#choi seungcheol x reader

[brainddeadd]

smut

for my big titty queens

scoups likes to use your tits after a hard day at work.

he likes you to put on a particular lace bralette, one he got you.

sometimes, he likes to push them together around his cock, and fuck up in to them.

sometimes, he likes to move them up and down his length harshly, treating them as if they were a toy just for his pleasure.

he makes up for his rough treatment by sucking on your tits.

[seungcheorry]

seungcheol being sulky through texts because you're not there with him for baseball night.

'babe it's a business dinner, i can't NOT be here :('

'my boss needs me'

it's crazy how you can basically see him pouting with furrowed eyebrows at his couch.

'Yeah? Well tell him I need you too!!'

'And so does our team, apparently...'

you chuckle, ignoring the glare from the business man that was sitting beside you.

'is it that bad??'

'What can I say? You're their lucky charm, baby 🤷'

'If we're out of the competition it's on you then!!'

'thanks, made me feel much better 👍'

[nonranghaes]

heads up: mentions of wearing contacts

seungcheol is standing outside of the bathroom when you step out, arms folded across his chest. "who hurt you and what did they say."

it isn't a question, and you're already confused by how suddenly imposing he's become. you sniffle again though the tears are long gone, and he gives you a pointed look--as though your crying gives you away.

"mingyu said you left crying," he says. "who do i need to talk to?"

he's always been protective of you, standing up for you when you're too anxious to do it. but you're still confused. "cheollie, what are you talking about?"

something about him melts a little when you call him cheollie, but he takes a deep breath, squaring back up. he's not cheollie, not when he thinks something is wrong enough that you cry, and you see the way he pushes back on the urge to become all soft and tender with you. "mingyu said you were talking with jeonghan and the others when suddenly you started crying and ran out of the room."

what was he...? oh! the realization hits you all at once, and you almost laugh. "no one hurt me, cheollie."

"i know they can go a little far with their jokes sometimes," he starts to say, taking your face into his hands, "all you have to do is tell them to stop--or tell me, and i can tell them--"

"my contact slipped," you say, resting your hands over his own. "it hurt, so i teared up and booked it to the bathroom so i could fix it."

he stops entirely for a moment, staring at you. a moment later, he's just quiet as he lets out an "... oh." yet when you snort in laughter, he's already pouting. "i was worried about you! are you going to make fun of me for being worried?!"

"a little," you lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth, still giggling as you walk away from him. "gonna tell the others you're so protective you're gonna fight my contacts--"

seungcheol gasps as he rushes after you. "don't--they'll never let me live it down!"

"that's the point!"

[smileysuh]

devil's girl

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader I ft. Mingyu & Wonwoo

🔮 preview. “Three hundred years ago, one of your ancestors promised me a descendant as my prophesied betrothed. A girl of her bloodline who would bear my hybrid offspring, children with the power of demons and witches, bodies unrestricted by the laws of heaven or hell. A witch who would be identified by the mark of the Devil, drawn through with three lines.”

tw/cw. foreplay, fingering, oral (f receiving), Cheol is low-key pussy obsessed, overstimulation, 5-inch long demon tongue, invisible demon bondage magic, the demon magic can also vibrate her clit a little, bdsm themes, slight choking, squirting, wet kink, massive cock cheol, pussy stretching, impreg/breeding/cum kink, dirty talk, service dom Cheol, consent is a must, begging, multiple reader orgasms, unprotected sex, hand job, dream/incubi threesome with Mingyu & Wonwoo, double fingering, degradation, dacryphilia, etc… I pet names: (hers) little/my sweet, pretty girl, good girl, whore/slut (1), baby, little love, etc. (his) sir, daddy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.2k

🍭 aus. king of hell!Cheol, witch descendant!y/n, prophesy, arranged marriage, yandere/possessive themes, slight kidnapping, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I feel like I need the men I write about every time, but when I tell you I need this man biblically, when I tell you I need him to kidnap me and make me the Queen of Hell and knock me up with demon hybrid babies asap-

Prologue:

It was not a fate that she would have ever wished upon any of her descendants, but there was a price to pay for power, a price to pay for life and a line continued. The old crone signed the contract, bound in blood, with the King of Hell, promising one of her own line as his future intended.

She could not foresee when the prophesied witch would be born, all she could promise The Dark King was that the descendant would bear the mark of the Devil. Somewhere in the world, there would be a girl born with a pentagram birthmark, run through with three lines, and that girl, would bear the task of giving children to the King of Hell himself.

The crone did this to solidify her line would survive the witch trials ravaging the country, the contract would ensure demonic protection from death- none of the King’s loyal followers would allow harm to fall upon any woman who could possibly birth the next Queen of Hell. 

As the trials continued, not one of the crone’s daughters were harmed. Years went by, with the crone checking every new grandaughter and great-granddaughter for marks. When it became clear that the prophesied girl would not be born in her time on Earth, she urged all her descendants to be fruitful and multiply, in the hopes that, with a large family line, the Demon King would have a harder time finding the contracted child.

Upon her death, the old crone’s family took her words to heart. Not only did the daughters multiply after the witch trials had ended, but they split. Some became nomadic, others found places to settle down and have whole swaths of children. Many of these descendants took upon new names, as women always took the last name of their husbands.

In this way, the old crone hoped to cheat the devil himself, and for a very long time, she was successful in her evasion of him.

one

“This better be important,” Seungcheol groans, shifting on his throne to assess the two low level demons in front of him. 

The incubi exchange looks, and finally one steps forward. “Sir, we found her.”

“You found her?” the King repeats. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“The witch,” the second demon says, fumbling as he also moves forward to address Seungcheol. “The one from the prophecy, with the mark.” 

The Demon King feels a twitch of something electric, it makes his finger tips jolt, and he begins to strum them along the dark marble arm of his throne. “What are your names?”

“I’m Wonwoo,” says the first incubi, “and this is Mingyu.”

“Well, Wonwoo, Mingyu, the two of you better not be wrong.” Seungcheol stands up. “Where is she?”

“We can give you the details, only…” Mingyu casts an anxious look toward Wonwoo, “we’re pretty sure she was wearing a high level demon ward.”

“What?” The word comes out as a growl, and in the lava fields of hell that stretch as far as the eye can see behind him, there’s a tremor that betrays the King’s rage.

“A demon ward,” Wonwoo repeats. “An heirloom. It’s a necklace. We tried to get her to take it off, but even while dreaming, she was pretty protective over it.”

Seungcheol can’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s been over three hundred years since he’d made a contract with the old crone. Three hundred years of waiting for the ability to sire a line with a witch who would be able to withstand the process. He’d almost given up the hope of ever finding his betrothed, only for two sinful incubi to find her in the dream state. The fact that she’s warded is the cherry on top of this whole fucking thing.

“That bitch,” Seungcheol groans. “The old crone has done everything in her power to make sure our contract would never be fulfilled, and she’s even left warding jewlery.” 

If the witch wasn’t in heaven, Seungcheol would pay a visit to her himself to enact his revenge for this final piece of treachery.

You do a service to save an entire line of witches, and this is how they intend to pay back your kindness. 

“It’s not the end though,” Wonwoo offers helpfully. “We just have to convince her to take the necklace off, that will break the ward, and you can summon yourself into her room as soon as it’s off.”

“If the two of you do this for me,” Seungcheol notes, “you will be rewarded.”

“We’re just happy we found her for you,” Mingyu says, voice shaky. “It’s been a very long time.”

Too long, in fact. 

two

You’re lost in a dreamy haze. Two pairs of lips are on your throat, one man pressed to your front, the other at your back. Hands caress your form, and nothing has felt this real. You’re moaning, eager for the fiery touches.

“We need you to do something for us,” the man in front of you whispers, licking past the shell of your ear and making you shiver.

“Anything,” you blurt out, already reaching for his cock.

A hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. When you meet the stern man’s gaze, you note the darkness in his eyes. 

“This is a pretty necklace,” he muses, as the person at your back nips at the chain that encircles your throat.

“It’s a-” you swallow back your lust, trying to form words, “an heirloom.”

“How badly do you want to be fucked, naughty girl?” 

“So bad,” you whimper, pressing your thighs together in the hope that you can quench some of your sexual appetite. 

“Then you need to promise us that when you wake up, you’ll take this pretty necklace off, only for a while.”

“Huh?” You’re confused, and the man behind you immediately brings his hand to your core, stroking you through your nightie. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel like they’ve asked you to do this before- but your memory is as fuzzy as the vision in front of you, and the men are more than distracting.

“You can do this for us, right?” he presses. “Please?”

“Why do you need me to take my necklace off?” you ask. It had been a parting gift from your mother before you were put up for adoption, and in her note, she’d warned you never to take it off. You can already feel yourself becoming restless at the turn of this dream, what had started so sweet and sexual has turned darker than you’d been ready for.

“It looks like it needs a little… TLC, don’t you think, baby?” One large finger slips into your core, and at the same time, the man in front of you tugs down your dress to access your breast, flicking at the nipple.

“Tell us you’ll do this,” murmurs the one with his mouth on your chest.

Your fingers tangle through his dark curls, keeping him on your breast while he begins to suck on your sensitive bud. It’s practically impossible to say no to them.

“Okay,” you whisper finally, voice shaky. “Just for a little.”

“There’s our good girl,” the one in front growls, adding a hand to his friend’s so he can slip his own finger into your dripping core. They both begin to work you open, and you can’t help the gasps of pleasure that begin to escape you, your grip flying to broad shoulders to keep yourself standing between the two large men.  “Now we all get our reward.”

three

You wake up feeling relaxed but needy. You remember ghosted touches as you head for a morning shower, washing your body and remembering strong hands trailing along the same path. 

As you do your usual skin routine, your necklace catches your eye in the bathroom mirror, and you’re reminded of the promise you’d made in your dream. Upon inspection, you do think the necklace could use a little refurbishment- you’ve been wearing the chain since childhood, where your commitment to never taking it off had been like life and death.

If you’d had a dream about removing it, if even for a little while, maybe that was your subconscious telling you it’s time to let go of the hold your mother has on you. After all, she gave you up- what do you owe her? What’s the point in still wearing this around?

With a sigh, you reach behind yourself, fiddling with the clasp. There have been a few times you’ve been required to take the necklace off, at hospitals, or the dentist, certain airports- it won’t kill you to remove it for a little while today.

You don’t think much of it as you set the heirloom onto your bathroom counter, in fact, you’re already planning out breakfast. You go to the kitchen, humming to yourself while you open the fridge to look at the contents inside. 

As you reach for the orange juice, the hairs on the back of your neck begin to raise, and you feel a powerful energy, as if you’re being watched.

“Goodmorning, sweet girl.” 

The sudden voice makes you jump, heart lurching into your throat as you whip around.

There’s a man standing in your kitchen. He’s dressed in all black, with a long silky jacket over top of dress pants and a matching charcoal shirt. His hair is dark too, and he has a smirk on his handsome face.

It only takes you a moment to assess ‘oh, he’s hot’ and one more to decide to throw your juice directly at him.

The man quickly lifts his hand, flicking two fingers. It’s as if the container of orange juice hits some invisible barrier, and it goes flying directly into your sink.

“Don’t be like that,” he tuts, clicking his tongue. “Is that any way to greet a man like me?”

“Who are you?” you ask, mouth going dry as you cower back against the fridge, feeling suddenly very naked in your tiny shorts and crop top. 

“An angel,” the man says simply, but the all black outfit is a dead give away that he’s lying.

“Yeah?” you let out a small laugh. “What’s your name then, mister Angel?”

He stares at you for a moment, something dark flashing over his features. When he smiles this time, you notice sharp canines. “Satan.” 

Your entire body runs cold. “I don’t…” You lick your lips. “I don’t see any devil horns, or a tail-”

“Would you like to see them?”

“No?” 

The man takes a step toward you. “You’re reacting better than I expected, Devil’s girl.”

“Devil’s girl?” you repeat, pressing your back tighter to the fridge in an effort to get away from him as he approaches closer and closer.

“That’s you,” he nods. “That’s what you are. It’s who you were destined to be.”

“I don’t know much about destiny-”

“Why would you?” he shrugs. “It’s been three hundred years since your family agreed to the dept they owe me. In that time, you witches have made it extra hard for me to keep track of all of you. I’m not surprised you don’t know anything about the prophecy, although, I will admit I’m a little disappointed you clearly haven’t stepped into your powers yet. Part of me had been hoping for a bit of a fight.”

“I can still fight you-” you insist, reaching out to grab a weapon from the knife block, brandishing it at the intruder.

He simply laughs, and with the flick of his fingers the knife goes flying out of your hand, landing in the sink next to the juice. “Silly little girl,” he grins. “Power reacts only to power, and though I can see you have power in your veins, it’s clear that no one has unlocked it for you. Don’t worry, I’ll help you get there.”

“Why would I want your help?” You cower back against the fridge, unable to move from where you’re standing. It feels like your feet are weighed down, and you wonder if this is another one of his magic tricks.

The devil puts his hand on the surface next to your head, blocking you into your fate. “Because, silly girl, at the moment, I’m your fiance, and soon, I’ll be your husband.”

“What?” The word comes out as a croak, your heart going a mile a minute in your chest.

“Three hundred years ago, one of your ancestors promised me a descendant as my prophesied betrothed. A girl of her bloodline who would bear my hybrid offspring, children with the power of demons and witches, bodies unrestricted by the laws of Heaven or Hell. A witch who would be identified by the mark of the Devil, drawn through with three lines.” 

Realization washes over you. The mark on your ass- the peculiar birthmark, the mark you’ve always been insecure about-

“How…” you swallow thickly. “Why now? How did you find me?”

“I had help. Two incubi found you in your dreams. You were wearing an heirloom with a ward against me, but lucky for us, they convinced you to take off the silly little crone necklace. I couldn’t touch you while you had it on, couldn’t be in the same room as you, but now… I can be here with you, and…” he reaches out a hand, dragging a finger along your collarbone, “I can touch you.” 

“And if I say no to all of this?” you ask. “If I say no to marrying a man who’s literally Satan?”

“Then I’ll convince you,” the demon leans close, his hot breath ghosting over your throat. “I can be awfully convincing… also, if it makes you feel better, don’t call me Satan.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“Seungcheol.” There’s a softening in his tone when he says this new name, and as you stare at his handsome face, you realize that is suits him. “And what should I call you, my sweet?”

You whisper your name and Seungcheol repeats it. You can tell he’s enjoying the taste of it on his tongue, and as you share this close proximity with the man who claims you’re his betrothed, you realize your innate attraction to him, despite the circumstance. 

“So…” you lick your lips. “What now?”

“Now, little sweet, I take you back to my Kingdom.”

“You mean Hell.”

He grins, and you once again get a view of those sharp teeth. You wonder what they’ll feel like against your skin, and the thought has your body tingling with lust and shame. 

“What if I don’t go with you.”

“Like I said, I’m awfully convincing, but on this one, you don’t have a choice.” He lets out a sigh, playing with a strand of your hair. “There are many religions in this world, little sweet, and in many of them, the King of Hell gets his Persephone. Although, in this case, you have no Demeter to protect you. The witch who promised you to me is long since dead, and your family line got muddled and convoluted in the hopes that it would hide you from me. Unfortunately for them, I’m here to collect, and there’s no one in the world who can stop me.”

“But, I mean-” you search for any way to get out of this. “I have a job-”

“Yeah? Tell me about this job.” 

You can’t believe he’s humouring you, a slight appearance of interest appearing in his features. “I’m a full time baby sitter, an au pair,  the girls are expecting me-”

Seungcheol lets out a low growl from deep in his chest. “So you’re good with children.”

Your mind goes back to what he’d said not minutes ago: ‘A girl of her bloodline who would bear my hybrid offspring, children with the power of demons and witches, bodies unrestricted by the laws of Heaven or Hell.’

Of course the King of Hell has an impreg kink and is turned on by your job as a nanny. 

“I can’t go with you,” you insist.

His hand wraps around your throat, thumb teasing your jaw. “It’s not your choice.”

His eyes flare a fiery red colour, and it feels as if the air is sucked out of your lungs. Your hair ruffles, as if you’re in a wind tunnel, and a moment later, you’re no longer standing in your kitchen.

Seungcheol releases your neck, gesturing to the room you’re now in. “This is your new home,” he announces, giving you a moment to take in the black marble floors, scarce furniture, and large bed in the center of the space. There’s a floor to ceiling window that encompasses a whole wall, and through it, you see what can only be decribed as a literal Hellscape. 

You can’t help it, you approach the window, mind going blank as you stare out at the fire fields. 

Seungcheol is silent as he comes up behind you, pressing two hands to the windowed wall and blocking you in with your back to his chest. You can feel his breath along your throat. “Welcome to Hell, sweet thing. This is all yours now, although, I doubt I’ll let you leave this room too often, not until I know I can trust you.”

It’s funny to hear Satan talking about his ability to trust you- a girl who’s done her best to be good her whole life. 

Seungcheol’s lips brush by your ear. “Should we get started, then?”

“Started on what?”

“You know what.” He presses a shockingly soft kiss to your throat, nose nuzzling by your jaw.

“Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I’ll be honest with you, little one, I’m not a nice man. But… I’ll be good to you, if you’re good for me.” One of his hands slips down from the window to grab at your hip, tugging your back flush to his chest. “The way you were good for Mingyu and Wonwoo in your dreams last night.” 

The names mean nothing to you, as the men in your wet dream had never given them, although, they must be the incubi he was talking about earlier. The fact that Seungcheol knows about your sinful nightly escapades with two other demons has you feeling shy, your skin heating at his words.

“Even so, demons need consent to enter human bodies,” the King of Hell explains. “Which means, if you withdraw your consent, I’ll be forced to stop. Although… something tells me you’ll consent.”

His hand glides from your hip to your exposed abdomen, and he teases you on what path he’s going to take- up to your breasts, or down to your aching core.

“What…” you swallow back a moan, “What makes you so sure?”

“I can smell your arousal, sweet girl, and there are signs I can see too.” His hand smooths up to your breast, and he squeezes your sensitive flesh, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple. “I think you’re well aware that I’m going to fuck you, in a way you’ve never even dreamed of being fucked before.”

Your breath catches, and you bite at your lower lip to stop a whimper from slipping out of you. Your back arches, pushing your chest more into his large palm.

Seungcheol grins against your throat. “I can see how much you want this, little sweet. Do you want to see how much I want you?”

He grinds his front against your ass, and you can feel his hard cock- fuck, he feels big. You shiver at the realization that your betrothed is packing, and Seungcheol laughs at your reaction.

“Tell me you want this,” he commands.

“I-” You bite your tongue.

His hand wraps around your throat, lips moving to your ear. “Tell me you want this.” 

“I want this,” you admit weakly. 

“That’s my good girl,” Seungcheol growls. His hand raises from you neck, fingers finding your jaw again. He prompts you to turn your head, meeting his gaze as he leans over your shoulder, looking down at you with a dark expression. 

You know what’s coming, and you can’t help yourself as he draws your lips to his own. Your eyes flutter shut, mind going blank as you enjoy the feeling of him. He’s warm, but you suppose you should expect that from the King of Hell. 

The kiss deepens all too quickly, and you find yourself turning in his embrace, grabbing at his broad shoulders to pull him even closer. 

Seungcheol lets out a growl when your breasts press against his chest, and he leans down, grabbing at the back of your thighs so he can lift you off the marble floor. He presses you back against the window, tongue tasting your own and dominating you as he kisses you like a man who’s waited a hundred years for this- or, strike that, a man who’s waited three hundred years. 

There’s a rage in the way he kisses you, rage in the fact that he was forced to wait so long, but behind the rage is something like desperation. His fingers dig into your thighs, his mouth unrelenting against your own.

You’re not sure how long the kiss lasts, but soon, he’s carrying you to the bed. He sets you onto the lavish mattress, tearing at your clothes until you’re naked before him. He towers over you, staring down at your body while you catch your breath.

“Beautiful,” he muses, reaching down to massage your breast, which sends sparks of delight through your entire form. “You were made for me. My sweet. My little queen. My lost witch.”

When he says it like this, something about it feels right. 

Something about him feels right, as if your soul has accepted him, even after such a short amount of time. 

Then, in the most shocking twist of events, the King of Hell himself gets onto his knees for you. “Come here, my sweet,” Seungcheol says softly, grabbing at your thighs to tug you down the silk sheets toward his face. “It’s time for me to have a taste.” 

He leans toward your core, taking in a lewd breath before letting it fan across your skin. Your core throbs at the proximity. Seungcheol grins at your reaction, tongue moving to prod his own fang- which is when you realize, his tongue is like his cock: monstrous. 

You suck in a choked gasp, eyes widening. You’d thought he was going easy on you by giving you his mouth first, come to find out his tongue alone is probably as large as most men’s cocks- this must be a Devil thing, but before you can think too hard about it, Seungcheol is licking your slit and your mind goes silent.

A whimper escapes you, your back arching, core pushing closer to his face. Seungcheol lets out a small chuckle, his large hands finding your abdomen to pin you in place. “Stay still and take it, pretty girl,” he warns. “Or there will be… consequences.”

He licks at you again, flicking your clit with as skilled a tongue as you’ve ever had. Your pussy is already throbbing with need, and it takes everything inside of you not to buck toward his face again.

You can feel him watching you when you throw your head back, whimpering at the way he circles your clit. Then he drags his tongue down, dipping it into your wet heat. Your body tenses at the intrusion, mind short cirucuiting as inch after inch of tongue invades you, licking at your walls while Seungcheol groans at your taste.

Fuck- a five inch tongue is definitely a demon thing, but you can’t bring yourself to hate it as he begins to literally tongue fuck you stupid. 

Not only does Cheol have the largest tongue you’ve experienced, and a willingness to use it, he’s got an eagerness in the way he eats you out. It’s as if he’s trying to devour you, holding nothing back as he growls and groans his way through working you up to your orgasm. 

The feeling bubbling in the pit of your stomach is hot and all consuming, your muscles tensing with effort as you get closer and closer to your peak.

“Fuck- Cheol-” you whimper, unable to hold it in any longer as your hips push toward his face, one of your hands moving down to grab at his hair-

It’s as if hot, invisible handcuffs wrap around your wrists, tugging them up and over your head, pinning you to the bed while you squirm with confusion and lust.

“What did I say about consequences if you didn’t behave yourself?” Seungcheol asks, pulling away from your core and licking his wet lips with that tongue of his.

“I-” you push at the invisible binds on your wrists. “I’m sorry- I was just so close-”

“So close that you lost your manners?” He taps his fingers along your abdomen. “That’s not very queenly of you, my sweet.”

“I’m sorry-” you say again, tears begin to form in your eyes as you feel your orgasm dissipating. “Please-”

“Please, what?”

“Your tongue- I was so close-”

“Do you really deserve it?”

“Yes!”

“You’ll be good for me?”

“Of course, I’ll be so good-”

“If you’re not good for me,” he warns, “you don’t get to cum, remember that.”

“Yes, okay, I understand-” you fight the urge to thrash in his embrace, and it feels like forever that he assesses you before finally bringing his face between your thighs again.

Just as his tongue is about to lap at your pussy, he stops. “Actually, I want to hear you beg for this. Beg for me to let you cum.”

You’re practically delirious, muscles still tight in preparation for your orgasm, and you’ll do anything he says right now. “Please, please, Sir- please let me cum!”

Seungcheol lets out a satisfied growl. “Sir, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “I’ll take that for now, but pretty soon, you’ll be calling me daddy.”

You whimper at his words, core dripping with spit and arousal. “Please-”

He buries his face in your pussy again, holding nothing back. His hands move down to your thighs, squeezing and adding a slight pain that has your entire body tingling. Gasps escape you, escalating in pitch as he drags you closer and closer to your orgasm again-

“Cumming,” you whisper, as the most intense orgasm of your life slams into you.

You do your best not to thrash around, but as Seungcheol obscenely tongue fucks you through your high, it’s the most you can do to stay as still as possible. You push up against the invisible binds on your wrists, gasping and whimpering-

“Fuck, my clit- it’s too sensitive-” you try to tell him, only for Seungcheol to focus more on the sensitive bud.

Your toes curl, a strangled sob escaping you at the stimulus. All you can do is lay there and take the pleasure he’s giving you- you’d thought he was being nice when he’d decided to eat you out, but you see now that maybe there was a bit of sadism in it. He’s clearly enjoying making you cum so hard that you’re beginning to cry, your muscles screaming at you from how tense you are-

“Please, please, please-” 

With one final flick at your clit that has you letting out a high pitched squeal, Seungcheol pulls away from your pussy. He blows hot air on your core and you twitch, thighs closing, body shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Look at you, crying and I haven’t even given you my cock yet,” Seungcheol muses, standing up and staring down at your body. 

He pulls off his shirt, and even through your tears, you take a good look at his chiseled form. 

Fuck, he’s even more gorgeous with his skin showing. His shoulders are broad, arms all beefy and strong- he’s an absolute unit, but you guess you shouldn’t have expected anything less from the King of Hell. 

Then he goes for his pants, pushing them down to reveal the largest cock you’ve ever seen in person.

Your mouth begins to water, fuzzy mind trying to figure out just how many inches this man is about to bury into your wet, twitching pussy.

“Think you can take it, pretty girl?” he asks, wrapping a hand around the base and pumping his hard length.

“Something tells me you’ll make it fit,” you whisper, your core throbbing at the idea.

Seungcheol grins. “We just met, and you already know me so well. Guess that’s part of the whole destined to be together thing. Makes shit easier.”

Instead of getting on top of you, Seungcheol tugs you closer to the foot of the mattress, then, with one twitch of his fingers, the entire bed raises, positioning you exactly where he needs you to be in order for him to fuck you while standing up.

He grabs at your breast, teasing your nipple while you mewl. Your own hand reaches out for his cock, and he allows you to grab him. You wipe your thumb across the angry red tip, smearing precum along his shaft to add lubrication, making it easier to pump his cock slowly while he continues to tease your nipples. 

His hand begins to decend, and he teases two fingers along your pussy lips. “I guess I can be nice and stretch you out,” he sighs, slipping the digits into your core. 

It’s a kindness you’re not sure you expected from him, and it prompts you to squeeze his cock tighter in your palm while he begins to finger fuck you open, scissoring his digits and testing your inner walls. 

“I can’t fucking wait to ruin your perfect little pussy,” Seungcheol groans, fucking you even harder. “You’re squeezing my fingers so fucking well, gonna be a good girl and squeeze my cock even better.”

“Yes, Sir,” you whimper, abdominal muscles tensing as he begins to stroke your gspot. 

“Should I give you one more before I give you my cock?” Seungcheol asks, thumb finding your clit and making you cry out. “You’re already wet, baby, but I want you dripping when I finally fuck you stupid.”

You pump is cock faster as he pistons his fingers into your gspot, his thumb unrelenting on your sensitive bud. He works you up to another orgasm with deadly precision, your entire body tensing with pleasure before falling over the edge.

“That’s it,” Seungcheol growls, fingers fucking you through your high. “That’s a good girl, squirting all over my fucking hand-”

No man has ever made you squirt before, and the feeling is intense. You’re gasping, crying from how good it feels, like an overwhelming sense of relief washing over you, a warmth spreading out from your core.

The sound of your squirt is obscene too, gushy, spongy noises filling the room with each pump of Seungcheol’s fingers.

“Sir,” you whimper, “need your cock-”

“Yeah? Is my good girl finally ready to please her King?”

You can only nod, letting go of his cock in favor of grabbing the sheets, needing an anchor for what’s about to come next.

“You know what this means, right?” Seungcheol asks, teasing his tip along your wet pussy lips. “You know I’m going to cum so fucking deep inside of you that you’re going to be dripping for days.”

You nod again, whimpering at the idea.

“You want to be bred though, don’t you, pretty girl? You’re practically begging for it now. What happened to the girl who threw juice at me this morning? All it took was a little cock and you’re dick whipped for you King.”

“All it took was a big cock,” you correct him, skin flushing at the words that have just slipped out of him.

Seungcheol laughs, his canines sparkling in the low light of the room. “Biggest cock you’ve ever had,” he agrees. “Biggest cock you ever will have. After this, you’re mine. Completely. Body and soul.” 

In past relationships, you’ve toyed with the idea of forever. It’s been a thought that strikes fear in your heart, but for some reason, looking up at the King of Hell, forever doesn’t scare you anymore.

Something tells you he’s going to take care of you, in a way no one ever has.

It’s clear he’s very protective over you. He believes in soulmates, in destiny, in prophecy- you’re his perfect match, and he’s fully bought into that idea… maybe you’ll buy into it someday too.

“I’m yours,” you agree finally, staring up at the beautiful devil.

He bends over you, pressing his lips to your own. With one hand, he cups your cheek, keeping you close, and with the other, he guides his cock to your pussy again, slowly pushing in.

You gasp against his mouth at the immediate stretch of his cockhead in your tight core, your hands flying to his shoulders.

“I know,” he coos, “I know, but it will feel good in a second, I promise.”

You’re happy he made you squirt, because the wetness coating your pussy makes it easy for him to slowly slide inch after inch into your core. He thrusts shallowly, and the movement helps your body become adjusted to his massive size.

You’re shocked at how big he is- it was one thing to see it, and another thing entirely to feel him- to feel the vein running along the underside of his cock while it drags against your sensitive walls.

Seungcheol’s mouth is hot against your own, his tongue seemingly back to a normal size as he licks at your lips. You think he must be trying to distract you from the intense feeling of being stretched out on his cock, and it’s another kindness you’d never expected from him.

When he’s fully sheathed in your core, you both let out groans of pleasure. 

The King of Hell straightens again, looking down at you while his hands graze your form. “Ready, sweet girl?”

You nod, licking your lips. “Yes, please.”

He grabs your hips, holding you steady so he can begin to rut into you.

Your view of him is insane. How is his body so perfect? He’s chiseled in the best of ways, his chest looks downright biteable, his biceps bulging as he holds you down, his abdominal muscles clenching with each thrust-

You’re absolutely delirious for him, your own hands finding your chest to tease your nipples.

Seungcheol’s gaze shifts to where you’re touching yourself, and a smirk appears on his face. “Fuck, baby, that good, huh?”

You can only nod and let out a needy mewling sound, pinching at your nipples and making your back arch while he rails your pussy.

Each drag of his cock along your sensitive inner walls has you seeing stars, and when his hand flattens over your abdomen, you nearly loose it.

“This is how deep I am,” he tells you. “Bet having-” he groans, “Bet having your guts rearranged by the King of Hell wasn’t on your bingo card this year, was it, little love?”

“No, sir,” you shake your head, whimpering at the feeling of pressure on your stomach from his hand. God- why does this feel so good? You can feel him everywhere, he’s all consuming, and that familiar feeling of an oncoming orgasm is building yet again.

“I can feel you tensing up,” Seungcheol notes with a laugh, his thumb moving down to find your clit. “Gonna cum on my cock, aren’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mewl, the title feeling more than natural on your lips.

Seungcheol’s grip on your hip tightens at the word, his thumb applying more pressure to your clit while he fucks you even harder, impaling you on his massive cock with each rough thrust.

“Beg for daddy to let you cum.”

“Please- please, daddy, fuck- I wanna cum so bad, wanna make you feel good-”

“I’m not cumming with you, not yet,” he warns. “As much as I love this position, there’s only one way I want you when I’m filling you with my seed, and that’s on your hands and knees, face buried in the pillows, crying like my good little whore.”

His words have your pussy fluttering around his cock, and it makes his grin widen.

“You like that, huh? Like the idea of being my perfect little cock slut?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Made for me,” he grunts, pinching your clit and making you cry out. “You were fucking made for me. Cum on my cock, baby, show me you deserve it.”

You can’t even fight the command, your body short circuiting, muscles clenching as you follow through with what he wants. Your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks, pussy clamping down on Seungcheol’s large cock.

He doesn’t stop, he only fucks you harder as you squeal and thrash against the bed- when you reach out to grab his arms, the invisible binds appear again, pinning your hands above you.

Seungcheol laughs, but there’s a groan in the sound too, and you know you’re probably squeezing him like a fucking vice. 

“Good girl,” he growls, and it only makes your pussy flutter harder.

The squelching sound returns, and you can’t even find it within yourself to be shy about the way your body is reacting to him, you’re too overwhelmed by the euphoria surging through your being to think cohesively.

“You’re crying again,” Seungcheol notes. “How cute.” His pace slows, and suddenly he’s grabbing at your jaw, hauling you into a sitting position, your face just inches from his own. 

His eyes are dark as he looks at you, then his long tongue is lolling out of his mouth, licking away your tears while you struggle and shiver, his cock buried so deep inside of you that you think you might faint.

“Tell me you’re ready for me to breed you,” Seungcheol growls.

“I’m ready for you to breed me,” you say meekly, core throbbing again at the idea.

The King of Hell presses his lips against your own, kissing your breath away while you claw at his shoulders. Then, as suddenly as he’d kissed you, he pulls away, cock slipping from your core and making you whine. 

“Onto all fours,” he instructs.

The bed slowly lowers to an acceptable height while you fumble on shaky legs to get into doggy position. 

“That’s my good girl,” Seungcheol praises you, the bed dipping as he joins you on his knees behind you. His large hands find your body, skimming along your sides.

Then he grabs the back of your neck, shoving your face down into the mattress. 

“Part of me wants to thank you for making this so easy,” he says. “But another part of me thinks you should be the one thanking me for giving you the opportunity to carry the children of the King of Hell.”

“Thank you,” you murmur.

Seungcheol scoffs. “You can thank me when my cum is dripping out of your used hole and you’re still begging for more.”

He slams his cock back into you, and a cry escapes your lips. God, in this position, he feels even deeper- if that’s possible.

Your toes curl at the sensation, and with every rough thrust, his balls clap against your clit, making you dizzy with pleasure.

His grip on the back of your neck increases, skilled fingers finding the arteries that flow to your brain- soon, you’re not only dizzy with pleasure, but dizzy from air being restricted too. It’s a beautiful, tingling feeling, and it has you clawing at the bed, arching your back as you moan like a desperate whore for him. 

You feel something on your clit, but both of Seungcheol’s hands are still occupied, one on your hip, one on your neck-

That’s when you realize that whatever invisible magic grip he’d used to pin you to the bed, he can use to pleasure you too-

Now, you truly feel him everywhere. 

“Fuck, fuck-” you struggle against the mattress, another orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s it, take it.” 

“Are you close?” you ask, and from the silence that you’re met with, you’re pretty sure you’ve caught him off guard. “Please tell me you’re close- I want to be full so bad, want you to breed me, Cheol- please-”

He sucks in a shaky breath, gripping your hip so hard that you’re pretty sure you’re going to bruise. His hand moves away from your neck in favour of grabbing both sides of your waist. He roughly pulls your ass back to meet each hard thrust.

“Keep begging.” 

“Please, daddy, please- fuck, this is what you wanted me for, right? This is what I owe you? Then give it to me- give me everything, breed me-”

“Cum for me first,” Seungcheol commands. “Cum on my cock so I know you deserve it.”

The magic on your clit suddenly feels like a harsh vibration, and it’s enough to tip you over the edge. You grab at the bed sheets, letting out a primal sound of pleasure as your core clamps down on Seungcheol’s length for a second time.

He lets out his own groan, and a moment later you feel his cum shooting deep inside of you, filling you up in ways you never even imagined possible.

He fucks you through your highs, his grip unwavering on your hips. It feels amazing to be used like this, to feel rope upon rope of Seungcheol’s seed invading you and coating your walls.

And the sounds he’s making- rough grunts and groans- you’ve never heard anything like it. You’ve never been this head over heals for someone before, and the notion shocks you.

Maybe you really were meant for each other- it’s hard to say what’s real as you sacrifice yourself to be his little cum dump, taking every last drop until he stills behind you, cock still buried to the hilt.

He’s breathing heavily, his gasps teasing your back. 

Neither of you say anything for a solid minute.

One of his hands leaves your hip, trailing along your spine. “Good girl.” 

You can only whimper in response. 

“I will admit, I’m still disappointed you’re not adept in the art of witchcraft, although, that’s hardly your own fault.” What a topic change. “I’ll find you someone to teach you, you’ll have lots of time to devote to the craft.”

His palm flattens against the small of your back, and he wordlessly prompts you to flatten onto your belly, pressing his own large chest against you like a blanket. His lips find your throat, and he peppers your skin in kisses. 

“Your days will be spent learning how to be a Queen, and your nights will be spent like this, with me.” His nose nuzzles by your cheek. “And tomorrow, I’ll make you my bride, officially.”

“Tomorrow?” you squeak. “Isn’t that a little… too soon?”

“I’ve waited three hundred years for you, little love. At this point, there’s no such thing as too soon.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading!

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🔮 preview.  “Trust me, little love, I haven’t cum in you for months, pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to help myself even if I tried.” With a grin, you allow Seungcheol to cup his fingers around the nape of your neck, dragging your lips to his. He kisses you as eagerly as he had the very first time, pushing you backward with his large form until you bump against the window. “I’ve got an idea,” your husband tells you, his mouth moving to your throat. “I wanna fuck you against this, want you to look at your kingdom while I pump our second heir deep into your perfect little pussy.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, impreg kink, cum kink, oral (f recieving), fingering, demon magic as a vibrator, fucking against a window, fucking while wearing a dress, quickie, biting/marking/blood licking, breast play, dirty talk, praise, begging,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby, little love, little sweet, etc… (his) daddy, sir. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 200

🌙 staring. Seungcheol x afab!reader

bonus

Hell is no place to raise a child, and it’s not a place that is easily accessible to witches either- which is why, soon into your pregnancy, Seungcheol made it his mission to find you a safe haven on Earth that you could call home.

Nestled in a small valley, far from any towns or cities, Seungcheol crafted you a home. It’s a cottage, very different from the Hell palace you’d become accustomed to.

Your days are spent basking in the sunshine with your tutor, a witch of a strong family blood line who had long been acquainted with the King of Hell. Your teacher, a woman named Faeble, also acted as your midwife, ensuring your birth with your first child was as seamless as possible, with the aid of magic of course.

She tends to the wards, teaching you about the ways of the witches, and helps you raise your son- she’s become like the mother you never got to have, and your days are peaceful. 

In the evenings, Seungcheol appears, whisking you and your son away to the safety of Hell. It’s a simple little life you’ve made for yourself, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[lvlystars]

13:47 — c.sc

"not again." you groan, turning around to face yourself with yet another problem: your boyfriend is missing.

if you had a dime for every time you lost seungcheol in your 3 years of dating, you would be filthy rich. how a person could be so bad at directions is beyond you, but nevertheless, you still love him all the same.

you attempt to jump a little, trying to see if you can at least spot his bright red hair he sported recently (you urged him to dye it under the guise of saying you missed his cherry hair, but in reality, it was just to help you find him in large crowds), but to no avail, you could only see heads of brown and black hair, with a couple of hats here and there.

"OH MY-"

you jolt as you felt someone poke your waist, whipping your head around to face the culprit, and you're met with seungcheol's face, adorning a cheeky smirk as his flaming red hair softly falls over his forehead.

"i thought i lost you, princess," he pouts, pulling out something from behind him. you scowl at him, your eyes catching a glimpse of what looked like a keychain, and any thoughts of scolding him immediately wash away as you realize what he was holding.

your eyes widen as seungcheol dangles the little pochacco keychain in front of you, the character looking like it was jumping in the air, with a green wristband saying 'pochacco' on it. he hands it to you, kissing your temple as he guides you to walk forward, his arm coming down to rest on your side.

"i saw you admiring it, but you didn't say anything to me. so i just decided to buy it last minute." seungcheol smiles down at you, feigning hurt at the fact that you didn't take advantage of how much money he's willing to spend on you (aka the love of his life).

you immediately intertwine your fingers with his, bringing his hand up to peck it softly as a silent 'thank you', and seungcheol hums, softly squeezing your hand in response.

oh, how you love this man.

wc. 361

tags 🏷️ —

@arafilez @etherealyoungk @hannieheartuu @haowrld @kyeomyun @saiiidahyunee @shuahaes @seuonji @welcometomyoasis @wqnwoos @wheeboo @yoonzinuhh @shieunviya @shaminari

[mingtinys]

" you should rest "

pairing : choi seungcheol x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : language

word count : 0.5 k

a/n : super super excited to be doing this little mini-series starting off with seungcheol !!

You're rudely awoken from your slumber by the slamming of brakes and Seungcheol throwing curses at the car in front of him. Your seat belt stops your momentum, though you can't say the same about your poor suitcases and bags in the back seat that tumble forward with a violent thud.

"Fucking idiot," he mutters, then looks over to you with a complete change of expression. "Are you okay?" He's still got his arm extended over your chest like a mother.

"I'm okay, are you?"

"Yeah," he sighs, letting his arm drop from its protective position in favor of resting his hand on your inner thigh. He squeezes ever so lightly in an attempt to ground himself. "Asshole cut me off and then slammed his brakes. I'm sorry to wake you."

You hum, reaching out to brush back his bangs from his eyes. A fond smile lights up his features at the gesture. "S'okay. How much longer do we have left?"

"About an hour or so."

An hour!?

"Cheol!" You scold, shuffling to sit up in your seat. "You were supposed to wake me up an hour ago to switch off!"

If there was only an hour left that meant he'd been driving for nearly three already. You only meant to nap during his half of the drive to your parents' house then you would finish the rest so he could get some sleep. You even made him promise about three times over to wake you up, but it seems that went unheard.

He just shrugs and steals a glance at you, that signature pout playing at his lips. "I don't mind. Besides, you've seemed stressed lately, I figured you could use the extra rest."

Admittedly, the extra shut-eye was pretty nice. But still, you wish he would've woken you. "I appreciate it, but I'll feel guilty if you take the whole drive. Pull over and we'll switch off for the last bit."

Stubborn as always, Seungcheol shakes his head. "I'll take care of everything, you should rest." There's honestly no arguing with him over stuff like this. So you just sigh and grumble about conquering the trip back on your own to make up for it. Seungcheol just chuckles at your dissent. "You're too cute."

You curl up in your seat once more, turning so you can admire glare at your boyfriend who's a little too happy with himself. He notices, and the way his lips crack into a smile is irritatingly adorable. Seungcheol reaches his arm to the back, fishing out his coat that had been buried under your multitude of travel bags. Placing it over your legs, he steals another lingering glance.

"You're not forgiven yet, I'm still mad at you." It's probably the least threading sentence you've ever uttered in your life. Your voice sounds whiney, even to you, and that really makes Seungcheol laugh.

"I know, baby. Sweet dreams."

[wongyuuu]

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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[lololololchips]

OOOOH COULD I REQUEST CHEOL WITH A BOSSY SPOILED BRAT OF A PRINCESS <333

heyyyy:)) i couldn’t be bossy IM SORRY😭😭 but here it is loolz hope u like it!!

Choi Seungcheol || being spoiled by s.coups texts

genre: fake texts, one shot au, fluff

warnings: cursing, fem pronouns, rich ass cheol (are we surprised??), fluffly sigh i need him so bad yall

[wheeboo]

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."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag

[sluttywoozi]

Take Trouble, Make It Double

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~4.7k | Pairing: csc x f!reader x yjh | Genre: smut, threesome, romance, college au, frat bros!cheol and jeonghan

Summary: It’s not every day you get to fuck your campus crush and your no longer ex-boyfriend, and you’re going to make the most of it. 

Warnings: mention of alcohol, threesome, petnames (good girl, angel, sweetheart, baby), biting/marking, fingering, multiple orgasms, double penetration in one hole, double creampie, cheol doesn’t have abs, implied poly ending

Reader Notes: has a vagina and breasts, referred to as a girl, in a sorority, cums easily, gets lifted by cheol

Shit, you are not drunk enough for a frat party of this magnitude.

Unfortunately, considering that you’re volunteering early tomorrow and it would be hell if you were hungover, you don’t think you’ll drink anymore. Guys won’t stop asking if they can get you another drink and you’re getting tired of saying no, so you decide to head to the kitchen to refill your cup with soda. That should get them off your back, and you need a bit of an energy boost to withstand this party. You’re crossing the crowded living room to get to the kitchen when you spot Jeonghan and feel your heart stop. 

Fuck, you’re in trouble. 

You slept with him a week ago, and tonight, you were thinking of trying to hook up with him again. 

It was… transcendental for you, and you hope it was just as good for him. You wouldn’t know, because he never called. Sure, he doesn’t have your number, but considering your sorority house is neighboring his frat house, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to obtain it. If he wanted to, that is. 

You can only assume he didn’t, which puts a bit of a dent in your plans (and in your heart). You look away from him quickly, walking faster when you notice him push off of the wall he’s leaning against, his eyes on you and his mouth open like he’s about to call out your name. 

You enter the oddly empty kitchen before he can, and you’re in the process of digging through the cooler for a bottle of coke when he appears next to you. You feel him before you see him, one of his hands touching your elbow and offering you a soda from the fridge. How he knew what you wanted, you don’t know. 

“Hey,” he breathes, looking at you with slightly apprehensive eyes, like he’s not sure how he’ll be received. 

You take in a deep breath and force a smile, trying to appear unaffected. “Hey, Jeonghan.”

“I’m glad you’re here, I’ve really been wanting to talk to you,” he says, his hand slipping down from your elbow to tangle his fingers with yours. 

“I live right next door,” you remind him, pulling away to open the bottle and turning from him to fill your cup. 

Out of your view, he bites his lip, cringing at the little bit of hurt that seeps through your mask. 

“I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t reach out. There are… reasons. But still, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Can you tell me the reasons?” You ask curiously, already having accepted his apology in your mind. He sounded sincere, and fuck, you still want him. 

“They involve someone else, and I don’t want to-”

“He didn’t ask you out because I told him I wanted to,” a voice sounds from the doorway, making you jump and look over. 

Your eyes widen when you see who the voice belongs to, your heart pounding at the sight of Seungcheol. You dated in freshman year and he was your first real love, and when he broke up with you, you were devastated. 

He said he was too busy between the fraternity and rugby practice and classes, and while you believed him, you knew that no matter how busy you were, you’d still want to be with him. You’ve managed to avoid him till now, always going to different frats for parties and tailgates, until last week, of course. 

Some of your younger sisters begged you to go, saying they were scared to attend without you, and your protective side kicked in much to your detriment. 

Because at that party, you met Jeonghan, and slept with someone for the first time since Seungcheol, who wasn’t in attendance (thank fucking God). 

You don’t know how to respond, too many thoughts swirling around your head to make sense of anything. You obviously knew they were brothers, but you didn’t realize they were close or you wouldn’t have agreed to go to Jeonghan’s room. 

Jeonghan must not have known you’re Cheol’s ex; if he did, you doubt he would have asked you in the first place. And now apparently Seungcheol wants you again, but Jeonghan wants you too? 

Are you supposed to choose between them or…? 

You always said you’d never take Seungcheol back after he hurt you like that, but now you’re reconsidering. Because he’s here before you, and you still love him like you used to. 

There are still your growing feelings for Jeonghan to consider though, and suddenly being in this empty kitchen with just the two of them is stifling. 

Seungcheol can read you still, comes closer to you on steady feet with sincere eyes, and says, “I never should have broken up with you. I should have held onto you and never let go, but I didn’t, and now it’s probably too late. It would be selfish of me to ask you out now, when I know my best friend could treat you better than I ever did.”

He sounds resigned, and you look to Jeonghan, who’s staring at him with a grateful, melancholy gaze. The ache in your chest is so sharp, your eyes water, and you look back and forth between them hopelessly. 

“I guess I can’t have you both, can I?” You murmur, slumping against the counter and crossing your arms to hold yourself together. 

Their gazes snap to each other and they communicate soundlessly, with gestures and eyebrows and widening eyes, before turning to you and saying, “What if you could?”

You weave through the dancing, drunk crowd, one of your hands caught in Jeonghan’s and the other held by Seungcheol. Your heart is racing and your panties are wet, but you’re doing your absolute best to seem unaffected by the idea of what you’re about to do.

It’s a bit nerve wracking, the concept of two men at once, but you’ve been through sorority recruitment in the blazing heat so you’re pretty sure you can handle anything. 

Some of your sisters would disapprove of this but most would be cheering you on, and through the flashing lights and writhing bodies, you spot your best friend giving you a wide smile and a thumbs up. That’s enough to bolster you, and you hold your head high as you follow Jeonghan to the room he apparently shares with Seungcheol. 

Jeonghan opens the door and ushers you inside, waiting for Seungcheol to cross the threshold and entering behind him, closing the door with a resounding click and muffling the roaring party. 

They close in on you quickly, one set of hands pulling your top off and the other unbuttoning and tugging down your jeans, leaving you standing in your bra and underwear between them. You can feel Seungcheol’s breath on the back of your neck as he leans in to lay kisses along the line of your shoulder, and Jeonghan gives you an easy grin before cupping your face and drawing you into an open mouthed kiss. 

They both know how you like to be touched, and they don’t hesitate to use that knowledge to their advantage. Seungcheol’s hand slides over your stomach and slips into your panties, his fingers gliding through your folds with how wet you already are. He presses his smug grin into your throat, whispers, “Want us that badly, huh?”

You flush from head to toe, suddenly shy, and gasp into Jeonghan’s mouth when Seungcheol finds your clit. He rubs it with the pads of his fingers slowly, gently, knowing you need some time to adjust to the sensation of someone else touching you. 

Jeonghan unclasps your bra with practiced fingers, pulling it down your arms and off before covering your tits with his soft hands. He squeezes them, brushes his thumbs back and forth over your nipples until they’re hard, until you’re pressing your chest into his hands. 

Seungcheol is still rubbing your clit, but his circles are firmer now, more insistent, and you just know he’s going to make you cum like this, know they’re going to make you cum like this. 

They work together to work you up, two of Seungcheol’s fingers sinking into you as Jeonghan breaks the kiss and leans down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. When Seungcheol’s fingertips curl into the patch of nerves inside you, you let out a rough gasp, wilting against his chest as his thumb presses into your clit. 

Jeonghan just breathes a soft laugh, following you and grasping one of your hips with his free hand to hold you steady, to hold you still as you start to climb that mountain. You’re already throbbing, already clenching around Seungcheol’s fingers, and when he starts to fuck you with them, you feel yourself get even wetter. He adds a third and hooks them all into your g-spot as he digs his hips into you, the feeling of his hard cock making you hotter. 

His thumb catches your clit at just the right angle and you start to flutter around his fingers, your pussy locking down on them as Jeonghan bites a stinging mark into the side of your breast. You whimper weakly, resting more of your weight on Seungcheol and knowing he can take it as you break apart between them. 

“There we go, good girl,” Seungcheol murmurs roughly into your neck, one strong arm banding around your waist to hold you to him as you shake and whine and squeeze his fingers. Jeonghan pulls away from your tits to find your lips again, swallowing your sounds and sucking at your tongue as he presses his hard dick against you, moaning lowly into your mouth. 

A shiver wracks through you when Seungcheol grinds his fingers into your g-spot again, before you’ve come down from the first orgasm. You remember how many times he used to make you cum when you were together and swallow nervously, attempting to prepare yourself for his particular brand of overstimulation. 

Jeonghan, on the other hand, ate you out so gently for so long, it’s like you had one continuous, never ending, nearly lethal orgasm. It’ll be interesting to see how their styles combine, and as Seungcheol brings you right back to the edge, you vow to yourself that you’ll take whatever they give you. 

It’s not every day you get to fuck your campus crush and your no longer ex-boyfriend, and you’re going to make the most of it. 

Which means that when Seungcheol whispers, “Again, I want you to cum again,” and Jeonghan mumbles, “C’mon, sweetheart, cum for us,” you listen. Your cunt clamps down and your back arches and your voice wavers as you fall to pieces again.

It’s scary almost, how they can make you cum on command, but you revel in it too, revel in the fact that they know you that well. That with just a few words, they can push you over the edge. 

And hell, you revel in the fact that they want to push you over the edge, that they want you. 

It makes you so wet, you can hear Seungcheol fucking you with his fingers, slick sounds and squelches following every thrust and curl. You know they can hear it too and your cheeks heat, though you’re pretty sure they like it if their labored breathing and hard dicks say anything. 

You’re starting to get sensitive but you won’t stop him, not when Jeonghan slides his hand under Seungcheol’s and knocks his thumb away from your clit so he can swirl circles with his soft fingertips. The stark difference in how they touch you is exhilarating, Seungcheol’s rough fingers inside you combined with Jeonghan’s gentle touch making you cry out. 

You can barely hold yourself up but Seungcheol is strong enough to keep you standing, even as your knees weaken and you slump back against him. Jeonghan doesn’t follow you this time, just keeps circling your clit and watches as you shake and moan and gush for them, a slight smirk curling his lips as he slips his hand down and works two of his slim fingers inside you alongside Seungcheol’s thick three. 

The fullness is more than anything you’ve ever felt. It takes your breath away, saps every last bit of strength from you until their hands on you (and in you) are the only things holding you up. You can’t even make a sound, you’re so overwhelmed, and Jeonghan takes a second to lean in close and ask, “You okay, angel? Is it too much?” 

You can only shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut and your chest heaving as you gasp for air. He starts to pull his fingers out and your hand flies to his wrist, keeping his hand from drawing away. You realize he thinks you were answering the first question, and you force out, “I’m okay. S’not too much.”

He exhales in relief, sinking his fingers back in and saying, “What if we fucked you like this? Both of us in this sweet little cunt. Would you like that, angel?”

“Do you think you could take it?” Seungcheol chimes in, sounding worried and doubtful, as if they’re not currently five fucking fingers deep. 

The words are flowing out of your mouth before you’ve even finished thinking about it. 

“Yes, I can, I want it so fucking bad. Please, I want you both inside of me,” you whimper, one hand clutching Jeonghan’s wrist and the other gripping Seungcheol’s forearm to keep them close to you, though you know they’ll have to pull away if you want their dicks. 

“If you’re sure, sweetheart,” Seungcheol whispers into your throat before pressing a tender kiss to your sensitive skin, his plump lips whisper soft against you. 

“I’m sure,” you whine as you force yourself to let go of their arms, allowing them to withdraw from you. They carry lead you over to one of their twin beds, and for the first time tonight, they seem a little bashful. 

“Sorry it’s so small, the guys would riot if we got double beds and they got singles,” Seungcheol grimaces, helping you take your panties off and lay down before tugging off his shirt. Jeonghan follows suit and you sigh dreamily, watching as they reveal more and more skin. You’re rubbing your legs together by the time they’re done, your eyes darting between them so you can get your fill of both. 

Seungcheol’s cock is long, thick, with veins wrapped around the length like vines, and Jeonghan’s is slightly longer, just a bit slimmer, and curved up. Immediately, you know you want to keep Jeonghan in the front, your pussy aching at the memory of the way he could grind the head of his cock into your g-spot. You like feeling Seungcheol’s buff body behind you anyway, like feeling his firm muscles and his soft tummy and his thick thighs, so this really is the best of both worlds. 

They smile like they know what you’re thinking, and you start to wonder if they do when they join you on the bed and begin maneuvering you. Seungcheol pulls you up by the hands and to the edge of the bed so Jeonghan can lay down in your place, and you feel their hands steady you as you climb astride him, Seungcheol following you. 

Jeonghan lets go to hold his cock in place for you, guiding it to your entrance and watching as you sink down onto him. He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyelids fluttering and his mouth opening on a low moan at the sensation of your hot, wet cunt enveloping his cock. You’re similarly affected, the perfect curve of his dick making your eyes water and your pussy clench. 

“You should be stretched out enough to take me too, but I think Jeonghan should fuck you first just to make sure. Not for too long though, I need you so fucking bad,” Seungcheol says, his voice rough and his hands tight on your hips. He must sense your inability to move, because he does the moving for you, lifting you nearly off Jeonghan’s cock and letting you fall back down as Jeonghan thrusts up. 

A punched out moan escapes your parted lips at the feeling of their hands on you, of Jeonghan filling you, of Seungcheol moving you like a doll. You think about having both of them at the same time, and know you just can’t wait. 

“Want you now, Cheol,” you gasp, reaching back to find his hip and attempting to pull him to you, though he’s too strong for you to move him much. 

“Baby, I don’t know, I don’t want to hurt you,” he’s obviously hesitant, and you don’t want to push him past his comfort levels but fuck, you want him so bad. 

“I can take it, Cheol, I can take you, I promise,” you gasp, already on the verge of begging and nearly on the verge of tears too. “Please, you’ve made me wait long enough.”

That’s the final nail in the coffin, and Seungcheol sighs with resignation as he takes hold of his dick and guides it between your legs. “Okay, sweetheart, okay, but if it’s too much, all you have to do is tell us.”

You nod fervently and lean down, draping yourself over Jeonghan so Seungcheol has a better angle. You can hear the deep breath he takes before he hooks one finger inside you alongside Jeonghan’s cock, then two fingers, then three, before pulling them out and finally replacing them with his dick. 

When he starts to push inside, the sensation steals every last molecule of oxygen in your lungs, leaving you entirely breathless. It’s a good thing you’re resting on Jeonghan’s chest because you’re dizzy, lightheaded, dazed at the stretch you feel. 

Seungcheol goes so slowly you’ve regained your breath by the time he’s fully inside of you, though your chest still feels tight with your pussy at its absolute limit.  

It occurs to you that you’ll never take more than this, that this is the fullest you’ve ever been, ever will be, and you feel a rush of arousal gather around the bases of their cocks, your cunt too tight for much to escape. Seungcheol and Jeonghan have been grunting and groaning with pleasure (or restraint), but when you flood them and squeeze them, they both let out the most delicious whimpers. 

“Are you-” 

“Yes, move,” you moan, not even registering who asked you, your eyes clenched shut and your thighs trembling as you wait. 

Jeonghan moves first, shoving just a bit deeper inside of you before pulling his hips back and sliding in again. You’re wet enough his dick glides against Seungcheol’s, and when he starts to fuck you too, you find yourself in a state of ecstasy so sharp, it nearly hurts. They take a few thrusts to find their rhythm, but eventually they do, and it’s almost more than you can take. 

You’ll never ask them to stop though, never want them to stop. You just need them to fuck you like this forever, fuck you and fill you and keep you. Because you want to be kept by them, and you want them to want to keep you. 

You can’t stop whimpering, your moans blending together until they’re endless, dotted by gasps and sharp cries. Seungcheol and Jeonghan are making noise too, and if you were lucid enough, you’d hope the music outside is loud enough to cover the obvious sounds of sex. 

As it is, you can only lay there and feel each impact of Seungcheol’s and Jeonghan’s hips against yours, every thrust from Seungcheol pushing you into Jeonghan and every thrust from Jeonghan pushing you into Seungcheol. Until Seungcheol wraps his arms around your neck and waist and pulls you up into his body. 

The change in angle makes you cry out, as does the big hand he places on your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just leaves it there like he knows you like as he and Jeonghan begin moving in unison. Seungcheol holds you in place so they can thrust up into you, and the feeling of them filling you together is somehow even better than them alternating. 

Jeonghan’s eyes trail over your body, his hands following them down down down until one catches on your hip and the other slips between your thighs. When his delicate fingers find your swollen, sensitive clit, you yelp, your hips jolting into them and away as he rubs steady, insistent circles. 

He must be getting close if he’s trying to make you cum, and you can tell by Seungcheol’s sounds and leaking dick that he’s getting close too. You’re almost scared of it, scared of the tidal wave of pleasure that will overtake you when it’s already almost too much, but you know that if they want you to break for them, you will. 

Seungcheol starts sucking marks into the side of your neck, and Jeonghan forces out in a trembling voice, “You gonna cum for us again, angel? Last one, I promise. Just be good for us one last time, please.” 

“Cum, sweetheart, I know you can,” Seungcheol encourages you through gritted teeth. 

And God, you want to be good for them, you want to be Jeonghan’s angel and Seungcheol’s sweetheart, so when you feel it start to build up deep inside, you don’t fight it. You let the stinging bliss coil tighter and tighter in your belly until it shatters, taking you apart at the seams. Your walls clamp down and you nearly force them from you, but they thrust in deep and stay as you cum so hard, you lose all sense of time and space and matter. 

The only tethers you have to this plane of existence are Seungcheol and Jeonghan, and they hold you up and hold you together as you try to swim through the stars in your eyes. You force yourself to wake up when you hear the tell-tale noises of their approaching highs, wanting to be fully present for the moment they fill you. 

Jeonghan and Seungcheol are the only men you’ve ever let cum inside you, and you can’t wait to feel that again, to feel them again. It’ll be different this time, you know, will probably alter your brain chemistry and the trajectory of your life, but you’re ready. 

“Cum for me, I want to feel you both filling me up, please,” you whine, nearly shaking in Seungcheol’s arms out of anticipation. Jeonghan’s face crumples in pleasure, Seungcheol lets out the hottest little whimper you’ve ever heard, and they break together, flooding you with so much cum, you think you’ll burst. 

Their hands grip you tight but you don’t care, wouldn’t mind waking tomorrow to sore spots and lingering reminders of the night you shared with them, of probably the best night of your life. Seungcheol’s hand drops from your neck to wrap around your waist, pulling you into a sweet, soft hug before letting go and slowly lowering you back onto Jeonghan’s chest. 

Jeonghan’s smile is dazed, satiated, satisfied, and he drops it to pout at you expectantly, his eyes hazy and his hand gentling on your hip. You lean in and press your lips to his, humming into his mouth when he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip. He doesn’t deepen the kiss much, eventually tapering off into little pecks and smooches that he dots all over your face. 

“Ready for us to pull out?” Seungcheol asks gently, rubbing your back with his big, rugby-rough hands. 

You nod and breathe, “Go one at a time, please,” bracing yourself for the approaching emptiness and attempting to push off the thoughts and fears of what will happen after this. 

Seungcheol withdraws first, pulling his hips from yours and dragging his softening cock out of your still fluttering pussy before climbing off the bed and heading to his closet. It’s almost odd to just feel Jeonghan inside of you, and you know it’ll feel even weirder not to feel either of them. You’ll just be you again, not you and Seungcheol and Jeonghan, and you can’t say you’re excited. 

It must show on your face because Jeonghan cups your cheeks, presses a quick kiss to your lips, and whispers, “Everything will be okay, I promise.” 

“So do I,” Seungcheol murmurs as he approaches with a towel in hand. 

He holds your hips up so Jeonghan can pull out, a surge of cum following his exit now that there’s nothing keeping it inside. Seungcheol catches it with the towel, wiping at your thighs and dabbing gently at your stretched, sore pussy. 

Jeonghan passes a hand over your hair and waits until you’re as clean as you can get before tilting to the side and carefully sliding out from under you, disappearing from view. You try not to feel lonely without them in bed with you, try to remind yourself that there’s no way this could work, try to steel yourself as you imagine stumbling out of their door and making your way through the party back to your own house. 

You hope they’ll walk you home at least, maybe give you a kiss goodbye before never calling you again, just like before. 

Jeonghan returns clothed in pajamas with a bottle of water from their mini fridge, cracking it open and handing it to you with waiting eyes. You take a sip and he grins, so you take another, realizing how parched you are and practically gulping the whole thing down in one go. 

“Good girl,” he says, taking the empty bottle from you and smirking at the way your eyes snap to his. “What? I wanted to try it out too. Did you like it?” 

“Yes,” you answer honestly, both because you don’t see a point in lying and because you’re loosened up from however many orgasms they gave you. 

“Good,” he smiles easily, leaning down to kiss you softly. “I like it too.”

Seungcheol sits heavily on the bed next to you, dressed in boxers and a shirt you recognize as one you bought for him, a band tee that’s just a bit too big on him. It’s much thinner than you remember, worn in the shoulders and holey along the hem, and it makes you smile to think he’s been wearing it all this time. 

“We have a lot to talk about, a lot to figure out, but I think for now, we should just push the beds together and go the fuck to sleep,” he suggests tiredly, taking your hand in both of his and giving it a loving squeeze. 

Jeonghan nods and points to a door, “We do have our own bathroom, so you can take a shower while we rearrange the room, angel.” 

They want you to… stay? The party seems to be dying down, it would be easy enough for them to slip you out without too many eyes, but it seems that thought hasn’t even crossed their minds. You try to contain the beam but it stretches your lips anyway, a rush of giddiness giving you enough energy to stand on your shaky legs and start to limp over to the bathroom. 

They stand with you, Jeonghan speeding ahead to turn the shower on and Seungcheol reaching out to open the door for you, pressing his warm hand to your lower back as you pass him. Jeonghan presses a kiss to your lips and hands you a towel, reaching his hand into the shower stall and saying, “Should be warm enough for you. We’ll see you soon?” 

You smile a watery smile and respond, “See you soon,” as he exits the bathroom, leaving you with Seungcheol. He brings you into another hug, swaying you like he used to and pressing a kiss to your hair before reluctantly letting you go, holding his hand out to steady you as you climb into the shower. The corners of his mouth quirk up fondly when you refuse to let go, and he pulls your hand up to his mouth to kiss the back of it. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be waiting for you. We’ll be waiting for you.” 

He seals his promise with one last kiss before tugging the shower curtain between you and padding away on quiet feet. 

Somehow, you really do think everything will be okay.

AN: this was suggested by an anon and i am eternally grateful bc woooie do i love frat/college aus and jeongcheol

Please reblog if you enjoyed! I love to hear your thoughts!

how i picture the morning after if you're curious

My Masterlist

[amourcheol]

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.

t a g l i s t :  @hyuckworld @just-hear-to-read-01 @cherrycheolcoups @jeonwonwooscutie @i-dont-give-a-fok @mystikha @xcynthiaaa @ckline35 @enthralled-bandit @urfavtallgirl222 @swimmingkpopblog @areumyang @geniejunn @itsveronicaxxx @yoongischeeksluv @sojohns @capsiclesworld @hanniehoneyy @belladaises @listxn @cheolsbitch @atinycarat26 @moniece @foxdaisy @seventeensfave @yoozuku @hanicore @ishireads @kkooongie @huiiline @coralderae @deekayownsme @louvyves @writingsbybirdie @myjaeyunn @twogyuu @goldenhoney-cas @jonginstance @lurniere @vanishingboots @jub-jub @jjjzzzz @bee-beyond @ikeostormy @rubywonu @ncteez-replies @appt2235 @claireleem @ningwebs @gyuturn @sikebishes @antiv3nus @tyongff-ff @lxgusss @forcoups @woozarts @smoooore @iwuzhere @asteriakingdom @p-dwiddle @youre-on-your-ownkid @fragmentof-indifference @lilsafsafbooyah @9songbird19 @hibernatinghamster @norassimpingzone @parkchaeyoungsbish @foxinnie8 @idubutily @imatfrontrow @ellr07 @havetaeminforbreakfast @tacolombe @nomnom2001 @highkey-fangirling @nap-of-a-starr @pineartease @hwashiningstar @hybeboy @haoraecane @yestenano

[seungcheorry]

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.

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '23: Breeding | Choi Seungcheol

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!Reader (established)

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), Kinktober 2023

Summary: You and Cheol had talked plenty about the future, but nothing could have prepared you to see his huge frame cradling a tiny baby and the absolute reaction you'd have to it

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: Seungcheol with a baby, very baby-centric breeding, baby fever hits Reader like a train, breeding, unprotected sex (obviously, I'm not even gonna apologize for this one), fingering, Cheol goes feral, talk of having kids, Seungcheol runs his mouth, petnames, Daddy kink, reader is referred to as a mommy like once, multiple orgasms, slight body worship, praise

A/N: Let me know if I missed anything in the warnings and, of course, I hope you enjoy!

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

Maybe going to your friend's house with Cheol was a bad idea. Maybe visiting Joshua and his partner to finally meet their baby was an experience you weren’t altogether prepared for. It had been a few months now since their little boy had been born, and you had only seen him through pictures and facetimes, wanting to give the couple a bit of space to settle into the new dynamic.

But now you were sitting on their couch, trying desperately to have a conversation with your friends while being distracted by the little swaddled bundle cradled carefully in your boyfriend's arms. The delicate little thing, pudgy cheeks and drool running from his lips that Seungcheol delicately wiped away, all fragile and peaceful against his chest. You were always aware of how handsome Cheol was, how hard he worked to keep his physique, but it wasn't something that had ever fully sunk into your psyche until you saw the way his biceps looked with something so tiny sleeping on them.

A voice caught your attention, a gentle call of your name, and you looked up, a little shaken from how deep in thought you'd been.

"Do you want to hold him?" Cheol asked, nodding to the sleeping infant in his arms. Your face split into an adoring grin, and you nodded eagerly. The care with which your boyfriend handled him was enough to make your heart skip in your chest as he carefully transferred the baby into your arms. The boy fussed a little, and you shushed him gently, swaying back and forth until he was sound asleep again.

The others continued talking, but all you could think about was having one of your own. Maybe a little girl, one with Cheol's eyes and your nose. A family where the two of you became three, a unit that always took care of each other.

When the two of you got home, Cheol dragged you to the bedroom, pulling you close and cuddling up to you in the comfort of your bed. You curled closer, letting him trace your arm quietly.

"What's on your mind? You've been in your head all day." He asked you. You hummed thoughtfully. You and Seungcheol had talked about it before, having kids, but you had never fully planned anything. You were still so young, and you hadn't fully settled on whether or not you two were ready to take that step.

"I'm thinking about Jaehan." You said, finally turning your attention back to him. "He's cute don't you think?"

"Yeah, he's adorable. Looks like his dad." He said. You nodded, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"Keep thinking about how natural you looked holding him. Didn't really know that it would be so...attractive seeing you hold a baby."

Seungcheol hummed, placing a large hand against your hip to pull you onto his lap. You looked down at him, smiling brightly at the sight of his dark locks in a wavy halo around his head.

"You think I looked hot?" He asked, a playful tone creeping into his voice. You rolled your eyes.

"I said it was attractive. I kept thinking about how maybe one day you'd be holding our kid, I guess. You'd be a good daddy." You said, your hands smoothing aimlessly across his chest, up, along the curve of his shoulders, then down his arms and back up again.

You watched his eyes darken, his hands moving to rub gently over your tummy.

"Could be sooner than later if you want." He said, eyes still trained on your stomach, imagining how pretty you'd look round with his child growing inside of you. Some primal, desperate part of him was awakening at the thought. A part of him tying itself to a part of you and giving you something to share and teach and care for. He was already starting to harden underneath you at the thought.

"Do you mean that?" You asked seriously, your hands stilling against his chest. "Because I don't want you to do something you're not ready for. Don't just want it to be an excuse to fuck me."

He softened for a moment, guiding your face gently towards his to capture your lips in a warm kiss.

"I promise I mean it. Want to have a family with you, wouldn't even think of lying about that. Let me do that, please." He kissed you again, his kiss just as desperate and sincere as his words as he flipped the two of you over so you were laying underneath him. You melted into the kiss, your hands tangling into his hair to hold him close as if he'd disappear if you didn't.

His tongue teased against your lips, coaxing you open for him and drawing the sweetest whine from your throat. He pulled away after a bit, breathless and flushed. He sat back, stripping your shirt off with ease, then letting his follow.

"Gonna take such good care of you. You and our baby," He hummed, leaning down to press a string of wet, warm kisses to your chest, along the swell of your breasts, and down until his lips could wrap around your nipple, sucking gently. Your back arched off the bed, and his hands stroked along the curve of your waist, holding you in place so he could switch to the other side and give it the same gentle treatment.

You weren't a stranger to having Cheol worship every inch of you, but this felt different. It was heavy and warm and nearly suffocating in all the best ways, anchoring you to each other and letting the rest of the world fade into blank space. He slid lower, kissing down your sternum, along your stomach until he reached the space just above your panty line. He looked up at you then, a large palm coming to rest against the spot.

"Gonna grow our little one right here. Gonna fill you up so full, make sure it takes. Do it over and over until we're sure." He mumbled, kissing your lower stomach again before tugging your panties down your legs and leaving you bare beneath him.

You were already aching, thighs wet with your arousal. Seeing him so wound up at the idea of you carrying his child was doing things you had never imagined. He pushed your thighs wider apart, hungry eyes burning into the sight of your dripping core. He brought his hand down, thumb swiping through your wet folds before nestling against your clit, pressing heavy, slow circles against the bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," You keened, thighs twitching, but he pressed his free hand against one of them, continuing his work. "Cheol, please. Need more."

"I got you baby, don't worry. Know just what you need." He promised, speeding up his movements and making your head fall back against the pillows. He slid his fingers down, pressing his middle finger into you and pumping it slowly before he added a second.

He was good with his hands, never having any problem getting you worked up or stretching you out with his fingers alone, and this was no different. You watched the way his brows furrowed, his lips curling into a concentrated pout while he worked his fingers into you, curling them to find your weak spot and continuing to grind his fingertips into it when he felt it.

You were breathless, squirming and gripping at the sheets as he fucked you slowly with his fingers. Your sounds were nearly incoherent, just breathless whines and gasps of his name as he milked your first orgasm out of you. He praised you all the way through it, his hand never stopping as you coated it in your wetness. Once the waves of your orgasm subsided, he pulled his hand away, reaching up to slip his fingers into your mouth and watching as you obediently sucked and licked them clean of your cum.

"That's my good girl. Doing so well for me. Deserve to feel good." He hummed, standing up to kick his pants off. His cock stood at full mast, the tip leaking and flaring pink. He stroked himself slowly, just admiring the way that you were sprawled out for him.

He quickly settled himself between your legs again, and you welcomed him just as eagerly. He pressed the head of his cock against your hole, and you whined when he didn't move.

"Baby, please. Don't tease me," You huffed, and he chuckled leaning down to capture your lips in another long kiss as he rolled his hips forward, filling you up in one steady thrust. Your walls clenched around him, adjusting to the way he stretched you out, and you moaned into his mouth. Your hands found his waist, nails digging into the sensitive flesh and reveling in the way he hissed out.

He stayed buried inside of you for longer than you would have liked, but soon enough his hips were rolling, dragging out before punching back in and stealing your breath away. You never got used to how well he fucked you, how perfectly he fit inside of you and hit spots you could only hope to reach on your own.

"So perfect, taking me so well." He praised, his hands settling on your hips and pulling you to meet his thrusts. The only sounds in the room were the slick sound of your pussy sucking him in, and the soft sounds shared between the two of you.

"Cheol, 'm close." You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you focused on the warmth running through you, the tension pulling tight in your stomach and the way his thrusts got harsher at your words.

"Go ahead, pretty girl. Cum on my dick, lemme feel it." He grunted out harshly, his head rolling back as your walls clenched around him, trying desperately to keep him inside of you. Then you were gone, trembling underneath him as your second orgasm hit, a silent moan parting your lips. He continued fucking you through it. He didn't stop even when you came down from your high, chasing his own pleasure.

"Cheollie, please," You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, dragging your nails over his broad shoulders. "Want you to cum. Need to be full. Please, Daddy."

He moaned, full and from his chest, his thrusts becoming harsher, less calculated, and then he was burying his face in your neck. His breath hitched, a broken moan of your name, and a sloppy kiss against your neck followed as he spilled inside of you.

The moment after was filled with heavy breaths and the sweetest kisses to your shoulders and collarbone. Finally he pulled out, looking down at the way that his cum dripped out of your hole. He huffed a little, reaching down and using his fingers to stuff it back inside of you. You whined, hips jolting a little from the sensitivity.

"Gotta make sure it stays in so it sticks. Gotta get you knocked up." He said, but it almost sounded like he was talking to himself, voice gravelly and barely audible. Then he was tugging at your hips, flipping you over. You let out an indignant squeak at how easily he maneuvered you around, hiking your hips up so your weight was on your arms folded under your head. "Gotta give you another one. Need to make sure."

You didn't have time to think before he was sliding into you again, still achingly hard and desperate to fill you up just a little more, to give you the baby you were both so desperate for, to start a family and have another precious piece of his life to care for. He needed it, the thought of it taking over the most primal, desperate part of his mind.

His thrusts were harsh, and probably would have been pushing you up the bed if it weren't for the bruising grip on your hips, pulling you back into each thrust and making you absolutely see stars.

"Daddy, 's too much," You whined, burying your face in your arm. His hand smoothed over your back, his pace never faltering.

"You can take it, baby. Just gotta get you nice and full. You wanna have my baby, right? Gotta take it," He cooed sweetly, even as you whined and squirmed. The heat searing through you stung, nerve endings on fire, but it only added to the pleasure that was taking over. You could barely form words at this point with Seungcheol hitting so deep inside of you that you were sure you wouldn't be able to walk, and with the gentle way he stroked your back and sides as if he wasn't fucking you dumb.

"I'm gonna-" You whined high in your throat, a broken moan following as you tried to warn him, but he knew your body better than you did, and he could tell just by the way your hips were pressing back insistently that you were gonna cum again.

"Go on, pretty. Cum for daddy. Cream my cock, please baby. Wanna feel it, know you can gimme one more." He urged you on, and you sobbed as the feeling rocked through you. Your thighs were trembling, and your toes were going numb. You didn't try to open your eyes, but you were sure your vision would have blacked out if you had.

His second orgasm followed not long after, filling you up with his seed again. He leaned against you, one arm holding the both of you up, the other wrapped around your waist to keep you pressed as close as possible to him. You were both breathless, bodies exhausted and minds fuzzy with the blend of pleasure and exhaustion. Once you both were back in reality, he pulled out of you carefully, easing you onto your back and curling against your side. His hand traced against your stomach.

"Was I too rough?" He asked quietly. You shook your head, turning to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You know I can take it." You promised. He smiled, reaching up to wipe the drying tears from your cheeks

"I know you can. But it's my job to take care of you. And the little one." He said. You laughed lightly.

"Cheol there isn't even a little one yet." You said, your hand landing over his on your tummy and tracing the length of his fingers. He linked your hands together, smiling brightly.

"There will be. If it doesn't take this time I'll just keep breeding you until it does. Wanna make you a mommy. Want our baby to look just like you." His eyes were alight with pure adoration, and you had to admit as you snuggled closer to him that having a couple of mini Seungcheols running around the house sounded like a dream come true.

copyright 2023 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[sanakiras]

IN THE DARK CORNERS

PAIRING — kim mingyu x reader | choi seungcheol x reader

WORD COUNT — 2.2k

SYNOPSIS — mingyu used to be your lover. now he has to watch from the sidelines as you’ve moved on to someone else.

TAGS — once again a college au, fem!reader, jealousy, explicit sexual content, voyeurism, pretty much just porn with no plot, semi-public sex, dom!cheol, read at ur own risk !!

mingyu would overall consider himself to be a smart guy.

he never needs to put a lot of effort into his classes to pass them, he’s quick-witted and pays attention to detail. everyone around him has always praised him for his intelligence.

but right now, he feels stupid. he has for a while at this point.

his jaw is clenched as he leans against the wall with a cup of beer in hand. normally he very much enjoys the parties hosted by his friends — today is a different case.

it’s not just anything that’s making him feel this way.

at the other side of the crowded, warm room stands his former teammate choi seungcheol. he was their team captain up until last year, having to resign from the position after suffering a leg injury, and he apparently hasn’t felt the need to return to the football team yet despite his leg being all healed up.

choi seungcheol is a nice guy. he can also be real damn scary if he wants to be.

he’s about two years older than him. mingyu found he was always easy to get along with — until two days ago, when he discovered you out of all people had started dating him.

you. his ex-girlfriend. you broke up with him a while back after a fight he honestly can’t even remember the words nor the cause of. it was bullshit. something that shouldn’t have happened but did.

somehow, he’d let you slip through his fingers. like many people, he failed to realize what he had until it was gone. failed to see the signs he was supposed to see until it was too late. he feels stupid because he’s always so fucking smart — until the one time he wasn’t.

he tried to get you back. you wouldn’t let him.

now all he can do is stare at you from the other side of the room and watch you kiss a guy that isn’t him. you’re all over him, sitting on his thigh, and he’s constantly got his hands on you, arm looped around your waist, fingers rubbing your clothed skin.

wonwoo suddenly comes up to him, nudging him in the side. “are you trying to kill the guy by looking at him?”

“hm?”

“seungcheol. green with envy much?”

mingyu shrugs. “maybe.”

“well, you’d probably be smart to make it less obvious,” wonwoo remarks before leaving, “for your own sake.”

the words leave a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. he wishes he could just stop looking at the two of you, wishes he could just stop thinking about it for a damn second.

he’s certainly not a lightweight, but even he suffers the consequences of taking too much alcohol. his head feels fizzy, and he loses focus for a second, only to realize you and your boyfriend are gone from your places by the couch.

looking around frantically, he suddenly catches the glimpse of the little red dress you’re wearing at the other side of the room — you’re going upstairs with him.

and he finds himself desperately eager to follow you. that’d be so wrong though, wouldn’t it? he’s not some stalker, obviously. he just wants to check things out.

or so he convinces himself.

his brain is against it, his heart has other plans.

his legs seem to have their own will. before he can stop himself, he’s walking up the stairs, cursing to himself when the hallway is somewhat empty — until he hears the noise of something clattering onto the floor two rooms further.

taking a few steps into the direction of where the sound came from, he briefly looks behind him to check whether anyone’s there, proceeding when there isn’t.

the moment he pushes the door open just a bit further, he spies the office supplies carelessly thrown on the floor, his ears catching onto the familiar sound of your soft laughter.

he takes a step forward, detecting motion at the other side of the bookcase. he’s able to hide right behind it, watching you lie down on the wooden surface from the open cracks of the shelves.

the tight dress on your body is hiked up by your boyfriend as his hands roam all over your body, the sounds of your shared kisses making mingyu feel warm, his cheeks flushing, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

he knows how much you love a good make-out session — he also knows you like to speed things up a little when you need to be touched.

he’s frozen in his spot behind the bookcase when he hears you let out those needy whimpers that would turn any man on like crazy.

“shit—i should probably be quiet.” you giggle with your hand half over your mouth while cheol has you pinned underneath him, right on top of the desk.

“i’d love to see you try.” he mutters to you, fingers already hooking on the fabric of your matching lacy, red panties.

the worst part is that mingyu remembers that pair — one of his favorites. you look stunning in that little red set.

but your new boyfriend doesn’t appear to be paying that much attention to your lingerie. you’re both panting, all hot and heavy, clearly not in the mood to take things slow right now.

he sinks down to his knees on the floor, fingers harshly digging into your thighs as he spreads your legs to give him the access he wants, and you so eagerly let him.

“so gorgeous, baby.” cheol whispers to you before burying his lips and nose into the wetness pooling between your legs.

mingyu feels himself growing harder when he hears you cry out, your back arching off the cold desk, his teeth digging into his lower lip.

with your dress pushed up to your upper chest and your panties discarded on the floor, you gasp for air, fingers pulling on his dark strands of hair. you won’t last long if he keeps this up.

the first loud noise escapes you when he suddenly slips his finger into you. “cheol!”

the man between your legs shows his disapproval. “c’mon, baby, keep quiet for me. you want me to keep going, right?”

“yeah, yeah—” you nod almost desperately, “—‘m sorry.”

he cocks his head as if to say, that’s what i thought.

sly fucker.

he’s got you in the palm of his hand though — especially when he dives right back in, eager to see you fall apart while pumping his fingers in and out of you.

mingyu is so lost in the sight that his hand travels down to his belt buckle almost automatically. he’s so rock-hard in his pants that he could cry.

it doesn’t take cheol long to get you so worked up that you’re about to cum — which is exactly when you beg for him to fuck you instead, claiming you just need him inside you.

and your boyfriend happily obliges.

with your legs hoisted over his shoulders, he hovers above your body, watching the way you gasp and whimper when he pushes himself inside you.

“so full, cheol—” you moan once he’s nearly balls deep inside you, biting your lip to keep the noise down.

“you can take a little more though, can’t you, sweetheart?” your boyfriend asks teasingly, the subtle mocking undertone making you shiver. you love it when he’s all dominant and cocky like this, and you love to play into it.

a lazy smile appears on your face. “depends on how hard you give it to me.”

he smirks, biting his plump lip as he picks up the pace. you hold onto him, relishing in the sound of his moans by your ear.

“always so greedy,” cheol muses, eyes shining as he scans your figure, ��always wanting more.” he pushes into you with the last syllable, unable to hold down a grin at how breathlessly you gasp.

oh, the guy gives it to you good. something you absolutely deserve — mingyu just wishes it was him giving it to you instead.

he hates it. he hates how pretty you look in his arms, under him. he hates how you both look so fucking perfect. he hates how dirty and perverted he feels.

he hates that the thrill of possibly getting caught makes him harder.

he watches as seungcheol takes you fast and hard, his hand pumping his own cock at the same pace. your body welcomes the muttered sentences of praise; pulling his body as close as physically possible, spreading your legs a little wider, fingers digging into his back a little deeper.

mingyu knows you love your praise just as much as a bit of force, and your boyfriend seems to know it too. he leaves red marks over your body, sucking at your skin, pulling out for a moment to shove his fingers back in instead.

you’re a whiny, moaning mess as three of his long fingers pump in and out of you. “thought i told you to keep it down.”

“fuck—just feels so good, cheol—”

“i know, pretty girl. you’re doing so good.”

god, you’re just so engulfed in your need to be filled up that you’re willing to do anything for the man currently in between your legs, and he fucking knows it.

mingyu is obsessed with the way your cunt sucks in his fingers so easily. he can literally hear how wet you are — cheol’s quick fingers are squelching into your heat, thumb circling over your clit until all you can do is make sweet sounds into his mouth.

it all gets too much, and your hand reaches down to take a hold of his wrist, but his movements don’t falter. it takes less than a minute before you cum on his fingers, desperately clinging onto him. sharp overstimulation hits your body when he pushes his cock into you again, not allowing you to come down from your high.

the feeling makes you go insane. you clench on him as a reflex, and he groans in response because you’re just so damn tight, almost suffocating him.

his big hands are grabbing your waist, basking in the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him. you notice through your bliss that he’s getting more desperate, movement more erratic, kisses sloppier, breathing heavier — how you love seeing him fall apart.

“takin’ me so well.” he smiles, biting his lip as you rake your nails over his abdomen.

“mhm. ‘s all for you, baby.”

he physically can’t not cherish the way you gaze at him so lovingly while getting your back blown out. if anything, it’s a talent. “yeah? such a good girl for me.”

you capture his lips in another kiss, one that’s a little sweeter than before. his hair is soft, the roots of his strands a bit damp from the sweat, but you don’t care.

you’re mewling in your spot on the desk, every other thought you ever had thrown out the window. all you can focus on is cheol fucking you like his life depends on it.

his chest is then pressed up against yours, his one hand on the back of your head, holding you still and close while he gives you hard and deep strokes.

“shit.” he curses, getting closer now that you’re tightening up more.

he’s reaching down to touch your clit again, rubbing the sensitive spot, causing you to buck your hips against his.

“cum with me, cheol.” you beg him, your sharp nails digging into his shoulder blades, which always works well on him — it makes him so utterly weak.

it brings mingyu just as close to his release. he’s so lost in his lust that it almost feels like you’re saying the words to him and not seungcheol, so he lets his back rest against the wall as he gets himself off at the pleasure of watching you.

“i’m so close, baby.” cheol mutters, his thick brows knitting together once he throws his head back in pleasure.

your body shakes as you come undone underneath him, your arms wrapped around his back. your boyfriend can’t hold back any longer when he feels you hit your peak — his hips stutter, eyes squeezed shut as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, muffling his moans.

your secret spectator has to cover his mouth to avoid making any noise. his balls are tightening, sweat beading at the nape of his neck right before he pathetically cums in his pants, some of his release dripping on the floor.

his own chest still heaves as his eyes find the little drops of sweat rolling down cheol’s back, his eyes moving down to the sight of your boyfriend pulling out of you, leaving a trail of his cum seeping out of your pussy.

the sight is enough to make him hard again.

you’re panting in your place on top of the desk, still coming down from your high before your boyfriend speaks up — but his words aren’t directed at you.

“did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

mingyu’s heart drops in his chest. shit, was it that obvious? he thought he did a good job at being relatively quiet.

now he’s left with two options of what to do next. either he owns up to it or gets the fuck out of here.

and he thinks to himself, fuck it. not like the situation could get any worse anyways.

so he steps forward, into the light.

thanks for reading! let me know if u liked it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[hanggarae]

꒰ BANDAGES + KISSES !

↺ synopsis ; bandaging seungcheol at 1 am in your bathroom

f! reader, fighter/wrestler au (listen i wrote this during my five minute fixation on wwe after i saw a reel do not perceive me rn), fluff, sort of comfort ? divider by cafekitsune

seungcheol watched as you rubbed the alcohol wipe over his knuckles, careful in the way you let the wipe touch him so it wouldn’t sting.

your tongue wasn’t sticking out of the corner of your lip like it usually did when you were concentrated. instead, your teeth were biting your lip back softly. if seungcheol didn’t know better, he would’ve mistaken it with how you bite your lip when you were flustered at his actions.

but seungcheol did know you better. he knew you were biting your lip to stop any sad sighs from escaping, the same way you were stopping tears from escaping by blinking so much.

the brunette pondered for a few seconds on how he should break the silence, but settled on keeping the comfortable silence intact.

you were almost done taking care of seungcheol’s hands and urged him to turn around so you could take care of his back.

you winced at the marks left from his opponent during his match earlier but bit back your feelings, grabbing a cotton wipe to clean and soothe any scar.

“baby” seungcheol whispered, looking at you through the mirror. “i’m sorry”

you shook your head, gulping to swallow the lump in your throat. “don’t apologise, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for”

“i promise” you added on when you saw the disagreement on his face.

seungcheol started to turn back around to watch your face carefully. “how is there nothing to apologise about? my girl looks so sad it has to be someone’s fault, right?”

“not yours” you whispered, getting another cotton ball to wipe at the scar on his face, partly to distract yourself.

“how was i? was i cool?” seungcheol said again after a few more minutes of silence.

you nodded at his question, silently agreeing. you weren’t lying, it always impressed you how skilled seungcheol was.

“do you ever want me to stop?” seungcheol almost regrets asking, whispering it in subtle hopes you wouldn’t hear it.

but you did and you weren’t sure how to answer. after thinking on it for a few seconds, you watched seungcheol’s expression, worried about what you’d answer. “i could never ask you to stop because i know how much you love doing what you do. besides, it’s you that’s getting hurt so i’ll support whatever you do”

he smiled at your answer, coming forward to peck your lips while his hands circled your waist. “i’ll make sure to get hurt less, yeah?”

“it’s not your fault, but remind me to beat up that guy that you fought tonight next time i see him” you giggled.

“will do” seungcheol smiled gently, “all done?” he looked down at you beginning to put away the leftover bandages in the kit.

“not yet” you mumbled, pushing some of his hair back to place a kiss over the bandage on his cheek, and then his knuckles. “there, now i’m done”

[yikesmary]

PREGNANCY CRAVINGS — choi seungcheol x reader

summary: where being pregnant comes with its struggles, and one of them just so happens to be the random pregnancy cravings. so, in the middle of the night, you try to sneak out and go to the convenience store nearby and buy something to satisfy your craving. however, your husband wakes up and insists to accompany you—even if he’s barely awake.

notes: the convenience store i've pictured in mind are like the ones i've seen in korea. but i don't really address where this occurs in, so use your imagination!

disclaimer: i'm not pregnant or have been pregnant so everything i write about pregnancy is most likely not true and therefore shouldn't be taken as fact (unless it's true, but make sure it's validated by an actual medical professional).

join my taglist!

“Oh, Cheol, you absolute asshole,”

You tried using all your strength to push your husband’s sleeping figure away from you, the heat coming from his body was too much for you. Trying to move him away was an obstacle, especially because he was working out more as of lately.

But finally, you had managed to cause enough noise in trying to move him that Seungcheol finally moved himself, scooting more onto his side.

You looked down at your pregnant belly and told your unborn child, “All that effort I put into moving him, and all he has to do is move himself?”

Huffing, you stood up and went to your closet, looking for an appropriate shirt to change into in order to go to the convenience store. In hindsight, you could probably have used your phone to order something, but the problem was you didn’t know what you were craving.

You knew that the baby was craving something, but didn’t know what. So, you decided that you were going to walk to the store and let the baby decide while walking through the aisles.

You rummaged through your clothes before going through Seungcheol’s side of the closet. As the pregnancy goes on, you’ve found yourself wearing more of Seungcheol’s clothes since they seemed to fit you better and were comfier than the maternity clothes that you never wore.

"What are you doing?"

You turned around in surprise to see Seungcheol standing, looking quite comfy in his pajama pants and a random old shirt. Being the one for dramatics (which you probably got from your husband), you put your hand on top of where your heart was. "You scared me! I think I almost gave birth then," you said.

He rolled his eyes and then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What are you doing?" He repeated.

"Oh, I was gonna go to the convenience store. The baby wants to eat something," you told him.

"Can't the baby wait for the morning?"

"The baby wants to eat, now."

"Then why don't you order something?"

"The baby doesn't know what to eat," you sheepishly said.

He looked at you for a moment, before reaching behind you to grab a hoodie. "Fine, let's go," he said, turning to leave yours and his' bedroom.

"I'm fine on my own," you insisted.

"You're pregnant and it's two in the morning. I'm coming with you," Seungcheol said, before yawning.

"Cheol, you're barely awake enough to be coming with me. You need your sleep," you gently said, but he was stubborn.

"I'm suddenly hungry too, so I'll just come with you to buy some food," he said.

Once you and Seungcheol entered the convenience store, you were greeted by the quietness of the place and the single employee that was stood behind the cash register.

You looked around the aisles while your husband followed not too far away from you. "Choose what you want, I'll be paying," he instructed and you didn't bother to argue, considering he always insisted on paying.

Wandering around, you grabbed your favorite snacks, a couple ramen cups, and a few of Seungcheol's favorite foods. Realizing that you should've gotten a basket, you looked at Seungcheol, who seemed to be amused with your current predicament of full hands.

"Don't laugh, it's not funny!" you whined, but he only seemed to amuse further with your comment.

Wordlessly, he left the aisle to grab a basket. When he returned with the basket, you dumped everything in it, and he carried it while you walked around the aisles one last time.

After making sure you didn't want anything else, Seungcheol went to the register, with you waddling behind him.

"Was it worth it to ruin our sleeping schedules for this?" Seungcheol teased, and you nodded with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

He shook his head but opened his mouth and you put a chopstick with ramen noodles on it in his mouth. "Not bad," he said and you beamed at his compliment.

"Is the baby satisfied with the food?"

"Yep, and the baby is finally tired enough to sleep," you said.

Waddling to your bedroom, with Seungcheol not too far from you, you settled into your bed, and closed your eyes.

"Sweetie?"

"Yes, Cheol?"

"I can't sleep now,"