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sweetlemontart · 4 months

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nocturnal | choi seungcheol [M]

summary ⇾ tipsy from after-work drinks, seungcheol returns home on friday night to find you asleep. he tries not to look, but his wandering eyes keep drifting over to your slumbering figure, and he knows rest won’t come easy when you seem to be tempting him even in your sleep. seungcheol could resolve his little predicament all by himself, but shouldn’t you be the one to take responsibility for making him feel this way?

PAIRING // choi seungcheol x fem!reader

GENRE // some fluff, mostly smut, pwp (i mean it, I'm warning u), sub!reader, dom!seungcheol, fiancé!seungcheol

WARNING // 18+, explicit sexual content, established relationship, unprotected sex, somnophilia, consensual voyeurism, male masturbation, slight size kink, oral (m&f receiving), creampie, fingering (f receiving), edging, choking, thigh riding, talks about having kids, cheol is a teasing little sh*t

WORD COUNT // 13k

AUTHOR’S NOTE // 13k of just smut lol btw have yall seen GDA cheol? the all black fit and rolled up sleeves and the dark hair... moving on, happy new year to everyone who reads this, may 2024 bring us endless happiness and love ( ˊᵕˋ )♡.°⑅ do reblog if u enjoy this fic. I'm working on a wonwoo fic that has ten times more plot than this so pls stay tuned for that :) song rec is rock your body - clara la san

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You're already in bed when your fiancé returns home from work, drifting in and out of sleep, wanting to wait for him to come home but unable to fight your weariness. Friday is always the busiest day at work, and the idea of being able to stay in bed until noon the next day only makes you want to wait up for him even more.

Seungcheol must think you're already asleep. It's reasonable that he thinks that way—you're a light sleeper and often go to bed early. He tries his best to stay quiet as he moves around. You had barely heard him enter the apartment, and only faint thuds of his sock-clad feet can be heard as he meanders around the house.

When Seungcheol enters the bedroom, he's a little sceptical as to why the bedside lamp is still on, casting a dim, yellow glow across the room. His eyes search for you, finding you cocooned under the covers, lying on your left side with your back turned to him. He knows you can't sleep with any light on, but he deduces you must've been waiting for him and inevitably succumbed to sleep.

Seungcheol moves toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. He's slightly tipsy from downing a few beers with his co-workers after work. He feels light on his feet, and his once-gelled hair is no longer slicked back, some unruly strands now falling over his forehead. He hears you shift on the bed as he loosens his tie, but he doesn't think much of it, proceeding to unbutton his dress shirt.

Two buttons in, he hears movement from the bed again, and this time, he looks in your direction in the mirror, taken aback when his eyes meet your bleary ones. He turns his head to look at you, his mouth curling into a lazy smile. "I thought you were asleep," he says in a low voice.

You say nothing, propping your elbow up on your pillow and leaning your head against it to get a better look at your fiancé. He turns back to the mirror, and you notice the rosy tint colouring his cheeks. You sigh dreamily, admiring him from the bed. Seungcheol is tall—that much is obvious—but those dress pants do his legs wonder.

When he reaches for his belt, you can't help but stare. His dress shirt is still tucked into the pants, the first few buttons open, baring the soft skin of his chest. Your eyes wander, and you think Seungcheol does notice. The man does not miss a thing when it comes to you.

The sound of his belt unbuckling makes your legs curl closer to your body, and Seungcheol definitely notices this time because he stops his movement, fingers hovering over the button of his pants. When he turns on his heels, your eyes finally snap back up to look at his face. He doesn't say anything as he approaches, coming to a stop beside the bed, towering over you.

He reaches one hand out to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers. It's a feathery touch, and your eyes naturally flutter close, head tilting into his touch just the slightest. Gentle fingers thread into your hair, brushing it back and tucking loose strands behind your ear.

Your eyes snap open when you feel his thumb against your bottom lip. At first, it's harmless, and he's only dragging the pad of his thumb across your lip, but then he starts to dip further into your mouth. He lets out a soft sigh when your lips part, allowing his thumb to rest against your tongue. Then, your mouth wraps around his finger, suckling at it softly, and his breath catches in his throat when he feels just how warm and wet your mouth is.

It's over before you want it to be. Seungcheol smiles a little too innocently, removing his thumb from your mouth and patting your cheek. "Get some rest, baby. I'm going to take a quick shower."

You don't stop him as he walks into the en suite bathroom, surprised that he hadn't immediately taken his clothes off and taken you right then and there. Seungcheol's self-control has always been immaculate when it comes to sex, but refusing to do it on a Friday night when neither he nor you have work tomorrow morning? You chalk it up to his exhaustion after working overtime, so you lie back in bed, eyes refusing to close even though your body is screaming at you to rest.

Seungcheol emerges from the bathroom not even a minute later, shirtless, belt discarded, pants unbuttoned. He takes off his silver Rolex, carefully setting it down on the bedside table near his side of the bed—as always. To your disappointment, he doesn't spare you even a glance before walking back into the bathroom.

You find yourself sighing, anticipating what seems to be an uneventful Friday night. You and Seungcheol usually spend Friday nights together— going out for dinner or unwinding with a movie on the couch. But if your lover is too tired to do anything other than sleep, you understand. You also have days when you feel too drained to do anything other than lie in bed and mull over your thoughts. Besides, it isn't like you don't have the entire weekend to make up for it—hell, you have your whole life to make up for it.

Seungcheol leaves the bathroom door open behind him. It's not strange for either of you to keep the bathroom door open while showering. Privacy isn't much of an issue for both of you.

You fall back asleep relatively quickly, not thinking much about the fact that the shower hasn't started running even though Seungcheol has been in the bathroom for at least five minutes.

You awaken again soon enough to the sound of soft sighs and some rustling from the direction of the couch placed near the bedroom door. At first, you try to ignore it, thinking Seungcheol might just be getting himself ready for bed. Then another sigh follows, and you peek an eye open to take a quick look. What you think will be a quick look turns into so much more.

Your beloved fiancé sits with his legs spread on the white couch, still shirtless and wearing his dress pants. This time, however, his boxer has been pushed down just slightly, and he's lazily stroking his cock in his hand, his other arm splayed across the backrest of the couch. His skin is pale and milky, glowing in the golden light. He smiles when you prop yourself on your elbow, blinking blearily as if trying to comprehend what you are currently seeing.

He's rock hard, shaft glistening with pre-cum. You and Seungcheol have always loved trying new things in bed, pushing yourself to the limit, testing just how far each of you will go before you tap out. But this... the thought that Seungcheol was touching himself to the sight of you asleep—it stirs something in you. You've always loved waking up with Seungcheol's cock inside you. The drag of his cock feels especially good when you're still drowsy, trying to pull yourself together but failing each time because your lover just feels so good inside you. But this is different.

Seungcheol's hand speeds up, and the way he groans makes you lose your train of thought. The silver ring sits snugly on his little finger—the coolness of it must feel so good on his cock. You don't break eye contact, shifting onto your stomach and folding your arms underneath your head as you watch him. You wouldn't be able to look away even if you wanted to.

Seungcheol grits his jaw when he sees you smile. It's the last thing he expects. You look so sweet, and he starts to wonder about the sight he would be met with if he were to pull the covers away from your body. Are you wearing the sheer nightgown he always loves seeing on you? Or maybe you're wearing nothing, and he'd be able to spread your legs apart and slip himself right into the warmth of your needy cunt.

Seungcheol straightens his posture just a little, cock twitching in his hold at the sight of your smile. You look so at ease, enjoying this more than he had anticipated. He was half expecting to get an earful from you, thinking you would probably scold him for his bizarre behaviour, but this, he wasn't expecting at all, and that makes his cock harden, balls tightening almost painfully. Seungcheol feels as though he's about to burst from the inside. Your smile—as if you're taunting him, teasing him.

"Fuck, fuck..." he breathes out, head tilting back, eyes closing, savouring the feeling of his rough, calloused hand moving up and down his cock. The fact that you're most likely still watching him makes his abs tense up, trying to hold back from finishing too fast. It has barely been ten minutes since he started, but the sight of your smile feels like it's burned into the back of his eyelids. It makes his brain go haywire.

He risks another look at you and immediately realises he has made a grave mistake. Instantly, he's cumming hard, unable to hold himself back because you're looking at him so prettily—slow blinks and a sleepy smile. A loud groan rips from Seungcheol's chest, fist wrapped around the tip of his cock, stroking it just barely, trying to milk everything out. His cum trickles down his knuckles, down his shaft.

The intensity of your gaze, fixed squarely on his leaking cock, spurs Seungcheol to stand up. He rids himself off his dress pants and boxers, using the latter to wipe off most of his release before walking closer to you. Seungcheol stops on the side of the bed, stroking his softening cock almost languidly. He doesn't have to say anything, and you're already sitting up against the headboard, reaching a hand to grab at his wrist to pull him even closer. Seungcheol perches one knee on the bed, watching as you lick your lips at the sight of his cum. You're still fucking smiling, and he feels himself growing hard again.

"Enjoyed that, did we?" he says quietly, trying not to break the peace and quiet too much in case you feel like going back to sleep after his little 'show'.

"Very much," you reply, voice slightly scratchy from sleep.

Seungcheol is so thick everywhere, and it makes you dizzy. Your eyes roam over his chest, bulky arms, and firm thighs. Your lover has always been strong and filled in all the right places, and you love it. He has no problem picking you up, tossing you around, manhandling you into different positions. He doesn't struggle with keeping you steady when he's fucking you against the wall or any other surface.

You brush aside his hand from his cock, tongue lolling out to lick at the excess cum on his knuckles, cleaning it off his skin. The salty, bitter taste floods your tongue, and you immediately take him into your mouth. Seungcheol hisses when you do, loving the way your mouth envelopes him. You don't waste any time trying to take all of him in, mouth stretching almost painfully around the heavy girth that's starting to harden again, your thighs pressing together to get some friction. You must look pitiful to Seungcheol, trying to fit all of him in your mouth in your sleepy state, hips shifting slightly on the bed, trying to get some relief.

Breathing in, you look up—right into his eyes—before moving forward until the tip of your nose presses into his lower stomach. He breathes out a chuckle when you gag, throat constricting around his cock. Your eyes fill with tears, but you don't pull away until you're sputtering and the droplets of tears trickle down your cheeks. Seungcheol's quick to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against the pearling teardrops on your cheek. "Easy, baby... I know you're tired. Don't force it..."

Hearing Seungcheol's instructions, you stick to shallow motions, using your hand to stroke the rest of his length you can't fit in your mouth. Seungcheol's hip jerks forward a little when you drag your tongue along the underside of his cock, tracing the veins and circling the tip. Seungcheol mumbles an apology as he weaves a hand through your hair and starts to thrust his hips forward little by little, lost in the feeling of your mouth.

His cock glistens with your spit in the low light, and your eyes fall shut naturally, basking in the quiet noises Seungcheol is making. He doesn't force you to take all of him, pulling his hips back before the tip of his cock can reach your throat. You appreciate his sentiment, even if you feel awake enough to take whatever he gives you.

Your eyes snap open when you feel the cold air against your bare legs. Seungcheol has yanked the blanket away from your body and is now peering down at your exposed form, clad in his grey shirt and a pair of white panties. Your panties are nothing special, but Seungcheol feels his cock twitch in your mouth when he sees the wet patch on the crotch of your underwear.

He can feel the vibration of your moan against his cock when his finger grazes over the damp spot on your panties. He can't resist using the tips of his fingers to rub over your clothed pussy, teasing up and down the slit, watching the way the drenched fabric sticks to your dripping cunt—thoroughly soaked and ruined before he has even done anything to you.

When you pull away from his cock momentarily to take a much-needed breath, Seungcheol immediately leans down to capture your lips with his in a bruising kiss. He swallows all your moans, rolling his tongue over yours, dragging it against your lower lip. He doesn't pull away, even as he tugs the crotch of your panties to the side and starts to circle your clit with his fingers, which makes your legs snap shut, trapping his hand in between.

Seungcheol pulls away from the kiss, glancing down at his trapped hand before looking back at you almost expectedly. "Open," he commands. You don't need to be told twice, immediately parting your legs.

"Good girl..."

Seungcheol prods at your hole with two fingers, slipping both in only halfway. They slide in easily, slick from the wetness seeping out of your pulsing hole and the remnants of precum messily smeared all over his cock as he was jerking himself off.

"You got this wet from watching me? Or were you touching yourself before I got home?" Seungcheol grunts, gazing down at the way your pussy is fluttering around his fingers. The squelching sound is obscene, resounding throughout the bedroom. "Messy little thing..." he mumbles quietly, lost in thought as he lets his fingers dip into you right down to the knuckle.

You gasp, pulling your mouth away from his cock to look up at his face. Seungcheol doesn't meet your eyes, seemingly entranced by the sight of his fingers between your legs. Bending one of your knees, you spread your legs wider. After dating Seungcheol for two years and being engaged for one and a half, you don't feel the need to hide from him nor the embarrassment of presenting yourself to him like you're his to own and use as he pleases. In all honesty, he possesses every part of you—your heart, your soul, every inch of your body. He is yours as much as you are his.

When Seungcheol adds a third finger, he finally looks back at your face, not wanting to miss how your eyebrows furrow and mouth gape open at the tight fit. His fingers are thick—much more so than yours—but his cock is even more so, and he definitely needs to stretch you out to get you ready, or he will risk hurting you. There are occassions when a little bit of pain is most welcome, but tonight, his main objective is to give you pleasure.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to grasp at his cock, stroking him slowly, matching the pace of his fingers as they dip in and out of you. You know you won't be able to use your mouth properly, not when he's touching you so earnestly and looking down at you as though he hasn't ever seen you in such a position in your years of being together.

"You touch yourself before I came home, sweetheart?"

You're quick to shake your head, slumping further down the headboard as he continues to play with your pussy. "No..." you whimper, jolting when he suddenly curls his fingers, tips of his fingers firmly pressing up against the spongy spot inside you that sends a current of pleasure darting up your spine. "I got so wet from watching you, Cheol," you sigh out, hips canting up to match the movement of his hand. "I love watching you..."

Seungcheol hums, grinning down at you, pleased with your response. "Aw, my baby always loves watching me, isn't that right?"

His free hand envelopes the hand around his cock, urging you to keep stroking him. The ring on his middle finger glints in the light—it's the ring you gave him a week after his proposal. It serves as a reminder that no one else but him has the privilege to have you like this. No one else will ever get to touch you, kiss you, make love to you, and fuck you the way he intends to tonight. You're his, forever, and the idea has him grunting out your name breathlessly.

With his hand atop yours, he guides your hand up and down his length at a pace that makes him hiss. Your hand is much smaller than his, fingertips barely meeting around his thick girth. His skin prickles whenever you tighten your hand around him just slightly every time your hand reaches just under the head of his cock, squeezing him just the way you know he likes it.

"Fuck..." he exhales, sweat beading down his temple. "So good, sweetheart..."

"Cheol..."

"Hm? Tell me what's wrong."

You glance down at the hand between your legs, feeling short of breath from watching the way your slick seems to coat Seungcheol's fingers, some staining your thigh, some smeared on the palm of his hand. You suck in a big breath, stomach caving in. When you return your gaze to him, you're surprised to find he's already looking at you, the tip of his pink tongue peeking out to rest against his bottom lip. The way he's looking at you makes you feel sweltering hot.

"My shirt, p-please," you stutter out, feeling suffocated in only one layer of clothing.

Seungcheol immediately understands what you're asking, but he makes no move to take your shirt off. You whine when he suddenly retracts his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling so empty. He peels your hand off his cock, leaving you baffled and so goddamn frustrated.

"Cheol, why'd—"

He hushes you, lowering himself onto the end of the bed. He grabs both your thighs, pulling you down from the headboard. His cock nudges against the back of your thigh, so close to where you want him the most.

"Oh, God," you breathlessly pant. "Need you inside me," you tell him, feeling frenzied. You move to pull off your shirt, but he grunts, shaking his head.

"Don't," he orders, using his grip on your thighs to spread your legs wide enough for him to be able to get a good view of your sloppy cunt, all slick and puffy from the onslaught of his fingers. "I like seeing you in my shirt," he says in a faraway voice, distracted by the sight of your pussy, hole clenching around nothing, almost inviting him to dive right in.

You groan, propping yourself up onto your elbows, chest heaving. You lick at your dry lips, sending Seungcheol a pleading look, but he doesn't meet your eyes, too absorbed with the mess in between your legs. "Cheol, baby—"

Without warning, Seungcheol leans down, shoving his face into your pussy, mouth hungrily devouring your heat. You fall back onto the bed with a startled shout, jaw hanging open as you try to comprehend the sudden onslaught of pleasure that threatens to consume you whole. Seungcheol is good with his mouth and familiar enough with your body to know how to bring you close to the edge in only minutes.

He's sucking at your clit noisily, manic with his movements like a starved man getting his first taste of food after days without it. He's greedy and ravenous, offering you no respite—not even a moment to catch your breath.

You try to tell Seungcheol to slow down, to give you even a second to compose yourself, but only garbled moans of his name come out. By now, sleep is the last thing on your mind—only pleasure clouds it. You're trembling under him, helpless against the relentless assault of his mouth.

When Seungcheol groans, the vibration on your most sensitive part makes you choke on air, lowering a hand down to grab the strands of his dark hair. When you try to move away from him, he clutches onto your thighs tighter, tongue teasing at your hole, swirling but never diving in. You're still trying to get away, overwhelmed. He notices this, and he brings both his arms around your thighs, hugging your legs close around his head. There's no room to move—he has you locked in.

"Fuck, please, please, s-slow down! C-Cheol!"

He doesn't, lapping up all your juices, groaning at how your taste coats his tongue and how your smell overtakes his senses. He trusts you to say the safe word if it becomes too much. He also knows that you can take this—he has done far worse things to you before.

The tip of his nose presses against your clit when he delves his tongue into your pussy, earning a rather rough pull of his hair from you. The pain shoots down his spine, making him slump down onto the bed to grind his bare cock on the bed. All of it makes him so light-headed. Your legs are tightening around his head, trapping him, but he doesn't mind, not even if your moans sound muffled this way. He'll get to hear you later when he fucks you silly into the mattress anyway.

Tears brim in your eyes. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, dry from moaning so much. It's almost too much—how he is so ruthless with his mouth and tongue. He doesn't let up once, breathing in and out through his nose, delighted to be suffocated between your plush thighs. It's pure fucking torture, but it feels divine.

"Cheol... C-Close," you whisper, hoping he can hear you.

He doesn't hear you, but he knows you enough by now. He knows the telltale sign of your orgasm approaching, knows how tight you get when you're about to cum, knows how your back arches and your toes curl. He looks at your face and reads your lips, repetitions of his name spilling past it.

Then he's pulling your legs away from the sides of his head, ripping his mouth from your pussy. Your orgasm is brutally stolen from you, and the sheer frustration that surges through you makes you howl out his name. To make it worse, he only chuckles at you, hands rubbing comfortingly at the side of your thighs. The touch should be soothing, but it only leaves you angered.

The sheer audacity of this man—

"You asshole," you spit out with all the venom you can muster, chest rising and falling rapidly. Tears of frustration trickle down your cheeks, and Seungcheol thinks the sight would be so lovely if he hadn't just been devouring you like you were his first meal in months.

"Aw, don't be like that, baby..." he coos sweetly, lips and chin glossy with your juices. He wipes his face with the back of his hand before swiftly grabbing at your soiled panties, pulling them off you and tossing them somewhere in the room. He adjusts your legs, straightening both and letting them dangle over one of his shoulders. Holding his cock in his hand, he strokes it twice and then runs the tip up and down your slit.

"Choi Seungcheol, you're—you..." you trail off, finding yourself drawing a blank, still shocked by how he so meanly robbed you of your orgasm when it had been right at your fingertips. That, combined with how his cock is lightly dipping into your hole, leaves you feeling an untamed emotion, a sensation of chaos where you feel completely out of control, an experience both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Did you just call me Choi Seungcheol? We've been together for years, baby—let's not use full names now," he warns you before he sinks into you in one fell swoop, stuffing you full of every inch of him. There's a brief flash of pain as you try to adjust to the sudden stretch, hands tugging at the bedsheets and eyes rolling back. You hear him chuckle, prompting you to look up at him. You regret it almost immediately because the sight of him makes your hips lift off the bed, a strangled moan leaving you.

Your orgasm crashes into you like a freight train, sudden and jarring. You don't even register it yourself at first, at least not until the overwhelming ecstasy makes you go stiff in Seungcheol's hold, sobbing at the surge of pleasure that has striked you so abruptly. You had not had time to prepare yourself, so you try grounding yourself by grabbing his biceps and clawing at the smooth skin, leaving tender, red marks.

"G-God, oh God, Cheollie," you whine, pinching your eyes shut because everything feels too fucking good, and you're struggling to bring yourself down from this euphoria and anchor yourself in the present.

Seungcheol doesn't realise what's happening right away. He feels the way you clench hard around him, walls squeezing him so tight that he can't help but let out a small groan. He's caught off guard when he feels your nails digging into his arms. You're writhing underneath him—quivering, shaking—and finally, it dawns on him what has just unfolded. You just fucking came, all because he had eased his cock into your warm cunt.

"Oh, baby..." he mutters, snickering quietly to himself. He coaxes you through your orgasm, pressing soft kisses on the side of your thigh. "Shh, good girl, that's it, ride it out for me, darling..." he murmurs against your skin, fighting back the urge to start moving his hips and fucking you through your orgasm. You've never been this sensitive before, and he knows he needs to approach this situation carefully. He doesn't want to overstimulate you too much and too soon, both for your sake and his.

Seungcheol is equally perplexed and impressed at how little it had taken you to cum. All he had to do was slip himself into you, and you were coming undone under him? He feels his cock twitch at the thought. Seungcheol's only a man, and what you did has inflated his ego tenfold. He thinks nothing could ever top this moment, and he doesn't intend to let you live it down.

You're not sure just how long it takes you to collect yourself. A gentle palm smoothes down your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. The soft voice is murmuring your name, pulling you back down, down, down from your drunken daze.

"I'm sorry," you say, still a little disoriented, gaze unfocused. You see Seungcheol's outline and see his lips moving, but you don't hear anything except the pounding of your heart in your ears. You blink a few times, forcing yourself to adjust and snap out of whatever trance you were momentarily stuck in. "I'm sorry," you repeat after finally regaining your awareness. Your eyes zero in on Seungcheol—you can see him clearly now.

"Darling, believe me, an apology is the last thing I need," he says, slightly relieved that you seem to be returning to your senses now. He carefully sets your legs to the side, leaning down and hovering over you with a leering smile. He has you caged in his arms, looming over you with his broad frame, making you feel small. "All I need—" he begins, nosing at your jaw, breathing in your smell, "—is for you to beg."

You let out a shuddering breath, feeling the tip of his cock nudge at the back of your thigh. Somewhere in the middle of your orgasm, Seungcheol had pulled himself out of your pussy, knowing he would most likely reach his own climax if you kept clamping down on him the way you did.

"Beg?" you echoed back, tilting your head up, giving him more access to litter kisses on your neck.

"Mhm..." He lets his teeth graze over the sensitive skin under your jaw, not biting, just gliding over your pulse point. "Beg me to make you cum again." He ends his sentence with a playful nip on your jaw, loving how you jolt under him in surprise.

His request isn't unusual or odd in any way. Seungcheol has said worse things to you before—things so filthy and obscene it would make a sailor blush. His words carry an unfamiliar weight this time, provoking a shyness in you that you never anticipated would be caused by his words alone.

Warmth begins to creep up your neck, and a lump forms in your throat as something akin to humiliation washes over you. The weight of the situation starts to dawn on you. Seungcheol hadn't even had the chance to move before you were creaming all over him like a bitch in heat. The thought of it makes you want to curl into yourself and hide until morning.

Seungcheol must feel you tensing up because he's immediately pulling away from the crook of your neck, searching your face with his eyes. You avert your eyes to the side, unable to meet his gaze with the wild embarrassment coursing through you.

"What's wrong?" he asks you. "Look at me, baby..."

You sigh, knowing he wouldn't just let this go. Still, as you drag your gaze back to his, you can't help the shameful furrow of your eyebrows.

Seungcheol immediately knows. "Are you... embarrassed?" he asks, the corners of his mouth curling up just slightly.

You groan, pushing at his chest to get him to roll over to his side of the bed. He doesn't resist, moving over to give you enough space to sit up on the bed. "Ugh... 'm not embarrassed," you grumble, tucking your feet under your legs so you're sitting cross-legged on the bed. You feel Seungcheol's hand on your back, palm warm over the shirt you're still wearing as he rubs up and down to soothe you. The gesture only makes you feel even more ashamed, especially since you can hear the quiet laughter he's emitting beside you.

Seungcheol finds it so endearing when you press your hands to your face, hiding yourself from him. His grin widens when you whine into your hands. "What are you so embarrassed for?" he asks, fully knowing the answer but still baffled about how you're so flustered from doing something that he wants to keep stored in his memory until the end of his days. The way your bewildered face had morphed into one of pure ecstasy as your orgasm washed over you is something he wants to be able to replay in his mind again and again.

His cock jerks at the memory, and he swiftly hauls the comforter up to the middle of his torso to cover himself up. He calls out your name softly, but you don't answer him, still hiding yourself with your hands. He lets out a small sigh, knowing he'll have to get your attention some other way.

He soon notices your engagement ring sitting on the bedside table. He knows you avoid wearing it to bed, too worried that it might slip off during the night due to your restless sleeping habits. Then, he comes up with the perfect distraction.

Reaching over, he swiftly grabs the ring from the table before settling back into his previous position. The movement makes you retract your hands from your face, curiously glancing at him.

Seungcheol is smiling, dimples on full display. You resist the urge to poke at the little dents on his cheeks, still feeling bashful about the incident. Then, you notice the small object he's fiddling with in his hand. He's tinkering with your ring, turning it over with his fingers, fitting it around his index, grinning when it doesn't even reach halfway down his digit.

Seungcheol's eyes seem to darken when he returns his gaze back to yours. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he grabs your left hand, fitting the ring on your finger. The way it fits so perfectly around your supple finger evokes something primal within him. How such a small thing can symbolise the commitment and love you both have for each other is such a wonder to him. He knows that no wealth or material possessions could ever encapsulate the depth of affection he holds for you, let alone this piece of jewellery.

"If this is your way of distracting me so I don't think about what happened earlier..."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes playfully. "You're welcome to forget about it all you want, but it's gonna keep playing in my mind like a broken record whether you like it or not."

You release a sigh but refrain from arguing because Seungcheol's words ring sincere, and you're aware he wouldn't acknowledge your embarrassment anyway.

He brings your hand to his mouth, tenderly kissing the ring. The gesture is intimate, even if he feels something entirely more carnal stirring in his stomach. "You're so much smaller than me. Could barely even fit the ring on my finger," he comments, thumbing at the small diamond sitting prettily atop the ring.

Through your blush, you manage a reserved smile. "That's because you're so thick everywhere."

You don't mean the sentence in a weird way, but judging from Seungcheol's booming laughter, he definitely misinterpreted your words. He squeezes your hand once before tugging you down to settle half of your body on top of his. He lets you join him under the covers before cupping your cheek, urging you to look at him.

"I'm thick everywhere, hm?" he teases you, watching how red immediately stains your cheeks.

"Don't be gross," you grumble, letting him trail kisses from your wrist, then up to your palm, and settling on your ring. "What's with you and the ring anyway?" you ask him, finding it sweet but slightly odd that he seems so fixated on it.

"I just had a thought, that's all," he responds, kissing each of your fingertips.

"Go on."

"That one day—" he says, eyes burning into yours heatedly, "—there'll be a wedding band beside this one, and you'll finally be mine forever." He says it airily, as if it's the most natural proclamation, with unwavering certainty in his emotions.

Your heart sings at the declaration. "You're wrong on the last part." You press a fleeting kiss on his mouth, smiling when his eyebrow raises questioningly. "I don't need to be married to you to be yours."

Seungcheol grins, one of his hands skimming down your back, grabbing a handful of your ass over the oversized shirt you're wearing. "You don't know half the things you do to me, do you?"

"I do, actually, and I plan to abuse that power," you jest, beginning to sit up, throwing one leg over your lover's hips to straddle him.

Seungcheol is awestruck at the sight of you on top of him. You, all beautiful and celestial, and all his. He wants to worship you, ruin you, and defile you all at the same time. He's not in the right mind to say anything yet, so he only watches, both hands gliding up and down your thighs, getting higher each time, hiking the fabric of your shirt higher up as well.

He breathes out a sigh when he allows himself to look down. Your pretty pussy is on display, all for him, with remnants of your juices on it and some smeared on your inner thighs. He's about to touch when you grab his wrist, slowly guiding his hand towards where you need him the most. He knows what you're asking of him, and he'd be stupid to deny you your wish.

You gasp when Seungcheol starts running two of his fingers up and down your slit, coating his fingers in the wetness of your cunt, unafraid to get messy. When he sinks both fingers into your hole, you can't help but mewl, one hand grabbing onto his bicep and the other still wrapped around his wrist.

"So wet for me, darling... You're fucking dripping all over my fingers," he says once he finally regains his voice back.

Seungcheol is much stronger than you, and he could easily rip away the hand on your wrist and finger fuck you to oblivion the way he usually does it. This time, however, he lets you guide him, allows you to move your hips to match the rhythm of his movements, and allows you tug his hand closer to reach deeper into you each time he buries the digits. He's still holding the reigns, and he knows that—even if you're the one sitting on top of him—but seeing you try to handle and manage your pleasure all by yourself is so fucking—"Cute."

"Oh... fuck," you breathe out, swallowing hard when Seungcheol folds his free arm and tucks it under his head. He's pretty—bicep bulging and veins crawling up his arms.

He grins when your pussy tightens around his fingers. "Think you could cum like this?"

"Mhmm..." You sit up straighter, balancing yourself with both hands firmly planted on Seungcheol's shoulders. Slowly, you switch to bouncing on his fingers instead of rolling your hips, wincing slightly at the burn of your thighs. Still, you push through the pain, aching for release, pressure in your stomach tightening at the way his fingers seem to reach deeper inside you at the new angle.

"Pretty, pretty girl," Seungcheol mumbles, more to himself than to you, but you still hear it anyway. It makes you light-headed. You love Seungcheol degrading you during sex, but hearing his compliment brings out a visceral reaction in you. It makes you giddy and scatterbrained—as though every coherent thought in your head simply just... wilts away.

You bite your lip at his praise, eyelids drooping slightly, a dreamy look settling over your gaze. Seungcheol thinks this is his favourite look on you. You're not saying anything, but your eyes tell a story of themselves. He can see it—the way you're practically begging for him and his cock.

"Please," you whisper, continuing to fuck yourself on Seungcheol's fingers, moaning wantonly at the mix of pain and pleasure. You're squeezing his shoulders with your hands, nails occasionally digging into his skin whenever the pleasure becomes a little too much. You're so close, and you think Seungcheol knows it as well.

"That's right, baby. Is my pretty girl close?" he asks, shifting slightly underneath you, cock throbbing at the lack of attention, hard as rock at the adorable sight of you bouncing on top of him. He loves the way you look in his shirt, but he thinks he'd much rather see your perky tits jiggling in his face as you ride him instead.

"Mhm, c-close," you profess, hands restless, wandering down to his smooth chest before settling around the base of his neck. You don't squeeze, only letting your hands linger as you chase your high.

Seungcheol chuckles when he notices the delicate grasp of your hands around his neck. He knows you won't put pressure—you're too meek for that. And no, he's not underestimating you. In fact, you might be the only person in the world capable of reducing him to his knees with a glance. But between the two of you, it has always been him who would dare to do such a courageous feat.

Seungcheol does exactly that. He slips his hand from under his head and clasps it around your neck, watching your eyes widen when he applies the slightest pressure onto the sides of your throat. You always cum so much quicker when he has at least one hand around your neck.

Your whole body stiffens at the contact, pussy fluttering wildly around his two digits. "O-Oh, f-fuck, fuck!" You let your head tip to the side, eyes fluttering close as you near your high. Your legs are starting to go numb, but that's the least of your concerns when your climax feels like it's looming right around the corner.

"Attagirl... that's it," Seungcheol drawls, applying more pressure when he feels your pussy squeezing tight around him. At this point, you must be growing dizzy from the lack of air and blood. He's careful not to apply any more force than he currently is. "What a pretty necklace," he taunts, awed by how perfectly his hand wraps around your neck. You're so much smaller compared to him. "Pretty necklace for my pretty girl..."

"Ungh, 'm cumming," you manage to slur out, movements growing more frantic, rhythm getting more sporadic the closer you get.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

It takes you a few seconds to register what he is asking. Your eyes drag over to his face. It's torture knowing you could be riding his cock instead of his fingers, but you know he'll want you to finish what you started. His fingers are doing a heavenly job, but the stretch isn't quite enough. You don't say that to him, though, knowing he'd probably give you hell for voicing it. He'd say you're insatiable and edge you until there are no tears left for you to cry.

"There you are..." he says once your eyes meet his. There's a hunger in his stare—an unspoken promise of the things he will do to you once you've finished fucking yourself on his fingers. Your whole body tenses, cheeks burning when he nods as though urging you to let go. "Can you look at me when you cum? Can you do that for me?"

When Seungcheol adds the smallest amount of pressure on the grip around your neck, you can't help the unadulterated moan that spills past your lips. You're so fucking dizzy, vision blurring on the edges. It's getting increasingly difficult to keep your eyes locked onto his when the world feels like it's about to crash down on you.

You still have your hands on his neck, and for a moment, you're distracted by how your engagement ring sits on your ring finger. The fat, silver diamond is a stunning contrast to his golden complexion.

"Come on, don't get distracted now. Cum for me so I can finally get you on my cock, hm?"

You come apart with a broken shout of his name, soaking his fingers with your cum, milky slick trickling down his knuckles and dripping on his stomach. At the height of your pleasure, Seungcheol decides to release his hold on your neck, letting the air and blood rush up to your brain. The sudden surge feels exhilarating, rendering you frozen in bliss as the feeling rips through you.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he remarks, his free hand coming up to brush back the hair from your face, letting your head loll into his hand sluggishly as it braces the back of your head. You look exhausted, back slouched and chest heaving. Still, he notices the way you're slowly grinding on his fingers. He knows you need more. "That looked like it felt good."

You nod, letting him slip his fingers out of you, sucking in a sharp breath at the sudden emptiness. "So good. Thank you..." Everything feels like it's aching—your legs, your back, and your pussy most of all. You're far from done, but you allow yourself to rest, lowering yourself to lie on top of him, face buried into his neck. You breathe his scent and allow it to root you in the moment.

Seungcheol wipes his stained fingers on your shirt, tsking you when you whine in protest. "It's literally your cum—why are you so grossed out about it?" he teases.

"Because..." you say slowly. When you realise you have nothing to say, you pick your head up, blinking at him.

Seungcheol hums, eyes amused when he looks down at you. "Mhm?"

You don't have an answer, so you kiss him instead. Seungcheol welcomes the kiss, letting his tongue meet with yours in a feverish kiss that makes your hands cling fervently to his hair. You're shifting on top of him restlessly, letting your pussy settle over the length of his cock, sighing heatedly into his mouth and letting his tongue swirl around yours sloppily.

Seungcheol grunts at the way you let your pussy slip up and down his throbbing cock. Your cunt is hot and so fucking wet, and he feels like he might combust from how good you feel against him.

Two orgasms should've been enough for you, but you know you won't feel fully sated without Seungcheol's cock dipping in and out of your pussy, leaving it all messy in a mix of your cum. You're not sure whether you can cum again, but you do know you want Seungcheol's cum inside of you, and soon.

"Inside," you whisper against Seungcheol's lips, not letting him respond before you smash your lips to his again. Reaching down to grab at his cock, you're just about to line the tip with your hole when he shoves you away with a harsh grip on your arm.

You yelp in surprise, the world turning into a blur, hardly comprehending that you're no longer sitting on top of him. You're now lying on your back, staring wide-eyed up at Seungcheol as he hauls your shirt off, leaving you just as naked as him.

Seungcheol can't help how his eyes gravitate towards your tits, all on full display for his eyes to feast on. "Fucking perfect," he mutters, one hand jerking up and down his cock as his eyes roam up and down your body, taking everything in. The sight isn't foreign to him, but all the blood still rushes to his dick the same way every time. You're too fucking perfect. If ever comes a day that he ever sees a single flaw in your body, he'll fault his eyes instead.

When you sigh, it comes out half a moan. "Hurry, Cheollie," you tell him, spreading your legs wider, holding yourself open with two hands on the back of your knees, baring yourself to him unashamedly. You're too desperate for his cock to worry about self-dignity now.

Seungcheol groans, stomach flipping at the sweetness dripping from your lips when you say his name so endearingly. "Alright, alright..." He presses one hand on the back of your thigh while the other hand grips his cock, running the leaking head up and down your sloppy cunt. "Just don't cum on me too soon like last time, yeah?"

"Why are you bringing that up!"

"Actually... maybe I wouldn't mind. You always shut up so good after you cum." He chuckles at the deathly glare you give him, choosing that exact moment to sink into your awaiting heat, amused when your glare twists into an expression of utter bliss. Oh, he could die happy like this—cock snug in your warm, tight pussy. He allows you a few seconds to adjust, letting his hands travel all the places of your body that he can reach, leaving your skin prickling.

"Move, Cheol...Please."

Seungcheol smirks at your pleading, watching the way you spread your legs even wider for him—inviting and beckoning him to take you like you're the sweetest and ripest forbidden fruit. "How do you want it, pretty?"

Your eyebrows knit in frustration. Surely , he's trying to tease you, purposely prolonging whatever this is when he could already be fucking you into the mattress by now. Still, you humour him, hoping he will give in. "Any way you want, I'll take it."

Seungcheol nods with a hum, nibbling at the insides of his cheeks as he glances down at the point where his cock disappears into your pussy. "Any way I want, hm?" he echoes back, swiping a thumb at your swollen clit, snickering when your hips jump, causing his cock to slip out, heavy girth springing up to smack against his stomach.

You reach down with one hand, guiding his cock back to your pussy, desperate to be filled again. "Please, just please." The words come out frantic, almost distraught. "I need you."

Eventually, Seungcheol relents to your pleas. You look so pretty when you're begging for his cock, and that look you're giving him—you look delirious already, and he has barely done a thing.

"Shh, I've got you, sweetheart," he mutters, slipping back inside. Much to your delight, he doesn't dawdle this time. Although he does start off slow, pressing forward until his balls are pressed firmly against your ass each time he sinks in, earning a quiet sigh from you every time. "Pussy taking me so well, princess..."

At this pace, you're able to feel every slide of his cock against your pussy, the way the veins along his length rub against your walls so delectably. "God, f-fuck, fuck, Seungcheol..."

Your lover is watching your face closely, groaning now and then whenever your walls tighten around him, but amused for the most part. He doesn't want to seem arrogant, but he thinks it's incredibly flattering that you still react this way to his cock after years of being together. You're always so eager for him, shivering under his caresses as if you're starved of his touch, as if he has never sunk himself into your tight pussy again and again, only to come back for more.

Even now, as he hooks his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to him, you're sighing out his name so exquisitely, the syllables rolling off your tongue effortlessly. Your pussy drips for him, the sweet nectar leaking onto his cock, staining your inner thighs.

A frustrated groan bubbles in your throat as you prop yourself up onto your elbows, scowling at the man who is currently not fucking you the way you both deserve it. The drag of his cock feels good, but you need more, and you know he does too. "Cheollie," you mewl in your sweetest voice, one hand grasping a handful of your breast, squeezing it in the hope of enticing him to go faster. "Need you to go faster, please..."

Seungcheol doesn't try to hide his smirk, stopping the movement of his hips entirely. He knows you're trying to lure and tempt him, just like the seductress you are. He would be lying if he said your siren gaze and the sultry lilt of your voice don't make him feel as though he's spellbound. It's hard not to give in when you're looking up at him like you want him to wreck and pillage your body until you are practically ruined for everyone else but him.

When you flash him a saccharine smile, it's as if there is a magnetic pull drawing him down closer to you, mouth hovering over yours. He breathes you in, painfully aware of how his cock twitches inside you when you peer at him through your lashes.

"I thought you said you'd take anything I give you," Seungcheol mumbles, hot breath fanning against your lips. He pecks your lips once, angling his head to the side when you try to lean in for more, rejecting your kiss. He coos when you pout at his rejection. "So take what I'm giving you. That's what you promised me, isn't it?"

Then he swoops down lower to trail kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at your collarbone. You're scowling at his statement, irked that he's using your words against you. Seungcheol doesn't seem to care about your current predicament, licking his way down to the slope of your breast, biting down on the skin with enough force to make it hurt.

"Don't you want to feel good, Cheollie? Why are you making this longer than it should be?"

"Oh, don't you worry about me, darling. I'm very much enjoying myself," he murmurs, pressing tender kisses on the side of your breast.

You're opening your mouth to retaliate but decide against it at the last second. Instead, you press your mouth together, saying nothing as you lie back on the bed. You'll let Seungcheol have his way with you for now. Whatever game he's playing right now won't last long, and his control will crumble eventually—at least, that's what you're hoping.

When Seungcheol wraps his lips around your nipple, you let his name escape you in a sigh. His mouth is warm as he gently suckles, tongue circling the pebbled bud. You don't need to look down at him to know he's looking up at your face, taking in your reaction. "Feels good..." you pant when he stretches his jaw open further, taking more of your breast into his mouth, teeth skimming over tender skin.

Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer as you arch your back. The slight shift makes your brain short-circuit for a moment as his cock seems to burrow deeper inside of you, sending a flash of heat through your body. "Fuck, so big..."

Seungcheol hums against your chest, still sucking earnestly, lapping at your nipple with his tongue, pulling back now and then to look at the way your chest glistens with his spit. After some time, he switches to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, making sure it's covered in his spit just the same as the other one.

You're not sure whether Seungcheol realises it, but his hips have started moving again, cock pushing in and out with no precise pattern, only seeking the warmth of your cunt as it sinks in repeatedly. It's addicting but agonising as well because you want more, and you're not sure whether you can hold out any longer. "Cheol," you softly call out, hoping to gain his attention. You don't wait for him to respond before speaking again. "Need you to fuck me, please..."

He pulls back slightly, blowing cold air on your damp chest, making you shudder. "Aren't I already?" he asks as he litters kisses on the valley of your breasts, fucking into you less distractedly this time, the force of his thrust growing harder.

You nod, breath stuttering when he finally gains speed, not as fast as you'd like but enough for your mind to go hazy. "Y-Yeah, just need—fuck—just need more..."

Seungcheol's laugh comes out a little shaky. He pushes himself back onto his knees, ignoring your whine at the loss of his warmth. "Are you being greedy, princess?" He gathers both your legs together, letting them dangle over one of his shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs soothingly when he hears your sigh of relief from the switch of position.

"I'm not being greedy," you grit out, looking up at him, hissing when he delivers a notably hard thrust. "Please, please, just... faster..."

"See, what'd I say? That was you being greedy." Seungcheol admires you from this position, drinking in the quiet sounds you're emitting, savouring the fluttering of your pussy around his cock.

Your eyes begin to brim with frustrated tears. You love the man with all your heart, but this is taking it a little far, even for you. You're yearning for him, blood pounding in your ears, skin aflame with desire and an insatiable hunger that threatens to swallow you entirely. How much longer do you have to wait?

"I can't, Cheol," you sniff, tears spilling onto your cheeks. "P-Please, I really can't—"

Seungcheol shouldn't feel so satisfied with how you're crying from how overwhelming it is, but an undeniable sense of fulfilment washes over him at the sight of your tears. This is what he wanted, after all—to test your limit and push you to the edge. "Alright, sweetheart, don't cry, I've got you..."

With a kiss to your calf, Seungcheol finally grants you what you've been begging for all night, quickly finding a rhythm that immediately garners a loud cry out of you. He sighs, cock finally finding relief at the friction. He enjoyed the game while it lasted, but this—it makes him think that maybe he should've given in sooner. You could've been filled to the brim with his cum by now if it hadn't been for his stubbornness to see you pushed to your breaking point. With this thought in mind, Seungcheol fucks into you even harder, trying to make up for lost time.

More tears escape your eyes, but it's not out of frustration this time. It's incredible how quickly the tiny sparks of pleasure can become something mighty—an unreckonable force that racks through your whole body, vicious and ruthless, almost cruel in a way.

"Still with me?" Seungcheol asks, gritting his teeth at how well you're taking him, his hands squeezing onto your thighs roughly, the hold almost painful. But you're too preoccupied with your own pleasure to care about whether or not his hands will leave bruises.

"Baby, you still with me?" he repeats.

"Hmm..."

Seungcheol shakes his head, not satisfied with your answer. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

"Y-Yeah," you respond, breathing in sharply. "With you..." Your words trail off into a low moan, a sound that makes Seungcheol's eyes flutter shut as he ruts into you faster.

The sound of skin slapping against skin resonates through the bedroom. It's lewd and unmistakable. His balls slap against your puffy folds with each thrust, sending your slick splattering everywhere—on your ass, on the bed, some droplets even landing on his thighs. He loves it when you get all sloppy for him like this.

Your hand claws at his own, nails digging into his wrist. Seungcheol lets you remove his hand from your thigh, a growl ripping in his chest when he realises your intention. Before he knows it, he has his palm splayed on your breast, one of your smaller hands resting atop his, guiding him to squeeze. He squeezes once, then twice, relishing the way you moan for him when he does. "That's it, always so good for me. You deserve this, yeah?"

"Don't stop, C-Cheol..." When you look up at him, he seems torn between looking at your face or down at the spot where his cock meets your pussy. He doesn't settle on one, letting his eyes flicker back and forth, breathing growing ragged when he notices your eyes on him.

"Why would I stop, baby?" He lets his free hand settle on your unoccupied breast, kneading gently, enjoying how you writhe underneath him at the contact. Both hands pinch at your nipples, twisting just barely until they harden in his ministrations. "Why would I stop when you feel this good?"

You hadn't been sure at first whether you still had it in you to cum another time after doing it twice in a short span of time, but a single glance at Seungcheol has you disoriented. Something is churning in your stomach, coiling and winding like a tightly wound spring, poised to release if twisted a little further. The more you look at Seungcheol, the less focused your gaze becomes. Tiny beads of sweat trace a glistening path down his temple, and fine strands of hair cling to his forehead—a testament to the strenuous effort he has exerted thus far.

"Cheol..." you whine, tensing your thighs together, arching your chest up into his rough touches.

"I know, I know... I can feel you tightening around me," he grits out, veins in his neck jutting out as he continues to strain himself through his thrusts, beginning to lose himself in the feeling of being buried inside your heat. He retracts his hands from your chest to grab each side of your hips. This way, he has more control of your body, able to pull you down onto his cock every time he thrusts in, pressing into you deeper. "Shit, you feel so good, princess. So fucking good, taking me so well. You love this cock, don't you?"

You don't know whether Seungcheol knows how much his words affect you, but you certainly feel the tingling shudder lick a path from the base of your back to the nape of your neck. You let him grapple at your hips and move you however he pleases, using you for his pleasure.

"Say you love this cock, princess."

"Love it—fill me up so well, love your cock..." you slur.

"That's right, always so needy for it."

Seungcheol has been holding himself back for some time now, his balls heavy, ready for release. With the way your pussy envelopes him so nicely and the way you're moaning and whining out his name, he knows it will only be a matter of time before he finishes. "You close, baby?" he asks you, chest heaving with every laboured breath he takes. His eyes are screwed shut, afraid he'd cum too soon if he catches a glimpse of your fucked-out face and bouncing tits.

"Mmph, feels s-so good..."

Seungcheol brings one hand down to the space between your legs, slipping his thumb through the tight press of your plush thighs, quickly finding your clit. He doesn't take into account, however, the way your pussy would tighten around his dick as soon as he starts drawing quick circles around the sensitive bud. He doesn't have the time to warn you, only letting out a strained growl of your name as he is thrown over the edge, emptying himself inside you, filling you up in ribbons of cum that seem never-ending.

Taken by surprise, you can only squeal, wide eyes searching for his as you grab onto his wrist. Seungcheol keeps his hips pressed to yours, balls smearing slick over your ass as he fills you to the brim. You keen at the feeling, toes curling as you savour the warmth of his cum as it paints your walls white.

He shudders as the last spurts finally spill inside you, his hips rocking gently on their own, riding out the last few seconds. "Fuck, baby," he groans. He's panting, trying to suck in as much air into his lungs as he can with each inhale, the impact of his orgasm hitting more forcefully since he had been unintentionally edging himself for the past hour or so.

He knows you will eventually ask for more, but he's relieved you're giving him time to recover. He leans his head against your calf and closes his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing. It's hard because the thought that you're still in front of him, naked, dripping his seed, makes him feel winded in a way that is obscene.

"Cheol..."

"Yeah?" he grunts.

"You okay?"

He lets your legs fall from his shoulder, gently setting it down onto the bed, easing you to lie on your side. "Mhm... m' fine," he swallows, "just give me a minute."

When he slides out of you, you let slip a squeak that makes Seungcheol crack a small smile. He splays a hand on the back of your thigh, leaning back slightly to catch a glimpse of the mess between your legs. He can't help the stirring of his cock as he watches driblets of his cum leak out of you, seeping into the bedsheets.

Seungcheol finds it difficult to tear his eyes away from the glorious sight of your ruined cunt. He suddenly finds himself in a predicament. He knows he needs to take a breather, even if there is a part of him that aches to bury himself into you and fill you with his cum for the second time tonight.

Finally, he settles himself beside you, positioning himself so that he's spooning you from behind. He brushes his hand down from your shoulder to your arm and then down the enticing curve of your waist. Your skin is soft and supple against his palm. His caresses must tickle because your giggles fill his ears as you writhe away from his teasing touch. "Cheol..." your whine of his name makes a rush of affection wash over him.

Seungcheol grins, pushing himself up onto his elbow to lean over you just enough to nestle his face into the crook of your neck. When he nips at your jaw, you let out a breathless sigh, and he knows it won't be long until you ask him for more. He would give you more if only he hadn't just finished twice over the course of an hour. He will have to find another way to satiate your hunger.

Your eyes flutter shut, humming when you feel Seungcheol's lips on your shoulder blade. You don't say anything as you push your lower half into him, which earns a grunt from the man as his sensitive cock comes into contact with your ass. Much to your dismay, his hand immediately flies to your waist, gently moving you away from him.

"Baby," he rasps, the strain discernible in his voice. He pecks your lips when you tilt your head to pout at him. "Turn over and face me, hm?"

Slightly confused, you do as he says anyway, gasping when he pulls you into him with a hand on your lower back. With your chest pressed into his and face only inches away, you give him a questioning look, circling your arms around his neck and pressing a brief kiss to his lips. "Now what?"

Seungcheol responds by kissing you. His kiss is hard and fierce, stealing your breath as he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, soothing the stinging bite with a fleeting sweep of his tongue. You arch into him, moaning into his mouth when you feel his free hand trail up your chest to settle on the nape of your neck, allowing him to have a better reign.

Something presses against your aching cunt, and you have to break away with a dazed gasp, peering down between your bodies. Seungcheol has shoved his leg between yours, angling his thigh upward to press against you.

The hand on your back moves to the dip of your waist, encouraging you to roll your hips back and forth. The realisation of what he wants you to do makes you whimper. "Oh, God—"

"Shh, just focus on me, sweetheart. You can be a good girl and ride my thigh, yeah?"

When you try to respond, nothing comes out except a garbled moan. You must look so salacious to him—moving your hips back and forth like a desperate whore, dragging your wet pussy against his thigh, eyes rolling back from the simulation on your clit. You swear you see stars dancing in your vision, skin prickling as every thought in your mind withers into nothing.

"That's it, I can feel how warm you are... So fucking warm and wet."

You try to kiss him again but find yourself pulling away shortly after, too dazed to keep up with the force of Seungcheol's kisses. His thigh is drenched and sticky from the mixture of your juices and his cum that has leaked out of your hole, but he keeps you stable with a firm grip on the back of your thigh. Whenever you roll your hips, the squelching sound from between your thighs is distinct, and it makes your whole face burn.

With a sigh of his name, you weave your fingers through his hair, tugging when the stimulation becomes too intense for your liking. It feels fucking euphoric—the way his solid thigh feels against your soaked pussy as it drags up, down, up, down—but it's somehow not enough at the same time.

Seungcheol thinks your moans sound like angels singing in his ears, and he eagerly drinks it all in, watching your face intently at the same time, relishing the way your eyes roll back during moments when the pleasure washes over you in waves. "So cute."

"Fuck, Cheol, 's not enough..."

Seungcheol's mouth stretches into a grin, letting a few seconds pass in silence as he watches you rut desperately against his thigh, so keen to reach your long-awaited high. "Not enough? You're dripping all over me, though?" To prove his point, he withdraws his thigh from between your legs, shushing you when you whine in protest. "Let's see..."

Two of his fingers swipe at the sticky residue on his thigh. He lifts his hand to your face, showing the glossy remnant on his fingers. To further taunt you, he spreads the fingers apart, allowing a stringy thread of the creamy slick to bridge the gap between the two digits. He doesn't bother concealing his smirk when your sheepish face comes into focus, cheeks red from a combination of arousal and shame.

You huff when he sticks his fingers into his mouth, tasting the slick that clings to it. The deep hum that rumbles in his chest kindles a fire in you that you know can only be doused by Seungcheol's touch alone. You can only watch, stunned, mind teeming with a flurry of wild thoughts as he finally removes his fingers from his mouth.

"Now you choose, princess. It's either my thigh or nothing at all."

It takes you a moment to decipher his words. "But that's not fair..." you whine.

"Just choose."

"I don't wanna..."

"Time's ticking."

You give in—of course you do. Knowing Seungcheol, he probably would stay true to his words. He wouldn't have any problem leaving you high and dry as he excuses himself to the bathroom to clean himself up. Then, he would come back to bed as if nothing had happened, and he wouldn't give in no matter how much you cling to him and beg for even an ounce of his attention. Then you'd have to wait until the morning to finally get some relief, either by his fingers or tongue, because he always insists on fucking you only after he has had his dose of morning coffee. It's infuriating, but it would be a lie if you said you didn't enjoy his pesky games.

"Fine... Your thigh is fine."

"Use your big girl words."

"I need your thigh, please, Cheol. Pretty please..."

Seungcheol pauses briefly, letting your words sink in before he nods in approval. "Alright, if you insist."

When he slots his thigh between your legs again, it's as if you've stumbled upon an oasis amid a scorching drought. The pleasure is liberating, and you're sighing his name against the crook of his neck, melting into his touch, going putty in his hold. You're grasping at both his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as the tautness in your stomach gradually builds again. It's slow, almost torturous, but the mounting tension from before has you trembling, and Seungcheol notices. He always does.

"Breathe," he reminds you, tapping your cheek gently to ensure you hear him. "Take your time and breathe, 'm not going anywhere."

"Unghh, I don't know if I can—"

"You can, baby," he encourages softly.

Seungcheol pulls you even closer by your thigh, hitching your leg a little higher against his hips, spreading you open a little more. He can feel you throbbing against him, and the warmth emanating from between your legs makes him feel heady.

"Fuck," he cusses, wishing so badly it was his cock that was making you writhe in his embrace and cry out his name so sweetly. "Stay with me. Are you close?"

You sob at the question. "I don't know. God, C-Cheol..."

"Hey, look at me, princess." Seungcheol nods when you finally compose yourself enough to look at him. "Breathe, and focus on me."

The movement of your hips doesn't stop as he mutters his instructions.

"Uh-uh, keep your eyes on me," he reprimands when he notices your gaze flittering down to the glistening mess on his thigh. "That's right, keep those pretty eyes on me. That's it..."

You're sure you've lost all your ability to communicate effectively or conjure up a coherent sentence. The only word you manage to babble and stutter out is Seungcheol's name. No matter how much you try, you can't help the shaking of your legs or the ragged rise and fall of your chest as you try to gulp in enough air. It feels so fucking good—you want to tell him—but nothing comes out except choked moans and whimpers.

"Don't worry about anything else. Just focus on the feeling..."

"C-Cheol, 'm close... I don't—I'm—"

"Shh, just relax. It's going to feel so good when you let go," Seungcheol says, hand still secure on the back of your thigh, helping you grind down against him. He thinks he might need a long, cold shower after this is all over.

When you breathe in, the smell of Seungcheol's tantalising cologne fills your nose, and you can't help but cry out. The mix of patchouli and bergamot combined with the natural scent of his musk makes you tense against him. He smells heavenly. He smells like home. "Oh my God, ungh—"

"It's okay, you can cum. No one's stopping you."

Your eyes drift over his face, focusing on every feature and every detail, no matter how minuscule. Ultimately, it is precisely the look in his dark eyes that throws you over the edge. His eyes have an allure to them—filled with desire and longing that dance wildly in the shadows, luring you into their mysterious depth.

The pleasure doesn't hit you all at once—it starts from the end of your toes, trailing up your legs, erupting into flurries of flames in your stomach, winding up your spine like an electric current that singes at every nerve. The euphoria builds like a crescendo, like a warmth that blossoms into an inferno and sweeps through your whole being. Your skin burns, but you feel as though you're drowning—chest tight, eyes glassy, mouth agape in a silent shout. Blood roars in your ears, and each heartbeat feels like a drumbeat, pounding against the confines of your ribcage, a relentless rhythm that drowns out every other sound.

When the pleasure finally subsides, it leaves a lingering warmth that seems to simmer under your skin. It's a pleasant buzzing, one that makes you feel drowsy. You slump against Seungcheol, hiding your face in his bare chest, trying to hide your bashful smile that would give away how blissful you currently feel. You breathe in his perfume, grounding yourself, soaking in the heat of his body as he gently brushes a palm up and down your back.

Seungcheol tenderly clasps your hand, lifting it delicately to plant a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist. His kisses trail down, mouth caressing each fingertip before turning your hand gently. With utmost reverence, he presses his lips against the glimmering engagement ring on your finger, bestowing it with two tender pecks, a silent promise sealed in each kiss.

"I love you," he whispers against your temple, nosing at your cheekbone. "But do you think you could cum that fast again?"

Still recovering from your high, you struggle to grasp his words. "What do you mean?"

"Like before. I mean, I was barely in you, and you were cumming all over me so fast I almost didn't realise—"

Your loud gasp cuts him off. "You are such a dick! Stop talking about that!"

"Never!" he objects, dimples showing when he grins. "It's going to make for the perfect story to tell to all our friends—"

Deciding your words won't effectively shut his blabbering mouth, you're left with no choice but to resort to slapping his arm instead, not stopping until he seizes your wrist, effectively thwarting your assault on him.

"Okay, okay," he concedes with a laugh. "I'm just kidding. That story will forever stay with me and me only. I'm sorry, okay?"

"You don't look sorry."

"You're right, it was just so fucking hot—"

"You're insufferable. Break off our engagement right now."

The faux horror that overtakes his face is hilarious. "Alright, I'll stop. I really am sorry. Seriously."

You giggle at the admission. "You're stuck with me, you know? There's no backing out of a marriage with me."

He playfully sighs. "Hm, I'm not so sure about that.. I mean, it's not like we're already married—"

"Nice try, but I've already picked out my dress, and it's non-refundable."

"True, and I've just put a baby in you as well, so..."

You lean back, flashing him an incredulous look. "Again, nice try. Still on the pills, dummy."

"And what if they suddenly just... vanished?"

Snickering, you sit up, feeling unbearably icky and sweaty. "Why don't you marry me first, and then we can try having children. Deal?" You don't wait for his response, pushing yourself off the bed and shuffling your way to the bathroom. You can almost feel his eyes burning lasers into your bare ass.

"Why don't you start calling me daddy from now on? You know, for practice?"

"Absolutely not."

"What do you think about having four children?"

"I love you too, Seungcheol."

"Is that a yes?"

"You're cute."

There's a pause. "So, yes?"

"What should we do this weekend?"

You hear him get off the bed, his thundering footsteps drawing nearer. "Stop changing the subject!"

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kozukensgf · 2 months

Text

bf texts with scoups!

genre: smau, fluff

character: choi seungcheol

warning(s): angry seungcheol (not at you ofc)

note: anyone else missing scoups extra today? no? only me? ☹️

masterlist

part one | part two

rbs and likes are appreciated<333

#hazel posted #smau #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #kpop smau #svt fluff #svt smau #seventeen #seventeen smau #scoups #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #scoups x reader #scoups imagines #scoups texts #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x yn

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wongyuuu · 2 months

Text

calendar | csc

pairing: seungcheol x f!reader genre: smut word count: 3.1k summary: the red mark on the calendar is one of seungcheol's favorites warnings: minors do not interact, kissing, stimulation, swearing, petnames, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this), oral (f. receiving), breeding kink, cock sleeve (kinda), dirty talking playlist: ➝ here a/n: still a little (a lot) insecure about smut, but wanted to try writing this one. not proof read

please remember that comments and reblogs are extremely important

seungcheol stopped in front of the calendar in the closet, a smile tugging at his lips. the red circle around the date, signaling an important event he always waited a little more anxiously for.

not that having sex with his wife was something he couldn't do as often as he liked, far from that. if anything both of you were always eager to be with each other, even after so many years together. it had never gotten boring or dull at any moment. both of you always wanted to try new things and keep it interesting, mostly you. for seungcheol being buried deep inside you while you moaned his name was to closest thing he'd ever to heaven, if such a place even existed.

he gave up on the shirt, knowing fully well what the sight of him in nothing but sweats did to you. pair it with his wet hair and it was enough to drive you crazy. the good thing about being with someone for so long is knowing exactly what ticks the other person off, and what buttons to press. well, it could be both a blessing and a curse. in that moment seungcheol chose to believe that it was solely a blessing.

a small groan left his lips at the sight of you lying on your stomach, scrolling through your phone, in his shirt and black pair of panties — the one he bought you after there was a small accident with a few pieces of underwear.

the thing about ticks and buttons is that it works both ways and, obviously, seungcheol wasn't the only one who could play that game.

he crawled on top of you slowly and pushed your hair to the side so he could kiss the nape of your head. you sighed in contentment when you felt his weight on top of yours.

"look," you said, raising your phone slightly "hannie sent me pictures of his daughter today"

seungcheol looked at the smiling face of his friend with a little girl in his arms. it had been many years since he had seen jeonghan look quite that happy. of course that suddenly finding out about a child and suddenly needing to be a full-time dad wasn't the easiest thing in the world but he was playing it like a breeze. you swiped your finger and a picture of the little girl in a bright yellow dress greeted him. seungcheol smiled. yeah, she was cute and looked every bit like jeonghan, acted too. a little menace, she was.

"what does he want? if he's sending pictures he wants something" he chuckled knowing his friend well. everything jeonghan did had a purpose.

seungcheol sat back on his heels and slowly started to massage your shoulders over the fabric of the shirt.

"he asked if we can have gia tomorrow night, he has a work thing to go" you moaned lowly when seungcheol pressed on the not in your shoulder blade, "i said yes"

he laughed again. of course you had been quick to agree, it didn't surprise him. you had always loved kids and were always happily willing to have them for any amount of time needed. after you had gotten married it had gotten a little more frequent since most of your friends had decided to have kids at the same, and since jeonghan found out about his daughter it had gotten weekly. seungcheol never complained, he too loved kids and liked having them around, he especially loved the glint in your eyes whenever you looked at them running around the living room, breaking a thing or two.

"cheol" you said one day at the darkest hour of the night after rolling around in bed for hours, voice barely a whisper as you played with his hair "i... should we start trying?"

it was too late, his mind was barely working, almost drowning in sleep for him to understand what you were saying but in hindsight, he should have seen it coming.

"trying what?" he asked turning around and wrapping you in his arms, his leg nesting between yours.

"for a baby"

that was how the calendar ended up hanging on the closet wall. your ovulation period was marked in a bright red marker.

"do you think it's really work or, maybe, a date?" you asked.

slowly seungcheol moved his hand lower, to the small of your back, pressing a little more tenderly where he knew you struggled with pain. he moved your, his, shirt up, adding a little more pressure as your body fully relaxed under him.

"jeonghan wouldn't date now," he said "gia is still getting used to him and us, he wouldn't add someone else to the mix"

you turned around under him, eyes narrowed. when you raised your arm to rest it under your head your shirt lifted a little, exposing the skin right over the elastic of your underwear. it was pretty, yes, with lace details on the sides but that mattered very little. seungcheol was far more interested in what was hidden under it.

"you're telling me that jeonghan hasn't fucked anyone since we got gia? a whole seven months ago"

seungcheol placed his hands on your waist, your skin warm under his touch. the corner of your lips tugged up at the expression in your husband's eyes. he was struggling to keep focus on the conversation both of you were heaving. jeonghan and gia were the least of his worries.

"i care very little about who jeonghan fucks" he said, voice hoarse as he leaned forward at the same time he pushed your shirt further up "all i care about is putting a baby in my beautiful wife"

he pressed a kiss to your naked skin. he had imagined it many times, you pregnant with his kid, your belly around. it had been one of the many reasons why he had woken you up in the middle of the night and fucked you dumb. he had never said anything, choosing to let you decide when it was time. when you were ready to have a baby. seungcheol knew that it was going to change things for you a lot more than it would for him, it was also your body.

if it were up to him, you'd have a least two kids running around the house.

"you have some work to do then," you said, laughing.

almost like a reflex, you tangled your fingers in his hair. you sighed as seungcheol started his exploratory kisses. some were light, like the touch of a feather, loving, in a worship manner. others were the exact opposite, harsher as he pulled your skin in between his teeth just for a second, to later soothe the spot with the tip of his tongue. he loved to leave tiny marks in your body, where no one else would be able to see them but him. but you knew they were there, it was a constant reminder of the night before and a reminder of what was still to come.

you spread your legs to better accommodate seungcheol as he pushed your shirt to your neck. you felt a little electric tension run over your skin when you noticed his eyes on you, taking in your every expression. you smiled when he pressed his thumb over your hard nipple, pinching it.

seungcheol took your boob into his mouth, biting your nipple at the same time he pinched the other one. involuntarily your back arched, your grip on his hair tightening.

he loved the sounds you made, how it usually started so low and small but he always managed to work you up enough to get you begging under him, on top of him. either way, you'd end the night pleading for him, for his cock.

"do you think today is the day?" he asked, trailing his kisses again down your stomach to your panties "do you think i can pump you full enough to get you pregnant?"

you expected seungcheol to tug at the sides of your panties and pull them down but instead, he kissed you over them. he grinned when he saw the small wet spot in your underwear.

"i barely started and you're already wet, baby?" he teased.

he ran his finger over your cunt still covered by the thin panties. your hips twitched under his touch, needing more than just light touches. but you weren't ready to give in to him yet. he was going to have to work harder if he wanted to hear you begging for more.

"not a word? playing hard to get tonight, i see" he pushed your underwear to the side, lightly blowing your clit. he had to contain the laugh that erupted in his chest "let's see how long it lasts"

you raised your hips as seungcheol used his index fingers to pull your panties down. you laughed when you saw the small piece of cloth being thrown over his shoulder. your laughter died as soon as you felt his warm, wet, tongue on your clit. he sucked the small bundle of never into his mouth at the same time he pushed two fingers into you. he was relentless, his pace devastating, not giving you a second to breathe.

the sounds, of his mouth on you as well as the wetness of your pussy, were obscene but they turned you on even further. you wanted, needed, more.

and the thing is, seungcheol was the giving kind of partner. whatever you wanted was yours, but you had to say it, loud and clear. for him.

"come one baby, just ask" he blew your clit again, this time using the tip of his thumb to lightly brush it "use your pretty little mouth and beg for me"

a curse left your lips when his fingers stopped moving and he pulled away from you. your orgasm that was right there, around the corner, suddenly gone, leaving only your throbbing cunt and ragged breathing as a witness.

you tried to grab his hand and push his fingers back but the was being a little shit, holding it behind his back.

"fuck, seungcheol," you said, partially annoyed, and desperately turned on "just eat me out, fuck me with your fingers. whatever you do just make me cum"

"your wish, wife, is always my command"

seungcheol wasted no second. his lips were around your clit and a third finger was added into to slit. it only took a few pumps for you to come undone under him. a mess of moans and curses. unsure of when exactly you had let go, your hand gripped his hair again, forcing his head closer to you, grinding his face against you, desperate for everything he had.

seungcheol used the edge of the mattress to apply some pressure on his throbbing cock. he was so hard it was painful so whatever friction he could get was welcomed.

every single one of your moans were met a stroke of his tongue and a pump of his fingers. it was torture, the most delicious and vicious kind of torture.

seungcheol only leaned back when he felt the shake in your legs subside, crawling back you. he pressed his thumb in your mouth, smiling when you opened and sucked him in. you were the most beautiful thing in the world, with your cheeks painted in a bright shade of pink, and two tear stains on the sides of your eyes. god, he loved you.

you could taste your own release in his finger when you circled his finger with your tongue. you grazed his skin with your teeth looking into his eyes. seungcheol hissed, wishing that it was his cock in your mouth.

"i know you would love it if i sucked you," you said "but i really need you to fuck me, right now, please"

you were going to be the death of him.

you pulled your shirt over your head and turned around, sticking your ass up while your chest was pressed against the pillow.

for a second seungcheol felt like a teenager who just found out he was about to fuck the hottest girl he had ever laid eyes on. he was quick to push his sweats off. he hadn't bothered with boxers, knowing exactly where the night would lead the two of you.

"i'm going to fill you up so good baby" he squeezed your ass and second later slapped it "so so deep there's no way you won't get pregnant tonight"

he ran his tip over your pussy a few times, coating himself in you. he knew that he could slide in without doing it but he also liked torturing you. your moans got a little more desperate every time rubbed against your clit.

whenever he took you bare the sensation was entirely new and different. yes, there were a few instances when both of you were in too much of a hurry, or sometimes it just didn't matter enough, to care or remember to take a condom, but ultimately both of you had always been careful. you took your pills, he carried a condom and life moved on. but even after months of no condom, no barrier at all between the two of you, seungcheol still felt his head get a little dizzy.

your walls adjusted perfectly to him, clinging around him, pulling him, demanding every single inch of him. he slowly pushed in until all he was deep into you, to the hilt.

you moaned against the soft fabric of the sheets, loving the burning sensation of the stretch. you pushed your ass high in the hair, wiggling it from side to side begging him to just move. the stretch of his dick deliciously painful still.

"cheol, move" you begged.

"this what you want?" he asked

seungcheol pushed your head further into the mattress, his hand on the back of your head, thighing your hair around his fist. finally he started to move, he pulled his cock all the way out and pressed it back in, hitting that one spot that made your head spin and little stars shine behind your closed eyes, over and over again. you squirmed when seungcheol pressed his weight over your body, moaning as he somehow got even deeper.

you moved your hand down your body, slowly circling your with the tip of your nail.

"cheol, fuck" you bit the pillow "faster, please, just fuck me"

he loved the neediness in your voice, how you completely forfeit with your no-begging police. the smell of your sweet vanilla soap disappeared now that your skin was coated in a thin layer of sweat.

seungcheol didn't change his rhythm, knowing that it was enough to drive you crazy and over the edge.

"are you touching yourself, baby?" he pulled on your hair, giving you a taste of your medicine. his dick throbbed when he saw the smile on your face "fuck"

he reached forward, slapping your hand away from your cunt. you cursed at him but the nasty words were quickly replaced with a moan when he pinched your clit, tugging and pressing, driving you fucking crazy on his dick. even so, his pace was slow.

"cum for me, baby" he whispered.

"let me ride you" you begged "i want to look at you when you breed me"

your words had always been the ruin of him. he almost came right there. he turned you around and sat on the bed, grinning when you cried when his dick left your pussy.

"i know, baby, but you were the one that wanted to ride me"

a small fuck you left your lips as you crawled on top of him. seungcheol moaned when you gripped him, your hand sliding up and down his length while you grazed his tip with your nail lightly. you aligned him to you and sank down in one swift movement, making both of you moan.

seungcheol was wrong, being balls deep into you wasn't paradise. no. paradise was being balls deep in your cunt while you rode him, tits bouncing in in his face, while you moaned his name again and again like a prayer, taking what you wanted from him. he cupped your breasts in his hands. your hands covered his, forcing your nipples between his fingers and squeezing.

"fuck. cheol" you said, eyes on his as you circled your hips before thrusting down on him again "i'm gonna cum. i need to"

your walls squeezed around him. seungcheol moaned as he held you by the hips holding you in place, while the pounded into you, finally, finally fucking you as fast and as hard as you wanted. he fucked you roughly, watching as his cock disappeared in your cunt, each thrust deeper than the previous one. seungcheol felt the muscles of his thighs and stomach squeeze at the same time you clenched around him, milking him.

he pressed his thumb to your clit and the scream you let out was enough to drive both of you to the edge. you let your body fall forward, and you bit that spot between his shoulder and neck. seungcheol continued to pound into you, fucking his cum as deep as he could, pushing it further into you making sure not even a drop was wasted.

it took both of you a couple of minutes to settle down, evening out your breathing, and making sure your legs were no longer shaking.

"seungcheol" you cried, finally looking at his face, kissing him, letting him invade your mouth with his tongue "i'm so full. it's so deep"

he could never, ever, get enough of you.

“don’t move baby, let’s make sure this one sticks”

you kissed the side of his neck, feeling his hot cum inside you while his dick slowly got flaccid. you loved to have him in you, just there, with you, as close as humanly possible, with nothing between the two of you. his personal cock sleeve, he had called you a few times.

“you say it like fucking me is a terrible task someone assigned you”

you felt the vibrations of his laughter before you heard it. you just closed your eyes and pressed your head to his chest, the sound of his heartbeats calming like a lullaby.

“fucking you is the one task i’ll never ask someone else to do in my place”

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hoshifighting · 2 months

Note

hey I need cheol to fuck and breed me stupid for doing well on my exams :(

Hit the Books, Hit the Sheets

Synopsis: Where after weeks with your face buried inside of books on the brink of exhaustion, however, when the day of the exam arrives, your hard work pays off as you receive notice of an outstanding grade—an A+. Overwhelmed with pride and joy, Seungcheol decides to reward you for your dedication.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of body fluids, breeding, oral (f. receiving), praising, dirty talk, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, g'spot stimulation and lots and lots of praising (again).

Seungcheol walked into the apartment, tired from a long day's work. As he entered the living room, he noticed the familiar sight of you buried in your books, your face obscured by the pages. Concern tugged at his heartstrings as he observed the weariness etched on your features, the faint dark circles under your eyes telling a silent tale of your relentless study sessions.

"Baby," he called softly, approaching you with cautious steps. "You should take some rest. You've been at it all day."

You glanced up briefly, offering him a tired smile before returning your attention to the book in front of you. "I will, Seungcheol. Just a little more to go through."

Seungcheol sighed, taking a seat beside you on the bed. "You've been saying that for days now. I'm worried about you, sweetheart. You need to take care of yourself too."

Your brows furrowed slightly in concentration as you flipped another page, your mind fully consumed by the wealth of knowledge before you. "I know, Seungcheol. But I have exams coming up, and I need to be prepared."

He reached out, gently placing a hand on yours to stop your relentless flipping of pages. "I understand that, but pushing yourself too hard isn't healthy. You need to find a balance."

You met his concerned gaze, feeling a pang of guilt tug at your heart. "I'll rest after I finish this chapter, I promise."

Seungcheol sighed once more, realizing that his words were falling on deaf ears, your mind too deeply immersed in your studies to truly register his concerns. With a heavy heart, he leaned back against the pillows, silently watching as you continued to pour over your books, the weight of exhaustion evident in every line of your posture. He knew he couldn't force you to stop, but he hoped that eventually, you would realize the importance of taking care of yourself, even amidst the chaos of exams and deadlines.

s the days went by and Seungcheol noticed you becoming increasingly consumed by your studies, he took it upon himself to ensure you were taking care of your physical health as well. Despite your insistence on studying continuously, he made it a point to interrupt your sessions with nutritious snacks and meals.

He would gently tap you on the shoulder, interrupting your concentration momentarily as he placed a plate of fresh fruit or a homemade sandwich beside your books. "I brought you some snacks, sweetheart," he would say softly, a hint of concern in his voice.

You would offer him a grateful smile, pausing your reading momentarily to indulge in the nourishment he provided. Though your mind was still preoccupied with your studies, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and appreciation for his thoughtfulness.

At dinner time, Seungcheol would coax you away from your desk, gently reminding you of the importance of taking a break and nourishing your body. He would prepare wholesome meals, ensuring that you ate enough to sustain your energy levels through the long hours of studying ahead.

As Seungcheol pulled up to the college campus, he turned to you with a reassuring smile. "You've got this, babe," he said, his voice filled with encouragement. "Just remember everything you've studied, and trust in yourself. I believe in you."

You nodded, feeling a surge of determination as you gripped his hand tightly. "Thank you, Seungcheol," you replied, your voice filled with gratitude. "I'll do my best."

With one last reassuring squeeze of your hand, Seungcheol watched as you stepped out of the car and made your way towards the college building. As you disappeared from view, he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for the strength and resilience you displayed, even in the face of daunting challenges.

Once you were inside the campus, your phone began to buzz incessantly with messages from Seungcheol, each one filled with words of encouragement and love.

"Hey babe, you've got this! I believe in you!"

"Just a reminder that you're amazing and capable of anything, including acing this exam. I'm cheering for you all the way!"

"You're gonna ace that exam, my love! Make me proud!"

With each message that popped up on your screen, you felt a surge of confidence and determination. Seungcheol's unwavering support served as a constant source of motivation, driving you to give it your all during the exam.

You settle into your seat, the words of Seungcheol echoing in your mind like a comforting melody. With a determined click of your pen, you begin to write, each stroke of ink on paper fueled by his unwavering belief in you. As you tackle the exam questions with a newfound sense of confidence, memories of Seungcheol flash before your eyes, reminding you that you are capable of overcoming any challenge that comes your way.

Hours pass in a blur of concentration and determination, until finally, you complete the exam and hand it to your professor. It's almost ironic how quickly he corrects your paper, mere minutes compared to the weeks of intense study that preceded this moment. But as you sit in your seat once again, waiting for the final grade, you can't help but feel a sense of pride knowing that you gave it your all, guided by the unwavering support of Seungcheol.

Heart pounding in your chest, you rise from your seat as your teacher calls your name to receive your exam. With trembling hands, you accept the paper, barely able to contain the anticipation bubbling within you. As your eyes scan the page, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of the A+ adorned with a red circle, a silent testament to your hard work and dedication.

"Thank you," you manage to whisper to your teacher, a grateful smile gracing your lips as you swiftly exit the classroom. Once outside, you find a secluded spot and press your knuckles against your mouth to stifle a scream of joy, tears of relief and happiness pricking at the corners of your eyes.

With trembling fingers, you dial Seungcheol's number, the night's breeze swirling around you as you wait anxiously for him to pick up. Finally, his voice fills your ears, sweet and familiar, as he greets you with a warmth that washes over you like a comforting embrace.

"Hey, how did it go?" he asks eagerly, his excitement palpable even through the phone.

You take a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush as you share the news. "I got an A+, Seungcheol! I did it!"

On the other end of the line, you can practically hear Seungcheol's jubilant celebration, his joyous jumps echoing through the receiver. "That's amazing, sweetheart! I knew you could do it!"

He pauses for a moment before continuing, his voice filled with determination. "Don't move, okay? I'm coming to pick you up right now. We're going to celebrate at your favorite restaurant."

In a matter of minutes, Seungcheol's car pulls up in front of the college, and you can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you spot him stepping out of the driver's seat. His face lights up with a beaming smile as he rushes towards you, his arms outstretched for a big hug.

You meet him halfway, throwing yourself into his embrace as he lifts you off the ground in a tight squeeze. The warmth of his hug envelops you, filling you with a sense of comfort and joy as you revel in the moment.

"Congratulations, my love," he murmurs into your ear, his voice filled with pride and admiration. "I'm so proud of you."

As he sets you back down, he takes your hand and leads you towards the car, opening the door for you with a flourish. "Let's go celebrate," he says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "But first, you need to eat well. You've earned it."

With a grateful smile, you climb into the car beside him.

After a celebratory dinner at your favorite restaurant with Seungcheol, you return home feeling content and relaxed. The warmth of the hot water soothes your tired muscles as you sink into the bath, letting the steam envelop you in a cocoon of relaxation. With each passing minute, the stress of the day melts away, leaving you feeling lighter and more at ease.

Once you've finished your bath, you towel off and before climbing into bed beside Seungcheo, and you can't help but smile as you watch him play on his phone. But when he senses your presence, he quickly tosses the device aside and turns his attention to you, his lips finding their way to your face in a trail of soft kisses.

You giggle at his affectionate display, enjoying the gentle caress of his lips against your skin as he peppers kisses down your face, tracing a path along your jawline and down to your neck. His touch sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help but laugh at the ticklish sensation.

But as his kisses linger on your neck, you feel a sudden rush of sensitivity, a soft moan escaping your lips involuntarily. Seungcheol's eyes light up at the sound, a mischievous glint dancing in his gaze.

He chuckles softly, his lips trailing lower along your neck, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses in their wake. "Since you've been so amazing today," he murmurs against your skin, "I think it's only fair that I give you a reward."

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel his touch ignite a fire within you, anticipation building with each passing second. "And what might that be?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

As he reaches your belly, he gently pushes up your jersey, granting him full access to your clothed pussy. Your body trembles with anticipation as his gaze locks with yours, his eyes filled with an intense hunger that sends a shiver of excitement coursing through you.

Without hesitation, Seungcheol lowers himself even further, his lips brushing against the fabric covering your clit. A soft moan escapes your lips as you feel the warmth of his breath against your most sensitive area.

With a teasing grin, Seungcheol leans in closer, his tongue flicking out to trace a slow stripe along your clothed clit. You flinch, moving your hips impatiently to feel his tongue.

As Seungcheol removes your panties and spreads your legs wide open, anticipation pulses through your veins, your body thrumming with desire. When his wet and hot tongue makes contact with your clit, you throw your head back, a moan escaping your lips.

"Mmm…" you moan, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel the sensitivity of your clit heightened after days of intense studying, your body craving the release that only Seungcheol can provide.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him on as his tongue flicks your clit with increasing speed. The pleasure builds and builds, each stroke of his tongue driving you closer to the edge.

"Ah! Oh god, Seungcheol," you cry out, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you, your body teetering on the brink of release.

As you gasp for breath, you plead with him, your voice dripping with desperation. "I'm gonna cum, Seungcheol. Please, please!"

With a primal growl, Seungcheol redoubles his efforts, sucking your pussy with an intensity that leaves you trembling, you could listen to the sound he made while he slurped your cunt. The sensation is overwhelming, pushing you past the point of no return as you finally cum in his tongue.

"Oh, Seungcheol," you pant, your thighs tightening around his head as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. "You're... you're amazing. So good... so fucking good."

As Seungcheol continues to lavish attention on your sensitive pussy, your thighs instinctively tighten around his head, riding the waves of your orgasm with abandon. Each flick of his tongue sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, intensifying the sensations to dizzying heights.

But as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear, your body convulses with oversensitivity, the overwhelming sensation bordering on pain. With a shaky breath, you finally manage to choke out a plea.

"Seungcheol, please... stop," you whimper, your voice laced with need and desperation.

Seungcheol pulls away reluctantly, his hands moving to grasp your boobs as he gazes down at you with a hungry glint in his eyes. You meet his gaze, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggle to regain your composure.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky with desire. "I could eat you out forever."

A blush creeps onto your cheeks at his words, but a surge of arousal floods through you at the praise. With a coy smile, you reach out to trace a finger along his jawline, the intimacy of the moment igniting a fire within you.

"You're amazing" you whisper, your voice husky with desire.

His eyes darken with desire at your words, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. "I'll always make you feel good, baby" he murmurs against your lips. "You're mine, and I'll take care of you forever."

As your lips meld in a heated, passionate kiss, you feel Seungcheol's tongue eagerly seeking entrance, his lips sucking and teasing yours. With a soft whimper, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as desire courses through your veins.

Seungcheol breaks the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he gazes down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. "What do you want, babygirl?" he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

You whimper softly, your body pulsing with need as you meet his gaze with a hunger of your own. "I need you," you whisper, your voice trembling with desire. "I need you to fuck me, Seungcheol. I need you to make me yours." At this point, you were completely crazy for him, after all these days without his touch that you craved so much.

A hungry grin spreads across Seungcheol's lips as he leans in closer, his hands moving to grip your hips possessively. "Oh, baby," he growls, his voice dripping with desire. "I'm going to please you all night long. You're mine, and I'm going to make you feel so fucking good."

With a needy moan, you arch your back, pressing your body closer to his as you feel the heat of his arousal pressing against you. "Yes!" you whimper, your voice barely a whisper. "Please, Seungcheol."

Seungcheol's sweatpants fall to the floor, revealing his throbbing erection, wet and glistening with anticipation. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him, your body trembling with need as you ache for him to fill you completely.

With a low groan, Seungcheol positions himself between your legs, his tip teasing your entrance, the anticipation sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he begins to enter you, his massive cock stretching you to your limits as you gasp at the sensation.

As he inches deeper inside you, Seungcheol's voice fills the air, his words dripping with pride and admiration. "I'm so proud of you, baby," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "You've worked so hard, and you deserve to be rewarded."

His words send a surge of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who stands before you, ready to give you everything you desire. With each thrust, he praises your efforts, his words driving you wild with desire.

"I'm going to fuck you so good, baby," he growls, his voice filled with primal need. "I'm going to make you feel every inch of me, the way you deserve it."

With each thrust, Seungcheol's words of love and admiration fill the room, mingling with the sounds of your moans and the wet slaps of your bodies coming together.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, as he drives himself deeper into you.

"You worked so hard," he praises, his movements becoming more urgent with each passing moment, as if he's trying to convey his love and appreciation through every thrust.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice a soft caress against your skin, as he loses himself in the pleasure of being with you.

With every word, every declaration of love, Seungcheol's thrusts become more intense, more desperate, as if he's trying to pour all of his love and desire into you with each movement of his body.

"I love you!" he repeats, his voice a mantra of devotion as he continues to move inside you

As your cheeks flush with embarrassment, Seungcheol's gaze softens, his fingers gently caressing your hair with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. His cock continues to pound into your g-spot with precision, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body, leaving you unable to do anything but moan and whimper in ecstasy.

"You like that, baby?" he coos, his voice low and husky with desire. "You like the way my cock feels inside you, hitting that sweet spot over and over again?"

You can only nod in response, your words lost in a sea of pleasure as Seungcheol's relentless thrusts drive you closer and closer to the edge of bliss.

"That's it," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he continues to drive into you with unbridled passion. "Just let go, baby. Let me take care of you. I'll make you feel so good, I promise."

With each word, each caress, Seungcheol's cock pounds into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, your body writhing beneath him as you surrender yourself completely to the pleasure he provides.

"Oh, fuck," Seungcheol groans, his voice strained with pleasure as he feels your pussy spasming around him, the clenching sensation making him stutter in his movements. "You feel so good, baby. So tight and wet around my cock."

As you roll your eyes back in ecstasy, lost in the pleasure of his thrusts, Seungcheol's words become more desperate, more urgent.

"God, you're driving me crazy," he gasps, his hips thrusting faster and harder, unable to resist the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. "I can't hold back anymore, baby. I'm gonna cum so hard for you."

"Please, Seungcheol," you whimper, your voice dripping with desperation as you circle your clit, trying to milk him for all he's worth. "Cum for me, baby. I need to feel you come inside me."

Seungcheol's eyes squeeze shut tight, a curse slipping past his lips as he feels your pussy clenching around him harder, the sensation driving him to the brink of ecstasy.

"Cumming," he gasps, his voice a ragged whisper as he empties himself inside you, his body trembling with the intensity of his release.

As Seungcheol's hot cum fills your cunt, you can't help but moan in ecstasy at the sensation of his cock pushing the cum deeper and deeper inside you. The overwhelming pleasure sends waves of ecstasy crashing over you, driving you to the brink of another orgasm.

"Fuck," you mumble, already overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you. "Keep fucking your cum inside me, Seungcheol. I need it. I need all of you."

Seungcheol's moan is almost pained as he buries his face in your neck, his body trembling with desire at your words. "God, yes," he groans, his voice thick with need.

Seungcheol watches with satisfaction as he withdraws his cock from your pussy, his gaze lingering on the sight of his cum dripping from your wet and messy cunt. A sense of pride washes over him as he takes in the fucked-out expression on your face, knowing that he's given you the release you so desperately needed after days of exhaustion.

Your relaxed demeanor is like a reward to him, a testament to his ability to bring you pleasure and satisfaction even in the midst of your busiest and most stressful times. He can't help but feel a surge of pride knowing that he's been able to fuck every last bit of tension out of you, leaving you looking and feeling more relaxed than you have in days.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity and adoration.

Seungcheol's eyes soften at your words, a tender smile spreading across his face as he reaches out to cup your cheek. "I love you too," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

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sluttywoozi · 2 months

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Interlude No. 3 | csc x reader

Interlude No. 3: Life with a new baby is different, and four months into it, you and Seungcheol return to something familiar.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~1.8k | Pairing: csc x reader | Genre: smut

Warnings: you and cheol have a new baby (~4 mo) so there’s allusions to breastfeeding and mentions of being cleared for sex, he’s injured in this too (but on the mend!), some body worship, tiny mention of not getting waxed in a while, mention of not losing baby weight (and not being worried about losing baby weight), facesitting, v gentle fingering, cumming untouched

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, can have kids and lactate, referred to as Mrs. Choi

“She asleep?” Seungcheol asks tiredly from the bed, opening his arms to you as soon as you place a knee on the mattress and start to climb up. You find your place against him, pressing your ear to his chest so you can hear the soothing thump thump thump of his heart.

“Yeah, finally,” you sigh, laying your arm over his waist and hooking your leg over his. His arm comes up to wrap around your back and hold you to him as he lifts his head, pressing his lips to your messy hair before letting it drop back down.

“I’m sorry I can’t help more right now,” he says softly, making you let out a dissenting noise and shift up onto your elbow to catch his eye.

“You’re still healing, and it’s not your fault she’ll only settle down with me. It’s because of these,” you nod down at your breasts, fuller than they used to be and more annoying than they used to be too.

Seungcheol’s eyes gravitate down, his gaze heavy and hot on your tits before he flicks them up and forces a smile.

“Still, I wish it didn’t have to be you every time. You’re barely getting any sleep,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek and trace the bag under your eye.

“I knew what I was signing up for when I let you knock me up, Mr. Choi,” you tease, hoping to bring back his real smile, the one that meets his eyes.

“Oh, when you let me? I seem to remember a lot of begging on your end, Mrs. Choi,” he smirks at you, his dimple popping and his charm out in full force.

You feel a flash of heat zip through you, slightly unfamiliar after four months of its absence.

You were cleared for sex two months ago, but between your new baby and Seungcheol’s physical therapy, you’re both too exhausted at the end of the day to think about anything but sleeping. It doesn’t help that she wakes up at the drop of a hat, and can only be soothed by you, your sweet little velcro baby.

Tonight, however, you think she may be tired enough to make it through the rest of the night, and Seungcheol’s rehabilitation efforts have been more successful than ever.

He was so quick to tease you back, and the way he let his eyes linger on your swollen tits has you feeling like perhaps tonight is the night you get back in the saddle, so to speak.

His thumb drags over your bottom lip, his gaze caught on your mouth before he braces himself on his elbows and leans in to kiss you. He keeps it soft, slow, sweet, a quiet groan rumbling through his chest as he relearns the shape of your lips.

It’s not like you haven’t kissed in the meantime, but they’re mostly pecks now, exchanged in the process of doing something else, or they’re sleepy and clumsy, traded just after waking or just before bed.

Now, he’s kissing you with a purpose, sucking at your bottom lip and swiping his tongue over the sting, setting his big, warm hand on your cheek as his sounds vibrate into your mouth.

It’s not long before you’re shifting over to straddle him, settling your center on his slowly hardening dick and boxing his head in with your elbows when he lays back down. His other hand rises to grasp your hip, pulling you into him before gripping your ass and starting to pull you up.

“What are you doing?” You break away and laugh breathlessly, staring down at him with heavy lidded eyes.

“I want you to sit on my face, baby. C’mon, get up here,” Seungcheol requests, though it sounds more like a plea, if you’re being honest.

“Okay, okay, let me get this off,” you agree easily, pushing down the voice that reminds you how long it’s been since you were able to get out of the house for a wax, knowing that he doesn’t give even the slightest fuck.

You haul your nursing-friendly night dress over your head, baring you to him, and he moans brokenly, both hands coming up to smooth over your waist and belly. “So fuckin’ beautiful, God.”

You can tell he wants to let himself soak you in, so you sit still for him and wait as he memorizes every new curve, every new stretch mark, every new difference in your ever changing body. You haven’t lost the baby weight and it’s not high on your list of priorities, not with an infant to take care of and a husband that’s on the mend, and definitely not when you know said husband will be obsessed with you in any state.

It’s obvious in the way he trails his hands over you, so reverently, so lovingly, his eyes following their path and his mouth open in awed desire. When he grasps your hips again and starts tugging you up, you know he can’t wait anymore.

You climb your way up his body, maneuvering carefully and settling with your knees on either side of his head.

“Fuck,” he sighs out, his voice tight and his eyes laser focused on your glistening pussy, the position spreading you open for him and letting him see everything. “Sit down, baby, get closer.”

You shuffle a bit further forward, hovering above him and reluctant to fully relax your thighs lest you smother him. That’s what he wants, apparently, because he tugs until your legs are spread and your cunt is covering his mouth, his cherry lips already coated in your arousal.

His next groan has a distinct whine-like tinge to it, and you’re about to feel smug at the fact that your pussy can make him whimper like that, but he lays his tongue out and drags it from your entrance to your clit, and then you can’t feel anything but bliss.

You’re glad your body is muffling his noises because he won’t stop making them, the sounds vibrating into you as he wraps his lips around your now throbbing clit and sucks. You bite back the cry that aches to burst out, grinding your teeth as you grind onto his face, his steel-like grip pulling you down even harder.

His mouth is so wet and hot, so much better than you remember, and it’s not long before you have to hang onto the headboard to hold yourself up, your muscles weak in the wake of his appetite for you.

He’s messy with it, shaking his face to bury it deeper, his nose bumping into your clit as he fucks you with his tongue and his fingertips denting your flesh as he starts moving your hips over his mouth.

Soon enough, you’re moving on your own, riding his tongue and attempting to breathe through the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s been so long that you’re already close, already feeling that coil wind tighter and tighter in your belly as he grunts and moans into you, already aching to fall into that love spiral, to find the heaven that only Seungcheol can push you into.

You don’t have to tell him, he knows instantly, slipping his tongue out and dragging it over your clit before pulling away enough to ask, “Fingers?”

“J-just one or two, be gentle,” you instruct, though you’re sure he doesn’t intend to be anything else.

He nods and sucks your clit between his lips, slowly easing one finger into you from behind, his eyebrows crinkling at how hot and wet and tight you are. You think his eyes might be watering, but you can barely see through the haze of euphoria overtaking you, gasping as a second finger slides in alongside the first, both of them crooking towards your stomach in a light sweeping motion.

He doesn’t move them in and out, doesn’t fuck you with them like he did his tongue, just leaves them inside, lets them fill you up and pets softly at your sweet spot. His mouth is more intense, his plump lips suctioned around your pulsing clit, taking deep pulls and laving over it with his tongue as he pushes you toward the edge so carefully, you don’t even realize you’re there until you topple over.

A hitching gasp escapes you, your body locks up on top of him, and you break, cumming with a rush of arousal and a spinning head, so out of your mind with it that you don’t even notice his hips bucking behind you as he spills into his boxers.

He doesn’t stop until you’ve come out on the other side, one hand slipping from the headboard to clench his hair and pull his mouth away from your pussy. You’re still squeezing his fingers, your cunt clamping down on them when he starts sliding them out until you consciously relax your muscles and release him.

You tip over onto your side, curling into yourself as you tremble through the aftershocks, watching as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, as if drinking you down wasn’t enough.

You blink blearily, reaching your hand out to smooth over his chest and down his stomach to find his dick. You find damp boxers instead, and have to swallow the coo you want to let out at the thought of Seungcheol cumming untouched, just from you sitting on his face.

When you feel stable enough to get up, you roll out of bed, wetting a washcloth with warm water and stopping by the dresser to pick up a fresh pair of boxers. He’s sleepy as he lifts his hips for you, letting you tug his soiled shorts down and clean him up with a gentle touch. You’re careful as you guide the boxers over his knee, taking care to avoid the newly healed suture line from his surgery.

He pouts up at you and opens his arms, waiting for you to find your place against his chest again and press a kiss to his lips before murmuring, “I love you,” and settling into sleep so quickly, you’re almost jealous.

“I love you too, honey,” you chuckle to yourself, not even upset when a cry rings out over the baby monitor.

AN: i wanna have a baby with himmmmm

i'm having so much fun with these lil interludes!! mingyu is next!

My Masterlist

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seungcheorry · 3 months

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seungcheol being so, so pissed at a staff after he saw them mistreating joshua. he's actually ready to throw hands, spitting words at everyone, ears all red. jeonghan has a hand on his chest when you arrive, trying to calm down his leader.

"he won't listen to any of us", seungkwan tells you, clear despair all over his face. it's so easy for seungcheol to lose his temper when the well-being of one of his members is at stake.

you can hear jeonghan trying to make seungcheol stop, but he's nowhere near done running his mouth at the team that made joshua now sit at the corner, trying his best to smile and nod at whatever vernon and mingyu was telling him. "let him do it", woozi says, just as angry as seungcheol, shrugging when minghao shoots him a look. dokyeom joins jeonghan at trying to soothe seungcheol, but you know it's your time to intervene.

"hey, it's over", you tell him, standing in between him and whoever he was scolding. seungcheol acknowledges your presence, but he doesn't stop. "cheol, they get it, it's done. knock it off."

jeonghan leaves his friend's side with a sigh, instantly going to joshua to help his brother. so you take his space, your hand now on seungcheol's chest, but not just resting, actually pushing him back a little. he tries to say something else but- "i said knock it off, cheol, stop it!!".

it's only when he looks into your eyes, at the way you raise your eyebrows at him, that seungcheol drops his attitude, sitting back at a chair. "should we thank them?", dino murmurs to junhui, who just shushes the maknae so seungcheol won't listen.

but yeah, they should thank you.

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the-boy-meets-evil · 5 months

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all roads lead back to you | c.sc (scoups)

(where you take an annual cabin trip with your friends and your ex decides to join this year)

pairing: ex!seungcheol (scoups) x f!reader genre: exes to lovers | angst, smut rating: explicit - minors DNI word count: ~10.6k warnings: these are exes and the relationship ended badly, but we're healing, drinking, midnight kisses, reader is mentioned as wearing a skirt & tights, making out, seungcheol picks reader up, body worship, slight nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), choking, cheol has a big dick (i don't make the rules), unprotected sex (they talk about it, but don't do this), multiple orgasms & overstimulation (f. receiving), aftercare

a/n: this is for @k-vanity's 25 tips for surviving the holidays. day 11 - cabin vacation. i'm not really sure what happened, something about scoups just makes me blackout and write too much (i only started this 2 days ago). also shoutout to @tbzhub for saying we'd do this together lmao. thank you to @gyuwoncheol, @wonwussy, & @wooahaeproductions for helping me land on cheol for this fic. also, just for fun, tagging some scoups enjoyers because i'm nothing if not a menace: @ugh-yoongi, @seungkwansphd, @wongyuseokie, @beomcoups, @horanghater, @cheolism

The holidays are usually your favorite time of year. Sure, they’re really hectic and there’s always way too much to do without nearly enough time to do it. But, you still love it. Love being around friends and family. Love how everyone seems to acknowledge that any problems can wait for the new year. This is a time for joy and happiness. A time to celebrate all the wonderful things that did happen and leave the bad in the year you’re leaving behind.

This time of year also brings around an annual trip that you take with friends. A trip to a secluded cabin where you can all just disconnect. Where you can sit by the fireplace and read. Where you can go to the nearby resort to ski or snowboard. Where you can drink hot cocoa and swap stories and just enjoy the company without the bustle of the city. It’s one of your favorite weekends every time the holidays roll around.

Not this year.

This year, your friends decide that they want to make the group a little bigger and spend a long weekend, including New Year’s Eve, together. Which is great, you’re single and there’s nobody else you’d rather ring the New Year in with. Except for one problem. Your ex is also coming. It’s been a little over a year since you broke up, so you know it’s time to move on. Moving on feels a lot harder when he decides he’s going to come to the cabin weekend again this year. It shouldn’t really surprise you. After all, you were friends before you dated. Didn’t think anything could stop you from being friends after. Didn’t actually think there would be an after, if you’re honest. And you’re definitely not going to be the one to back out or admit you’re still not really over it.

So, that’s why you’re sitting in a car with Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Mimi, headed off to the cabins that your friends booked for an extended long weekend. You’re just thankful that Wonwoo offered you a spot in his car on the way up. Makes it a lot easier. Even if it means Jihoon and Mimi are currently in each other’s space in the backseat as she shows him something on her phone. It’s not that you mind how cute they are together, it’s just still weird to see Jihoon acting like that with anyone. She seems to have waltzed in and melted any defenses he had.

From his position in the driver’s seat, Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your thigh. You look over at him, grateful for the reminder that you’re not alone in all of this. Grateful that he swore up and down to make sure you never felt awkward the whole weekend. Maybe it won’t be so bad, you think, as you queue up more songs for the drive. That’s the best part about being in the front seat. You get to control the music and Wonwoo started the trip by telling Jihoon and Mimi just to roll with it. Not that they’re paying all that much attention, but it was a nice thought all the same.

The drive up is uneventful. Wonwoo navigates the winding back roads with a practiced ease. You sigh happily, taking in all the trees dusted with snow and the winter wonderland all around as you leave most of your troubles behind. There’s something almost refreshing about being out here. Like the air is crisper and everything is stiller. Wonwoo would make a smartass comment about how there’s more trees, less pollution, and a lot fewer people. So, of course all those things are true. You think it’s more, something about the magic of Christmas and the New Year.

Your smile falls the second you pull up to the main cabin because you can see that Seungcheol’s car is already there. Figures he would not only drive, but beat you there. You try to set that aside, though, because the place is beautiful. It’s set up with a main cabin where you can hang out, cook, play games, or do whatever you want. Then, there are separate small cabins, mostly just with bedrooms and bathrooms, to sleep in. Nayeon, bless her, took care of figuring out the sleeping arrangements for everyone. At least that would be easy.

Jihoon and Mimi are out of the car almost as soon as it stops, even if Jihoon grumbles about how his legs are stiff and the air is cold. It takes one smile from Mimi and he’s smiling back, grabbing their bags from the car to head for the main cabin. Meanwhile, Wonwoo adjusts his glasses and makes sure everything is turned off before getting out of the car to stretch. When he meets you at the trunk, his gaze is soft.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks.

You sigh and pull out your suitcase, with a little help from your friend. “No.”

“We shouldn’t have come,” Wonwoo says.

“Just because I’m being a baby doesn’t mean you should’ve stayed away,” you reassure him.

“You’re not being a baby,” he says with a frown.

“Still,” you press. “We’ve been broken up for a year. There’s going to be a lot of people here, it’ll be fine.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Wonwoo relents. “He didn’t bring anyone, did he?”

“No, Nayeon said it’s just him. She’s worried about me too,” you say with a playful eye roll. “She’s got me staying in a cabin with you, her, and Joshua.”

“I’m glad we’re at least staying together,” Wonwoo says.

“I’m gonna be fine, Wonwoo, you worry too much,” you insist.

You get through the first night and breakfast the next morning without having to say a single word to Seungcheol. It’s been awhile since you last saw some of your friends, so there’s a lot to catch up on. The group is also pretty large, which makes it easier to blend in. Everything, even something as simple as making a meal, is kind of a process, too. You’ve always been pretty comfortable in the kitchen and offer to help cook. Seungcheol can’t say the same. It feels like maybe it’ll be smooth and you can just do your own separate things without it being a big deal. Like you can both just agree to give each other space during the trip and not be awkward.

That lasts until the afternoon on the first full day, unfortunately.

Even though a lot of people take time off between Christmas and New Year’s, a decent portion of the group decides a Friday will still be less busy on the slopes. They want to get some runs in earlier in the day before whatever everyone wants to do later. Seungcheol, thankfully, was one of the first to say he wanted to go. Not surprising, you know he likes really anything where he can be active. Wonwoo was also quick to say he wanted to, after asking you if that was okay. You, again, insisted it was fine.

You’re reading your book by the fire, periodically watching Jun, Nayeon, and Mimi play cards on the other side of the room, when Seungcheol comes hobbling back in. Minghao just behind him, scolding him for not waiting and ruining the peaceful atmosphere.

“What’s wrong?” Nayeon asks, looking up from the game.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Seungcheol says shortly.

“He rolled his ankle,” Minghao interjects.

“Now you see why I stayed behind,” Jun says.

“I’m fine, really,” Seungcheol insists.

“You should ice it just in case. And keep it elevated,” Minghao says as heads off to the kitchen.

Trying to keep your face straight, you mark the page in your book and get up. All you want is for this to be as subtle as possible. But, Jun is also in the room.

“Where are you going?” Jun asks.

“Oh, just back to my room to get something,”

It’s a lie and you’re pretty sure they know it, but you also don’t care. You’re not going to stay in the room with an injured Seungcheol because he gets pouty when he can’t do exactly what he wants. This is going to be one of those times. There’s no way he’s going to be happy sitting still when he knows his other friends are still out on the trails. Especially when it’s such a minor thing. You hope that they all understand your decision to just let them deal with him and whatever he has to say.

When you feel like it’s been enough time, you venture back into the main cabin, portable charger in hand, for good measure. Not that you think anyone will ask what it is that you needed from your room, but it’s always a good idea to be prepared. Just in case. At first glance, you think the main living area is empty. That makes you sigh in a little relief. Not that you want to be alone when this is a trip for friends. It’s just nice to have a quiet moment in all the chaos. You think you’ll be able to get back to your book, at least for a little, until you notice someone laying on the couch. Not someone. Seungcheol. Quickly, you turn around, hoping he doesn’t see you. And it would probably work, if you didn’t bump into the corner of a table on your way out.

His head snaps up and swivels to look at you. “What - oh.”

“Sorry, I was just leaving,” you say.

“Can you really not be in the same room as me?” he asks. He sits up so that he can look at you more easily.

“I’ve been in the same room as you plenty,” you point out.

“Not alone,” he persists.

“What reason would we possibly have to be alone together?” you wonder.

“You don’t have to be so…” he starts.

“So, what?” you press.

“So…like this,” Seungcheol finishes, somewhat lamely.

“How should I be?” you ask.

“I don’t know, just, not like this. We were always comfortable with each other, even before…” he starts and stops suddenly.

“Before we dated? Before you shattered my heart? Before you decided it was easier to shut me out instead of just talking to me?” you ask, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“I know,” he admits.

“You just abandoned me,” you say quietly. “I needed you and you weren’t there. I never would’ve left you like that.”

“I know. I made so many mistakes. So many things I can’t take back,” he says. He actually looks remorseful. You’re not sure if that’s better or worse. “I’m so sorry for that. I would take it all back if I could. I’d do everything differently.”

“This was a mistake,” you say.

“Talking to me?” he asks.

“Coming on this trip at all,” you admit and turn away. “I have to go.”

With your back to him, you miss the way his face falls at your admission. Don’t see the way he considers getting up to follow after you. It’s for the best, anyway. Your heart's already breaking again just from one conversation. Just from seeing the emotion on his face. The one face you thought you’d always know better than your own. It’s amazing how everything can change in a single moment. How something that took years to build, first as friends and then as a couple, can all come tumbling down in a second. A split second or a fork in the road. One wrong turn and it’s all gone.

You make it through to Saturday without any more forced conversations with your ex-boyfriend. Manage to sit on the opposite end of the table from him during meals. Wait until he commits to playing a game or watching something before you decide what to do yourself. Still, you feel very included in everything with different groups of your friends because there are plenty of people there to hang out with. If you take the forced conversation with him out of the equation, it’s actually been a pretty good trip, overall. Not nearly as hard as you expected it to be.

“I’m gonna go check out the lodge at the mountain, anyone wanna come?” Wonwoo throws out. There’s a smattering of lukewarm responses. Mostly, people say they may hit the trails a little bit later after they’ve had a lazy morning.

“I’ll come,” you offer.

“Shocking that you two are a pair,” Nayeon jokes from her spot on the couch, curled up with Joshua.

“That’s enough out of you,” you joke back before turning to Wonwoo. “I’ll go grab my coat.”

“Can you grab my hat? I think I left it in my room,” Wonwoo requests.

“Sure,” you agree.

When you meet Wonwoo in the entranceway, you find your eyes back on the living area. Almost like you can feel someone watching you. But, when nobody is, you figure that you must have imagined it, not noticing the way Seungcheol’s jaw tightens or his mouth turns down in frown. He had just been looking and he wasn’t liking what he saw. Instead, having missed all that, you fall into step beside one of your closest friends and head out of the cabin.

“It’s not a far walk, but we can drive if you want,” Wonwoo offers, sticking his hands into his pockets.

“No, a walk would be nice. It’s not as cold today,” you say.

One of the best parts of being friends with Wonwoo is the sheer comfort you feel with him. It’s always been like this, since the beginning of your friendship. Always just as easy to say the hard things to him as it is to sit in silence. Always easy to avoid the hard things, because he seems to find it easy to to tell when you don’t want to say something. Unfortunately, it’s also easy for him to push you to speak, even when you’re not sure if you want to. Like now, as soon as you reach the Lodge.

“Are you doing okay?” Wonwoo asks as the pair of you make your way over to a stand selling hot drinks.

“I’m assuming you don’t mean from the walk over here,” you deflect while you look at the menu.

“No,” Wonwoo answers simply.

“I’m fine,” you insist, stepping up to the counter. “Peppermint hot chocolate and whatever he wants.”

“You don’t have to…” Wonwoo starts, falling silent at the look you give him. He sighs, knowing you won’t relent. “Just a plain hot chocolate.”

“Thanks,” you say as you pay.

“You’re not fine. I can see it on you,” Wonwoo says.

You pause when someone calls out your name for the order. “I really am doing fine. The only hard part was getting sucked into a short conversation with him yesterday.”

“What did he say?” Wonwoo asks.

“Nothing much,” you say and meet Wonwoo’s eyes. You can tell you need to carry on. So, you recount the conversation as best as you can remember.

“He misses you,” Wonwoo surmises.

“And if he does? What does it matter?” you ask.

“You miss him too,” Wonwoo points out. “That’s why it matters.”

“I don’t,” you argue. “He broke my heart.”

“What happened? A year ago when you broke up, what happened?” Wonwoo asks.

“You know what happened,” you say with a sigh.

“No, I don’t. I know he left, somehow, but I don’t know what really happened. You’ve always kept that part of the story close to the vest,” Wonwoo says.

“Because it still hurts,” you plead.

“Maybe it’s time you let someone else take a little of that pain by talking about it,” Wonwoo suggests. You find a table to sit down as you’re considering sharing.

Ultimately, it would be nice to get someone else’s perspective. To get someone who knows you both, and cares about you both, to weigh in on everything that happened. Even if Wonwoo seemingly took your side, you know he still talks to Seungcheol as well. With a steadying breath, you launch into the whole explanation, at least your side of it. It’s time, past time, honestly, that you get this off your chest.

It was great, at the beginning. The two of you were friends first, for years, before something shifted and you started to see each other differently. Suddenly stepping a little more carefully around each other. Not really knowing what to do or what to expect. Not sure if it would ruin the friendship to admit that there were feelings there. Until one day, Seungcheol finally made the move, asked you out on a date, and made sure you knew that’s what he was asking. It got very serious, very quickly. Far more quickly than either of you expected. But, that’s what happens when you start as friends. There are so many things you already know, so many things you don’t have to ask, so many memories already embedded into your relationship. Things were good. It wasn’t like they were perfect. There were little fights here and there, but nothing that felt that serious. Nothing that felt like a dealbreaker.

It’s hard to admit, even to Wonwoo, that you saw Seungcheol as your forever. As someone you wouldn’t let go of once you had him. He was your safe space without ever being boring. Your protector without ever being one of those toxic assholes. Your biggest cheerleader without being condescending. It was way too early in the relationship to be feeling like he was your forever, so you didn’t ever say it to him, but you felt it. Felt it deep in your bones. He was also vulnerable with you in a way that he wasn’t with anyone else. At least anyone else that you’d seen. The first time he just let you take care of him, let you see him as something other than someone strong and in control, it made you fall even more deeply for him. It didn’t hurt that he nearly stopped your heart with how stupid hot he was. That gets a snort out of Wonwoo before you continue on.

Suddenly, everything changed. Seungcheol withdrew into himself and stopped confiding in you. He could always be a bit moody, a little deep in his feelings. Still, he would always talk to you about it. Would always share with you what he was feeling. Sometimes it was something so simple as you getting a little too much attention, which he didn’t like. He could be a little jealous. It was something you worked on with him. Sometimes it was a conversation with a friend weighing heavily or something going wrong at work. No matter what, he always talked to you about it. Until he didn’t. Until he just stopped saying much of anything. Until he got a bit secretive with everything in his life and you didn’t really recognize him anymore. His phone was always turned over. Not fully paying attention to you when you were in group settings. Not making plans the way he used to.

“What did you do?” Wonwoo asks.

“I confronted him,” you say. Simple. It was so simple. “I told him it wasn’t okay and that I deserved better. That we always got through things together and that we needed to get back to that.”

“Mature of you,” Wonwoo says.

“I thought so,” you say and take a steadying breath. “He agreed, even. Told me that I did deserve better.”

“So what…” Wonwoo asks, but trails off. Obviously confused.

“He said that it was too much. That he couldn’t give me the things I deserved. That I would be better off finding someone else who could,” you say and wipe away the stray tear.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” Wonwoo says.

“I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want you to look at me like that,” you admit. “Like I was broken because someone didn’t want to love me.”

“You’re not broken,” Wonwoo insists softly, hand reaching out for one of yours. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. But it’s okay to admit when you need help. Or when you need a friend.”

“I know,” you sigh. “It’s just hard.”

“I know, but I’m here,” Wonwoo assures you.

Saturday night finds Wonwoo and Seungcheol as the last two awake in the living room, finishing their drinks in relative silence. It used to be easy for Seungcheol, sitting with his friend like this. Yet, it hasn’t been, not in the last year since he broke up with you. Not since Wonwoo made it clear that they were friends, but he was sticking by you no matter what. Not that Wonwoo’s been cold or rude or anything. That would have made it easier, Seungcheol thinks. No, instead he’s been mostly the same. Still just as friendly and supportive. All it does is make him feel worse. Why can’t Wonwoo just say what’s really on his mind?

“How was the lodge earlier?” Seungcheol asks.

“Hmm?” Wonwoo asks, eyes seeming to come back into focus as they look over at him.

“The lodge? You went over there earlier. I was just asking how it was,” Seungcheol repeats.

“Oh, fine. We just ended up getting hot chocolate and talking. Kinda watched people coming and going from the trails,” Wonwoo says like it doesn’t matter. Maybe it doesn’t.

“Are you two…are you…” Seungcheol starts and stops the question several times.

“Dating?” Wonwoo asks, taking pity on his friend. “No. She’s been single since…”

“I broke her heart?” Seungcheol supplies humorlessly.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“No? It seems like someone spending that much time with her would say that.”

Wonwoo regards him for a second, adjusts his glasses like he’s buying time to think. “What happened? With you and her, what happened?”

“I’m sure you’ve already heard it from her.” The answer is short. Seungcheol doesn’t want to play these games, not with someone that’s so obviously close to you.

“I’m not asking to hear it from her. I’m asking to hear it from you,” Wonwoo presses. He’s insistent, but his eyes are soft. It’s easy to wonder if it’s time to share.

“I got scared,” Seungcheol admits. “And jealous.”

“Of what? Or of who?” Wonwoo asks. Seungcheol takes a long sip of his drink and grimaces a little. He isn’t buzzed enough for this. Can’t really believe he’s entertaining sharing in the first place. But, well, isn’t this what he’s hoping for? Another chance?

“Of everything and everyone,” Seungcheol says. “She was so kind, so patient, so good to me. Good for me. Just the best person I’ve ever known. I just thought that one day, she’d wake up and she’d realize that she deserved more than me.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Why did you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol admits. “I guess, well I know I can be difficult. That I get in my head a lot. I know sometimes it’s hard to talk about what I’m feeling. She made a lot of that feel easier, which made me fall harder for her. But, then she makes a lot of people feel that way, doesn’t she? Like she’s the only one who will understand. I don’t even think I was the only friend of ours that had feelings for her. I just, I don’t know, it sounds so fucking dumb now, but I couldn’t compete.”

“It wasn’t a competition, Cheol,” Wonwoo says.

“I know that,” Seungcheol insists.

Wonwoo fixes him with a stare. “Do you? She’s a lot of things, maybe a lot that make people interested in her. But, she chose you. She chose you and kept choosing you, every chance she got. I don’t think that ever would’ve changed.”

“Do you want me to feel worse?” Seungcheol asks, voice rising a bit. “I already told her that I would go back and change things if I could, but I can’t.”

“Do you still love her?” Wonwoo asks, voice so quiet. Yet, it carries all the same.

“Of course I do,” Seungcheol says.

“Then figure out a way to tell her,” Wonwoo replies.

“It’s not that easy,” Seungcheol says. “And aren’t you supposed to be telling me to leave her alone? As her friend?”

Wonwoo rises from his seat. “It can be that easy, if you stop being your own worst enemy. And I’m your friend, too. It doesn’t seem like the chapter is really over for either of you yet.”

Seungcheol sits and considers what his friend shared. Wonders if there might be something there. He barely registers as Wonwoo says goodnight and calls a goodnight in response. Then, he’s left with his thoughts again. Should he say something? Can he bring himself to say something? Or will you just shut it down again?

New Year's Eve brings a snowstorm with it that has your group of friends deciding it’s best to just stay in the cabins instead of venturing out to the party they’re having at the lodge. There’s plenty of you for a party, plenty of food, and plenty of warmth, especially close to the fire. The snow falls lightly outside the windows, blanketing everything around with a fresh layer of powdery flakes. It’s not supposed to get truly heavy until much later in the evening. So, you can just get dressed up and have a party with everyone that’s familiar to you. No worrying about mixing with strangers and how they’ll impact the party.

When you and Mingyu go into the kitchen to take stock of what you have and plan out the food for the day, you realize that maybe you don’t have everything that you need after all. You could actually use more food and you definitely could use some champagne to toast with. It makes sense, though, you planned to go into the lodge to ring in the new year. Your smile when Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Joshua offer to go out and do a run is immediate and wide. You hand over a list of what you need (well, you text it to all three of them just to cover your bases) and they’re off into town. That lets you turn back to the kitchen, where Mingyu and Mimi are starting on an appetizer. You’re trying to figure out what you can work on when someone clears their throat. Your heart skips a little when you look up.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” Seungcheol asks you, face more open than you’ve seen in a while.

It makes your mouth go dry. How are you supposed to turn him down when he’s asking in front of everyone like this? Like it’s just a totally normal thing to ask? All you can do is nod and avoid looking at anyone else around you. Just nod and follow him into a smaller side room off the main living area.

“Thanks,” he says when they stop walking.

“What was I supposed to do? Make a scene?” you ask.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how else to ask you to talk,” he admits.

“I heard you,” you say, cutting across his words. He looks confused. “Last night? I heard you talking to Wonwoo. I left my charger in here and came back to get it.”

“Oh,” is all he says.

“Oh?” you repeat.

“I wanted to actually tell you, not have you overhear me talking through things with someone else,” he says, mouth turned down like he’s upset.

“Then you should have just talked to me,” you press.

“I couldn’t! You won’t talk to me,” he says defensively.

“Not this weekend. A year ago, when it all happened,” you say quietly.

“I know,” he says. You expect him to look annoyed or defeated, but he only looks sincere. “I knew the moment you walked out that I fucked up and I’m so sorry. I’ve tried a hundred times since then to just talk to you, but the words never felt right.”

“Cheol,” you plead. You’ve been waiting a year to hear this. Except, you finally feel like you’re starting to move past it all and this is only making it confusing.

“Just, you don’t have to say anything, I just want you to hear me out,” Seungcheol pleads. “I know I have absolutely no right to ask you that, but I’m asking anyway.”

“Okay,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“I fucked up. I knew I did when you walked out, but it took me a while to realize just how bad. I didn’t just drive a partner away, I drove someone away that got through all my walls in a way nobody else ever has. I drove away the person that made me feel comfortable, that supported me even when I was being an idiot, that constantly showed up for me. I was afraid that I didn’t deserve you and always jealous of everyone else that paid attention to you. I thought one day you were gonna wake up and realize that there were better people out there that were less, I don’t know, emotionally closed off. I didn’t realize until way too late that you knew exactly what you brought to the table and what you deserved, but you picked me. I didn’t realize that it’s the only thing I ever needed, was you seeing all of me and picking me anyway,” Seungcheol says.

“I don’t, that’s…” you trail off and shake your head to clear it. You’re trying to find the words when Nayeon pokes her head in.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to butt in, but Mimi just kicked me out of the kitchen. I was only offering because Mingyu said he needed help,” Nayeon says. “I think they need you.”

“Oh, um,” you start, kind of like a deer in headlights.

“You should go help him. I don’t want everyone hating me for keeping you from helping Mingyu,” Seungcheol says with a light chuckle at complete odds with the situation.

“Thank you,” Nayeon says with a smile as she grabs your arm to whisk you away.

“Does Mingyu actually need me?” you ask.

“Huh? Yeah, he does,” Nayeon laughs. “I wasn’t trying to save you, you’re good enough at that on your own.”

“I don’t buy that,” you say, pulling both of you to a halt. Nayeon rolls her eyes.

“Fine, maybe I heard what he said to Wonwoo last night from Joshua and maybe I want you to at least consider what he has to say,” Nayeon admits. “I liked you together, sue me.”

“I just might,” you grumble, heading off to help Mingyu in the kitchen without Nayeon in tow.

After dinner, you and Mingyu insist that you’re not getting anything, for anyone, for the rest of the night. And probably into tomorrow. Mimi got distracted part way through and disappeared for entirely too long with Jihoon. Which would be fine, but there were a lot of people to cook for and you needed all the help you could get. Joshua popped in and out, thankfully, but it was still tiring. The perk has been that you actually haven’t had to lift a finger since. Your drink stays full and someone is always willing to get you something to eat. That lets you settle in to play a game with the group.

The TV in the background steadily counts down as it gets closer to midnight. Occasionally, the performance draws your attention to watch. Mostly, you’re just drinking entirely too much. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of your brain, you know that you’re just trying to avoid thinking about everything Seungcheol said. Or trying to avoid thinking how good he looks tonight. It’s hard to stop yourself from lingering on the way his shirt clings to his chest. Has he been working out even more? Or the way his pants stretch tight across his thighs. Not for the first time, you shake your head to clear it, recross your legs, and focus on whatever game it is you’re playing. Ignore the look Wonwoo gives you from his place next to you. He certainly hasn’t missed your looks. (And nobody else really has, either, except for Jun. But, that’s just Jun for you.)

Everyone sets aside the games when it gets closer to midnight, milling around with varying amounts of energy instead of sitting still. You realize, even with any awkwardness from Seungcheol being there, you can’t think of anyone else you’d rather ring in a new year with. Surrounded by all of your favorite people, what else could anyone ask for? Well, except maybe a New Year’s kiss. As if on cue, your glance drifts over to Seungcheol. It’s a little surprising to find he’s already looking at you, smiling softly. It sends a surge of emotion through you to think of all the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place. When you turn away to take a sip of your drink, you find it’s empty. With midnight rapidly approaching, you really need a refill on the champagne. You’re about to go do that when a voice breaks into your thoughts.

“Here,” he says.

You turn to look at Seungcheol, now very firmly in your space, holding out a new glass of champagne. “Thanks.”

“I just noticed you were almost empty and figured you’d want it,” he offers.

“Yeah, I should make sure this one lasts,” you chuckle out.

The host on TV announces that there’s only a minute left. Everyone around you starts talking excitedly or getting closer to their partners, if they have them. Jokingly, you told Wonwoo that he would be your New Year’s kiss. Now, that’s the last thing on your mind. Seungcheol hovers close by. When you look over at him, though, his eyes are on the TV, counting down along with the host when it gets to ten seconds.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Everyone shouts together and starts clinking glasses. Hugging their friends or kissing their partners. Your body makes the decision for you when you turn to the man next to you and cheers his glass. As he starts to turn away, you grab his arm and pull him into you. Press your lips against his before either of you can figure out what’s happening. He recovers from his surprise quickly and wraps his free arm around your waist to pull you against his chest. It’s familiar and also somehow completely new at the same time.

Breathless. That’s what you feel when you pull away and cheers with other friends. You throw your arms around Nayeon and press a kiss to Wonwoo’s cheek. Pointedly ignore any looks or raised eyebrows about your decision to kiss your ex in a room full of all your friends. It’s fine. Everyone is doing fine. You’re definitely thankful that someone suggests a game and you can all go back to celebrating without talking about the elephant in the room. A very different elephant than when you first got to the cabins.

There’s another massive difference, too. Instead of sitting on the fringes or carefully leaving space, Seungcheol plops down right next to you. Lets his arm rest along the back of the couch. His arm isn’t around you, but it could be with the slightest adjustment. Several of your friends look at you with the question in their eyes. You avoid all of them, like the true adult you are, and focus, instead, on the warmth of Seungcheol’s thigh when it presses into yours. Actually, you avoid drinking any more, either. The whole night has been a little confusing (read: a lot confusing) and you don’t need an alcohol haze adding to that. It doesn’t escape your notice that he stops drinking as well.

When you start to get a little tired, you excuse yourself to the kitchen, claiming you need a snack and don’t know what you want. A minute later, Seungcheol appears on the other side of the island. Leaning casually against it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like he hasn’t sent your entire world into a spiral. Like he’s not still one of the hottest people you’ve ever seen in your life.

“So, uh, I don’t wanna assume anything…” he starts and you hold up a hand.

“I’m going to excuse myself in a minute to go to bed. Give it a few minutes and then come to my room,” you say, walking around him without waiting for a response.

When you tell the group that you’re going to turn in for the night, you do your best not to meet anyone’s eyes. You’re not naive enough to think you’re fooling anyone. Not that you even want to. It’s just, well, you want this time to figure out what’s happening. It’s a little hard to do that when you know everyone’s eyes are on the two of you. There’s the tiniest bit of you holding onto the hope that you can pass it off as you being overwhelmed by the kiss at midnight. Like you didn’t just tell him to meet you in your room.

Back in your room, you shrug off your jacket and sit down on the bed. The seconds seem to drag by waiting for him to show up. For a second, you wonder if he’s actually going to show up at all. You stop those thoughts in their tracks. He had a lot to say and he kissed you back. Then, he spent the rest of the night pressed up close to you. He’s going to show up. Before you can spiral further, there’s a knock at the door. You’re halfway to the door when it opens a crack and Seungcheol peeks his head inside.

“Can I come in?” he asks, looking unsure for the first time since before you kissed him.

“I did ask you to come to my room,” you joke.

“I was a little surprised,” he admits.

“Me too,” you agree.

He shuts the door behind him, allowing you to really look at him for the first time all weekend. To take in his appearance, as he removes his jacket, without any other eyes on your. Or anyone analyzing the interaction. To just appreciate the man you fell in love with. His hair is a little shaggy and blond, a color you don’t remember seeing on him before. He catches you looking, but instead of a smirk, there’s only a smile. Hopeful and genuine. It’s a little overwhelming to have him in your space. To know you need to talk. To know there’s so much to work through.

Instead, in the only move you can think of, you close the distance, wrapping your arms around his middle. He doesn’t even miss a beat. Just wraps his arms around you, erasing any last bit of space between you. It feels calm, familiar. Like no time has passed. Like you’re not different people now. He kisses the top of your head, so soft you think it might shatter any resolve you have left.

“I’m sorry I kissed you in front of everyone without talking to you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“I’m not,” he quickly reassures you.

“I really fucking want to kiss you again,” you admit, still talking into his shirt rather than looking at him.

“Then,” he starts, moving a hand to tilt your chin up, “what are you waiting for?”

“We probably should talk,” you say.

“You’re right,” he sighs.

Except, do you really want to talk right now? Do you really want to stop yourself from kissing him again? You stopped drinking so your head would be clear enough to make this decision. You’re just a little sick of overthinking everything this weekend. Sensing the indecision, Seungcheol presses a feather light kiss to your lips. Enough to make the decision, while also being light enough that you could easily pull away.

You do, just for a second. “Fuck it, let’s talk tomorrow.”

Your lips crash back against Seungcheol’s, hungry and desperate, arms wrapped around his neck. It makes him tilt down a little so that you can press against him. There’s no hesitation on his end, either. You find yourself wondering if he was always this good at kissing or if he’s gotten better since you broke up. Or maybe it just means more the second time around. When he picks you up, you gasp into the kiss. Wrap your legs around his waist to feel a little steadier. Not that you think he would ever let you fall. It’s easier than you expected to fall back into this kind of trust with him.

It’s like you both want to go fast, yet also take your time. Seungcheol deposits you on the bed, then takes his time removing your shoes. Toes his off a little more quickly. You go to remove some of your layers, only to have his hands stop you. He’s so slow, removing the sheer top with painstaking care. Kissing along your skin as he exposes it. The amount of attention makes you squirm. You’re prepared for something quick and dirty. Something more like a one-night stand. You’re not prepared for him to worship your body as he exposes more of your skin. Part of you feels really exposed, because he’s still fully dressed, as he carefully unhooks your bra. The way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the world he’s ever wanted, makes your heart ache. Makes you second guess if this is right.

“We can stop. We don’t have to do this,” he whispers into your skin.

You grab his face so that you can look him in the eyes. There’s something in you that just needs to gauge him for a minute. Needs to really know what decision you’re making. There’s so much love there, so many unspoken words, so much sincerity. Maybe you’re not over him at all. Maybe he meant everything he said.

“No, I want this. Want you,” you assure him.

His eyes sparkle a little. There’s no time to dwell on it, though. His mouth is on your skin again. Kissing the spot on your neck that he knows drives you crazy. Kissing the beauty mark on your shoulder. Kissing across your collarbone. When he works his way down to your nipples, he’s not being so soft anymore. He pinches one between his fingers without warning.

“Fuck, Cheol,” you hiss.

“Too much?” he asks. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking, but you do anyway. That knowing smirk sends desire coursing through you.

“You’re such a little shit,” you whine.

He pinches the same nipple again. Watches you as he flicks his tongue over the other. Actually smiles when you arch into his mouth. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

You wind your hand into his hair in response, pull a little harder than normal. He groans against your breast, sending a little vibration into your skin. “You don’t seem to mind a little pain, either.”

There’s no answer. Not that you need it. One of his hands moves down your body, mouth still focusing on your chest, until he gets to your thigh. Your skirt is bunching up around hips from squirming on the bed. “How much do you like these tights?”

You look down at the sparkly tights you bought just for the party. That you’ll probably never wear again. “I mean, they’ve got sparkles. Wasn’t planning to wear them again.”

“Good,” he says.

You’re expecting him to rip them on the spot. Instead, he returns his mouth to yours, kissing you hard, and lets a finger run over your entrance, through both tights and underwear. It’s not enough. There’s entirely too much fabric in the way. He’s teasing you, he has to be. There’s no other reason that explains this kind of torture.

“Jesus, Cheol, please,” you beg.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he groans. Seems like he still likes it when you beg for something.

In either case, he carefully rips a hole in your tights, too focused on you to figure out pulling them down. Seemingly in one motion, your underwear is pushed to the side and he’s got a finger running up your entrance. Feeling that you’re turned on from the way he’s been kissing all over your body. Thankfully, you don’t have to beg again. At least, not yet. He presses his fingers at your mouth and you suck them in eagerly. Swirl your tongue around them. He almost looks reluctant when he withdraws them to press one inside your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.

“Forgot how good your fingers felt,” you answer, squirming underneath him.

“Bet I could make you come just on my fingers,” he says as he adds a second one.

“Fuck,” you draw out. He’s not being gentle with you anymore. “Then you don’t get to taste me. And we both know how much you love that.”

He leans in closer, you’re assuming to kiss you. Instead, his lips find your ear. “Who says I can’t do both?”

You bite down on your fist to keep from screaming out when he thrusts faster. Try your best to hold on when his thumb brushes over your clit. All you want is to prove him wrong. Prove that you can hold on and that you’re not putty in his hands. Except, your body remembers. It remembers just how good he makes you feel. Remembers how well he knows what makes you crazy. Nobody has ever known your body like him. And it’s a little annoying. With his fingers inside you, it’s easy to realize that nobody feels as good as him. You could never get yourself off like he could.

It’s an embarrassingly short time before you’re coming on his fingers, fighting not to scream out. Trying anything you can not to make it more obvious just why you decided it was time to head to bed. Seungcheol guides you through the high as you fall back into the bed, sinking deeper into the mattress. After a moment, you prop yourself up to watch him remove his shirt. You’re no longer the only one that’s overexposed. Then again, you don’t feel exposed being half naked around him. It only feels comfortable. Once he removes his shirt, he moves back to your body. Actually takes the time to remove your tights and underwear now. His breath ghosts across your cunt. That action alone is enough to send a little shiver through your body. You’re definitely sensitive.

Seungcheol positions himself between your legs and looks up when you suck in a breath. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

He’s so pretty like this. You’ve always thought that. Pushing his hair out of his eyes and looking up at you from underneath his lashes like he’s never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. So caring. The little bit of caution you get from him in the middle of him ruining you. You clear your throat to remember he asked you a question. “Yes, Cheol. With you, always.”

It’s immediately more honest than either of you are expecting. Instead of breaking the moment, though, it seems to spur him on. The kind smile dissipates into something much more confident. He spreads you open and looks up for a last time before his tongue licks a strip up your entrance. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time he was between your legs, your entire body remembers. It’s like muscle memory. The way your back arches. The way your hand knots in his hair. The way the praises fall from your lips. You’re sensitive. So fucking sensitive. And he knows. It’s always been one of his favorite things with you. Pushing you to the edge and then over again.

“God, I forgot how fucking good you taste,” he says when he takes a breath.

“Well maybe, fuckkkk,” you start before cutting out.

For once, he’s not a demon. He doesn’t ask what you were about to stay. Just keeps alternating between fucking his tongue into you and sucking your clit into his mouth. It’s too much and not enough all at once. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. When his nose bumps against your clit as he’s buried deep in your pussy, you lose it again. Come all over his tongue and his face. Come harder than you remember coming in a really long time. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

By the time the last shock works through your body, he’s laying next to you on the bed. You can’t help it. You have to lean over and kiss him. Want to taste yourself on his lips. It’s almost like you need that to know this is all real. That it’s all happening and it’s not just some weird, horny dream. (It’s not like that would be a first, either. You’ll never admit it, but you’ve thought a lot about him since you broke up. Especially when you were horny and needed a release. That’s your business, though.)

“Fuck, Cheol,” you utter when you pull away from the kiss.

“I’ve missed hearing my name on your lips,” he admits. “Specially when you call me Cheol.”

“I’ve missed saying it,” you share, equally honest.

You’re a little weak already. It’s hard to imagine what tomorrow is going to be like. But, you move down the bed anyway. Seungcheol tracks you with his eyes as you position to undo his pants. He moves his hips up to help you pull both his pants and briefs down. His stare as you pull your skirt down and discard it at the side of the bed is almost possessive. It sends something through your body.

It’s your turn to remind him that he’s not the only one who remembers. You also remember just what drives him crazy and just how to get him going. You remember every place he likes to be kissed. So, you start there. Run your lips along every part of his body, like you’re committing him to memory again. As if you could ever forget anything about him. You delight in the sounds you pull from him just with your kisses. Maybe he knows, though, that you’re working your way down.

“So hard just from getting me off,” you comment.

“Because I know that nobody can make you come like I can and it’s fucking hot,” he answers.

It’s the same answer he’s always given and something about the familiarity makes you bolder. Even though you know there’s a conversation for tomorrow, it feels like the easiest thing you’ve ever done. You take his dick in your hand, run a finger over the tip and feel a little bit of the precum there. When you lick a stripe up the underside of his shaft, he shudders. Closes his eyes for a second before they snap back open to watch you. He’s always been like this. Always wanting to watch. This time is no different as you slowly take him into your mouth. You know he wants to fuck into your face, know you’d let him. But, you’re thankful he doesn’t. Even if you remember, he’s still big and thick inside your mouth. You need the time to get used to him. Once you do, though, you start to bob. Slowly, at first, before you let him take control. Relax your throat and let him find purchase in your hair. Encourage him to jerk his hips up as you keep your eyes on him as much as possible. You know how much it drives him crazy, even as the tears form and you gag a little

“Fuck,” Seungcheol utters.

He pulls you off his cock and up to his face so that he can kiss you. This is your favorite version of him. When he’s needy and desperate and completely putty in your hands. Like he can’t possibly imagine being anywhere that you aren’t. It’s when you know that you’re not crazy, that he’s just as far gone for you as you are for him.

“I really need to fuck you,” he says. His lips are swollen from kissing you and his pupils are completely blown. “Fuck, I don’t have a condom on me.”

“It’s fine, I’m still on the pill and I haven’t been with anyone since you,” you say.

That seems to catch him off guard. “You haven’t?”

“No,” you answer.

“I haven’t either,” he admits.

“Then, we’re fine. I trust you,” you tell him.

“Thank god, I really miss being inside you,” he breathes out.

“Think you just miss me,” you grumble as you reposition to straddle his lap.

“You and that smartass mouth of yours,” he retorts.

“I’m about to ride you, Seungcheol, and you just fucked my smartass mouth. So, maybe, pipe down,” you warn him.

This has always been your dynamic, swapping back and forth for who’s in control. As much as he says he likes control, you know he likes giving it up to you just as much. You know that he hasn’t ever let anyone else be in control apart from you. He looks up at you as you position yourself over him. There was a time when you hated this position. Felt really self conscious about how you must look from this angle. The second you admitted it to him, he was quick with his praise. Assuring you that you’re beautiful to him and there’s nothing to worry about.

He stops you before you lower yourself onto him. Puts his fingers in your mouth again and you obey without a second thought. Then, he runs his fingers along your entrance. Slides a finger in before quickly adding a second. It’s an awkward angle, but you get what he’s trying to do. Appreciate that he wants to make sure you’re at least a little prepped. When he pulls his fingers out, you’re only a little embarrassed at the moan that slips through your lips. If you completely ignore the smirk that he throws your way, well, who can blame you? The smirk is gone a second later when you finally lower yourself onto him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans.

You know him so well. You know his instinct is to buck his hips up into you. You know it’s hard for him to let you adjust. But, you also know that he wants to be gentle, even if it’s just for a moment.

“I forgot how good you felt, jesus fuck,” you moan out.

“Please, I need to feel you move,” he begs. It’s nice, when he’s the one to beg for something.

And who are you to deny him anything he asks for when he sounds so pretty asking? You do move, entirely too slowly. You need to find your rhythm, though. Need to find some place to anchor your hands. They settle on his chest, at first, and you actually can’t believe how much muscle he has there. He’s always liked to work out. Always wanted to be in shape. This is even more than that. You’re still appreciating the way his chest feels when he grabs one of your hands. Without a word, he moves it to his neck.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He nods. It’s been awhile since you choked him, even lightly, but it turns you on. It’s easy to see that it turns him on, too. As you apply a little bit of pressure, his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips. You do everything that you can to pick up the pace. To move faster on top of him. It doesn’t take very long until he’s planting his feet so that he can set the pace. He takes over the rhythm and it gets a lot harder. Bodies slapping together with each movement.

“Fuck, Cheol,” you say, trying not to scream.

You move your hand from his neck so that you have a better grip. He’s moving too fast for you to feel comfortable that you won’t press too hard into his neck. It’s insane, you know that it’s insane, but you already feel like you’re getting close again. You start to clench around Seungcheol, making the stretch feel that much more intense.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come if you do that,” he groans.

“Then do it,” you force out. “Wanna feel it inside me.”

“Jesus,” he groans.

Everything happens so fast. You can feel him everywhere and your body is on fire. He’s still fucking hard into you, but he’s also rubbing your clit. Helping you get there with him. Somehow, he doesn’t seem to realize you’re already on the verge of your third orgasm. Oversensitive and overstimulated. Your body starts to shake and it’s hard to keep yourself upright on top of him.

“Fuck, Cheol, I’m coming,” you hiss out.

“I’m about to come too, fuck,” he answers.

His thrusts get a lot more erratic and you feel him let loose inside you. You feel the way he moves to try and support you even while he’s working through his own release. When he stills, you collapse forward onto his chest. Breaths shallow and heavy. Your whole body’s exhausted, yet so happy at the same time. Carefully, you pull yourself off him. You’re sure a little bit of cum slides out with the loss of his cock inside you. Not that you care.

It’s several minutes of silence. Seungcheol lays on his back and you’re on your side next to him. It might be a mark of how much he really did miss you that he doesn’t flinch when you start tracing patterns onto his stomach. It’s not like you just stop being ticklish. Eventually, you realize you need to get up. The last thing you want is to go to bed crusty.

“Come on, I got lucky and I have an attached bathroom,” you say when you get up off the bed. You reach a hand to him and smile when he takes it without question.

It’s quiet again as you help clean each other up. A comfortable kind of quiet. The way it used to be. This is another favorite of yours with him. Aftercare has always been his thing. No matter how rough he is with you in bed, he’s impossibly gentle when he cleans you up. It makes your heart ache a little because you’re so fond. It’s a weird mix of feelings.

“We should sleep in my room tonight,” he says.

“We’re already here,” you point out.

“With sheets that are probably soaked,” he teases back.

“What are the chances we can get to your room without being seen?” you wonder.

He shrugs. “It’s late. Probably better than the chances nobody heard us.”

Your cheeks flush a little. Sure, you definitely tried to be quiet. You’ll have to wait until the morning to see if you succeeded.

“Come on, my room has a door to the outside,” he says.

So, you follow. You put your layers back on and grab something to sleep in. And you don’t actually see anyone before you’re safely tucked away in his room. That night, falling asleep tangled up in Seungcheol, is the best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long time.

Morning comes and brings with it the need for an actual conversation. As you stretch in bed, you appreciate the soreness in your body with a smile. Anything you’re feeling now is surely worth it. That is, until you realize you’re in bed alone. Dread creeps in. Could last night really have meant something different to Seungcheol than it did to you? Did you just make a massive mistake? You’re starting to wonder if you’re only going to break your own heart this time, with nobody else to blame, when the bedroom door opens. Seungcheol steps inside with a thermos and a bag that looks like it might have some of the pastries Wonwoo brought back from the store yesterday.

“You’re awake,” he says with a smile. He sets down the thermos and removes his jacket to hang it up.

“I was worried you’d left,” you admit when he finishes taking off his shoes and sits next to you. His face looks hurt for a second before it settles.

“No, I just went to get coffee and figure out what we were walking into before you got up,” he says.

“And?” you prompt.

He pulls out a pastry and hands it over. “Nayeon asked where I slept last night and if I knew where you were. I don’t think she heard anything, but who knows with her? Wonwoo wasn’t in the main area, so I don’t know. They said they all knew I was following you, though.”

“Guess we can’t really avoid it,” you joke.

You’re expecting him to smile, too. Instead, his face is serious. “Do you want to? Avoid it, I mean.”

It makes you serious. Maybe a little too honest. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me, not right away, but I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he says and takes your hands in his. “If you give me another chance, I’m never letting you walk away from me again. I’ll prove that I’m worth everything you give me.”

“You’ve always been worth it, Cheol,” you tell him.

“I realize that now,” he agrees. “I also realize it’s up to you to know what you deserve and what you want. That wasn’t ever my decision to make and I’m really sorry for doing that to you.”

“It hurt, for sure, but not having you around hurts so much worse,” you admit. It’s hard to meet his eyes, even though you know you’re safe.

“It hurts so fucking bad. I hate it. Last year was the worst year of my life,” he says.

“You got a massive promotion, though! Wonwoo told me,” you say.

“This is going to sound so cheesy, but I’m done caring. That promotion didn’t mean shit without you being there to share it with,” he shares with you.

“I guess we’ll have to celebrate it this year,” you say.

His face lights up. “Really?”

“I want to give us another chance. I don’t think either of us are over it,” you acknowledge. “Last night aside, I want to take it slow. I want to take our time instead of rushing in like we did the first time around. I want to get it right this time.”

He nods immediately. “We can go as slow as you want. I mean it. I’m not letting you go again.”

“Good, because I don’t think we should wait to see if the third time’s the charm,” you joke.

“I’m glad I came this year,” he says as he grabs the thermos.

“Me too,” you agree.

It’s funny, you think, how someone can feel so familiar and yet so new at the same time. Seungcheol feels like home, like your favorite sweater, or like curling up with a book by the fire in winter. But, he feels entirely new, too. Like maybe you both changed over the past year. Maybe you both grew into the people you needed to be to love each other better. To love each other right. Later, you’ll have to break the bubble and face your friends. Right now, though, you can just appreciate that this silly little cabin trip brought you peace.

this was a lot of fun to write and i hope you liked it 💕

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boosari · 10 months

Text

— how they would kiss their s/o

pairing: bf!svt x reader

genre: fluff (slightly veeeery veeery slightly suggestive)

warnings: kissing

summary: how seventeen members would kiss their s/o.

scoups

i feel like he's a deep kisser, probably puts a hand on the back of your neck and pulls you towards him while the other hand is on your waist. slow kisser, loves to take his time. loves your lips, he just can't get enough. smiles after the kiss making you peck his dimple.

jeonghan

smirker omg. he's such a tease. if you ask for a kiss he would be like "oh you want a kiss? my baby wants a kiss? hmm should i give it to you?". but his kisses are soft, probably long and multiple pecks. holds one of your cheek with his hand. hums in kisses.

joshua

soft soft soft. such a gentleman he is. if you have your hair down, moves a lock of your hair behind your ear, looking at you lovingly before kissing you so sweetly. his kisses are also long. holds your bodies close while kissing. admires you after the kiss while smiling.

jun

he's a sensual kisser. would hold your chin with his hand and make you look up to him. looks at you, smirks and then leans in. his kisses are passionate, a little little rough, not too much. has one of his arms around your waist and the other hand tangled between the locks of your hair. keeps smirking after the kiss because of your flushed cheeks.

hoshi

has two sides. either the goofy one, where he basically holds your face and pulls you into a kiss, making a "mmmmuah" sound while doing it, or the serious one. when he's serious his kisses are very romantic. looks at you and smiles so wide, holds your waist while kissing you, brushes his nose against yours after.

wonwoo

soft! his kisses are short but soft. has one hand on your back, pulling you towards him and kisses you sweetly. smiles a little after the kiss, pulls your hair out of your face, and kisses your forehead as well.

woozi

he mostly does forehead kisses, but when he kisses your lips he actually fonds to it. he's a slow kisser. holds your hips while kissing, whispers a small 'i love you' after the kiss while resting his forehead on yours.

soo sweet. hugs your neck and pulls you close to kiss, while your arms are around his waist. smiles in kisses. seriously, dokyeom's kisses are so sweet, his kisses show how much he loves you. (just like how he kisses the members' cheeks).

mingyu

probably hugs you from behind, placing small kisses on your shoulder, up to your neck and ear. you turn around smiling and wrap your hands around his neck, while his rest around your waist. just like jeonghan small and multiple pecks. giggles between the kisses.

the8

passionate kisser. has his hands on your waist. he has such plump lips it makes you want to bite them. when you actually bite his lower lip, he laughs, squinting his eyes as you giggle.

seungkwan

he's so shy. but his kisses are so cute. hugs you while kissing, rocks your bodies back and forth. he also has soft lips, and you can't get enough of them. so when he tries to pull away, but you refuse getting closer and whining, he giggles and keeps kissing you.

vernon

classic kisser. his kisses are not too long, not too short, just right. he may seem neutral but his kisses are actually really good. holds your cheeks when he kisses you because he finds you adorable. smiles very wide after. (😁)

dino

such a passionate kisser. holds your hands while kissing you. he just can't get enough. you pull away, smiling at him, he smiles (smirks) back and pulls you again by your hands, making your bodies touch as he hugs you, kissing you again. giggles in the kisses as well.

a/n: hi guys i miss boo seungkwan. i've seen the tmea performance and oh my. they all look scrumptious 👀. by the way i saw a lot of you enjoyed the 'when you don't say ily back' headcanon so i hope you enjoy this too!

masterlist

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wheeboo · 5 months

Text

01:10am | choi seungcheol

SYNOPSIS. in which your cuddly boyfriend interrupts your late night reading time. PAIRING. choi seungcheol x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. a lil suggestive, reader is smaller than cheol, lil makeout kissing sesh oops, terms of endearment, cheol is whipped, self-indulgent fr WORD COUNT. 1.1k

notes: i just have this thing for soft cuddly bed scenes w cheol :(

Seungcheol really doesn't know why that out of all other times of the day, you choose to read during the depths of the night.

But he's not at all complaining𑁋he's blessed with this grand view of you with your headphones on as you're sitting up against the frame of the bed behind, knees almost propped up to your chest, with a tiny, dim book light attached to the bridge of your book highlighting your face. Seungcheol thinks this might be one of his new favourite views of you.

He flips himself over to face your direction, opening an eye so he could quietly watch you. Seungcheol takes a moment to appreciate the cute, subtle details of your face when you're focused𑁋the way your eyelashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the steady rise and fall of your chest, and the way your lips occasionally move, silently forming the words you're reading. The only sounds in the room he can hear are the rustling of you turning the page, the distant murmur of the city outside, and the faint music escaping from your headphones.

Letting out a yawn, he takes a moment to check the time on his phone, eyes widening to see how late it was. Yet when he turns back to you, he only pauses, because you seem too immersed in the book to be able to go to sleep right now, and he really doesn't want to disturb you.

"Baby?" he calls out to you softly, yet you don't hear him as expected, only furrowing up a brow at what Seungcheol could assume was you reading a peculiar scene in your book. He feels his shoulders deflate.

Instead, with a huffed breath, he can only take to sinking back within the bedsheets and hoping that you'd fall asleep after him.

But he can't fall asleep, no matter how much tossing and turning he does, since it's almost outrageous to his mind to the thought of him falling asleep without at least holding you in his arms like he always does.

Seungcheol turns himself over once more, a pout at his lips as he scoots closer towards you, yet you still don't seem to notice him. He contemplates for a moment, glancing down at your free hand at your side, and a thought crosses his mind. Slowly, he grabs your hand into his, intertwining your fingers together, and the action is just so natural and instinctive like a missing puzzle piece fitting perfectly into place.

He glances at you, noticing the slight smile that tugs at the corners of your lips as you continue reading. It isn't until he starts drawing circles on your palm and picking at your sleeve that finally grabs your attention, and you pick your head up to look at him, slipping your headphones off.

You watch the way he continues playing with your hand𑁋from drawing shapes on it, tracing the creases on your palm, to running a finger over your knuckles𑁋like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"Cheol, what are you doing?" You ask bemusedly, attempting to pull your hand away but he just tugs it back.

"Hmm, missing you," he coos softly, adjusting your hands so that your flat palms are touching each other. The fact that the size of your hand is perfectly smaller than his is utterly adorable. "Your hand is small, you know?"

You roll your eyes, as if annoyed. "And yours is huge. We've been over this already."

"It's cute." He locks your fingers together again, tilting his head slightly to look at you. "You're cute."

You only click your tongue, biting back the smile to your face and the heat threatening up your neck as you bring your attention back to your book.

You release your hand from his. "Let me go read𑁋"

But before you can go back to reading, you feel a pair of arms wrap around and pull you into a tight embrace, knocking the book off your lap. A surprised gasp flies out of you, and in one swift motion, Seungcheol flips you both over so that he's now hovering over you. Your book is long forgotten on the floor as you stare up at him in surprise, the dim light casting a soft glow on both your faces.

Something catches in your throat as you lock eyes with him. If you listen closely, his breathing is just as unstable as your heartbeat, like he's breathless already. His dark gaze seems to hold a silent request, glancing between your eyes and your mouth. It bares a question that doesn't need words, and you answer with a small nod.

And with that, he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It's soft, tender like always, and it doesn't take much for your body to go all limp below his as it deepens. He presses his weight against you carefully, making sure you're comfortable beneath him.

You feel the way he trails his fingers along your arm until he reaches your hand once again. With a deliberate move, he laces your fingers together before bringing your hand up to pin it gently against the pillow behind your head.

Seungcheol breaks the kiss, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

"Okay?" he asks, voice a low murmur.

You nod, even though your heart is more than ready to burst out of your chest at any given moment. "Okay."

His eyes only soften, the smile to his face widening, a couple of shy giggles escaping your mouths together and into the thick air surrounding you both. He captures your lips once again in another sweet, lingering kiss, before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"So pretty," Seungcheol whispers against your skin, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. He starts peppering feather-light kisses along your jawline, his hand gentle on your waist as he revels in the simple joy of holding you close. You lightly run your fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingertips.

"Why are you being so... so touchy right now?" You tease impishly, sighing contentedly at his touch, feeling the soft vibrations of his laughter against your cheek.

"I dunno," he admits simply, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. "You were reading too much."

"I was only reading for, like, an hour. That's not that long."

"An hour too long," he counters sulkily, pressing a soft peck to the tip of your nose. "I can't fall asleep without you."

You let out a playful scoff, running your fingertips up the exposed skin of his back ridden up from the black hoodie he wore. "You're such a big baby, Cheol."

Seungcheol leans down so his mouth is just a breath away, and before you could register it, he's rolling over once again so that you're on top of him this time, his hands coming to rest firmly at your hips. There's a smirk to his face that you can hardly see, yet you already know what he's thinking.

"Only for you."

"For... me?"

"Just for you," he murmurs against your lips. "I'm all yours."

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pochaccoups · 18 days

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cw — reader is smaller than seungcheol, size kink, no smut but highly suggestive :3

When you waddle out of your bedroom at five o’clock on the dot, you’re met with Seungcheol sprawled across the living room couch with his arms crossed, near-falling asleep as Solo Levelling plays on the TV screen.

He hasn’t spotted you yet so you tip-toe closer to him, gaze fixed upon his face, only to collapse on top of him when you reach the couch.

He gives a surprised yelp that has a laugh mixed in, his arms absentmindedly settling around your torso.

“Hi,” he says. “Done with work?”

“Mhm,” you tell him.

Seungcheol’s fingers begin to flutter and tickle at your sides, prompting you to squeal and squirm away from him. You’re straddling him now, grasping each of his wrists and pinning them to the couch.

“I’ll kill you,” you joke, glaring at him and his mischief-filled eyes. For a moment your stare wanders to his biceps and how thick they look next to his head and you have to gulp to stop yourself from drooling.

“You’d never,” he taunts.

“Watch m-”

But before you can finish, your back hits the pillowy couch with a soft thud as Seungcheol flips you upside down and settles on your waist. He’s whipped enough that he puts barely a fraction of his weight on you for fear of crushing you. Grinning like a fiend, his arms bulge as he mirrors your position from two seconds ago by pinning your wrists to the couch this time.

The size of his shoulders consumes you. It’s dizzying, your head spinning as your mind wanders and draws the same image of him, only he’s… panting, sweating, his eyes darkened with desire as you take everything he gives you—you feel like a pervert, but god, how can anyone blame you when your best friend looks like that?

Reality smacks you across the face and you’re squirming, unintentionally grinding your hips against his which only makes things so much worse.

When your legs start to kick out against his back, Seungcheol only doubles down on his grip, eyes flashing with something mischievous as he sits up and all of a sudden manhandles you onto your stomach in spite of how you thrash and squeal.

You hate that there’s a pulse between your legs. Humiliating.

“Cheol…” you whine. He’s got your arms pinned to your back with just one of his massive fucking hands. It’s not hard to imagine him driving into you like this with all of his weight, pushing your head into the pillows, chuckling at your shameless moans as you writhe in pleasure.

“Yeah?” he asks.

You’re hesitating the next moment, because something crosses your mind and it’s horrible, terrible, utterly shameless. If you can Seungcheol even a little off guard though, then it’ll be worth it.

“Can you put me in a chokehold?”

“You-what?!”

“Please? You have big arms and I wanna know what it’s like,” you tell him, though that’s definitely not the only reason.

Seungcheol laughs and it’s a mixture of a scoff and something more nervous. It makes you grin for some reason—the fact that you’ve got Choi Seungcheol flustered.

He leans forward, lets go of your wrists, and slowly snakes one of his arms around your neck. Your heart beats hard, pounds in your ears, and there’s something else beating too. Between your legs.

You don’t realise it when your breath catches in your throat, and it’s not from Seungcheol’s thick arm wrapping snugly around your neck. His bicep is hard, flexing when he brings his other hand up to grab the back of your head. You also don’t realise that you’ve sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, or that you’ve started to rub your thighs together.

He doesn’t press, not hard anyway, but you think he must be reading your mind because he’s putting just enough pressure to ignite your senses and light your skin on fire.

Then, his breath is warm on your ear as he asks you, “Like that?”

His voice is so deep that it reaches your guts and it takes everything in you not to moan.

“Yeah, just like that.”

#scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #scoups fanfic #scoups x you #seungcheol x you #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagine #scoups imagines #[୨୧] — starring: seungcheol

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amourcheol · 11 months

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the great war

❝Because the greatest war Seungcheol had ever waged was against your heart.❞

historical! au | enemies to lovers! au | smut, fluff | 41k words

s u m m a r y : there was only one thing you hated more than your restricted life, and that was choi seungcheol—the greatest venetian general who has ever lived. when a marriage is arranged between the two of you, you were sure it would end in bloodshed. however, as you and seungcheol are forced to attend balls and share a few hard truths, you realise you have more in common with the mysterious general than you thought.

c o n t e n t : military commander! seungcheol, noblewoman! artist! mc, artist! minghao, artist! soonyoung who are both annoying (affectionate), cheol and mc absolutely hate each other because i need to see proper e2l, cheol has a scar on his lip (yes this needs a separate warning), this is set in renaissance venice so there will be many artist references, the doge = basically ruler of venice, themes of sexism, constant arguing between mc and cheol, there is fluff, also angst mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out fuelled by hatred, cheol calls you carrissima (which personally i find very hot) fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (only because medieval contraception is horrendous), petnames cheol says some vile things during the deed, slight corruption kink

p l a y l i s t : dangerous woman by ariana grande || war of the hearts by sade || love is stronger than pride by sade || i don’t understand but i luv u by seventeen

t a g l i s t : at the bottom of the fic!

a u t h o r ’ s n o t e : hi hello thank you everyone for waiting for this monster fic!! thank you alice and addy for being the reason i finished this fic, thank you chia for creating a beautiful picture of general! cheol, and greatest thanks to choi seungcheol the man you are </3 i hope you all enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it <33

WHEN THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC DEFEATED THE OTTOMANS ONCE AND FOR ALL, EVERY CITIZEN—BE IT PEASANT OR THE RICHEST ARISTOCRAT—KNEW WHO WAS BEHIND THAT VICTORY.

His name sparked life into the deathly, cramped streets. Whispers and cheers carried along the murky lakes, the rushed streams underneath the city, lapping up to the cobblestoned shore—entering the ears of marketeers, patricians, nuns, prostitutes, everyone. Wherever one went, the commander’s name rang like the dozen church bells, scattered throughout the lake-locked lands.

The buzz in the air was more frantic this afternoon, though, because the victors’ party was finally returning to the state.

Finally returning home.

You, despite your family’s excitement, despite your connections to the man behind the success of it all, could not have cared less.

“Oh, stop it!” you heard your friend exclaim, nearly toppling over his easel from sheer disbelief.

“What? You merely asked, brushing a small grey shade upon your canvas. You cast a quick glance at the model in front of you—bare save for red silk covering her thighs, cloth falling to the floor from the pedestal she sat upon. “So what if I care little for the general?”

“See, now you are lying to tease me!” the young man crowed, black hair flickered with paint you sprayed an hour ago. He set his wooden palette down, crossing his arms. “The greatest commander Venice has seen since her birth, and you say you care little?”

“You know I never lie to you, Hao,” you began, knowing that alone was a fib—your dear friend’s snort was confirmation enough. “I simply do not understand the excitement!”

“Of course you would say that, though,” another man chipped in, tugging on his dirtied leather trousers beside you. “His uncle and your father are childhood friends, no?”

You nodded, sighing as you continued painting. “I have seen this man all my life, and every conversation I have leads to fighting. Did you know he tattled on me every time I snuck out? Painted in the house?”

“Yes, we do, because you never shut up about it,” Minghao jeered, rolling his eyes as he dusted his hands. “To be quite frank, I would tell on you too if I was forced in your presence.”

Knifing the man with a glare, you said, “Perhaps I should inform your mother that her dear son is playing with oil paints rather than praying in the Basilica.”

“Oh, shit!” the other man snickered. “Does she think you are in church right now?”

“You talk as if you were not supposed to accompany me, Soonyoung,” Minghao muttered. “We both were caught with the prostitutes.”

“My God,” Soonyoung murmured as he finished tying his shoes. “Mama is going to kill us.”

“You both better hurry then,” you chanted, fixing another detail of the model’s face.

“As if your father has not hired guards to find you in every corner.” The elder of the two snatched your paintbrush, spraying a little oil paint on the picture.

“Oh my God!” you shouted, ready to start a brawl in the artists’ studio when he interrupted you.

“Go back to the Doge’s Palace before Minghao and I get our arses handed to us again,” he said, wiggling a finger at you. “I refuse to be blamed for your antics.”

“Fine,” you said, setting your palette down, looking over your progress. “But only because I am your dear, merciful, awe-inspiring friend.”

Minghao clicked his tongue. “Perhaps we should follow the general’s tendencies and tattle on you too.”

“You would not dare!”

The bastards only laughed, mocking a salute before stumbling out of the studio, arm in arm. Still drunk from the night before.

You supposed you should return to your manor, in case your father was truly on the hunt.

Thanking the model profusely, you stored your easel in your side of the studio, a place you had rightfully earned alongside your peers. The place was filled with unfinished paintings, bursts of colour in every corner of the workshop—the palettes, oil paint mixed upon its surface, models either nude or adorned in the finest garbs of the season. The studio was never quiet, bustling with orders in Venetian for more paint or the models to stand or sit or scream in a certain manner. You adored the chaos. The anarchy of the colours, the rivalry of the artists, the love-struck sighs of the sitters as they observed their image.

This was your home. This was your sanctuary, your domain.

This was your life.

A sharp exhale escaped you.

If only they would understand.

Grabbing your satchel, you brought out your nun’s gowns. Making sure that none watched, you quickly rid yourself of your painter’s garb, adorning the black and white dress. Catching sight of the mirror on the clothed walls, you fixed the veil upon your head, hiding your hair underneath the fabric. Picking off any specks of dried paint, you nodded at yourself.

Satisfied, you turned to your colleagues, who dipped their heads in adieu, always entertained by your costume. Shaking your head, you exited the huge studio, and out onto the streets.

The stench of Venice never failed to make you scoff, wiping your nose as you set on your path back. Thousands of men and women from every corner of the world were in the middle of your journey, hearing bargaining voices in Venetian, Florentine, Milanese—your ears picked up a little Greek gossiping, Turkish joking, Arabic storytelling, dialects you could not name. Even though it was a Sunday, the city was still bustling, the cramped streets unable to breathe with this many people journeying on the cobblestone.

You were relieved to wear the nunnery gowns when you saw some noblewomen being stared at cruelly by the majority patricians who roamed Saint Mark’s Square. You almost rolled your eyes—patricians, the important men of the state—always in women’s businesses.

Imagine if they caught you like this.

You did not want to ponder over it.

The stroll back to the palace was not far; the Doge’s Palace they called it, but it seemed like a residence for kings. Overlooking the waters, gondola boats were lined across its side as its white columns held up the great building, white and gold squares shining amongst the other grand sites of the Square. You walked to the back of the estate—looking around frantically, you made sure no one recognised you as you slipped in from the many entrances. The guards were there, but none would refuse entry to a woman of God.

The inside of the Palace was even grander than the outside—the halls were airy, spacious, ceilings reaching to the sky as they foretold stories of the Bible, painted by various art geniuses of Italian origin. You did not take time to admire the images, though, a little concerned that the sun was setting, and you promised your father that you would return by this time. Plus, you needed to free yourself from these robes.

Your private chambers were at the very top of the palace, so the dozens of stairs had robbed you of your strength, wheezing as you hurriedly made your way to the doge’s private residences.

There. Your door was not far. You could see it clearly, your feet picking up the pace, your hands reaching out for the ornate knob attached—

You glanced at the knob, further in the doorway.

The door was ajar. Open.

The most unladylike curse escaped you.

If your father went inside, you were undeniably done for.

You closed your eyes, stepping inside the room. Your mouth parted to spew the sweetest apologies, ready to bend knees to ask forgiveness.

A scoff entered your ears, then, and the hairs at the back of your neck perked up.

“Who let the she-devil wear the Lord’s robes?”

Your eyes flew open.

There, in the middle of your bedchamber, stood the most important man in the Venetian Republic.

General Choi Seungcheol quirked a brow at your appearance, and you thought the angels would extract your soul right there and then.

Unfortunately, his own appearance was never lacking—he was adorned in his signature midnight armour, matching his hair, a little longer than you last remembered, curling over his ears. A velvet cape, clipped at his right shoulder, flowed like wine upon his frame, tumbling to your carpet where it rested at the point of his longsword, glinting white from the descending sun. His hands settled on its grand pommel, swirls of red and gold spreading to its wide guard. His eyes, as dark as coals, regarded you like an enemy on the battlefield—assessing, sizing you up.

“His Excellency never informed me of you taking the vows. Perhaps it was as I suspected.”

His decision was made when a wry smile coiled his lips, a scar cutting through them. A full on offensive.

“Only God can fix you.”

That comment had you swooping down to reality. Instantly you stiffened. “It truly is a dire shame to see you alive. I was hoping the Turks would gut you on the battlefield.”

You set your satchel down, mocking a ponder. “No, sinking your ship would have suited you. No one to drag your rotting body out of the ocean.”

“Three years apart from you, and you still remain the most charming lady.” He cocked his head, a few curls falling across his forehead.

“Is this any manner to treat your oldest friend?”

You pursed your lips.

Oldest friend.

Damn him to Hell and beyond. This man was anything but your friend. He was very aware of that too.

He raised a hand, gesturing towards your outfit. “Allow me to guess…these poor, holy robes were used as mere disguise?”

You tried your best to hide your guilt. “Maybe I have joined the convent. It is not as if you have spent your time here to know of my business, despite your every effort of finding out.”

“Oh?” He then glanced at the door. “I should ask His Excellency then, and congratulate him for finally locking you up.”

He sheathed his sword, making a step towards the door but you were quick, barring him from exit. “You will do no such thing,” you hissed, and the victorious curl of his mouth had you wishing all Venetian men returned to the war and died.

“Why is that?” he leaned in, and you were certain you could smash your head against his—of course, he was likely to evade your clumsy effort—it would be meaningful to at least try. “But you defended yourself so perfectly! Your father deserves to know.”

“Ten years of military service failed to beat the gossip out of you.” You matched his shit-eating expression. “Go, then. Run to my father like you did as a child. You will always remain his little baby, even at your age.”

That must have stung, because his smirk faltered. His eyes did not leave yours, and you had a slight feeling he would take out his sword and cut you in half.

But of course, you were the daughter of his dear patron, too important a woman, despite being a woman. So he only exhaled sharply through his nose, colliding against your shoulder as he pushed past your figure, thundering to the door.

You were not letting him escape so easily. “Why were you in my room?” you demanded.

He paused at the doorway. “His Excellency asked to bring you to him and his guests.” He looked over his shoulder. “He was not aware that his daughter was sneaking out, going God knows where.”

Before you could snap back, he left the room, hearing his boots thump in the distance.

You watched the empty doorway for about a minute.

And then, with all the rage you could muster, you kicked your satchel as hard as you could.

The poor bag went flying, spilling out your canvases that scattered across the floor.

It was as you said.

Despite the man’s success, his favour, his glory, you could not have cared less about him.

But you were wrong.

It was not a lack of care about his existence.

This was a full care of eradicating his existence.

Because one day, despite your own lack of resources, lack of power, lack of influence, you were going to kill the Victor of Venice.

WHEN YOU FINALLY ARRIVED DOWN TO THE DRAWING ROOM, IT WAS NOT JUST YOUR FATHER THAT AWAITED YOU.

Seated on the opposite chairs, across from him, was the damned man you had met minutes prior, ankle-on-knee as his eyes darkened at your presence. The other man was his uncle, Councillor Choi, whose sudden rise to power was duly noted in the aristocratic circles. He was by custom donned in red patrician robes, a matching cap settled on his head. He smiled seeing you arrive, which you returned cordially.

Your father turned to see you, and he furrowed his brows. “What took you so long, cara?”

Getting out of nuns’ gowns was harder than you thought. “My apologies, father,” you said, standing beside him.

He did not seem to like this gesture today. “No, _____,” he began, pointing towards an empty seat beside Seungcheol’s uncle. “Today, you must honour Choi by sitting beside him.”

A little confused, you nonetheless obeyed, settling yourself next to the councillor. Extremely pleased, he turned to the man at the front. “Your Excellency, I am sure you know why my dear nephew and I are here.”

The general dipped his head in respect. “I could not go anywhere else before seeing the Doge, of course.”

The Doge—the leader of Venice, and the head of her state. Your father earned this position about ten years ago, around the same time Seungcheol joined the military, and rose straight to the top. It was custom for the leader of Venice’s legions to pay respects to the doge before celebrating victories, but he was always pleased to see the young commander. Unfortunately, your father was extremely fond of the man you despised.

“Oh, there must be no formalities with me, general,” your father mused. He then sent a knowing glance at the other elder man. “Especially this time round.”

Seungcheol laughed lightly. “No, no, count this as any other battle I have won for you.”

Councillor Choi smiled knowingly. “No, dear nephew. This informality surpasses this.”

Now he was confused too. You and him turned to the doge, who was all smiles. “Well,” he started, focusing on you both, “You two know of my lifelong friendship with Choi here.”

A pair of heads nodded hesitantly. “You see, we wish to…how do I say this…Ah!” He locked his hands together. “We wish to strengthen our bond in another way. In an alliance that will never be broken.”

That only furthered your puzzlement. The Doge sensed it. “Children, what I mean to say is…”

Councillor Choi stepped in.

Dropped a declaration which had every particle of air disappearing from the room.

“What His Excellency means to say is that you two are to be married in a few weeks.”

You blinked.

Stilled.

Felt the floor slip from beneath your feet.

Seungcheol’s voice entered your ears.

“What did you just say?”

Councillor Choi turned to the young man, who peered at him as if he had seen a ghost. “You heard me correctly, Cheol.” His hands touched the arms of your and the commander’s chairs. “It is the perfect union. The greatest Venetian general who ever lived, and the daughter of the greatest Doge who led you. The public will rejoice at the news!”

“And what about the people who are involved?”

Your father studied you, who had finally gotten something out. “Well, it is I and his uncle who chose—”

“No,” you interrupted, turning your head to him. “I do not mean the families. I meant the two people you have dragged into this?”

“Cara!” he exclaimed, taken aback by your inquiries. “We did not think we had to ask your opinion on whoever I chose for you.”

A shuddered, enraged gasp escaped you.

You knew this.

You were aware of your lack of choice when it came to your marriage. Always, in the back of your mind, you were prepared to hand yourself over to some insipid nobleman, have his heirs, and separate, throwing yourself in your artistic passions. It was plausible. Women in your circles have achieved separate lives from their disappointing husbands, so you thought this would be your fate.

You had accepted that fate.

“Out of everyone in Venice…”

Slowly, you straightened out of the chair.

“You chose him?!”

Your accusatory finger pointed at the culprit—he, too, looked as if he could burn the Palace down. “You know how Seungcheol and I feel about each other!”

“Your conversations are akin to children bickering.” the Doge crossed his arms. “Usually it is you starting the fights.”

“What?!” you exclaimed. “Oh, so now I am to be punished with this awful union?! I refuse, Papa!”

Councillor Choi rose from his chair, raising his hands as if to steady your temper. “My lady, I understand your distress, but this is for the betterment of our families! You will find no other suitor as good as—”

“Enough.”

Seungcheol stood up from his seat—the grave expression had the elders pausing. “I cannot listen to this any longer.” He dipped his head to the Doge. “Your Excellency.”

His uncle watched him incredulously. “Cheol,” he muttered. “We have not finished this discussion.”

The general did not bother to return his gaze. Instead, his glare was upon you. “You already know my opinion on this…this marriage.”

With that, he stalked out of the room, crimson cloak trailing after his midnight boots.

You had a mind to follow his actions—there was nothing else to say. “Even your Victor despises the idea,” you spat.

“The Victor will be persuaded,” the councillor reassured you, as if you needed the reassurance.

Facing your father, you fisted your hands. “I cannot do this. I will not do this.”

The Doge narrowed his eyes at you. “We shall see about that.” He pointed to the door. “Now go! I have heard enough from you.”

Gritting your teeth, you marched out of the halls, leaving the elders alone.

As you thundered back to your chambers, you seethed through your ears, hands still clasped in tight fists.

A marriage to Choi Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol.

You would have died than surrender to your mortal enemy.

How dare they ever concoct such a union? Everyone in the patrician circles was aware of your mutual hostility—even your father had commented on it numerous times in the past, before Seungcheol had left for the Ottoman campaign. Just when you thought you were rid of him, he was to be tied to you for eternity. You were aware that people did not live for a long time, but you would be damned if you had to spend even a second with him.

You could not get married to him.

Never.

DESPITE YOUR HARDEST EFFORTS TO ESCAPE, YOUR FUTURE WAS TIED TO THE FATEFUL UNION.

You were even planning, on one occasion, to escape the Palace—run away in your nun’s robes, join some travelling artists and leave Venice altogether. Your father had probably caught onto your intentions, though, because you noticed an increase of guards around the giant manor, and your every movement was watched with scrutiny.

The nerves were kicking in at this point. The prospect of marriage was becoming all the more real. You prayed to the Lord at the Basilica, hoping for a solution, begging for divine aid.

The heavens helped in the worst possible manner.

They answered in the Choi household’s response.

An acceptance from Seungcheol. An acceptance to the marriage.

Your first reaction was denial—there was no possibility in the world that would have him accepting the proposal. He hated the prospect as much as you did. He hated you as much as you hated him

Then why in Hell had he accepted?

The shock, eventually, was replaced with pure rage.

But, even with the world’s anger burning in your veins, there was no hope now. If the man had accepted, then there was no escape for you.

The wedding would proceed, whether you wanted to or not.

You remembered nothing of the event.

Everyone rejoiced at the grand affair—the Doge’s beloved daughter, finally married, and to the greatest man in Venice. The entire city was decorated in your father and the Choi’s family banners, locals to foreigners celebrating by sharing food and drink, dancing in the streets, and playing lively music loud enough for all of Europe to hear.

The ceremony was a blur to you; you were completely dazed in the past few weeks, remembering solely the landscapes you had painted in between the minute breaks you could find. A small part of you thought you were experiencing a nightmare, and that you just had to wake up, and everything would fall into place. Everything that was happening around you—the decorations, the preparations for the fated day—it was an act, a live scene in a city-sized theatre, and you the unaware actress.

You believed in this excuse till the end. Even on the day of the wedding, adorned in the finest silk gowns, ruffled collars and soft-coloured veils half-covering your face, you assumed it was a change of costume. Even when your father, dressed in his custom doge dress, led you inside Saint Mark’s Basilica, hundreds of the most important people in Europe gathered to witness the union, you assumed this was your audience.

It was when your eyes found the groom’s you realised everything was real.

Then, you remembered nothing at all.

You forgot kneeling beside the Victor as you both prayed to the Cross, shielded by solid gold columns and arches of the church. Your memory erased the vows, the hesitant I do to every question the vicar asked the both of you. Your mind eradicated the slight tears that welled your eyes, or the lack of any emotion in the general’s.

Both of you were doomed once the vicar declared you husband and wife.

The after-parties were even worse than the legal event.

All your family and friends drank their weight in wine as the two of you were forced in the centre of everything, rigid as statues as your people stumbled and fell around you. You never shared a single similarity with Seungcheol, but today you shared common ground. Both of you wanted to be away from this anarchy. The celebrations were done in the Doge’s Palace, but you would go to the Choi’s family manor the very next day, and begin your new life.

What topped the entire day was the wedding night.

The seal of the deal. To ratify the union.

To consummate this marriage.

Your fears had caught up to you—the theatre had come crashing down, the costume was in tatters, and the act was cut short. This was cruel, cruel reality, and now you had to give yourself up to the one man who would make your life a living nightmare.

Cursing the giggles and whispers of the ladies as they brought you to your chambers, now completely filled with flowers and pretty ornaments, ugly in your eyes at that very moment. Sweet and spicy wine had been laid on the bedside tables, more roses scattered on your four-poster bed, curtains drawn. Your servants then tried to have you untie your wedding dress, but one glare towards them, and they shrank back.

“I think she wants her new husband to do the honours,” one of the ladies mused, and you honestly believed you could have snatched the wine bottle and smashed it over her head.

The ladies soon hurried out, and you ripped out your collar, the veil, every little piece of the dress which suffocated you. You wanted to get out, sneak away like you always did in the dead of night to your studio, but tonight you feared you were stuck.

A few minutes passed, and thoughts of escape were almost becoming intangible when you heard the door open.

Seungcheol entered the room, and you stilled.

He was also wearing his wedding attire, but his cravat had been loosened, revealing a sliver of his neck. His curls were wild, as if he had been raking his hands through them. Even as a groom his sword was strapped at his side, the weapon absent at the actual ritual. You could have laughed at him if you were not so nervous—even on an apparent intimate night, he had only thoughts of murdering you.

His expression, on the other hand, revealed no humour.

You heard him sigh sharply, locking the door. That instantly had your nerves heightening. “Unlock the door,” you commanded, getting up from the bed. “I need to run away if you try to do something.”

“I shall have no drunk cousin or lecherous relative spying on us,” he refuted, stepping closer into the room.

“Spying?” your senses perked up. “Seungcheol, we are not doing anything worth spying on, do you understand?”

“What the hell do you mean?” he demanded, propping his gloved hands on his hips. He made to step closer to you but you raised your hand to stop him.

“I know a man has expectations,” you started, backing away from him, “Everyone expects us to seal the marriage, and I know that is the tradition, but I do not care…” you paused, and even the thought of such an action frightened you.

“If you try to touch me, Seungcheol, I will not hesitate to take your sword and stab myself with it.”

He parted his mouth to sneer, but he caught the look in your gaze. He had never seen such a promise ready to be fulfilled should your worst fears occur.

The man could not help but step back.

“Did you really think I would do that, _____?”

You smiled, albeit without any humour. “Well, first you declare that you would rather die at the hands of a Turk before marrying me, and here you stand as my husband.” You shook your head. “I cannot trust you.”

The accusation on his honour stung. “I stand by what I said. I did not want—do not want to marry you.”

“Then why did you say yes?!” you screamed.

He stood silent for a time, gritting his teeth.

It was the truth. Choi Seungcheol was the last man on earth who wished for your hand.

He, too, wanted to escape as the ceremony progressed. Even as you came into the church, dolled up in the height of fashion, he wished nothing more than to run out of God’s holy building, jump upon a gondola and row away from the city.

Despite his prowess, his popularity, his apparent undeniable power, he was unable to escape this marriage. There were exterior forces, beyond his control.

He said it to you truthfully.

“I was given no choice. I had to say yes.”

You did not believe him. “King of the Venetian military, the Republic’s favourite man and you could not control your choice of wife?” You wanted to laugh at him.

He could tell. “You would not understand,” he muttered, turning away from you. “All you have ever done is be a spoiled Doge’s daughter.”

That really ticked you off. “You have no idea what I have done for myself. You will never know of the burdens I carry for being a woman alone.” You crossed your arms, daring him to face you like a man. “All you have done is go to some foreign land and kill a few poor souls.”

Now that really ticked him off. “You speak of burdens as if I have none.” His voice dropping an octave had you blinking back. “You are not the only person who has struggled.”

You watched him as he finally deigned you a glance. There was something incredibly bleak in his usual stormy eyes. Not that you had never not seen him in a sour countenance, but this was possibly the first time you had seen him so hopeless.

“You are not the only person who has felt alone.”

A great part inside of you wished to cackle the ceiling down.

He should feel alone! You raged inside your mind, looking down at the ends of your wedding gown. He should feel something akin to loneliness so he could understand a fraction of your despair. The general was constantly surrounded by his men, his followers, hundreds of thousands of admirers from all over Europe.

You, on the other hand, had only yourself and your paint.

Even with that bitterness, no laughter spluttered from your lips.

You could only match his cruel stare, and hope he took you seriously.

A few more minutes passed before he sighed, taking off his loosened cravat from his neck, putting his sheathed sword on the set of drawers behind him. “We should sleep,” he said, stepping before the opposite side of the bed.

Watching his every move, you then shifted your gaze to the bed. “Yes…we should…”

His famous brow quirked inquisitively. “What are you thinking now?” he asked, clearly exasperated. He then continued dryly, “If you are still hesitant about the whole consummation, then I can assure you that I, too, would slice my head off if you suggested it.”

“Well, I am not suggesting it,” you muttered. “I am more puzzled about why you are getting into bed.”

His tiredness did not stop his stare turning sharp with sarcasm. “Because that is what a person does if they wish to sleep.”

“I am aware of that, thank you.” You put a hand to your chest. “But I wish to sleep as well, and I will be damned before I let you sleep in the same bed as me.”

Now his gaze turned mocking. “My God, you have some nerve saying such a thing.” He set the cravat down on the bedside table. “If you have a problem with me sleeping here, you can sleep somewhere else.”

“Excuse me!” you exclaimed, reaching out to clutch the bedsheets. “This is my bedroom. I have slept here my entire life!” You huffed, sitting on the plush mattress. “Besides, are you soldiers not accustomed to sleeping anywhere? I am sure my bedroom floor is a lavish upgrade from whatever hellsite you rested abroad.”

“Oh, you—” he brought his knee upon the bed, hands further placed as he leaned closer to you. “I care very little whether you have been sleeping here all your life. Your father brought me here, so I have a right to this space.”

You matched his vigour instantly, leaning just as close, sparking a fire in your expression. “And I care none if Papa brought you here—hell, if the Pope carried you to this very room.” His growing rage had no effect on your own. “Sleep. On. The. Floor.”

Mere inches away from each other, the general stared you down. Had the receiver of such a cruel eye been his soldiers, they would have run for the lakes, abandoned the army altogether. Seungcheol’s cold, calculating glares have had enemies shiver in their masses.

It irked him so ardently that his infamous tactics ceased to work on you.

He looked over your features: the manic, determined glint in your pupils, the flared nose, the pursed lips. No one, a woman, no less, had stood up to him like this.

Of course, he should not have been surprised. You had always been a sharp pain in his backside.

God, I cannot let her win, his voice rang, over and over in his head. She cannot have this over me.

But then he saw a glimmer in your usual mischievous gaze, and he knew you were about to commit a crime.

He was not wrong.

Because you did have an idea, and you smirked, fingers rising to the thin bow on the top of your dress.

Slowly, you began to untie the lace.

Seungcheol watched with no small amount of horror as your rigid wedding gown began to loosen at the top, its flared arms drooping around your shoulders.

You made to untie the second lace when he raised his hands, twisting his lips into a scowl. “What the hell are you doing?!” he demanded, getting off the bed.

“What does it look like?” You untied the string, dress falling further down till you needed your hands to hold it steady.

A single drop, and everything would be revealed.

The greatest general in the peninsula nearly squirmed at the thought.

Your fingers toyed with the last lace.

His eyes darted to your movements. Then, to your face, and you noticed the change of expression—it was as if he was thinking of a military strategy, a last-minute decision on the battlefield.

Once again, you pulled at the string.

But before the knot was fully untied you heard a savage growl escape his mouth.

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

Before you even let the dress fall, he swerved around, grabbing hold of his sword from the drawers. “Fine! Have your room!” The muscles on his back flexed as he raked a hand in his hair. “You are truly ridiculous!”

You could only laugh at the scene of him thundering to the door, vigorously unlocking it and storming out.

The laughter did not stop as you changed into your nightgown, shaking your head.

You did not care if Choi Seungcheol had become your husband.

You were not going to let anything about your life change.

AS IF THE ACTUAL WEDDING CELEBRATIONS WERE NOT ENOUGH, THE PATRICIANS WISHED TO SEE YOU BOTH AS AN OFFICIAL COUPLE.

You and Seungcheol never received a moment’s rest. It had been a mere week since the two of you were bound forever, but everyone wished to catch a glimpse of the newlyweds, the two most popular people in the Republic.

It was hard enough having to attend—what made it quite worse was that you and the general barely spoke to each other.

Seungcheol found solace in the war council, Venice’s position still unstable since its victory over the Ottomans. You supposed him avoiding you was an unlikely advantage, as it meant you could go wherever you wished in the daytime without him knowing.

It was not like you discarded the nun’s gowns either—what a man does not know will not hurt him.

Your dear friends, who had attended the wedding, harassed you for details of any intimacy between your husband, and with great disgust you rebuked any wild fantasies you were sure they had conjured up. You simply released your frustrations on new paintings, hoping your newfound circumstances would inspire your creativity.

“You can always paint the general as the god of war,” Soonyoung offered, admiring his own art, inspired by the mythology. “And you as Venus, his oh so smitten goddess.”

He was not met with any amusement. “I shall paint him as an ugly troll,” you pondered, creating the blue skies upon your giant canvas. “And I can be Diana, hunt him down and pierce him with my arrow!”

“Congratulations on your marriage, happy bride,” Minghao jeered, earning a good shove into his table of paints from you. Soonyoung, fearing further violence, resorted to laughing at his poor friend, turning to the model he drew.

Your friends were utter shits, but at least they knew you could handle their incessant bullying—still, they were unaware that you and the general remained separate in the bedchamber.

The separation continued for the next week, and you thought that a marriage can be convenient in the end. Seungcheol, minding his own business, investing his energies in the Republic; you, investing your heart and soul into your art.

However, all good things tend not to last.

The parties were upon the both of you in an instant, and invitations being sent from every patrician family in the city had to be answered. You would have outright refused to come had the Doge and Councillor Choi not pestered for a positive answer.

With the esteemed general not present to discuss it with, you read up on the ideal Venetian wife, and what she would do when mentioning an important matter.

And then did the exact opposite.

You were well versed on married female etiquette, but completely ignored it as you walked through Saint Mark’s square. It was unusual without your disguise, feeling more exposed—there were eyes on you everywhere. Any normal woman would have been tormented off the streets.

You, however, were the Victor’s wife.

Scowling at the fact, you entered the Choi’s Manor on the banks of the Lagoon, a beauty of black and white and gold swirling on the stone walls, sleek windows speckled all over the buildings. The grand doors were open once they saw your figure nearing, whispers of excitement at your entrance.

The large courtyard was bustling with servants, the scent of a rich lunch looming in the warm air. A housekeeper hurried to you, greeting formalities to you, and asked you if you needed any assistance.

“Yes, I am looking for General Choi, please,” you said, looking around the four sides of the manor, keeping you in. Faint clashes of steel-on-steel entered your ears the more you focused on your surroundings. “I was wondering if he was here.”

The housekeeper first giggled heartedly. “General Choi! My goodness, ma’am, such formality with your husband!”

You only offered a huffed laugh. “Yes, I suppose so,” you mumbled, because you could not enlighten her that you saw him more as an old pain-in-the-arse and less as a life partner.

“He is outside in the next courtyard, sparring with a soldier. Come, dearest, let me take you to him.”

She led you into the red-decked halls of the Choi Manor, recognising the face of the Councillor on the paintings, a few of his deceased wife. Interesting how Seungcheol was not in any of them.

Stopping at the edge of the exit, she gestured outside, the sound of swords much louder. “They must be finishing up by now.”

You thanked her as she left, watching her settle in the first courtyard before taking a deep breath.

You stepped into the second. The white cobblestone beneath your shoes was more polished, hurt your feet much less. Barrels were stacked against the walls, a few horses tied loosely on fences, waiting patiently for their owners. You first thought why on earth someone had horses in Venice, but a harsh clash of steel had your head whirling.

Your mouth parted, ever so slightly.

There he was. The commander of Venice, on the opposite side, sending his longsword upon his subordinate’s. The younger of the two staggered, quickly regained his composure, but your groom was faster. Seungcheol’s loose white shirt clung to his muscled body as he collided his sword again, matted black curls whipping along each rapid move.

He was not far from being faster than lightning—you had heard of his military prowess, but people always had a tendency to inflate their favourites’ achievements. Watching the general bring down the soldier’s barriers, slashing his opponent’s sword to the ground, and then making him surrender within a minute, was something else entirely. It was as if he had consumed the soul of Mars, and had, if only for a second, become the god of war.

You just had to admit it. Choi Seungcheol was a born warrior.

It did not help either that his irritatingly thin shirt revealed too much evidence of his warriorship.

You can always paint the general as the god of war.

Instantly you scowled.

He grinned widely upon his defeated soldier—you could not hear him, but you were sure he was teasing the man of his victory. Soon after, though, he held out his hand, and the soldier was up, pulling him in a side-embrace.

Quickly you cleared your throat, alerting your presence to the two men.

Seungcheol’s shrewd gaze latched onto you.

His smirk remained. “Do you wish to be next, my lady?”

A roll of eyes was reflex as you walked closer to him. “Never. I won’t let you kill me this easily.”

The opponent listened with eyes wide. “Cheol! How can you offer a sparring match to your wife?”

The general did not steer his gaze from you. “Believe me, Chan,” he said, “This woman before you is capable of a massacre.”

This Chan could only watch in horror as you smiled at your husband, void of any warmth. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable between his commander and his wife. “I will go inside,” he announced to no one in particular and retired, a little haste in his step.

Seungcheol glanced at his subordinate before focusing on you. “To what do I owe this displeasure?”

“I had no burning desire to see you, either, Cheol,” you chirped, smug to see him scowl at the nickname. You brought out paper envelopes, a fraction of the dozens waiting at the Doge’s Palace. “Invitations. Our friends and family wish to see us.”

He took one from your hand, studying the family name. “Since when did you want to visit these people? I thought you despised patricians.”

“I do.” You then recalled a recent memory. “Father insists I go with you. He thinks it rude to not attend parties celebrated for us.”

He then studied you. “Since when did you care for the opinions of others?”

You raised a brow. “I do not.”

“Excellent.” He returned the invitation. “Then there is no need to go.”

But you were not satisfied. “I would have agreed with you—”

“Agreed with me?” he mockingly gasped, and you had to stamp on the urge to grab his sword and slice the smirk off his face. “My, my, what caused you to support my opinion? Has the Lord finally struck some good sense into you?”

“Is there not another war for you to die in?” you snapped.

“You can be the first to send me to my death should the war arise,” he merely offered, a phantom smile touching his lips. “Now tell me, why do you want to go to these awful parties?”

Your hands locked behind your back. “I was sent word from Councillor Choi.” The mention had Seungcheol pausing. “He asked whether you were the one insisting I decline invitations.”

This information had the man losing amusement. You noticed instantly. “Is there something amiss between the two of you?”

“Nothing of importance,” he said, but he was lying through his teeth. Since your childhoods you could never decipher his dishonesty—the bastard was damn good at deception. This very moment, though, it was startling how easily you read him.

He noticed your scrutiny, and waved it off with his hand, grabbing hold of his canteen. “We will go to a few parties.” He took a quick swig, setting it upon the barrel. “We can always leave early.”

You nodded, watching him take his longsword. “I was expecting you to argue with me,” he taunted. “Have I finally tamed the beast?”

“You could not even argue me out of my bed,” you remarked, turning on your heel. “Boast of something you have actually achieved.”

There you left him seething, you snickering to yourself as you exited the courtyard.

Finally tamed the beast?

You scoffed.

I shall see about that.

ALL THE PARTIES YOU ATTENDED FOR THE PATRICIANS WERE EVERY BIT AS HORRENDOUS AS YOU EXPECTED.

You and Seungcheol decided to attend the most important out of the invitations, but that still meant showing your faces for the dozen nights.

The first was done at the Doge’s Palace, courtesy of your father, and the sheer boredom of the formalities had you falling asleep mid-conversation. Still, you held out, knowing that your husband was nearby, gathering the attention of the most important men within that vicinity.

The nights did not stop there, though. The next party would then lose the formalities, and the more celebrations you attended, the wilder they became. The talk of politics over a glass of Tuscan wine became almost drunken brawls in the supposed dignified ballrooms. Members of your family and friends, who always vocalised etiquette and honour above everything else, became the centres of embarrassment when too much alcohol was consumed.

You would have found all of this incredibly entertaining had you not been forced to witness these events. At least Seungcheol was uncomfortable with the drunken anarchy around him, so you resorted to laughing at him instead.

Five parties of the same mayhem, and then it became too boring.

There were only so many times you could see the same families fight each other in the cool night air. There was only a limit to how much wine you could drink before it would be taken from you, and then you would spend the rest of the night exasperated.

It was in the sixth party that you decided to sneak out.

The plan was perfect—you knew that you could not escape too early, so you encouraged the guests to drink as much as their guts could manage, and watched as the chaos you quickened consumed the manor. You smiled to yourself as, within the third hour, you began to slip away from the party. The Venetian people were truly as foolish as you expected.

You hoped, though, that Seungcheol had not seen you, as he, unfortunately, was not a part of the foolish class. You cared little the more distance you created from the party estate, turning to your familiar, artistic haven.

The escape from the celebrations brought you relief of the highest order; it was nice to have other artists around as you paint, but having the studio to yourself in the middle of the night was a greater fortune. Your friends’ words were an inspiration, so you began to explore the possibilities of a mythology painting.

Every time a party occurred after that, you managed to escape the celebrations, finding solace in your workshop, the paints that covered your skirts, your hands as you bore your soul to the empty canvas. This act continued for a few more parties, you going unnoticed, and you were incredibly smug.

However, when Soonyoung invited you to his family manor, it was almost impossible to escape. Especially since you wanted to leave the moment you entered the estate, your husband right beside you, as eager to escape as you were.

The place was in chaos.

The lute players were in disarray, you suspecting they were half-drunk on wine, being handed out by servants in every corner. If you thought the previous parties were bad, the one the Kwon family held was another form of debauchery. There were courtesans, whispering to older patricians—widowed men, married men—seducing them for the latter part of the night.

When you and Seungcheol stepped further in, some of those feline eyes latched onto the man beside you. You glanced at him, but he was looking straight at Councillor Choi and the Doge of Venice, sitting at the very back of the hall.

Soonyoung was in the middle of the anarchy, cackling at some far-away anecdote of his cousin’s, downing a flute of wine before catching sight of you both. His smile lit up his entire face as he stumbled near you both, hands raised wide.

“Lord and Lady Choi!” he exclaimed to the crowd, his straight black locks matted with sweat—no doubt from the constant running around, acting the best, drunk host. “An honour to have you both here under my roof!”

He then hiccupped, leaning closer to you. “Well, my father’s more like, but what is his is bound to be mine!”

You straightened him with your free hand. “Soonyoung, you should be banned from ever drinking again.”

“God, what a spoilsport!” He rebuked, sliding his mischievous gaze to your husband. “General, you must silence your boring wife at once!”

The said man clicked his tongue. “The day I manage to shut her up is the day I truly deserve every medal ever awarded to me.”

You shot him a glare. “Hand those medals back to the people then,” you hissed. “I have yet to be silenced.”

The esteemed commander then turned to your friend. “See?”

Soonyoung spluttered into laughter, patting Seungcheol a bit too enthusiastically on the shoulder. “By God, you are not the vision dear _____ painted of you!”

That had the famous eyebrows raising. “Oh?” the man beside you got out, and you could feel the feline amusement radiating off his skin. “And what image has she created of me?”

You immediately glowered at the drunkard, but he only beamed at the two of you, holding you each by the opposite shoulder. “Now, dear general,” he began, slurring his words, “No matter how much I admire you, you cannot make me say the awful, dirty things my friend has said of you.” He winked at you, pulling away. “You may ask her yourself!”

He then sighed dreamily, as if he sat down beside a fireplace after an extremely long day. “Please do enjoy, friends,” he declared, gesturing to the servants with the wine.

His stare then lingered on Seungcheol as he finished, “And do not forget to dance!”

With a theatrical bow, he was swept away by a dazzling courtesan who was worth more his attention than the Victor of Venice and the Doge’s daughter.

You let out a sharp exhale. “I will poison Soonyoung’s wine next time.”

Seungcheol wasted no time. “So he would die before confessing the awful, dirty things you have said about me?”

“Oh, please,” you snarled, “Everything I have complained to them about I have said to your face.”

“Is that so?” His interrogating glint had you gripping tighter onto his arm. “Then why try to silence him when he was about to reveal the secret?”

“Because he is a liar,” you merely responded, as if you, too, were not exaggerating. In full honesty, Soonyoung was constantly lying, but he would have been irritatingly honest if he tattled on you.

The general was not letting you go that easy. He was ready to bombard you with more questions when the music began to change, and everyone was partnering up. Space was created in the middle of the ballroom, and the energy of the entire manor changed, excitement bouncing off every side of the massive hall.

Confused, you looked around, and saw Councillor Choi heading over to you, red robes glinting in the lamp lights. Instantly, you bowed your head. “Signor,” you greeted.

He smiled, returning your address. “Good evening, child.” His gaze turned to his nephew. “Seungcheol.”

“Uncle.”

The curt welcome had you shifting. You tried to make conversation. “I hope you have not tired of the celebration.”

“No, no, _____, especially now everyone is about to dance.” Again, he focused on his relation. “I hope you two will also join in.”

That was enough to make you perk up in surprise. “Oh?” You slipped out, but then realised he was fully serious.

The general, on the other hand, was much more direct. “I have no wish for dancing tonight, thank you,” he replied, looking ahead to the forming couples in the middle. “In fact, I think it is late enough—”

“Whatever do you mean?” Councillor Choi interrupted, raising a hand. “Cheol, you have been married for little over a month. Do your poor wife the honour of a dance this evening.”

You tried to intercept. “Signor, I am perfectly fine, I do not wish—”

“Nonsense!” He then gestured to the final round of formation, the musicians ready to begin the waltz. “A bride and groom should always dance in these celebrations. Especially if the celebration is done in their honour.”

He locked his hands behind his back. “Go, child,” he then directed to you. “At least do one waltz.”

Still hesitant, you turned to the general, whose iron stare was rooted to his uncle. You wondered whether he was going to refuse outright, amplify the awkward atmosphere permeating their group.

Then, his free hand was lifted.

It held on to yours which gripped his arm. He slid your hand onto his left one, interlocking his fingers. The silver ring on his pinky was achingly cold.

Your eyes widened at the contact, but Seungcheol did not return your shocked stare. “Let us dance,” he said, and led you to the middle.

On instinct, people parted to make way for the Victor, stunned at seeing him dance for the first time. Whispers of excitement spread throughout the ballroom, but you were fixated on the slender fingers, intertwined with yours.

The strange feeling did not leave as he led you, right in the centre of the partners, as expected of the most important man in the party. He raised your interlocked hands; his other hand slithered around your waist, and you almost let out a cry of surprise at the way he pulled you closer.

This time, his eyes finally focused on you.

“Put your arm around me, _____, or everyone will discover our fraudulent marriage.”

You would have argued against it, but there was something deeply unsettling in his gaze. This time, you let the order slide, bringing your hand to his shoulder, lined with fur.

With a single nod to the musicians, the general began the entertainment.

The loveliest, liveliest music filled the golden hall.

The lute players, despite their drunkard stupor, played most harmoniously as Seungcheol’s feet followed the tune, leading you slowly about the circle. Stunned, you quickly followed along, glancing down to make sure his boots did not stomp on your low-heeled shoes.

“Are you surprised that I can waltz?” he asked, finally sensing your catchup.

Once you were sure you would not stumble, you looked up at him. “I am, actually.” You then scoffed. “I suppose you were not always killing poor civilians while you were gone.”

“You do know I have never killed an innocent,” he remarked. “I only fight men I see on the battlefield.”

“You men and your wars,” you ranted, gripping harder onto his shoulder. “It is merely an excuse to kill without punishment.”

That had the man frowning as he circled you about. “What do you think I did every day while I was abroad?”

Mocking a ponder, you answered, “Wasting the Republic’s time and resources?”

His laugh was a mere huff of breath. “And what did you do while I was away?” he asked. “Complain about me, rant about my achievements as you painted your silly pictures?”

That had your mirth faltering. “How do you know that I paint?”

His lips twisted in a wry smile. “I could smell the oil pigment on your clothes whenever I had to talk to you.” He scrunched his nose. “God, even after all these years, I cannot forget the scent. It is almost like I can smell it now.”

Damn it! “So what if I partake in an interest, Seungcheol? Art is an excellent pastime to indulge in.” You raised your chin. “I would take a painting over a severed prisoner’s head as a prize anyday.”

The man shrugged. “And I, too.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?” He asked, admiring the finery of the Kwon Family ballroom. “Can I not enjoy painting?”

“Well,” you started, quite at a loss for words. “You have never mentioned that you like art.”

“That is because, dear _____,” he mused, twirling you around with one hand before bringing you back in his arms, “The only thing we talk about is how much we despise each other.”

Your hand was back on his shoulder—this time you held on tighter. “It will stay that way, Cheol.”

His fingers drummed on your back, along to the tune. “Of course.”

You let the conversation rest for a while, your and your husband’s steps working in perfect accord with each other as the music heightened, crossing over to its second half. The partners, all circling around you, were joyous, excited as they whispered sweetly to the other, amorous in their exchanges.

The great general and the Doge’s daughter, on the other hand, had other prospects in mind.

You, mainly, with a question that bothered you for a time. “Why did Councillor Choi insist we dance?”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “Because he is unconvinced that we are madly in love with each other.”

“An excellent intuition.”

He frowned, silent once more. That was not enough for you. “Has he done something to you?” you pressed.

The man regarded you for a moment. “I will tell you if you tell me what Soonyoung was going to say.”

“You are truly insufferable!” you huffed, turning your head away. “Stay curious! You will never know.”

“All right,” he said, the curiosity still present. “You can tell me where you sneak off to every time we attend a party.”

You froze.

An amateur move, when the man was still leading the dance. Stumbling into him, both your hands held onto his large frame, making him pause. With great efficiency, his hands stayed on your waist, sweeping you along in the circle before anyone noticed.

“Judging by your reaction, I assume it is somewhere shocking.” His eyes narrowed. “Somewhere you do not want anyone following after you.”

Your endeavoured to feign innocence. “I have no idea what you speak of.”

He laughed, and the vicious joy in it had you growing in rage. “Lying is a sin, carissima,” he stated, as if he himself was a leading angel of God. “Confess your wrongdoing, and maybe I will forgive you should you show me.”

“You are not a priest,” you snapped, “I will stick to confessing to God over an arrogant soldier.”

His amusement grew with your anger. “And you are not a nun, but you played the part so well, costume and all!” His fingers tapped against your back, sending a strange sensation down your spine. “Perhaps I should invest in church robes.”

“Let me add to my sins then.” You knifed him with a withering glare. “Rot in hell, Seungcheol.”

This time, his laughter was sudden.

Spluttering out of him without his usual restraint, it left the constraints of the dancing circle, many people smiling at the sound. You were a little taken aback, almost stepping on his boots at the lack of focus. You watched his eyes crinkle, laugh lines morphing on his skin, and you closed your mouth, simply taking in the image.

You had never seen the general laugh like that.

As he finished into soft chuckling, his one hand left your side, clutching onto your hand on his shoulder. “I am flattered to see you bear bad deeds for me.” He raised your hand out, fingers cradling your palm. “It makes me forget that you run off to some dark, decrepit place in the middle of the night.”

You halted his fingers with your own, tightening the grip. “It is nothing of what you suspect,” you muttered. “Not that it is any of your business.”

His eyes darted over your features—the furrow of your brows, the determined glare, the pursed lips. They stayed there a fleeting second. “It is my business that you are safe wherever you go.”

“Since when did you care for my safety?” you challenged. “You should be happy if I was away from you. Found dead even. Do you not want your freedom?”

The music grew louder, nearing the crescendo. The people around you were waltzing faster, but the general was a mile ahead, feet quickening, urging you to follow. “I would have been overjoyed once,” he jeered, spinning you once again, faster and faster.

He then caught you, never stopping his feet, always on par with the drama of the tune which did not wind down. “But things have changed. My father-in-law is the most important man in Venice.” Another twirl, another swift catch. “I am tied to a family that is constantly under scrutiny from other jealous lords. Most importantly—”

His hand on your back jerked against you, pushing you closer.

“You are my wife, now.” His whisper had goosebumps forming. “Your safety has become my greatest concern.”

You parted your mouth.

You wished you had a snide remark to throw back at him. Anything mean, even a shrivel of cruelty to shatter the bubble he had created this very minute. It was not as if you cared what he thought. You did not ask for his concern.

Then why was the thought of someone’s concern for you so comforting?

The crescendo of the music was upon the ballroom, but the couple in the centre had slowed. Seungcheol sensed your mind in disarray, as loud and dramatic as the instruments, but he did not want to let this go. Something about your particular secret bothered him.

The meagre distance between you two did not stop him. “Tell me where you slip away to, _____,” he urged, a strange look in his eyes.

God—you had to get away from him. Why could you not push him away? “I…” For the first time in your life, you had a hard time holding his stare. “I cannot.”

“Why?” His question sang in your ears. “What do you hide from me?”

This was all too much; his eyes were too honest, too concerning, and you wished for the man to terrorise you like old times. This kind of sweet torment was unbearable because you could not fight it.

Perhaps you would have told him. You could have exposed your deepest secret, and all would have been lost, and the man you despised the most would have learned your true passion.

Then the musicians ended their song, and the ballroom erupted into applause.

The thundering claps snapped you out of the bubble immediately. Once noticing the lack of distance between you two, you instantly recoiled from his presence, gaping at his stunned expression. You ripped your hands from his hold, and you saw his figure, breathing unevenly underneath the rich, fur robes.

What in God’s name had happened?

You did not ponder over the question.

The crowd dispersed, but the two of you remained in the same position.

It was after a long time when you composed yourself that you made to open your mouth. That you mustered a little cruelty.

“I may be your wife in God’s eyes,” you began, slowly backing away from him, “But I am free in my own.”

And as you stalked out of the ballroom, leaving the Victor of Venice on his own, you put a hand on your rapid heartbeat, breathing heavily.

I answer to no one but myself.

THE NEXT TIME, YOU WERE HESITANT IN SNEAKING OUT.

Another week had passed since that fateful night—the night where the general let a few heavy truths slip from his tongue, and trapped them within your mind.

Just the memory had your heart racing, and it was not from the trek, from the new party location to your studio. You cursed yourself multiple times at letting yourself become so vulnerable in that moment, but what else could you have done? That was the first time Seungcheol had been so candid.

You are my wife now. Your safety is my biggest concern.

You shivered involuntarily.

To Hell with him! To think you were going to confess your sanctuary to him—you would have never forgiven yourself should that have happened.

As you approached the workshop door, you pushed it open—empty, just as you hoped. Amazing.

Your near-finished painting welcomed you as you relit the candles from last night, running to every candle where the wax was located. Snuffing out the burning wood, you walked back to your easel, assessing the image.

The figures were ready to be painted in detail, so that meant a dozen more layers, more nights of work. This did not worry you, though, when the parties to escape were endless. You had all the time in the world.

You were about to pick up your paint brushes, scattered on the side, when a voice resonated behind you.

A snarling voice which had your entire world pausing.

“So this is where you run off to.”

Silence.

Every single bone in your body stilled. Like the unfinished statues that surrounded the room, you were motionless, stunned by the familiar, husky baritone that was haunting you all week.

Somehow, you managed to turn around.

Your eyes then broke the statuesque spell, widening.

There he was, the devil cloaked in midnight, the very man you wished to avoid as he regarded you with the strangest expression on his face. The hairs on the back of your neck stood erect, your hands going numb under his scrutiny. It was so unusual—undoubtedly, there should have been anger, deep, red rage simmering under his features, but there was something else stirring.

His own eyes were dazed at the surroundings.

His fur robes shuffled as he took a step forward, observing the lush artwork on his every side, ancient costume and dried up ink palettes scattered on the floor. The wooden pedestal, where the models would stand, was empty of life, emptier now that all life had been snuffed out in the general’s presence. He had no words to offer you as he examined your haven, the one sweet secret no one could discover.

But the general had discovered it, and he was not quite sure what to do about it.

When he was about five feet away from you, you managed to speak. Managed to make out the words, “What…what are you doing here?”

Seungcheol, surprisingly, answered your question. He could not believe it either, for he scoffed. “I was searching for you…at the ball, just earlier, and…” he paused again, sucking his lower lip. “Of course…I should have known.”

He then looked at you, and there it was—the fire that you expected—brimming underneath that demeanour. “I should have known that you would not listen to me.”

By God—that was enough to snuff out your fear. “What?” you began, covering your canvas with your back. “Listen to you? Why would I listen to you?!”

“Because I am your husband!” he exclaimed right back, forcing another step. “Because I should know where the hell you slither off to!”

“Oh, you just love throwing that word around, don’t you? Husband, husband, husband!” You cackled like a she-devil. “Why hide it? Say that you wish to lord over me!”

“_____, you ran away in the middle of the night!” He flailed his arms about in exasperation. “Wandering in the most dangerous parts of the city! And alone at that!” His hands curled into fists. “Did you not realise how stupid that was?”

“So what do you do?” You pointed at him. “Follow me like a pervert?”

“I was watching to see whether you were safe.”

“Safe!” you snarled at his word, crossing your arms. “I do not feel safe anymore. Not around you.”

His eyes narrowed. “How do I make you feel unsafe?” he guttered, stepping another foot, and you knew you hit a nerve. “What have I done to make you so miserable?”

“You, you…!” you started breathing heavily. “You have ruined my life!” Your chest was heaving, up and down erratically. “Marrying me when none of us wanted this! Expecting me to play the dutiful wife while you do whatever you want!” Your hand that pointed at the accused began to shake. “Even taking this studio away from me!”

Seungcheol could not believe his ears. “I have told you, I was forced into this damned union as much as you were!” he countered, another step taken. “I never said I wanted you to play the dutiful wife, I just wanted you away from harm!” He then gestured to the artwork. “And how the hell did I take this studio away from you when I was unaware of its presence?!”

“You will, you will!” you screeched. “You will tell father, and he will tear my paintings, destroy this room, and you will watch and laugh at the destruction!”

“Laugh? Laugh at you? What do you take me for?!”

“A tyrant!” Now your hands fisted at your sides, almost trembling. “You are the devil, Seungcheol, even if you have fooled all of Venice!”

He gritted his teeth, a sharp tick appearing in his jaw. You were riling him up—the tick was reserved only for prisoners of war, or the city’s traitors. “Maybe I should destroy your paintings.”

Your eyes widened, but you dared not show a streak of fear. “You would not dare.”

“Would I not?” he snarled, raising his hands to the unfinished artwork. “You can say whatever you want to me, but I am not given the same privilege?”

“You do not deserve any benefits from me,” you snapped back. “You have enough from all these people, worshipping you day and night! Still you bother me!”

“Because you are aggravating!” he then roared, and you could have sworn his voice could have brought down the studio roof. “You have tested my patience far too many times to let it slide! I have had enough!”

You laughed at him, and that made his blood boil. “And what will you do, Cheol?” You mocked, cradling your chin with your finger. “God, maybe you should tell Papa about the studio! Then he can lock me up, and I would not have to see you again!”

“That will not work, because I am tied to you! We are married! Forever!” He emphasised the last word. “I cannot get rid of you!”

“And whose fault is that?!” you demanded. “Whose fault is that, tell me!”

“You just don’t listen!” His breathing became shallow, hardened. “How many times do I say it so it stays in your head?”

Your nostrils flared. “I do not have to listen to you!” you shrieked, head pounding from rage. “I listen only to those who mean something to me, and you are nothing to me!”

Another step, and he was a foot away from you. “By God,” he began, knifing you with a glare that could have had armies fleeing. “You need to shut your mouth.”

You matched his deathly scrutiny. “What did you just say to me?!”

“I said…” he raised his voice, looking down at you, skimming between your blazing eyes and your parted lips. “You need to shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth.”

That had your soul erupting into a frenzy.

You looked straight back up at him. The venom in your voice was unmatched.

“Or what?”

But the general did not answer you. No, he was still as the statues of your peers, save for his gaze, flickering between your lethal eyes, and your pursed mouth. Certain moments, they stayed a second longer on the latter.

His mouth parted at the sight. The sudden movement had your gaze darting to his lips, and suddenly your heart was pounding in your ears, and you could not decipher whether that was from the rage or the sheer bewilderment of the silence.

The quiet was deafening. The victor’s eyes were unbearable.

He could see right through you.

“That is what I thought.”

And then he turned on his heel, ready to depart.

You could have burst into flames.

“Fuck you!”

He paused.

You did not. The words were erupting from you, unable to stop yourself. “You are a coward, Seungcheol! You talk and talk and talk, but you do nothing!” your fingers pointed towards him, accusing in every sense. “You are just an insufferable, cowering bastard!”

Frenzied, you would have screamed and screamed till the sun stopped you with its new day, but another force beat it.

Another powerful, enraging force that whirled on his feet.

Like lightning, this unstoppable force thundered to you, and you did not even comprehend what he would do until he grabbed your face with both his hands and kissed you with the strength of a seastorm.

Nothing in the entire universe could have prepared you for this.

Your eyes enlarged, your breath extinguished, but he was moving upon your mouth—the sheer impact had you stumbling back, but he did not let go, cherishing the fervour that radiated off you. What riled you up further was your audacity, your nerve to slide your hands to his cloaked shoulders, fisting the rich, black fur.

His ring was cold on your cheek, but his lips were warm, soft despite the scar down its right, soft like the fire of a candle as it sparks to life. The second he felt you move against him, he angled your mouth, boosting your pleasure, and you could barely keep in the groan that tried to escape, gripping him tighter. What in God’s name were you doing, why were you not stopping this disaster before it truly spiralled—

But now he was opening your mouth with his own, and you were unable to stop the chaos as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. There must have been witchcraft at play, because you let him enter, whining as he pushed you back, empty easels falling to the floor, paintbrushes scattering, but Seungcheol did not care a bit, and to your shock you shared in his lack of care.

Damn him, damn him to hell and beyond, because his tongue swirled with yours, and he explored you, finding the origins for such bitterness, such hatred that lived in your body. You would never share your secret, but his search was so enticing that you let the chase continue. So ironic, how your tongues showed more harmony than you both had ever shared before.

He backed you against the wall of the studio, and the moment your shoulders hit the wooden panels you could not help breaking the kiss, gasping at the collision, the numbed pain that bloomed in your back. Seungcheol, the razor sharp general, bounced at the opportunity to pepper rushed, heated kisses along the corner of your mouth, down to the lines of your chin, trailing down and down your neck.

It was carnal—absolutely animalistic, the way he latched onto you with his searing lips, you near-ripping his clothes apart, completely unaware of what was happening, who you were letting devour you into a hysteria. The rush had sent you in a daze, and you would have let him uncover you before the dead eyes of the statues, and sparked life into them.

But then Seungcheol gasped out your name, and it all became too real.

“_____,” he whispered, voice rasping, but your eyes fluttered open.

Seungcheol.

Choi Seungcheol is upon you.

Choi fucking Seungcheol is untying your dress and you are letting him.

You almost lost your breathing, and not because of his kisses.

The same hands that held onto him like a lifeline turned flat upon the fur.

With all the strength you could muster, you pushed him off.

Pushed him with surprising power, because the man stumbled back, almost falling to the ground had he not quickly regained his footing. He was inhaling like a man deprived, and when his head whipped upwards his eyes were as wide as saucers.

You were the same—breathing in disarray, burning underneath your gowns, heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

He may have shown surprise, but you were positively horrified.

Instinctively, your fingers reached your lips. The sensation of his truly remained, singed upon the seams.

“_____?”

You were going to die.

You were going to disintegrate into the studio floor if you did not leave.

The general caught onto your intentions.

But he did not move.

Did not even raise a finger as he watched you burst into a sprint.

Sprint out of the studio, into the darkness of the Venetian street.

You did not know how you managed to run the distance between him and the Palace, but your legs were your saviours, picking up a faster pace through the closed markets, the dingy streets of the city till you reached your home.

Into the halls you raced, through the private chambers till you found your room, bursting through the door, slamming it shut as your back hit against its wooden structure.

In and out, in and out your wheezing went. Shuddered inhale, shuddered exhale, until you were sliding down on the door, hitting the floor.

An infinite thoughts came flooding in, nerves peaking at the discovery, heart racing at the consequences.

One question, however, remained the most prevalent.

What the fuck have you done?

YOU COULD NOT FORGET THE FATED NIGHT.

It was as if God had cast the bowels of Hells upon your life, scorching every thought and feeling in the form of Seungcheol.

Seungcheol. The very name had you shivering with rage, confusion, fear—new, strange sensations that had never been there before. You could not identify them, but they haunted you in the night, stopped you from your art, tormented your every waking second.

You could not figure out where that desire came from.

Desire. You despised the word, but you could not name it any other thing. You had always heard poems, reciting love and lust, but what of hatred? You did not love the general at all, but the way he had grabbed onto you, taken your lips prisoner and refused to set them free, caging you in his arms…that was not the work of love. That was not pure, innocent affection.

That was something incredibly dark and twisted that night.

Once again, despite your every effort, the general had bested you.

Not this time—never again!

These thoughts were an unwanted companion as you walked to the Doge’s private chambers, where your father and Councillor Choi were expecting you. The former had not seen you for a time, and invited you to lunch beside him after the end of his government session. He also mentioned wishing to speak to you about a certain matter, which sparked your curiosity. You would not have minded his presence had not other matters taken over your every thought.

The grand doors to the private residences opened, and you let your feet take you to the Doge’s quarters, ignoring the golden finery shining in every corner—from the painting frames, from sculptures of St. Mark and his winged lion, the Virgin Mary peppered in each scene.

Your knock on the grandest door of the vast hall was answered by its swift opening. Your father stood, smiling at your presence.

“Cara,” he greeted, bringing his hand on your head. “It is good to see you.”

You returned his beaming. “Likewise, Papa,” you said, entering his room.

Councillor Choi stood up at seeing you, dipping his head. “Good afternoon, _____.”

“Good afternoon, Councillor—” you stepped forward, about to greet him when the seat beside him was exposed.

There sat Seungcheol, and your voice was gone.

Disappeared entirely, when seeing him leaning back, folded leg over the other, blood-red velvet cloak covering his knees. He was clad in his military armour, but his medals were on display, stuck on his dark grey breast, jingling with every soft movement. Half of his hair was tied back, his locks still managing to brush his neck.

You finally dragged your eyes to his face, and all the memories threatened to return.

Unfortunately for you, the general caught onto your change of countenance immediately. His lips curled upwards.

“Afternoon, dear wife,” he mused.

Bastard.

You would have said it out loud, but your father and the uncle were there, and you would never live it down. “Afternoon,” you clipped instead.

He would have said more, but the Doge interrupted him. “My dear, such an icy greeting!” He looked to his commander. “Have you done something to her?”

“I do not think so.” He gestures his gloved hand to you. “Why not ask her, Your Excellency?”

He glanced at you—the glint in his eyes had your throat burning.

Your father now addressed you. “Cara?”

Today was not the day to humour him. “I am fine, Papa, just tired.” You locked your hands together. “Is something the matter?”

“There is a matter of great importance actually.” He pointed towards the empty seat alongside your husband. “Please, do sit.”

Souring, you obeyed, settling your gowns. The man observed your movements with a single glance, but you ignored him. “Do tell us the news,” you said.

The Doge, sitting in his own golden seat, waved a hand to the general. “As you know, your esteemed husband had won us a major battle against the Ottomans,” he explained, as if you had not heard of this story a hundred times already. “As the most important commander in our arsenal, it is only right to bestow him with a cultural gift to celebrate his victory.”

The councillor chimed in, seated bedside his nephew. “I heard from your father that you have a great interest in the arts. We were wondering if you could recommend us a few artists in demand as of late, so we can commission a portrait.”

“A portrait?” You thought for a moment, locking your hands on your lap. “Well, Titian is the classic portraitist. I have heard of his high-priced commissions, but he never disappoints. Lotto is all right, but I prefer Veronese’s work.”

The two elders were humming to your suggestions, but the young man cleared his throat.

“You do not need to think over who will make the portrait. I have already decided on the artist.”

Councillor Choi was intrigued. “Is that so? And who is the esteemed man?”

Seungcheol ghosted a smile. “The esteemed woman is right beside us.”

He then brought a hand upon yours, and locked his decided stare with yours.

“_____ will paint me.”

Three pairs of eyes whirled to the man who let the declaration pass.

Yours exposed the greatest shock amongst them all.

“Whatever do you mean, Seungcheol?” Your father got out, confused beyond question.

The councillor looked as if he was going to laugh. “Perhaps it is the budding affection between the two that compelled him to say this.”

You immediately shut that down. “I have no idea what he meant by that,” you remarked, now turning to your father. “I think you should choose Titian.”

But the general’s hand tightened on yours, his gaze never leaving yours. “Well, why not?” he asked, cocking his head. “His Excellency did tell me that you delved into a bit of painting before.”

“Yes, but it was long ago,” you hissed, retaining a smile to ward off the elders’ suspicions. “I have abandoned the practice altogether.”

He huffed out a gasp, squinting his eyes, and you knew the horrid man was up to something truly horrendous. “Oh, that is not good at all. I shan’t have my wife missing out on her interests.”

Focusing on the Doge, he continued. “I know the two of you are wary, but I want my portrait done by her. If she does not exceed the Council’s expectations, then her plan can be sent to Titian, and he can recreate her vision.”

He paused, staring at the powerful man in the room with utmost charm, and that was it—he had won another victory. “This is a wish from your dearest commander, and son-in-law. I hope you will humour me this once.”

You watched with horror as the Doge of Venice smiled, waving the two of you off. “Oh, I suppose we can try this out.” A glance towards the councillor. “How do you feel about this?”

The said-man observed his nephew, a strange expression staining his aged features. “I mean, this portrait is supposed to be an important piece for the Palace mantle…it is for establishing your importance in our military, after all…” he shrugged, bringing his long, red sleeves together, hiding his hands. “But it is Seungcheol’s painting.”

“Exactly.” He patted your hands, the smugness reaching his feline gaze. “And I want my wife to make my first portrait.”

Oh, you were going to kill him.

Retracting his touch, you crossed your arms. “I have not touched a paintbrush for years, and you expect me to make a victory portrait? You all should have less faith in me.”

“Nonsense! I have the utmost faith in your skills.” The twinkle in his eye had you gritting your teeth. “It was only yesterday, do you not remember, when we were discussing how you wished to paint more often.”

“I do not recall such a conversation,” you muttered.

“How easily you forget!” ” your husband mused. “This is why we must begin the process at once.”

He shifted to the elders. “You both rest easy. I will arrange everything. All you need to do is let _____ take the reins.”

“Father, do not listen to him!” you exclaimed. “I do not want to do this project!”

Well…it was not as if you did not wish to do this project—in reality, being able to paint without having to hide yourself was a dream come true, but you could not fight for that right now. Not when you had Seungcheol using your secret for his own entertainment, not when you could not take on such a task when looking at him was so painful—

“Cara,” the Doge scolded. “If your husband wishes for you to paint him, then you should not refuse him.”

Sighing sharply, expecting this response, you leaned back against the plush chairs, nails digging into your clothes. “Right. Of course. Listen to the husband. Obey his every command.”

You felt a nearby voice invade your mind. “Do not forget to worship the ground he walks on.”

You did not bother to deign Seungcheol a glare.

“Then it is settled!” your father looked at you. “Good luck, _____! Let us see how a woman will complete this difficult task.”

Smiling weakly, you stared ahead at the paintings before you in the chambers. As the two politicians discussed the prospects, you observed the image—the depictions of war, the angels and roman gods, in love and in hate and all involved in chaos.

There was no way you were sneaking out of this project.

THE PAINTING PROCESS WAS SET UP IMMEDIATELY.

The Doge first suggested setting up an entire studio for your needs, but Seungcheol insisted on a place ‘he was already familiar with’. Of course, he meant your studio.

You would have died before exposing your studio to the elders, but the general was smart. He assured your father and Councillor Choi of finding a safe, artistic space for you to begin your work, where the two of you would not be disturbed. They were satisfied, understanding that you would be under his care, and left the project in his hands.

It was disastrous.

You had foolishly thought once he had caught sight of your secret, he would have been content with the outcome, and left you alone. The bastard, however, had not left your side. Even when you left the Doge’s Palace with the sun just setting, enough light to guide you on your way to your haven, you thought you would be rid of him. He was not at the workshop door, slightly ajar against its harsh, stone walls.

Once you went inside though, it was a completely different picture. Candles had lit up the studio, unfinished statues set aside and half-charcoaled sketches plastered on the walls. Your friends were standing in a scattered circle, easels before them, sketching away.

What they sketched had your mouth dropping open.

The all-too familiar model sat on a wooden chair upon the pedestal, gazing at the distance as he posed for your friends. Tonight, he was adorned in something different—his usual Venetian general-armour had been glorified in Roman centurion-robes, golden plated torso armour, blood-red cloak covering his shoulders and falling to his feet. The tunic beneath the armour stopped just below his thighs, and so gave a perfect view of his legs, sculpted from years of military service. The sandal-boots were tied up to his calves, golden gauntlets on both arms. A spear was held in his right hand, and a red-tousled helmet laid on his lap, his midnight curls remaining half tied, half wildly loosened at his neck. The scar on his lip was more prominent as he posed, exposing a war-like seriousness only a god could muster.

Which was perfect, really, considering who he was posing as.

Minghao heard your footsteps, and smiled. “Ah, _____!”

Seungcheol, hearing your name, broke out of his stance. He greeted your surprise by pointing at you with his spear. “I have been expecting you for the past three hours.”

“What are you talking about?” You immediately snapped, setting your satchel down. “Actually, what the hell are you doing here?”

“_____, is this how you talk to your general?” Soonyoung chimed in, who was right next to Minghao. “Your husband?”

You rolled your eyes. “You better not start, of all people!”

“I was waiting for you to come here so we could begin my portrait.” The general sighed, shaking his head. “It seems you do not take such precious opportunities as seriously as I thought.”

“I have been meaning to talk about that,” you began, walking up to him, stepping up to the pedestal, glaring at him.

He looked up at you, faking innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” you tried to keep your voice to a seething whisper so the others could not hear. “Why are you forcing me to make your painting?”

“I am not forcing you to do anything.”

“Yes you are!” You put your hands to your hips. “Especially after you made it clear to Papa and Councillor Choi that only I can do it and no one else. You know I cannot refuse their approval!”

“I think they would jump on this chance,” he countered. “Last time I remembered, they did not approve of a noblewoman painting whatever she wishes, whenever she wishes.”

“Why are you getting me in trouble then?” You let out a scornful noise. “God, it is so typical of you.”

Breathing sharply through his nose, Seungcheol brought his spear and helmet down, slowly standing up. You blinked back as you took in his height, retaining your exasperation.

“Do you know why, _____…do you understand why I requested your name for the official portrait?”

You refused to back down from his stare. “Enlighten me.”

He looked at you for a few moments longer. Then, his gaze strayed beyond you, focusing on the artists who spent hours sketching him.

“My dear friends,” he addressed, “I am honoured at you all drawing me as Mars, but I must make a request.” His hand travelled around your waist, and the feeling had your stomach somersaulting. “My wife is tasked to paint me, and I hope you will allow us the use of this workshop.”

Everyone was in agreement, especially your two friends, who were waving off the general’s request.

“Who are we to refuse the Victor of Venice?” Soonyoung declared, dusting off his navy-blue tunic. “As for _____, I am overjoyed that you were selected for the portrait.”

“Does this mean the Doge finally knows of your secret studio?” Minghao inquired, sliding his easel away. “It is about time all of us ceased sneaking around.”

“Not quite…” You glanced at your husband, souring your voice. “Seungcheol here found out, but he will behave and not tattle on us.”

“I hope not, dear general,” Soonyoung agreed, nodding his head towards you. “We have heard about your history of betrayals from _____ many times.”

“Is that so?” You felt his interrogating stare on you. “Worry not, Soonyoung, Minghao. I shan’t tell a soul.”

“Good.” Minghao dusted his hands, standing beside the elder. “If this place is exposed, then all of us cannot meet again. It is bad enough hiding the Doge’s daughter from doing what she wishes. It would be a scandal if the public found her painting with artists outside of the nobility.”

Seungcheol furrowed his brows. “But are you both not nobility?”

Soonyoung exposed a wry smirk. “Yes, but we are men, thank the Lord!” He wrapped his arm around his friend. “Hao and I can escape should we are ever caught, but dear old _____…well…”

You clicked your tongue, addressing the people beyond the party. “Thank you, dear artists! You may go now.”

While the rest began to take their leave, your friends exchanged a glance, indicating their departure. “We should head out too,” Minghao said, turning on his heel. “I hope she does your reputation justice, general.”

The elder of the two put a hand on the commander. “If she paints you as a troll like she promised us, Lord Choi, then you can always ignore the consequences and expose her secret!” He laughed at your sneering gasp. “What? You would deserve it for ruining his beautiful face!”

“Get out,” you ordered, pushing him in Minghao’s direction. “Or I will bring you both down with me.”

“But I did nothing!” the younger complained, taking his belongings from the entrance. “God, you both are going to get me in so much shit!”

Your two friends kept on grumbling, waving hastily at you before leaving the workshop. The rest of the artists followed suit, every single one dipping their heads in respect for the man beside you. With the last one out, the heavy wooden door fell shut.

Silence fell on the dimly-lit studio.

You swivelled around. He was looking straight at you.

The heartbeat, settled before, beat a little louder.

Seungcheol broke the deafening quiet with his voice. “You have your space now.” He gestured towards the empty easel. “We can begin.”

You stayed rooted. “You have not answered my question yet.” A pause. “Why are you making me paint your portrait?”

“Tell me what to do first.” He raised his hands wide. “I will explain once we commence.”

A sharp sigh escaping you, you turned your back on him as you reached for Minghao’s easel, sliding out his rough sketch and setting it to the side. The stretched canvases were already prepared for your use, so you grabbed the larger of the few, settling it on the easel. Seungcheol watched your quick movements—the grabbing of the red and black charcoals, bringing them upon a stool beside the easel.

With the red charcoal in hand, you set your eyes on the subject. “Sit back on the chair,” you said, pointing at the pedestal. “Under the lamplight. I need to sketch out your figure.”

As he followed your order, he rested on the wooden chair, legs spreading apart, tunic stretching. You fought the urge to admire his physique, staring at his face. “What about my clothes?” he asked, picking up the helmet. “I suppose you would eat your canvas before painting me as a god?”

“I can easily paint over your ridiculous costume,” you assured him, earning a snort from him. “Hold up the spear, though. I can use that as a template for your sword.”

As he obliged you, holding up the weapon, you took a deep breath, focusing your gaze over him.

It was time to start your biggest project to date.

This was not indulgent-mythological scenes, or rough landscapes, or even an accurate-Soonyoung-as-a-garden-troll painting. This was an official task, selected by the Senate.

You could not mess this up.

“Ready?” you asked him.

He did not answer your question.

“Are you?”

You nodded.

With your red charcoal upon the canvas, you began.

The process of sketching, for you, was as hard as the painting itself.

The dimensions, the perspectives—everything had to be taken into account. The way Seungcheol sat, the length of his arm as the hand gripped the spear, the space between his legs, and the positioning of his sandalled feet. The composition had to be orderly—you focused on his figure, forgetting the features of his face.

Fortunately for you—or a misfortune, considering your recent situation—his body was perfect. His muscular limbs, glowing in the candle lights, were ideal for your drawing. Seeing as you had only painted gods before, you never bestowed upon them human flaws. It was almost irritating to sketch out the swell of the general’s upper arms, the taut, burly thighs, a golden cuff wrapped around one leg. Sketching his slender fingers which settled on that leg, the silver ring on his pinky shone with each flicker of a movement. Your charcoal captured the hazy details, you not wanting to be too specific.

But then you focused on his face, and your countenance soured completely.

A sly remark came from the model. “Why the horrid face, _____?”

You glanced at him.

You had refused to ever acknowledge such terrifying information. You tried to avoid the age-old truth, but as you began to sketch his face, you could not escape it.

He was so utterly, disgustingly beautiful.

His mane of half-tied black locks, framing the face which had you capturing every stray curl, every strand which hugged his neck. The sharp arch of his brows, the dark, mysterious eyes that sheltered underneath them—the lashes that curled, the slight upward curve of his nose as it descended till his mouth stole the show, their cherry colour staining the plains of his lips. The scar he gained in some long-ago battle cut through on the left side of his mouth, but that only added to his character, accentuated his military prowess. This scar widened as he smirked at you, his laugh lines dimpling his otherwise flawless skin.

Your charcoal darkened as it stayed on the sketched lips.

You tried your best to shut him up. “I am struggling to draw your ugly face.”

The laugh lines deepened. “Your arm was moving quite fast, dear wife. I say you have captured me perfectly.”

Your laugh lines were nowhere to be seen. “You are supposed to stay quiet.”

“Not really.” His hand drummed against his thigh. “I was having lovely conversations with your friends as they sketched me. They seemed to have no problems.”

“Well I work differently,” you spat, trying to chalk out his eyelashes. It was awful how you could capture the mischief of his eyes on the canvas. “If you were having such lovely conversations with my friends then you should have had them make your portrait.”

“I did not want your friends. I wanted you.”

You paused.

Looked at him, that mischief snuffing out.

“I want…you.”

The blood rush was creeping back.

You were almost unable to say anything to him. How could you, though, when he was looking at you like that again, the same stare which caused such anarchy in this very workshop. Second-long memories flashed into your mind, and you had to shake your head hurriedly to wave off the sounds of hitched breaths, burning touches, aching lips.

A voice managed to get out. “Why…why did you want me?”

As the artist, you reminded yourself. As his portraitist. Nothing else.

It seemed like he was bound to ignore your question again, and you swore your anger was never going to leave with this man.

Then, his voice broke all silences.

“I did not want you to paint secretly anymore.”

You gawked at him.

He brought his spear into his lap. “Do you know what my first thought was, when I entered this studio for the first time?” He jerked his head at the surroundings. “Saw your artwork?”

His small smile was stained with sadness. “I thought you were one of the finest artists in the Italian peninsula.”

The charcoal in your hands dropped to the floor.

But you did not care that moment, that specific second when you heard the last of Seungcheol’s words, when they entered your ears, settled in your heart.

No one had ever said such a thing to you in your entire life.

Of course, your artistic colleagues had always provided positive feedback. Hell, even your friends sang praises of every painting you gifted them. But that was different—they were people you liked, people akin to your interests.

This was a man you had despised as long as your memory served you.

It was strange, how something inside your chest expanded the longer his words hung in the air. It was not as if you cared for his opinion. You enjoyed doing the opposite of what he demanded, thrived off his anger, his rage by your hands.

The general watched your expression change, and he did not understand why that made his own chest lighter. “I…” He tried to carry on. “I…I could not have you hide your art, _____…I could not be at peace knowing…knowing I was suppressing your talents. No one deserves that.”

He gestured to the canvas. “It is why I made you do this.” His hands locked together on the spear’s shaft. “I do not know how the art world works, but at least it will expose you to the public. People can see the portrait. They can realise how good you really are.”

A pause. “You would not have to sneak away anymore.”

Sneak away from him.

With that, he quietened, waiting for your response.

You could have collapsed to the ground.

This was not Seungcheol—this was not the stone-cold, rude, sword-up-his-arse general that you clashed with in every interaction. This was not the man who had ruined many memories of your childhood. This was another man entirely, a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

You scoured his gaze for any element of ridicule. Anything, even a speck of mockery to tear his confession down. To your utmost shock, you did not find a trace of anything.

Only raw sincerity.

Your hairs stood on the back of your neck, unaware of what exactly to say to him. It did not help either that his gaze was so unnerving—it was like he knew what his words were doing to you. You hated that.

Breaking his stare, you knelt down, grabbing onto your red charcoal. You hated that he was watching your every move, the slight shake in your hands as you observed your progress—the face. Yes, the face was done, but his lips needed reworking.

A sigh left you.

You hated that you could not hate him for his words.

The charcoal grazed the paper, your eyes travelling to the feature that needed redoing.

You hated how he watched you pause. You, pushing the charcoal deeper in the canvas, did not realise it as you observed his mouth parting, ever so slightly.

His tongue poked out— it slid along his lower lip. Foolishly, like the greatest simpleton, you parted your own mouth, blinking at his movements. You watched his tongue slip back in, scarred lip now glistening.

His lips then curled upwards, and you blinked again, realising your mistake.

He had just seen you staring at him like a woman starved.

God, you hated Choi Seungcheol.

“Stop doing that to your lips!” you hissed, almost breaking your charcoal from the sheer push inside the canvas.

The general cocked his head. “Stop looking at my lips, then,” he merely said.

You were going to murder him—gut him alive, and paint his bloodied corpse. “I have to look at them, I am drawing you!”

“You have been looking at them far too often,” he insisted, and you realised he was toying with you. “God, the canvas must have been shredded by now!”

“It is fine, just stop talking!”

“I must have a look,” he declared, getting up from his position.

That had you panicking. “Choi Seungcheol, if you do not sit down I swear I will quit this portrait!”

But he was never one to listen to orders when he had spent his entire life giving them out.

Down the pedestal he went, walking to you, and you had to turn away as he grabbed onto the easel, standing in front of it.

One of his perfect eyebrows shot upwards.

The progress was excellent—there was little doubt that you exceeded in portraiture. His seated figure was sketched accurately, despite it only being the rough drawing, his raised hand holding the spear, sketched as a sword on the canvas.

What caught him off guard was the face.

Every detail of his features was sketched lightly but the crimson shade of his mouth, layered and layered to perfection. He could instantly tell that you had been going over and over the feature like a madman, forgetting everything else as soon as you focused on it. His scar was cut through beautifully, and the red charcoal almost enlivened his mouth.

He could not contain the complacent smirk.

You, on the other hand, could feel it on your back.

“Do not,” you gritted out, “Say a word.”

Seungcheol could not help himself. “What?” he began, and you could hear the pomposity of his voice. “You obsess over my mouth, but cannot hear what comes out of it?” A step towards you. His presence was near, too near. “Now you know that is not fair.”

“Oh my God—”

Swivelling around, you almost yelped to see him so close. Tilting your head up, you looked at him, taking a step back. “That is…normal when making a portrait,” you countered. “You would not know because you do not make art.”

“That is true.” He snuffed the distance again with another step forward. “But what I do know is your nature.” His gaze darted down. “You are obsessive, dear wife. You focus on one thing, and delve fully into it.”

His eyes stayed on your mouth. “Your art speaks your truth. And that truth is that you have not forgotten that night.”

That night.

The night where you and Seungcheol collided like two opposing warships, crashing into the sea in harmony.

You tried to remain stubborn. “You talk nonsense.”

“Do I?” he asked you, and you could not answer him, not when he was so close. “Tell me you have forgotten. Say you have not thought about it once, and I will not speak of it again.”

“I have not thought about anything,” you snarled, but you averted your gaze, sliding to the canvas—to the crimson mouth.

He was not having it. “Look at me and say it.”

“I do not want to look at you.”

But he raised a finger to your chin, and the sheer force of his pointer had you turning your head. You were met with his fierce stare, and widened yours a little.

“You choose not to listen to me…every single time, huh?”

His finger moved ever so slightly on your chin. “How do I get this…this stubbornness out of you?”

You drank in his every detail as if you were sketching him. “You cannot. I will always do the opposite of your wishes.”

“Fine.”

He moved in, and his nose brushed against yours. You could feel his breath on your skin.

“I wish you to walk away.”

You paused—felt the satisfactory smile ghost his lips, only for a second.

“Will you do as I bid you and be free of me?” His question was a mere whisper. “Or will you do as you please, and stay beside me?”

Your eyes fluttered, heavy-lidded as you weighed your options.

It was either obedience and safety from his clutches, or rebellion with your imminent downfall. The greatest double-edged sword of choice—you were quite at a standstill.

His order fanned your mouth. “I wish you to leave.”

The decision was made.

You would die before you obeyed Seungcheol.

“I was here the entire time. You came to me.” A momentary glance at the stage before you focused on his stare. “You leave.”

You watched him take in your order. You could not determine his response, and the anticipation gnawed at your insides. What was he thinking? Would he demand your exit? Why was he looking at your mouth instead of answering your question?

It felt like a million years had passed before he finally spoke.

“Fine.”

His finger left your chin.

“As you wish.”

He stepped away from you.

But you were blinking back, breathing a little too loud, because why did he follow through, why was he walking away when he was about to do something, something you were anticipating, something you dared not anticipate?

You turned to see him walking back, his steps echoing in the workshop.

Something extraordinary overcame you.

It was undoubtedly the forces that struck the general many nights ago that now plagued your nerves, your bones. Without realising what in Hell you were doing, your feet were moving, picking up a frightening pace that followed the leading footsteps. Your hands, with newfound strength, reached out, and with sheer tenacity grabbed onto Seungcheol’s arm.

He whirled back, surprised.

He did not have a single moment to demand explanation as your hands reached for his face, pulling him in a searing kiss.

Your lips latched onto his, and it was like a leash had been snapped in his soul. As hungrily as you had come onto him, he matched it, hand on the back of your neck as he tilted your head, delving deeper.

God save his soul—he could never admit it to you, but the night he pounced on you had been a memory he had not shaken off. He could not help it, but your mouth, shouting and sneering, haunted him. That night, a boundary had been crossed, but he wanted to face the unknown—the unknown that was you, your cruel words, and your hypnotic taste.

His mouth was relentless, offering no mercy as he preyed on your lips. He opened you wider, catching the moans that slipped out of you, moans you hated that escaped because it meant he was good, he knew exactly what he was doing.

His tongue slipped through, finding yours and humming at the way he played with it—he closed his mouth over your tongue, sucking slightly, and you could have burst into flames. You slid your arms around his neck, pushing him into you, needing him to engulf you entirely. Your blood simmered beneath your skin, your body hotter than a bonfire, but you refused to cool down. You refused a break when the general caught your lower lip, slowly sinking his teeth into the flesh.

There was so much of him. He was all over you, and you could not have wanted it more, savouring his fingers on your back, your neck, a sliver of skin should your awful dress let you. He was pushing you, your feet stumbling back and back and back, and the easel fell over, his canvas scattering to the floor.

You broke away from his heated kisses, gasping as you peered at the fallen artwork. “Th-the canvas!” You got out, then glaring daggers at the perpetrator. “Do you…!” A shuddered breath. “Do you not have eyes?!”

But then the look he returned had your heart pumping in your ears.

“I don’t give a fuck about the canvas right now.”

Despite your heart, you had the nerve to be irritated. “Of course you don’t,” you spat out, digging your nails into his shoulders. “Treat it however you want it, not like it is worth my entire—“

You did not finish your rant as Seungcheol, gritting his teeth, swooped in, shutting you up with his mouth. It was as if the little spat had never happened, with how quickly he settled on your lower lip, biting it enticingly enough to have you whining onto his teeth.

This time, rather than risk running into any more obstacles, the general swooped you up in his arms, never letting you expose your surprise as his mouth still worked upon yours, drowning out your gasp with his tongue. He led you to the stage, going up the steps until he laid you on the edge of the platform, he going down a step.

Sensing your lips receiving enough attention, he trailed his kisses to your chin, down your neck. Your breaths hitched with every touch, closing your eyes and feeling your heart burst from your chest.

He paused on the column of your throat, feeling his lips part, but then his teeth grazed your skin, and you hitched out an uneasy breath at the soft ache that blossomed. His tongue instantly ran over the tender mark, and the touch had you grabbing onto his hair, relishing the soft, velvety feel of his locks.

“God,” he whispered on your skin. “This…you’re driving me crazy.”

You would have let him talk had his hand not fallen to your skirts. With great urgency he hiked up the fabric, the hem rising from your boots, exposing your legs. Unfortunately, with one layer of your gown there were a thousand more underskirts. The general hissed out a curse. “You ladies and your fucking dresses,” he guttered, voice so husky you almost forgot your counter-quip.

Then, you realised what he was actually doing, and you had him pause. “Wh-why are you lifting my gown?”

He sighed sharply—all these questions, when he was too delirious to answer properly. “Why else would I lift your gown?”

Through your mind-haze, you felt a little confused. “You tell me, All-Knowing General.”

He was ready to snap at you when the realisation struck him properly.

You were a noblewoman—of course you would not know what happened between two people when they hungered for each other.

Something about that piece of knowledge had Seungcheol’s stomach curling in desire.

He was the first to show you just why certain men lifted certain ladies’ gowns—just why certain, lust-struck generals wished to uncover certain, ravenous Doge’s daughters, and relish in their undoing.

Dear Lord of the heavens.

“Seungcheol?”

The said-man perked up. “You have not answered my question,” you said, uncertainty lacing your voice.

But he was never the one to answer your questions properly, a notion that irritated you beyond reason.

However, when he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, you could have excused him.

Especially when he whispered, “How about I show you why, carrissima?”

Shivers ran down your spine, he recognising it instantly. He could not help lacing his smile with pride. “I promise it will be wonderful,” he purred, his words blowing softly in your hair. He kissed you just under your ear, and your eyes fluttered.

You were going to absolutely hate yourself when this was over.

“Go on,” you breathed out. “I will be the judge of that.”

“Good,” he added in before capturing your lips again, hands more urgent as he brought the last of the skirts up, the tufts of fabric bunching at your waist. Soon, he began his descent, mouth dragging down your neck, along your clothed abdomen till he broke away, uncovering the last of your underthings as he swiped them off your legs. Slowly, enjoying every second, he brought his hands to your legs, spreading them enough to settle between them.

A soft hiss escaped you as the cold air of the workshop kissed your core. Leaning against your elbows, you caught sight of his face.

It was as if he had found every treasure hidden under the earth.

His mouth had parted, blinking slowly, and you could have squirmed at the pure, unadulterated desire that radiated from his gaze. You had heard of lust before, of course you did, but to witness it in someone’s eyes—the general’s cold, unfeeling ones at that—was an achievement. It was a thrill.

“What…” you could not even manage to form sentences properly. “What are you…gawking for?”

The general did not respond.

He only dipped his head, pressing an ironically chaste kiss along your inner thigh. Instantly you quietened, and the silence had him chuckling upon your skin.

Looking over to witness your sheer embarrassment, his soft laughter twisted dark. “Don’t go all silent on me now,” he taunted, fingers drumming under your knees. “Not when I want you to be loud this time.”

The audacity of his claim had you pursing your mouth, ignoring the way his smirk had you slacking. There was absolutely no way on this earth that you would say a word, even if the sky would fall on your head.

Seungcheol then kissed a path closer to the final destination—his hair tickled your thighs, and it took everything in you not to sigh out, break your vow. The moment he went past the boundaries, though, there was no controlling it.

The moment his lips touched your slit, you felt yourself slip away.

His tongue slipped out, tasting your arousal, and he had to stop himself from going ballistic. Every insult, mockery and torment from you would be void to him. They would fall on deaf ears now that he savoured you—savoured you dripping for him. For him.

He explored the edges of your cunt, collecting your arousal like a man parched. Tingling sensations curled up your spine, gritting your teeth to stop yourself—not a word.

But then his tongue travelled further up, and when he trailed upon a certain spot you could not help yourself. A small gasp flew out of you, and you just knew the general had found the way to undo you.

The unfortunate situation for you—most fortunate, really, considering the pleasure you were feeling at the moment—was that Seungcheol knew exactly what he was doing.

He knew the bud that peaked—he was well aware that when he circled his tongue, slow, languid, as if he had all the time in the world, you would not be able to silence yourself. You would lose the war of reticence, the battle of calm—before you were his enemy, you were a woman.

A woman who could not even fathom what she felt.

Your core had its own heartbeat, and the bundle of nerves which received attention had it racing. The general was so awfully, terribly, terrifyingly good, his tongue patterning a loop around your clit. The vow of silence had been long broken, but the soft sighs were threatening to go louder, and it scared you that you did not care if you lost.

Perhaps you still could have held out—one last, hopeful shot at besting him.

Then he retracted from your cunt and you could have turned into a monster.

“What the fuck—!”

The blood was pumping slower, the absence upon your clit already aching to be filled.

With frantic eyes you glared at him; if looks could kill, Seungcheol would have been a brutal mess of bones and flesh.

The said-man, even with mere inches from your cunt, returned your stare. Despite the uneven breathing, his slick lips twisted upwards.

“I thought you said you were going to be silent.”

You could have killed him—truly. “I thought,” you rasped, backing up your gown further up, “You were going to show me…why I lifted my skirts.”

His hands roamed underneath your legs. “Have I not already?” With little effort he lifted your left leg, settling it on his right shoulder. “I just think you do not deserve it.”

Bastard. “Whatever you think you are doing…I have not felt a thing,” You lied, as if your cunt was not pumping along to your heartbeat.

His scoff was enough—unfortunately, he saw right through you. “Maybe your moaning was from something else, then.”

Your cheeks heated. “I did not moan.”

“Yes you did.”

“I did not!”

But then his finger ran along your slit, and he saw your eyes widen, mouth slacken. His manic grin, scar stretching, had your stomach fluttering. “Yes…” the finger slid in, just a little deeper, and your breathing hitched. “Yes, you did, carrissima.”

Oh, dear Lord.

You had to be in Hell—your skin was on fire, your senses were hazing, and the devil lay between your legs.

But if this was Hell, then why did you not despise it? Why were you promised misery, when all you were given was pleasure?

Why was Choi Seungcheol capable of giving you pleasure?

“If it pleases you,” you heard him say, lifting your other leg, “I am not finished.”

That had your body singing. “Is that so?” You whispered.

His chuckling fanned your cunt—you almost shivered. “Already so eager for me to continue?”

Bastard, bastard, bastard. “Eager for this to finish,” you taunted. “So you can stop wasting my time.”

His eyes blazed with your challenge.

When did the fire in his gaze become so enticing?

“You are going to eat your words, _____,” he warned.

“We will see about that—”

You did not get to finish your sentence as the general dove back in. His tongue found familiar solace upon your clit, and the pace which he encircled it with had you losing all sense. It did not help either that your legs were slung over him, so your balance depended on his wide shoulders, one hand holding onto your left.

His other hand had other plans.

While his tongue worked so perfectly upon the bud, his fingers roamed on the edges of your slit, teasing, tormenting, daring you to be shamelessly loud—you would not give in.

When he slithered a finger inside you, though, your mouth broke open.

A soft gasp escaped, feeling its slow journey, and your hand grabbed onto his hair, taking tufts of his velvet locks in a trembling hold. Your walls clenched around him, a mere finger doing this much damage.

But then he began to pull out, and the action alone had your voice stumbling louder.

His tongue was growing relentless—gone was the slow fluidity, vanishing with each minute, a bizarre hunger clawing at the general’s mouth. The attention on your clit, tied with the growing pace of his finger, sliding in and out, was driving you insane.

It was as if the vow never existed.

Your whispers, sighs and gasps gained a solid voice. The groans, so suppressed down your throat from your pride, climbed to the surface of your tongue. They were all you could express, the whimpers that freed from your mouth, when all your thoughts focused on one man.

This man fastened his pace even further, and you could not take it—your core was constricting, pressure settling in your hips, tendrils of tension curling up your spine. Your legs were shaking on his shoulders, and your arms had given up, your head laid on the pedestal stone. Your eyes were closed, images of his cold eyes upon you as he devoured you encircling your mind, and suddenly it was all too much.

Because this state had brought you a loss of coherent sentences, you called out the one name that you could not forget.

“Ch-Cheol—!”

Of course, the commander of Venice knew what to do.

He could feel you trembling upon him, under him. As his mouth worked overtime, his finger sliding in and out, he knew that you were close, so unbelievably close to absolution when you had no idea of how it felt.

Tonight, on the steps of the workshop stage, he would show you. With the dozen pairs of stone eyes watching the two of you, Seungcheol would give the statues a show.

He will spark their dead stone gazes to life.

He will spark your dead, stone soul to life.

The general sucked on your clit one last time.

That was enough for ruination.

You cried out, loud and shameless as you came, hips jerking without your control into him. As constricted as you were before, the balm of peace washed over you, as if you had weathered a storm and were now on the safety of the shore. You went limp as you rode through the new, euphoric feelings, finger inside you finally sliding out. You felt a small kiss on the bud before the absence was noted.

Breathing raggedly, chest heaving up and down, you had to take a minute before you had the strength to sit up. Excruciating as it was, when your eyes fluttered open, the sight that welcomed you had your core tightening all over again.

Seungcheol settled in between your legs as he slowly removed them from his shoulder, gaze upon you. His one slick middle finger glistened in the lamp light, and your focus strayed to its shine, courtesy of your lust.

Noticing, he ghosted a smile.

Your gaze followed the slick finger rise, up to the even slicker mouth. With painful, drowsy slowness, he wrapped his lips on the finger, sucking your remnants clean. Taking in the last of your arousal.

You blinked back—gulped.

With a pop! he released his finger. Hands holding onto your thighs, his heavy-lidded eyes held you prisoner.

His voice had you wanting to repeat the endeavours all over again.

“Tell me again that you did not feel anything.”

Your own voice failed to comply.

Deep inside, you knew—you could not lie anymore.

Not when you were completely undone by his hands, his tongue.

It was a great loss on your part.

Why did it feel more like a win?

“My my,” he mused, leaning upwards, eye-level with you. “Have I fingered you stupid?”

Seungcheol’s husky chuckling entered your ears. “Had I known this was the way to shut you up, I would have done it a long time ago.”

That had you perking up. “Of course you had to ruin it.” you got out, some sense finally returning your mind. “You could not have shut yourself up.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head. “Was there something to ruin between us?”

Damn, damn, damn! “That is not what I meant,” you seethed.

“How else did you mean it, then?”

You opened your mouth, but seeing his god-awful, victorious grin was too much. Your face burned as hot as the summer sun, and you had to suffer as the general laughed at your lack of response.

The absolute bastard. You knew that you had lost this battle, but your greatest consequence was that you did not feel it as a loss. What Seungcheol gave you just now…

You would die before admitting it to him, but you had never felt that wonderful as you did with his face between your thighs.

So you let him bask in his victory.

You tolerated his smug stares, dancing eyes, and rather soft laughter as your hand went to your chest, heart beating a mile a minute.

You could not answer him that night, but you asked yourself another question that only made it all the more difficult.

How have you let him win? As someone who would have rather been sent to the convent than see the general satisfied, how were you fine with his victory?

Why did you let him win?

That question you will keep unanswered forever.

Or as long as possible before you could not avoid it anymore.

A STRANGE ROUTINE HAD BEEN ESTABLISHED SINCE THAT NIGHT.

Almost every day you would find Seungcheol standing outside the studio, and without fail, he would comment on how he had been waiting oh so very long! You would only shake your head, and threaten to keep him out unless he shut his mouth. Of course, because he was insufferable, he would never keep quiet, so you would resort to sharp glares and melodramatic sighs.

The portrait was making great progress too, now that you had begun to paint the first layers. Thankfully, he had removed himself from his Roman-god garb, and now posed in his own military attire. Sometimes, he would come in everyday nobleman’s clothing if he was hurrying back from a Senate meeting. His outfit changes did not deter your painting, considering you had already planned out his armour onto the canvas.

It was shocking how much you preferred him in his midnight armour—you hated yourself for it, but you would catch yourself almost smiling whenever you were greeted with his crimson cloak, its ends moving in the summer breeze, or his medals tingling with his every move. The more you painted him in his soldierly might, the more you found yourself at awe with his image.

It was truly horrendous.

What was worse was that you were beginning to look forward to these sessions. It was unfortunate enough that you loved to paint, but to create a beautiful man on paper was something else entirely—it made you want to work harder on the painting, capture his every little detail to perfection. Furthermore, it was not just the general you had to please either—the entire Senate waited on your creation, expecting a portrait akin to the Venetian masters.

You had your concerns when it came to the patricians’ reactions. Already your father and Councillor Choi were displeased at you being chosen, and there was little doubt that they would be your harshest critics. One small mistake, one wrong choice, and your entire career would be over before it ever began.

You commented on this to Seungcheol the other evening as you finished the background of the painting. Truthfully, you were specifically planning to never speak to him about such concerns. Yes, you enjoyed drawing him, but that was where it ended. However, the general was painfully good at reading your countenance, and sensed your growing anxiety at every mention of the Doge.

He first thought to avoid the inquiry—the probable outcome was you replying to him with disdain, and then urging him to mind his business. That was what occurred in the past, and before he would have been damned to ask about your welfare.

That day, though, something in him urged the question out of him. He asked you, expecting nothing.

You were surprised to find yourself answering him.

“I just…I was thinking of my father and Councillor Choi.” You added the finishing touches on the ships floating in the lagoon, exposed from the imaginary window of the background. “You know, whether they would like the portrait.”

“Why would they not?” He fisted his hand which held his head. “There is a reason they accepted you.”

“That was because you persisted,” you countered. “They do not even know I have painted to this extent.”

“Come, now.” He straightened in his seat—you really wished he would stop fidgeting so much. “They were not going to follow through with my wishes simply because I demanded for you.”

“But they would,” you insisted. “You have influence over every politician in the Senate. Hell, you even influence my father! If you were to recommend an escort off the streets they would have obliged you.”

He almost sighed.

All the power in the Republic, but he could not attain the good opinion of one person whose influence mattered.

“You should remember, _____, that I would not have recommended you had you not been an excellent artist. The Senate will approve the portrait without opposition.”

You glanced up from the canvas—saw the sincerity in his stare. “I mean that,” he said.

It was strange how you did not doubt his words.

“Besides…” He relaxed back into the pose, tilting his head into his fist.

He broke the official expression by grinning. “The only opinion you should be anxious over is mine.”

You could not help the surprised burst of laughter. “Hmm…of course,” you got out, continuing on with your painting.

Seungcheol watched you chuckling every now and then, and his smirk softened.

It would have killed him to admit it to anyone, but a feeling of relief washed over him when you confessed your concerns.

The past few weeks had not been as horrendous as he had thought—as he had hoped. Granted, he was responsible for creating this arrangement, but he had doubts about how smoothly the process would go.

Mostly, he had doubts on how you would react with him when the two of you were alone.

Especially after that night.

The general exhaled sharply.

He was losing his mind. He did not understand how his entire identity was slowly crumbling. He prided himself on his restraint, his patience. It was why he won every battle he waged, obtained every request, demand and order from anyone he wished. He was powerful—unbeatable.

But then you get pulled into a room alone with him, and a decade of military training completely vanishes.

It was so…ridiculous. He was the first to curse your antics, your never-closing mouth, but now all he could think of was your mouth, and how he should close it. He was observing you then, the focused expression, when you would bite your lower lip, brows furrowed. It was strangely endearing, the effort you exerted in the painting.

What was even stranger were the arguments.

There were bound to be clashes, especially when you both were alone. You would say something incredibly foolish, and he would have to correct you; sometimes, Seungcheol would start the spark, spin the cauldron of your rage, and he would have to clamp down on his smile as you would scream at him. You, however, were always the one to finish an argument, lowering yourself to personal verbal abuse, and then he would be angered, demanding vengeance for your vicious tongue.

But when the two of you would storm up to each other—you ready to smash the canvas on his face—you and him would look at each other for a beat too long. Gazes would fall to mouths, and suddenly you were stumbling back into the walls, him plying your lips open—the next thing laying on the steps as he made your legs shake with his hands, his tongue.

Your reactions—the soft whimpers, the shaking exhales as they tumbled out of you—he never thought that such simple voices would bring him such delight. Never in his wildest dreams did he believe you of all women to be under him, but he welcomed the surprise.

The most frightening notion, though, out of everything that occurred between the two of you, was after the ministrations.

Usually, realising what you had done, you would run out of the studio—he had always been shocked at the events, and tried to rationalise them, but recently, he grabbed onto you as you tried to make flight.

Recently, he had asked you to stay.

“If you try to escape every time I kiss you, _____, then why do you go along with it?” he had asked you one day.

He asked you more. Questions you could not answer him. “Do you regret it every time?”

You wanted to lie—throw the yes at him.

Because if the Lord demanded truth on the day of Judgement, questioned your feelings concerning the man society called your husband, and you called your sworn enemy, then you would not be able to answer Him.

Because you did not like your answer.

So you never gave him a response, and hoped he would not cease the confusing, heated relationship that had grown out of mutual animosity.

The two of you continued in this fashion, painting progressing smoothly.

It was surprising that you were not bothered by the artists who usually worked in the studio. You were aware that your two friends had travelled to Florence a couple of weeks back to attend an artists’ convention. Word had spread in Venice that Florence’s duke had prepared a lavish ceremony for painters around the Italian peninsula, and many art lovers flocked to the cosmopolitan city.

The two returned a couple of days ago, and you paused the portrait for the day as they came to see you in the Palace. They regaled you of their tales—the paintings they had created, the chaos they caused in the ducal manors, and you laughed at their storytelling, never ending in your inquiries for more.

As they drank up your father’s alcohol, remembering more of their trip, they dropped some news that had your eyebrows raising.

“The duke of Florence…asking about me?!”

Soonyoung hummed in confirmation, swirling his wine. “He heard of the Victor’s wife creating his portrait, and was very intrigued. Since you are our dearest friend, we gushed about your skills.”

“He only mentioned you once in that entire trip,” Minghao corrected him, raising a brow. “He was too busy fucking the Florentine ladies to even bother painting.”

You tutted at the elder of the three. “What else was he to do when he had run out of Venetian escorts?”

“That is enough torment from the both of you!” Soonyoung yelled, raising his free hand. “You truly are the worst, _____! I was going to offer an invite on our next voyage to Florence, but you have officially lost the privilege.”

You offered him an incredulous look. “Whatever do you mean?”

Minghao sipped the red wine. “We were supposed to stay in the convention for the rest of the summer, but we actually received a specific request from the Duke to bring you with us. It is why we have come back early.”

You almost dropped your glass.

“This could be an amazing opportunity!” Soonyoung started, a pondering hand on his chin. “Imagine. Learning from the Florentine masters, exchanging resources, gaining commissions from the Duke and Duchess of Italian art’s capital…you would become the most renowned painter of the land.”

“I would not go that far…” you trailed off, but now you were imagining what it would be like travelling to the far-away state. What would it be like, to hone your skills, meeting like-minded artists? It had always been your dream, a fantasy you had tucked away in the crevices of your mind. To travel beyond the borders of your domain, witness artistic change with your own eyes, contribute to it with your own hands…nothing could have made you happier.

It was why it remained a fantasy.

“Do not be ridiculous,” you said to your friends, locking your hands on your folded knee. “It is bad enough that Papa does not know where I paint Seungcheol’s portrait.”

“We would have agreed with you before, _____, but things have changed.” Minghao smiled knowingly. “You now have a powerful general who supports your ventures.”

“A husband who would die to further your success,” Soonyoung chipped in.

“There is no need for exaggeration,” you murmured.

“How are we exaggerating? This man has demanded his wife for his state portrait! Venice has not seen such an act of marital affection in generations!” He slapped his drink down on the table in front of him. “If you explained the Duke’s requests, the general would happily accompany you to the convention.”

“And if he cannot, we can easily take you under our protection,” the younger offered. “You should speak to Seungcheol. Truly.”

“I…I am not so sure,” you only said, looking at your glass.

“Not so sure of what?”

Your stomach turned.

Whirled your head to the door to find the very man you three spoke of.

“Ah, the Victor!” Soonyoung declared, ushering Seungcheol over. The general obliged his boisterous attitude, walking over to the group. After eyeing the empty space beside you, he filled it with his seated presence, settling an ankle over his knee.

“Afternoon, carissima,” he greeted you, and you could only nod at him in response to settle the nerves. He then focused on your friends, smiling. “What brings you here? I thought you both were wreaking havoc in Florence.”

“We are going back very soon, not to worry!” Minghao set his drink on the table. “We actually returned home momentarily because we forgot to take everything with us.”

“Oh? And what did you forget?”

Your two companions looked at you, Minghao about to answer the dreaded question.

You instantly jumped in.

“They forgot to bring their oil-on-wooden canvases!” you tried your best with your over-inflated exasperation. “Could you believe it? Travelling to an art convention and forgetting half of your art!”

“Ah…” Seungcheol studied the two nobles. “And could you both not have…requested the art brought to you?”

Your eyes begged for assistance from the younger men in the room. Soonyoung chuckled hesitantly as he said, “Ah, yes…well, I just thought…such precious work, you know? Servants cannot be trusted these days!”

“Hmm…” From his tone, you could tell your husband was not satisfied with such a weak explanation. “You could have asked me. I would have provided soldiers to reassure safe passage.”

Minghao followed Soonyoung’s awkward laughter. “No, no! We could never accept such help.”

“Why not? Any dear friend of _____’s is a dear friend of mine.”

The comment would have been heartwarming if you three were not maintaining a measly lie. “You ask too many questions, Seungcheol,” you remarked. “Do you not have meetings to attend to?”

“I do not, in fact, but…” he sighed, mocking agitation. “I will leave if I am not wanted.”

He waited for you to object, but you stayed silent, raising a brow. After a moment, he truly expressed agitation. “God, you really are cruel!”

“I just need to speak to my friends, that is all.” you gestured your hand to the door. “I heard Papa calling for you.”

Exhaling hard, he got up from the couch, dusting at his maroon attire. “Fine. I will believe your obvious fib, and speak with you later.” He nodded at the two. “Gentlemen.”

They bid their farewells, and you all watched the general as he exited the sitting room.

The moment his presence was gone, the two glared you down. “What on earth was that?” Minghao seethed. “Why did you not ask him?”

A part of you wished you could tell him.

After working on the state portrait, you had found yourself hoping more than a woman should expect when regarding her future. You were fortunate enough to paint Venice’s great commander, but you knew this was as much the universe could offer. You did not want to tempt fate.

You did not want to push the boundaries of Seungcheol’s benevolence.

You blinked back at the revelation.

You did not want to bother Seungcheol.

That was quite a horrifying thought.

Perhaps you would have escaped to Florence on a whim before—really cause a scandal on your husband’s name, even your father’s. Before, that would have brought you great satisfaction.

This time, you were hesitant—you already received the opportunity for the general’s painting, and you could not ruin it when you still had to finish it. You could not kill the flower of your artistic growth when it had just begun to bloom.

So you only nodded at your friends, assuring them of your answer once you spoke to Seungcheol.

Faux reassurances, for you knew that the opportunity of your journey to Florence died within this conversation.

YOU CONSIDERED THE FLORENCE SITUATION BEHIND YOU.

Minghao and Soonyoung were staying only a couple more days before journeying to Florence again, and you made them swear never to speak on the situation in the future.

Up until this point, you had begun colouring Seungcheol’s figure—the seated general, all poise and power with his longsword, the midnight armour impossible to perfect without ripping your hair out from the roots. At least the subject was more obedient this time, staying deathly still as you mixed your oils, trying to find the perfect hue for his dark attire.

Although frustrating, the process was rewarding, because the first layer was done quickly—the details were needed, but you resorted to positive thinking in the workshop. At least with his encouragement, you could keep painting without feeling as if you have failed.

Soon, though, the general had to leave many of the sessions. Your father, this time, was taking up more of his time, and you assumed it was for more political advice than a sudden wish to bother his son-in-law.

Seungcheol had given general details of the meetings, but you did not care much when your painting preoccupied your thoughts much more than the Venetian political scene. He told you of growing Ottoman sentiments of making peace, and he was in accord, not wishing to shed more bloodshed. A small part of you was impressed—it was quite insane, how a single man was behind the downfall of imperial expansion.

With today’s absence, though, you decided to take the day for yourself, closing the workshop as you headed back to the Palace. You were greeted by a few servants, who ushered you into the Doge’s headquarters, informing you of your father’s summons for you.

A good thing you chose to return at that time then.

You walked into the grand room of the senate; the Doge was, as usual, sitting at the end of the room as the empty chairs on each of his sides were lined up, two of them occupied. Seungcheol and Councillor Choi settled opposite each other—the former on the left of the Doge, and the latter on the right.

Once you entered, your father smiled, gesturing for you to sit. “Ah, cara, it is good you are here.”

Seungcheol turned around in his seat—you caught his eye, and you kept it locked as you greeted the elders, finding your way to the chair next to him.

He looked as if he was going to say something, but your father beat him to it. “How is the portrait coming along?”

“Splendidly,” you answered. “It should be finished in the next few weeks.”

“Good. The Senate has been demanding progress on the artwork, so I will send this news over.” He waved a hand over to his old friend, who watched you and his nephew intently. “The reason I brought you here today is to give you some news.”

“Oh?”

The elderly gazes rested on the general.

The general’s gaze rested on you.

You watched him hesitate a little before speaking. “I am leaving for Corfu in a few days.”

“Corfu?” Your confusion grew. “Whatever for?”

“Remembering the Ottomans wishing for peace? Corfu is a perfect middle spot between Venice and Constantinople, and the sultan specifically asked for me.”

There was a slight air of pomposity in Councillor Choi’s voice as he chimed in. “I think the sultan wishes to see what kind of man defeated an empire.”

Your mind tried to take in the information as they explained the situation further. Corfu. The island was about two weeks’ ship-ride from Venice, and undoubtedly Seungcheol’s factions would have to stay for a while to negotiate such an important treaty. This meant that this entire affair would last at least three months.

You did not know why that dampened your spirits. “Oh…I see.”

The Doge noticed your change of tone. “Well, do not be aggrieved already! Councillor and I have decided that you should join him in his peace efforts.”

That was even more shocking. “What?” you asked, not quite believing the situation at hand. “Me? Corfu?”

“It is customary to accompany your husband wherever you go,” the uncle explained, locking his hands. “The Doge’s daughter at the negotiation sends a message of power. Solidarity.”

Murmuring a response, you looked down at your shoes, thinking of your prospects.

What about the portrait? You knew it was too good to be true. It had to be a scheme from the Senate to delay its finishing. Anything to stop a noblewoman from doing anything useful for the State.

You could not go to Corfu. God, Seungcheol could not go to Corfu, not for that long.

You blinked.

Why in Hell did that bother you so much?

“Your Excellency, Uncle…I have already decided.”

You did not bother turning to see his face.

“_____ will not be joining me.”

Nevermind—you did bother, glancing at him.

The Doge was now the confused one. “Whyever not?”

Councillor Choi shrugged. “Well, I suppose a negotiation scene must be too much for a lady—”

“No. Nothing of the sort. You see, _____ will be engaged in something else.”

You watched a determined glint spark up in the general’s eyes.

“While I am Corfu, my wife will be in Florence.”

Silence.

Ever so slowly, you straightened in your seat. Three pairs of eyes, widened like full moons, gawked at him as if he just admitted a sin worthy of confession. His face, however, remained as cool as the lagoon overlooking the Palace.

It was a while before anyone spoke.

His uncle first broke the uncomfortable silence.

“What…what on earth are you talking about?”

“Let me explain.” A clearing of his throat, hand going inside his maroon, buttoned shirt. “About a month back, I received a letter from the Duke of Florence. He had heard of my decision to have _____ paint my portrait, and apparently it has spread like wildfire.” He fished out a wheat-coloured, folded paper, royal seal broken. “You see, he was very intrigued to see a lady attain such a high honour, and was hoping we could go to Florence and be hosted by him.”

He continued, ignoring the growing shock of his audience. “Now I know I have obligations, so of course I could not accept his invitation. However, _____ would be perfect for the event. Not only is she the Doge’s daughter, but she is the reason the Duke wrote to me in the first place. She can wow the Florentine public with her artistic flair, and act as our ambassador from Venice.”

He looked at you, and a ghost of a smile appeared at your blatant surprise. “I might be right in saying that she is aware of the art convention occurring in Florence. Minghao and Soonyoung will be returning there in a couple of days’ time, so they can accompany her to the city.”

His gaze fixated on the Doge. “_____ would be infinitely more useful in Florence.”

He held out the letter to you. “Most importantly, she would adore it there.”

You gawked at the letter. Bidding your hand to work, you took it, unfolding the paper. Sure enough, it was the Duke of Florence, asking about you and how you had achieved such a position of becoming portraitist to the Victor of Venice. He mentioned his wife obsessing over the ‘woman who had captured the attentions of Choi Seungcheol’, urging you and him to join them in their palace as special royal guests. It felt unreal, reading something so positive about yourself when you had never met the people who gave such praise.

Looking up from the letter, you saw the beginnings of anger in the elders’ faces. Your father still retained his shock.

“Seungcheol…” he began, quite at a loss for words. “This is…I mean…I do not even know where to…?”

The councillor decided to express his opinions for him. “This is unacceptable!”

You could only watch the chaos unfold, starting from the vigorous pointing of his uncle’s finger. “Who are you to make such a decision?

“I am her husband,” Seungcheol answered smoothly. “Was it not you who emphasised my apparent superiority in marriage? I do not remember other relatives having a say in what my wife does.”

Oh, Lord. Using their own words against them—this was not going to end well.

But then he offered them both a smile—a smile you had grown too accustomed to not know its hidden, darker implications. “You know what, though? Perhaps you both are right. I should not be making decisions for my wife when she is perfectly capable of choosing herself.”

He turned to you, and it took great effort not to look away from him. “Tell me, _____. Would you like to go to Florence?”

You could only gape at him.

“Don’t be silent now, when you have never been quiet with me,” he insisted. “I know how much you want to go. Is that true?”

You looked at him—the determined, almost desperate glimmer in his eyes had you unable to respond to him. Your eyes darted to the two elders, who were on the edges of their chairs.

You had to stop this. Your mind screamed at you to shut him down, tell him to hold his tongue and leave for Corfu immediately, let you rot here forevermore. Florence was a dream—it should remain so.

But seeing him with such belief, such hope in you…it was daunting.

It had you believing too.

It had you foolishly believing of more—believing beyond the portrait, beyond the borders of Venice. It had you accepting that maybe, just maybe, you could be as free as you had dreamed.

So you took a deep breath, chest rising.

And nodded.

Watching relief wash over your husband’s face, you faced your father, uncle-in-law, and spoke your truth.

“It is true. I do want to go to Florence.”

If you thought they were shocked enough from Seungcheol’s declaration, then your words had their mouths parting.

Your father did not lose speech when you were concerned.

“How dare you say such a thing?!”

You tried not to flinch. “I have dismissed many of your tantrums before, _____, but this has gone too far!” His accusatory finger pointed at you. “Have I taught you nothing about speaking when necessary?”

Councillor Choi matched his friend’s grave temper. “You should know better, child, then to involve yourself in foreign affairs. It is no place for a woman.”

“Careful,” Seungcheol countered, narrowing his eyes. “This woman is the wife of your strongest commander.”

The Doge sucked in a sharp breath. “Seungcheol, I thought you were better than this,” he muttered.

“The scandal this would cause if _____ would travel alone to another state alone,” the councillor snarled, hand tightening on the arms of his chair. “We would all be ruined! Venice would be a laughing stock!”

“I cannot have neighbouring provinces sneering at the State when they are already questioning the choice of artist for your portrait.” Your father glared at you. “I cannot risk embarrassment, even if it may be for my daughter’s sake.”

He then directed his grim countenance at his general. “_____ will not be going to Florence. I refuse it.”

You were going to throw up.

You needed to leave, needed to escape because you were going to hurl your guts up in the sacred hall, and you would rather die than create a scene.

Your hands were ready to push you up when you felt a stronger hand hold your arm. He kept you seated, wrapping his fingers around your sleeve.

When you peered at the man who stopped you, you gulped.

“Fine.”

The Victor of Venice was enraged.

“If _____ does not go to Florence, then I will not go to Corfu.”

Oh, God.

To Hell with throwing up—you were going straight to an early death.

The most powerful politicians in the State were silenced.

They could not understand it. Why on God’s good earth was Choi Seungcheol defending your passion of painting over the Republic’s foreign relations? Should Corfu be a success, Venice would expand its lands, grow in revenue, become engulfed in riches. What will your expedition to Florence achieve? A few pieces of oiled artwork? A portrait of a few prostitutes? A wife’s happiness?

The elders could have spit on the idea—especially the uncle, who was seething with rage.

“You would not dare,” he hissed.

The general quirked his signature brow.

“Watch me.”

The quietness of the hall was too much; the tension was thick enough to set it on fire, the stares of the politicians enough to send your heart derailing.

You swallowed a lump in your throat.

You could not take this anymore.

Instantly, you shot up from your seat.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” you mumbled, waving off your husband’s hand. You did not look back as you hurried out of the grand doors.

Shaking, you stopped right next to the exit, your legs about to give up on you. Thankfully, you were hidden from sight, or else you would die from the sheer embarrassment of them watching you. Your heartbeat thumped loud, drumming in your ears, your throat, refusing to calm down. Closing your eyes, you tried to breathe slowly. In, and out. In. Out.

In. And out.

After a few minutes, you finally showed signs of tranquillity, hand on your chest to sense your heart beating slower than the previous frenzy. Now, with a calmer mind, you could hear what occurred between the three men. You heard footsteps fade from the other entrance, and from the swishing of heavy robes you guessed your father had left, the thump in his step indicating his prevalent rage.

Another minute passed, and you were about to leave yourself when you heard Councillor Choi’s voice. It was hushed down—harsh still, but quietened.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

A pause. Then, the general’s smooth baritone filled the room. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

“Have I not told you countless times? God, it is as if years of training have completely vanished the moment you married that foolish woman!”

“Careful.”

A scoff. “Have you forgotten our conversations before your union?”

There was a moment of quiet, and you could feel the tense atmosphere, permeating even at the entrance you hid behind.

“I remember them perfectly.”

Councillor Choi’s voice raised a little. “I did not marry you to the Doge’s heir just for you to follow her every whim. Remember why you are in her life in the first place.”

You furrowed your brows. What was he talking about?

“I think you also remember, Uncle, how I did not want to be in her life. You forced me into this marriage, as much as she was forced by her father.”

“And you are aware of the reasons, boy! The Chois need a place in the Senate, and I will be damned if I let you destroy that!” A thud! resonated in the room, most likely a hand stamping on the chair. “I have not raised you all my life to then be useless to me when you are grown!”

You could hear the venom in Seungcheol’s reply. “I am…very aware of that.”

“Good…excellent. Now, you must go to the Doge at once and apologise. God, for a second, I saw the Choi family be scandalised for life!” A huff of laughter escaped him. “It is good you know your duty, Cheol. For a moment, I thought you were going to forego everything I worked for over a woman.”

There was momentary silence, you certain that the councillor was satisfied with this conversation. Your heart sank a little. You did not understand why disappointment tugged at your veins.

But then the general’s voice interrupted his uncle’s temporary joy. Perhaps forever.

“You know, Uncle…I used to hate it when you called me Cheol.”

You did not hear the councillor’s reply. Maybe he said nothing, waiting for Seungcheol to continue. “I truly detested it, because that name was born out of love…from my parents. Remember? How did they used to call me Cheol before they died?”

He halted. “When you started saying it, I felt the love leave the meaning of the name. Funny, is it not? How words begin to have other meanings, until people steal it, change it for themselves?”

The councillor sneered, “Where is this heading?”

You heard the commander laugh, albeit with no humour. “You see, Uncle, I hated being known by that name until I heard _____ call me Cheol one day.”

Your breath hitched.

“I cannot specifically remember which Cheol it was, because she has said it with great agitation too…but…” Another scoff.

This time, though, it was softer. “For some reason, I did not seem to hate my name so much anymore. So strange, that my wife called me by my name on a random evening, and suddenly, I felt it…I felt some love grow back into it.”

Your eyes widened.

Perhaps the councillor had a similar reaction. “What the hell is this supposed to mean?”

Another momentary silence. God, these silences were going to kill you—

“It means that something so personal to me…something once cherished, then hated…was being cherished again. The name that defines me, something of myself that I despised…because of _____, I began to love it again.”

Councillor Choi grew a little frantic—he knew where this was heading. “Nephew—”

“No, let me speak. Yes, I did not want her, even after I married her, but now…in this moment of time, _____ had shown me something I thought I was incapable of doing. She has changed me, Uncle, when I thought I was forever undone…she has stormed into the chambers of my heart, swords unsheathed, and I cannot help but surrender. I want to surrender to her, because I cannot imagine living my life without her now. My wife, who I thought was so full of hatred, has instead shown me what love is.”

When Seungcheol said the next words, you could have sworn his voice almost trembled.

“You see, I am in love with my wife, but she does not love me back.”

You parted your mouth.

Everything froze. Your senses stilled, everything mute save for the baritone that followed you now—now, and all these years.

“And it is…fine that she does not love me back, because she was forced more into this marriage than I was. But what I cannot accept is having her suffer at my hands.”

A harsh sigh. “Her marrying me is punishment enough for her. The least I can do for her is let her explore her passions.”

A chair creaked—he was getting up. “I do not care if the Choi family is sent into ruin. I do not give a fuck if the Ottomans come marching with their armies.” His promise was like steel. “My wife will go to Florence and paint to her heart’s desire, or I will damn my military leadership.”

Councillor Choi must have been rocked to his very core. His usual snarling was reduced to pleading. “Wait, child, you cannot do that!” he exclaimed, his chair sliding back. “What about your decade of training, everything you have worked for? Everything we have worked for, Cheol—”

He stopped midway—possibly by the venom in his nephew’s glare.

“Don’t you dare call me Cheol,” he guttered. “That is reserved for the people I love.”

The politician’s gulp could be heard from where you hid.

“Right.” A sharp sigh escaped your husband. “I must make arrangements for _____’s travel. If you wish, I can deal with His Excellency for you, but do not try to change his mind. Or mine.”

With that, he exited from the same door as the Doge, his swift footsteps leaving your ears.

His words, however, remained.

She has changed me, when I thought I was forever undone.

Your breathing quickened.

My wife, who I thought was so full of hatred, has instead shown me what love is.

Your heartbeat sprinted.

I am in love with my wife, and she does not love me back.

Your eyes closed.

I am in love with my wife.

YOU WERE SCHEDULED TO LEAVE THE VERY NEXT DAY.

The Doge had not said a single word to counter your journey, so you had guessed that Seungcheol’s decision remained final. The thought of his word over the ruler of Venice struck a strange chord over you. You never realised how much power he waged over the State.

Preparations for your travels were done in haste, but Minghao and Soonyoung reassured you that everything will be arranged once you arrive in Florence. Usually, you would have prepared twice as hard, considering how unreliable your friends were. Once you found out about your husband’s vigilant eye over the entire process, you did not question it any further.

When the day of departure arrived, you were taken to the edges of Venice, into the mainland where horses could be used freely without threat of falling in the lagoon. Carriages upon carriages were filled with your belongings—mostly your art supplies, and clothes to impress the Duke and Duchess—one other carriage was free, waiting to be occupied by the travellers.

Minghao was crossing off items on his list, Soonyoung fixing his hair at the carriage window when you observed the scene, hands locked behind your back. “Right. Is this everything?”

“I think…” one last line across the Tuscan Wine on the paper, and he put his charcoal in his pocket. “This is it! We are all done.”

“Good.”

You looked around, to the city that was so full of life. One step forward and you would be sucked back in. No. You needed to move on—to better opportunities. To freedom.

Freedom.

You could almost feel it. One more step inside the carriage, and off you went to a new world.

But you did not go inside.

“_____,” Soonyoung called, fingers sliding on the carriage handle as he watched you look on, your back to him. “We need to leave.”

“Yes…” you trailed off, waiting.

You could not leave—not just yet.

Your list consisted of one unfinished business. That particular business needed to come, or else the entire journey, your entire struggle would be for nothing.

“_____.” It was Minghao then. “It is time.”

“Hmm…”

Something inside you constricted.

Perhaps it was meant to be.

There are always letters.

Slowly, you turned, holding tufts of your gown to walk easier up to the carriage, Minghao holding out his hand to help you inside. Soonyoung opened the door.

“Wait!”

Your breath hitched.

Your head whirled back, lighting up at the scene.

As if your prayers were answered—prayers which you did not realise you were carrying out—the galloping of a racing horse greeted your ears before the general appeared in your vision, slowing down his black mare once his gaze latched onto you. You drank him in, the majestic image of his burgundy-clad figure, curls bouncing with every trot of his horse. Pulling on the reins, he stopped a few metres from you, patting the mane in encouragement.

He wasted no time swinging his leg over, getting off the black mare.

You found yourself pacing forward, ignoring your friends’ hands.

The general’s boots quickened with each step you took, until you were only a few feet away from him. He stopped too once you paused—his hands were ready to reach out, but he then fisted his fingers, instantly willing them to his sides.

“I, I… I must apologise for the delay,” he started, looking back at the rush of the city. “It was hectic back at the Senate, you know, with your preparations, and…yes, they would not let me leave.”

You nodded, opening your mouth to speak but then clamped down when he continued. “I made sure you have everything for the journey. Do not fret, I have prepared Minghao and Soonyoung for what will happen in Florence.” His eyes darted upward, as if finding more words to say. “And…oh, yes, do not worry about what will happen here. I have handled—will handle everything.”

He was talking and talking, but the more you watched him, taking in his words, the more you remembered what he exposed.

I am in love with my wife, and she does not love me back.

You tried not to let your stomach flutter out of your skin.

He was going to say much more until you interrupted him.

“Cheol.”

He halted.

You took a step forward.

“Thank you for coming.”

His fisted-hands loosened.

But you had not finished. “Thank you for…everything.”

The general’s eyebrows quirked upwards.

You would have drowned yourself in the lagoon before ever saying such a thing to him. It was insanity, how, not so long ago, the words that tumbled out of your mouth would have never been in your vocabulary—especially when it concerned him.

He said so himself. “I never thought I would hear you say the words.”

“You should cherish them night and day, then.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, his irises dancing. “Are you saying I should think of you ‘night and day’ while you are gone?”

Despite the strange, twisting sensations in your heart, you masked a mocking expression. “Do you not already?”

You were ready for another sly quip.

His dazed silence had you remembering all over again.

I want to surrender to her, because I cannot imagine living my life without her now.

Was this the surrender he talked of?

His lack of response, of course, was a response in itself.

You smiled at him.

He made a comment of it. “Oh, no…I know that look. You are going to do something, no?”

As you watched him, though, his stare searching for your answer, ever the military leader in finding out your next move, you decided to throw him off.

You stepped forward, hands reaching out to hold onto his face. Rising on the tips of your toes, you pressed your lips against his.

You felt such painstaking relief wash over him as he instantly held you, hands snaking your waist. He kissed you back with the same fervour you offered—he could not help expose his initial surprise, considering you were both still in public, and displays of affection were very much frowned upon. You knew this, of course, but at the time, you cared not a bit.

All your kisses with him had been harsh—filled with fire, consumed in rage. This one, however, was slow; soft, as if testing the waters, hesitant to move to the next stage. You smiled a little against him, cherishing his shy movements. He pulled you closer, snuffing out any distance, and you melted onto him, holding his face like a precious painting.

You were going to miss him.

The scarred lips, slowly opening your mouth for more. You were going to miss the curls of his hair, stroking against the ends of your fingers, inviting you to touch. You already yearned for his granite figure against yours, his presence, always so near to you. You were going to miss him.

You were going to miss all of him.

The general would have forever stayed in this moment, but you had to break away, breathing unevenly as you held onto him. His hands lingered on your waist, dreading the moment they had to let go.

When you looked at him, clamping your lips, you had trouble avoiding his gaze.

His brows furrowed a little, frowning sadly at you.

“You better write to me,” he murmured. “That is an order.”

He tried to jest. You tried too.

“You are never hearing from me again.”

A phantom smile appeared on his face.

The noise of the horses behind you signalled it was time.

He still held on.

“I must…” Your hands strayed down his arms, to his hands upon you. “I must go.”

Absent-mindedly, he nodded. “Yes.”

His hands stayed.

You were really going to miss him.

“Cheol,” you pleaded.

Holding his hands with your own, you squeezed the fingers that latched onto you.

With great strength, the general let go of you, aching at the emptiness that embraced his palms.

You stepped away, lest he reached out again. If he did, you did not think you would be able to stop him.

Looking at him one last time, you wished you could confess your true feelings to him.

But you contained yourself.

That moment, you chose to be a coward.

“Farewell, Cheol.”

You turned on your heel, beginning to walk back.

“Farewell, _____.”

A pause.

A shuddered breath escaped.

But you kept moving, refusing to look back.

Walking up to the carriage, you opened its doors, refusing to acknowledge the stunned expressions of your friends as you settled inside.

As Soonyoung closed the carriage door, Minghao asked, “Are you all right?”

You closed your eyes, hands fidgeting on your lap.

“Just start the carriage.”

The two men exchanged a concerning glance. Minghao signalled for the driver to begin, and with the snap of the whip, the horses neighed, exiting out of the city.

And as you felt the jolt of your journey beginning, you finally allowed yourself to look back at the figure, growing smaller and smaller the further you rode on.

He was there until you completely disappeared out of sight.

FLORENCE WAS AS EVERY BIT AS MAGICAL AS YOUR FRIENDS PROMISED.

The city was bustling with life—a welcomed chaos, with horse-and-carts rushing on cobblestone streets, Florentine traders bragging of their produce in the markets, women of all classes roaming and bargaining on the streets. Churches, manors and estates, even grander than those back home, peppered every square, patricians in and out of the special cathedrals that were bathed in gold. Music tuned on every road, merry voices of tipsy men resonating all around your carriage.

Your meeting with the Duke and Duchess was even more extraordinary. The Pitti Palace was sparked to life, especially during the art convention, where noblemen from all around Europe were being hosted, as well as the famous artists from neighbouring countries. When you and your friends entered the grand halls, so unlike the fortress-like exterior, the ruler left his seat, hands raised and all smiles as he approached you. His courtiers and other noble subjects had watched the procession, stunned to see a noblewoman without her husband.

“Ah, the famous female artist!” he had greeted you, taking your hand and pressing a kiss upon the back. “Now I can prove to my subjects that you are not a myth Venice created.”

You only smiled politely, and he welcomed Minghao and Soonyoung back, reassuring them of their chambers being set up before he focused his attentions on you.

Insisting he give you a tour of the Palace, he showed you of the growing artworks, scattered in every hallway, ballroom, private chambers, meeting rooms. You could not take your eyes off every sculpture, every painting, engraving—you were proud of your Venetian artists, but the Florentine masters had thrived decades prior. The collections of Da Vinci, Botticelli, Raphael, Donatello—numerous more—were on display. The Duke even promised to introduce you to old Michaelangelo, who was granted special quarters to work on his marble sculptures during the season. That alone had you nearly collapsing in the palace, but you made to compose yourself. You were not going to embarrass yourself.

The Duke explained his reasons for starting the art conventions, citing his great love of art since his childhood. He was also part of the incredibly wealthy Medici family, who were famous for being patrons of great artists from across the Italian states. You listened to him talk of his collection, and how he hoped to expand it as more artists joined him every year.

“Honestly, my lady, I was expecting you to refuse the invitation,” he confided, once finished with the tour. “I do not mean to offend, but Venetians have a reputation of keeping their ladies out of sight.”

Although he was spot on in his observations, you chose not to say anything. “Imagine my surprise,” he continued, “When I received word from Venice’s Victor that he would be honoured to bring you here.”

The term had your ears perking. “Did you hear about me from Seungcheol?”

The Duke nodded. “He was the first to tell me about you, actually. I had heard rumours of you painting his official portrait, but I could not believe them till the general sent me the first letter.” He scoffed, a hand on his hip. “Extraordinary, is it not? A Venetian husband…sending his wife to another state entirely. He must be infatuated.”

Your cheeks warmed at the comment. “Where am I to stay?”

“Ah, yes! Let me show you to you chambers.”

Your baggage was unpacked by the countless servants, and instantly you were taken to the dozen workshops attached to the Palace, your companions already assigned to their previous stations. All the painters, sculptors, engravers flocked to where you stood, listening to the Duke’s introduction about you. None of them needed it, though, when everyone knew who you were by simply being a woman in a workshop.

The Venetian noblewoman turned artist.

You were expecting sneers from these established men, but you received more fascination than any negative judgement. You guessed that it was what came with breaking away from tradition—art was, essentially, a form of rebellion.

You brought your old works with you from Venice; Seungcheol’s portrait was one of them, which elicited more awed responses from the artists. That then turned into comments on how to improve, questions on when you were going to finish it, how you were going to finish it, whether you would let them work on it for you.

You did not hear them much, though, when all you could see was him.

The faded face you had constructed, the first layer of his features. You had only just captured the hues of his skin, the beginnings of his sharp eyebrows, the mess of paint that was supposed to highlight his curls. Everything else was more detailed, such as his armour, the background, but the face…you had saved the best for last.

Within the next day, artworks flowed from the workshops like the streams in Heaven—if the afterlife offered rivers of milk, wine and honey, then your artistic colleagues offered oil on canvas, oil on woodwork, engravings, sculpture from marble, rock, every hard resource which could be worked on. It was a powerhouse of creativity, models streaming in and out for reference, some staying overnight for the painters’ pleasures. It was so fascinating, seeing such talent in the birthplace of high art. You never thought you would be able to witness genius—you, who had to wear the Lord’s robes to hide your drawing, were now in the epicentre of art, learning from the best.

It was all so enticing that you never noticed the one great absence until night would fall, and after the last of observing your friends, you would retire to your chambers, collapsing in the huge, four-poster bed, and let the thoughts of that day sink into you.

It was in those lone moments, recalling what you had done, that you would turn to your side and realise that you had no one to share those details with.

On those particular nights, your spirits would sink, like a broken ship in the ocean bed.

You wondered what he was doing.

He was in Corfu by this time, undoubtedly engaged with the peace treaty with the Ottomans. He had sent you the first letter when you had finished your first portrait in Florence, asking you about your life here, and informing you of his exploits there.

It was so strange how you had smiled unconsciously in receiving his words, finding yourself instantly penning your response. You sent it away for delivery, but when you heard that he would receive it in a fortnight’s time, that had you scowling at the poor messenger.

Two weeks in sending. Two weeks in receiving.

More evidence of his painful absence.

The longer the waiting became, the more your sadness grew. You were thankful for so many resources around you for distraction, because if you were a mere ambassador, hiding in your rooms, you would have lost your mind.

Your first creations were landscapes—studies of the Florentine churches, the palaces opposite in the square, studies on perspective, light and shadow. You were hoping you could paint them more professionally, but every time you picked up the paintbrush to fill them with life, your thoughts would distract you. With great frustration, you set your tools to the side.

You knew what was keeping you from painting.

And the more you waited, the more your agitation grew.

Gone were the faceless subjects. Away the landscapes went in effort to distract you, when you picked up an empty canvas, mixed as much oils as you could muster and began to paint.

It was ferocious. Quick were your brushstrokes, messy was your composition. The artists beside you were definitely not impressed, seeing as Florence thrived on detail, but your mind was in disarray. The clothing, the backgrounds, the mindless imagery did not matter to you at that point in time.

Despite their complaints, what they could not fault you for was how you created the subject’s face.

His face—his every feature haunted your dreams, when you were alone, when you were accompanied by people more popular than him. Every expression was different in every painting that broke away from your soul. In some paintings, it was the eyes—dark, mysterious, calculating—that accompanied pursed lips, a haunting countenance, which you painted with darker colours. In most paintings the mischievous glint appeared, and suddenly you could see him smirking at you from your canvas, challenging you. You could almost hear the taunts from the parted lips, scar just added from your smaller, detailed brush. Every painting, there was a different version of him, different perceptions of him, memories of his teasing, his cold anger, his laughter, tumbling out of the canvas.

You did not know how many portraits you had drawn in the space of those three months in your stay in Florence. It was crazy, when it took the masters years to complete one painting, but your frenzy had birthed dozens. Night and day, you stayed in your studio, eating and sleeping in there if you could had your friends not dragged you to your chambers at some points.

It was in this trance that, once you finished another painting, you saw your unfinished portrait, commissioned by the Senate.

Grabbing hold of the canvas, you propped it on your easel, eyes drifting to the tools on Minghao’s desk. Reaching out, you grabbed hold of the knife.

With one last look at the painting, you raised the knife and slashed it across the canvas.

Twice over, you tore the parchment apart, the great detail of the painting in smithereens, bits of the canvas drooping down. Gripping onto the weapon, you took a deep breath, gaze set.

Gone was the previous, hesitant portrait.

There will be a new beginning.

THE MOMENT YOU HEARD NEWS OF SEUNGCHEOL’S RETURN, YOU FELT A LITTLE LIFE SPARK BACK INTO YOU.

Many convinced you to stay longer, at least till the end of the celebrations. Minghao and Soonyoung begged for another week, your newfound Florentine friends pleaded for your presence—even the Duke and Duchess were upset to hear of your departure, but you were certain of your decision.

You had to leave for Venice for once.

“Look at her,” Soonyoung teased you, watching you regulate all the new paintings, wrapped perfectly in order to avoid any damage. “One little rumour of the general’s return and she is losing it.”

“God, I despise happy couples,” Minghao muttered, drinking a cup of wine. “I thought you hated the poor man.”

“I guess marriage does that to a person,” the eldest crowed, crossing his arms. “Who would have thought…_____…the first fallen soldier.”

“You both are saying too much,” you remarked, bidding adieu to the first of the dozen carriages on their journey back. “Can I not simply be excited to be back in Venice?”

“As if we are not aware of your feelings on Venice,” Minghao countered. “Just admit that you love your husband.”

You turned to your friend.

“Love?”

“Oh, Jesus help us,” Soonyoung got out. “Please do not say that you still despise the man! We will not believe you!”

You paused.

Love.

You blinked. Twice.

Did you love him?

Your eyes dazed over, hands fidgeting around your skirts.

You knew Seungcheol loved you. You remembered perfectly, really—even after it had been months since the secret confession, his words had not left your soul.

I am in love with my wife.

And she does not love me back.

Hurriedly, you shook your head.

That was a question you could not answer—would not answer.

“You both overlook the carriages,” you said, hoping they will take the hint. “I will meet the Duke and Duchess.”

Heading inside the Palace, you found the artists you had worked alongside standing in the great halls, with the rulers of Florence at the front. They all grinned at your presence, the Duke stepping forward to receive you.

“Surely we can convince you to stay,” he said. “Another week with us will bring no harm.”

“Alas, I cannot,” you rejected politely, a hand on your chest. “Seungcheol has come back.”

“But he would not mind you here!”

“No, he would not, actually. He would want me to stay.”

But I need to go.

It was almost as if he understood, bringing out his hand for you. “Your husband is a lucky man.”

As you put your hand in his, he pressed a chaste kiss, letting go. He stepped back, giving a backward glance to the artists. “You will be missed by us all, Lady _____.”

You could not help smiling at them, the crowd that waved goodbye. “Farewell, Your Grace.” Looking beyond, you returned the gesture, lips curling further. “Farewell, dear friends!”

They sent you off in unison, you quickly exiting from the giant palace as the city’s afternoon sun greeted you once again. Your two Venetian companions were there, one last carriage left for the three.

“Is the lady finished tending to her devotees?” Soonyoung drawled, earning a roll of eyes from you.

“Just open the door,” you ordered. Minghao chuckled at you both, taking your hand as he led you inside the carriage. The two swiftly followed, shutting the doors and signalling the driver to begin the journey back.

Back to Venice.

Travelling back home took just over a week; stops had to be made for the horses, for yourself and your friends, since staying cooped up in a tight carriage never did any good to one’s legs. You were restless, though—knee bouncing underneath your gown whenever you rode, eyes refusing to close during the night, thoughts never resting of a certain man that awaited you. It did not help that Minghao and Soonyoung kept talking about the mundane life of your city, and how they had nothing else to look forward to for the rest of the year. You wanted to agree with them, insult the city on water, but you had nothing to say at that time.

Not when you did have something to anticipate—someone.

Soon, you had entered the State lands, and you could almost smell the lagoon from miles away, welcoming you back after such a long time. The closer you came to the packed city, the more your nerves took over, buzzing with excitement.

Minghao clicked his tongue. “You better contain yourself, _____, or we are throwing you out of this carriage.”

“Go on, then,” you jeered, looking out of the window. Sure enough, the first signs of St Mark’s square could be seen from far away. “I will set Cheol’s soldiers on you both.”

“Using your dear general against us?” Soonyoung smacked a hand over his chest, mimicking betrayal. “After all the shit-talking we tolerated of him! It is always your dearest friends who turn against you.”

Ignoring him completely, your nose sensed the smell of damp wood and spices. Your ears picked up conversations from multiple languages, and you could taste the salt water of the lagoon, permeating the air.

This was Venice.

You had arrived.

“We’re here!” you exclaimed, making the two men hiss from the volume. You did not care, though, when you were here, here in the city, both of you were in the same place. “Quick, you oafs, we need to get out!”

“Is this the Lord punishing us for our sins?” Minghao asked the elder, opening the door. You did not wait for a helping hand as you stepped out, holding onto your skirts. “My God, _____, wait!”

“No time, my dears!” you called back, looking to the bustling roads—the Doge’s Palace was a speck in your vision.

Your feet worked on their own accord.

Like Jupiter’s lightning, you shot across the cramped cobblestone streets, people stumbling from your sheer force. People would have collapsed with shock to see the Doge’s daughter mingling with the public, but you did not care, did not give them such importance, when you were closing in. The turns you hurried into, the alleyways you short-cutted to reduce the distance, it was all paying off—what would have taken you almost an hour to reach the centre took only fifteen minutes, legs never giving up on you.

Once you reached the Palace, you burst through the main entrance, the guards taken aback by your sudden appearance. Instantly, they dipped their heads, informing you of your belongings successfully unpacked in your chambers, but you were not listening. Hurriedly, you asked for the whereabouts of a special person, demanding his location, but the poor guards had no idea, apologising profusely.

Groaning, you stepped past them, hurried in your steps as you made the intricate journey to your chambers. Never had the journey been so far, so long.

Finally, with bated breaths, you found yourself in front of your chambers.

The door was slightly ajar.

A smile caught onto your lips.

Reaching out your hand, you pushed open the door.

There he was.

Choi Seungcheol looked back at you, and you swore you could have collapsed to the floor.

It had been just under three months since you had last seen him, but it was like yesterday, courtesy to your dreams; he turned to face you fully, and you noticed that Corfu had goldened his skin. He glowed against his dark, ruby-coloured robes, over-lined with black fur. His beloved curls had been raked through, arms crossed, tightly over his chest.

His face had you halting all words.

Your own face fell.

Something was wrong. There was turmoil, twisting his features into a grave expression.

You opened your mouth only for him to interrupt you.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Those were not the first words you were expecting from him.

Stunned, you tried to find a response. Maybe it was good he did not care for one, for you had nothing to offer him.

“You are supposed to be in Florence,” he remarked. “You are not due back for another month.”

“I…I know—”

“So why have you come back?”

You gaped at him.

What was wrong with him? Why was he so aggravated?

Furrowing your brows, you decided to question this. “Can I not return home whenever I want?”

“Of course you can, but why would you? You were in Florence!” He gestured to the window, the city beyond. “Did you not enjoy it there?!”

“I did, but—”

“I got a letter from the Duke,” he cut you off. “He told me you hastened your departure from his Palace. Why did you do that?”

“Because…!” you began, trying to cite your reason, but your tongue decided to malfunction at the worst possible times. You could only watch him helplessly. Agitation gnawed at your skin, your bones at your lack of determination.

His questions did not cease. “Did they do something to you?”

“No, never—!”

His hand rested on his neck—then, matching your agitation, he ran the hand through his mess of curls. “Is Florence not what you wanted? Was I wrong in assuming you wanted to go?”

“Cheol,” you started, “No, you were not wrong, but—”

“Then why are you here?!”

A small gasp left you.

“Why are you here?!” he exclaimed again. “You said you could not do anything here, you said you wanted to become an artist, so why have you come back? Florence was your way out, _____!” He began to pace about—he looked as if he was losing his mind. “Florence was your escape!”

By God, he was making you mad.

He did not catch on. “You could have painted whatever you wanted there, but you come rushing back, and it will be back to that portrait you oh-so despise! How foolish can you be, _____?!”

This was the last straw.

He marched up to you, a frenzy on legs.

“What do you have in Venice that had you running back?!”

“YOU!”

Seungcheol paused.

You were too enraged to notice.

“Venice had you, you bastard! I came back to see you!”

You tried to calm down, but the Pandora’s Box of your soul had been wrenched open, and all you could spill out were curses, confessions. “I tried, you know?! I tried to beat it, struggle through the constant thoughts. Florence was the best thing that happened to me, yet still you found a way to be there, watching in my head, my heart!”

The general did not say a word.

You would not have let him. “You want to know what the hell I was doing for the past three months?”

Marching to the closest of the covered easels, you grabbed hold of the cloth. Yanking it off, you revealed the first painting that you had done in the art capital.

His eyes widened.

But you did not let him take in the portrait, not when you despised this painting, its earlier forms. You thundered on, taking on each easel and uncovering the contents. “This!” One by one, a painting of the general was unveiled aggressively, each canvas revealing a different version of him. “Painting you, drawing you, etching you into stone!”

Seungcheol could only gawk at each piece, gaze darting a mile a minute, drinking in the details, following after your wrathful march. Huge pieces of cloth dropped to the floor with each reveal, and he turned around slowly, catching up to you. A portrait of his smiles, a portrait of his glowers—a piece of his military prowess, a sliver of his domestic warmth.

He could not believe how differently you had captured him on every canvas. It was as if you had seen him his entire life, silently watching—appreciating his every feeling.

Once everything had been uncovered, you watched the fallen fabrics. Manically, you almost wanted to laugh.

It seemed like a lifetime before your husband spoke.

“You…” he felt as if he forgot how to talk. “You…painted me? Only me?”

“Have you not guessed already?!” you exclaimed, facing him. “I painted only you! No one else!”

Slowly—ever so slowly—his breathing turned uneven. “Why?”

“God…do you not understand?!”

You groaned, looking at him with all the rage and anger and desire and longing.

“My thoughts of you never ended!”

He stilled.

“They never end, Cheol! I thought it was me dying of some foreign plague, but it has been months, and I cannot bear it! I thought I was going insane, but then I heard you speak to your uncle, and then you said the words that made me lose all sense.”

A little reality kicked into him. “Wh…what words?”

You mustered strength. “You said you loved me, and I did not love you back.”

That had him losing all feeling in his limbs. “Wait, _____—”

“No, let me finish! God, please, let me finish!”

You shuddered out a breath.

“It was supposed to be true.”

Supposed to be.

“Lord help me, I wish it was true, because I would be at peace, and live my life tolerating you!” You rambled on, unable to contain yourself. “But it is not true at all, not in the slightest!”

Seungcheol did not understand what he was hearing.

“______, please—”

“Oh, just shut the fuck up, Cheol!” You screamed.

You stormed over to where he stood, rooted to the floor. Reaching out, you grabbed onto him, holding his face like a lifeline, because you refused to let him slip away.

You were never letting him go.

“Just let me admit that I love you!”

Seungcheol’s heart stopped.

Stopped completely in its rhythm, killing him on the spot.

Your gaze was pure fire. “I love you!”

The second declaration brought him back to life.

It was like the blood, dormant all his life, now began to pump in his veins—bubbling underneath his skin, more on the places your fingers touched, because you were in love with him, you were in love with him when he rendered it impossible.

You. In love with him.

“I hate it! I hate it so much, but nothing can be done! I wanted to despise you forever, but how could I?” You gripped onto his face tighter. “How could I, when you offered me a hand of peace when I wanted war? When you offered me opportunities, when I gave you nothing but misfortune?”

It was so strange, how you were still aggravated, despite your rambling. “How could I when you, you stupid, selfless bastard, had gone against all of Venice, risked your leadership for me?”

When you saw a smile appearing on his stunned, beautiful features, you could have slapped it off him.

“That is why I came back, you stupid man! You are the reason, you prick, you insufferable—”

The glowing general did not let you say another word.

Not when he pounced on you, his lips colliding against yours.

Your abuses hoped to escape even as he captured your mouth, but his touch made you forget every atom of anger that resided in you. Curses morphed into whining mumbles, opening up to him completely because you missed his scarred lips, missed his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer to him, eradicating the distance that developed for too long.

Damn distance, space, absence between you two—distance made you realise your yearning, distance made it agonising to live your days in normalcy. Absence had you losing the very essence of yourself, but the moment he kissed you, your spirit blazed to life. You could taste the months-stretched longing upon him, more so when he delved deeper, his panting slipping from his mouth.

You could have lived forever in this moment—tongue slipping past the seam of your lips, your hands on either side of his head, slipping into his hair. You could have begged God to pause this point in time, drinking in his pleasure, but then his hands wandered upwards, catching hold of the tightened bows of your dress. Untying the bows as he relished the inner workings of your mouth, he unravelled the lace, fingers stumbling, losing patience with each lace that struggled to fall free from your dress’ eyelet.

Your skin burned when he groaned upon your mouth, sensing his frustration. He broke away from you, pressing a hastened kiss on the corner of your lips before swivelling you around, making you gasp at the sudden action. “Do you even know,” he whispered, fingers finding the tightly-wound strings of your dress, “How long I have wanted this—”

You felt his harsh tugging quicker, wild gaze clearer as, one by one, your dress loosened around your shoulders, your waist. When yanking out the last lace, he planted open-mouthed kisses on the crook of your neck as he peeled your dress off your body, the heavy garment falling to your feet.

Seeing your corset, even more intricately tied than your dress, over your ankle-long chemise had him groaning even louder.

“What the fuck is it with you and your difficult dresses?” he seethed into your ear.

Although his voice made it difficult for you to breathe, you managed to get out, “No way you are defeated…by a corset…”

The heated sarcasm in your voice had him teething love-bites onto your skin, perfect distraction as he took out his dagger from its sheath. His lips pulled away from you, a frantic gaze on your back as he brought the blade to the bottom of the corset.

With one, hard swipe up he tore all the lace, unlocking the bodice’s hold.

You yelped a little at the sound of the knife, then the thud! of the corset as it fell to the floor. You whirled around, features twisting in outrage. “What on earth was that?!” you shrieked, mind still reeling from the slight pain on your neck.

“I got it off, did I not?” he only said, gaze travelling down you as he sheathed his dagger.

You did not notice his face changing as you remarked, “You could have killed me, you fool!”

But then you heard no response from him, and when you finally realised the shift of his demeanour, you instantly quietened.

Seungcheol’s stare could have set you on fire.

Scouring over your newfound state, his hands went limp as he regarded the awfully thin chemise, the last layer before everything was uncovered. The delicate gown left little to the imagination, and as his gaze rested on your breasts, nipples peaking beneath the fabric, you could have shrunk in on yourself.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said to him, as if you did not wish the exact opposite.

He could not help it.

His hand reached out, the back of his fingers stroking your cheeks. You closed your eyes, breathing stumbling as you felt him travel down, sparking goosebumps on your neck, the skin of your collarbone. He stopped upon the hem of the chemise, twisting the bow at the front.

It was not a lie—he had been waiting far too long for this.

He could not forget how difficult it had become to live in your absence. It was not as if he had never done it before—a decade of military campaigns hardened his feelings for anyone. The torment he experienced in Corfu, though, struck him like a spear to the chest.

After confessing the truth that haunted him for weeks, it became much too real the moment his words saw the light of day. He should have given himself time to truly understand the intensity of this truth, but then you were leaving the very next day, and he witnessed his cowardice by never telling you. He was punished severely for that mistake; Corfu had been horrendous.

For Venice, he had achieved the best outcomes, came back bearing riches never seen in the Senate. But these rewards were meaningless to him. He did not want riches—he did not want what was best for his country.

He wanted you.

He wanted you in moonlit corners of his chamber, in the great halls of the peace party. He ached for you when he was surrounded by hundreds of nobles, he craved for you when he had no one but himself. It was aggravating, how you had cut your way inside of his heart, because of course you would make it difficult for him to be. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to you, even if you were thousands of miles away from him.

And now, you were not a mere inch from him, and he would not be able to control himself.

“_____,” he whispered, his other hand snaking around your waist. “I want this off.”

You could have died in his arms. “You first,” you said, feeling the velvet of his robes. Tugging on the golden buttons, you unfastened each one in the middle, going down. Seungcheol watched you unbutton a little hurriedly with each one undone, and when you stumbled, he could not help scoffing, unbuttoning the last at the top with one hand.

With almost shaking hands you took it off him, unveiling the off-white undershirt, slightly untucked within his black trousers. Instantly your hands reached for the untucked hem, making to pull the garment off when the general took over, taking off the shirt and discarding it on the floor.

Your widening stare had him unable to hide his smirk, despite his blood singing. Your eyes raked over his granite-hard body, scars peppered across his skin, the badges of bravery in every battle he had won. Your fingers traced the muscles that rippled down his abdomen, trailing down—

“Careful,” he mused, stopping your hand with his own. “You charter territory you have not explored.”

When your hands felt the harder surface of his crotch, your breath hitched. “Then let me explore it,” you ground out.

Seungcheol could have come in his pants right then and there.

He was not selfish, though. He could never give into himself when you did not even know what he had in store for you.

In his mind, he prayed for forgiveness. He knew, though, that it would not be accepted.

No amount of prayers could have saved him from Hellfire—not after what he wished to do to you.

So he only brought your hands to his shoulders, tugging you back. “I cannot, carrissima,” he said gently, pushing you further into the room, where your bed was settled. “Not until I am done with you.”

Your legs hit the edge of the bed, and you were engulfed with the general’s lips before he sat you down, he falling to his knees. “God, I—” he could not get the words out, spreading your legs before him. “Do you even know how much I wanted to do this again?”

Bunching the gown at your waist, the sight of your dripping cunt was enough to abandon religion altogether. With your layers all gone but one, you could see clearly the lust that radiated off his features. “Why make me wait so long then?”

His hands gripped your legs. “You’ll enjoy it all the more.” Pressing a chaste peck of his lips against your inner thigh, he continued, “Perhaps this time you’ll be louder since you missed me so much.”

Cheeks heating, you griped, “You will not get a word out of me now.”

His arrogant stare held great promise. “We will see about that.”

You would have said something more, but his tongue flattening against your folds robbed you of speech.

What was once slow and tender had transformed into something carnal. Seungcheol’s tongue teased you, taunted you along the edges of your cunt, lapping up evidence of your desire, savouring the taste as if it were Tuscan wine. He was so familiar with this surrounding, but he could never become used to the feeling of your walls pulsating around his tongue, the tongue which thrashed inside of you.

Like a defeated, greedy fool you moaned at his ministrations, dying and reviving with his every calculated movement, the well-known tightness at the small of your back. Like a drum beginning to play, a faint beating thrummed rhythmically, informing you of your imminent downfall should your husband continue. It was so embarrassing how quickly you had become a stuttering mess before him, but he was too good at what he did.

As if his tongue was not enough, he opened you up further, his fingers finding your clit and circling the bud, amplifying your pleasure twice over. You held onto his hair as you thrashed against him, sure to have flown off the bed had his hand not held you in place.

He fastened his pace, and the beating at your core grew louder, body tightening at what was to come. It seemed as though Seungcheol would have spent eternity with his face stuffed between your thighs, but you wanted release, needed freedom before you started cursing him through second nature.

But then he swirled his tongue inside you, and you jumped ship from insults.

For the first time, you resorted to begging.

“Please, Cheol,” you whimpered to him, gripping his locks tighter. “Please go faster, I need you to—!”

Your pleading was like the trumpet of victory tuning in his ears. He obliged you, the beautiful bastard obliged you so well that when he sped up you could not even mewl out a mere thanks. You knew that you would curse yourself for resorting to begging him, but when he tongue-fucked you to perfection, you could not hold onto your pride. You were acutely aware of the effect your pleases had on the man toiling inside you.

Breathing uneven, heart lodged in your throat, and mouth hanging open, you thought that you would die before you reached the final high.

The general’s fingers worked their magic on the bundle of nerves.

You could not have taken it any longer.

With a shattered gasp you climaxed onto his mouth, thighs jolting as release came crashing. You floated among the clouds as you tried to recover, the man slowing his tongue, fingers ceasing their labour.

Even as he respired heavily, watching you recover had his cock restraining in his trousers. So undone by his actions, when he had just scratched the surface of your pleasure.

He said so himself, raising his head to watch you breathing sharply, eyes hooded. “Don’t tell me…you are already done for the night.”

Straightening on his knees, he was almost at eye-level with you. His mouth was slick with your release, curls twisting in a frizzling mess. “What…” How had you forgotten how to speak? “What…what do you mean?”

His fingers drummed upon your legs. “I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

The hairs on the back of your neck erected. Your silence had the prick laughing. “God, I haven’t ever seen you this stunned!” Shuffling closer, he savoured the growing passion that still stained your face. “I fear the loss of your voice if my cock goes inside of you.”

You blinked back at the mention. His confidence was one thing, but his pomposity was something else entirely.

You could not let him say such things—even if it set a bonfire alight in your stomach. “Arrogance is a terrible look on you,” you muttered, but the comment came out weaker than expected—that may have had to do with your too-recent climax.

His hands began to lift your chemise even further, skimming past your sides. “And silence,” he countered, tugging at your arms so you raised them, swiping the flimsy shift off your body, “Is an amazing look…” he trailed off, seeing you without a single layer left. “Ah, an amazing look on you.”

Cheeks heating hotter than the sun, you ranted, “You talk too much.” You wrapped your arms around him. “Just kiss me.”

He fought to contain his smile. “And what do you say after such a request?”

“Now.”

“Wrong! The answer was please, Cheol, please! Ruler of my heart, half of my soul, please kiss me!”

You would have screamed at him were you not aching for him so ardently. “Bastard,” you only muttered before you pounced on his mouth. The general delighted at your enthusiasm, the impatience rolling of your tongue as he swirled it with yours. His hands pushed you back onto the bed, sending you further into the sheets as your pillows welcomed you. He was prowling atop you, his lips latching onto your neck as he unbuttoned his trousers, peeling them off along with his boots.

You clawed at his underwear, pulling it off him. The sight of his cock had your mind going blank.

There was a very valid concern that if he was truly putting something that big inside of you, you were going to die.

Perhaps he sensed your slight shift, for he looked down at you, his locks tickling your forehead. “Careful, _____,” he whispered, “Or you will never hear the end of my conceit.”

“Cheol…” you could not take your eyes off him in all his glory. “I was joking when I said you wished to kill me.”

“Kill you?” His harsh chuckling fanned your face. “No, no, carrissima, not when I…” he planted kisses upon your cheeks, your chin. “Not when I have something to do to you first.”

Gripping onto his cock, he tugged your legs apart, levelling against your entrance. The mere touch of his tip between your folds had your mouth slacking, ceasing breath. “Stop teasing,” you exhaled out, arms locked around his neck as you glanced below. “Just put it in already.”

“Patience, my love,” he purred, pausing his torment, “You know I want to take my time.”

You gritted your teeth, about to thrust upwards to get him inside you when his hand on your hip pushed you down. “My God…so needy for me, aren’t you? Cannot even control yourself?”

Your body sang at his words, despite your own seething, “I really fucking hate you.”

The phantom smile he offered could have undid you there and then.

“Oh, I know,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours. “But you will adore me when I am done fucking you.”

Then, with a shuddering breath, he began his descent.

Slowly, painstakingly slow, he slid inside of you, careful not to overwhelm you. Your entire soul stood at a standstill as you felt your walls pulsate around his cock, singing at how it felt around you when he was not even finished. You pulled him closer to you, noses brushing as he filled you with the last of his inches.

You did not want to move—Lord, he was so fucking big, you were half-frightened you would snap with any sudden movements. If you were not patient, Seungcheol was, watching you adjust with shivered exhales. Despite his claims, he, too, only wanted comfort for you, waiting for your signal to continue.

Nodding hurriedly against him, you gave him your approval.

He sent a quick kiss upon your mouth before he slowly began to pull out.

Clamping your lips together did not help, inhaling sharply through your nose as you started crumbling over so simple an action. It was as if time turned stagnant in the room you both lay, connected beyond your physical bodies. The world watched over you both, hidden away from everyone else, but completely exposed to each other. The slight discomfort that first came was morphing into something else—something infinitely more pleasurable.

You did not understand how Seungcheol made it so easy to make you whimper with the mere sliding-out of his cock, but you held onto him for dear life as his tip only remained between your folds. Foolishly you thought this would be the end of it, but then he plunged into you again, and the slight change of pace had you gripping him tighter, nails digging into his shoulders.

“F-fuck,” you rasped out, the familiar feeling returning, filling you to the brim. “Cheol, I…fuck—”

“Tell me,” he murmured, bottoming inside you once more, savouring your flaccid expression, lips parted. “Tell me how you feel.”

You could not say anything intelligent, forgetting all speech. How could anyone remember something so frivolous as language when your husband pressed open-mouthed kisses upon your neck, offering sweet nothings to you. He created this delicious, hypnotic rhythm of moving in and out within you, and you bucked your hips against him, unable to help yourself.

His hands stopped you though, pinning your hips to the sheets. Never stopping his rhythm, he whispered against your mouth, “Easy now…not until you tell me what you want.”

But he was quickening his pace a little, and you could not suppress the moan that escaped you, brimming with need. “Cheol, I—” you gasped, catching onto the dull ache that thrummed at your core.

“Faster,” you could only say after a time, fingers journeying up into his hair, raking through his curls.

He scoffed, unable to contain his delight at your change. “Faster what, dear wife?” he asked, panting as he reached the edge of your cunt again.

Maybe in another lifetime, you would have kept him waiting. To Hell with such a pretentious, cocky bastard, making you beg even when you could barely get a word out.

However, you were in this lifetime, being fucked by the greatest living general Venice had ever seen. You did not have the patience anymore—nor the self-respect to upkeep the act of hatred.

So you beseeched him.

“Faster, please,” you ground out, trying to break free from his hold on your hip. “Please, just go…fuck, faster!”

Seungcheol wished there was a way to store your blubbering and engulf it in his soul.

You cursing out—cursing which was not directed at him—had his body ready to burst into flames. The way you whimpered with every powerful thrust of his hips, eyes widening with his every heated kiss on your skin—he wanted to relish every little moment, your every movement his motivation to make this night unforgettable.

This time, he decided to be relentless.

He obliged you in the best possible manner, quickening his rhythms as he crashed his lips against yours, your elated panting the perfect encouragement. You traced his beloved scar with your tongue, bringing your hands to hold his face, pulling him closer, needing to taste him, engulf him, devour him before you shattered.

You knew your end was near when the same thrum—the one you felt before your husband undid you for the first time—welcomed you back, dull but imminent, warning you early on. You would have warned him too, but the way you clenched around him was implication enough. It was good enough that Seungcheol was not a stupid man.

He was a cruel man, though, when he knew just how to make you crumble under him. His cock thrust inside once more, hitting a certain spot within you that had you crying out, branding your hands into his face. You squeezed your eyes shut, unable to take it much longer.

His unearthly growl had you opening them in an instant. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”

Your gaze would have rooted to him, but the ache was growing, spreading to the small of your back, down to your legs. He was pounding into you now, sharp as an arrow hitting its target, as focused as if he was in battle—this conflict between you two was special, more treasured than anything in his military prospects. Your broken moans, your stuttering prayers were a greater medal of valour than anything he had achieved in his entire life.

“Look at you,” he grated out, each breath shallow, in tune with his rapid movements. “Never…fuck, never did I think, in my wildest fucking dreams…” His hand on your hips travelled down. “Ah, you under me, begging me…taking my cock so—”

He could not even finish, his excitement taking over as he brought his fingers into the equation, thumb prodding at your bundle of nerves. You cursed the heavens this time, long-winded and dirty because you were going to die, you were going to explode with your husband balls-deep inside of you, and the patricians will find your body in pieces.

“C-close now, Cheol—” you began, but were interrupted with his lips upon yours because he understood. The pace was unmatched, your clit was incited, and the cloud of lust that passed over your mind had taken away every rational thought. Yes, the patricians would find your dead body in the Palace, and you would be remembered as the woman who died from her husband’s cock.

The worst part was that you stopped caring—you did not give a single care in the world, because Choi Seungcheol was the catalyst to your ruination, had always been, but this was ruination you welcomed with open arms. This was destruction at its finest, taking the forms of sloppy kisses speckled on your throat, frantic hands playing with your breasts, wandering fingers circling your bud.

So you decided to let the Victor of Venice take over.

His one last thrust into you was your absolute undoing.

You cried into his mouth as your release crashed down on you like cannonfire, body writhing, legs in disarray, cunt pulsating around the cause of such pleasure. Your entire soul went limp, sinking into your bed as you closed your eyes, heartbeat pumping as loud as sirens in your ears.

It seemed your completion was too much for the general, for he slipped out his cock, groaning just in time to spill onto the sheets, some of it spilling on your legs. He collapsed beside you, the great expanse of his bare chest rising up and down.

The two of you lay there, shoulders touching, breathing the world’s air as your minds reeled from what just happened.

Hand on your chest, your heartbeat refused to calm down.

You and Seungcheol had crossed the final boundary.

After months of this marriage, you both had consummated it.

Your cheeks heated from the thought.

That was possibly the best you had ever felt in your life.

And Choi fucking Seungcheol gave you that feeling.

It was almost comical how, despite your undeniable love for him, that thought made you twist your features.

“Do not tell me you hated it.”

Perking up, you turned your face to catch the very man that inhabited your thoughts. He, too, reflected your action, focusing his tired eyes upon you. “What was that expression for?”

You thought about torturing him for a second, but seeing the genuine concern in his gaze had you sighing. “I was thinking that…well, I have never felt this good in my life.”

The concern completely vanished. The grin that greeted you was insufferable. “I hope you know that you are never living this down.”

“I know,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “So savour it. I am never saying it again.”

He breathed out a soft laugh, running his hand through his matted curls. “Trust me, I will.”

Smiling a little, you looked up at the ceiling, levelling your breathing. Now, it seemed as if your body was feeling more at ease, as if it had stepped down from the clouds, and settled on earth. The two of you were quiet for a bit longer when the general spoke up.

“_____?”

Turning on his side completely, he propped up an elbow, holding his head in his hand as he regarded you. “Why did you not tell me you heard me that day? You know, all those months ago…”

You recognised the memory he was talking about. “Honestly…”

Your eyes stayed rooted to the chandeliers on your ceiling. “I did not know how to tell you.” Your hands around you tightened. “I mean, it was the first time I heard you say it. I could not understand it either at the time, but…”

Thinking further, you then glanced at him. “Why did you not tell me, Cheol?”

The general bit the scarred flesh of his bottom lip.

“I was terrified of your reaction.”

That had you blinking back.

He could tell you found that hard to believe. “Truly….” His other hand settled in front of him, inches from your shoulder. “You see, we were thrown together without our consents, forced to be in each other’s lives. I admit I hated the idea of you with me forever, but you…well, we are both aware of the extent of your hatred.”

You nodded slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Unfortunately for me, my hatred vanished quicker than yours.” He scoffed a little, stroking your arm with his pointer. “And the more I fell for you, the harder it became to tell you because your feelings had not changed.”

“The great military commander of our nation,” you chanted, “Scared to confess to a woman?”

His frown had you chuckling. “You are not just any woman to me,” he muttered, locking you in his stare. “You are my wife.”

It was difficult, fighting back a smile at that. “Still,” you insisted, “You should have told me sooner.”

“Well, I have made up for that mistake, no?”

The glimmer in his irises had your stomach fluttering. “I suppose so.”

“Suppose so?” he parrotted. “What happened to I never felt this good in my life?”

“I was lying through my teeth.”

The beady look in his eyes did not go unnoticed. “You keep convincing yourself of that.”

Your smile remained, though, tossing and turning from the corners as you kept thinking. The man was ready to lay down again when you spoke.

“I did hate you for this marriage,” you began, arms loosening. “And you are right about it taking longer for me to get to this point…I remember when I heard you say that marrying you was punishment enough for me.”

The man almost shivered thinking about that memory. “Hmm.”

“I did believe it for the longest time.”

You turned to him fully though, looking up at his forlorn expression. “I thought it was punishment, like you said…”

Your fingers reached out, holding his hand that caressed your skin. “But somehow, within these months, it has become a blessing.”

His fierce stare nearly rendered you breathless. Despite that, you carried on. “I meant every word I said, Cheol, even if it was in a rage.”

Your thumb stroked the back of his hand. “I love you.”

Seungcheol could have shattered.

Knitting his brows, he leaned in, enveloping his lips with yours in a tender kiss. You hummed onto his mouth as his fingers held your face, enraptured by how perfect his lips were on you, moving as if you both had all the time in the world.

When he pulled away, he did not stop caressing your cheeks. Strange, how he could not stop touching you—as if you would drift away should he stop.

“I love you, _____,” he declared to you. “For a long time I have kept it a painful secret, but no longer.”

Nothing could have taken away the joy that spread all over you.

And since your happiness was so utterly beautiful to the general, he had to have a taste, kissing you again, infected by your elation.

As the two of you stayed in each other’s arms, unable to part from one another, your thoughts began to wander.

You had wasted so much of your life despising the man before you.

Yes, you both had hated each other, but you wondered if, had you noticed the change in his demeanour, you might not have reflected on your actions, and seen past the lens of your hatred.

You supposed it did not matter much now.

Not when he was beside you this very moment.

A great, hopeful feeling blossomed that he was not leaving any time soon.

THE WEEKS AFTER THAT FATED EVENING WAS SO PEACEFUL YOU COULD NOT HELP BECOMING SUSPICIOUS.

Seungcheol was unable to stop smiling that entire time. You finally admitting to your true feelings was the catalyst to his happiness.

Of course, now that both of you were aware of the depths of your adoration, you and him could not keep your hands away from each other. That evening was not the end. You should have known from the start, but the general’s strength in undoing you numerous times in one night—over several nights—was a blessing you never thought you would acquire.

Sometimes, you would think you were dreaming.

The general shared the same sentiment.

Never did he think he would arrive at this point in his life. He had almost accepted to stay in a one-sided marriage, forever watching you from a distance, refusing to come closer should you step away. He was aware that maybe you did not hate him as much as before, but love…that was a miracle he thought he did not deserve.

In those moments, when he thought it would all slip away, he would turn on his side of the bed. There, he would observe your slumbering figure, so at peace next to his own, and he would have to fight the urge to reach out, trail his shaking fingers along the corners of your mouth. Never before had he slept so peacefully until you were beside him.

Everyone noticed your closeness with your husband after that evening. Because you had finished your portrait, the two of you were seeing each other outside of the workshop. With that, different patrician families saw the unadulterated fondness between you two, and wished for it to forever prosper. Minghao and Soonyoung teased you relentlessly for ‘giving in to the enemy’, but they would immediately shut their mouths when you threatened Seungcheol’s cannons to blast down their lodgings.

Of course, you did continue your painting, but, to Seungcheol’s great disappointment, you had begun to explore different subjects rather than resort to frenzy-painting him.

“Perhaps I should go back to being a stone-cold arsehold,” he mused one day in the studio, rolling his eyes at your still-life. “Then you can go insane and paint another twenty portraits of me.”

A click of your tongue. “Just for that, I am tearing those portraits down.”

“Okay, fine, do not paint me again.” He stepped over to you, feigning his most charming, innocent expression. “But at least give me one peak of the official portrait!”

You deigned him a passive glance. “You know what my answer is.”

“Please?”

Back to the canvas you focused. “Refer to my previous response.”

“Oh, come on!” He jutted out his lower lip, irritation rising. “Why not?”

Adding a few black spots on the fruit, you said, “Because I want it to be a surprise.”

“But I do not like surprises!”

“And I do not like you, but we cannot have everything we wish for.”

Seungcheol snorted. “Has anyone ever told you about your tendency to shamefully lie?”

“Has anyone ever told you about your tendency to be a pain in my backside?”

Now the strongest military general in Europe began to sulk.

You could not help sighing, ignoring him completely as you finished your still-life.

It was not as if you enjoyed tormenting Seungcheol—okay, this was a shameful lie—but you had to keep the portrait a secret from him. Ever since you told him of your complete changeover for the artwork, curiosity was getting the better of him, begging you to see the changes. Had you not cared for him, you would have tossed the canvas to him.

This time, you actually cared about his opinion.

So, although it was tiresome to deal with the general’s constant complaints, you managed to hold him off till the day of the uncovering.

It was planned to be the grandest affair. After Seungcheol returned victorious from Corfu, the Doge could not help but throw a celebration worthy of his general’s rank. Three months’ separation had helped with the elder’s temperament; because your own expedition was a success concerning Florentine relations, your father had to move on from the past.

Every patrician family was invited to the Doge’s Palace on this special day. Everyone dressed in their finest attire, the afternoon spent in gathering the guests in the grand halls, where the easel stood in the middle, cloak covering the military portrait.

You watched the people enter the halls, rubbing your palms against your skirts to wipe off the sweat. Granted, not very lady-like, but you were getting nervous. You knew you were going to present the painting to a panel, but you were not aware of the couple hundred nobles as an audience.

Maybe it was not too late. You could always escape—you had done it before, you could do it again. It would be quite easy, if you really planned it out thoroughly.

“You are not thinking of running away, are you?”

You flinched around, about to scream at the person who caught you.

The general’s presence had you quietening immediately.

“Jesus!” you cursed, hand on your chest. “Do not sneak up on me like that.”

“Blasphemy is a sin, darling,” he said. Then, he raked his eyes over your red gown, pearls scattered waist up, the golden jewellery, and he hummed in approval. “So is looking this exquisite.”

“You do not look so terrible yourself,” you muttered, gazing back at the mingling crowd beyond the doorway.

“Honestly, you think you make an effort,” he murmured, crossing his arms over his armoured chest. “Carrissima, why are you so nervous?”

“I do not know,” you answered truthfully. “I just…there are so many people.”

“So?” He shrugged. “That has never bothered you before.”

“Yes, but this is important,” you insisted. “This is my entire identity being set up for judgement. If the Senate does not like the portrait, then I am done for.”

“_____, everyone will adore the portrait,” he reassured you, stepping closer to you. “If you impressed the Florentine masters, then us common Venetians will be wowed without effort!”

You made a face at him. “Yes, but I took many risks with this painting. What if they work against me?”

“Hey…” He took your hand—his gloves caught the sweat from your palms. “Being anxious is normal. Taking risks has its disadvantages, I understand that…” He searched for the right words. “Sometimes, when I am in battle, everything I do is a risk to my life. In Corfu, my every word had to be planned with caution…”

He smiled a little. “The one thing I did not risk was my confession to you. And that is something I regret.”

You watched him stroking the back of your hand. “I was so scared to tell you of my feelings that…well, you had to hear it while I told my uncle. I wish that I had told you before you went to Florence, but what is done is done.”

His fingers paused. “What I cannot have, though, is you wanting to abandon a dream over its risks.” Then he brought his other hand on yours, covering it fully. “You are too talented for that.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring up at him. “I am still thankful I heard you that day.”

“Yes, but I wish I had confessed it to you.” He sighed. “So do not run away. Do not be like me.”

Nodding, you smirked a little. “So the commander of Venice’s armies is not as fearless as everyone thinks.”

The general shook his head. “Do not make me wish the Senate rejects you, dear wife.”

Chuckling at his threat, you slid out your hand from his hold, dusting at your skirts. “Right. I think I am ready.”

A midnight-armoured arm was held out for you. “Shall we?”

Sliding your hand in the space, you answered, “Let us go.”

With your spirits lightened and your heart determined, you and your husband entered the great hall together.

Everyone erupted into cheer at the sight of you both.

Congratulations were sung throughout the crowd, most for your portrait and Seungcheol’s successful Corfu campaign. It filled you with excitement, seeing so many people genuinely celebrate your achievement. That did not mean that your portrait had been accepted, but it was encouraging to see the support.

The Doge walked over to you and Seungcheol. Clamping your lips together, you dipped your head in respect, locking and unlocking your hands.

“_____.”

“Papa,” you replied, trying to be earnest. “Thank you for coming.”

He tilted his head, ducal cap shifting. “Of course, cara. Whatever happened before…let us put it behind us.” He offered a small smile. “I hope the Senate admits the portrait into the Palace.”

You returned his cordial affection. “Thank you again. Truly.”

Your gaze went beyond your father, at Councillor Choi, who was looking straight at your husband. With a sideward glance at him, it seemed he was returning the cold gaze with a smile, which was more a flash of teeth.

It seemed as if their relationship would take longer to heal.

“I must speak with some councillors,” the Doge said, a hand on your shoulder. “Enjoy the festivities.”

Nodding, you watched him walk to a group of patricians, asking for their welfare. You tugged on Seungcheol’s arm, catching his attention. “All right?”

Glancing at you, he said, “Oh? Yes, I am fine. I have yet to have a civil conversation with my uncle.” He went back to glaring daggers at his elder, who was now beside the Doge. “As if his reputation was damaged at all since we returned.”

“Forget about him, Cheol.” Your fingers squeezed his arm. “Today is about you. Do not let him ruin that for you.”

A smile. “Today is about you more.”

“Well, yes, it is mostly about me. You can have a fraction of my attention.”

“Is it too late to sabotage your painting, I wonder?”

You were about to curse out his entire family line when your friends interrupted you. The two idiots sauntered over to you, looking more extravagant than you in their blue and green attire.

“Ah, the man and woman of the hour!” Soonyoung exclaimed. “We were wondering where you both had run off to.”

Minghao set his mocking stare upon you. “I bet you fifty gold liras that she was running away and the general here was stopping her.”

“My God!” Your husband’s amusement had you scowling. “You should be a fortune-teller.”

The youngest sighed over-dramatically. “My talents are wasted on these people.”

You remarked, “You cannot waste what you do not have, Hao.”

“Seungcheol, when are you shipping her off to Florence again?”

The general laughed, patting your hand on his arm. “After running back from there to see me, I fear she is too obsessed with me to stay too far.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Says the one who cried to his uncle about his undying affection for me.”

“There were no tears!”

“The way you were whining there might as well have been!”

Seungcheol’s scoff was harsh. “I would die before shedding tears over you.”

Soonyoung’s voice had you both pausing. “Do you both wish for some privacy, or…?”

“When you are finished bickering,” Minghao began, “You need to head to where the easel is. It is time for the uncovering.”

That had all humour vanishing. “Oh.”

It was time.

The general dipped his head to the dear companions in thanks. “We will see you later.”

“Good luck!” The two noblemen called as you and your husband set on the path of the portrait, covered by the red cloak.

It was a small walk, everyone quieting when they realised what you were about to do. The Doge was there, along with a few patricians representing the State beside the easel. The nerves were building up the closer you crept to the officials, fingers tapping a beat against his arm. Your stomach was somersaulting, threatening to spill out from your mouth. You were infinitely grateful for Seungcheol at your side, or you would have crumbled under everyone’s scrutiny.

Once you both stood next to the easel, one of the Senate members spoke. “General,” he said, “Since this is your portrait, you may do the honours.”

The said-man took a deep breath.

You, on the other hand, held yours.

Turning to the cloth, his hand reached out, pulling at the fabric.

The cloth fell to the floor.

Everyone in the great hall gasped.

The Victor of Venice froze in his stead.

The portrait had been changed completely.

He had to take a step back, absorbing the details: the subject looked straight at the viewer, right hand resting against the arms of his throne, the other gripping his chin—observing constantly. Gone was the Venetian military armour that you had insisted on; what was his midnight armour had turned into the golden chestplate of the ancient Romans, accompanied with golden gauntlets on his arm and a crimson cloak tied at his shoulder. The red tunic stopped just above his thighs, and his sandals feet rested on the pedestal of his throne. His right hand held the infamous spear, wrapped in laurel, and the helmet settled in his lap, glowing from your brushstrokes. The head, instead of the helmet, bore a wreath of roses, red as the blood he shed. His features were focused, gaze sharp, but behind his pondering fingers was a ghost of a scarred smile.

Seungcheol parted his mouth.

You had painted him as Mars. The God of War.

Everyone who was fortunate enough to catch a peek at the portrait let out noises of approval, whispers spreading through the crowds of your creation. The skill, the colours, the perfect resemblance to their general—every quality was praised in hushed tones.

The councillors, along with the Doge, murmured amongst themselves, undoubtedly impressed. You did not see them, though. Not your friends, the people who sung your praises.

Your gaze was rooted to the man who you painted—your muse.

You could not breathe seeing him so stunned.

The verdict came through, bright and clear as the sun that shone on the city.

“Lady _____’s portrait has been accepted by order of the Republic!”

The hall erupted into a deafening cheer.

Every single person in the Palace roared, screamed in delight over your acceptance. Minghao and Soonyoung broke through the walls of patricians, grabbing onto your hands, jumping up and down at the declaration because you did it, you did it, you did it! You glanced at them momentarily, your hands joining in their rhythm, but you could not stray from the statue-still man, staring and staring at his oil reflection.

“There must be dancing at once!” the Doge exclaimed, and immediately everyone scrambled into place, choosing their partners. Your friends promised to see you soon, finding their own dancers. Soon, with the musicians commencing their instruments, the aristocrats created a long circle. You and the general were in the centre, alone with the portrait. The people were so focused on each other, the celebrations, that they did not notice the silence in the inner circle.

Stepping beside him, you, too, faced the painting. You dared not look at him again, staring instead at his painted face. By God, he truly was beautiful.

Realising he was not going to, you decided to speak.

“I…I understand that this is very different from how I was painting the last one…I promise, I have an explanation.”

You picked at the stray threads of your gown. “You remember, do you not, the way I used to insult your military career? I never respected it, tormented you for it, long before we were adults…well, when you stood up for me that day, it made me stop, because…you were the opposite. You gave my art respect.”

You felt him perk up at that. “Now I know you have poked fun at my art before, but that day…when I truly thought my dreams were slipping away, you helped make them a reality. You believed in me when no one else did.”

Finally, with all the strength you could muster, you deigned him a glance.

“That is why I painted you as Mars. It is my way of saying that I am here for you, as you have been here for me.”

With that, you looked back at the canvas, heart hammering in your chest.

The people danced and danced around you, the lyres in full swing, tuning music around the grand hall. The entire world was occupied, save the two of you, who were alone despite the chaos around them.

The general broke his silence.

“What about the roses?”

You looked at him.

He was staring at the crown of roses atop his head, nestled in his curls.

A smile caught onto your lips. “It is the symbol of Venus.”

His eyes widened.

Venus. Goddess of Love.

“You already know the relationship between her and Mars…it is a gift for him. An offering of support.” Your gaze did not stray from him as you continued, “Venus, too, believed in Mars more than any other god.”

He knew exactly what you meant.

I believe in you, Cheol, as much as you believe in me.

Seungcheol let out a shuddering breath.

Catching on, you glanced at him.

“Oh my God, are you crying?”

Sure enough, the Victor’s eyes were glistening, soft tears forming in the corners.

On instinct, your hands reached out. “Hey,” you murmured, holding his arms and making him face you. Instantly he blinked back, pursing his mouth as he looked away from you.

You could not help saying, “What happened to never shedding a tear over me?”

“Shut up,” he guttered, voice a little hoarse. “Maybe if you just stuck with the original…”

“Come on now!” you teased, clutching his hands. “How was I supposed to be know you were going to start weeping—”

“God, you are cruel!” he got out, trying to wave off your hold, but you only laughed, wrapping your fingers further in.

“Okay, okay,” you said, unable to stop smiling. “Tell me. Do you like it?”

He still did not meet your gaze. “I hate it. I will have it burned the second this dance is over.”

You could not control your laughter. “Why then? I say light a torch this second and throw it at the canvas!”

“_____!”

“Seungcheol!” you countered, beaming as you let go of his hands.

With great care, you held his face, fingers cherishing the warm skin, the embarrassed blush that coloured his cheeks.

“Cheol,” you said again—softer, tender. Your voice had his hands finding solace around your waist. “Do you like it?”

Eyes glistening still, he leaned into your hold, tilting his head.

“I love it.”

His gaze could have reduced you to tears.

“I love you.”

Your smile was out of your command, lighting up your face.

“I love you too, Cheol.”

The general damned the audience as he leaned in, enveloping his lips with yours.

As you kissed him back, your soul singing at his touch, you knew that you were wrong.

Long ago, you made a promise that one day, you would kill the Victor of Venice—despite your lack of power, influence, resources.

However, you had to break your vow.

You simply had to, when that very man had given you all of those things—your art, which will extend beyond the city of water, your influence, your power—you had gained with his help.

And of course, you cannot kill the man you love. You cannot eradicate a soul so conjoined with yours.

As you broke away from him, you watched his eyes dancing. “Say, I have a question for you, carrissima.”

“God help me.”

His smirk was positively evil. “Would you ever make a portrait of me naked?”

“Hmm…” you mocked a ponder. “Never!”

“What? Whyever not?”

“Because nobody deserves to see something as heinous as you naked.”

The scoff that escaped the general’s mouth had you raising your eyebrows. “You say that, but we both know your reaction to seeing my cock out.”

Hurriedly you looked around to find nobody listening. “God!” you let out, earning a vicious laugh. “It was a face of horror, you fool!”

If that was not enough, he then leaned closer, cooing, “Please, Cheol! Please go faster, I need you to—!”

“Jesus!” you shrieked, instantly covering his mouth with your hand. “We are in public!”

His gaze was pure mischief—God, he was such an arsehole.

Hesitantly, you uncovered his lips, which were exposing a shit-eating grin. “So when shall I come to the studio?” he asked, fingers drumming against your sides. “Suppose I shall have to get priests’ robes to match your nun ones.”

As you watched him, unable to maintain a scowl at his elated expression, you only threw him another snide comment which made him laugh all the more freely.

No, you could not do it.

Even if he remained the most insufferable person in the peninsula, you could not wipe out your sworn enemy.

Once your sworn enemy.

Now, your dearest, greatest love.

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