just as serious. But recently, it had gotten to be too much.
He spent sixteen hours a day holed up in his office, pouring over documents and answering calls and meeting with Miss All Sunday. Grunted quiet greetings when he came home at night, climbing into bed beside you then falling asleep immediately. He’d barely said three words to you all week.
You were jealous of the fucking Transponder Snail for how much attention it got. It was time to take matters into your own hands.
So you put on your sluttiest dress, a nice pair of heels, and flashy diamond earrings, then wandered around the massive Rain Dinners casino looking for easy prey. You settled on a drunk average-looking man with a winning streak at roulette. He openly ogled your body as you approached, and smirked lecherously when you asked if the empty seat on his left was taken.
The man clearly wasn’t a local. He didn’t recognize you, even though you weren’t shy about hanging onto Crocodile’s arm in public. And he was much too stupid to notice the casino staff’s constant nervous glances. While laughing and holding your drink, you brushed a flirty hand over his shoulder and pressed your body against him.
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Crocodile emerge from the staff-only hallway to survey the room. Everything about him commanded attention – his abnormal height, his expensive clothes, his intimidating presence. In a flash, he materialized behind you. Half of his body was still reforming from a whirling sandstorm. Menacing golden eyes shone down at you, but his expression was eerily blank.
The entire casino fell silent. Everyone’s focus was on you.
Crocodile exhaled a pungent cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Bullshit. He’d hardly looked at you at all for nearly two weeks. Ignoring the shivers running down your spine, you decided to continue taunting him.
“I’m watching my good friend here play roulette! He’s very lucky, he might take all your money home with him.” You didn’t even remember the man’s name, but you lied with a cheeky grin and firmly patted his thigh twice.
Much too friendly for Crocodile’s liking.
Your lover’s eyes narrowed in on the empty martini glass in front of you. “How many of those have you had?”
“I dunno, three? Four?” You turned to the stranger with a saccharine smile. “Were you keeping count?”
The man was frozen in place, terrified into silence at the sight of the eight foot tall Warlord towering above him. His all-consuming fear made him seem like a small animal staring into a Bananawani’s open jaws.
“You’re drunk. You should sit down.” Crocodile’s tone was steady but dangerous. Always aware of his public image, his carefully chosen words made him seem like the perfect gentleman.
“But I am sit–“
A murderous glare cut you off mid-sentence. You realized you’d taken your bratty act as far as it could go – any more might be threatening to your well-being. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rose from your seat and automatically moved to his side. Tucked yourself into the folds of his coat, choosing to look down at your heels rather than his face.
“Make yourself comfortable in my office, darling.” The Warlord patted your shoulder, causing you to flinch. His voice dropped an octave as he growled, ���I’d like to speak to this lucky gentleman in private.”
Crocodile’s pristine office was unnervingly quiet. You took a seat on the plush couch facing his desk, nervously bouncing your legs and trying to calm your racing heartbeat. With the lights off, the room was only illuminated by the water surrounding it. Dark shadows of swimming Bananawani regularly moved across the walls. Silly little prey, willingly walking into their nest.
The door suddenly slammed shut behind you. Heavy footsteps slowly approached but you didn’t dare turn around. Rich cologne flooded your nostrils and his golden hook flashed in your peripheral vision.
Your lover stayed quiet, patiently biding his time until the silence finally got to you. Timidly, you asked, “What happened to that man?”
“What man?” Your lover cocked his head to the side, feigning ignorance. After a moment, a sadistic chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you mean the mummy in the back room. Let’s say he mysteriously disappeared.”
You whipped your head around with wide eyes. “You killed him for me?”
Oddly, you didn’t feel bad about it – that man was a creep. Getting rid of him was probably a blessing for the women of Alabasta.
“Of course. I’d do anything for you, dear.” He sounded sincere, but then leaned down and fiercely whispered, “Except play this stupid game of yours. I like showing you off, not sharing you.”
Soft breath tickled your cheek and the fur lining of his coat brushed against your skin. You felt a fire ignite in your core – he was irresistibly sexy when he became possessive (well, more possessive than usual).
“Have I done something to upset you?” Crocodile kissed and licked down the column of your neck. “Or were you taunting me for fun?”
“Y-You’ve been so busy lately, I was–” The word ‘lonely’ died on your lips when he sunk his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder.
“Oh, my poor dear. Are you feeling neglected?” He cooed when you shyly nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite mark. “I’m very sorry. Work’s been out of control recently, but everything will settle down soon. You have my attention now.”
The tip of his hook slid under your dress’s thin shoulder strap, then cleanly tore through it. He repeated the action on the other side until the torn fabric slipped down to reveal your bare breasts.
“Not even wearing a bra?” Your lover clicked his tongue, roughly cupping and caressing your right boob then smacking the soft flesh. “If that man looked down your dress, then his death sentence was too lenient. I should’ve tortured him.”
“You’re so scary,” you giggled, letting your head fall back against his sturdy chest with a content sigh. Grainy fingers traced your areola then rubbed over your hardened nipples. Thankfully, you knew you’d never experience the true extent of his wrath – he adored you.
Without warning, he wrapped his cold hook around your throat. The proximity of its sharp edge to such a dangerous area made your hair stand on end.
“Bend over my desk,” he commanded, gently nipping your ear. “Darling.”
You stumbled over to the enormous desk, legs shaking from anticipation and arousal. Bracing your arms on the polished wood, you arched your back and presented your ass to him. The Warlord took a moment to admire the view, amused by your visible impatience.
“I bought you these,” Crocodile drawled, tracing the waistband of your silky panties with the curved back of his hook. You never saw their price tag, but they felt expensive. He poked your earlobe. “I bought you those earrings, too. They cost more berry than that pathetic man could ever make. Everything about you belongs to me – seems like I have to remind you.”
A large hand came down on your ass hard, jiggling the soft flesh and making you cry out in delight. The collection of rings on his fingers added a delicious extra sting. Three more spanks followed rapidly in the same spot, then four on the other cheek until every part of your ass ached.
Crocodile snickered when you rubbed your thighs together like an animal in heat. A wet spot had already dampened your panties. “Silly little slut. If you wanted to be spanked, you should’ve just asked. No need for all the theatrics.”
“Didn’t have a chance to since you were talking to that Snail all fucking day.” Your petulant mumble quickly turned into a yelp when his hand brutally struck the crease of your thighs. Making sure you’d feel the sting every time you sat down. He grabbed the roots of your hair and yanked your head back.
“Watch your tone,” Crocodile growled. The Warlord released you, catching you before your limp body hit the desk and easily flipped you onto your back. A wicked smirk almost as wide as his scar spread across his face. He hungrily observed your body like a predator about to pounce.
He pulled down your panties with an unnerving carefulness – he didn’t want to damage his property, after all. Then he roughly spanked your bare pussy. Your surprised cry of pain echoed throughout the empty room. Satisfied with your reaction, he did it again and again until your folds turned puffy.
Crocodile spread your cunt using the back of his hook so he could land a direct hit on your sensitive clit. The impact on your bundle of nerves sent electric shocks throughout your body, your back arching painfully off the table. Your lover chuckled and swiped two fingers through your drenched folds.
“Who else can make you this wet?” Crocodile webbed your juices between his fingers before bringing them to your lips. Obediently opening your mouth, you suckled and swirled your tongue around them. Paying extra attention to his rings, making sure the precious jewels shined with your spit. Though it was a rhetorical question, he pulled his fingers out to hear your response.
“No one.” You answered honestly, your eyes dilated with lust and chest heaving. “Just you.”
“You’re damn right.” Crocodile unlatched his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor with a metallic clang. His enormous dick smacked against his pelvis, rock hard and leaking pearly precum. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight. “Can’t let another cock can satisfy you, either. I need to ruin you for anyone else.”
Demanding you to look directly at him, he lined up his tip with your hole and thrust his hips forward. Slowly at first – his massive cock often met resistance in your tiny cunt – but after the first few inches, he slammed the entire length inside. Knocking all the air out of your lungs, your head lolling back on the desk. Crocodile stayed like that, appreciating the pretty bulge in your belly.
“Crocodile, please…”
“My name sounds perfect on your lips.” That predatory gaze was back, the need to possess you overwhelming his thoughts. Your lover pulled back until only the tip remained in your dripping pussy, then harshly rammed his dick in all the way.
Quickly setting a rough pace, Crocodile palmed at your tits with rough hands then leaned into the crook of your neck, whispering a dizzying mix of praise and degrading phrases. All of your coherent thoughts vanished from your brain.
You clutched onto his coat to ground yourself, to not get lost in the sea of pleasure washing over you. His cock was too fucking big. Too fucking good. It bullied its way inside your wet walls, permanently reshaping them to the perfect fit as he called you his pretty little cocksleeve.
Over a week’s worth of pent-up sexual urges were quickly coming to a head. Crocodile knew your body so well that he immediately recognized the signs of your impending orgasm. He reached his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit, pinching and pulling the sensitive nub for good measure.
“H-Holy fuck, ahhh, shit, I’m gonna…”
The Warlord smirked cruelly and paused his movements with his cock halfway inside you. “Apologize for being a brat. For even looking at that worthless man.”
If you had a stronger resolve, you could’ve kept this game going even longer. Asked him to apologize for ignoring you. Maybe even gotten a few more spanks out of it. But you needed to cum, and you desperately needed his giant cock to move.
“I’m sorry,” you panted desperately. “I won’t be bratty anymore, I promise. You’re the only man I’ll ever want. I’ll do anything, just – please, please, let me cum.”
“Very good girl.” Crocodile rewarded you by sensually rolling his hips to stir your insides around. Snickering, he admitted, “Although, I do enjoy when you act up every once in a while. You’re especially sexy when you submit to me.”
Your lover resumed fucking you hard enough to make the desk creak. Legs shaking with every thrust, your eyes were unfocused and the only thought in your head was how full you felt. Looking down, you dreamily watched the bump in your stomach move up and down as his dick rearranged your guts.
“Scream my name loud enough for the entire casino to hear when you cum. Let them know who owns you.”
Just one scream wasn’t enough for you – you chanted his name like a prayer as your orgasm hit you in full force. Juices gushed around Crocodile’s cock and dripped down his balls. He lazily fondled your clit to help you through it, only pulling away once the aftershocks had subsided. You lay limply on the desk, face flushed and chest heaving.
Belatedly, you realized that Crocodile hadn’t budged. A concerning sign.
“You… you didn’t cum?”
“This soon? Of course not. I didn’t commit murder for one measly orgasm,” he chuckled. “Evidently, I have a lot of lost time to make up for. Your cunt better be prepared.”
“W-wait, give me a minute –”
“No, dear, you were right. I spent too much time ignoring you. You deserve all my love.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that knocked his mushroom tip against your cervix. “And affection.” Another thrust. “And every inch of my cock.”
Filthy squelching sounds and your lover’s balls slapping against your ass accompanied your overwhelmed scream. Tears pricked at your eyes as he increased his pace, your brain becoming as mushy as your cunt.
“Such a perfect pussy. Only a real man like me can treat it properly.” Crocodile murmured smugly. Leaning down to press his body flush against yours, his muscular pecs squished against your tits. His normally slicked-back hair was coming undone, strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. Dizzying pleasure washed over you when his fingers found your clit again.
Crocodile felt his balls tighten, but held himself back from the edge by slowing down to a relaxed grind, focusing all of his attention on you. You fucking lost your mind when he spelled each letter of his name on your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second orgasm washed over you in a bright light, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you murmured absolute nonsense mixed with cries of his name.
Your cunt clamping down on his cock like a vice sent him over the edge. At the very last second, Crocodile pulled out to spurt thick stripes of cum across your stomach. With a deep, satisfied groan, he jerked himself to completion until your skin was painted white. Fully marking you as his own.
Satisfaction and exhaustion made your eyes flutter shut, but Crocodile ensured you stayed awake by giving you a surprisingly tender forehead kiss. Cradling your cheek, he asked, “Feel better?”
“My ass hurts, but yes. I feel great.” You nodded with a fucked-out grin, chasing his lips for a real kiss which he eagerly granted.
“Good. As pretty as you look covered in my cum, the next load is going inside you. I need to fuck a baby into my beautiful girl.”
His next load? Your eyes widened when he began stroking his cock again, still soft but beginning to twitch with interest. Turning your head, you met the downward-turned eyestalks of his shut-off Transponder Snail.
#bananawani comparison bc it's what he would've wanted#sir crocodile smut#sir crocodile x reader#sir crocodile imagine#crocodile smut#dom!crocodile#crocodile x reader#crocodile imagine#one piece smut#one piece x reader#sir crocodile#crocodile#request#anon#mine#my fics#croc
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Webbed Hearts
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff
Word Count: 12,091
Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Spider-Person!Reader, Doctor!Wanda Maximoff | 18+ Minors DNI
A/N: If you remember this…hi :)
All that came crashing down was red when you saw her.
Pain had crashed through your body when laying sprawled across a gurney that was wheeled into the emergency room at the Presbyterian in Lenox Hill. You clung to your side that lacked any red spandex. Humming a tender song, your eyes came to close. Although you carried immense superhuman strength, nothing could prepare you for the wave of criminals rummaging through the streets of the city with a pitch black sky and lights beaming to enlighten it.
You had been quick enough to finish off the last batch for the night. With Kingpin behind bars all you had left were trinkled men of his scouring through the island of Manhattan in search of trouble. Rather than garner a good night’s sleep for your class early the following day, you decided to go after them.
“The doctor will be right with you,” the nurse told you once she secured your side knowing the bruise upon it wouldn’t be fatal. She surveyed your hooded eyes that showed no fear. It wasn’t the first time you had been through it. After countless visits to hospitals that surrounded the city, far away from home due to anonymity, you settled for the first one you could easily swing to without having to deal with the bruised ribs of yours or hiss your way to Brooklyn.
Since high school you have tasked yourself with protecting the city. Once bit by the spider, upon losing your uncle, you knew that with the great power you held came great responsibility. Surely the remaining heroes across the world, the Avengers whose tower stood proudly in the midst of Midtown, were far too busy to take on your shroud of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Person.
The stench of lavender filled your nostrils as a peculiar redhead donning a white lab coat approached you. Her hair was made into a bun held on the back of her head by a pen, reading glasses perched on her nose as she read the clipboard in her pristine hands with perfectly manicured black nails. Albeit beautiful, you didn’t miss the bags which formed underneath seemingly tired green eyes. Sympathy was sent her way. The last thing you wished to do was keep the woman by your side longer than you had to.
“A bruised rib, huh?” Her voice was smooth as honey. Such a sound would not be easily forgotten by you. “It’s 12:34 am on a weekday. How did you manage to do that?”
“The subway?” you sheepishly shrugged.
“What, did you jump in front of the moving train or something?” When she giggled, you swore your wound had been cursed. “You know, if someone did this to you I am legally obligated to tell the police. So tell me,” her eyes flickered over the papers on the board. “Y/N, what happened to you? You seem like a healthy and fairly intelligent young woman. I doubt you did this to yourself.”
The way your name rolled off her tongue, voice thick with what you pin-pointed as a Sokovian accent, made you shudder with warmth. “It really was stupid. My friend and I were messing around at his apartment and I kinda fell off the fire escape,” you lied. “I know it sounds really weird, but I am not really the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“Oh honey this is New York. This isn’t nearly the worst or dumbest thing I’ve seen in the past hour.”
“Really?” You raised your eyebrows at that.
The doctor hummed at that, leaving the clipboard by the foot of the bed to walk towards the side where your bruise kept growing. The noise from the busy ER was nowhere to be found. Instead you put all your focus on the older woman. Watching as she carefully lifted your shirt, pushing your shaking hand away, you swore your breathing ceased. Having her in such close proximity was a true pleasure.
“I had a lady come in a few minutes ago for an ear infection. She went to her doctor earlier today, was prescribed antibiotics, took a few and swung by because, as she put it, ‘I still feel like shit, doc.’ Sometimes I wonder if all those years I spent in medical school were really worth it. But then I get patients like you and I remember that helping people is why I exist,” she explained. Gentle fingers merely ghosted your skin that began showing in an angry light red hue. “Then of course there was a young man who was dared by his very intelligent friends to jump off a building and grab onto a flagpole. It’s still unclear to me if he knows about this wonderful thing called gravity.”
Laughing made the pain worse, but you couldn’t help the amused sound that came from the depths of your throat. Tears sprung from your eyes as you wondered whether they came from the stinging of your wound or the humor of it all.
The doctor made lighthearted small talk with you, telling you more of the enjoyable stories from her job to keep you from thinking about how much it all ached. There wasn’t much she could do given your pain didn’t elicit any severe symptoms upon you. All Wanda brought you was the comfort of painkillers that you knew wouldn’t have much of an effect upon your superpowered being. Well, unless you took four at once.
“So are you married or…?” The innocently asked question floated through the air forcing a smirk from your doctor who, upon further review, began filling out the paperwork for your medicine.
“Happily divorced,” she replied. There was no animosity within her words. If anything the divorce had built up since the first day they got married. “And not looking to have a mid-life crisis with someone younger than me.”
“Ouch,” you laughed it off, winking at Wanda who teasingly brushed her hand upon your bruise. “Ouch, fuck!”
“Stay still, darling.”
The redhead took her sweet time filling out the forms. Although with a frenzy of patients waiting for her until the shift ended, spending time with you was the highlight of the night she never knew she needed.
“Any kids?”
“A lovely pair of twins,” she was quick to answer, her face lighting up at the mere thought of her children. Although quite the devious youngsters cared for by their father when she took late hours of work, she loved them more than life itself.
Twins, huh? It was a lot, but you didn’t dare mind the information. “Huh, that’s cute. Fraternal or identical?”
“Why are you so insistent in asking questions? I barely know anything about you,” she tilted her head.
“Well my name is Y/N Y/L/N and you know that I have a fucked rib.” The pain of it all and exhilaration faced by being around such a beautiful specimen made you much more talkative and confident. “I’m also really good at baking brownies. You?”
“Wanda,” she mumbled. “Dr. Wanda Maximoff, quite literally at your service. Unlike you, I don’t have a cracked rib.”
Although you had only spent less than half an hour together, you desperately craved her presence more often.
///
Wanda Maximoff, how cute.
“So I met this girl.”
Sitting beside your best friend and roommate over the couch of the living room you shared, you broke the silence. The two of you had stuck to watching reruns of whatever Gordon Ramsey show you could find. You always brought up the fact that Julia Child was much better, hell even Rachel Ray, but Peter was insistent that the one true culinary god was Ramsay himself.
“Yeah?” His gaze didn’t break away from the television that she hypnotically stared at while plopping another mouthful of popcorn into his mouth.
“Well, this woman,” you were sure to correct.
That piqued his interest as he turned. The two of you were rather honest and open about who you dated, Peter having stuck by MJ’s side ever since high school as you found yourself more laid-back to the whole ordeal. Never had you gone for anyone older than a few years. “Oh?”
“She’s really pretty and I want to see her again. I mean she’s a doctor and works at the ER. We’re seeing each other again at some point given my career choice. More like a side hobby I guess.”
Peter was the first person who you told about your newfound powers back in your sophomore year of high school. He was quite surprised and unbelieving about it all, but as soon as you began crawling through the walls and ceiling before shooting webs from your very wrists, he was in awe. Only him, MJ, and your aunt knew of your not-so-secret identity.
“Wait, she's a doctor? How old is she?” He seemed worried at first, shutting off Ramsay as he yelled at yet another contestant of his show.
“Umm I’m not sure,” you shrugged, the ‘nor do I care’ going missing. “I don’t think people like being asked that. All I know is that she’s divorced and has twins! And she’s crazy pretty. I mean she had to touch me to do her doctoring job and I think that might’ve single-handedly healed me.”
“Dude you really shouldn’t go for that. She’s got a full life already with kids! You’re a superhero. What if you put them in danger?”
“Pete, I’m barely a hero, let alone super. Is it really that bad that I want to start dating around? Ever since I graduated high school I haven’t been able to do shit. Now I’m leaving college in a few months and I just…want to be happy for once. I don’t want to keep being this savior of the people for the rest of my life. Eventually I want to be with someone.”
Peter was unamused when he monotonically spoke. “With your mystery doctor who could be twice your age?”
“Yup!”
In theory it wasn’t a great idea, nor generally, but you couldn’t shake off the connection you felt with Wanda. Regardless of Peter’s ideals, you’d be sure to try and find your happiness. Lo and behold you’d regain a normal life after years of chaos.
///
With the next few months passing, you carried on about your life normally. During the day you were the average college student who breezed through the final weeks of the Fall semester, while at night you took the mantle of a spider-theme vigilante. Although rest was a commodity you weren’t keen to, keeping those across the city safe sated your need for a thrill, making them happy along the way.
Several visits back to the emergency room at the hospital Wanda worked at had proven to be rather fruitful from time to time. Although with most occasions she was nowhere to be found, the older woman who carried a fire in her eyes not having a set schedule, you were hit with a surge of joy whenever you feasted your eyes upon her – even if it meant watching from afar as another doctor tended to your wounds.
Many moments had the two of you shared silent gazes. Never did you dare stop thinking of her upon your return home. Wanda plagued your dreams as well as your waking life. And yet you couldn’t dare complain.
Another weekend in the island of Manhattan meant busy work ahead of you. Once tugging on your red and blue latex suit, you threw yourself off the window of your shared apartment with Peter, promising that you’d bring him back pizza for him to share with you for breakfast. You’d only be young once in your lifetime after all.
Swinging across the buildings in the city brought you a loving sense of freedom. The power and responsibility that came with your nightly activities was pushed to the back of your mind as you flew from skyscraper to skyscraper. No one could enjoy such an adrenaline-inducing activity quite like you. Especially not Peter who had nearly barfed all over your suit the first and last time you took him swinging around.
The night went by smoothly. Each crime you stopped gave you a high sense of fulfillment. They weren’t major, mainly petty criminals in desperate need of cash raiding stores across the island, bodegas at times in surrounding boroughs. Most nights you could take breaks at the top of a building, crack open a cold bottle of water that you had to press against your sweaty forehead upon taking off your mask, then gnawing at a grilled cheese sandwich from Mondo’s Eatery – quaint little shop in Queens frequented by one Spider-person alongside their much more normal alter ego.
All went by quickly, at least until someone that caught your eye was put in the line of danger.
You weren’t stalking her per se, you truly made yourself believe that. If anything you watched over your faithful emergency room doctor whenever you could, checking out if she got home safely each night across the island. Wanda, you found in a self-assured not-so-creepy-manner, lived by herself in a minimalistic apartment you envied. It was much bigger than your own, one that you could barely pay as it was, and grimaced for a moment at the thought of how much she spent per month to keep living there.
As she made her way across the street to reach her building, her eyes were downcast and upon her phone chatting away with the father of her children who agreed to bring the twins over the following week. Their relationship was amicable, and yet she carried disdain in secrecy at the venom she had been spewed so long ago.
When a car at full-speed made its way down the road Wanda waltzed through, all you saw was red.
“Look out!”
Swinging down the edge of a building, you threw a web across the adjacent one, aiming towards Wanda. You grabbed her swiftly mere seconds before she was to become one with the asphalt. As much as she screamed clutching her phone and staring across the city, you never once let go.
You settled for setting her down gently at the roof of her building. Knowing it was never easy for first-timers, you helped her lay on the floor, clutching your latex suit tightly as she attempted to catch her heavy breath. Being in such close proximity to her, your arm wrapped around her waist while tapping gently upon her skin, made you drool beneath your mask.
“That was a close one,” you awkwardly said, grimacing as you never knew how to break the ice after quite an event. “You should really be careful next time. New Yorkers are no joke when it comes to driving. I wouldn’t want you to be flattened by a 4x4.”
“Holy shit,” was all Wanda could muster. She turned to you, wide green eyes seemingly staring through your soul even if yours were covered. “You saved my life. I almost died and you-”
“Yeah it’s kind of my thing. Don’t worry, I do it a lot. It goes with the whole hero thing, you know?”
Wanda was able to let out a shaky laugh, although deep down you knew she still attempted to ground herself. “I don’t assume you’d like to come over for tea as a thanks. Spider…person?”
“That’s me, but no I have a rule about not fraternizing with the people I saved.” It wasn’t a lie, but for Wanda you’d always make an exception.
“Yeah? Did Tony Stark come up with that for you? Or was it the buff guy in red, white, and blue pajamas who likes destroying the city with the weird frisbee?” Wanda raised her eyebrows.
“Oh I wish. I’m not on the level of the Avengers yet. I’m just a friendly neighborhood Spider-person.”
When the redhead tilted her head as though it was her trademark move, you froze. “You are very friendly indeed. So, about that tea? I can even do coffee. It’s late and I almost died, why not make it a pizza?”
“I live and breathe pizza. It’s my favorite thing ever,” you smirked even though she couldn’t see it. Pizza. Pizza? You frowned at the familiarity of it, but upon a peculiar ringtone blasting through your phone, you cursed beneath your breath. “Oh fuck, Peter’s pizza!”
“Who?” Wanda questioned with amusement.
“Uh nothing, nevermind! You have a lovely evening miss- ma’am?” Although you wanted nothing more than to remain in place, sit down and chat further over a large pizza that you’d eat most slices from, you had a duty to the city and your friend. Waving off to the doctor, you jumped on the ledge. “See ya later doc! Try not to die!”
Wanda was taken aback. Although still stressed, she was able to pull herself off the floor and run towards the edge of the building where she watched you swing away as quick as you had appeared. Shrugging, she found it quite odd. Never had she told you she was a doctor.
///
Seeing Wanda across the city had become a daily habit of yours, an obsession as Peter put it. You had watched her from afar, intervening when required, and simply went off as though nothing had occurred. Upon your arrival at the emergency room where you saw one another differently, you began noticing a rather deliriously beautiful smile upon her features you had yet to see present.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were stalking me.”
It would typically make you jump, and yet after countless times of saving Wanda from the very same fate – nearly being run over – you weren’t sure if it still surprised you. The banter the two of you shared, the unspoken bond that had settled between both you and the hero she looked up to, was nothing you wished to rid yourself from.
“Me? Stalking you? Oh no no no!” A lie. Another faithful night at the top of her apartment building had you leaning against the ledge. “I’m just your friendly neighborhood Spidey. I’m obligated to save a pretty girl when she’s in trouble.”
Wanda brushed the dirt off her slacks, shaking her head with amusing disbelief. “Girl?”
“Er, woman? Sorry.”
“I’m kidding. Gosh, you’re so easy to tease.” She was much more relaxed than at the hospital, a demeanor you had seen was saved for her children. “Who knew the spider vigilante was so cute?”
You ignored the blush that set upon your cheeks, thankful that your mask was on to hide your delicious embarrassment.
“Well I have to-”
“Go. You have to go. Again.” The final part was mumbled almost solemnly. Wanda wouldn’t admit it, but she had taken quite a liking to being saved by you. “Will I ever get to see what my knight in colorful spandex looks like?”
“Uh maybe,” you shrugged. “It’s just a secret identity for a reason. It’s not like we know much about each other.” Another lie. You had spent the better part of the last few weeks chatting amicably with the older woman, exploring different aspects of your individual lives in the safety of the rooftop. As much as you wished to tell her, you didn’t wish for her to react badly. “So, see you later?”
“Yes, darling. Until the next time you save me.”
To your dismay, you didn’t get to save her again in the coming weeks.
///
Although you didn’t get to see Wanda when donning your suit, you still had your ways. Ever so often you’d meet enemies who’d take quite the crack at you, leaving you needing minor stitches or an examination from the doctor. More often than not that task was given to your favorite redhead who began working much more at night.
“Would you still think I’m cute even if I was that swinging arachnid?” You questioned one day. In your defense your confidence and boldness was fueled by the medication running through your veins as she sutured your arm. “You know, the person with the red and blue suit.”
“I never said you were cute.” Her features gave her away fully as she beamed, not even keeping her joy hidden away.
“Well you didn’t say I wasn’t cute.” Watching intently, your eyes flickered upon Wanda’s as she patched you up. The blue from the latex gloves had become a favored color of yours. “Now answer the question.”
“Considering my children are obsessed with that buffoon of a hero, then yes, I would still think you’re cute. They saved me once anyway.” Wanda paused. “Well, a few times. But who’s counting?”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, darling.”
Taking a deep breath, you knew it was now or never. Talking it over with Peter had led you to believe that it was a bad, terribly thought-out idea according to your friend, but gazing at the beauty before you, you couldn’t find it to be true. Each day Wanda consumed your thoughts; each night Wanda consumed your dreams. Honesty was a first step you were willing to take, albeit risky.
“Well good thing I am them.” Your voice was shaky. The last time you had told someone about your secret identity had been years before. “Nice to see you again, Dr. Maximoff.”
Wanda shook her head and let out a howl. The mere thought, the amusing humoring, of one of her most regular patients being the Spider-person was too good to be true. “Sure, and I’m Black Widow.”
Rolling your eyes, you knew you’d have to show proof. After having looked around to make sure no one looked in your general direction, you shot a web from your bare wrists towards the small table beside you, pulling it to you with agility. Wanda wasn’t quite sure of what her eyes saw, if they deceived her, but as you shot yet another web towards the ceiling, she was left with her mouth agape.
“Y/N?”
“It’s really been awhile since we last saw each other. Well, when I was in my suit at least,” you chuckled. “So, uh, do you think it would be appropriate to ask you out now? On a date I mean. I can swing us to the top of a building or even take you somewhere. Just not too expensive because, you know, college student here. But I’d like to get to know you better if that’s alright.”
With her bewilderment still intact, Wanda involuntarily found herself nodding, deep down feeling relief that the two objects of her affection were one and the same.
///
There were a limited number of places you could take Wanda without Peter losing his mind about you spending a fortune, and yet as you left the apartment in silence, you didn’t care to tell him where you were headed. It was easier to swing there anyway, and you doubted he’d find it suspicious if you went out wearing your suit, instead arriving at Wanda’s apartment building only to change on the roof, leaving your backpack webbed to the ledge before making your way down.
You had found it difficult to move past the door that Wanda opened, smiling at you as she allowed you to feast your eyes upon the tight, black dress she donned. Suddenly it was your favorite piece of attire and color. Giving her a bouquet of flowers you had picked up along the way, you didn’t expect much, and yet the kiss placed upon one of your shining cheeks had you blushing for the entire dinner.
“So, uhm, you just shoot webs out of your wrist?”
If there was something you should know about Wanda, it was that she got right to the point. There was no hesitation within her as took a slice from the pizza she had made herself, handcrafting the dough and everything during the little spare time she had between her job and kids.
“Yup!”
“That’s…very interesting. Do you shoot them out of anywhere else?”
At the innuendo you blushed, turning away so Wanda couldn’t catch sight of your embarrassment. “No, no. It’s just the wrists. I promise I am perfectly normal otherwise. Well, except for the superhuman strength, durability, a weird healing thing, agility, the wall thingy, and the Spidey sense.”
“A what?”
“Spidey sense! I’m not sure how to explain it, but that’s just what I call it. I guess it’s like an improved gut feeling,” you explained. Unless she experienced the same as you, she lacked the depth to understand it. At least that’s what you thought until she nodded, seemingly pleased with your response. “Thanks for the pizza by the way. I didn’t peg you for a margherita kind of gal.”
“Well, I have been wanting to sit down and have dinner with my savior for ages now. The least I can do is get you something you’d enjoy.”
Hesitating to take a bite from your third slice, you stared at her. “Do you just see me as the person who saved your life or-”
“Oh gosh no, darling. To me you’re Y/N, the very interesting patient who always makes my nightmares at the ER quite enjoyable.” The warmth in her beam did not go missed. “And of course I have to take into account the fact that you enjoy throwing yourself off buildings in your spare time. It doesn’t matter what you do. I find you to be a very interesting specimen, sweetheart. And if you’ll allow me, I’d love to get to know you better.”
You settled for that response, not noticing the glint in Wanda’s eyes as she watched you look down to attempt to hide a mad flush upon your cheeks. Numerous insecurities came crashing against her at once. She was much older than you, a mother of two children, a divorcee, and most importantly a doctor who had a very demanding work schedule. Her priority was to serve others, but she mused that so was yours. Together you were quite perfect for one another.
The two of you remained seated over the dining room table, the apartment silent let alone for the voices which boomed with the other. You hadn’t felt as relaxed as you did talking to her in comparison to anyone else, not even your best friend and roommate.
“What about your kids?” You decided to ask once Wanda had brought up your family. “Twins, right?”
“Yeah, my boys,” her face lit up at the instant mention of her beloved children. “Billy and Tommy. They’re my whole world. Both are ten right now, which is a very tricky age as you know. But they’re really the sweetest kids ever. And their father he…”
You waited for an answer, but when she didn’t give you any, you pushed on. “What about him? If you want to talk about it I mean.”
“It’s fine,” she brushed it off. “It happened years ago anyway. We got divorced when the boys were two. Everyone assumes the two of us are okay and to a certain extent we are, but it wasn’t pretty. There was a lot that went on between Vis and I. I just…I haven’t allowed myself to be with anyone else since the divorce. I’m not sure how to properly date someone.”
With raised eyebrows you found yourself giggling. It took Wanda aback, of course it did, but you quickly explained your amusement. “It’s not really rocket science, Wanda. We’re just getting to know each other. We talk, we laugh, and we enjoy the other’s presence. I like you, a lot actually. Just relax, take it easy.”
“I don’t think I’ve been able to relax since I graduated high school, but I’ll try,” she snorted.
The evening was quite peaceful. For the first night ever you allowed yourself to take a break, to enjoy the little time you had with Wanda, to sit beside her on the couch and snicker as she put on her favored sitcoms – learning she adored them was a rather endearing fact you’d forever remember about the woman.
The New York City skyline would never carry the same beauty as did Wanda. Although her eyes darted out the window watching the sunset intently, yours were on her god-like appearance. You couldn’t even begin to count your stars at the mere fact of being there.
“I’ll miss you,” Wanda said when it was time for your departure. The half-eaten pizza was cleaned up by you as she stood back, your appetite gone as you focused on being beside her, stubbornly having attempted to stop you from tidying up. “But I know that duty calls. Time for you to save lives, honey.”
Never would you stop the ends of your mouth from rising at the pet names. “I’ll miss you two. I had a lot of fun tonight. I really can’t wait until we do this again.”
That night when you swung around the city, not a thought filled your head other than Wanda.
///
Each passing day you sent Wanda a new picture of yourself, not knowing she adored saving them all into a little folder on her phone meant for just you. Winter was upon you, meaning the hours she put into the work at the hospital were shared with the moments she spent rummaging through the city in search of gifts for the twins. For that entire month, she was a gift-giver, only Santa on Christmas Eve.
During her break at the hospital, she found herself searching through her phone for gifts, all while smiling at the ding of a new message from you. Opening it up, she found you wearing your trademark suit, pointing the camera over yourself as your other hand held a pole in the midst of the sky.
Wanda: Where is that?
You: Top of the Empire State Building. I should really take you here someday.
Wanda: No thank you, my little spiderling. I haven’t recovered from the first few times you took me swinging. It’s freezing out anyway. Not all of us have been bitten by radioactive spiders.
You: I’ll find the spider again and make it bite you. That way you can be Spider-girl!
Wanda: Spider-woman**
Wanda: Were you able to find the Lego sets?
Another image was sent, only this time it was the inside of your backpack which carried differing sets of Legos from Harry Potter: one was a Gryffindor themed one while the other was Ravenclaw.
You: Here they are. How come you need them so soon anyway??? Christmas isn’t for a few weeks.
Wanda: But Chanukah is next week, my darling. The twins have been begging for these. Now I just need to find a new chanukiah. Last year Tommy was running around the apartment and ended up breaking it. I can’t tell you how much that little boy cried.
You: I didn’t know you were Jewish.
Wanda: I am. This season always puts a dent in my bank account. The twins celebrate both Chanukah and Christmas from their dad’s side. It’s hell trying to not spoil them but also get them enough gifts for them to enjoy.
Wanda: Now I have to go, sweetheart. We both have lives to save. Stay safe and warm!
You: Try not to fight any patients. I know some people are dumbasses but one of us needs to have a stable job. Bye, miss you already <3
You tightened the scarf around your neck after having shoved your phone into your backpack. Wanda refused to let you carry out your vigitanlism if you simply wore your suit with nothing to keep you warm. So in her motherly mannerism, she wrapped a scarf around you, guided a beanie over your head with earmuffs, and handed you a coat. She hadn’t been quick enough to get you to wear warm layers over your legs or a sweater. The last thing you wanted was to run around the city wearing a full set of warm gear with only your mask to show off your heroic identity.
Swinging through the city knowing Wanda was there to wait for you at the end of the day, being able to drop by her apartment even if the children were around and finding time to sneak a few loving moments, made it all worth it.
///
Since you became official with Wanda, visiting at the hospital seemed to have lost its meaning. So rather than drop by the emergency room for her to stitch you up, more often than not you found yourself crawling across the walls of your girlfriend’s apartment building, sliding the window she left unlocked just for you before making your way inside to the warmth of the room.
“Wanda,” you whispered. There was no correct way to wake her up, you had found. Either way she’d scream her lungs out, still not used to seeing her partner hovering on the ceiling by a web hoping to get some medical attention. “Babe, I know you need your beauty sleep because you got a demanding job and some gremlins running around, but I could really use your help.” Even then she didn’t budge. Well, at least until you not-so-carefully shook her awake. “Wanda!”
Although ridden with fear, Wanda was adorable when she sat up immediately. Her eyes were wide, forehead coming in contact with your own covered one for a rather heavy hit. You were fine of course, but the same could not be said for the average human who rubbed her face while hissing with pain.
“Baby there is a door for a reason,” Wanda groaned, droopy eyes coming in contact with your figure. “And other doctors at the hospital.”
“Well you’re my doctor,” you mused.
“I’m also your very tired girlfriend,” she retorted. As much as she pretended to dislike being awoken in the middle of the night, Wanda beamed when eyeing you. She would forever find herself in awe with your presence. “What happened this time?”
“It’s nothing bad, just a little fall down a building.” At your words Wanda snapped her head up. “Don’t worry, doc. I’m superhuman, remember? Nothing hurts, but I wanted you to check it out just to be really sure.”
Wanda sighed, shaking her head with disbelief. She had yet to understand how your biology worked and differed from her own, but knew it was best to not ask many questions as you didn’t even know yourself. She was fascinated by the hero, but even more so by the angel that hid behind the mask and knew she’d be more worried if you didn’t say anything.
“Let’s see.” Wanda allowed her hands to run across your mask, finding the edges of it that attached to the rest of your bodysuit. She tilted her head upon meeting your eye line with raised eyebrows. “May I?”
“Go ahead.”
Pulling your mask down, Wanda licked her lips. You were freezing to the touch, but she knew you didn’t feel the cold as intensely as she did. Fingertips ran across your flushed cheeks, the mask being left halfway on as she studied what she saw.
You didn’t pull back as Wanda inched forth, her lips ghosting over your own. “I missed you, little spiderling. I only wish you’d visit me other than when you need a doctor’s gift.”
Before you could dare muster a reply, her mouth crashed against your own. She kissed you hard as though you hadn’t in days, because with the winter season taking full-force, her time mostly spent working and celebrating Hanukkah with her children, you rarely got to sit down and be with one another. There was nothing normal about your relationship, but you both wished to reach for it regardless.
Holding your head in place as you remained floating from the ceiling, Wanda made out with you. The children had long resided sleeping in their beds, far too gone within Sandman’s realm to dare interrupt the delicious moment. When she slipped her tongue past your welcoming lips, you wondered if you had the willpower to stop this from growing. She was far too intoxicating, you being drunk in her, to deny her.
“There’s challah in the kitchen,” was the first thing Wanda said as she pulled back, her face sharing a similar hue to your own. “And as much as I’d like to keep going, I really want to make sure you’re not about to die on me.”
“Yeah that’s fair. Can I, uh, sit on your bed?” You questioned.
“You don’t even have to ask, sweetheart.”
Being nuzzled close by Wanda once you had shed your suit and mask away wasn’t a rare occasion. Instead you found joy in your skin being analyzed by the physician, relaxing as she ensured that no major damage resided on your body. She had stocked up on bandages, gauzes, and enough hydrogen peroxide to cure a small army for your sake. If anything, she adored the little moments she got to play doctor at home with you by her side.
When it came down to just you and her, life was peaceful for once. No longer did either of you have to worry about patients, citizens in need of help, or even children that she dearly loved. It was just you two sharing the sweet moments you’d never easily get rid of.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but do you have anything other than bread? I kinda skipped breakfast…and lunch…and maybe even dinner,” your voice got lower by the second. Wanda had long ago reminded you of the importance of eating, but being busy with finals and heroism, you barely got time to shower at night.
“You really have to take better care of yourself, honey. You may be a hero, but you’re still a person. Basic self-care shouldn’t be alien to you.” Wanda held herself back from reprimanding you. It’s not like you were one of the twins, and yet she couldn’t help but care for you in such a close manner. “But yes, Dr. Lewis brought a delicious matzo ball soup. I think you’ll like it.”
“Darcy?” Wanda raised her eyebrows at that – it didn’t go missed by you. “When you weren’t around she was the one to nurse me back to health. After doing my stitches for a few weeks and talking about the best pizza in the city, we’re now on a first-name basis.”
“Hmm well she’s a wonderful doctor,” Wanda pointed out. She took a pause before allowing her insecurities to get the best of her. “Younger.”
Although mostly oblivious, you could sense the hint of venom and sadness in her voice. Wanda gave a lot of thought to the difference in your ages.“I guess, but you’re the only doctor I got my eye on. Really the only person I care to kiss.”
“That is very sweet of you.”
When Wanda didn’t smile, you did it for her. “Well, it’s true.”
Once you were all checked out, your side merely patched up with little scrapes that would soon heal, Wanda guided you towards the kitchen. She still found it amusing how you pranced around in what she called ‘a very colorful and stretchy pajama bodysuit.’ Teasing you was truly the highlight of her days.
While you took your seat on a stool in the kitchen island, Wanda set off to find the remaining food. She found it heartwarming that although you didn’t share her beliefs, you could appreciate them alongside her culture. Throughout many dates you called restaurants ahead of time to ensure proper dishes for your girlfriend who always pecked you on the cheek for being so sweet to her.
As you fed yourself a mouthful of the dish, you suddenly piped up. “Oh I finished my last final today!”
Wanda shook her head at the childish manner of yours to speak with your mouth full, but her exhausted face was fueled with pride. “That’s wonderful, baby! Physiology, correct?” You nodded. “How was it?”
“I think it went well. I dunno, I just hope I didn’t entirely fail the class.”
“You are a very smart and capable person, okay?” When her features turned serious, you knew Wanda was about to give you the pep talk of a lifetime. “You’d never fail at anything. I am very proud of you for even having done the exam. Now don’t you dare put yourself down, my dear. You sell yourself far too short when having such a big and beautiful brain.”
“You think my brain is beautiful?” Eyebrows raised, you took another mouthful of the soup. “Gross.”
“It’s so sexy.” You and Wanda shared a lighthearted laugh, ensuring that you weren’t loud enough to awaken the twins you had yet to meet. “Now be good for me and eat up. I’m not letting you go back home in your condition. There’s an extra spot in my bed for a reason.”
Although there wasn’t anything wrong with you apart from a faint bruise, Wanda was having none of it. That night you slept better than ever after having showered, wearing oversized pajamas she had given you before laying by her side. You only hoped she wouldn’t comment on the way you awoke with both arms wrapped around her waist as you mirrored a koala – for Wanda, that is what a perfect life was.
///
Wanda: Would you like to meet the twins?
You stared down at your phone when you received the message. It had become a custom for you to always immediately look at it when the distinctive sound of Wanda’s texts came through. She could need you, or be in mid-emergency. Whatever it was, hers were always the first messages you saw in the morning.
You: Yeah! That would be awesome actually.
You: Wait Spidey-me or me-me?
Wanda: Whatever you feel comfortable with, angel. I just thought we’ve been together for two long months. And it’s almost Christmas so they’ll be far too busy with their dad after the 24th.
You: I guess it can’t hurt for them to love me because I’m their favorite superhero.
You: I am their fav superhero, right?
Wanda: 🤐
You: WANDA!!
Wanda: Yes, bubala. You are their favorite. What matters most is that you’re MY favorite!
You: So cute. I’ll call you later tonight and we can work something out. Now go save some lives, Dr. Maximoff!
Wanda: You too, b'shert. Keep warm for me.
Each message she sent you made you smile more than the last. Nothing, no one, had allowed you to feel in such a wondrous manner. Wanda was a breath of fresh air. She was the calm, serene cool breeze on a Spring morning after having woken up to open the window — so beautifully rejuvenating you with life.
You’d never let her go.
///
You weren’t sure what to bring to meet a pair of ten year old boys, but perhaps bags of candy Wanda would surely confiscate and the surprise of meeting a superhero would be enough. The day in which Wanda invited you over caused you great stress, your hands shaking at each given moment, only increasing once you left your home.
“You’ll be fine,” Peter had told you. “They’re just kids. Plus, if it doesn’t work out then you can always, you know, take advantage of the whole superhero thing.”
It was wrong, but you realized he had half a point. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as horrible as you thought given that they were Wanda’s children, but you feared that if they disliked you, that perhaps you’d break up with Wanda — or worse, you’d get between their relationship.
As scared as you were at first, upon seeing the curious eyes of the twins you could only smirk at them, offering the candy you brought as a peace offering while Wanda threw a hard gaze your way.
“Are you Y/N?” One of the twins, Tommy as you recognized from the pictures Wanda had sent and shared with you, questioned.
“Are you dating our mom?” Came Billy’s blunt curiosity.
“Billy!”
You threw Wanda a sympathetic gaze at Wanda, stooping to the boys’ eyeline. “Yes to both of those questions. I hope it’s okay that I’m seeing her. Your mom is a wonderful warrior of a woman and I couldn’t be happier by her side. I’m sure the two of you are just as amazing as she is, huh?”
“Maybe,” Tommy shrugged as she attempted to keep his amusement down.
The four of you sat around the dinner table, you across from Wanda who failed to keep her joy of you being there down. She eyed you every once in a while as the children chatted about the eventful weekend they had with their father. Although seemingly a good parent, you had your reservations about that extending to his persona.
You couldn’t help but find the similarities in Tommy and Billy alongside their mother. They both carried her charisma, the glint in their eyes as they passionately spoke about their favored topics. You learned that not only were they avid comic book readers, but that from their own words their own shared bedroom was solely dedicated to their favorite heroes – you wondered if that extended to Wanda’s heroism.
“Boys, Y/N actually has something they’d like to tell you. It’s about that…swinging spiderling,” Wanda couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease. “Honey?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Well, I guess there’s not really a way to sugarcoat this, but I’m the Spider-person,” you flashed them a toothy grin, but as content as you were relaying the information, they only stared at you blankly.
“Like for Halloween?” Billy asked as he turned to his brother.
“No, I mean I’m the person behind the mask. Swinging around the city and stuff like that.”
The boys eyed their mother, silently questioning your sanity without muttering a word. They had met their fair share of bizarre girlfriends their father had, but never did they imagine their mother to have stooped to such a level.
“Okay fine, look,” you rolled your eyes, raising the sleeve of your warm sweater to point it at the wall. “Sorry, Wanda.” Upon your apologies, you shot a web towards your partner, reaching her fork before pulling it towards you. “Ta-da!”
Although surprised, the boys still weren’t sold on it.
“Anyone can do that. We got web-shooters too, you know,” Billy said.
Sighing, you couldn’t help but stoop to the lowest levels to impress them. You pointed at your bare wrists, showing them off so that they could see the lack of shooters on them. “But I don't have- never mind. I’m just gonna borrow your ceiling real quick.”
“Knock yourself out, darling,” Wanda laughed, making sure that her boys were eating while enjoying the show you put on.
After crawling through the walls and ceiling for long enough, nearly breaking half of Wanda’s decorations at that, you were sure it was enough for the twins to tell what your heroic identity was. You knew your girlfriend wasn’t too keen about you rummaging through her home without walking on your two feet upon the floor, but even she chortled when you hovered from a web above Tommy and Billy, the twins elated to find that their mom’s partner was their favored hero.
From then on, on days which you could visit, at least once a week, you found yourself planted over Wanda’s couch. Your job was to bring the snacks and popcorn while Wanda provided the movies. Together you bonded much better with the twins, and for the first time in your life you didn’t mind being seen as a parental figure.
///
The holidays alongside Wanda went by with ease. You didn’t have much of a family, always celebrating Christmas with MJ and Peter, at times even Ned and May. Although missing them, you found solace beside your newfound girlfriend.
“How do you light it again?” You questioned, eyes darting across the chanukiah sitting before you. The last thing you wished to do was to tarnish such a valuable part of her religion. “Babe, I’m scared to set your place on fire.”
“Hush. You light it from left to right. ‘Left to right, that’s how you light’ is what I tell my boys,” Wanda explained as she stood behind you, her hand guiding your own. “Always light the shamash first then light the rest with it.”
Doing as you were told, you lit the candle in the middle, carefully making sure none of the fire landed over the table. Usually the boys were there to properly help your inexperienced self, but now that you were alone by Wanda’s side, there was no hiding behind the pair of ten-year-olds.
“And don’t you dare break my chanukiah either. Pietro bought me this one and I love the design,” Wanda told you. “Look at that beautiful crystal.”
“Please focus on me and not the crystal. I know it looks fucking awesome, but I think I’m about to accidentally desecrate an entire culture,” you whined as your hand began shaking, the candle merely hovering over a fresh unlit one. “I’m so sorry Wanda, I-”
“HaShem will forgive you, sweetheart. And you are doing great. Here, let me help.” Wanda guided her hand atop your own, letting it run across a candle that she helped you light. She remained there for a few seconds before pulling it away to carefully light the rest on their proper other. “Did you know that the central candle represents HaShem’s light? This chanukiah is a symbol of enlightenment.”
You hummed at that, pressing your back against Wanda’s front. Turning slightly, you didn’t miss the glint of pride she received upon eyeing the candelabra. “Thank you for teaching me about this. It’s really important to you, so it’s important to me too.”
“Hmm how sweet,” she hummed.
Hugging you from behind, Wanda’s lips found your own. It began as a sweet peck, simply embracing all the unspoken love she held for you. As much as she adored her children, the redhead couldn’t be happier that she had uninterrupted time by your side while on a lengthy break from work.
The two of you have lacked the loneliness to be together. After nearly three months of becoming official, the desire you had for the other had reached its boiling point. It was only a matter of time before said volcano erupted.
“You look beautiful tonight,” you whispered against Wanda’s lips. Turning around, you got a full view of her outfit lit up by the six candles. It was a simple cardigan alongside warm yoga pants, and yet you couldn’t help but see her as the most beautiful specimen across the galaxy. “Such a pretty thing.”
“I could say the same about yourself, zeeskeit.” Wanda pulled you close, her hands running down your deeply clothed body which shielded you from the blizzard being carried across the New York skyline. She let her fingertips travel beneath your hoodie, an area she only halfway explored during your lengthy make-out sessions over her bed after your patrol sessions. “May I touch you? Am I allowed to…make love to you?”
“Make love to me?” You raised your eyebrows because beneath the charade of being older and wiser, Wanda was nothing but innocent when it came to lust. She blushed slightly at your institution and attempted to pull back, but you held her face close, thumb running down a reddened, warm cheek. “Yeah. You can do anything you’d like, Wanda. Anything just for you.”
Closing in on you, Wanda allowed you to feast upon the warmth she exuded. Her lips teased your own with small grazes, her eyes darting to them before wetting her own with her tongue. “Come here, my love.” Becoming one, she grabbed your hands tightly, forehead pressed against your own as the oil from the chanukiah burned brightly. With viridescent eyes closed, she breathed out. “Tzu gezunt, tzu leben, un tzu mazal.”
You were dragged to her bedroom by excited arms which simply begged you for fun. Wanda’s giddiness matched an immaturity you held as a young adult, throwing herself over the edge of the bed in sitting position before pulling you over herself. The life in her eyes was lit with the fire in the living room.
“I don’t tend to do this, you know?” Wanda muttered against your lips, taking them in control again, kissing you tenderly. “But I’m happy to make an exception for you, pretty one.”
“I’m honored. I can’t believe I’m the only one who gets to have you like this,” you told her, your mouth dropping a flurry of endearment across her face, merely hovering over her ear with hands that tugged at her clothes. “May I?”
“Knock yourself out.”
As though she mirrored a porcelain doll, you began undressing Wanda. Each article of clothing was shed little by little, her cardigan merely inching up her skin in a slow tempo as the two of you made out. There was hesitation in her body that froze at times, but melted when your lips guided her.
There too was uncertainty in you. With superhuman strength you could easily lift a car and not bat an eye, meaning hurting Wanda wasn’t completely off the table. You didn’t allow your hands to stay long upon her midsection as you removed her top, instead substituting them with your sight that didn’t leave your girlfriend’s upper body which lacked a brassiere.
“Holy fuck,” you drooled at the sight of her bare breast, far too afraid to break such artistic beauty. Praxiteles only wished his Aphrodite matched your own. “There’s no way you’re this pretty. It should be illegal because fu-
A finger landed over your lips successfully shushing you.
“You swear like a sailor, sheifale,” Wanda giggled and you swore you could only see a goddess before you. “Let me help you out of your clothes. It’s not fair if you only get to see me.”
The pout she threw at you was enough to make you inch back, immediately grabbing your clothes and throwing it off. You nearly fell against the bedside table and the pants that pooled at your feet. At least until success met you halfway and you simply stood there with nothing but your underwear on, embarrassed as you noticed the little dogs with Santa hats on.
Looking down at yourself, you didn’t dare face Wanda. “Yeah, sorry about this. It was a gag gift from last year’s Secret Santa. May gets really into Christmas and she loves dogs so…”
“And here I thought you couldn’t get more adorable.” Wanda shook her head with amusement, her room dimly lit and yet you could see every ounce of happiness upon her. “Now come here. I miss you already.”
You helped Wanda off her pants, shifting her so that she’d lay with her head against the fluffy pillows you found to be wildly comfortable after having crashed over for various nights. Her legs were smooth against your touch, so adorably responsive as your partner squirmed at the slightest caresses. You ran your hands up until you grabbed her backside, squeezing it as you pulled her in for a kiss.
Fingertips merely grazed her lacy black panties, yanking down the edges before-
“Wait stop.”
As soon as she spoke, you followed. While on top of Wanda you fully drew yourself back, breathlessly staring down with confusion. Her arms covered her chest, insecurities arising as she closed her eyes, hair coating her face to give her an extra sense of privacy.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” You questioned with furrowed eyebrows, inspecting Wanda in search of any pain.
“No, no, I just…” Wanda felt shame rising through her nude body. “I’m scared.”
“Me too,” you sympathized with her, you really did. Fear was nothing new for you. Ever since you got bit by that spider, not a day went by where you didn’t feel as though it would be your last. With enemies only increasing in size and powers, it was only a matter of time before the friendly neighborhood Spider-person was bested. “I’m scared to hurt you,” you admitted solely. “What are you afraid of?”
Wanda held your hands with her own, brushing her thumbs against the back of them before throwing you a reassuring smile that instantly turned bitter.
“I’m scared that maybe you won’t like what you see. Honey, it’s no secret that I am older, you know this,” she couldn’t help but say with dismay. “I have kids and I’m pushing 40. After the pregnancy Vis could barely even look at me. I’m not as pretty as the other girls you probably see on campus. Your friends. I’m…old and weird. I have stretch marks and I’ve never even been with someone who wasn't him before or after-”
At that you frowned, unbelieving the words that had spewed from her mouth. Surely you understood the fact that her job and children took up most of her time, but Wanda’s beauty shone across the galaxy brighter than the sun itself. “You haven’t?”
“No, sweetheart,” she felt humiliated to not be as experienced as she believed she should be. “I met Vis in high school. It’s always been him. I was supposed to grow old with him, not by myself…”
“Shhh it’s okay. I don’t mind.” You admitted, nuzzling your forehead against her own. A kiss was placed upon the tip of her nose, her face even more dashing without an ounce of make-up covering it. “And you’re not alone. Never with me.”
“But I’m ugly,” Wanda practically cried, unable to tear away the knot in her throat.
“Baby, what? Where is this coming from? You’re not ugly at all. You’re a warrior. You have given birth to not one, but two kids! Look at how far you’ve gotten in your career. With, again, two kids!” Seeing her in such disarray over untrue facts she spewed tugged at your heartstrings. Why couldn’t she see herself for what she was? Perhaps not all goddesses knew of their wondrous powers. “You’re perfect.”
“But honey, my body…” Wanda tried to muster out, but you shushed her to quiet down. Fingertips trailed across a raised scar on her abdomen, exploring the brutal force it had been made with. “Tommy came out fine, no trouble when I was giving birth to him. But Billy he…he was a c-section. The doctor didn’t think he’d make it, but he pulled through at the last second. It was the only way to get him out. As much as I love him, this,” with teary eyes, Wanda touched the marking on her skin. “Ugly scar, it cost me my marriage and my beauty. Vis couldn’t even look at me afterwards. A mutilated wife.”
You shared the sentiment, your own eyes filling up with tears. “If I ever meet him, I’m shoving my foot so far up his ass, it’s coming out his throat. That fucking idiot…” you whispered, a bout of bile rising up your throat.
Wanda didn’t react. She had long been told the same things from her friends, from Dr. Lewis who even once threatened to castrate her ex-husband with a scalpel from her operating room. She couldn’t find the truth in the statements. Vis rolled his eyes whenever she attempted to surprise him during anniversaries, the dreaded August 23rd. He would never lie to her.
“Can I see you?” You questioned, your eyes darting to Wanda’s tender ones raw with tears. “Only if you want. We can sit back on the couch and watch a movie or something. I could swing around and get us some food. Margherita pizza for the lady?”
Remaining silent, Wanda shrugged off her arms from her body. She allowed her hands to sit atop your shoulders, fingers exploring the bare area lovingly. Even without sight she could craft your body blindly, hands contorting to form you into a sculpture.
“Touch me,” she gave in. “please?”
You stared down at her stomach and all that met you were rolls sprawled across her midsection with stretch marks upon every inch of her skin: upon her breasts and along them, on her slightly swollen tummy you’d forever worship – you longed to kiss on her thighs that remained pushed together until you carefully pried them apart, and even by her hips which perfectly presented the markings. It felt alien to you. Staring at Wanda’s body, you wondered how she could ever describe herself as ugly when all that your eyes saw was excellence.
Without hesitation you carefully removed your underwear, garnering Wanda’s undying trust. She whimpered slightly when she saw your full nakedness, giving you the power to take off her own pair down her luscious legs. There was a golden Star of David which hung around her neck, one that she refused to take off ever since she was a child – her parents had given her one, another silver necklace for Pietro.
“Relax, baby,” you muttered towards her, leaning in to graze your lips against her chest. Kissing between the valley of her breasts, you allowed yourself to explore her entirely. “Thank you for trusting me.” you grabbed one of her hands, squeezing tight as you alternated between both soft mounds to place kisses on. “If at any point you want to stop, tell me. Don’t forget that, okay?”
“‘Kay,” she husked out. “Now get to it. I don’t like being teased, detka.”
“Impatient, how cute.”
Wanda was flushed against your body, her own reacting in the most adorable ways imaginable. Nipples stood hard and proud for you as your tongue swirled upon them. Leaving wet trails of saliva behind you, you made sure to give them both the similarly delicious treatment. While you lightly sucked on a hardened bud, the other was pinched and tugged lovingly.
“Fuck, that feels good,” Wanda moaned, back arching at the warm feeling she had never experienced in her life. A confusing wetness formed between her legs, aching as she rubbed her thighs together. “Oh Y/N…”
“Beautiful,” you said against the swell of her breast, kissing the stretch marks you found. “You’re a fucking goddess.”
Fingers began teasing her cunt, loving the dripping mess it had become for mere minutes of foreplay. Wanda adorably mewled in response. She wasn’t used to being so aroused, not even all by herself. Folds were parted as you traveled up and down her slit. When you so much as found her clit with a mere touch, she nearly lost it.
You dipped inside, unable to keep the desperation you felt to yourself. Wanda was hot against you. She wasn’t sure how to react, instead alternating between gripping the bed sheets and scratching at your skin. Slight tenderness caught her by surprise. Even in the times previous to having the children, Vis had never treated her in such a way. But then again, she couldn’t dare compare the two of you. Either way you’d come out on top.
The sole finger of yours twitched within Wanda’s velvety walls which hugged you tightly. It explored the unknown, coated entirely by slick juices and love. You sloshed it slightly, smirking against your lover’s skin as wet sounds filled your ears. She was an unbelievable mess, slightly tight given how tense she was – although after reassurances whispered hotly by her ear, the redhead found it in herself to take a deep breath and melt against the bed.
“I can take more,” she admitted. Her hips sloppily moved against your own slow thrusts, urging you to go faster. Never had she longed for someone so deeply. Wanda hugged you close with a newfound sense of confidence. Her lips found your own, kissing you hard with the utmost amount of love she silently threw your way. “Come on, b'shert. Give me all you got. I want it all,” she slid her tongue against your own, never daring to break eye-contact. “I. Want. You.”
It was enough to release the monster from deep inside. Although you refused to harm her, you slipped a second finger inside her hole, filling her cunt up with digits that urged to bring her to the brink of an orgasm.
“Yeah, that’s it. There’s my good baby.” Wanda’s nipples crept upon your skin. She met your own movements with phlegmatic ones, legs wrapping themselves around your midsection. “I don’t think I’ll last long, sweetheart. Oh honey!”
Surely the last time she dared receive such immense pleasure was beneath her. You curled your fingers deep inside Wanda once she had adjusted to them, thumb circling her clit. She fell apart in your arms that held her tight, swearing loudly in the three languages she knew for the entire borough to hear.
You let her relax for a few seconds, kissing her flushed face, mouthing only the sweetest compliments. “You did so well for me, Wanda. Such a good girl.”
Those words brought her a surge of happiness she had long wished to own. She couldn’t help but smile against you, eyes droopy with adoration as your fingers remained deep within her slick, puffy cunt.
Without a word you began drifting down. Her confusion was clear, but she refused to question you as you placed your kisses all over the rolls upon her stomach, the swollen tummy being adored without a hint of hatred.
Wanda let out a strangled sob as you casually flicked your tongue over her pussy. She had never experienced that, always the same monotone sex with Vision who didn’t dare venture down as you did. The feeling of your mouth upon her dripping slit was far too enjoyable for her to ever wish to let go.
“You taste amazing,” you told her, already drunk on her flavor. “So fucking good.”
That night you didn’t stop until Wanda was a slumped, ragged mess over the bed. She cried to be allowed to return the favor, but with her exhausted voice and heavy eyelids, you couldn’t ask for anything. Instead you picked her up and dragged her to the bathroom, cleaning her up, allowing her to rest against you as you changed the sheets, and kissing her forehead to sleep.
It wasn’t the first night you felt love for Wanda, but it would be the last you left it unspoken.
///
On the night of Christmas Eve, you swung around to save the day.
Vis had urged the twins to visit him on that day rather than Christmas, leaving the small children to agree upon the promise of candy and half of their gifts being opened a day early. Although Wanda disapproved, knowing it was her day with the boys, she didn’t dare fight it. After all, their joy over seeing their father couldn’t be dissuaded. Whatever issues she had with her ex-husband were between the two of them, never daring to involve Billy and Tommy who reeked with innocence.
To say she was surprised to find you throwing one of her windows open and jumping through it would be an understatement. She had settled on a date with her television and leftover chocolates she had laying around the house, perhaps some wine to tone down her sadness. The apartment was horribly quiet without two little menaces running around and begging to be fed nothing but greasy, fast-food.
“Sorry I’m late! I swear I must’ve swung across the whole fucking city just to get you these,” you exasperated, closing the window behind you as you shook off some snow from your covered body. “But I’m here!”
A break had to be taken from patrolling, instead letting the cops take over for a night as you and your newfound protégé, Miles who volunteered at M.I.L.E. alongside Peter’s aunt May, his mom having run for city council and won, a father who you once attempted to save but failed, also spent his Christmas Eve alongside family and friends. Eventually you’d tell Wanda about him, but not until you were sure he’d be a good fit – child endangerment was not something you took lightly.
Your girlfriend frowned at you, more importantly the object upon your hands. She rose from the couch and, to her dismay, ignored her floor being drenched with melted snow. She placed her wine down on the coffee table and walked towards you. “Are those…babka rolls?”
“Yeah! I tried recreating this recipe I found online, but then I got too carried away wrapping your gifts,” you used a hand to point behind you, backpack filled with gifts that overflowed. It was the perfect time to remove the warm beanie and earmuffs that shielded you from the cold, given how warm Wanda’s apartment was. “I nearly set the apartment on fire. Peter Googled a few places for me and, uh, I may have used my Spidey status to get this dude to make it for you.”
“What did it cost?”
“A selfie and video to send to his friends,” you mumbled. It wasn’t that you didn’t love taking pictures with the public, of course you did. But all that adorned your body was one of your old, beat up suits you merely carried around to cover yourself from the freezing weather. The fancier ones were saved for heroic work and better encounters with people. “Maybe an autograph too.”
You didn’t notice Wanda was in such close proximity until she urged you to drop the babka rolls on the coffee table beside her half-full glass of wine with silent hands.
“Take off your mask,” Wanda breathlessly ordered. You did as you were told, setting down the wrapped babka along with several horribly-adorned presents. When standing up straight, your mask off and thrown to the side, your girlfriend didn’t hesitate to lean in. Hands tenderly cupped your freezing cheeks, but she didn’t care. Having you close was good enough for Wanda. “I love you.”
Nothing could ever keep the thousand-watt smile from forming upon your face. You didn’t care that you were covered in snow, that your heavy boots Wanda had urged you to wear left wet trails as they stomped across her hardwood floors. All you could think about was her – pulling Wanda as close and ever to take her lips hostage.
“I love you too,” was all you said upon pulling away much to your disappointment. “Like, so fucking much. It’s kind of crazy how much I love you actually.”
“Hmm I’m glad, baby.”
Wanda nuzzled herself against you, ignoring the wetness from your suit and coat – she was glad to know you at least stuck to her pleas of keeping warm. She held you tight as though you’d leave by the following day, but until she told you otherwise, you’d spent all your waking time beside the woman you adored.
“So, uh, I brought a few DVDs,” you said. “I know it’s old fashioned, but I thought we could hook up the twins’ PlayStation in the living room’s television to watch Home Alone.”
“I would love that.” Wanda placed a kiss on your chest, most importantly over the spider crest that lay there. “My little spiderling. Please tell me you at least brought a change of clothes. Although you know I’ve been keeping extras just for you. And maybe Santa has brought you something for you to have here.”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe,” she teased. “Perhaps someday you won’t have to leave anymore. And we could make this…permanent.”
“I would love that.” Hugging her close, you promised to forever love and care for her, for her sanity, her children, and anything she desired. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Wanda stooped up to kiss you again, this time lingering upon your freezing lips carrying nothing but amour and desire. “Now go take a shower, sweetheart. You smell like a sewer rat. Get yourself all warmed up. I need my cuddle buddy.”
“Anything for you, Dr. Maximoff.”
Without the kids she was miserable, but her misery turned to happiness with you by her side. Wanda was thrilled to not only fall asleep with you hugging her tight from behind, but also awake to find herself half on top of you, face nuzzled against your chest. Although she had never officially celebrated Christmas let alone for her children’s sake, she could surely get used to a very excited superhero tearing open gifts and flashing them towards her.
As you stared back at Wanda that morning, promising that your gifts were for her own celebrations and not Christmas, you noticed the similarities between the scarlet wrapping paper and her hair. It was then you realized that loving Wanda, holding her heart in your hands, would forever be red.
#cthulhus’ fanfics#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff x y/n#wanda maximoff smut#marvel#marvel smut#wanda maximoff#scarlet witch#scarlet witch x reader#scarlet witch x you
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TOAST TO CLICHES IN A DARK PAST
not even another man's ring on your finger can stop sylus from taking what's rightfully his
warnings: fem!reader, ex-boyfriend sylus, toxic!sylus, mean!sylus, reader is engaged 🤭, cheating, oral s/ex, unprotected s/ex, collars, possessiveness, blank and ageless blogs dni
dawn says: i wrote this with one hand can you tell.... ALSO surprise at the end wbjwhjdkf ;)
“Hey, it’s me.” You can almost picture the scowl on his perfect features. “Let me in.” If patience was a virtue, waiting for another moment must be his vice.
Another sharp rap on the door shatters your peaceful evening.
“Y/N, I’m here for my things. Open the door.”
You decide it’s either now or never to get this over with him.
Standing from the couch, you muster the scariest scowl you can plaster on and answer the door. “I heard you for the first time.”
Right at your threshold, a 6 feet 2 menace stands clad in his sweatpants and compression black shirt, biker jacket hanging from his tall frame, those vermillion eyes raking up and down your figure, suddenly making you feel too self-conscious.
You’re in a pair of gray shorts and a tank top, nothing too fancy or scandalous, yet there’s a pressing heat behind his gaze which makes your skin flush like you’re presenting yourself before him in a risque piece of lingerie.
Your mouth curls around his name like it's a cud you can’t wait to spit out. “Sylus.”
He tips his head forward. “Y/N.”
The both of you don’t say a word, and you feel much too exposed. Anyone could pass by and see you speaking to him. The ring on your finger is heavy, and you subconsciously hide it behind your back, not wanting him to see it and comment.
“Nice rock.” Too late. Your scowl deepens and you huff a sigh.
“You said you forgot your insurance file? That’s not like you.” The sneer that carves your face is nothing in comparison to his smirk.
“I’m here for it and nothing else,” he clarifies, sweeping his gaze over you as he sweeps past you. “Don’t you hope for anything else.”
“Wh—hey,” you trail after him, spluttering indignantly. It’s just like your ex-boyfriend to walk in and claim the space as his own; large build and larger than life personality swallowing all the air in your lungs and in this room.
He plants his hands on his hips, surveying the newly decorated living room with cool distaste. “Looks like your plan to scrub me clean from your life worked, sweetie,” the nickname drips from his lips with condescension. “It’s so… clinical.”
He’s mocking you. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your hands clench to fists by your side.
“We love the combination of gray and white,” you say past gritted teeth. “The red-black abomination you had going on was an absolute eyesore.”
“Oh,” he flickers his gaze back to you, completely disinterested. “I see. I guess you didn’t just get engaged to some random schmuck to get back at me.”
The ring around your finger is heavy enough, tempting you to smash it through his mouth. You scoff.
“You’ve never changed, Sylus. Always mean—always a loser.”
With a single word, you find yourself pushed against the wall, your ex towering over you. The smell of his rich leather and spiced cologne swims in your head, driving you dizzy. Heat engulfs you as his arms come up on either side of your head.
“You know how this works, sweetie,” his smooth, rich tone bathes you in that blessed timber, making a shiver crawl up your spine. “We fight, we break up. You text me, I come over and—”
He’s much too close. Too overwhelming.
Sylus waits for you to finish his sentence.
“Come on now, kitten,” he purrs. “What is it we do whenever you come crawling back to me?”
You refuse to answer him, despite the ache spreading right at your core. You huff and turn your face to the side, finding refuge from those searing darkened eyes.
“You can’t do this to me anymore, Sylus. I feel nothing for you.”
“Nothing, huh?” If there’s one thing your ex loves more than this toxic rollercoaster you want no part of anymore, it’s the challenge of getting you back on it.
“I’m engaged,” you emphasize, a sinking realization of this mistake washing over you. You should’ve never allowed him to come back.
“This flimsy thing?” He plucks your left hand from your side, a sneer curling on his mouth. “Two weeks. You thought you could replace me in just two weeks?”
“We were friends—”
“He can’t treat you like me.” With the bold declaration, Sylus grows more audacious. He bends his head forward, eyes close and chest rising—inhaling your sugary vanilla body wash straight from your neck. “Can’t put you in your place like I do, sweetie.”
Your eyes involuntarily flutter shut and Sylus takes this chance to pounce on your jugular. “Where’s my insurance file, sweetie? Do you know?”
Vaguely, you recall seeing it in your bedroom. “It’s in ou—my room.”
Sylus doesn’t comment on the slip up, corners of his lips twitching. “Well? What’re you waiting for? Go get it for me, sweetie.”
Your nostrils flare, anger coursing through you. Does this guy think you’re his maid or something?
“Go get it yourself.”
With Sylus, everything is a game. A struggle for power. He snorts and turns his gaze to the expensive Rolex on his wrist. “When does he get off?” Your ex’s sneer deepens.
Knowing who he’s talking about, you match his energy with an eye roll. “In a few hours—”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
Throughout this little bantering session, Sylus never once lost his cool; calm and teasing like the asshole he usually is. This time a flash of anger sears through his tone and you falter, the repressed heat inside you lifting its head to scent the sticky sweet danger clinging in the air.
Warning, the nerves in your body scream. Stay alert.
You shut the voice down, crossing your arms. “Or, what?” You try to mimic him with one brow raised. “What’re you going to do to me?”
Sylus doesn’t immediately react. That’s why he’s a risk to deal with—one wrong move and you could go falling back into the wolf’s den. He bides his time, staring at the silver rings adorning his slender fingers, knuckles split and bruised from his love of violence in the ring.
“The sooner you get the file for me, the faster I will get out of your life,” he smoothly interjects. “Unless… you want me?”
He stands up lightning fast, cornering you again with his staggering presence, making you take one step back.
You touch your throat on instinct, and Sylus chuckles.
“What? Cat got your tongue, kitten?” The use of your favorite nickname sends a wave of heat rising inside of you, the flush warm and demanding on your cheeks. Sylus doesn’t reach out to touch you, but he doesn’t need to if he wants to turn you on.
One look. A careless brush against the back of your thigh and you’re aching all over.
“It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” A drop of sympathy colors the waters of his deception, and your shoulders loose their stiff edges, walls coming down a fraction. “No one can do those things to you… make you feel like that…”
He’s speaking in riddles and it’s successfully scrambling your mind.
“Sylus—”
“Turn around.”
You inadvertently raise the stakes by shaking your head.
“What did you do, kitten?” His voice is smooth, but underneath, there’s a zing of livid distaste. Sylus never likes it when you defy him.
His jaw clenches, but he’s focused on the long game. Sylus hums. “Come on. We shouldn’t waste anymore time. Take me to your bedroom.”
The shivers wrack you tenfold and it’s borderline criminal to bring your ex back into the room where you laid with and fucked your fiance. Electricity crackles in the empty spaces, and you try your best to ignore the current sparking on your tongue.
“Check under the bed,” Sylus suggests, doing nothing but stand by the wall, arms folded. Expecting you to pull the most weight.
You pause, sending him a look of indignation. “Why’re you ordering me around? You do it.”
Instead of adopting a look of contrition or remembering his manners like any normal person would, your psychopath of an ex shakes his head. He starts to shrug off his jacket; enjoys how wide your eyes become when he removes his shirt and tosses it to the ground.
“Sy—” you hiss, but he interrupts you with a raised brow.
You turn mute, bunching your fingers together in front of you, a curious part of you wondering what he’ll do next—the depths of depravity he will drag you back into.
“You don’t get it, do you?” He steps closer and closer, pushing you to the edge of the bed where you have nowhere to escape.
“I know you, sweetie. I can sense when you’re excited. I own you. You want this—you want me.” You drop your gaze, suddenly afraid of him looking into your eyes. Sylus tastes of your impending surrender right on the tip of his tongue. Call him a genius or a madman, but nobody can call him ignorant to his girl’s needs.
“I can give you what you want. What you’re craving for.” It’s too much—his presence, his voice, this smoldering heat. You feel like you’re going to combust.
Without thinking straight, you press your hands flat on his pecs, trying to push him away, but all it does is make him grab your wrists, locking you in place.
“Don’t,” he warns, velvety smooth with his threats. Your white-haired devil of an ex smirks at your wide eyes, and chuckles.
“Come on, sweetie,” he leans in closer, gathers both your hands in one of his own and tilts your head up to face him. “Look at me—look at me. Come on. Give me a kiss.”
He coaxes you with a gentle nudge, but it’s enough to send a battering ram through your defenses. The tension—so thick that you can cut it with a knife—comes to a jolting deadend and you have no choice but to give in.
You fold, parting your lips and Sylus goes in straight for the kill.
Hot kisses devour your soft moans, sending shudders all over your skin as goosebumps erupt everywhere; Sylus kisses you with bruising accuracy, hell bent on getting his revenge.
No one dares to leave him unless he declares it, and you’ve committed the biggest sin out there by throwing away his love.
He pries your lips apart, plundering his tongue to tap and caress the roof of your mouth, running the tip over your teeth and twining messily with your own tongue; reducing you to sporadic moans and twitches. Encased in his arms, you feel small and helpless, a prey who has fallen right into her beloved predator’s jaws.
“Come here, sweetie.” Sylus plops himself on the edge of the bed, and brings you right onto his lap. You’re woozy and lightheaded when he starts to paw at your shorts, dragging it down—exposing the sweet white cotton hiding his favorite pussy.
Sylus tugs your panties down unceremoniously, and you barely have time to steel yourself when he murmurs, “How dare you say no to me?”
A heavy hand lands right on your right cheek, jolting you forward. Your cry is part ecstasy, part pain.
It rebounds around the room, echoing your betrayal when he sends another hard spank on your left cheek, following it up with the right one; white heat engulfs you all over and your ass is on fire.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “See, sweetie? You’re wet. You’re leaking alllll over my thigh.” He drags the words and your humiliation out, plunging two thick fingers and dragging them through your folds. Sylus dangles his drenched fingers right in front of you and chuckles.
Something hard pokes your lower belly when he shifts you into a seating position, tilting your face up. The look of hunger he wears unhinges the last of your restraints and this time, you’re the one who tugs him by his hair, smashing your mouth hungrily to his.
The wet smacks and muffled groans of lips on lips. Moans. Bodies on fire. You’re rubbing yourself all over him.
Get on your knees, he orders feverishly, grabbing your hair and pushing you down in between his legs. Suck my cock. Go on, kitten. Suck my cock and make me feel good—you know you want to.
You obey him—of course you do.
You can never forget the taste of him when he hits your tongue, like musk and man, saturating flavor making your eyes roll back in your head. The dopamine kicks in and Sylus swears he sees little pink hearts right in your eyes when you take him down your entire throat.
Who is more insane—the psycho, or the one who dares to love him?
You’ve always been a little loose in the head, but this definitely takes the cake.
How you’re willing to risk everything—your stable life, your safe home, your fiance’s love—all for a man who plays with you like you’re his favorite toy.
For a man who will never tell you he loves you or wants to marry you.
Like he’s reading your thoughts, Sylus gives a strained chuckle.
“Stop thinking about him. Just focus on me.”
His abs undulate under your palms, and he eyes the twinkling ring on your finger with distaste.
One way or another, he’s going to get you to remove it for him someday.
Until then, he knows the perfect counterpart to that asshole's claim on you.
“Stop.” He pulls you from his throbbing cock, a smidge of pride staining his ego when he sees your swollen lips and the ravenous look in your eye. “Go and get your collar, sweetie.”
It’s a risk to bring up the one item you didn’t toss into his box of belongings. But, his gamble comes back as a win when your eyes sharpen with want.
“Yeah,” he feeds off your reactions, an incubus desperate for your light. “Yeah, you still have it, don’t you, kitten?”
The answer is painfully obvious on your face.
“Why don’t you go and grab it?”
You move with uncertainty, but this time, Sylus allows it. He lets you feel through your emotions, knows the erotic pulse of submission must be tearing you into shreds—warring with your desire to stay faithful to some poor cuck.
Sylus knows all this because he knows you; knows what you love, what you hate. How you taste at different times of the day. Your favorite flowers, fast food order, your preferred poison on the weekend. The cadences of your breath when you fall asleep in his arms. What your shampoo smells like when it lingers on his sheets.
He is, after all, the best owner you could ask for.
And you’re still obviously, undoubtedly, and painfully in love with him.
Your throat bobs with a hard swallow, but you don’t defy him. He swats your ass with a cheeky spank when you stand and shuffle out of the room.
“Atta girl,” he praises once you come back with your collar in hand. It’s a little dusty, but the leather is still supple.
Sylus runs his fingers over it, flickering his gaze to you.
You’re kneeling right between his thighs, head bent, hair gathered in one hand to expose the back of your neck. Waiting for him to reclaim you.
Sylus doesn’t take such submission lightly.
This collar—proof of his quiet yet powerful devotion and fondness for you—is more of a commitment than that stupid band around your finger could ever be.
It’s his promise to always look out for you. Care for you. Protect you.
Love you.
Though the words don’t dislodge from the grasps of his ego, Sylus has and always will love you.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers, dragging one finger down the nape of your neck. Your shudder makes an unwilling smile curve on his lips, and he snaps the leather collar around your throat, giving it a few good tugs to see how tight it is.
You turn and stretch towards him, planting a soft kiss on his lips as gratitude—a muscle reflex for the many times he’s collared you.
Sylus deepens the kiss, running his hands through your hair and grabbing a fistful of it, directing you back towards his throbbing, leaky cock.
You lick at a clear bead of precum slipping down, flatten your tongue to run it over your favorite prominent vein. Sylus leans back against his forearms, watching his ex-lover pleasure him on another man’s bed.
The band around his self-control is slipping, and he can’t hold back a low, drawn out groan when you suckle on the flushed, mushroom tip.
“That’s it,” he grunts, low and commanding. Such a pretty girl you are—make me feel good, kitten. You’re doing so, so well.
His voice is an aphrodisiac in itself, making you flush hotly. Your core throbs with neglect as you pay full attention to sucking him off, putting his pleasure above yours.
Sylus isn’t stingy with his praises or affections: caressing your hair, patting your cheek, fingering your collar when you get more worked up over sucking him off.
You’re so messy it hurts.
Drool dripping from the corners of your swollen lips. Precum smeared all over your cheeks. Eyes low and lustful—his personal wet dream came to life.
You’re halfway bobbing your head up and down his slick shaft when he stops you, gestures for you to come back up for air.
In a swift movement, he has you under him, legs tightly wound around his narrow waist; forearms roped with muscles on either side of your head.
His red eyes bore into yours, watching your reactions with heated attention.
Your gasp as he rips your tank top off, kissing and suckling your plush tits and nibbling on your sensitive nipples until you feel positively ripe for the picking.
He’s tempted to leave a mark on your neck, but you know him well enough too, and shake your head with a cute little teary, “N-no. Don’t.”
Sylus will let it slide—just this once.
The warm expanse of your bare skin opens under his palms like the bright evening sky outside.
He savors your hitched gasp that melts into a sultry groan once he stretches you out with his girthy tip. Another inch, another cry.
Sylus falls right into your seduction and embrace, bottoming right to the hilt; his hips clip with yours, lips mere inches from your parted ones.
He devours you with hot, open mouth kisses. From your pouty lower lip to your curved cupid’s bow, he traces your mouth to memory with his own. You taste like home, he wants to tell you, but doesn’t. He’s never had a home to compare you to.
Sylus the orphan. The vagabond. The corrupt.
Molded deep in your body, he supposes this is the closest to a home he has.
Your fingers twine with his above your head, another hand tangled right in his frosty white hair.
Languid rolls of his hips. Your own try to keep up—meeting him in the middle.
Say you’re mine, he growls. Say it, kitten. Say it and I’ll make you feel so good.
“Yours,” you hiccup, unable to peel your eyes off of him.
I’m yours, Sylus.
His thrusts send shocks of pleasure through your body, hitting the sensitive spots inside of you and making you flinch like he’s touching an open wound.
Over and over again. His mouth grazes yours. You don’t hesitate to swallow his kisses.
You’re clinging to me like a vine, kitten. He nuzzles your hair, your neck. Smearing his lips all over your face.
His collar jingles around your neck, muffled metallic clicks mingling with the sloppy sounds of two bodies meeting again like the sea to the shore.
Your body runs hot, flushing and going taut under his own sturdy one.
Unfurling like a flower, your release is about to wash over you like a crashing wave. He talks you through it, going yes baby come for me come for your owner I love you I owe you you’re mine forever come back to me I can make you so happy, sweetie.
You’re shuddering like someone’s run a voltage through you, holding onto him as tears gather in the corner of your eyes.
No, stop this—you can still stop this! Your mind screams but your body doesn’t listen.
Heat sparks at your fingertips, your world going hot white.
His name tumbles from your lips, your body cramping and pulsing out his claim over you in shaking tremors; knowing exactly who it belongs to.
Fragments of your mind fall around this soft bed, and he gathers you into the tight seam of his embrace. His warmth comes next, filling you up, the walls shaking in your periphery.
That’s it, kitten. He’s quivering, too, you notice, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your sweaty forehead. You belong to me.
He switches to his back, and you’re sprawled across his chest, breathing heavily.
Sylus holds you like this for a long time until your rapid heartbeat steadies to the rhythm of his breath. He says nothing and you wonder what plagues his mind.
Though quiet and pondering, his fingers run up and down the curve of your spine, drawing random patterns.
The quiet and calm this lull brings could make you drift off, if it wasn’t for the fact that your fiance would be back anytime soon.
As if he reads your mind, Sylus helps you unsnap your collar, pushing the leather circlet into your hands. He doesn’t meet your gaze while he cleans you up, dressing you again to decency.
His silence follows from the bedroom to the front door before he exhales a laugh, breaking the melancholic spell of this mistake.
“I forgot to take my file.”
It’s a thinly veiled excuse; another loophole presenting itself as a casual observation.
Those red eyes are soft when you meet them, and if you look closely, you might see them wavering slightly with hope.
You curl your hand over the door handle, wondering if he can tell just how badly you’re trying not to tremble when you say:
“Come back tomorrow for it.”
Sylus’ broad shoulders relax and his smile is brittle with hope.
He doesn’t kiss you ‘goodbye’ though you can tell he’s thinking about it when he flickers those vermillion orbs to your mouth.
When he leaves—bike roaring down the driveway and out of your life again—you lean against the closed door, bucking into the sadness building inside of you like an explosion waiting to happen.
Tears chase down your face, the ring on your left hand burning against your skin as you press your hands to your mouth to muffle your wails.
You don’t know what strength possesses you but you stumble to the couch, curling yourself on the plush cushions as you try to erase how sweet his lips tasted on yours.
Your collar was quickly chucked under the bed, though you can feel its siren call demanding for more.
Demanding for him.
You don’t know how long you’ve been crying, coming back to your senses once you hear the door swinging open.
The familiar footsteps which once gave you pure joy fills you with dread when he walks into the foyer, removing his coat and scarf to hang it up. His movements are methodical—clinical, as Sylus once said.
That name sparks a wave of pain through your soul. You can't think of him—not right now.
You blink the tears away though it’s for naught when they wouldn’t stop welling in your puffy eyes.
Your fiance sighs deeply and you’re reminded of how stressed he’s been lately; saving lives and working late night shifts.
He hums under his breath as he rounds the corner, taken aback by your intense stare.
He breaks out into a smile which falls when he sees the watery look in your eyes; your runny nose and swollen lips.
“Darling?” Those emerald eyes waver when he notices your trembling lower lip. “Did something happen—?”
His name burns through your lips like it’s a forbidden curse because how dare you evoke him when you were just chanting some other man’s name a few hours ago?
“Zayne… I have to tell you something…”
— please don't ask for part 2 there won't be one lol reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated <333
©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, translate, take elements of my story and claim it for your own across other sites.
#🦢 writes#sylus love and deepspace#sylus x reader#sylus smut#lnds smut#sylus qin#lnds sylus#sylus x you#sylus drabbles#lads sylus#l&ds sylus#lnds#sylus#love and deepspace sylus#love and deepspace mc#love and deepspace x reader
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Savage Crown
- Summary: Khal Drogo comes to see Daenerys, as your brother and Illyrio arrange. But it is not your younger sister that drew his attention, it was you.
- Pairing: targ!reader/Khal Drogo
- Note: This one-shot is based on an anonymous ask I received not long ago. I don't have time for something longer or a series about it, but I hope you like it none the less, dear anon.
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround
The hall is grand but oppressive, a crumbling remnant of a better time. You stand in the shadows behind Viserys. The air is thick with the smell of incense and sweat, a testament to the preparations Magister Illyrio had overseen for this meeting. Your brother stands tall before you, his silver hair glinting in the light, his pale violet eyes filled with barely contained ambition.
Daenerys, your younger sister, is beside him, her head bowed, her silver-gold hair flowing like a river down her back. She looks like a lamb to the slaughter, meek and silent under Viserys's command. It sickens you, though you dare not let it show. Your brother is not forgiving of defiance.
And then you hear it—the heavy footfalls of horses, the deep, guttural voices of the Dothraki. The door to the hall creaks open, and Khal Drogo strides in. He is magnificent and terrifying, a towering figure with dark skin bronzed by the sun, long hair braided with bells that chime softly as he moves, and eyes like onyx. He surveys the room with the air of a conqueror, his presence commanding every ounce of attention.
You cannot help but stare. His gaze is piercing as it sweeps across the room, pausing briefly on Daenerys. Viserys steps forward, his voice filled with practiced charm.
"Great Khal Drogo," he begins, his tone obsequious, "I present to you my sister, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She is—"
Drogo's gaze shifts mid-sentence, moving past Daenerys and falling upon you. Your breath catches as those dark eyes lock with yours, the weight of his stare almost suffocating. He takes you in, his expression unreadable but intense, lingering far longer than he did on your sister.
Viserys notices and falters, his voice sharpening with irritation. "My youngest sister," he emphasizes, stepping to the side as if to block Drogo's view of you.
But the Khal doesn't seem to care. He steps forward, his gaze still fixed on you, and speaks for the first time. His voice is low and rough, a deep rumble that seems to resonate in your chest. The Dothraki words are foreign, incomprehensible, yet you feel the weight of them as he gestures toward you.
Magister Illyrio interjects with a nervous laugh, stepping in to translate. "The great Khal wishes to know… who stands behind the prince. He says you are like silver fire in the darkness."
Your heart pounds. Viserys stiffens beside you, his face a mask of barely concealed fury. "She is not for you," he snaps, his composure slipping. "She is my elder sister, and she is of no consequence. It is Daenerys who will wed the Khal, as agreed."
Drogo's lips twitch, the closest thing to amusement you suspect he allows himself. He says something else, short and commanding, and Illyrio hesitates before translating. "The Khal says he will decide what is of consequence."
You can feel Viserys trembling with rage beside you, but he dares not insult the Khal further. Drogo turns to one of his bloodriders, speaking in a low tone. The man nods, and Drogo turns back to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he steps back. Without another word, he and his men stride out of the hall, their heavy footsteps fading into the night.
The silence is deafening. Viserys turns to you, his face a storm of fury. "What did you do?" he hisses, his voice venomous. "You stood there like some… temptress! Do you want to ruin everything?"
"I did nothing," you reply, your voice steady despite the fear curling in your stomach. "I simply stood where you told me to stand."
"You will not ruin this for me," he growls, stepping closer. "You are nothing compared to me. Nothing compared to the dragon. Remember your place, sister."
Daenerys says nothing, her eyes fixed on the floor, her hands trembling at her sides. Illyrio steps forward, trying to ease the tension. "My prince," he says placatingly, "this could be… an opportunity. Khal Drogo is a man of strength and desire. If he has taken an interest in your sister—"
"I don’t care what he desires!" Viserys shouts, cutting him off. "Daenerys is the one who will wed the Khal. Not her. Not… her."
You say nothing, meeting his gaze with calm defiance. In that moment, you realize something: Khal Drogo had chosen you. Whether Viserys liked it or not, the Khal’s attention had turned away from his plans, and it would take more than his temper to change that.
As the torches flicker and the silence stretches, you feel a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. Whatever happens next, your life is no longer your brother’s to control.
The Dothraki celebration is wild and untamed, a tempest of sound, movement, and firelight. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wines, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and blood. Flames leap high into the dark sky, the orange and red light dancing across the sea of bronze-skinned warriors, their shouts and laughter echoing into the night. Drums pound in an unrelenting rhythm, matched only by the ferocity of the revelers.
You sit beside Khal Drogo on an ornate wooden throne covered in furs and adorned with braids of horsehair, a place of honor overlooking the madness. His hand rests casually on the armrest, his face stoic but his eyes watching the festivities with quiet satisfaction. You feel his presence beside you like a storm contained, powerful and commanding even in stillness.
Your dress, a blend of Valyrian silk and Dothraki leather, feels strange on your skin, a mix of your heritage and the savage culture you've been thrust into. You feel the weight of eyes on you—not just the Dothraki, who marvel at their Khal’s silver-haired bride, but Viserys’s gaze as it burns into the side of your face. His fury radiates across the distance between you, as palpable as the heat of the fires.
Viserys sits further back, his face twisted with anger. His hand grips a goblet of wine so tightly that you wonder if it might shatter. Daenerys sits meekly beside him, her eyes downcast, her small frame shrinking further into the shadows with every passing moment. She dares not speak, not when Viserys is like this.
Finally, Viserys’s venom spills over. He slams the goblet down onto the low wooden table in front of him, startling Daenerys and drawing the attention of those nearby. His voice is sharp, cutting through the revelry like a blade.
"How dare you," he seethes, his words directed at Magister Illyrio, who sits nearby with a plate of half-eaten lamb before him. "You promised to help me. And instead, you give her to the Khal?"
Illyrio dabs at his mouth with a silk napkin, unperturbed by Viserys’s outburst. "My prince," he says smoothly, his tone carefully measured, "the Khal chose as he wished. You know how the Dothraki are—no one tells them what to do, not even I. Be grateful that he accepted a bride from your house at all."
"Grateful?" Viserys’s voice rises, his face flushing red. "Do you think this is what I wanted? My elder sister married to a savage, while my plans fall apart? She was never supposed to be part of this!"
Illyrio sighs, setting his napkin down with deliberate patience. "And yet, here we are. The Khal accepted her, not Daenerys. Would you rather he had taken offense and left you with nothing? No crown, no army, no future?"
Viserys rises to his feet, his fists clenched, his voice trembling with rage. "This was not the agreement! You swore—"
"The agreement," Illyrio cuts in, his voice firm now, "was to forge an alliance. And we have. The Khal is pleased, and the alliance is sealed. Your plans remain intact, my prince, whether the bride was Daenerys or—"
"Enough!" Viserys snaps, his voice cracking. "Do not speak as if you have any authority over me! I am the dragon, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Across the space, you feel Drogo shift beside you. His eyes flick briefly toward the commotion, then back to you. He says nothing, but you sense his irritation awaking beneath the surface.
You glance at Viserys, a mixture of pity and disdain bubbling within you. He is a boy playing at being a king, too blind to see the fragile position he truly holds.
Daenerys, seated behind him, dares a glance at you. Her expression is a mixture of fear and apology, though she says nothing, her small hands twisting nervously in her lap.
"You shame yourself, brother," you call out, your voice calm but carrying easily over the din. The words are like a slap, freezing Viserys mid-rant. His head snaps toward you, his violet eyes blazing.
"You dare speak to me like that?" he spits, his voice trembling. "You forget your place, sister. You belong to him now, do you not? You are nothing but a slave to this savage."
The Dothraki around you grow quiet, their laughter and music fading as they turn to watch. You feel the weight of their eyes, and of Drogo’s, but you refuse to back down.
"I belong to no one," you say firmly, rising to your feet. "I am the blood of the dragon, just as you are. And I will not be diminished by your petty tantrums."
Viserys takes a step toward you, his hand twitching as if he might strike you, but before he can, Drogo speaks. His voice is low and commanding, a single word in Dothraki that sends his bloodriders forward, placing themselves between you and your brother.
Viserys freezes, his bravado crumbling under the weight of their silent threat. He glares at you, his lips curling into a sneer, but he does not move closer.
The dread hangs heavy in the air until Drogo stands, his towering presence a clear statement. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, then turns to the bloodriders and gives a short command. They back away, though their eyes remain fixed on Viserys.
Drogo says something else, a string of Dothraki words spoken with quiet authority, and Illyrio translates, his voice calm but firm. "The Khal says the dragon must learn respect, or he will be taught."
Viserys’s face turns ashen, his bravado utterly gone. He mutters something under his breath and sits back down, grabbing his goblet and drinking deeply to hide his shame.
The festivities slowly resume, the anxiety easing as the Dothraki return to their revelry. But you remain standing, your gaze locked with Viserys’s, your heart pounding with the realization that you have just defied him—and survived.
The aftermath of your union with Khal Drogo is a stillness that feels almost sacred. The furs beneath you are soft and heavy, the firelight from the brazier casting flickering shadows across the walls of his tent. The air is warm and heavy with the mingling scents of sweat, leather, and the faint sweetness of oils from your earlier ceremony. Drogo lies beside you, his body a fortress of muscle and heat, his breathing deep and even.
You rest your head on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat a steady, grounding sound. It feels surreal—this closeness to a man you’ve only just begun to understand. His presence is overwhelming, his silence louder than most men’s words. Yet, there is a calmness to him that you did not expect, a quiet strength that intrigues you.
Tentatively, you trace your fingers across his chest, marveling at the scars that speak of battles won and stories untold. Drogo doesn’t stop you, though his dark eyes open slightly, watching you with curiosity.
“Drogo,” you murmur, testing his name on your tongue. It feels strange, foreign, yet powerful. He hums in acknowledgment, a low sound that vibrates through his chest.
“I want to understand you,” you say softly, your voice a whisper in the dim light. “But I don’t know how.”
Drogo tilts his head, studying you with a quiet intensity. After a moment, he lifts his hand, calloused and strong, and brushes a strand of silver hair from your face. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a contrast to his otherwise imposing demeanor.
You take a deep breath, searching for the few Dothraki words you’ve managed to learn. “Kirekosi…?” you begin hesitantly, the word for “how” feeling clumsy on your tongue.
A ghost of a smile touches Drogo’s lips, and he responds in Dothraki, the words flowing like a river. You catch only fragments—something about strength, perhaps, or heart. Frustration wells up in you, not at him, but at yourself for not knowing more.
“I don’t understand,” you admit, shaking your head. “I need to learn.”
Drogo sits up slightly, propping himself on one arm. His hair falls over his shoulder, the bells woven into his braid chiming softly. He speaks again, slower this time, pointing to his chest as he says a word.
You frown, repeating it. “Ramasar?”
He nods, tapping his chest again. “Ramasar,” he repeats, then points to you. “Chiorikem.”
You blink, the realization dawning on you. “Ramasar means… land? And chiorikem woman?”
Drogo’s smile broadens, and he nods, clearly pleased with your understanding. Encouraged, you sit up fully, wrapping the fur around your shoulders. You point to him, raising an eyebrow in question. “And you?”
He smirks, tapping his chest again. “Lajak,” he says, his voice rich with pride.
“Lajak,” you repeat, tasting the word. “A warrior.”
He nods again, his eyes gleaming with approval. The moment feels like a small victory, a step toward bridging the chasm between your worlds.
Buoyed by his response, you press further. “Why did you… choose me?” you ask, your voice quiet but steady. “Not Daenerys?”
Drogo’s expression softens, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek. He speaks slowly, his voice a deep rumble. Though you don’t understand all the words, the emotion in his tone is clear—admiration, perhaps even respect. He ends with a word you recognize: anni, meaning “mine.”
Your breath catches, the simplicity and certainty of his claim leaving you momentarily speechless. There is no hesitation in him, no doubt. He chose you, and that is enough for him.
But you want more. “Anni,” you echo softly, meeting his gaze. “And you are mine.”
His eyes narrow slightly, as if testing the weight of your words. Then he nods, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. It is not a grand declaration, but in his world, it is enough—a promise made in the quiet of the night.
You lean into him, your lips brushing his in a kiss that is both gentle and bold. He responds without hesitation, pulling you closer, his hands firm but reverent. In that moment, words are unnecessary; the connection between you is deeper than language.
When the kiss ends, you rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. “Teach me,” you whisper. “Teach me your words, your ways. I want to know everything.”
Drogo pulls back slightly, his gaze steady and serious. “Annithilat,” he says, the word unfamiliar but spoken with a weight that makes you shiver.
“What does that mean?” you ask, tilting your head.
He takes your hand, pressing it to his chest where his heart beats strong and steady. “Annithilat,” he repeats, his voice softer this time. “Courage.”
You smile, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. “Annithilat,” you repeat, the foreign syllables feeling natural now.
For the first time, Drogo chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that makes your heart skip. He pulls you against him, his arms wrapping around you, and for the first time since your arrival in his world, you feel truly safe. Truly seen.
The night stretches on, and with every word, every touch, the distance between you and the Khal grows smaller. You know the journey ahead will be difficult, but as you drift to sleep in his arms, the sound of his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you feel a flicker of hope. Together, you will bridge the divide. Together, you will learn.
#game of thrones#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf x reader#fire and blood#hotd#house of the dragon#got#got/asoiaf#got x reader#got x you#got x y/n#got drogo#khal drogo#drogo x reader#drogo x you#drogo x y/n#house targaryen#dothraki
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