#p: choi in-ha | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wonustars · 9 months

Text

𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘭 '𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴

“𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴. 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶” - 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘦’𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩

𖧧 pairing: choi seungcheol x afab!reader 𖧧 wordcount: 23.5k words

𖧧 reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated <3! tumblr is based on reblogs not likes, and they help writers like me to get better reach. thank you ^~^

𖧧 genre: best friends to friends with benefits to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut (mdni 18+)

𖧧 summary: all it took was one kiss and suddenly you and Seungcheol’s friendship has turned upside down. 𖧧 In other words: exploring how far the boundaries of your lifelong friendship can take the two of you, you and Seungcheol try to navigate what it's like to be friends with benefits. just because you're secrelty in love with each other won't fuck everything up...right?

𖧧 tags: bsf!seungcheol, nonidol!au, rich!seungcheol, middleclass!reader, sml!wonwoo, jealous!cheol, possesive!cheol, mutual pining, SLOW BURN, ANGST, both mc's are heavily in denial, lotssss of miscommunication and misunderstandings, they are one year apart, jeonghan is the only sane person, hoshi is a clingy drunk, mona eisa makes an appearance!, its such a cliche story but i love it, they make bad decsions when theyre 'h' word... 𖧧 smut tags/warnings: dom!scoups, sub!reader, multiple smut scenes, p in v unprotected sex, semi-public sex (sorry), slight mutal intoxicated sex in the first smut scene, choking, slapping, multiple positons, oral (f. receiving), fingering, creampie, praise and degradation, pet names (baby, angel, princess, love).

𖧧 note: finally... its here. im sorry for the long wait :"). i thought i was only going to do 10k words but i got carried way. i want to thank @mysafehaneul who helped me with editing this story as well as my two irl friends who brainstormed ideas with me through out the writing process <3. if i've missed any tags/warnings please dont be afraid to lmk! anyways,,, im excited because this thing is my baby, i hope you enjoy! your thoughts and comments are always welcome :') leave me a comment or ask if you want~

As long as you can remember, Seungcheol and you have been attached to the hip. Even though he was a year older than you, you couldn’t remember the last time you spent a day without him, starting all the way from the young, bright age of 5, when you and your family moved into the small, humble house across his. Although your parents weren’t very well off, Cheol was. It was an odd thing that you two were neighbours because his house was much more grand and nicer kept than yours. This didn’t really bother you growing up though, he always made you feel like an equal.

Seungcheol has been with you through it all, from the petty fights in middle school to the pains of adolescence in high school. He’s seen you at your worst like the time you tripped and fell trying to impress a cute guy at school, which resulted in a nosebleed. You were so embarrassed but at the end of the day, Cheol was there to help you clean your bloody nose and pick you back up. A true night and shining armour in disguise. He was the one to patch up your heart, breakup after breakup. Always your shoulder to lean on when you’re feeling down, and especially when you’re happy.

A man and best friend like Choi Seungcheol didn’t come around very often, and you took notice of that since you were young. You cherish every moment you have and will have with him. He is a true gentleman with a heart of gold, he’s handsome, smart, rich and caring. Every single box on your list is ticked off when it comes to him. Yet, you know that no matter how hard you love him, you will only ever be his best friend. The girl he sees is practically his younger sister. The bittersweet feeling of being so close to him tugs your heart till it's torn. It took you a long time to accept that all you’ll ever be is his best friend, and even now you’re still trying to accept this fact.

Fall freshly arrived in your city. The bustling sound of cars, the light whistle of the wind, the leaves that would crunch with each step. It is the perfect atmosphere for you and Seungcheol's weekend movie marathon. On today’s agenda is Divergent, a series you loved reading growing up.

There you two sat, snuggling on the couch, wrapped in maybe ten pounds worth of blankets that could be someone’s monthly rent downtown. This is why you loved having movie marathons at Seungcheol’s place, he always has the best blankets, the best pillows, the best snacks; you could go on for days with reasons.

Your head on his shoulder, his arm resting behind you on the couch, everything felt perfect. If you closed your eyes for just one second, you could pretend that you and he were together and that this was just a stay-at-home type of date. But, the moment your eyes open again you are faced with the reality of the situation.

“Wow, this movie was a lot better when I was like 13…” you snort after finishing re-watching Divergent for the first time in a long time. Only because Cheol hadn’t seen it before.

“Hmm, it's not that bad..?” He tries to defend the movie, but as someone who read all the books in middle school, you knew that it just didn’t compare.

“No Cheol you don’t understand, it’s just gets worse from here. I really don’t know why they didn’t just decide to follow the book more properly. The first one was so good.” you huff with a frustrated sigh after finishing your rant.

Seungcheol can only chuckle, his voice sending vibrations from how close in proximity you two were. He didn’t mind the physical affection between the two of you, after being around each other for so long, you two became accustomed to it. You were always the type to rant to him about the little things, and he just likes to sit there and listen. He always wants to be the person you go to when you want to let your feelings out, no matter how trivial your tangents are.

“Y/n, if you hate the last two movies why are we watching them?” He asks you, his brow quirked up.

“You’re right actually, maybe we can watch something else…” You agree, your head craned up to look at him from where you’re positioned. A small smile danced across your lips, so close to him you could feel his breath fan your face. The smell of his cologne tickles your nostrils.

“Wanna watch Ponyo?” Seungcheol suggests he knows how much you love Ghibli movies. You always like to mention to him that you’re Ponyo and he’s Souske. He doesn't disagree with you, jesting that he would carry you around in a bucket full of water as Souske does.

Agreeing, giving an affirmative nod, you snuggle into him further as he changes the movie, exiting out of the dumpster fire they call the Divergent. As the movie starts to play, you think back to all the times Seungcheol was your Souske, and all the times he spent making sure you would heal from your hurt.

II.

Seungcheol has always seen himself as your best friend. The man that will be there for you when you have no one else to turn to. He has never seen you as more than his best friend, his y/n. He is a man who never second-guesses himself, always keeping a strong-willed sense of mind. Every time one of his friends asked him if he had feelings for you, he would simply answer no; and that you were like a younger sister to him.

That first year was lonely for him, he didn’t really know anyone and all his classes kept him away from socializing. The only thing that seemed to have stayed constant was you. You face-timed him at least once a week before he went to bed, never forgetting to remind him how much you missed him, and how much you cared for him. In the simplest words, you were his rock for during first year.

Seungcheol was never warned about how lonely and jarring your first year could be. The change in place, people, and most importantly the change in the fact that you weren’t there experiencing it beside him. He was never one to believe clichè sayings, but he finally understood what the saying “distance makes the heart grow fonder” really felt like. He had gotten so overwhelmed from the loneliness he even began to write you letters, ones he would never actually send out, as cheesy as it sounds. But knowing that he was addressing them to you brought him some type of solace in that first year.

A year later you came to study at the same university, and he was elated, to say the least. Finally, he had thought to himself. The one person he hadn’t been able to see, smell, or touch for a year was finally going to be in his proximity.

Unlike Cheol, you were only able to go to this school through bursaries and scholarships, your parents simply just couldn’t afford to send you to school in a different city otherwise. It reminded you how lucky Seungcheol was to receive support from his parents, getting and going to school was nothing he had to ever think twice about. You knew you could’ve stayed with your family, and gone to school closer to your house, but with Cheol away, it just wasn’t the same. Nothing had felt the same since he left. But this didn’t matter to you the moment you felt his arms wrap around you again.

You stood there in the airport all alone, eyes searching for a head of freshly dyed blond hair. The moment you heard his voice call your name, you knew you were finally home.

“Y/n!” An excited, deep voice calls out for you.

You whip your head around to see him. The man you hadn’t seen in so long, the man you were so desperately in love with. Your best friend.

“Cheol!” A squeal escapes your lips, you run to him. He pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his large hands around your smaller frame. Swinging you around like crazy, a laugh bubbles up from your throat.

“I’ve missed you so much y/n.” Cheol exasperates as he hugs you tighter, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’ve missed you too Cheol…” You whisper into his chest, breathing in his expensive cologne, not caring that you are in public; staying there to embrace him for a weirdly long period of time. “Never leave for that long again.”

III.

“Y/n for fucks sake please stop asking me if we can match for Halloween,” Seungcheol whines, his hands running over his face in exhaustion.

“C’mon it be so fun please please pleaseee,” you beg, your “please’s” getting longer with each second he refuses. You’re both sat on his couch, the morning after your movie marathon sleepover. Kneeling beside his spot on the sofa, shaking his shoulder excessively to get him to agree with you.

It’s a week before Jeonghan’s infamous Halloween party, one that you’ve attended every year since you moved here. It is known for being one of the biggest parties of the year, and Jeonghan is the most dramatic yet genius host on campus. Everyone goes, and you mean everyone. This year is no different than the previous ones. You and Cheol have gone together every year, and he has yet to do a matching costume with you. This year you’re simply not backing down from a simple no.

“But Tom and Jerry would be so funny!” You attempt to reason with him, giving him your biggest doe eyes and sweetest pout. You looked ridiculous, begging like a Victorian child asking for an extra piece of bread.

“Fine. Fine!” Seunghceol finally gives in. If there was something he just can’t resist, it’s when you beg to him with puppy dog eyes. It somehow has always worked for you, even when you two were kids.

“Yes! Finally oh my god, i’ve been waiting for this to happen for the past 3 years!” You jump around victoriously in your fluffy pyjamas. Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at your celebratory dance, especially when you wore fluffy bunny printed pj’s.

“Ok ok calm down, I’ll only allow it if I get to be the stupid Jerry cat.” he grumbles, arms crossed as he leans against his couch.

“You mean Tom you idiot..” You muttered under your breath as you sit back on the couch, returning back to the Ghibli marathon.

You weren’t very slick though, Seungcheol weirdly had a great sense of hearing for someone who can act like an old man sometimes. He turns to you with a glare and you let out a squeak, ready to run away from his hold, wow he is really taking his Tom role seriously, you thought as he chased you around his apartment. The sound of child-like laughter fills the space, your Ghibli movie long forgotten.

IV.

Monday had finally rolled around the corner, which you dread even more after spending the weekend in Paradise a là Seungcheol, a.k.a his apartment; which was a lot more fun to be at in comparison to your own. He lived on one of the highest floors in his apartment building, while you lived in the cheapest place closest to campus. It was kind of laughable how different your life is compared to Seungcheol’s, yet out of everyone he’s your bestfriend.

What’s even worse about this Monday is that you’re finally getting your assigned partner for the midterm project. With your fingers crossed you hope that the professor would pair you up with either Jeonghan or Seunghcheol. At least it would make doing the project a little bit more bearable, especially knowing that the whole project itself is worth fifteen percent of your grade. Not a lot but enough to make a dent in your average if you get careless, which you can’t afford. Literally.

“Okay, so I’m just going to start assigning people randomly…” The professor drones on before beginning to give out assigned partners.

“Y/n L/n and Jeon Wonwoo.” Your name is finally called, and thank the heavens your partner is someone you actually know, and someone you know who is smart too.

In a hurried fashion, you make your way to sit beside Wonwoo. You two weren’t really all that close, but you had mutual friends. He is often seen with Mingyu, considering the fact that they are roommates. You had only learnt this from Seungcheol, who was closest to Mingyu. A golden retriever turned person who he had become friends with at the end of his first year in uni.

Wonwoo is an attractive guy, and smart too, which you cannot deny. He was relatively popular for those reasons, but you never really paid much attention to him. Only ever talking to him at parties or in the student union centre eating lunch with Cheol, Mingyu, and Vernon. Honestly, you were just glad to be paired with someone who you know isn’t going to make you do the whole damn thing by yourself.

You slip into the desk where he sits, exchanging a soft hello before bringing out your laptop to write notes. “Hey Wonwoo, I don’t know if you remember me but I’m Y/n.”

“Yeah I remember you, you’re Seungcheol’s best friend right?” He asks, probably thinking you look familiar from all the times you had been seen walking around campus with Cheol.

“I am, unfortunately…haha.” You laugh awkwardly along with your joke, trying to break the ice between you two. Wonwoo just nods his head at you slowly, aware of your attempt to make a joke. He definitely wasn’t much of a talker. You picked up on that every time Mingyu had brought him around, and every time you saw him he was either on his phone or talking to a friend quietly in a corner.

You two got down to business pretty quickly after your lousy attempt to try and make conversation. This is definitely one of those moments that would potentially keep you up a night. The ones where you’re trying to fall asleep and suddenly remember an embarrassing thing you did or said.

On the other side of the room are Jeonghan and Seunghceol, and much to Seungcheol's dismay he got paired up with the one person he didn’t want to be with. The moment the professors called out their names, Jeonghan turned around giving him the biggest shit-eating grin. With the professor’s queue, he makes his way to sit beside Cheol, sitting too close for comfort.

Jeonghan loves to tick Seungcheol off, he thinks it’s a great way to pass the time. Maybe even one of his favourites. There was something about getting under his skin that he just found so amusing. It doesn’t really help that Jeonghan is one of Y/n’s closest friends, second to Cheol even.

He met Y/n in her first year at the University and even knew Cheol prior to Y/n, but the two men somehow never really got along. Jeonghan and Y/n shared an intro to psychology class back in her first year and became close for sharing an innate hatred towards their professor. After that, they were like two peas in a pod. Four years into their friendship, Jeonghan still relentlessly teases Cheol, especially when Y/n is around.

Jeonghan has always been an observant man, at least he’d like to think so. The first time he saw Y/n and Seungcheol interact he could tell from the beginning that they were hopelessly in love with each other. Although he would never outright butt into their relationship, he definitely knows how to push things along. Their body language towards each other really was the biggest giveaway and the way Cheol gives into everything Y/n would say. What’s even more laughable was the fact that they were both deeply in denial, for what reason? Jeonghan didn’t know but he found their oblivious attitude to be insufferable. Call him bitter but after spending much time with the two of them he just wanted them to finally bite the bullet and date already.

“Hmm look at Y/n getting all cozy with Wonwoo, they would be cute together wouldn’t they Cheollie?” Jeonghan provoked, calling Seungcheol by a horrid nickname. He poked at Seungcheols arm, giving him a cheshire cat grin. The blond man was not very amused by Jeonghan’s antics, giving him a deathly glare.

“You’re blowing this out of proportion you idiot, they’re just partners for a project.” Seungcheol scoffs, rolling his eys at how fast Jeonghan is shipping you with Wonwoo. “Also stop fucking calling me Cheollie, its such an ugly nickname.”

“Why not Cheollie? You let Y/n call you that…” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m just saying people don’t just start dating out of nowhere, plus they’ll be spending a lot of alone time together.” Jeonghan eggs on, nudging Seungcheol with his elbow.

Seungcheol moves his attention towards you, boring holes into the back of you and Wonwoo’s head. Seeing you with Wonwoo didn’t settle right with him, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it’s because of what Jeonghan said or the fact that imagining you so close with another man wasn’t something he was used to. It doesn’t matter anyways, they’re just partners, nothing else, Seungcheol thought. He lets out a huff of vexation, bracing himself for the upcoming weeks he has to put up with Jeonghan’s antics.

The day of Jeonghan’s party had finally arrived, and you couldn’t be more excited. Midterms had just finished up and you were more than ready to drink away the stress. You hadn’t been to a party in a while now, and you were definitely due for a good one. You were dying just to get your mind off school at least for one night, drinking with your friends and wear a skimpy halloween costume.

The walk to Seungcheol’s apartment isn’t very long, a brisk five minutes and you’re already in front of the entrance. You were excited to see his costume, especially because you haven’t seen him dress up for halloween since you two were kids. As you walked down to his apartment you couldn’t help but appreciate the perfect weather for tonights party. The slightly chilly wind blowing through your hair, the moon full and shining bright in the already dark sky. You just had a weird flutter in your heart that gave you the impression that this party isn’t going to be like any of the previous ones.

Walking down the hall to your best friend’s place always has you in awe, no matter how many times you’ve been down the path to his apartment. Most of the time you felt out of place, everything is so extravagant. The doorman, the high-speed elevator, and especially Cheol’s large floor to ceiling windows. It had a whole view of the bustling city and it took the breath out of you everytime you would spend a few minutes appreciating the scenery.

You knock on his door, and not more than a few seconds later hes opening the door for you. A hearty laugh leaves your lips as your met with the image of him wearing grey cat ears. His cheeks rosy and the tips of his ears turn a hot red as he lets you in. you can’t help but giggle as you make your way into his living room.

Seungcheol may be a little embarrassed by the cat ears but the real reason he’s blushing so hard isn’t because you’re laughing at him. The moment he opened the door the first thing he notices is your costume. He mentally slapped himself trying not to drool at your figure. The brown corset you had on hugs your waist perfectly, the tightness accenuating your cleavage. Your breasts are practically spilling out of the top and the view is causing all the blood in his body to rush to his head. As you walked past him laughing he couldn’t help but look down at how little your skirt covered. His heart was beating so fast, but he quickly masks his desire for you with annoyance.

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in cat ears.” You’re practically creasing on his couch, laughing after every word.

“You’re the one who wanted to do Tom and Jerry!” he defends himself, a displeased look plastered on his face.

“O-ok sorry sorry, it’s cute! Don’t worry.” A giggle slips past your lips. You stand up and fix his cat ears, your smile widening at the fact that he’s not happy with how “cute” his costume is. “C’mon lemme draw some whiskers and a nose on you.”

Taking his hand, you lead him to the couch. You let him sit down comfortably on the couch before you climb onto his lap, your eyeliner pencil in hand, ready to draw some whiskers. You focus on giving a cute circular nose, your tongue sticking out a little in concentration. Not wanting to mess up the whiskers, you dont pay attention to anything else as you draw three straight lines on each of his cheeks.

Seungcheol on the other hand is trying very hard not to focus on you. His hands are squeezing your hips with an iron grip. The direct view of your cleavage, the proximity of your body, it was getting too much for him. You were so in your own world, concerned by his cat makeup that you don’t even notice your skirt riding up the slightest bit. He takes notice of this, his breath caught in his throat. With your legs straddling his, he has a good view of your panties peaking out from your skirt. Seungcheol can feel himself getting aroused but he’s trying his best to ignore it, his hands starting to sweat profusely.

“Fuck…” He mumbles under his breath, looking straight down at your exposed underwear. He felt a bit like a pervert but he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from your body.

“Shh I’m almost done promise.” You assure him, oblivious to the fact that he’s not whining about the make up. “Annnd done!” A satisfied smile spreads across your face as you get off his lap. Pulling down your skirt a little because of it slightly hiking up from being on his lap.

With a relieved sigh, Seungcheol gets up from the couch after you. He wasn’t sure why he’s feeling about this away about you all of sudden. Maybe it was because you two were so close in such an intimate way? No that can’t be it, Seungcheol thinks to himself, we’ve known each other for so long. Maybe its because your costume was accenuating every attractive thing about you, he really didn’t know. But what he does know is if that happened again he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. With that last thought, he decides to just brush it off for now. He feels more than ready to get some alcohol in his system.

“Lets go?” Seungcheol asks, lending you his bicep to wrap your hand around. You nod, taking his arm before walking out of his apartment, ready for the fun night ahead.

VI.

You two arrive in front of Jeonghan’s house. It isn’t a far walk from Seungcheol’s apartment, maybe five to eight minutes and you were already there. As you stroll along the side walk the music exuding from his house becomes increasingly loud. The thumping of the bass echoing slightly throughout the neighbourhood, the halloween decorations hanging off the exterior. You are a little bit in awe at how many people are able to fit in a tiny bungalow, but despite the crowded atmosphere, a party like this is a perfect way to celebrate the end of your midterms.

As you and Seungcheol enter the house, you can already recognize a few familiar faces from your classes as well as some of your closest friends. The music practically enveloped you the moment you stepped into the room, the bass causing your heart to thump out of your chest. You squeeze onto Seungcheol’s arm tighter, not wanting to lose him in the crowd. He keeps you close, fearing that you may disappear the moment he lets you go. As you continue to scan the room for your friends, one person in paritcualr catches your attention.

Soonyoung who was of course wearing a tiger onesie, is already in a drunken state, swaying around aimlessly, bumping into people and then proceeding to apologize with a hug accompanied by a kiss on the cheek. Watching this unfold causes a giggle to escape your lips, you pat Seungcheol and motion to the silly drunkard making his way out of the heaps of people. Seungcheol chuckles at Soonyoung as he ends up making his way over to the two of you. The drunk tiger yells out for you , engulfing you and Cheol into a bone crushing hug.

“Typical of you Hosh, you’re already drunk off your ass,” you scold him as you call him by his nickname, patting his fluffly tiger hood. “Now what are you doing going around and giving people kisses?”

“Y/Nie stop acting like my mom, c’mon lets go find Hao and the others.” Soonyoung whines, tugging on your arm so that you would follow him. You give Seungcheol a look, and he just nods, you knew that meant he would go and find you later. So you let Hoshi pull you away, brining you over to your friends.

You spot Jeonghan and Minghao conversing in a corner of the room. This is the first time you’ve seen an angel look like they were out to do more bad than good. Jeonghan’s angel wings and halo shaking as he laughs at something Minghao says. On Jeonghan’s left side is a Mona Lisa painting with the head and arms cut out. You laugh at the way Minghao is constantly keeping his hands in the same way as the original position of the painting as he talks.

“Y/N! Finally the party doesn’t really start till you’re here.” Jeonghan greets you, taking you out of Hoshi’s grasp to pull you into a hug. “Your costume is adorable but also really sexy, Jerry right? Where’s your Tom?”

“Goodevening to you too Hannie, and uhm…Mona Lisa?” You giggle at Minghao’s odd choice in costume.

“Mona Eisa actually.” He corrects and you don’t even think to ask any further questions.

“Well… he would’ve been here if this intoxicated hamster didn’t pull me away from him.” You reply to Jeonghan, giving Soonyoung a look, seeing that he’s already cuddling up to Minghao, who doesn’t seem too pleased by the sudden affection. “Soonyoung stop trying to strangle Hao, he’s not going to disappear.” you scold him again, resulting in a pouty tiger.

“Jesus Soonyoung let go of me that onesie you have on is like a fucking space heater.” Minghao complains, trying to push Hoshi away. Hoshi only whines, holding on tighter. Looking at the situation unfolding, a stranger would think Minghao is the older one of the two. You have always known how much of a lightweight Hoshi is, but tonight it seems he’s had more than usual.

“Y/N stop calling me a hamster, and Hao what’s wrong with a hug? I thought we were friends..” He continues to whine, his cheeks red from the alcohol.

“We won’t be if you keep holding onto me like that you idiot,” Minghao replies, giving Hoshi a warning look. He let Minghao go with a mope forming on his lips. Minghao can only laugh and pat his head. He wasn’t a big fan of physical affection but he still adored Hoshi even if he was clingy. Y/N found their friendship amusing, they would always quarrel with one another yet still show affection when it really mattered.

“Ok ok, break it up you two. Y/N over here is way too sober, let’s fix that.” Jeonghan suggests, and you happily agree. Hoshi’s face lights up and he attempts to follow the two of you. “No Hoshi, not you, you’ve had enough. Go find Seungkwan Hao, this guy needs to be put on an alcohol ban.”

Soonyoung sulks even harder, causing his chubby cheeks to accentuate. It made you giggle at how cute he gets when he’s drinking. You bid your goodbyes to Hoshi and Minghao and follow Jeonghan into the kitchen. As you trek towards where the alcohol is you say hello to some of the people you were friendly with, complimenting the pretty costumes you saw on the way.

When you finally reach the kitchen, the countertop is filled with bottles of every type of alcohol. You end up spotting Seungcheol standing around the island, talking and drinking with Mingyu, Vernon, and Wonwoo. They notice your presence immediately giving you a polite wave. Wonwoo on the other hand takes a longer than normal look at you. This catches Seungcheol’s attention, causing him to grip his red cup harder till it is slightly crumpled in his hand.

“Cheollibee! I didn’t see you come in earlier.” Jeonghan snickers, taking a good glance at his costume. This only makes Cheol scowl at him, muttering about the wretched nicknames Jeonghan is always coming up with.

“Hello Jeonghan.” Seunghceol deadpans, still leaning leisurely against the island.

“You wanna take a shot with me and Y/N? It’ll be fun, promise.” Jeonghan urges, a mischievous glint twinkling in his eyes. You watch the two and laugh, Seungcheol never fails to show his disdain for Jeonghan, it was kind of their thing.

“Sure why not.” Cheol shrugs, coming up to the two of you. He stands behind you, your body pressed against the counter, you can feel his breath fan the back of your neck. Stiffening at the feeling, you watch him grab a bottle from in front of you before pouring out three shots. For some reason the music was nothing compared to how fast your pulse was beating in your ears right now.

Seungcheol’s strong bicep wraps around you to pour a sufficient amount of liquor in each glass, his cologne engulfing your senses. It makes your knees weak, the proximity of his body pressing up against you has your mind running laps. It was so close you could feel his front side brush up against your behind. The thin material of your skirt feeling the texture of his rough jeans.

“You ready?” Seungcheol whispers in your ear as you look down at the shot glass that he’s trying to hand you. The way his breath fans across your face makes you shiver inwardly. You only nod, taking the little shot glass out of his grasp.

From Jeonghan’s point of view you look like a deer in headlights, he can’t help but smirk. Seungcheol’s presence obviously affecting you.

You turn around to face Cheol, and he backs away a little bit, taking the space beside you; one of his hands gripping the counter beside your waist. His blond hair pushed back, the soft cat ear headband hes wearing contrasts against his hard features. As you throw back your shot, you can’t help but keep your eyes on him. His strong jawline becomes more prominent as he takes his own shot, the liquor dripping a little bit off his chin onto his shirt. Fuck, you thought, i’m not drunk enough for this.

Jeonghan sees you ogling and can’t help but chuckle to himself, he pours another set of shots before handing them off to the two of you. Taking the shot, you wince one again as you feel the alcohol burn down your throat. Two shots aren’t enough to get you drunk but you were definitely starting to feel a light buzz. Your surroundings start to become a tad bit hazy, but in a good way.

“Cheollie why don’t you take Y/N to dance?” Jeonghan suggests, his cheshire cat like grin returning. The look of his mischievous smile in juxtaposition with his innocent and pure white angel costume.

Your eyes light up the moment ‘dance’ slipped out of Jeonghan’s mouth, causing you to tug on Seungcheol’s sleeve, urging him to take you to where everyone else is dancing. The alcohol running through his system and the way your eyes sparkle under the kitchen lights is enough for Seungcheol to agree. He could feel his buzz coming on now but he knew he is far from drunk.

“Fine, let’s go.” He allows, pretending not to be a little intrigued on what your definition of ‘dancing’ is.

You smile excitedly and take his hand, leading him to the dance floor, your hips already swinging along with the music. Which was more like the middle of Jeonghan’s living room with the couches pushed to the side. The crowd of people in the middle of the room are moving with the groove of the thumping bass. You start to do the same, letting your inhibitions go. Taking Seungcheol’s hands you place them on your hips, your body's flush with each others. You snake your hands around his neck, holding onto him as you continue to move with the music. The grasp of his large hands holding your hips tight ignites sparks in your stomach.

Seungcheol’s throat goes dry as you turn around, your back facing him. Your ass flush with his front, causing him to hold onto your hips even tighter. What the fuck…, he thinks to himself. The feeling of arousal sneaking up on him for the third time tonight. As you continue to grind on him, he can’t help but let out a low groan, your ass moving against his growing hard on.

“You enjoying your self princess?” Seungcheol whispers in your ear, his hands starting to move up and down. From your hips to your waist, up then back down to your hips once again. Your breath hitches, the tips of his fingers leaving a searing heat on your skin in its wake. The buzzing haze clouding your thoughts, the pounding of the music, the feeling of his hands on you, it was too much all at once.

“Mhmm..” Is the only thing you can say in response as you continue to dance against him.

Seungcheol chuckles, he can sense your arousal too, with the way you put your hands over his, guiding them back to your hips. Keeping your hands on top of his own, you let the music take over you. You close your eyes to really savour the moment; just because you’re not sure when the next time you will get to experience this with Cheol again.

The more you dance with him, the warmer you get. The heat of his body radiates onto you, his hands move from your hips down to your exposed thighs then back up. Who knew that two shots in, you would be dancing (grinding) on your best friend in the middle of Jeonghan’s Halloween party? As time goes on, you feel your clothes stick to your skin just a little more than before, as well as the heat brewing in your stomach.

“Cheollie…” You look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. With a seductive smile, you give him bedroom eyes, not caring that you’re in front of so many people you know. Or the fact that you’re feeling extremely attracted to your best friend right now. “I’m feeling a little warm, can we go somewhere a little more quiet?” you ask, feigning your timidness.

“Yeah if that’s what you want.” He nods, giving you his charming, dimpled smile.

You take his hand, leading him down the hallway to Jeonghan’s room. But before you enter you send a text to Jeonghan, asking if it was ok to stay in his room for a bit. He replies promptly saying that it was fine and to drink the water in his mini fridge if you needed to. After reading that you had permission to enter, you bring both you and Cheol into the room, closing the door promptly behind you.

“You feeling better in here Y/N?” Seungcheol inquires, grabbing a water from the mini fridge and handing it to you. You simply nod, grabbing the water from his and taking a sip.

“Yeah thank you, it was getting really hot out there. Thank god Hannie always keeps his room freezing cold.” You shrug before taking another sip of your water as you sit down on his bed. You admire Seungcheol as he walks toward you, his tight shirt highlighting his muscular biceps, veins running down his forearms. You mentally shake yourself to stop the drool from dripping past your lips.

He towers over you, standing in front of you as you sit on the bed. You clear your throat before putting the water bottle down on the bedside table. Seungcheol grabs a piece of your hair, tucking it behind your ear, his hand moving down slowly to get ahold of your jaw. His grip is firm but gentle, forcing you to look up at him from where you sit. You gulp, frozen, his actions not clear enough for you to predict what he’ll do next.

“You have been teasing me a whole lot while you were dancing, did you know that princess?” He asks, looking down at you while he runs his thumb over your lip, pulling it down slightly.

He relinquishes his hold from your face, going to sit beside you on the bed. Your heart beats out of your chest as your eyes meet his. Seungcheol’s pupils are enlarged, his brown eyes lidded with lust. You aren’t sure what to do, but whatever he has planned you really wouldn’t be opposed to any of it. Although you were having fun dancing with him, a part of you knew if you kept on grinding against him like that, his self-restraint would break.

The muffled music and the sound of your heavy breaths are the only things to be heard in the room. You bite your lip, not sure how to answer him, your cheeks heating with a little embarrassment, apprehension, and excitement.

“No Cheol I didn’t mean to,” you murmur, your face dangerously close to his. He shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Didn’t mean to what? Get me hard from having you grinding on me like that?” he retorts, his hand comes up to grip your cheek, squishing it between his thumb and forefingers. “I think you did mean to, I only have so much self-control princess.”

He lets go of his grip on you, caressing the spot on your cheek where he pressed his thumb. With one swift motion, he grips your hips and pulls you onto his lap, moving your thighs to straddle his. You yelp due to how quickly he got you into the position, your skirt riding up once again.

“Mm.. Maybe just a little bit, I guess I got caught up in the moment…” you admit shyly, averting his hard gaze as you play with the hem of your skirt.

“Well your actions have consequences sweetheart, so what are you gonna do about it?” He whispers into your ear. A shiver runs down your spine, and the feeling of his hot breath fanning your face causes the heat to pool in your core, staining your panties.

“Cheollie…” you whimper, his hands back on your hips, his grip tightening with every second that passes. Embarrassed, you bury your face into the crook of his neck, not wanting to look him in the eyes. You were just so embarrassed at how turned on you are, the feeling of his body so close to yours has your walls lining with arousal.

“You gonna fix what you did princess?” He continues to whisper to you, making you feel like you two are the only people in the entire house. The feeling of his hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly has you leaning more into his touch, his fingertips leaving sparks as he continues. You nod into where you buried your face into his neck.

“With words.” His tone is firm and another shiver runs through you, but instead, it runs straight through your hot core. His hands now running over your bare thighs, squishing them ever so slightly, as he admires how they look smushed onto his lap.

“I’ll fix it, I want to.” You whisper as you look down at his full lips, your arms moving to wrap around his neck. “I really want you right now Cheollie…”

“I want you too, are you sure princess?” He asks, keeping a safe distance until he receives some verbal consent from you.

“Yes, I want it please.” You’re practically begging, whimpering as you lean in closer, your nose touching his.

Lost in his scent, you can feel the blood rush to your head at how close you are to him right now. His hands gripping onto your waist, his lips so close to yours but still not touching. The alcohol, your beating heart, his touch, it’s making your head dizzy with arousal. You wanted this so bad and you didn’t know much you needed it up until this point. Out of all the people you’ve been with before, nothing compares to how much you’re own best friend is turning you on right now. Something about him intoxicates you way more than the two shots you downed less than half an hour ago.

With that last thought, Seungcheol finally crashes his lips into yours. The moment he felt your lips on top of his it was like a fire ignited in him, one that he couldn’t seem to light properly till you. He’s only been kissing you for less than a minute but you’ve already got him hooked. He knows that theres going to be no one after you. The feeling of your body against his is making all the blood rush down to his dick.

You place your hands on both his cheeks, pushing him into your face even more. Tasting the remnants of alcohol on his tongue, the flavour of him and what he drank making you whimper into the kiss. Seungcheol pushes his tongue into your mouth, exploring the softness of your lips. You couldn’t comprehend how delicious it is to kiss Seungcheol, like he was some nectar you’ve been deprived of all your life.

He groans as he feels you grind your clothed heat against his growing erection, the friction causing his head to spin. Gripping your hips even tighter, he continues you to kiss you with while moving your hips back and forth with ease. The hard motions causing you to pull back to let out a moan.

“Haven’t even touched you properly and you’re already moaning like that…” Seungcheol groans, kissing up exposed cleavage and collarbones. “Fuck angel you’ll be the death of me.”

He adores the corset you have on, the fact that your tits practically spilling out right in front of his face made his dick even harder for you.

“Mmmph, Cheol please…” You whine as he continues to suck on your exposed skin, leaving red marks all over. Gripping on his biceps to stabalize yourself, the feeling of him sucking harshly on your soft skin makes your eyes roll back. As you continue to grind on him you could feel him growing harder underneath you, it nudges against your cunt but barely, teasing you even further.

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” He chuckles against your skin, leaving kisses along your neck and face.

“I need you to fuck me please…” You beg, your eyebrows scrunching in frustration, the kissing and grinding just isn’t enough for you.

“Are you sure princess?” He asks slowly, trying to make sure that is something you really want. You look into his soft brown eyes with desperation, nodding to let him know that you need him right now.

“I do I do please Cheol, cant take this teasing anymore.” you complain, grinding your hips to urge him to take you already.

“You’re a needy little slut aren’t you darling?” He smirks, placing his lips on yours once again. This time he doesn’t hold back with his actions, untying your corset from the back before taking it completely off you. He groans into the kiss as he places his hands your breasts, playing and tweaking with your pebbled nipples. You moan into his mouth as you feel him grope at your chest, fondling them in his hands expertly.

“P-please I need you now Cheol,” you whine harder, gripping onto his strands of blond hair, trying to ground yourself in this moment of increasing pleasure. His lack of touch where you need him most is frustrating you, he may be sucking on your tits but you want him to be sucking on your clit instead.

You’re irritation forces you to seek relief for yourself, your hand snaking down past the bottom of your skirt, pushing your thong to the side. Placing your fingers on your sticky clit you let out a sastified moan. Cheol catches on quickly to your attempt to pleasure your self. You barely got to go in a full circle on your throbbing bud before he throws you onto the bed, laying you on your stomach. Dizzy from the sudden change in positions, you yell out a yelp as he forces your skirt cladded ass in the air.

“What a naughty girl you are…” Cheol mutters to himself.

He tugs at your skirt so it bunches up around your hips, exposing your bare ass for him. Smirking to him self, he starts to caress the supple skin, that is until he brings his hand back to slap your ass with full force. It was so agressive that it jiggles from the impact, leaving a read hand mark on the soft surface.

“Ah! Cheol please ‘m sorry, didn’t meant to touch m-myself,” you cry out, the tears stinging your eyes. The cries turning into moans as he continues to smack your ass one…two… three times… until its too much for you to count. You’ve never been hit like this before but you can’t deny how good it feels.

“This is what happens when you act like a fucking whore princess.” He chuckles, rubbing your hand print covered skin, trying to soothe you. “Tell me you wont touch yourself without my permission again.”

“I-I wont, p-promise. Please Cheollie I need you.” You blubber, the tears falling down your face. He hasn’t even touched your needy pussy and you’re already a mess for him.

Seungcheol is satisfied at how pliant you’ve become, crying and apologizing for him like a good girl. He thinks of all the things he wants to do to you, but ultimately he decides to reward you first. You had taken his slapping so obediently, he thought, wanting to giving you a prize for enduring him. So he turns you around, your back against the mattress, legs spread wide apart for him. He finally gets a good look at your face, becoming more satisfied seeing that the tears are staining your make up, your nose red, and your eyebrows knotted in sexual frustration as you pout for him. Cute, he thought.

“Dont worry baby, i’ll eat you so good you’ll forget all about the pain.” He laughs as he lowers himself until he’s face to face with your heat. His warm breath fanning against your folds. His hands gripping your thighs tightly, keeping you spread for him. He licks his lips, wetting them before he indulges into your hot cunt.

Your underwear already pushed aside, he begins to lick a long fat strip against your wet lips. Letting out a wanton moan, you hold onto his hair, your thighs trying to close but his grip only becoming more tense.

“Fuck Cheol… so good.” you moan out, your eyes rolling back with pleasure. He hums against your core, sending vibrations. His actions continue to make your walls build up with more arousal. You’re so immersed in the feeling of his tongue, he decides to take it up a notch. Choking on air, you feel him insert a finger into your dripping hole, hooking it so it rubs against that spot that sends you into heaven. As his finger slides in and out of you, he suckles on your bundle of nerves. This is the moment you begin to see stars, and you start to feel that familiar build up below your stomach. Cheol adds another finger, picking up his pace a little bit.

“Hmmph Cheol please… need to cum.” you beg him, and he speeds up. He speeds up so much you almost black out. Screaming his name, he puts all his force into getting you to the edge, it makes your toes curl. And then its gone.

“What the fuck?” you ask him, you face flushed from the moments before, but also with frustration. He can only smirk at you as he licks his fingers clean, his jaw wet with your arousal. Seungcheol’s eyes darken as he takes in your small frame below him, your wetness still glistening off his chin. His cat ears long gone, you admire his muscular build as he begins to take off his clothing.

“Just wanted to see you come on my cock…” He mumbles, lining up his member with your entrance. Its large and the girth of it causes your breath to catch in your throat. You’re a little scared how much of it is going to fit without it stinging, but at this point you can’t bring yourself to care. All you want him to do now is to fuck you dumb.

Seungcheol’s self control is thinning second by second, he wants to take his time with you. Playing with you till his touch is burned into your skin. Till his length is burned in your pussy’s memory. So he teases you more, rubbing the tip of his hard member against your dripping folds. He loves how he can hear your lips squelch with every movement he makes.

Savouring the feeling of his cock head bumping into your clit, he places his hands on the mattress beside your waist. He moves his hips back and forth, letting his length glide against your lips but never going into your needy hole. The underside of his dick nestled within your folds, hitting your clit with each thrust.

“Oh hmph… Cheollie please… inside please.” you moan salaciously, as you peak at how his cock is rubbing you. It looks so pornographic you almost come just at the sight of all.

“Sorry baby, I just want to savour you for a bit.” He apologizes, his voice wavering as pleasure radiates through his body. The pre cum beading off the tip of his hardness. He relents his teasing, pulling back a bit to sit on the back of his heels. He stares at your knotted brows, the anticipation clearly written all over your face. Chuckling to himself he enters your tight cunt in one go. “So fucking tight for me…”

“Cheol!” you yell his name, your legs held up to your chest by his large hands, folding you in half.

“Holy fuck princess, your pussy is perfect.” He praises into your ear while moving in and out of your entrance with ease. You clench around him after hearing him compliment you, your brain going blank with pleasure. The feeling of his cock makes you dizzy, especially with how perfectly he fills you. His large member stretching your walls deliciously, the tip grazing against that one spot that makes you weak.

“You love taking this cock like a little slut don’t you.” He mutters, letting go of your legs to put one against his shoulder. You can only nod and make sounds of approval.

Seungcheol admires the way his thick cock is spreading your entrance, making him groan. The white ring forming around the base of his dick makes his push into you faster. Your moans increase as you feel him speed up, the sounds of skin slapping fill the room. The echoing sounds of your wet pussy being filled by Seungcheol’s cock grows louder, making you even more horny than before.

You are so fucked out, you couldn’t even form words of praise for him. The ridges of your walls being filled up by him is something you didn’t know you needed until now.

That feeling you had in your chest on your way to Cheol’s place resurfaces, is this the night your friendship with him changes forever? You think to yourself while looking into his eyes, your eyebrows scrunching as you moan.

The sight is so lewd, his member twitches inside your heat. He knows he’s close, but he doesn’t want this to end. As he continues to thrust into you, he can’t help but admire your beauty. Seungcheol was always aware that you’re an attractive person, but something about you being under him right now, drunk off his cock, basking in the moonlight that spills through the semi-closed curtain is really doing something to him. The feeling in his stomach only intensifies as he watches you moan his name deliriously. So fucking pretty, he thinks, the image of your coming undone burning into his memory.

“You close princess?” He asks you, watching the way your legs are starting to shake a little. You nod as you look at him, silently pleading for him to make you cum. He flashes you a smile as his free hand goes to rub circles on your clit, continuing to piston in and out of your tightening hole. Eyes rolling with pleasure, your back arching off the bed as you lean into his touch even more. Clenching and then unclenching, your pussy is pulsing as it greedily sucks him in.

Seungcheol curses under his breath at the grip you have around his hard length, your walls pulsating with each circle he rubs into your clit. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” he warns you.

You smile at him mischeviously, repeating your actions again and again, watching his strokes becoming sloppier by the second.

“Come inside me Cheol, wanna see it drip out after,” you beg him, staring at him through your eyelashes innocently. He doesn’t have to be told twice, his speed increasing once again. This shuts you up quickly, as you whine at the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix. You feel him twitch in you again, and you know he’s close, so are you. Letting go, you orgasm, letting the high wash over your whole body. Your orgasm triggers his, causing him to spurt his hot load into your spent pussy, creaming you.

“That was…” you say with a sigh, the exhaustion starting to catch up with you. Seungcheol’s breathing is heavy, his cock still buried in your cunt, his cum starting to seep out of the edges of your folds.

“Yeah it was.” He agress with you, finally pulling out. He takes a tissue from the bedside table, wiping off his softening member and then you. Kissing your forehead, he collects your clothes as well as his own.

You watch his muscular back as he picks up each article of clothing. A cold shiver running down your spine as the realisation washed over you, causing your heart to skip.

I just fucked my best friend, you thought to yourself. Your cheeks heat up profusely at how lustful you two became, but also your bashfulness turns into embarrassment and a little bit of worry. The talks you’ve had with Jeonghan and the others about hooking up with a close friend flood your mind. You know things like these never end well, but at the same time this isn’t just any other friend. This is Seungcheol, and for some reason you can’t pinpoint whether that’s a good or bad thing.

Seungcheol finishes picking up everything off the floor, handing you your corset as he puts his own clothing on. You untie the strings and clasp the front parts easily, only to struggle with re-tightening the back. With a meek expression, you stand in front of Cheol with your back facing him.

“Uh, do you think you can tighten the back for me.” your voice sounding small. He smirks at how shy you’ve become after the fact he fucked you shamelessly less than fifteen minutes ago.

“Of course princess,” he leans in to whisper in your ear. His breath fanning against your neck, causing you to shiver visibly. He lets out a low chuckle before tying up your corset, his fingers gliding agaisnt your skin. The touch is hot but gentle, yet the feeling lingers for a few seconds. You can’t help but gulp, thinking about how just a few moments ago his grip was harsh and possessive. Before you could register what was happening next, he steps away, asking if you want to return to the party.

“Thank you,” you mumble before taking his hand and leaving Jeonghan’s room.

It isn’t long before you find the host of the party. He is leaning against the counter, laughing about something with Joshua. The party had dyed down considerably, the only people left were a part of your friend group. You leave Seungcheol’s side to go talk to Jeonghan.

“Now where have you been?” Jeonghan asks as you walk up to him, his smirk increasing as the blush on your cheeks grow. Your eyes are wide, as if he caught you doing something you shouldn’t.

“U-um well me and Cheol just hung out in your room for a bit, the party was getting overwhelming.” you mentally curse yourself for stuttering.

“Uh huh… hanging out. So do I or do I not have to wash my sheets?” Jeonghan presses, smiling deviously at how your mouth opens and then closes. Your eyes are wide with embarrassment, you can feel the heat radiate off your entire face.

“Jeonghan!” You squeak, before grabbing his arm to pull him aside, leading him away from curious ears. “Ok yes, please wash your sheets. I’m sorry I don't know what happened, one thing just led to the next… and then yeah.”

You admit to your actions, feeling guilty for staining your best friend's sheets. Your eyes are glued to your twiddling thumbs, waiting for his response. Jeonghan laughs, he laughs. A hearty, bent over clutching his stomach type of laugh.

“Fucking finally, oh my god Y/N. Sorry but it was bound to happen, you should've seen the way he was looking at you tonight. I swear to god if you didn’t fuck him anytime soon he was going to eat you whole.” He giggles, his hand on your shoulder to support himself, as he tries not to double over again.

“W-what?” You’re confused, you weren’t really sure why Jeonghan said all that, from what you can remember Cheol was acting perfectly normal.

“You really are so oblivious aren’t you Y/Nie.” He sighs as he pats your head. “I’m just glad you got that out of your system, you haven’t gotten laid in so long.”

“Hey! You don’t have to say it like that…” you pout, “Hannie, I don’t know what to do now though? Frankly, I’m scared, this is obviously going to change things…”

“You’ll be fine, trust me. Just talk to him, it’s only Seungcheollie after all.” He comforts you, and it admittedly it does help. You knew if there was anyone you could talk to about this it would be Jeonghan.

“Ok, I’m going to his place after anyways. Thanks, Hannie. Also please don’t tell Soonyoung and Hao…” You plead.

“Don’t worry darling, your secret is safe with me.” He smiles softly, pinching your cheek. You give him a hug, thankful you have someone to lean on when you’re feeling distraught. Especially because you can’t get advice about Cheol from Cheol, even if he’s your best friend too.

“Y/N let’s go home?” Seungcheol interrupts your embrace with Jeonghan. You pull away and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, the possessiveness obvious to anyone but you. Jeonghan playfully kisses your forehead, knowing how much it will piss Seungcheol off.

“Ok, bye Hannie, I’ll see you on Monday ok?” you wave goodbye as Seungcheol takes your hand in his.

“Bye Y/N, i’ll speak to you later Seungcheollie. Get home safely you two.” He smirks, eyes connecting with Cheol. His face is hard with an unreadable emotion, he only nods at Jeonghan’s statement before leading you two to the front door.

You bid your friends farewell as you walk towards the entrance of the house, your eyes drifting over to see the drunken tiger sleeping peacefully on Minghao’s shoulder. You wave goodbye to him as well before you’re engulfed by the chilly fall wind.

It’s quiet as you continue on the path to his apartment, your footsteps echoing along the pavement. The city lights shine all around you, the moon gleaming in the dark sky. It really is a perfect day for Halloweekend, you think, hearing the cars zip past you along the street. It is nearing 2 a.m., and the streets are not as busy as they were while you were on the way here.

“You’re not too cold right?” Seungcheol asks awkwardly with his hands in his pocket.

“A little but it’s only a couple blocks till your place so it’s ok…” you mumble, aware of the stiff atmosphere. He only nods before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, sharing his body heat with you. As you two stride down the pavement, you lean into his touch more. The silence between you two becomes more comfortable, admiring the scenery even more as you’re wrapped in his warmth.

VII.

The morning after you lay peacefully asleep on Cheol’s king sized bed. Your breathing steady as Seungcheol observes your soft features. Without even thinking his actions through, he pushes your hair so it’s not in your face. He takes in the way your brows are scrunching, the pout clear on your face even in your sleep. Cute, he thought.

It was a normal occurrence for you two to sleep in the same bed, platonically. A tradition that carried on from your child sleep overs to adulthood.

Reminiscing about the events from last night, Seungcheol feels a tug at his heart, he’s confused. Never have you two been that intimate with each other before, and he’s surprised at how much he’s thinking about what happened. The visions of you under him playing over and over again in his brain. This is the first time he has hooked up with someone thats made him think about his actions so intensely. But knowing that its you, out of all people, complicates his feelings even more.Yet he still forces himself to acknowledge the fact that your friendship has changed, but he’s still not sure if it’s good or bad.

⌗ 𓂃 flash back to seungcheol’s freshman year.

beep. beep.

With a heavy heart Seungcheol hangs up the facetime call. You had to go to sleep early, and he only hung up a few minutes ago, but he already misses you.

The emptiness of his apartment was harrowing. The silence began to amplify, and the lack of noise caused his ears to buzz. The steadiness of his breath was the only sound keeping him grounded in his forlorn reality.

In his 18 years of life, he has never felt more alone. He was in his first year at University, in a different city full of strangers. Most importantly, he was thousands of miles away from you. You had been with Cheol for the better part of his life, and not having you close was a foreign feeling for him.

Pulling out his journal, he begins to write every single thought and feeling down, just needing a way to let go of all of his feelings. Telling you up front was scary for him, he didn’t want to burden you with his problem especially since you had many of your own.

It’s your last year and highschool and when you two were on the phone talking, it was mostly when you were studying for your next test or something along those lines.

Seungcheol wished that he could tell you everything that he held in his heart but it was just something he couldnt bring himself to do. You seemed so stressed and busy trying to make sure you were able to get into the same university as him, that he just didn’t want to add on to the baggage that you were already carrying.

The familiar pang in his heart resurfaced once again, it ached in a way he couldn’t really describe. The feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar as well as being around unfamiliar people just made him feel so alone, secluded. It started out with a simple ‘dear y/n’.

Dear Y/n,

Today was just like the previous ones. I spent most of my time adjusting to my classes, going over lectures, and like every other day, I still miss you. I actually met someone new today, his name is Jeonghan, and I don't really like him all that much. Although he’s not my favourite person in the world he seems to make me feel less alone. His constant need to pester me about the dumbest things remind me so much of you. He has a childish attitude and I think you two would get along really well. Although in front of him I show distaste for his antics, I'm still thankful that he keeps me company. I wish I could just tell you what’s happening but I want to stay strong. I want to stay strong so that when you get here I can be the one you lean on. I want to be the one that you can talk to when you become overwhelmed with your first year.

Just because I feel this way right now doesn’t mean that you have to go through the same things as me. I just want you by my side. So hurry up and graduate so i can finally see you in person again.

Always yours,

Cheol.

⌗ 𓂃 end of flashback.

Before he could wake you up for breakfast, his phone chimes with a notification. He picks up his phone, reading the name only to roll his eyes after, “Yoon Jeonghan”.

“Had fun last night Cheollie?” Jeonghan chuckles over the line, Seungcheol can already invision the smirk on Han’s lips.

“So much Jeonghan. Why do you ask.” Seungcheol says sarcastically as he gets up to leave the room, not wanting to wake you up from the phone call.

“Im going to need you to send me $50.” Seungcheol scoffs at this.

“The fuck? Why?” He presses, pinching the bridge of his nose, he can already feel the headache coming on.

“Because you and Y/n stained my sheets. Obviously.” Jeonghan says smugly.

Cheol rolls his eyes once again, he can already envision the look on Jeonghan’s face. He should’ve expected that Y/n told him. He wasn’t mad at her, but he knows that Jeonghan is never going to let this go. He sighs, it was the right thing to do, he literally fucked you on Jeonghan’s bed.

“Fine fine, just don’t call me again. I hear your voice enough at school as it is.” Seungcheol grumbles, knowing that even though he warns him, Jeonghan will continue to do what he wants. Cheol curses you in his head silently, wondering why a sweet girl like you became friends with the devil’s spawn.

“So…you gonna finally tell Y/n you’re in love with her?” Jeonghan asks in a non-chalant manner.

“Jeonghan. I’m not in love with her.”

“Sure you’re not…but I’m sure you’re pissed as hell knowing Wonwoo was admiring her all night.” Jeonghan teases, causing Seungcheols ears to heat up. He noticed it too, the way Wonwoo’s eyes lingered on you for an abnormal amount of time. Multiple times that night Seungheol had caught him staring .

“Whatever man, Y/n is my best friend. I want it to stay that way.” Seungcheol huffs before hanging up, the agitation never leaving his body. Agitated at Jeonghan for spitting nonsense and agitated at Wonwoo for looking at you so intensely last night. He doesn’t know why the latter has him so worked up, but he can’t shake the feeling off so easily.

On the otherside of the door, you stand there, your heart sinking all the way down to your feet. You woke up shortly after Seungcheol went to pick up his call but decided to stay in bed a little longer. Now you’re fully awake, trying to keep your eyes dry after hearing the words that your best friend just uttered.

It shouldn’t even hurt this much, you think. You know that all you’ll ever be is Seugncheols best friend, but why did it feel like you have just been hit by a ton of bricks?

Before you could finish your thoughts the door slowly creaks open, so you blink away your unshed tears, coming face to face with your Seungcheol.

“Oh. Didn’t know you were awake.” Seungcheol’s eyes are wide, he’s wondering if you overheard his call with Jeonghan.

“Y-yeah I just came from the washroom.” You stutter. A wave of relief washes over Seungcheol.

Whilst talking to Jeonghan over the phone, it felt like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone that he doesn’t have feelings for you. It was like the words were practically being forced out of his mouth. The guilt was knawing at him, but why? Why should Seungcheol feel guilty for telling the truth? You’re Y/n, his bestfriend Y/n. The Y/n he fucked deep into Jeonghan’s mattress last night…

“I feel like we should talk about last night…” He says after his train of thoughts.

Wide eyed and rosy cheeked, you didn’t expect him to bring up the events of last night so early on. The visions of you and Cheol tangled in the sheets of Jeonghan’s bed starting to leak their way back into the forefront of your memory.

Instead of saying anything more, you just nod. Making your way to his couch, sitting at the corner where the back of the couch and armrest connected. Seungcheol follows suit. He looks serious, lips press into a thin line, eyeing you for some type of indicator that you feel the tension as much as he does.

“About last night…” you begin, not sure how you want to proceed, but you continue to talk anyways, “Did you enjoy it as much as I did?”

With that question, your heart stops momentarily, preparing for Seungcheol to tell you how much he regretted what happened.

“I did like it. But I just don’t want this to ruin our friendship Y/n. You’re my best friend.” Seungcheol confesses, you’re nerves put at ease momentarily. He keeps repeating those dreaded words ‘You’re my best friend’.

With every breath you take its like a stab in the chest.

“If you regret it that’s ok. We can just leave it in the past, but I just want to be honest with you Cheol…” you gulp, trying to find the right words to express how you feel,

“I’ve never felt that good before, and if there was some way we could arrange something between us. I wouldn’t be opposed.” You finally huff out. Gnawing anxiously at the inside of your cheek, you wait for his response.

Seungcheol’s heart skips a beat, he’s quick to agree. “I’m ok with that.”

“I-Wait? Really? You wanna do this…?” you’re dumbfounded.

The man of reason himself, is agreeing to a friends with benefits situation. Huh?

Seungcheol is someone who is very aware of how “FWB” tends to ruin friendships, but he can’t resist this opportunity. Especially after last night.

“I do. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want a round two of what happened at the party… but if we want to do this I feel like there should be some rules.” He concluded.

VIII.

“So you are and Seungcheol are fuck buddies now?!” Jeonghan exclaims, you try your best not to slap the incredulous look off his face in the middle of the student union centre.

“Oh my god why don’t you just tell the whole world while you’re at it,” you seethe, shoving his shoulder lightly as he leans over the table, forcing him to sit back in his chair. His sandwich long forgotten.

Jeonghan has known the feelings you’ve secretly harboured for Seungcheol for years now. He expected that after what happened at his halloween party you and Seungcheol would finally confess to each other. What he didn’t expect were for the you to do to the exact opposite. I’m surrounded by idiots, he thought to himself.

“You two are the stupidest people alive I swear…” he mutters under his breath. You’re close enough to pick up what he said, giving him a glare from across the table.

That previous saturday morning you and Seungcheol hashed out the details of you’re enhanced friendship. It was a pretty simple set of rules:

No strings attached. If one person catches feelings then the agreement is null and void.

The “relationship” is strictly exclusive. No fucking other people.

No one is to know about this. Exception: Jeonghan.

There wasn’t really a point hiding anything from Jeonghan, even if Seungcheol was against him knowing, he knew that Jeonghan would find out one way or another.

“We’ve been friends for so long Hannie, this is just an added bonus.” You tell him, although a small part of you knows you’re convincing yourself more than anyone.

“Good afternoon to you all.” A cheerful voice interrupts your conversation. Soonyoung walks towards your table with a cheeky smile on his face. Minghao trails behind him, looking exhausted.

“Ah so the tiger finally is out of his den huh?” Jeonghan chuckles, referring to Hoshi’s weekend long recovery after the halloween party. The three of them took time out of their saturday nursing Hoshi back to health.

“Well what can I say? You can’t keep me tame for long.” He practically growls. Minghao side-eyes him, the look of disgust and worry painted all over his face.

“...Ok! So what were you two whispering about?” Minghao asks, wanting to stray as far away from the tiger discourse as fast as possible.

“It wasn’t anything important. Well would you look at the time! Jeonghan we gotta go or we’ll be late to our class.” You try to avoid the conversation, the guilt start to boil in your stomach.

Of course you wanted let Minghao and Soonyoung know what’s going on, but it’s just not a good idea. Especially after having a mutual agreement with Seungcheol not to tell anyone, other than Jeonghan. The more people know, the more blown out of proportion things could get.

“Well thats my queue, see you two love birds later!” Jeonghan waves at the two frenemies, knowing it would piss Hao off.

“Hey! Yoon Jeonghan come back here!” You can hear Minghao yelling from across the room as you tug Jeonghan along. The only thing he does is throw his head back laughing, while Soonyoung looks around cluelessly.

IX.

“So what should our research proposal be?” Wonwoo asks, looking at you for ideas.

After entering class the professor allowed time for partners to start brainstorming for the midterm project. With everything that has happened during the weekend you hardly had time to think about school again. You actively recall the events in your head, thinking about the way Seungcheol towered over you. The thought of it all causing your cheeks to heat.

“Y/n? You still there?” Wonwoo calls out for you, waving his hand in front of your face.

Your eyes go wide, and you shake your head slightly, waking up from your self induced trance. Wonwoo on the other hand looked confused.

“Yeah I was just thinking about something.” you mumble, your cheeks blushing even further. The fact that you were thinking about fucking Seungcheol while you were trying to work on a project made you feel bad for Wonwoo. Clearly you weren’t focused on the task at hand, which was more important than your mid-day fantasies.

“Oh ok. Anyways what do you think about doing child development and growing up with pets?” Wonwoo looks for your reaction, trying to gage whether you thought it was a good idea or not.

Internally, Wonwoo became curious on what has taken up half of your attention. He finds you interesting to say the least, and pretty. He doesn’t know why it took him so long to realize how fun you are to be around, but a part of him wants to get to know you more. The other part conflicted, knowing that all your friends believe that you and Seungcheol are meant to be. Yet he can’t help but wonder if he could be the one to make you fall instead of Cheol.

“That actually sounds really interesting! I'm down to do that.” You smile at him, thankful he’s a good partner, and not someone who just makes you do all the work.

“Perfect. Honestly I’m glad I have you as a partner Y/n. You’re a lot better than the ones I’ve had in the past.” He confesses, putting a hand on your shoulder, his warm smile causing you to blush hard.

You glance over at his hand, before looking up at him once more. Wonwoo is an attractive man, you can admit that much. The time you spend with him is enjoyable to say the least, but to you he’s like any other guy friend you have. Seungcheol being the one exception, who has been on your mind since you’ve met him. A man who’s been able to woo you since you were kids, in the most silent and gentle ways too.

You leave your train of thought to answer Wonwoo once more.

“Y-yeah same! We’ve had the same friends but for some reason we were never that close. Maybe we can change that.” You return his friendly affection. At least that’s what it seems like to you, friendly affection.

“I’d like that a lot actually. I'm sure you’d be better company than the boys, or at least cleaner.” He laughs. You laugh along with him, not really thinking much of his words.

…

Seungcheol was annoyed, he watches the way you and Wonwoo are laughing together. The blood in his veins already starting to curdle and boil. Who does Wonwoo think he is? His habit of wanting to be around you at all times kicks in once more.

Cheol is aware of his possessive tendencies, but he doesn’t ever admit about them out loud. It wouldn’t be fair to speak on your actions when you aren’t dating him romantically. Although he convinces himself he’s only your best friend, he can’t help but refuse to push aside his jealousy of seeing Wonwoo spend time with you when it should be him instead.

“You know Wonwoo isn’t going to spontaneously combust the longer you look at him. You’re going to have to try a different tactic.” Jeonghan mutters beside him, trying not to laugh at Seungcheol.

“I dont know what you’re talking about.” Seungcheol crosses his arms, pouting, looking like a cranky child who didn’t get his way. He knows Jeonghan is right but he can’t help but try to blow up the whole lecture hall in his mind.

“Oh please, cut the act Cheollie. We both know you’re jealous of them. Wonwoo isn’t even doing anything and Y/n seems to already be falling for his charms.”

“Jeonghan whatever you have planned I don’t want to be apart of it.” Seungcheol quips, but he can still see the mischievous grin begin to form on Jeonghan’s face within his peripheral vision.

“What plan?” Jeonghan gasps, putting his hand over his chest, feigning an insulted expression. Trying to keep up the act, as if Cheol didn’t have him all figured out.

…

“Thanks for today Wonwoo!” You beam at him, sitting up from your desk to collect your things. He smiles back at you, the crescent shape of his eyes emphasizing.

“Maybe next time we can go to a cafe for our next study session?” He suggests, looking at you for a sign of approval.

“Yeah that sounds like fun actually!” You agreed, feeling happy that you’re partner is actually wanting to put in the work for once. “Anyways, I gotta go meet up with Cheol, see you soon!”

“See you Y/n.” He smiles at you politely, like always, and you find it quite endearing.

You wave him one last goodbye before finishing up packing your things, and putting your laptop in your bag.

“Y/nie!” Jeonghan calls out for you, standing by the door with Seungcheol.

You turn around and spot them, waving at them with excitement. Focusing more on your best friend than the person who called your name. His blond hair flowed, the tight polo shirt hugging his large biceps. You drooled inwardly, trying not to get caught practically eye-fucking him.

He catches you staring at him, smirking at you as you continue to get closer. Pulling you in by the waist he hugs you. This caught you off guard, Cheol was never one for affection in public. Even as friends, it’s always been within privacy, unless there was some type of special occasion.

“Always wearing a tight little skirt for me aren’t you princess?” He whispers in your ear, causing you to blush.

Oh. His voice is low enough that you’re the only one that can hear him. So this is why he hugged you? Because of the outfit you have on? You really hadn’t thought much of it, the skirt didn’t seem short in your own opinion, but you became flustered knowing it was turning him on.

“Y/n and I gotta do something, see you later Jeonghan.” Seungcheol dismisses him quickly, tugging you past the lecture doors without another word.

You begin to follow him down the long corridors of your University, pushing past crowds of people as they all herd towards their next class. The opposition of the two of you moving in the other direction causing you to bump into each person you pass. A string of ‘‘excuse me’s’’ and “sorry’s” leaving your lips. The handsome and strong man pulling you by your waist doesn’t care who he bumps into, his mind only on one thing and one thing only.

It happens all within a blink of an eye, and before you can become fully aware of what’s going on, you find yourself in an empty classroom. The door locks with a click behind you.

“Did you enjoy your study session with Wonwoo?” Seungcheol inquires out of nowhere, feigning nonchalance. Just saying his name is starting to piss him off. Yes he sees Wonwoo as a friend, but he wants you to only see Wonwoo that way too.

“It was normal…why?” you’re suspicious. Since when did he care about the fact that you’re partners with Wonwoo? You wonder to yourself, but he continues to try and close the distance between you two.

“I could see the way he was looking at you, even though I was across the room.” He huffs, like a spoiled child who was told to share.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Cheol.” you sighed. “Sounds like you’re jealous.”

Your heart skips a beat as you utter those words. If Seungcheol is jealous of Wonwoo what does that mean for the two of you? Does he wants you more than as someone to press into his mattress each night? You pondered it for a moment, but you’re highly doubtful of that being the case. It just can’t be, Seungcheol grew up as an only child, he probably just doesn’t like to share, you try to justify.

“Jealous? Baby of course I’m jealous. I don’t like to share.” He scoffs, fuck not voicing out my jealousy, he thinks. It’s like you were reading his mind.

He begins striding his way over to you till your back is pressed against the desk behind you.

“It’s not like we were going to hook up, he’s my partner?” It was your turn to scoff at him, trying to ignore your pulse quickening as his face inches closer to yours.

Seugncheol looks down at your lips, admiring how your teeth graze against them as you bite down. He likes that he has an effect on you, especially with knowing that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Just thinking about being the only one making you come causes the blood to flow down straight to his already hardening member.

Placing his large hands on your hips, he tugs you closer to him. A gasp leaves your lips as you feel his hard on against your thigh. Your eyes staring up at him, admiring how he is towering over you, the stern look on his face causing warmth to pool at your core. You’ve always loved how much larger he is compared to you, his shoulders and arms enclosing you completely.

“That better be all he is to you angel, this pussy is mine.” He mutters against your neck, trailing kisses on your delicate skin. As your eyes roll back, you whimper, relishing in the feeling of his lips and the tightness of his grip on your waist.

He pulls you on to the desk, causing you to sit, your legs spread wide enough for him to slip in between. Caressing your exposed thighs, he can’t help but let out a groan as he feels the softness of your skin. Everything about you and your body made his head dizzy with lust, especially when you look at him so innocently with anticipation. You’re alway so eager for his next move.

“I love how wet this pussy gets for me. Barely touched you and you’re already soaked” He mumbles, grazing a finger ahaisnt your underwear clad wetness. The feeling of his fingers make your knees weak, and he hasn’t even put them inside you. He continues to move his fingers against you while kissing you tenderly. After what happened at Jeonghan’s, Seugncheol has been dying to get his hands on you again, savouring the taste of your lips even more.

The smack of your lips moving against his fill the quiet classroom. It was so eerily silent through out the room that you become paranoid that someone might catch you two. Knowing how much your reputation matters for your scholarship, you wonder what the reparations would be caught having sex in public.

“Hmm Cheol.” You whine, but your legs spread further instead of shutting closed. “We’re at school, we can’t be doing this.”

Your brain is fogged by his touch even as you try to think rationally. With every kiss and every stroke of his finger, your mind begins to slip into a state of pleasure. The outside world becoming a muted background as Seungcheol is pulled further into the forefront of your mind.

“But look at you all needy. Would you rather I just leave you like this?” He practically purred into your ear, licking up the side of your neck as he sucks behind your ear. The hotness of his breath and the heat of his kisses makes you give in to him completely.

Fuck it felt so dirty being here, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him to stop.

“This pussy needs tending to doesn’t it baby?” He chides, his tone of voice causing to whine against him once more. You decide to let your morals go for just one moment, spreading your legs further, giving him full access to where you needed him most.

Instead of staying anything more, he takes the opportunity to press his lips against yours once again. The urgency of the kiss causing you to moan against his mouth, feeling the way his tongue pushes past your lips, caressing your mouth with passion and vigour.

His hand snaking their way down to your skirt, pulling off your lace underwear without any hesitation. You lift your hips to ease their removal, excited to feel his fingers fill you.

As he pushes a finger in, you gasp into his mouth, the squelch of your wetness echoes within the walls of the classroom. His finger pumps your hot pussy, your core clenching and unclenching with each thrust of his hand. Seungcheol continues to add more fingers until he’s able to fit up to three comfortably. Your moans never ceasing for a single moment, the euphoria of his long digits massaging your soft spot causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

“Want you.” You somehow were able to voice out, begging him for his length to fill you instead.

“Be clear with your words princess. I’m already giving myself to you.” He plays dumb, continues you finger you as his thumb circles your clit.

“I want you inside me please.” You let out another moan, the stimulation of him pumping his fingers into you, while rubbing your sensitive bud has your mind going blank.

“I am inside you love.” He chuckles, enjoying you beg for him. His member straining against his jeans. Seungheol could continue this for hours, but he knows the moment you ask, he’ll be fucking you with his hard length instead.

“Want your cock please Choelie” You whine louder, your hands making their way to unbuckle his belt.

“Good girl, thats what I wanted to hear.” He mutters against your neck, finally moving his hands away from your body to remove his jeans.

The absence of his fingers make you whine, but you’re quickly silenced by the feeling of his thick length pushing past your wet pussy lips. It makes you gasp and lean black slightly, your arms locked at the elbow as you try to support yourself.

“S-so good.” You’re words practically imcomprehensable as Seugncheol pumps himself inside and out of you. His length leaving your warmth only to push back into you fully once more. Over and over till a creamy ring appears at the base of his cock.

“Who’s pussy is this princess?” He asks you, his hand making its way to your neck, holding onto you tight, but only enough to make your head go fuzzy.

“Mmph Yours!” You sputter, only able to think about the way his hardness is caressing against that one spot against you. He hits it once more and before you know it you’re coming all over his length.

“Fuck you’re so tight angel.” He praises you, snapping his hips till he’s filling you with his hot white seed.

“Ah Cheol.” You call out slaciously, your head falling against his shoulder, tired from how hard he fucked you.

“You’re always so good for me aren’t you?” He kisses your cheek as he takes a tissue from your bag to clean you up.

Too tired to respond you let him take care of you, it causes your pulse to beat against your veins hard. Hiding your face in his chest, he helps you get dressed after your classroom quickie.

You jump off the desk, his hand wrapping around you to ensure you don’t fall. Knees wobbling slightly you hold onto him for support. One thing you can’t seem to get over is how caring he is after he’s pumped you full of his come. In a fucked up way it makes you fall for him further.

“You ok to walk?” he cautioned, not wanting you to fall to the ground. You only nod and simply wrap a hand around his bicep, stablizing you.

“I’m fine, but can we go home now?” You murmur, placing a kiss on his cheek as an unspoken thank you.

“Of course.”

After getting home from school and Seungcheol’s place, you decide to give Jeonghan a call. You didn’t know how to feel about what happened today, especially after Seugncheol had expressed his jealousy for Wonwoo. Maybe it really isn’t that deep, but the fact he acted so possessive made your stomach flutter, but also confused you even more.

Jeonghan is the only person who knows what’s been happening, so you turn to him in your time of need. What you didn’t expect was from him to yell into your ear instead.

“Why are you fucking in a classroom, are you insane?!” Jeonghan yells at you through the speaker of his phone. Your cheeks turning a bright pink at his words.

“Ok I know it was a bad idea, but its fine we didn’t get caught!” you try to justify your actions, but you agree it is pretty insane to fuck in a classrom, especailly during school hours. It was like you were possessed in the heat of the moment, nothing could’ve stopped you from letting Cheol fuck you.

“Y/n you can’t just be making bad decisonms because you’re ‘H’ word!” He scolds you, sounding like your mother for a second. You can’t help but giggle at the fact that he hates saying the word horny. Jeonghan once telling you someone like him should never say such an ugly word.

You roll your eyes even though he can’t even see you. You’re phonecall with him quickly turning into a lecture because of how hard he’s scolding you right now.

“Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me young lady.” He warns you, causing you to jump and look around your room. You know hes not here but somehow you’re spooked.

“You can’t even see me so how would you know?” You bite back defensively even though you know hes right.

“Becaue I know you! Oh my Y/nie one day this whole situation is going to bite you in the ass. You and Cheol should jsut be responsible adults and confess already.” He groans, he isn’t even the one in this predicament and yet hes the frustrated one.

“Ok Han, you were literally on call with him the morning after your party. You heard him! He only sees me as a friend.” You counter, not wanting to have to remind yourself that your best friend doesn’t like you back.

“Oh please Y/nie, we both know he was lying out of his ass.”

“How would you know? He sounded pretty confident to me.” You mutter, absentmindedly playing with the drawstring on your shorts. The scene continues to replay in your head, he obviously doesn’t like me, you think. You can still recall the way your heart stopped beating for a millisecond as you heard him utter those words.

“You two are impossible.” Jeonghan sighs, thinking hard. And with that, it was like a lightbulb went off in his head, with a large ding and everything. “Y/nie don’t hate me but I have an idea.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“What if you try and make him jealous.” He chuckles, it’s soft but there was an evil sound to it all.

“Jeonghan whatever idea you have brewing in the scheming head of yours, I dont want to hear it.” You warn him, already not liking where this is going. The thought of seeing Seugncheol jealous is intriguing indeed, but what happens if you realize you don’t even have that effect on him? It would be so embarrassing.

“You’ll never know what could happen unless you try!” He concludes in a sing-song tone, you can already invision the menacing look on his face.

“Hannie it’s so highschool, I don’t think it’d be smart to do something like that.”

“Ok but you’ll fuck him on campus grounds?” He rebuttals, shutting you up quickly.

“I-” You couldn’t even defend yourself.

“Night Y/nie! See you tomorrow.” The line goes dead, and you curse out at your blank phone screen. Leave it up to Yoon Jeonghan to put bad ideas into your head.

XI.

The next day you sit with Wonwoo in a coffee shop that is only a few minutes away from campus.The city had gotten more chilly with each day that passed, and the cafe was a perfect meeting place to do your project. The warm atmosphere enveloped yout two into a perfect working rhythm. Your partnership with Wonwoo was a lot better than the previous ones you’ve had for classes, you agree to spend the majority of your time going over what to add to the presentation, as well as how it should be presented. Hours felt like minutes, and you two ended up finished earlier than you had anticipated.

“I’m so surprised how quickly we got through everything! We even finished everything early,” you rejoiced, happy that Wonwoo is such a productive partner.

“Honestly we make a really good team.” Wonwoo compliments you, giving you that same polite smile. You end up blushing, his eyes staring at you with so much kindness.

“I agree, hopefully we get paired up more for the rest of the semester.” You giggle, shying away from his gaze.

As you spent more time with Wonwoo, you realized how nice it was to be around him. He makes a good friend, and he’s definitely a lot more than just the quiet guy in the group. His personality more complex than what you had previously assumed, and it makes you wonder why you two weren’t really all that close in the first place. The two of you have the same friends, take the same classes, and enjoy the same things. So what was the one thing blocking you two from becoming closer?

“Well that’s all for today. I can walk you home.” He clears up his things, ready to leave the serene environment of the cafe, throwing away his cup along with yours.

“Oh no you don’t have to! Cheol is actually going to pick me up!” You tell him, seeing his black BMW sitting idle in front of the cafe already.

“Sounds good. Let me walk you out at least.” He gestures to the door, allowing you to walk in front of him. He follows you suit till you’re in front of Seungcheol’s car. “It was fun, I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time?”

“Yeah sure! I’ll be free.” You beam up at him, his frame towering over yours.

The wind is blowing slightly, causing your hair to get in your face, whipping at your eyes. Wonwoo is quick to react, taking the strand and placing it softly behind your ear. The heat begins to crawl up your neck fast, making you realize how close you two are standing together.

Wonwoo leans in a touch more to place a soft kiss on your cheek, and the blush on your face is definitely evident now. Before you can say more, hes walking away with one last good bye. Leaving you there standing with a shocked expression painted all over your face. Quickly you shake your head of what just happened before heading into Seungcheol’s car.

“Were you two on a date?” His voice is stern, obviously pissed off at what he just witnessed.

“...No just working on our project.” you say with a dazed look, watching Wonwoo's figure get smaller the farther he walks away.

“Ok…but he kissed you on the cheek? I thought he was just your partner.” Cheol presses for answers, he really wasn’t impressed of having to witness such an intimate moment between you and Wonwoo. His blood curdling as the grip on his steering wheel tightens. The flesh on his knuckles turning a ghostly white.

“He is just my partner, I really don’t know why he did that.” You mutter as you try to recall all of the events that could’ve led up to this moment. It didn’t make sense to you, did Wonwoo have a crush on you or something? He’s never made any advances towards you before. So what changed that?

“He obviously likes you. Do you like him back?” Seungcheol is too jealous for his own good. His pulse reaching new heights with how fast the blood was pumping through his veins. You can’t like Wonwoo, there’s just no way. Right?

“Well no. I see Wonwoo as a friend.” you admit, and the relief sped its way through Seungcheol’s body.

Although another side of him is wondering why it made him so angry to see Wonwoo act so flirtatious with you. He concludes that he just donesn’t like it when peoples are touching what’s his. Wonwoo’s his friend and you and Cheol are intimate with each other, it would just be weird for Wonwoo to try something with you too, at least that’s what Seungcheol says to himself as he tries to calm himself down. You’re his best friend, nothing more, he keeps repeating it in his head. And if you decide to break off the arrangement with him to date Wonwoo, then he can’t complain.

“Oh. I see.” He mumbles as he starts the car again, taking the route to bring you back to your apartment.

…

You and Seungcheol sit against your sofa watching a yet another ghibli movie. This time it is Kiki’s Delivery Service. Cuddled up in your blankets, your Friday movie marathon happening like clockwork at this point. Nothing can make you feel more content than feeling Seungcheol’s heartbeat as you watch your favourite movies with him.

His breathing is steady as his arm holds you close to him, his attention focused on the moving flashing across your tv. On the other hand, you continue to stare at him, his strong brows and nose bridge has always been your favourite feature of his. You love how manly he appears, but you know on the inside he like a big ball of fluff, so warm and inviting. He just smelt like home, even though your real home is miles away, he’s a piece that you can carry around with you anywhere you go.

As the movie continues to play in the background your attention is forced away from admiring your best friend and brought towards your phone. It lights up with a text notification from Wonwoo.

Wonwoo: Hey Y/n. I know this is sudden but I’d really like to take you out sometime. Would that be ok with you?

Your eyes practically pop out of their sockets as you read the text over and over again. It kind of makes sense that he’s asking you, especially with how he acted today. But what does this mean for the situation between you and Seungcheol? You decide to respond anyways, not wanting to flat out reject him over text.

Y/n: uhhmm i’m not sure, can i have time to think about it? :)

Wonwoo: Sure. Take your time.

Beside you, Seungcheol sits with an arm wrapped around your shoulder. He knows he shouldn’t look at your texts but he can’t help himself. The moment he decides to, he begins to curse himself mentally, reading the text over and over again just like you. It pisses him off, seeing how forward Wonwoo is about his feelings towards you.

He ultimately decides not to say anything the moment you reply to Wonwoo’s text, why did you even need to think about it? Shouldn’t you have said no if you don’t have feelings for Wonwoo? His heart falling all the way down to the pit of his stomach. The familiar feeling of the tug on his heart coming back to haunt him once again. Instead of asking you, he decides to call in early for tonight.

“Hey angel I think i’m gonna head home early tonight.” He whispers to you, stroking the back of your head softly. The stinging behind his eyes doesn’t leave, he just can’t seem to get rid of it. He looks at you with such tenderness, from an outside perspective someone would mistake his stare for utter and complete love.

You look up from your phone, locking it before looking at him with a worried frown strewn across your lips.

“Is everything ok? You’re not sick right?” you ask, placing a hand against his forehead to check his temperature. He shakes his head, taking your hand and placing it in his. His long fingers wrapping around yours, squeezing them reassuringly.

“No no, i’m fine. Just gotta wake up early tomorrow.” He attempts to give you a convincing smile. You don’t know why the mood has changed all of a sudden but you begin to worry even more.

“Cheolie is something wrong?” You press the issue, not wanting for him to leave just yet.

“No nothing’s wrong. Trust me I’m ok.” He insists before getting up to to grab his jacket and leave. And just like the seasons passing through the city, he left with a swiftness you couldn’t seem to comprehend. The hurriedness of his movements leaving you dazed and confused.

The guilty pit at your stomach only seemed to grow the longer the silence filled your tiny apartment. Seungcheol’s once warm presence left a dent on the cushions beside you and a cold cup of tea on the coffee table. You frown at the now empty living space, as well as the empty hole in your heart, which can only be filled by the man who left without another word.

XII.

The snow began to fall in your city. It came unexpectedly, and left just the same. This winter being colder than most, you started to feel the seasonal depression coming on a lot faster than usual.

Seungcheol left so abruptly that day, and with the midterm project you weren’t able to reach out to him since then. It felt weird because this is the first time in a long time you’ve gone without talking to him. The week dragging along as you head into midterm break, trying to think of what to say to him the moment you’re able to talk to him again.

For some reason, ever since that night you have had a weird feeling in your stomach. Call it intuition but it felt like Seungcheol was avoiding you. Even though you weren’t able to reach out to him, he also didn’t try to do so either. The predicament you find yourself in causing your thought to stray as you study for the second round of midterm exams.

You would see him often, in class, or eating with friends, but strangely enough he was gone before you could muck up the courage to approach him. The two of you stuck in an odd limbo that feels like it won’t end.

During this time in previous years, it would be you and Seungcheol studying together in the library, but with your current situation you knew it wasn’t going to happen. So instead you sit with Jeonghan and Minghao, figuring out how to cram as much information as you can for the statistics final.

“Y/n? You keep gazing out the window, is everything ok?” Minghao’s voice cuts off your thoughts. His eyesbrown knotted together in worry.

“Huh? Oh yeah…everything’s ok.” You mumble, your eyes still looking out the window. The campus now coevered in a layer of snow, students walking around, bundled up in winter coats.

“You sure? You’ve been staring out there for almost fifteen minutes now.” He checks on you again. You can only muster up a sound of approval.

Thankfully Minghao isn’t one to push to get an answer so he leaves it there. The sudden urge to pee overcomes you, causing you to walk over to the libraries bathroom. But before you could reach it, two people walk into the library, causing you to do a double take.

The last person you expected to walk in is heading towards an empty table. Your heart beat stuck in your throat, the urge to use the bathroom is long gone. As you watch Seungcheol sit down with a girl, you feel the tears start to well. You were so confused as to why he has time to ask this random ass person to study with him, when he could’ve sent you a text instead. It made no sense to you, and with that, you leave the library without another thought.

The tears falling down your cheeks with every step you took. Seeing him with another girl pulled hard at your heart strings, unsurfacing a feeling you thought you got rid of long ago. You continue to walk with your head down, just trying to think of a private space to let out your emotions. But before you could do so, you bump into something hard, which turns out to be a man’s chest. Looking up you realize it’s Wonwoo’s chest.

“Y/n? You ok? Why are you crying?” Wonwoo speaks so fast, the worry spilling out of his mouth in words. His hand flying up to your face, wiping any tears that fall before they could roll down any further.

“I-I don’t even know why i’m crying. This is so stupid my god, i’m sorry you have to see me this way,” you’re hicupping through your words. You begin to sob, and you feel wonwoo’s strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close. Giving you the comfort that you would usually receive from Seungcheol.

Wonwoo’s large frame squeezes you in, giving you that secluded space that you were once searching for.

Behind you is the frame of a man who is your usual safe space, your usual secluded corner. The one to help you deafen out the world from its ugliness and anger. He stands there watching you trade his comfort for Wonwoo’s. He’s never known what it’s like to be on the outside perspective and witness your hurt in this way. In the arms of another. With every moment passes as he watches Wonwoo comfort you instead, he feels his whole world crumble and fall at his feet.

XIII.

⌗ 𓂃 flash back to seungcheol’s freshman year.

“You talk a lot about this y/n person. Is she your girlfriend by chance?” Jeonghan asks Seungcheol.

“No dumbass she’s my childhood bestfriend. I’ve known her for a long time.” Seungcheol tries to clarify his relationship with you, not wanting others to mistake you two for something more.

“I dont know man, you only ever talk about Y/n.” Jeonghan shrugs before going back to his paper.

Seungcheol thinks about Jeonghan’s words, ‘why is she always popping up in my conversations?’, he wondered to himself. He can’t help the fact that he talks about you so much, you’re all he knows after all. The only one to experience anything and everything with him. He can’t help but want everyone to know what an amazing person you are, and the fact thatt everything around him somehow reminds him of you. It was like an empidemic. You conquered all corners of his brain, always with him, but far enough for him to miss you all at the same time.

“You know, it’s not a bad thing if you have feelings for her. She seems like a great girl.” Jeonghan pipes up after realizing how little work Seungcheol gotten done due to his rampant thoughts.

“Yeah I guess if i did, it wouldn’t be a bad thing.” He mutters, attempting to focus on his work once again.

⌗ 𓂃 end of flash back.

XIV.

For the majority of midterm break, you spent it cooped up within the confines of your room. Wrapping yourself in enough blankets to put a bear into hibernation. You’ve gone back and forth with your own thoughts. Calling yourself dramatic for crying over pretty much nothing, to crying again because you can’t just invalidate the pain you felt when you saw him with someone else, and you don’t even know what she is to him. Long story short, the over thinking is getting to you, but calling him up is the last thing you’re about to do.

Although you’ve never really fully admitted or denied it, you know you’re love for Seungcheol goes beyond friendship. You’ve known for so long, and kept it to yourself for so long, and yet you’ve never known whether he felt the same way. His actions always contradicting his words.

The cliché trope of the pain of falling for your best friend is as old as the bible. The story of the unrequited love you convince yourself you’ll never have reciprocated, and yet at the end of every story everything works out, the two friends turned lovers. The end. But what about you? What about the fact that this isn’t some story and you won’t be able to get ahold of your own cliché best friends to lovers ending.

Before you could spiral even further a notification dings, your phone screen lighting up.

Cheolie <3: im outside.

Seeing the text makes your heart drop, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from climbing out of bed and opening the door to let him in. As you did so, you take a good look at his state. In fairness, he looked just as shitty as you did, if not worse.

The eyebags accenuating how tired he looks, his cheeks slightly sunken in. Probably from lack of sleep, and not to mention the way his hair seems to stick up sporadically, you know immediately it’s because he keeps running his hands through it.

“What are you doing here?” You cut to the chase, your heart already pounding out of your chest.

“I-um. I’m not sure actually.” Seungcheol admits, his head falling as he stares at his feet nervously. You sigh, opening the door wider to let him through.

He looks lost and not like his usual self, which makes you feel even worse, but what could you even do to help him? You two weren’t even mad, or had a fight, everything is just weird. So vague and hard to explain. All you knew is that you��re hurt and he’s at the root of it all.

“I don’t have all day, Seungcheol.” You call him by his first name, and you can see how it pains him. The way his frown deepens with each moment you two stand there in the foyer, not exchanging the words you’re meant to say.

“I’m sorry, I know we haven’t spoken in awhile and I just- fuck I dont even know man. I saw that text with Wonwoo and I just freaked out.” He puffs out, running his hand through his hair once more.

“So thats why you’ve been acting weird? Because of Wonwoo?” The look on your face is unreliable and Seungcheol feels the knot in his throat begin to form. Your hand come to cross in front of your chest and you scoff. “Just because Wonwoo shows interest in me doens’t mean I have feelings for him.”

“What? But you didn’t reject him?” He presses on the situation even further.

“I just didn’t want to be an asshole and do it over text.”

“Yeah right, I saw you two cuddled up last week!” He dejects, his arms flying around as he speaks. He doesn’t know why you decided right now is a good time to lie to him, but he knows what he saw that day.

“As if you werent spending time with some girl instead of communicating to me what’s wrong in the first place? You’re unbelievable. I can’t read your mind Seungcheol, and why do you even care about what happens between me and Wonwoo? We’re just friends remember? Or do you only say that when you’re on the phone with Jeonghan?” You spat, the words on your tongue coming out as fireballs of hurt. Every single one hitting him right in the chest.

“We are best friends. I can’t explain why I was so worked up, but if you were going to start dating him, you should’ve broken off what we had first.” Seungcheol attempts to defend himself, spewing out whatever he can to justify his acts of stupidity. He knows himself that what he’s saying wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you how in love he is with you.

“Ok so because of that, you just get to do whatever the fuck you want then huh? The rules just don’t apply to Choi Seungcheol do they? It doens’t matter if I get hurt in the process of it all.” You sneer, the cold look on your face never faltering.

“No Y/n, I know we made rules but you broke them first. I just copied your actions.” He replies, it makes you mad that he lashed out because of a misunderstanding. You feel fed up, too tired to talk to him or argue further. The tears already threatening to spill the more you look at him.

You and Seungcheol never fought, you can’t even remember the last time it happened. It was probably when you two were still kids, fighting over something silly and not talking for an hour, only to make up the same day. This fight is different though, so many things said out of anger, you knew it wouldn’t just be forgotten the next day.

“I really can’t stand you right now.” You say as a lone tear slips out, the salitness of it hitting your lips.

“Then sit.” He bites back, his facade almost cracking as he sees your tearful expression.

“Fuck you. Go home Seungcheol.” You walk to the door, opening it enough to allow him to exit your home. He doesn’t protest, his anger and sadness bubbling up faster with each second that passes. He’s smart enough to not let his temper overcome him completely.

As the door closes on him, you let out an agonizing cry. Your sobs raking through your body as if the whole earth had crashed ontop of you. The echo of your cries filling the room, mocking you, reminding you of your loneliness.

XV.

Seungcheol hasn’t been feeling well since the argument that went down a few days ago, but he can’t bring himself to contact you again. The anger and sadness he felt quickly dissipated into nothing but shame. He knows it’s his fault. Its his fault that he didn’t communicate with you properly, and the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to tell you he loves you. He doesn’t even know who he was trying to convince, but that argument with you made him realized so much about himself, you, and the friendship you two have.

The constant sleepless nights were starting to catch up with him, the bags under his eyes more prominent than they were the last night he saw you.

There are times he catches glimpses of you on campus and it pulls on his heartstrings, especailly because half the times he seen you, you’ve been with Wonwoo. It pains Seungcheol to know that you’ve been hanging out with him since the fight had gone down, but he has no right to stop you. After everything, he should be understand to let you do what you want freely.

“Well don’t you look like shit.” Jeonghan interupts his train of thought, sitting beside him in the library. He takes out his notes and laptop, ready to work on their project for theri psychology class.

“Wow thanks, I didn’t know.” Seungcheol grumbled, hating how cheerful Jeonghan looks in comparaison to his own gloomy expression.

He takes out his tablet, pulling up their project. As much as he wants to ponder about you some more, he knows that he should probably focus on the rest of the project they need to complete. But everytime he tries to focus on anything other than you he ends up failing.

“So what happened to you?” Jeonghan asks. He can tell something is wrong, both Seungcheol and Y/n have been looking so down in the dumps lately, and Y/n is flat out ignoring him, Soonyoung and Minghao.

Seungcheol can’t even hold it in anymore, if there's anyone he can talk to about what happened, he knows it's Jeonghan. Despite their quarrelling, he finds Jeonghan to be a trustworthy person.

Before he can even speak, he recalls your face, the tears that were about to spill, and the way your voice sounded when you two were fighting. He doesn't even recognize either of you from that day, it was just so out of character for the two of you to fight like that. And the only thing he can do is blame himself for everything that happened.

Seungcheol feels his throat constrict, and his eyes start to sting. He hates that feeling, the feeling of crying and being vulnerable. In all four years of knowing Jeonghan he never thought he’d be crying in front of him. But once he asked that question it was like everything came crashing down upon him once more. All the memories of you, especially the ones from your fight make his heart ache so bad he has to clutch his chest.

“Uh.. Y/n and I, we fought. It was a huge fight and it was really bad. I don’t know what to do and i’m so scared Han. I-I think I love her.” He confesses to Jeonghan, as the tears begin to slip down his cheeks.

As he explains what happened that night, Jeonghan can’t help but feel sad with him. The way Seungcheol speaks about the events leading up to the fight and the fight itself makes his heart ache for the two of you. He also can’t help but mentally scold you two. He knew from the moment that Seungcheol and Y/n decided to partake in becoming friends with benefits, that it would just blow up in flames in the end. They love each other too much to say what's really on their mind. So afraid to ruin their friendship that choosing to become friends with benefits did that for them instead.

“Then let her know how you feel.. God Seungcheol, I’ve been telling this to the two of you for years now. You need to tell her, before it's too late.” Jeonghan is practically begging him, pulling Seungcheol into a much needed hug.

…

You sit there, Wonwoo sitting beside you at the same cafe you two have been going to for the past week now. He always does the same thing, ordering your matcha latte and keep you company while you re-think your fight with Seungcheol. He can see that you’re hurting but he doesn’t ever overstep any boundaries you’ve set up. Instead he just sits there, waiting for you when you’re ready to talk to him.

You called him after your fight with Seungcheol, not knowing who else to turn to. You know that Jeonghan would’ve been available but you weren’t ready for the lecture that he would’ve given you. Calling Wonwoo that one night turned into every night, and every night turned into daily trips to the cafe. He sits there, keeps you company, you thank him and he goes home. As much as he likes you, he realizes that you’re deeply in love with your best friend, even though you won’t directly tell him.

Wonwoo knew something happened between you and Seungcheol, especially because of how red your eyes were that night you called him for the first time. As well as the fact that he caught glimpses of Seungcheol staring at you with so much longing during class, it even makes Wonwoo’s own heart ache.

“We fought over you.” You finally speak up, not bothering to stare into Wonwoo’s eyes, instead opting to swirl your latte with your straw.

“What? Why” He’s confused, why me? He asks himself.

You finally look at him, letting out a bittersweet chuckle, you wish you kenw too. Seungcheol’s distaste for you becoming closer with his friend seemed uncalled for, especially because you’re under the impression that he has no romantic feelings for you.

“Beats me.” You mutter.

“I’m sorry Y/n, I should’ve never asked you out.” He says apologetically, the remorse filling his chest. He feels bad knowing he started this fight between the two of you, but he's also mad that Seungcheol just won’t admit his feelings for you. He just doesn’t understand what was stopping him, especially since it’s so clear that you like him back.

“It's not your fault.”

“I know but you guys would’ve never have fought if it weren’t for me” He sighs, looking down at the his hands, picking at them.

“No, I’m sorry that I even roped you into all of this. I should’ve just been a normal person and tell you everything right away. Instead I’ve been dragging you along because I feel lonely.” You sigh, the guilt of including Wonwoo in all this drama starts to eat away at you.

“I want to be around Y/n, especially because you’ve been so down lately. I know you’re in love with Seungcheol, but I still want to be your friend. I hope that's ok?” He comforted you, putting a hand on top of yours.

“I want to be your friend too. I’m really sorry about everything, and I’m grateful that you’ve been helping me. You don’t know how much this all means to me Wons.” You give him a small smile, the tears starting to running down your face as you glance up at him.

You are so grateful that you and Wonwoo became so close in such a short amount of time. He is so kind to you, despite everything that’s happened. In another universe maybe you did fall for Wonwoo, and maybe you two were together and happy. But he’s not the one you’re in love with in this universe, and you’re thankful he understands that it’s strictly platonic between the two of you.

He pulls you in towards his chest, his arm wrapping around you. Staring at him, you can’t help but glance at his lips. You’re not sure what possessed you in that moment, but you feel yourself start to lean in with no rhyme or reason. Wonwoo does the same, he’s confused but he doesn’t stop himself or push you away. Maybe if you just tried…

You’re so close that you can feel his breath fan of your face, and it’s like the realization hit you like a truck. Quickly, you pull yourself from his arms. You weren’t sure what happened but maybe his warmth and reasurring words were starting to get to you, but you’re glad you stopped before you could even make the mistake for kissing him. He isn’t the one you want, and he can’t do anything to change that.

Wownoo can tell, he can tell that you don’t like him romantically, but the way you were closing in on him had him fooled just for one second.

“I know, you’re in love with him. It’s ok Y/n, I understand.” He sighs, looking at you with longing eyes.

“Yes I am.” You breathe out, before pulling away from him completely.

XVI.

“Y/nie open up! It's us.” A voice calls out from the outside of the door.

Jeonghan, Minghao, and Soonyound standing outside of your apartment, hoping you’re still alive. After your fight with Cheol, you’ve been pretty much MIA from them. Not answering any of their calls or texts, so this is their last resort. Jeonghan knows why you haven’t been contacting any of them, but he decided it’s time that the two of you finally have a talk.

His timing is a blessing and a curse, as he was the one to witness what happend the day you three went to study in the library. That’s when he knew that shit was starting to hit the fan. He’s concluded that hes had enough of the two of you being so closed off about your feelings towards eachother, and it was his time to help once more.

You contemplated opening the door, but decided that you needed the comfort right now.

“Y/nie! Are you ok?” Soonyoung comes running, tackling you into a bear hug. In this case, perhaps a tiger hug. “Hannie told us everything.”

He grabs your face, taking a closer look and inspecting your face, then making a conclusion before pulling you back into a hug. It warms your heart to see him so concerned about you, even after you’ve been ignoring them and only spending time with Wonwoo.

You know you should’ve contacted them, but they can tell what’s wrong with just one look and you know you would’ve cried if you had to explain everything. As much as you love the three of them, it would’ve hurt your heart to recall what happened between you and Seungcheol. So you stayed quiet, opting for the solitude and comfort that Wonwoo offered.

“Yes I’m ok. Dont worry your cute little head.” You say, patting his head as you savour his comforting hugs.

“We were really worried about you kiddo. I’m glad to see you’re alive.” Minghao remarks as he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly.

“Thanks Hao.”

“Ok enough with the reunion. Y/n we need to talk to you.” Jeonghan interrupts the tender moment, a small box sitting in his hands.

You arelady knew where this is going, but at this point you knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation. There is three of them and one of you.

Jeonghan sits you on the couch, his stern face coming into your view. It reminded you of the times your mother would scold you when you were younger. His hands crossed over his chest, foot tapping impatiently.

“Y/nie we love you but you really need to just come forth with your feelings about Seungcheol. The fact that you’ve kept it from him this long shows that it’s doing more harm to your friendship than good. I know you’re scared and I know you don’t want to get rejected, but you need to understand that if you don’t learn to tell him how you feel it’ll blow up in your face.” He sighs, coming down to sit next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

“I know you don’t want to fuck up your friendship with him, but how else can you move on from this if you can’t even tell him how you truly feel?” Mingaho adds, giving you a soft frown.

As you take in their words, you can’t help but feel the tears welling up again. Not just because your scared about the direction you and Cheol’s friendship is going to take, but also the fact that you’re thankful for friends who aren’t afraid to tell you the truth.

“We love you ok? And what ever happens we’ll be there to help you. Every step of the way.” Soonyoung assures you, pulling you into a another hug. You laugh a little and hug him back tighter.

“Thank you guys. I definitely needed that reality check.” you laugh as you wipe your tears.

They laugh with you, embracing you and supporting you.

“Anyways, theres something I want to show you.” Jeonghan says as he pulls back from the group embrace.

He takes the small box from beside him, presenting it to you. As you open it you grow even more confused. It was filled with letters addressed to you. From Seungcheol.

“What is this?” You look at Jeonghan, searching for an answer. He only shrugs.

“I dont know. Seungcheol gave them to me. He told me he wanted you to read them” Jeonghan reveals, peering at the stack of letters in the box. “He’s sorry you know? He said the letters will explain the things he can’t say in person.”

“Hes sorry? I-” you didn’t even know what to say, you were just scared of what all these letters could possibly hold. And why were there so many?

“Anyways we’ll leave you to it. Text us when you and Cheol finally grow some balls and confess to each other!” Jeonghan and the two sidekicks bid you goodbye. Leaving you to scour through the letters on you own.

There was one letter in particular that has a recent date written in the corner.

Dear y/n,

I know you don’t want to hear from me at the moment, and I know I’ve said some things I didn’t mean the last time we spoke. Im sorry. Im sorry I didn’t communicate properly with you, and that I left us in a vague and confusing position. I dont know what came over me. I was so used to the whole world just revolving around us two, and then when Wonwoo began to show interest, I just completely switched off.

You deserve someone as kind as him. A person who will be there for you when you need someone to lean on, a person who’s willing to hold you till you can sleep peacefully. I was always that person for you for a long time, and if i'm not the one you want anymore i’ll come to terms with that. I just want to see you happy Y/n. In the same sense that I know you want me to be happy as well.

There's not a day that goes by where I think about how thankful that I have someone like you in my life. You are my rock and sometimes you didn’t even know. The more you read these letters, the more you’ll start to realize how much you helped me. I know I would be able to survive without you, that I could do it even if it hurts me. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to live in a world where I’m living to survive, when I can be living to make you happy instead. My best friend, the one who understands me inside and out. Please come back to me angel.

I love you and always yours,

Seungcheol.

As you read through the letter you couldn’t help but burst into tears. The relief you felt knowing that he felt the same way, that he wanted you in his life just like how you wanted him. This was enough for you to know that he needs you like you need him.

You begin to sift through the countless of letters he wrote you, all of them as heart wrenching as the previous. It put into perspective all that he went through when he moved here all alone. And with each letter that you read, the harder it got to ignore to urge to just go and see him. So thats what you do.

Dropping the letters on the coffee table, you slip on a pair a shoes and head to Seungcheol’s place as fast as your legs could carry you. The snow starting to stick to your hair as it fell from the sky, the chilly weather making you shiver. But you couldn’t stop yourself, you didn’t even care. You didn't have a coat on nor a warm pair of shoes, the only thing preserving your heat is the thought of finally confessing your love to Seungcheol.

After ten minutes of speed walking, you find yourself in front of his door. You knock, nervously, your heart beating a hundred miles per hour. You aren’t really sure what to expect, but you knew that you just needed to see him. Even if you were shivering, even if your hair and clothes are damp from the snow.

The door opens to reveal the man who you consider home.

“Y/n? Holy shit you must be freezing come inside.” He ushers you in and you oblige happily. “Why did you come in your PJ’s? Are you crazy? You're gonna get sick.” He worries, grabbing your face, scolding you.

“I needed to see you.” You pant, tired from how fast you walked.

“Lets get you some warm clothes first.” He states, grabbing your hand to lead him to his room. Marching over to his drawer he grabs you a pair of sweats and one of his large tshirts. You’re completely engulfed in fabric but at least you’re warm.

“Seungcheol I’m in love with you.” You tell him right before he goes to grab you a hot cup of tea. Better late than never, you thought.

He turns around, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Your neck turns red as the blush starts to creep its way up your cheeks. Seungcheol doesn’t say much more, his actions doing all the talking for him.

Taking your face in his hands, he swallows you into a kiss. Pressing his lips against yours with the same amount of passion and vigour as the first night you kissed him. You whimper at the sudden affection, fisting his hair in your hands to ground you.

He pulls way. “I’m so in love with you too Y/n.”

He goes back to kissing you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding on so tight that you’re convinced he thinks you’ll disappear into thin air if he didn’t hold you close.

“I love you, I love you my angel.” He keeps repeating those three words. Three words that finally replaced the dreaded “you’re my bestfriend” statement.

“You’re my best friend and I love you.” You whisper to him against his lips.

Epilogue.

“Just keep watching the movie love.” Seungcheol warns you, his tongue playing skillfully with your clit as you try to do what he says. Your legs are spread for him, your hips grinding against his face, it’s pure bliss. The pleasure Seungcheol gives you seems to work better than any drug that’s been created.

You don’t know what happened, one moment you two were sitting on his couch, watching Howl’s Moving Castle for the millionth time. The next moment you’re watching your boyfriend kneel in front of you, eating you out while you try to concentrate on the movie playing on the tv.

“Seungcheol please…” You moan, his hair intertwined with your fingers as he continued to lick at your folds. You can hear how wet you are and it makes your head spin, the pleasure, the feeling of Cheols tongue grazing against you, it’s all too much.

“You like this don’t you baby? You like it when your boyfriend eats you out on his couch?” He taunts you as he pumps two fingers into you now, wanting to see you the way your eyebrows scrunch from all the pleasure.

You love the way he calls himself your boyfriend, the label rolling off his tongue perfectly. It was like he was meant to be called that all along. It’s only been a week since you two started dating officially but you’ll never get tired of hearing him tell you that he’s your boyfriend.

“Yes! P-please I need you now, please baby.” You whine and beg as he teases you, his fingers still playing with your entrance. All you can do is watch him, your eyes lidded with so much desire that Seungcheol can probably come just from looking at you.

He relinquishes his hold on you, getting up to sit on the couch before manhandling you into the position he wants you in. Placing you on his lap, he takes off his sweats, revealing his hard member. You drool at the sight of it, ready to take him for all he’s worth.

“Look at how hard you got me love.” He whispers to you, placing a kiss on your lips after. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you moan against his mouth.

Without breaking away from him, you lift yourself up to align his length against the entrance of your needy cunt. Slowly but surely you lower yourself, causing you to gasp against Seungcheol’s lips, feeling him stretch you.

“How are you still so fucking tight.” He mutters to you, his hands breaching the hem of the large shirt that you’re wearing. He fondles your breasts, pinching your nipples as you bounce yourself on his lap. Groaning at your actions, he lifts the shirt completely off your body, taking the opportunity to take one of your mounds and enclosing his lips around it.

“Hmm so close baby.” You tell him, feeling your climax coming on. He groans as he continues to suck on your nipples, his hands snaking around to your ass to grope at the flesh. He grips you tight, forcing you up and down faster, releasing his mouth from your chest.

Seungcheol’s head leans against the couch to admire how sexy you look riding his cock. He doesn’t let go of your ass, slapping it and groping it till you’ve fully orgasmed.

“Fuck you’re so sexy.” He mutters, driving you into overstimulation as he fucks up into you, his own release closely following yours. You clench at his words, your pussy gripping him like a vice, and it finally sends him into his own orgasm, his come filling you completely.

“I love you.” He says, giving you one last kiss before finding a wash cloth to clean you with.

“I love you too.”

⌗ 𓂃 end.

a/n: you've reached the end! i hoped you enjoyed the story, because i know i loved writing it :")). if you have any thoughts, questions, or just want to chat, dont be afraid to visit my ask box <;3 - anna

𖠗 𓂃 。˚ ⋆ taglist: @mysafehaneul @christinewithluv @soonyoonswoo @aaniag @iluvmingi @auniverseline @k07-1313 @idubutily @kmoon @leah-rose03 @ana-marais98 @xcynthiaaa @wonwoo24 @yelsuki @yuyunhoo @sana-is-ms-rmty @hwashiningstar @svt-reads @imprettyweird

#seungcheol #scoups #seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seungcheol smut #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fic #seungcheol angst #seungcheol fanfic #scoups smut #scoups x reader #scoups fic #scoups fanfic #seventeen angst #wonustars ✧ ﾟ. {works}#wonustars ✧.* {fics: seungcheol’s letters}

3K notes · View notes

jenoslutie · 4 months

Text

seventeen reactions: when you give them head (m)

warnings: blowjobs (obviously), face fucking, daddy kink, cum swallowing, dirty talk, cum facial, slight degradation, size training, somnophilia. lmk if i missed anything cuz i think thats all but im not sure!! :P

a/n: guys i was supposed to finish and post this MONTHS ago but i been so busy haodshihoidsa i finally got it done and its here for you all to enjoy !!! feedback is greatly appreciated :D

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

Two words, SIZE TRAINING!!!. Cheol is big and he fucking knows it. He loves training your throat to take his big cock. The way you struggle to take his cock turns him on so much. Cheol likes it sloppy. He likes it messy, he likes spit, he likes drool, he loves seeing you go dumb on his cock when you suck him off. If you complain that he’s just too big, he’d just scoff and tell you you’re just being dramatic and you can take it.

“C’mon princess, you’re daddy's baby girl aren't you? Be a big girl for daddy and take it”

He won’t hesitate to take control and fuck your face. One of his favorite sights are with you on your knees for him, looking up at him with teary eyes while he fucks into your mouth violently, chasing his release knowing how desperate you are to have him cumming down your throat and Cheol would never disappoint. In no time, he’d be cumming down your throat with a loud groan.

“My pretty baby’s mouth made for daddy's cock huh?”

YOON JEONGHAN

Jeonghan loves when you give him head, he loves being taken care of and he loves knowing you want to take care of him too. He loves sloppy but tame head, won’t force you to take more than you can even if he knows you can take more than that but on occasion when he’s feeling extra horny and desperate, he won’t mind fucking your face until you’re drooling all over his cock and begging him to give you his cum. Loves when you take all of his cock in your mouth at once, placing a gentle hand on your head and almost holding your head in place because he doesn’t want the feeling of your warm, wet throat around him to go away. Will eventually let you go to give you time to breathe but just know he wants more.

“Don’t you just love being a good girl for me princess?”

HONG JOSHUA

Ever the Gentleman, Joshua is not one to ask for you to blow him, he simply just wants you to want it. He would never make you do something you don’t want to but when you’re sitting between his legs, begging for him to let you suck him off, he’s not gonna deny his baby anything she wants! So immediately he’s helping you rid him of his sweats and wrapping your lips around his semi hard cock. Joshua almost wants to get used to the feeling of your lips around him but has to remind himself that if you don’t want this again, it won’t happen again (as much as he wants it to) but all thoughts leave his head once you try to take his whole cock in your mouth. His pretty noises grow louder as you start giving it your best. You may not be as experienced in sucking cock but you’d be lying if you said watching Joshua absolutely lose his shit under you didn’t make you want to stay between his legs like this forever. The idea of wanting to stay between his legs becomes a bigger possibility when he’s suddenly cumming down your throat when you attempt to take his whole cock in your mouth again, not giving up until your nose is pressing against his pelvis.

“Please tell me you’ll let me do this again baby”

WEN JUNHUI

Jun likes getting head, most of all he loves letting you have your way with him. He will sit there and take anything you give him until ofcourse, you’re being snappy or you’re being a brat, only then would he grab your hair and fuck your face until you’re begging him to keep going, to use your throat as much as he wants and he’d do just that, fuck your throat until you’re crying tears of pleasure and pain and this time you sit there and take whatever he has to give you.

KWON SOONYOUNG

Soonyoung loves getting head the most when he comes back from practice. When he’s just exhausted and his lover helps him relax. He likes it lazy, letting you do whatever the fuck you want to him. Soonyoung LOVES!!!! When you deepthroat him, he loves when you choke on his stupidly big cock he just loves when you struggle to take his whole cock in your mouth because he loves knowing he’s big (as if you don't tell him enough already) is not someone who will force you to take the whole thing in your mouth just because he’s just so dazed from the feeling of you sucking his cock that he cannot even think of anything else.

JEON WONWOO

Wonwoo loves when you wake him up with your mouth so deliciously wrapped around his cock. The way the sun shines so perfectly on your face, the pretty smile you give him before sinking your mouth back down on his cock, he loves it. He loves messy head, and would go absolutely feral when you’re messy with it. Eyes rolling back, pressing your head further down on his cock before coming down your throat.

“My pretty slut, letting me paint her throat so pretty”

LEE JIHOON

The classic, in his studio. Jihoon loves it when you stop by to give him some motivation. He loves when he can just lose himself in the feeling of you going down on him. The feeling of your warm mouth skillfully taking every inch of him making his head fall back as he groans out loudly. Mind going blank as pleasure completely overtakes him, forgetting about anything other than you. It won’t take long before he’s cumming down your throat and kissing your forehead in admiration. Also won’t take long before he has you in his lap and he’s back to making music except this time, he’s far more motivated, writing down verse after verse in no time.

LEE SEOKMIN

Now, He’d LOVE when you give him head. Wouldn’t be the type to fuck your face or make you take more than you think you can and tends to just go with the flow. Though once you have your mouth on him he loses it, losing sense of where the fuck he is and just allowing himself to get lost in the warmth of your mouth around him. Would absolutely LOVE when you take him all the way down in your throat, brain going blank as he just sits and takes it, feeling himself drowning in the feeling of you taking him so far down your throat. Just give him head and he is happy :D

KIM MINGYU

Mingyu my babyyy!!! One who doesn’t quite understand just how big he is and how hard it is for you to actually take him all the way down your throat but will appreciate as far as you can take it! I feel as if he's not too big on getting head, preferring to give. But when you do get his cock in your mouth he’s more than ecstatic, loving the way you skillfully work on every inch of him and more, making sure to give attention to every inch of his cock all the way down to his balls. He won't force you to take more than you can handle but will keep his hand on the back of your head to hold it in place because he knows you can take it and you can take it well. Also loves to make out with you after cumming in your mouth cuz he loves how filthy it is.

“Shit. get up here baby, gimme a kiss”

XU MINGHAO

Minghao loves making you all pretty, he loves when you suck his dick so he can paint your face with his cum when he cums because he thinks you look so pretty when you look up at him so innocently with his cum staining your pretty face. Will be gentle as ever but if you give him attitude? Talk back? He's making sure you know never to do it again, fucking your face rough (but not too rough) and making sure you know how to talk to him if you want something. Oh and also don’t even think about touching yourself while he fucks your face. It only adds to your punishment!

BOO SEUNGKWAN

LAWDD Seungkwan… I think he’s a huge 69 warrior. Sit on his face while you suck him off and he’ll be cumming faster than ever. The way you take his cock down your throat while you moan around it from the way his tongue dances on your pussy is enough to have him cumming in minutes. He’s soooo eager to paint your throat white with his cum he often loses control and allows himself to be completely at your mercy, taking anything and everything you give him and more. Would love when you wake him up with his cock in your mouth, the fact that you needed him so bad you couldn't even wait for him to wake up gets him going SO much. Also would LOVEEEEEE getting head more than anything like he's obsessed with your mouth on his cock.

CHWE VERNON

I think Vernon’s very much a lazy head type of guy, lazily suck him off, make it sloppy while he ruts up into your mouth and he's a goner. Lazy sex and lazy head are Vernon's favorites! He loves when you suck him sloppy, drool running down your chin as you attempt to take him all the way down your throat. Oooh I think he’s the type to hold your hands as he fucks up into your mouth too and would love to watch you swallow his cum. Wouldn’t kiss you after though cuz he thinks its weird to kiss the same mouth you just came in.

LEE CHAN

Any chance Chan gets to get his dick sucked, he’ll take it. He loves sex, he loves getting head, he loves giving head, he loves it all. So whenever you even insinuate giving him head he’s immediately undoing his pants and taking his dick out. Loves how eager you are to take his whole cock down your throat. Also he’s such a goner when he takes a little longer to cum and you trail your mouth downwards to take his cock in the warmth of your mouth, it will have him cumming in seconds but he’s always ready for more.

2K notes · View notes

pasteidolons · 26 days

Text

pincushion - jww

pairing: tailor!jeon wonwoo x bookbinder!reader genre: 1960's, romance, angst, fluff, smut (MDNI 18+) warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut (p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex), no use of y/n, afab reader, an overabundance of 60's references oops word count: 19.9k summary: when a newly appointed tailor stops into your shop one autumn morning, you're unaware the impact he would have on your life for better or for worse.

1963, Autumn. The small knife in hand cuts through the thin leather with relative ease, stopping at the point you’d marked with a small piece of chalk, you switch to cut the other end of the material. You eye the coffee sitting on the opposite end of your work bench, watching the steam rise from the cup that you’d barely taken a drink from. It’s only nine in the morning and you hadn’t slept well the night before, had there not been any orders to fill you would have slept in a while longer.

With the leather finally cut into its allotted pieces you go to move to the bound paper you were trying to cover before you hear someone walk in. The chimes above the door at the front of your shop sound off with a soft resonance, the same sound that had echoed the room for years. Footsteps tread carefully into the center of your shop, you can’t eye the stranger from your closed off workshop unless you open the heavy wooden door.

A quiet “Hello?” rings out, they sound apprehensive and unfamiliar to you. There’s a tinged worry that treads on the lone word, leaving you all the more perplexed as you set down the leather and the semicircular knife onto your workshop table and head out into the main gallery of your shop.

“Can I help you?” Question falling from your lips as soon as you begin to push open the oak door, finding a taller man looking down at one of the fabric laden books on one of the display tables.

“Oh,” his attention turns to you from the book, to the doorway you’d entered from and then back to you. The horn-rimmed glasses adorning his face slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I’m here to pick up an order for Seungcheol Choi.” His slender hand moves from its once stagnant position to push the glasses back up before moving to his right-side front pocket, “I can show you the receipt if you need it—”

“There’s no need,” you shake your head and raise your hand. Seungcheol had been a longtime customer of your family’s shop, you assume it’s mostly because of a mutual acquaintance with the Hong clan, but you would never be the one to edge into that conversation unprovoked. “I’ll go and grab your order,” a short smile and you’re turning on your heels and striding into your storeroom/workshop once more.

When you walk back out a few moments later, the books wrapped in brown paper to protect their covers, the stranger is once again looking down at the assortment of books atop your display tables.

“So,” you begin as you hold out the bound books to him, “are you new? I don’t think Seungcheol has sent you before.”

He takes the books gingerly, his gaze returning to the soft leather-bound journal after he gives you a short nod in thanks. As if it took him a moment to process the question he blinks and turns back to you, “Sorry— My name’s Wonwoo Jeon. I started working for Seungcheol last week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you nod, trying to register the face with the name as comprehensively as you could. “Tell him to give me a ring when he needs his next order, I know he goes through those fairly quickly.”

“I will,” Wonwoo smiles, “Before I go do you think I could buy this?” His head nods down to the maroon colored leather-bound journal he’d been eyeing earlier, “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

A small smile gracing your lips, “Of course, it’s unlined though. Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he says as you pick up the book as his hands were already burdened with his boss’ order. “How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” you shake your head, fingers tightening along the spine. It’s smooth but the ridges of the leather run coarse under your touch, “Think of it as a congratulatory gift for getting a job under Choi. I know he has a reputation for being a bit of a—”

“Hard-ass?” Wonwoo muses, eyes widening as he realizes how he’s just insulted his boss. “And really, I can pay for that, I’m sure it must’ve taken you a while to make it.”

“I’m not sure if that’s the exact term I was looking for, but it does fit,” you laugh, raising the book up. “Don’t worry about it, do you want me to wrap it?”

“If you could,” he offers a smile as you move to the roll of brown paper atop the register table.

It only takes a minute for you to cover it, you’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of wrappings for novels and books. Once you finish tying the twine bow atop the journal, you gently stack it on the books Wonwoo holds.

“I hope to see you here again, Mr. Jeon. That is, if Seungcheol doesn’t scare you off.”

“He’s like a weird mix of my dad and what I’d expect Hardy Amies to be,” you weren’t sure exactly who Amies is or what Wonwoo’s father was like, but you did know Seungcheol. Oddities and all. “And don’t worry, I have a stronger resolve than most,” he shoots you a wink before spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. He calls out, “Thanks again for the book!” before shoving the door open with his hip and losing himself in the crowd of the street outside.

1963, Winter There was nothing quite like the holiday season in New York. Shops elevated the grandeur of their storefronts to catch the eye of window shoppers. Your own shop had seen an influx of patrons, as was typically the case around this time of year. But the demands were great, your hands had the slew of papercuts and hastily put on bandages to show it. Not that you minded it all too much, it was great revenue and it had paid for the camel hair coat you donned this evening.

The city was abuzz with life and festivities along almost every street, and while the excitement from Hanukkah and Christmas had died down over the last few weeks, most now looked towards the reining in of a New Year as December thirty first arrived.

“We’re going to be late,” Vernon’s arm slides under yours, the crux of his arm locking into yours as his pace quickens along the dimly lit street. The sound of his derbies clicking against the pavement reverberating around the nearly empty row of houses.

“It’s ten and we’re going to a New Year’s Eve party, I doubt we’ll be late, Vernon.” You let out a scoff, fumbling with your bag for a moment, not sure what you were searching for in the first place. The streetlamp’s orange glow does not aid you in deciphering the numbers etched into the doorways of the homes.

“Says the person who took five years to pick out a jacket, I’m surprised we got out of your apartment before my hair turned gray— Wait a minute,” his fingers of his free hand trailing up to the dyed platinum locks on his head as he turns back to shoot you a glare, “It did.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” eyes rolling, you nudge him with your shoulder “It’s not my fault your stylist bleached you instead of dyeing you.”

“I feel like an idiot, they can’t even see me to fix it for another week.” He groans as the pair of you make your way to a brownstone tucked away neatly into one of the city’s streets. It would be innocuous from the others aligning the strip had you not been able to hear the gentle buzz of chatter and the occasional laugh drift out from the screened door.

“Did Hong invite the whole block?” Vernon murmurs as he lets go of your arm so that he can jump up the short handful of stairs to the front door two by two.

“It would explain how dead the rest of the street seems,” Musing, you follow him, more carefully as you’d always seemed prone to falling up stairs. The voices grow in volume and now you can even hear the scratchy sound of some music floating from the door. There’s no one at the door to greet you when you walk in, just an array of faces that you seem to recognize while others are brand new acquaintances, Vernon and you drop off your coats in a nearby closet and shuffle your way inside in search for the nearest drink station.

“I’d say his house is beautiful, but I can barely see anything. How does he know this many people?” Vernon questions as he slides out of the way of someone’s elbow almost hitting him in the stomach. “All I want is to get slightly drunk tonight but I bet the alcohol’s already gone.”

“It’s the Hong household you know that’s not going to happen,” a snicker leaves you before you feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder. Stopping in your tracks you’re fully ready to meet Joshua Hong’s smirk and subsequent banter, but it takes you a minute to realize that it wasn’t your childhood friend that had garnered your attention at all; instead, it’s a somewhat less familiar face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Wonwoo’s cheeks are slightly flushed with a smile, the contents of his champagne glass half-empty as he poses the question, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, sure.” You return his smile, nodding your head as he begins to walk off, only stopped by someone calling out to him.

“I didn’t know Pincushion would be here,” Vernon’s voice draws nearer behind you, it seems like he realized you weren’t trailing after him anymore. You feel his hand land on your shoulder as he continues to talk to Wonwoo, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He taps his shoe on the floor, only stepping forward a little bit to let someone pass by behind him.

“Pincushion?” You question, looking from Vernon to Wonwoo with a quizzical look on your brow.

“That thing he wears around his wrist every time he comes in?” Vernon shrugs, “I couldn’t remember his name the first time I saw him, but I could remember that. Hence: Pincushion.”

“Is that what it’s called?” You recall the ball of velvety looking green fabric you’d seen on Wonwoo’s wrist the last handful of times he’d come to pick up the tailor shop’s orders.

“Yeah my grandma used to have one and I stole the needles from it to use as swords for my toys when I was a kid,” his shoulders shrug as he looks past Wonwoo and spots something beyond him. “I see one of those guys with a tray of drinks, I’ll get back to you in a bit.” And with that he’s off, sliding around you and Wonwoo to brush his way through the crowd in a frantic sprint to grab himself a glass.

“Does he know that there’s an open bar in the other room?” Wonwoo asks aloud as he watches your friend disappear into the crowd.

“Not yet but give him twenty minutes and I’m sure he’ll be all over it.” Vernon wasn’t one to drink heavily often, it was more of a holiday thing where he only did it if he knew he wasn’t going into work for the next few days. Needless to say, Christmas and New Years are binge drinking galore for him.

“So, book binding? How’d you get into that line of work?” You’d been so concentrated on looking for your friend’s brightly colored hair that you almost didn’t hear Wonwoo when he asked.

“Family business, dad’s too sick to come in.” Your eyes flickering over to him, a small shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his brow contorts into worry for a moment, as if he’d offended you somehow.

“Don’t be, if anything I think he’s playing it up a bit just so mom has to be around more often,” You smile, it was really only minor back issues but the doctor had prescribed bed rest and your father had been milking it for months now.

“Smart man,” a short laugh into his drink before he takes a sip from his glass. “So, how do you know Joshua?”

“Old family friend, plus he’s as rich as all get out so it’s nice to see what it’s like.” You note, looking up to the chandelier overhead. If it were anything but Tiffany you’d be surprised. “What about you?”

“You didn’t hear this from me but Seungcheol might be secretly dating one of his sisters and she invited the whole shop just as an excuse to see him.” The two of you lock eyes, a playful smirk on his lips dancing in the warm glow of the room. “I’m not complaining.”

“I don’t doubt it,” chuckling for a moment, you then look up as if you’ve realized something. “I should probably go and greet the host; can you imagine how rude of a guest I’d be if I didn’t?”

A ceding nod as he steps away from you, gesturing with his glass towards a side room off the main hall, “I think I saw him in there a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo,” you move to pass him, heading towards the doorway before you stop for a moment, your head tilting in question, “Want to meet back up later?”

“I’d love that,” a gentle thud in your chest as you nod at him, beginning to move again and question the feeling that had plagued you enough to ask him that.

You don’t find Joshua in that room, or the next, or even upstairs in his own bedroom. You do, however, find him on the second-floor fire escape, the butts of several cigarettes at his feet and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It’s cold, had you known this would be where you’d speak you would’ve brought your coat with you.

“Joshua Hong,” You begin, crouching down to duck through the open window, catching him as he’s begun to lean against the brick exterior of his home, “Hiding away from your party again?”

“The guest of the hour,” A grin as you walk towards him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you at all in the past few months.”

“I’m good, good… It’s been so hectic with the seasonal shopping and all, who knew journals were a hot commodity for gift-giving?” You sigh, elbows resting against the cold fence of the escape. The time between now and the last you’d seen him had been great, but it had always been far and few in between when it came to his jet setting tendencies.

“Sounds hellish for sure,” Musing, he takes a sip from his glass, the scent of whisky hitting your nose as it nears. His other hand rests atop the rusted metal of the fire escape, impatiently tapping as he looks out into the backyard of his home.

“And what about you, Mr. Start-Up? Tear down any more conglomerates recently?” You query, noticing that he was on one of his inward treks again. Something must’ve come up with his family.

A snicker, as he offers out his glass to you, noticing that your hands were painfully empty, “No, but we’re working on a pretty big acquisition right now. It’s all mind games and if I didn’t make a shitload of money I’d be out of this business.”

“Lucky you though, you’re able to retire at thirty-five if you really wanted to,” musing as you swirl around the contents of the glass, the ice inside clinking around.

He laughs, the cold air mixing with his breath in plumes of white that spiral into the nighttime. You push yourself from the wall, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the rest of the contents as quickly as you can, “This isn’t the time to be hard on yourself, Joshua. I think the countdown’s about to start,” a look at the small wrist watch on your wrist, the time indicating that you had about five minutes until the new year began.

“Shit,” the word elongated exasperatedly as he leans over to catch a glance at the clock face, “Let’s get back out there.”

The two of you amble inside, your cheeks cold with the winter air and hands a little stiff from holding the glass for too long. You set it down on one of the various demilunes scattered around the hall as you make your way back into Joshua’s living room. He’s lost along the way, pulled into a group of businessmen to talk or fawning girls to cajole with, you’re not sure which at this point. All you’re trying to do is find someone you know.

You can try to push through the crowds to find Joshua, but at this point it’d be like trying to part the Red Sea with your own two hands and it was infeasible to say the least. Or you could head to one of the drink stations around the house in hopes to find Vernon, but he was as elusive as a snake and it’d be a miracle if you could find him before the clock struck midnight.

“Sixty!” A choir of voices ring out from a nearby room, you think you can hear Joshua’s voice rising above them all, but it might also be your ears playing tricks on you.

“Are they really counting down the entire minute?” The voice next to you startled you so much that you jumped, turned, and saw Jeon Wonwoo looking off in the direction of the countdown. His brow furrowing in confusion, “I at least thought it’d be the last ten seconds or something.”

“Jesus Wonwoo,” hand over your heart as you try and catch your breath, “You almost scared me to death.”

A laugh, “Sorry about that, I’m a little light on my feet.”

It also didn’t help that you could barely hear with the throng of people surrounding you. The gaiety electrifies the room, as it does the entire world when on the eve of a brand-new start.

“Did you want me to help you find one of your friends? I’m sure they couldn’t have gone too far,” his height somewhat advantageous to him as he scans the crowd, not seeing you shake your head as the countdown reaches thirty.

“I think I’m fine just staying with you,” you don’t notice the way he tenses ever so slightly at your words, a more rouge tint to his cheeks as he looks back to you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure?” Eyes widening as your gazes’ lock and you feel the familiar warmth creeping up the back of your neck.

“If that’s okay with you?” You question, the countdown hitting fifteen.

“That’s great— fine, it’s— yeah,” he trips and stumbles over his words, trying to find solid ground somewhere on the confab plain. It’s at that moment the countdown comes to ten, and the pair of you join in for the last seconds of 1963.

Five, four, three, two —

“Happy New Year!”

The clock had struck midnight and he was the closest one to you, you can’t remember if it was you or him that pulled the other closer to share a kiss. The kiss was chaste, but it resounded around your ribcage like the booming of the fireworks being shot off a distant skyscraper. A smile on your lips as you mouth back your own, “Happy New Year!” Despite it being innocent in nature, you know with the way the feeling buzzes on your lips you yearn for something more.

1964, Early Spring. The two of you’d spent time together since that evening, outside of that transactional relationship formed in the commerce of you selling your journals and him picking them up for Seungcheol whenever he could. It was outside of that realm, more personal as the days, weeks and months had transgressed.

By some miraculous circumstance, and no less of your incessant mentioning, you and Wonwoo had been seeing each other on a regular basis

“Seungcheol?” The door of the tailor shop opens with nothing short of a struggle. The heavy oak pressing back against your foot as you pry it open, your hands too full to push it.

“Need some help?” A voice behind you, startling you so much that you almost drop the large stack of books in your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Wonwoo standing behind you, his head tilted as if to question how you’d made it this far on your own.

“Thanks,” allowing him to brush past you, he steps into the shop and holds the door open wider as you enter. “Where is everyone?” Noticing that the usual handful of other tailors didn’t seem to be aimlessly roaming the store waiting for a customer to arrive.

“Busy,” He notes, motioning for you to hand him the plethora of journals. Obliging willingly, you hand them off and stretch your arms, surely the strain from the hardbacks would pull your finger muscles. “There’s been an emergency tailoring session, some big shot’s in town and needs alterations done for some party they’re throwing tomorrow night.”

“Explains why no one came to pick up the order today,” you muse, “Shouldn’t you be helping with that?”

“I will be in about an hour,” he sighs as if he’s already imagining the work that he’ll need to put in this evening. “But someone had to watch over the shop today.”

“Do you want company while you wait?”

You’re not sure how you’d gotten roped into staying with Wonwoo until well after the sun had set and the last customer had come in for the day. The lights of the shop are off, save for the small lamp that sits above Wonwoo’s workstation. He sits at his little desk in the back corner of the shop as he sews and hems away. His eyes scan the notes the patron had given when they’d dropped off the clothes, you had to squint to try and read the messy scrawl etched onto the parchment. You sit some desks away, flipping through some editorial detailing the up and coming designers of the fashion world but nothing was particularly catching your eye.

“Three alterations in one night, Seungcheol’s really trying to work us to the bone,” Wonwoo sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling atop his desk, a needle held between his right index and thumb while his other hand holds the garment he’d been attending to.

“Doesn’t it take a week to do something for just one piece?” You ask, not too versed on the schematics of it all, just acutely aware of when your father had needed suits adjusted as he aged.

“Normally,” he glances over to you, a hazy impatience settling behind his brow as he thinks to the two other pieces he was set to mend. “But it’s nine-thirty now and the guy wants them done by noon tomorrow,” Wonwoo almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of it all, “I didn’t even get the roughest pieces, Mingyu’ll be up all night and finish five minutes beforehand if he’s lucky.”

“What are they making him do?” Magazine set aside as you stand to stretch, your legs numb with the fuzziness of pinched nerves.

“Some simple inseam stuff like I’m doing, but also taking in a few jacket sleeves and fixing shoulder divots,” He says as if you know what he’s talking about, upon seeing the puzzled expression that paints itself on your face he explains a little more, “It’s nearly impossible to do with the amount of time we’ve been given.”

“Why’d Seungcheol accept this job then?” Pins and needles poking through your skin as you walk over to him to take a look at what he was working on.

“Because the client’s paying us a fortune,” setting the needle down he pulls a pin from the cushion around his wrist to situate it into an odd angle in the fabric in front of him, “I might actually be able to take you on a real date if I finish this in time.”

“I’ve kind of liked the ice cream socials,” you shrug your shoulders, as he turns to look at you, “And all of the gritty little dives, it’s more memorable that way. Plus, it makes me a cheap date.”

A small ‘tch’ leaving him as he turns back to his work, “You deserve more than that.”

“As long as you’re there I’ll be fine,” you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek, “Now I’ll stop distracting you, I’ll make dinner or lunch or something because I know you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow.”

“Try and get to bed early,” he says as you go to grab your things from where you’d left them up front, “I know you like to overwork yourself too.”

1964, Summer When you’d been invited to Wonwoo’s small apartment, you’d expected a small dinner and then maybe you’d go and watch television or explore the city afterwards. What you hadn’t expected was to see dark plumes of smoke emitting from under the doorway. You don’t knock, instead you barge into the apartment to find Wonwoo unlatching his windows and opening them to let the smoke escape, the source of the plumes coming from his small kitchen.

“What happened?” You call out as he turns to you, your hand rising to your face as if it could vanquish the putrid smell.

“I cooked,” the last window opens with a struggle, Wonwoo’s arms ache with how much force he had to exert when opening it. He shuffles over to you, seeing that you’d walked into the kitchen to find the source of it all.

“You… cooked….” A charred, black entity sits in a pan that Wonwoo had presumably pulled from the oven minutes prior. “Wonwoo what is that?”

“A loaf!” An almost excited tone cutting through your confusion as you turn and tilt your head at him.

“A… loaf of?”

“Meat!” At least he’s trying to sound cheerful, but that was his disposition most of the time. His hand guides your gaze over to a handwritten recipe atop the counter, he must’ve gotten it from some program. “I followed Julia Child’s recipe.”

“I’m not trying to be mean but that looks like a brick.” Gaze flickering back to the meat-brick.

“Yeah,” a sigh as he picks up a nearby spatula, grazing it atop the burnt meat, it scrapes atop it rather than giving way at all, “It’s about as hard as one too.”

The utter exasperation breaking through in his voice cause enough for you to laugh, the absurdity of it all pricking tears into the corners of your eyes. “We can try and salvage it,” you offer once you calm yourself down enough, the occasional chuckle flitting like a bird around your ribcage.

“Let’s just go to Le Pavilion or something, there’s also a new movie out too, we can try and catch it if we eat fast enough.”

And you do. For some reason Wonwoo orders the most expensive dish on the menu and doesn’t even like it, offering it to you instead with an abysmal pout that almost has you reeling in the small interior of the restaurant. The atmosphere is warm and jovial, met by the sinking sun as the two of you exit the venue, hands interlocked with a faint tightness as if you never wanted to be without him in your grasp again. Wonwoo and you then walk to a theater some blocks away, hands still held and a bubbling silence between you.

The film that Wonwoo had mentioned earlier had been Mary Poppins, some Disney film starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke; you’re sure you’d heard Andrews somewhere before, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“I didn’t realize they could combine live action and cartoons like that,” Wonwoo’s voice full of childlike wonder as the pair of you exit the cinema. The smell of popcorn wafts out of the theater’s doors and the bright bulbs of the marquee overhead creates a strange glow contrasted to the nighttime sky.

“I didn’t either,” you note as a few kids brush past you and begin to race down the street, their voices carrying off into the night. It brings a small smile to your lips as you watch them gallivant around, not a care in the world as they continue to chase one another.

“Do you want me to walk with you back to your place?” Wonwoo offers, extending his hand out to you. You don’t answer aloud, instead just take his hand into yours and begin to walk the steadily emptying streets.

“Have you always lived in the city, Wonwoo?” It takes a moment for you to speak again, instead of just admiring the way that the lights glint off of passing windows and the rumblings of the cars that pass to your left drown out in the other amblings of the city.

“No, my family actually lives up north a little way away.” He hums to himself as he thinks, “I thought I’d always be stuck up there too, but I got the offer from Seungcheol and moved here as fast as I could. Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it at times.”

“I see,” you mutter, not knowing the feeling of leaving your home. It was a foreign concept to say the least, for almost the entirety of your life you’d known you were going to take over your father’s shop one day, and you’d been complacent in the matter. You’d had your hobbies that you dabbled in, but this was a nostalgic comfort that would and had transitioned into your livelihood that would take you nowhere other than the little shop you call your own. “Would you want to move back?”

“Maybe when I’m older, sure. But I want to see the world first,” he nods his head, a twitch in his hand as he holds yours, “there’s so much I haven’t done or seen.”

It was a reckless ambition, but Wonwoo lived in that fantasy of the unknown, he had for all of his life. That was what he knew and all he abided by. You’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t worry for him at times, but he’d made it so far and you were curious to see where he was going. There was a creative longing, a desire to make, within him that no one else you’d come across had.

“I love you.” The words aren’t romantic when they fall from your mouth, when they’re swept up in the humidity of the summer air and ring around both his and your ears. This was more of a reckoning, a realization of the culmination of your growing feelings towards him since you’d met him almost a year ago now. A weight you hadn’t realized was there lifting from your chest, a songbird free from a gilded cage.

Wonwoo pauses, his feet stopping on the concrete as you continue to walk, only pulled back when you meet resistance. So, you stop yourself, turning back to look at him, a little ‘o’ on his lips and a confused look gracing his features. Had you said it too early? Or did he not reciprocate your feelings?

“You beat me to it,” a small pout emerges onto his lower lip, “I love you too.”

1964, Autumn “I can’t imagine those are comfortable.” You’re sure the clacking of your shoes could be heard miles away, with the obnoxious way they hit the sidewalk. They were pinching your toes too, and you might as well have put a band-aid on the backs of your heels because they were definitely going to be blistered tomorrow morning.

“They most certainly aren’t, but they are cute.” You note, standing on your toes so you can click the red slippers together three times at the heel. “

Wonwoo stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your apartment, offering out his hand for you to grasp when you carefully make your way down the steps. As opposed to the cool air that had begun to settle into the city, his hand offers warmth against your bare skin as his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Which way is Vernon's?” He questions, looking over your costume for the evening.

“He lives over in Flatiron, kind of near the shop so it won’t be too far of a walk.” You notice him looking at the checkered dress and bright shoes. “Was Dorthey not a good idea, Mr. Holmes?” Noting his outfit of choice, the pipe held in his free hand, the detective cap as well as the cape to match.

“I think you look cute,” Looking away from you and towards the street you’d begun to walk down.

Vernon’s apartment was small, it being so led to more intimate parties than one would find at Joshua Hong’s home, in a way you appreciated it a little more. Bigger parties with unfamiliar faces made you feel as if you had to act less like yourself and more robotic in your interactions.

“I’ll let you in if you promise not to chuck my house to Oz,” Vernon asks as he jokingly cracks open his front door as the two of you stand in front of it, “And Pincushion here doesn’t try and solve a murder or two.”

“Hmm I guess that’s doable, right?” You play along, turning to Wonwoo to confirm.

“It might take some restraint but I’m sure I can manage.” Hand under his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Vernon sighs and swings the door open, “Drinks in the kitchen, I think Chan’s trying to do a comedy-musical routine in the living room. I’d steer clear because he’s trying out ‘audience participation’ tonight.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” You laugh as you walk inside, the warmth of the room exacerbated by the sheer number of people crammed into the tiny space. “I actually kind of want to check out Chan’s thing,” You mention to Wonwoo after you find a space where the two of you can stand unimpeded.

“I don’t know if I can stomach that quite yet, want me to grab you a drink in the meantime?” Wonwoo asks, looking towards the kitchen and the few people filtering in and out of it.

“That’d be great,” a smile and then Wonwoo’s off to struggle his way through the packed room.

Lip bitten, you try to look through the crowd, but the drawls of laughter tell you almost exactly where Chan’s giving his tri-annual standup show. It’s shoulder to shoulder and you can barely hear him over the other going-ons of the party but from what you can ascertain it’s pretty funny.

“Happy Halloween!” A hand on your side as they call out, you turn, and it takes you a moment to recognize the face under the Gomez Addams’ mustache and wig.

“Joshua!” A smile as you move to hug him for a moment, pulling away with your hands resting on his forearms, “I thought you were overseas?”

“I was supposed to be, a nasty storm delayed us by a few days over in Spain so I’m not leaving until Wednesday.” He says, looking over your outfit. “Didn’t you wear this like two Halloweens ago?”

“What no one knows won’t hurt them,” a playful nudge on his shoulder, “And if I were to remember, this wig looks very Elvis of you.”

“You might be able to remember correctly,” The black strands of hair that were pulled back are still reminiscent of the shape they once held. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone?” Joshua smiles, a nervous tinge to his voice as he continues, “It’s a little loud in here and I can’t really hear.”

“Oh, yeah,” brow furrowing at the attitude shift, “But first I should tell— Wonwoo!” The confused expression on Joshua’s face is somewhat laughable as you wave your boyfriend over, spotting him exiting the kitchen with two drinks in hand.

“There you are,” Wonwoo says as he walks over, placing a kiss on your cheek as he hands you a glass. You’re not too sure what the contents are, but it’s warm and smells spiced and oddly autumnal. “Hey Joshua,” he greets with a small nod of his head as you take a small sip from your glass.

“Hey Wonwoo,” a return of the nod, “I should probably let the two of you go, I just remembered I have some calls I need to make.”

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as Joshua begins to turn on his heels. It freezes him, he looks back to you before offering you a warm smile once again.

“It’s nothing important, I’ll catch up with you some other time, yeah?”

The party goes one without much note after, the most affable thing being that routine that Chan had been preparing. At one point you and Wonwoo had slipped out citing an acute tiredness as an excuse to just walk the city some more. By this time of night, the kids that had gone out in search of candy were slowly waning, now only the belligerently drunk wandered the streets in search of the home they probably lived in.

“You have to admit that the joke about Red Skelton was pretty funny though,” insisting that Chan wasn’t the worst comedian you had ever seen. Sure, his act could be cleaned up a little but there was definitely potential.

“What was it— I know a guy who bought a $99 color TV set. Now every Tuesday night he watches Green Skelton?” Chuckling as he recalls the joke, Wonwoo shakes his head “That was pretty good.”

“That’s the one, he’s no Jerry Lewis but he’s trying his best,” you laugh as you arrive at the entrance of your apartment, “Did you want to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says, and your heart skips several beats, “but I’ve got a client coming in early tomorrow.” And then your heart drops, “I’ll come by tomorrow after I’m done?”

“Alright,” you nod and you say your good nights, he places a kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and walking into the darkness of night.

You fumble with your hands, trying to unlatch the small picnic basket that had acted as your purse for the evening, in search of your keys.

“Actually, do you have room for one more?” You’d been too distracted trying to get your keys that you hadn’t heard or seen Wonwoo come back to your stoop.

“I thought you said you had work tomorrow,” a wayward glance to him.

“I do, but it’s dark and I’m kind of afraid to walk home alone, I mean what if a ghost or vampire gets me? I’m too pretty to die right now,” he states, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to invite him in.

“A big baby, more like it,” you scoff, once again turning to look at your door and stating, “If you are coming inside, can you lend me my own spare? I think I dropped my keys at Vernon’s.”

“Yeah I think I’ve got it on my ring,” he rummages around his pockets for a moment until you hear the familiar jingle of his keys. There are only four that adorn the metal hoop; his apartment’s, his mailbox’s, Seungcheol’s shop, and the most recent addition: yours.

“Roommate not home?” He questions as the two of you make your way inside, kicking off your shoes as you beeline to your kitchen.

��At some B. Altman holiday extravaganza with her beau,” pulling two glasses from a cabinet and grabbing a nearby bottle from the small section of your kitchen dedicated to alcohol, “Nightcap?”

“A small one,” Wonwoo nods as you come into the room, he’s standing over your record player, turning it on and beginning to play whatever was on the platter. You set the glasses down onto the coffee table and pry the cork out of the bottle, pouring two small glasses as he falls into the sofa beside you.

“I hope Delamain’ll do?” You set down the bottle and pass a glass to Wonwoo, only settling down on the couch once your own glass is in hand.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he sips at his glass, setting it down on the settee as he muses some more, “What record is this?”

“Ella Fitzgerald, mom gave it to me for my birthday last year, it’s one of her favorites.” Sipping from your own glass steadily turns into you just downing the liquid in one go. The glass hits the end table with a clink when you set it down, Wonwoo’s free hand resting on your thigh as he listens to the music wafting through the air.

“It’s lovely,” he sighs out as you rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his Pour Monsieur cologne invading your senses as you settle. The meticulous grazing of his fingers over your thigh causes you to sigh, wanting to sink further into him.

“Can you kiss me?” The words fall breathlessly from your lips, as his fingers trace the hem of your dress. And he does, turning his head to crash against you with such voraciousness that your teeth click against each other before he steadies and falls into motion with you. The pair of you stay like that for a moment, before you feel his hand slip under your leg, urging you to sit atop him.

You straddle his waist, feeling a hardness beginning to strain against his trousers as you grind down onto his lap. He lets out a moan, probably the sweetest thing you’d ever heard, his eyelids fluttering as you do it again. A smirk graces your lips, your hands trailing from his chest to the button on the front of his pants, the fabric coarse under your touch as you move to unfasten it. Before you could, you feel a pair of warm hands atop yours, you looked up to see a wide-eyed Wonwoo.

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this today, so my underwear isn’t exactly mood appropriate—” He says all too quickly for you to comprehend fully, “Just don’t judge me too hard.”

“They can’t be— Is that Mickey Mouse?” You catch the name on the waistband of his underwear, hesitating on releasing any more of the animated character for your eyes to see.

“And I think you’ve just killed the mood,” he groans, his head falling onto the back pillow as his hands fall atop the couch cushions.

“No, I didn’t,” you lean down for a kiss, rolling your hips over him, feeling that he was almost fully erect. His hands fly back to your sides, guiding you along as he lifts his pelvis to meet yours. “I think they’re cute but maybe leave them home next time.”

“Next time?” He mused, looking up at you through clouded eyes, a joking tinge added to his voice “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Call it foresight,” shoulders shrugging as you look down at him, your head tilted ever so slightly “and you don’t seem like the hit it and quit it type, baby.” He’d slept over at your apartment before, maybe you’d had a few drunken makeout sessions but nothing ever this sobering, this far. In hindsight maybe you should’ve been nervous, let the butterflies in your stomach take over and calm you down. You’re not sure why you’d taken such a confident route with him, it just seems like he needed it.

“Baby,” the word fell out as a whisper as you saw the faint pinkness of his cheeks in the glow that emanates from the lamp to his right, “Can you spare me any further embarrassment and just take them off already?”

“It doesn’t feel like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about,” your hand brushing his away from the front of his pants, you sit up on your knees, “Mind kicking them off for me?”

He readily began to comply as you tried to maneuver without inhibiting him, you noticed him watching you, a hunger in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. His hands still for a moment and his head twists to look towards the kitchen where the entryway is.

“Fuck— is someone else here?” He asks and you listen to the familiar sound of your front door unlocking; it doesn’t open but you can hear loud footfalls and an even louder voice talking outside of the door.

“Sooyoung?” You call out after you were sure the voices had stopped, walking to the kitchen when you hear your roommate's keys hitting the kitchen counter “I thought you were staying at your boyfriend’s?”

“The asshole broke up with me because he wanted to be Holly Golightly. Him! He might have astoundingly good looks for it but I think I’m a little prettier, don’t you think?” The door of the fridge slamming shut, a rustle around the utensil drawer as she looks for a spoon. She did look stunning as the Hepburn character; you have to admit. “They’re re-airing that episode of Perry Mason if you want to watch it.”

“Wonwoo’s actually over so I think I’m just going to call it a night,” You say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her begin to dig into a tub of ice cream. “I’ll be sure to rant about your ex with you tomorrow.”

“You’d really do that?” A sigh as she shoves the spook into her mouth, “I’ll try not to wake you guys up when I get up for work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sooyoung,” a smile before you slip away and head back into the living room. “Alright Woo, it’s time for bed.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo pushes himself off of the couch, buttoning his pants and shouting out a ‘Goodnight Sooyoung!’ before ducking into your room. With his long strides he walks to your bed and subsequently falls into it as you turn to close the door behind the two of you.

“Don’t you want to change, Dr. Holmes?” You note his still costumed self as you look at his sprawling figure on the bed, “I think I’ve got your bed clothes from the last time you were here… Not sure if I cleaned them though.”

He huffs, “Forget it, I’m going to sleep.” He crawls to his side, blanketing himself with your duvet as you go into your bathroom to remove your makeup and change.

You can hear him softly snoring as you exit the restroom, your face still a little damp and the scent of your cleanser tingling your nose. Sooyoung’s turned off the music in the living room, the garbled sounds of the small black and white tv quietly floating in under your door. It takes a moment, but you climb into bed next to Wonwoo, pulling the duvet up to your chin before you shut your eyes and fall into a dreamless slumber.

It isn’t sunny out when you wake up, you don’t want to look at your clock for fear that your alarm was about to go off and you’d miss the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes more. An arm draped over you, even in sleep Wonwoo was a cuddler. Normally you weren’t opposed unless it was the summertime and it was unbearably hot outside.

“You know,” you hear him mumble tiredly, as if he senses that you’ve woken up too, “I always thought your apartment would be much more… bookier.” With the way his voice rasps with fatigue you’re not sure if he’s fully awake or half asleep.

“What were you expecting? Books wall to wall?” eyes still closed as you pull your duvet closer to you, feeling his arm tense around your waist.

“Kind of, something akin to a fairytale library,” his breath hot on your back, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sensation. “Like uhm— some Grimm story… Oh,” voice perking, “Can we go for that Halloween next year? You didn’t even tell me what you were going as until I saw you tonight.”

“You want to have a couple’s costume?”

“Yeah,” breathing slowly as if he’s falling back asleep again,”Maybe Lucy and Ricardo, that’d be fun.”

The next time you wake up, the sun’s blaring into your eyes with an intensity you had never asked for.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Wonwoo’s mumbling and shuffling around your room, sunlight was pouring in from your windows and he looked heavenly even in his manic state.

“What’s wrong?” Stifling a yawn behind your hand as you watch him frantically feel his pockets.

“It’s nine-thirty, We— I overslept,” another string of curses escaping him as he looks around your room, “Do you have a phone I can use?”

“It’s on the dresser.” You point lazily to the red rotary.

You hear the dial tone ring a few times before someone on the other end picks up, “Mingyu can you put my client on the line?” A pause, “Yes I know I’m late.” Another pause before Wonwoo speaks again, “Hello Mr. Smith? Yes, this is Wonwoo Jeon. I'm running a little late for our appointment, I had bit of an emergency and— Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Only minorly,” he frowns, “You wouldn’t happen to have a suit perfectly tailored for me to wear, would you?”

“Can’t say that I do, why don’t you just go in what you’re wearing?”

“I am not going dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for this client. I have some pride, you know.”

“You’re literally wearing Mickey Mouse underwear,” you snort, “it doesn’t look that bad anyway, just don’t wear the hat and lose the pipe. Maybe the cloak too but it’s kind of sexy.”

“Don’t try to tempt me,” he groans, buttoning and zipping his pants, “I’m late enough as is.”

“I’d offer you an iron if Sooyoung hadn’t broken mine, that shirt looks super wrinkly now that I see it in the sunlight,” you note, he still looked nice though. He would probably look nice in anything he wore.

“Ugh, really?” Hands running over the wrinkled fabric he sighs to himself, “I’d say I’ve looked worse, but I normally have myself together.”

“Good luck. I, for one, am going back to sleep.” You sigh and fall back into your blankets, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of warmth quite yet.

“Now who’s the baby?” He scoffs and you hear him tread to the side of the bed, a kiss planted on your forehead as you crinkle your nose up at him. “I’ll call you later today?”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

1964, Late Autumn. The rain began only a few minutes into your trek to the cafe, your umbrella weeping with the droplets as they roll off its surface as you trudge down the street. There’s a rumble in the distance but you’re not sure if it’s the local train station or thunder somewhere off beyond the city. Your other hand in your pocket, running your finger along the ridges of your shop’s key. While you know you’d locked it, you can’t help but have the underlying fear that you’d left the door wide open so that anyone could just walk in. Although you’re not quite sure what they’d take, a few blank notebooks don’t seem like it’d do too well in any sort of underground market.

By the time you pull yourself from your thoughts, you’re standing in front of a small cafe that feels more like a second home to you than your own apartment did at this point. The door swings open, you stand in the entranceway so that you can close your umbrella and leave it in the small stand upfront before you head fully inside. It smells like autumn, or at least the coffee’d variant of it. Pumpkin, nutmeg, and a few other scents you can’t quite pinpoint wafting through the air as you walk up to the counter to place your order. You pick out a few pastries as well and ask that they’re brought out when your coffee is ready. A hand to remove the paper-wrapped book under your arm so you can reach for your wallet, realizing then that the water had soaked into the leather. The wrapping paper now a little damp from where it’d brushed against your coat, you pick it back up as well as grab the receipt from the barista before scouring the cafe for what you’d come here to do in the first place.

Wonwoo’s dozing off when you find him in the back corner of the coffee shop. His jacket slung on the chair beside him, a scarf thrown haphazardly atop it as he leans with his head tilting backwards, pretty much dead to the world. Had the two of you not been frequent customers you’re sure that he would’ve been kicked out by now. But there he was, black turtleneck, tailored pants, and the cartoon bandages he loves so much wrapped tightly around his fingertips.

He doesn’t wake up when you accidentally scrape your chair on the ground when you pull it back to sit across from him nor does he wake when you drop the paper-bound book atop the table with a loud thud. Wonwoo does, however, wake when you brush your hand gently atop his, nearly falling out of his chair as his eyes open wider than you’d ever seen someone’s do.

“That wasn’t funny,” he frowns as you snicker, glancing over to the counter trying to act as if he’s regained his composure, “did you already order?”

“For me? Yes,” you place your bag in the chair adjacent to you, shrug off your raincoat and hang it on the back of your chair. “For you, what is it that you get? Flat white, two sugars, low fat milk?”

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning his head back once more. It must’ve been another sleepless night for him.

“You should be thankful I’ve got an exceptional memory,” you frown as he can’t see you, he overworks himself too much and if you ever try to bring it up he brushes it off with a wave and an excuse of ‘I’m just doing what I love’.

“You know,” he begins, leaning his head back up, opening his eyes to look at you. There was something shining behind them that you’d only seen on a handful of occasions; he has an idea and he’s not sure that you’ll like it, “I was wondering if you’d model a dress for me? Not for a fashion show or anything. I just think it’d look good on you.”

His gaze breaks from yours to look at the aisle behind you, you turn and see the barista coming with your drinks and assortment of baked goods. After a few repetitious ‘thank you’s she leaves and the pair of you are left alone once more.

“Are you flirting with me?” An eyebrow piqued as you looked at him. He’d asked you to do some of the strangest things before, going from the mundane ‘I think we need to get annual tickets to the opera just in case I forget your birthday and it’ll be a birthday present’ to ‘I swear to god if we don’t rescue this cat right now I’m never calling you again’. But it was two am and a sorely inebriated Wonwoo had thought that a raccoon was a cat as it rummaged through the garbage. That had also been the night where he’d serenaded you with his own rendition of Blossom Dearies ‘Dance Only With Me’ and Sinatra’s ‘I’m a Fool to Want You’; he’d broken down crying at the latter and you’d forced him to go to bed early. He only went on the condition that you’d hug him as he slept. It was certainly an interesting way to spend your first date together.

“Do you want me to be? I’d say it’s fairly doable,” He winks as he drinks from his mug, blowing on its contents beforehand to cool the brew.

A laugh, the brown paper under your fingertips wrinkling as you strain your fingers and push it towards him. It slides across the wood with relative ease, your finger partially tearing the paper where it had been dampened by the rain.

“I brought you your book.”

“Unlined and all?” He asks as he sets down his cup, shifting himself forward to get a better look.

“Unlined, flexible binding, the works.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighs, taking the still wrapped book into his grasp.

“I know,” you smile, watching as his fingers toy with the twine that kept it together.

“Hello? Paging Ms. Bookbinder, you there?” Wonwoo’s hand waves in front of your face, suddenly you’re back in reality and trying to remember the conversation. You didn’t realize you’d zoned out that hard.

“Yes Mr. Reichelt?” You question, looking down as his finger’s unlace the twine you’d wrapped around the paper packaging.

“Don’t call me that I am much cooler than Franz Reichelt, and less dead, for that matter.”

“Can you say that after you drink your coffee?” You poke jokingly while he eyes his mug with a wary glance.

“Anyway, were you even listening to me?” He leans towards you, elbows resting on the tabletop and a slight curvature to his smile that looked far too playful for the current moment. It stilled your heart for a second before you shake your head at him.

“Not really, no.” You confess, sipping from your cup, “What is it?”

“I was asking if you would let me make a dress for you. I’ve had this idea in my mind for weeks and I finally got this mulberry silk imported from Lyon and it’s too good not to use immediately.”

“I don’t even need a dress like that, Wonwoo.” You frown, picking at one of the pastries in front of you, pinching off a piece before stuffing it into your mouth. “I’m not exactly the type that goes to parties where I’d need a silk dress.” You think that the last party you’d attended you’d worn a sweater and a dress from your roommate’s closet, nothing remotely close to what he was proposing.

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” he pouts, “All I need are your measurements, you won’t even have to see the thing if you don’t want to.”

A sigh, “Fine. When do you want me to drop by?”

“Does Tuesday around ten work for you?”

“I should be able to get Vernon to look over the shop while I’m gone.”

1964, Winter. The ringing of your shop’s bells draws you to the front room, your hands wrought with binding glue, you try to rub them on the apron you wear to rid yourself of the sensation. Before you can ask what the customer needs you stop in your tracks, head tilting to the side, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is,” Wonwoo’s voice is cheery as he walks in further, looking at the array of newly bound books sitting out on display.

“What are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to want to see you?” You fluster at the words, hard to hide the small smile that forms on your lips.

“I mean, you can, it’s just that I’m working.” You motion to the store, to the few customers browsing the items.

“You’ve spent however many nights watching me hem skirts and taper jackets; I think it’s time I return the favor.” A nod of his head as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “What can I do to help?”

“What the hell’s Pincushion doing here?” Before you’re able to open your mouth, Vernon comes out of the back room with a stack of books in his grasp, “I thought you’d be holed up in your shop by now.”

“It’s my day off.”

“And you’re spending it… here…” The thud of books landing on a nearby table as the skepticism in Vernon’s voice rises.

“Yep.”

“He must really like you,” Vernon scoffs, going to grab a different selection of books off of another shelf. He turns to you and asks, “Can you grab me the leather samples from the back? I think Maisel’s coming in today and you know how he gets.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You shake your head and head to the back room to search for the swatches.

While he waits, Wonwoo notices a small web lingering in the intersection of two walls, the sunlight glinting off its strands having been what alerted him to his presence in the first place. At first, he thinks to sweep it away with a broom he knows is hidden somewhere in your storeroom. You weren’t the biggest fan of bugs or arachnids; he was surprised you hadn’t rid your shop of it by now. But he can’t find it within himself to brush the web asunder. It had worked hard to build and craft its home; he knew firsthand how difficult creating something from nothing was.

“Her name is Jorōgumo.” Vernon had walked up behind Wonwoo with little announcement. The younger jumps, turning his head to look at the other. “I offered to kill her… him…? For her but she said it was eating the bugs and to let it be.”

Wonwoo eyes the fat-bodied spider, “Why is it named that?”

“It’s a fairytale from Japan, there’s a spider that looks like a woman. It entices men to follow her and then eats them while they’re distracted,” Vernon explains, the sound of the storeroom opening behind him.

“Are you bullying Arachne again?” You frown, handing the swatches to Vernon and looking up to the small web in the corner.

“I am not bullying Jorōgumo.”

“If I’m keeping a spider in my shop, I am not naming it after a monster.”

“And a heretic is better?” Vernon scoffs, tapping Wonwoo on the shoulder, “What do you think, Pincushion?”

“I’m just wondering why both the myths have to be women,” he shrugs his shoulders and looks to you, “Do you think you’d be free this evening so I can take your measurements? I finally have some free time to start working on that dress.”

“I think so,” a nod as you look at Vernon, “Mind looking after the shop for a bit?”

1965, Early Spring “Didn’t you already measure me?” Wonwoo’s hands hold a rolling measuring tape as he holds it up to your forearm as you ask.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure this is perfect.” Tape lowered; he writes down the number into one of the journals he’d brought with him to your apartment. Trailing away from that your eyes look to the bouquet he brought when he’d come over.

“What’s the deal?” Brow furrowing at the pink, red and white blooms, “You never give me flowers.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Beaming, he’s as bright as the sun. A jilted visage against the cool tones of your apartment’s interior. He looks up to you with a vividness in his eyes, “Your boyfriend’s going to Paris.”

“What do you mean Paris?” A hitch in your voice as you ask, a strange and warped confusion overcoming you.

“Seungcheol got me an apprenticeship with one of his friends, he’s going to be in town in a few weeks to talk about it with me and I want to show off the dress there.” He’s speaking at a mile a minute, a clear excitement as he beams.

“Don’t fall for some mysterious Parisian woman while you’re there,” You poke, still unsure about how you even feel about this.

“I doubt I’ll have time to even wander the city. With all of the workshops and sessions we’ll have. It’s going to be the opportunity of a life— ow—” he says as you gently hit his shoulder. “I won’t fall for some other girl, I promise,” He laughs and continues to take your measurements.

1965, Late Spring “Did you have a good time tonight?” The lock clicking into place as he asks, your footsteps falling on the floor as you make your way to his workbench in the center of what would’ve been his living room had he not made it into a makeshift workshop.

You note the tools, the fabrics and array of swatches that litter his home, the pincushion he wears on his wrist as he works settled onto the tabletop. It’s as if the apartment is a representation of him, messy in ambition but persevering through the struggles as he tries to find the limelight of his own. A smile forming as he walks over to you.

“I had a wonderful time, thank you for inviting me.”

It had been a small gathering at the tailor shop, a small dinner with Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungcheol’s friend and Wonwoo’s future mentor Jeonghan, and yourself. The entirety of the night you’d felt a knot forming in your stomach, the anxiety of Wonwoo’s future endeavors weighing heavily on your shoulders. You want to be happy for him but the closer it gets to Wonwoo’s departure for Paris leaves you feeling more and more despair at the event of it all.

“Thank you for coming,” Wonwoo’s hands find your sides as you lean your backside against the rough wooden edge of the table. “You made it all the more bearable,” smiling softly in the dim lighting of the apartment, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. The wine from earlier lingers on his breath, you’re sure it does the same to yours, the darkness of the red already making you warm and your body feeling weightless, almost as if you were floating in a pool of water.

You part, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation before he’s leaning in again to find your lips. His kiss seems as if it seeks to steal the breath from your lungs. To devour you entirely until all you can think of is his closeness, the softness of his lips atop yours, of just him. The woolen fabric of his overcoat is rough under your fingertips as you move your hands from the workshop table to his shoulders, gently pulling at the cloth to urge him to discard the garment. His hands leave your sides momentarily as he shrugs the jacket off, the fabric falling and pooling on the floor at his feet. A metallic clang echoing around the space as he leans forward to lock his lips with yours.

“Wonwoo,” you breathe, soft pants escaping the both of you as you turn your head from him, your eyes trailing to the sewing scissors that had clattered onto the floor. Another rustling of fabric and you realize he’s discarded his suit jacket as well.

“Let it be,” a hand under your chin, guiding you back to the comfort of his lips. He presses himself into your touch, the way your fingers dance along the smooth cotton of his starched shirt, fiddle with the buttons and run your fingertips atop the small engravings adorning them.

“Are we really going to do this in your workspace?” You look up to his darkened gaze, your voice caught in your throat as his own fingers move to toy with the neckline of your dress. Gentle, electric touches that have you reeling.

“Does that bother you?” His lips leave yours once more as he places soft, yearning kisses to your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. He raises a hand to pull away the neckline of the dress to allow him better access to the apogee of nerves nestled at the point where your shoulder and neck meet. Teeth biting ever so gently that you would have mistaken it as a light graze had you not felt the sharp pinch. It pulls an almost whining sound from your vocal cords, causing your head to tilt to allow him more space to roam.

Lips curling into a smile as he pulls away, his hand sliding from the table to your arm, then raising and gently pulling at your hair, “You didn’t answer me.”

“God, fuck, no it doesn’t bother me,” you trap his lips in yours, tilting your head up so the orange glow of the street lamps outside shine into your eyes before you shut them, finding yourself lost in the entity of your lover. The slowest ministrations of your hips trying to roll against his, to seek out friction and closeness and the yearning of him to once again be a part of you, “Wonwoo.” Your tone is darker, needier, wanting as he presses his clothed self flush against you.

A huff of air escaping you as he once again pulls his lips away from you, and then the gentle rolling of his hips against yours ceases as well. Eyes opening to find him looking over you, not scrutinizing, it seems as if he was rather admiring the picture that sat before him.

Head tilting, the presence of desire absent for a moment as he muses, “I think it looks amazing.” He hums as he lowers himself to his knees, somehow the softness of his voice makes you want to comply with every word uttered, “Can you sit on the table for me?”

Hands brushing against tulle and satin and a plethora of other fabrics you could care less about at this moment in time as you find your hold on the table as you move to sit atop its surface, your heeled shoes clattering to the floor as you do so. Wonwoo’s fingers caress your calves as he leans himself closer to your core, his warm breath making your mind conjure some of the most unspeakable thoughts.

“I’ll have to let the designer know he did an amazing job,” you smile, involuntarily shivering as he slides his hands upwards, the hem of your dress inching towards your stomach the further he ascends.

His face merely inches from your core now, your hips squirming at the proximity. “I think he’d be appreciative of the feedback,” Wonwoo smiles, his face now obscured from vision due to the collection of fabric, you have half a mind to tear it off of you, not that you ever realistically would. It’s far too precious.

The rip of fabric, the coolness of the air hitting your now exposed sex, you whine in protest as he begins to slide the now torn fabric of your underwear away from you.

“I’ll get you some more,” his right hand hovers over you, he uses his middle finger to swipe up the length of your slit, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.

“Are you a lingerie atelier now— Fuck,” you begin to joke before he begins to tease your clit with the tip of his finger. He moves his middle finger slowly, languidly as he draws deep breaths and stifled moans from your lips.

After a moment, your own hand moves to your breast, trying to fondle the flesh through several layers of fabric. He changes his approach, moving lover to tease your entrance before he slips his finger inside of you and with a moan you roll your hips to try and meet him halfway.

It’s not until he eases in another finger and begins to slowly draw them in and out of you as well as latch his lips to your clit that your vocalizations rise in volume. The digits curl inside of you, his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your head finds itself lost in the euphoria of the moment, your hand falling away from your breast to find itself running through Wonwoo’s locks. He hums against you as your fingers tighten their hold, nearly sending you over the edge.

“Are you close?” You look at him, lips coated with the sheen of you, a tinge to his voice that straddles between curiosity and a carnal question.

Hand moving from his hair to his cheek you can only nod, trying to roll your hips to the increasing speed of his fingers inside of you. His eyes watching you as you do finally reach your climax, chortled breaths escaping you as well as a slew of incoherent words and his name. Wonwoo can feel the way your walls spasm around his fingers and sighs to himself as he pulls them from you, wishing that it had been more than just his digits that had made you cum.

You sit up, a little dazed and a lot more aroused than you were when you’d first stepped into the apartment. Wonwoo rises to greet you, your lips clash together and you can taste yourself on his tongue as you vie for dominance.

“Switch with me?” You ask, parting for air, voice whispering as your hands move to once again toy with the hem of his collared shirt.

And he does, backing away from you enough so you can land your feet on the floor and trade places with him. Your turn to take control for a moment, you feel the hardness of his cock through his pants as you tentatively palm it, trying to elicit some sort of sound from him.

“Come on, Woo, I know you’ve got it in you,” you tease, running your hand up and down the etching of his member, slowly and meticulously trying to draw him out of his shell.

“Have what—” he cuts himself off as you run your fingers over his cockhead, a low groan as if he hadn’t wanted you to hear it.

“Have that,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The taste of salt greeting you, the sheen of sweat on his face glittering in the lights dimly illuminating his apartment. You fall to your knees, sending shivers down your spine as the cool air that balloons the skirt of your dress as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Hands sliding up his thighs, you move to his belt to hastily unfasten it.

It falls away, as do his pants and underwear, you were going to mention the lack of cartoon characters adorning it, but you were too preoccupied taking him into your mouth to comment.

Tongue running over the slit on his head, it draws the sweetest sounds from him, saccharine-like honey that drips from his moans and rings around your ears. His hand running through his hair, his other gripping the table as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your mouth as you take him further.

Your knees ache from the rough floor, the pain not deterrent enough for you to forget about the wetness between your legs. Fidgeting as your head bobs up and down on his length, you don’t think he takes notice. Yet Wonwoo was more perceptive than he let on at times, considering his hand now rests upon your hollowing cheek.

“Get up,” Wonwoo urges, his voice hoarse as he tries to gently nudge you away from his cock. “I want to cum inside of you.” When you do let him leave your mouth, a thin line of spittle trailing from his head to your lips you hear him sigh out again. It was so easy to get a reaction out of him, he almost feels like putty in the palm of your hand.

The indents from the wood settle into the flesh of your thighs as he helps you stand and lightly pushes you back onto the table. His belt clattering onto the floor as he fully kicks off his pants, his shoes, and briefs.

You wonder at this point if you should take off the dress, but as your hand begins to reach for the zipper, he stops you, “No, keep it on.”

He kisses you again, taking his hands to gently pry your legs open so he can align himself with your core. Lips parting, you feel his cock brush up against your entrance before he pushes himself into you, his hands moving to trail up the sides of your legs. Slowly, feeling every inch enveloping him as his fingers tighten their hold on the skin of your hips.

“Fuck,” he moans, fully sheathing himself inside of you. His brown eyes meeting yours, tongue darting out to wetten his lips, “Do you need a minute?”

When you shake your head no you fully expect him to start rutting into you with reckless abandon as he did most nights you stayed together. But he doesn’t, instead he starts to roll his hips into you, not trying to fuck the life out of you, rather trying to gauge how and what made you feel good.

“Woo,” you mutter with half-lidded eyes, hands trailing up his arms and to his shoulders, your nails digging into the now exposed skin. It was sure to leave marks, but only small crescent moons that would fade away come morning.

It’s whispered ‘I love you’s’ that fall from his lips as your forearms wrap around his neck to pull you up and draw him in closer, a thrumming in your chest each time he says it. And you repeat it back to the best of your ability, to find a constancy in him that hadn’t ever made itself presentable to you in a lover or significant other before.

For a moment you’re able to lose yourself in him, to forget that he’d be leaving you soon and your heart along with it. You’re enveloped in the presence of him and you wouldn’t have it any other way, you wouldn’t let it be any other way.

Wonwoo’s thrusts become more sporadic as he reaches his end, one of his hands leaving your side and moving to your clit to try and bring you over with him one more time. You’re sensitive and strung out on him, legs tensing as they try to close, stopping around his waist as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

He cums with little warning, other than his hand moving from your clit and back to your side as he stills himself within you. The sweat collected on both of your bows intermingles when he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing slows as he regains his composer, kissing you as he slides himself out of you. When he pulls away to slide on his briefs you land your feet on the ground with shaky legs, holding the edge to balance yourself.

Wonwoo turns back to you and almost has to stifle a short laugh, your face contorting to the feel of his essence leaving you, it’s strange but not overtly bad. Just not something you’re fully accustomed to.

“Let’s wash up, hm?” Hand taking yours, he leads you to his small bedroom, only stopping midway so he can help you out of your clothes. He unzips the dress, the cool air of his apartment fully encasing you as he pulls the fabric off your shoulders. You feel his lips press a soft kiss onto the nape of your neck and he catches the scent of the perfume you’d applied earlier in the evening. The dress falls, pooling at your feet and you step from its depths and onto the hardwood floor. Before you’re able to reach for the dress, Wonwoo’s swept it up, already moving to hang it in his closet.

The two of you shower together, reminiscing on a handful of occasions with him that you’d fully devoted to memory but also of the future as well. Wonwoo was excited to leave, every mention of it fractalizing your heart just a little bit more, not that you’d let him know, you just put on a smile and tell him how happy you are for him.

You borrow a shirt from him to wear to bed, exiting the bathroom while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. While he does, you wander his room, looking at the shelves that adorn the space. Most books atop them are about tailoring or sewing, things that wouldn’t typically draw your attention. You then spot a few that are familiar, the bindings nostalgic under your fingertips as you trace them, no names or words that address their titles.

“I never realized I made you so many,” You muse, looking at Wonwoo who’s just exited the bathroom.

“I have been your loyal customer for a while now, you know.” He notes, falling into his bed and collecting the blankets, he pats the mattress beside him to beckon you closer.

You fall back into the bed beside him after you saunter over, encased in the blankets for a moment by the duvet he tosses atop you before you look at him, “I don’t want you to go.” It’s a simple statement that carries all too much weight for those six words alone, they lie heavily in your chest, saying them aloud does nothing to stop that.

“I know, I know,” There’s a hurt in his voice as he knows just how difficult it’ll be to part from you. “We’ve still got almost two months left before I go though, let’s try to make the most of it, okay?”

1965, Summer It had only been a month since Wonwoo landed in Paris. His French is awful, and he only knows how to call things pretty, cute or something lewder thanks to the teachings of his fellow apprentices. There are bags under his eyes from another sleepless night, a cigarette hanging from his lips (a terrible habit he’s picked up as of late), and the mute sounds of some song playing out of the bar he’d just crawled out of. It’s probably Bridget Bardot but he can’t tell from his position, not that he can understand anyway, he’s barely been able to comprehend his own thoughts.

His fingers ache, only nude bandages that are a little too pink wrapped around them because he can’t find the cartoon ones that you’d given him tucked away in his things. His eyes feel strained, tired, and pulsing from overanalyzing stitching and searching cloth for tears, pulls or other impurities. Montmartre was beautiful, not that he was able to see it often as he was constantly working. And if he wasn’t working, he was probably trying to catch up on lost rest.

This was his dream, a part of it though, the other half had you somewhere tucked away in the echelons of his fantasy life. Although he was doing what he wanted, what he loved, there was something about you being in absentia that had him feeling empty. He’d written countless letters but only signed and sent a handful, worried of saying too much and worried of saying too little. To you and his father, his father that had sent him on this path at a young age. ‘Make something of yourself,’ he’d said when Wonwoo was seven, ‘you’re too ambitious not to.’

If he could laugh at him now, he would. But his father was an ocean away, retreated somewhere in the depths of Wonwoo’s childhood that he’d rather leave behind.

Yet on the other hand, he’d written you what felt like every day and struggled with each composition. Wonwoo had never missed someone’s voice as much as yours, the gentle feel of your hand intertwined with his or even the sounds of your footsteps trailing through your shop. He’s supposed to be happy, why isn’t he happy?

The cigarette burns, the acrid smoke filtering into his mouth as he inhales, a plume of what’s left leaving him when he huffs out, the cigarette dropped onto the ground, smoldering away. Hand flitting through his knotted locks, the dampness of sweat clinging to the pads of his fingertips as he brushes over his brow.

Most people had dropped everything to work under Jeonghan, a certified maestro of their craft. And Wonwoo had dropped everything, not begrudgingly at first, but as the dog days of the beginning of summer and the end of spring drew near there was a rising anxiety within his chest. If you had asked him not to leave as he was standing at the terminal’s gates, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all.

He’s been giving up more and more lately; sleep, adequate meals, a solitary living space. Wonwoo’s worried when this serpent of work will seek out to devour you away too. It’s not that he wants to let you go, but if he’s to make something of himself he might have to, as cruel and malicious it may seem. In that you waiting for him was burdensome, not to him but to yourself. While he’s off gallivanting in an ancient city you’re in your shop, was he just supposed to expect you to idly sit by and wait for him? He’s not sadistic enough to tether you down to the unknown.

1965, Late Autumn. You’d come home that morning with a new record tucked under your arm, the words ‘Rubber Soul’ peeking over the paper sheath that the store had given you as you set it down on your countertop after discarding your shoes and jacket by the door. You hum to yourself, shedding your bag, reaching for the new record, and bringing it over to your player, Sooyoung’s worn copy of one of Billie Holiday’s albums resting on the platter. With gentle hands you remove it from the spindle, tucking it away in its cover before releasing Rubber Soul from its own and setting it onto the player. System turned on, you place the needle on the record and adjust the volume so the first few riffs of ‘Drive My Car’ begin playing through the speakers.

Nodding your head to the rhythm, you set down the cover and make your way to the kitchen, noticing the small pile of postcards and letters you’d received from Wonwoo over the last few months. He’d been so busy he hadn’t really had the time to call or write a lot for that matter. But it wasn’t like calling was free, especially an international connection. With each new card that he sent to you, there seemed to be less that he wrote of and more empty space adorning it.

“Hey,” You hear Sooyoung say as she exits her room, her purse in hand as she heads to the hall tree to grab a coat, “I’ve gotta head in, someone completely ruined the display for the winter collection.”

“I thought you were in charge of that?” A tilt of your head as she passes by. Sooyoung’s one of the floor managers of the flagship B. Altman some blocks away, and that left her unnecessarily stressed by the minute details of the store.

“I am, but I let one of the new girls try and set it up,” a frown as she opens the door, “That’s what I get for trying to take on a protegee. I’ll be back around dinnertime, okay?”

“I’ll see you then,” waving her off with a hand as the door slams shut, the sound of your friend’s key locking the door before the apartment falls into silence once more, the only sound coming from the next song on the vinyl.

Stifling a yawn with your hand you head to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa as you reach for a magazine atop the table. It was one of your roommate’s detailing a plethora of fashion information, this seemed something like Wonwoo could take to more so than yourself. Before you’re able to get lost in the pit of missing him again the phone on the table next to the sofa begins to ring.

“Hello?” Magazine tossed aside, you reach for the phone, pulling it to your ear as you lay reclined on the couch. Fully expecting a family member or one of Sooyoung’s friends over the line you sound a little more crass than normal.

“Whoa,” a familiar, achingly distant voice calls out, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Wonwoo?” Eyes widening, your grip on the phone tightening before your brow furrows and you sit up, “Where are you?”

“I’m actually in a phone booth outside of Jeonghan’s shop right now,” A short laugh, there’s something quiet about it, “I feel like I’m in some sort of film.”

“It sure sounds like you are,” distancing yourself from the line for a moment as the connection pops and crackles. Ear returning to the phone you feel your heart swell as you lean against your wall, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” He sounds apprehensive, as if there’s something ruminating behind his lips, but he was too afraid to say it. “I’m sorry for not calling sooner, it’s just been extremely busy here.”

Twirling the phone cord absentmindedly with your finger you shake your head, not that he could see you, “It’s alright.” The disquiet in his voice puts you on edge, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking,” He’s holding his breath, and you don’t realize that you are too.

“Of?”

“Ending this. Us.” There’s a pause, a bated breath, and a clearing of his throat before he begins to speak again. It sounds robotic, rehearsed, even. “I don’t want to leave you waiting for me when I don’t even know when I’ll be back.”

“If you don’t think I’d wait for you you’re ridiculous,” A confused tone to your voice, you blink several times as if that were the cure-all to comprehend what he was suggesting. “Is there someone else?”

“God, no, of course not. It’s just—” A break in the facade for a moment before it turns static again, “You deserve constancy. I don’t want you waiting around for me when you could be happier somewhere else with someone else who’s actually there for you.”

“Are you serious?” With the thought of him being an ocean away you could barely go as kicking and screaming as you wanted to, but you can’t. It’s hard to collect your thoughts with so many jumbling around your head.

“I’ll get Seungcheol or someone to stop by and get my things,” voice muffled, there was a small banging coming from the other end, as if someone’s hitting the outside of the phone booth that Wonwoo is situated in.

“No,” you frown, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach. “I’ll drop the dress and your things off at the shop.”

“Keep the dress, it was a gift,” his voice insists, sounding defeated and tired.

“I don’t want it, I want you, Wonwoo.”

He would rather watch the stars flicker and die from their sepulchered facades in the expanse above, watch the oceans shrivel and continents shrink, than be the source of your privation. It’s as if he can hear your heart break over the line. It isn’t loud, it isn’t ear shattering— it’s a hairline fracture that webs out and settles into every fiber of your being. He knows it because it’s the same thing he’s afflicted upon himself.

“I’m sorry, I love you but there’s no feasible way that I can—” he pauses, and you hear a voice tinned by the crackling line. It’s French, sounds angry and causes Wonwoo to speak into the phone once more, “I— I have to go. I’ll call you back later so we can talk about this, okay?”

“Okay,” the word is lifeless as it leaves your mouth, you hang up and pull the phone away from your ear as if you could still hear his voice after you’d killed the call.

You are a bag of bones, skin, and whatever else deigned itself rotted enough to crawl its way inside of you and flourish. Amber leaves looking more titian as you leave your apartment, a muted tone as you walk the streets and to your shop. The lights inside aren’t as bright as they once were, sounds far too muffled by the blood rushing to your ears as Vernon asks you what’s wrong.

1966, Winter “Try this one,” The bartender standing in front of you sets down another glass. He’d been talking to you on and off the whole night trying to get your opinions on different drinks he’d been concocting to try and get put on the menu.

“What is it?” Amber liquid swirled around what looked like a dried slice of orange. The whiff of something floral and reminiscent of anise hits your nose, causing your face to scrunch. “That’s not straight absinthe and cognac, is it?”

“Cognac Tesseron, Peychaud’s Bitters, simple syrup, and just the smallest taste of absinthe,” Carefully crafted and delicately handled you pick up the glass and observe it some more. “I’m thinking about calling it the Forget Me Not, but we’ll see what management thinks of that name.” Voice tinged with that oddly specific Brooklyn accent he turns to his other clientele, leaving you with the newest cocktail. Lips carefully pressed to the glass you drink, mulling over the flavors as you do so. After thinking about it you set the glass down, lips pursed together, it wasn’t a bad taste you just wished there were more acidic notes to it.

Alone. You sit alone in the dimly lit bar that denoted itself as La Fête. Why, you aren’t sure, but the cacophony of spirits mixed into the glass between your fingers is the only thing that has made you feel well the entire evening. Some comedian stands on the stage a few meters away, giving off a routine that isn’t hitting as well as it should be. There’s muffled laughs and chortles from the audience in front of him, yet you’ve barely heard a word he’s said.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice rings out to your right; you’re unable to see who it is until they take a seat next to you.

“Mr. Hong,” Eyebrows raised as Joshua turns to face you, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen him in a month or so, not after that had happened.

“Vernon told me I could probably find you here, and Sooyoung also told me about trying to cheer you up since the gifts she got you weren’t working,” A smirk playfully bouncing on his lips. “You look awful.” Hands folding atop each other as he adjusts himself in the seat.

“What makes you say that?” Scoffing as you bring your glass to your lips, taking a sip of your drink before setting it back down.

“Vernon did say you were going through something heavy.” His tone lowers, becoming more sympathetic and less lighthearted than it’d been a moment before.

The gentle ambiance of the bar around you, as well as the slew of alcohol in your drink, mellows your inhibitions and voice. It was the calmest you’d felt the entire night. “I just needed a break from all of this,” hand motioning towards your head.

“I can understand that” Pausing for a moment he opens a nearby menu, perusing the selections. “I just came from a conference in D.C., aren’t you going to ask why?”

“Hmm, why?” You pose, head tilting as you turn to look at him.

“We’re acquiring some major stock in Marriott,” He says with a playful lilt, “Forcing a bunch of bigwigs to give up their assets is an adrenaline rush I won’t get anywhere else but there.”

“Sounds… fun?”

“In reality it’s just a bunch of stuffy old men with their own hands up their asses,” he hums, “Although I guess I have to get used to it; I’ll be one of those men someday.”

“Joshua Hong you will never be like any of those men,” sigh losing itself in your glass as you bring it back to your lips.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” as he closes his menu, he calls the bartender over, ordering some drink that sounds all too extravagant for your taste.

The pair of you sit in silence for a few moments, your glass now set atop the marble bar as your eyes wander around the warm, eclectic interior. “Are you merging them with that Canadian group? I can’t remember their name.” Snapping your fingers together as you try and recall. You look back to Joshua, who was beginning to take a drink of another one of the bartender’s creations.

The glass now moved away, and he frowns into the back of his hand; you wonder if it’s due to the alcohol. Head shaking in the negative he answers, “I actually left that partnership a year or so ago, decided I didn’t want any of ‘Daddy’s Help’ and tried my own hand at it.” Leaning back, he adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, “And I’ve been doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself.” His confidence is a manic beast at times, but it never fails to make you roll your eyes. “What about you? Gonna commercialize your shop anytime soon?”

“As if,” You snort and look towards the darkened windows of the venue, “I’m perfectly fine in my shop,” Elbow resting on the counter, you lay your cheek atop your hand as your hair falls around your face, looking up at Joshua as your cheeks warm with embarrassment, “It’s all I can manage.”

Joshua laughs, it’s hearty and you feel your pulse rise along with the heat in your cheeks, “Don’t sell yourself short.” Shoulder shrugging, he returns to his drink while you sit up, rubbing your cheek.

“We’ll see when I get there,” smirk showing itself again as his fingers trace circles on the light marble of the bar. “Oh, weird, crazy question really,” His hand moves to his jacket, fumbling around one of the inside pockets for a moment as he searches for something.

“Want to go to a wedding with me?” A piece of elegantly cut cardstock tossed down onto the bar, you don’t recognize the names scrawled onto the front of it in some pretentious calligraphy.

“Aren’t you dating that girl?” Fingers pulling the card closer, trying to recall the name, “Yoona or something? Why don’t you take her?”

Joshua almost chokes on his water as you speak, hitting his hand against his chest to get some air. “God no,” He coughed, setting his water glass down. “Yoona’s just a family friend, more like my big sister than anything else. If anything, my sister will get married before me.”

You nod your head in understanding, “Ah, is she still dating Seungcheol?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust them to tell me if it was raining outside or not,” he muses. Suddenly his demeanor turns mischievous, you’re not sure how to properly describe it as he leans in towards you, the smirk back with a vengeance. “But why were you interested in who I’m dating? Are you curious?”

It takes most of your willpower to lean back away from him and roll your eyes as you scoff out, “As if.” He only increasingly gets closer before you put a hand on his shoulder and playfully push him back.

“And what about you?” Does he seem nervous? You hear a genuine interest in his voice, but you aren’t sure if you’re exaggerating it due to the miasma of spirits clouding your senses. “Has any prince charming come up and swept you off your feet yet?”

“Does it look like it?” Eyebrow raised, you motion to yourself, “Vernon told you why I’m here, didn’t he?” Frown settling onto your lips you finish your drink, setting it down back onto the bar with an audible clink.

“He may have mentioned it in passing,” Joshua mutters, finger rubbing along the rim of his glass.

“I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, months even and he has the audacity to send in an order?” You try your best to sound indignant, but the truth was that it’d felt like a stab to your heart to see the hastily signed ‘Wonwoo Jeon’ adorning the invoice. Your heart had almost stopped then, you’d thought that you and he were, at that point, separate entities once more. “He made it blatantly clear he wants nothing to do with me anymore, he can go woo as many Parisians as he’d like, I’m over it.” Not yet, you aren’t. But maybe repeating it enough will make it a reality.

“You know what I think?” Joshua asks, finishing the rest of his drink as you look at your empty glass.

“I’m not drunk enough?”

“I think you’re plenty gone. But I don’t think you’ve ever let anything destroy you this much, or if you have, I’m a terrible friend for not realizing it. And with that being said, I will personally take up the reins to try and get you out of this slump,”

“Any other thoughts, O wise and wonderful mood maker?”

“Yeah, this comedian’s garbage. I’ll take you to a Lenny Bruce set one day and you’ll laugh your ass off.”

“I appreciate it,” a snicker leaves you. “Anyway,” your eyes move to your watch, checking the time, “I should probably head back to my place, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” You rummage around your bag for a crumpled mess of bills that you toss onto the counter in front of you.

You stand and begin moving towards the exit when Joshua speaks up, “Want me to walk with you?”

“If you want to,” pausing, you turn back to him and offer a smirk of your own, “it’s not too far away.” The two of you walk in silence through the winding interior of the bar as you make your way to the front entrance, you see through the large wooden doors that it is pitch black outside, thankfully the streetlights adorning the sidewalks keep things fairly visible. When the doors open and the two of you step outside you can’t help but let out a “Shit, it got cold.”

“Here,” Joshua shrugs off his already unbuttoned suit jacket and hands it to you, you can see the thin dress shirt he’s wearing, and you wonder how he’s not shivering himself. “Did you leave your jacket inside?” He asks as you drape the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“At the shop,” Standing outside, your toes on the edge of the sidewalk, your head cranes, trying to remember which way you’d walked here. “It’s…” you look at the signs at the end of the street, “that way,” hand motioning towards your abode once you recognize the names. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, I can always call a cab or something, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s alright,” His shoulders shrug as the two of you begin walking, “It’ll help the alcohol get out of your system.” Had he seen you stumbling on your feet on your way out? If he did, he doesn’t say as the two of you walk the uneven streets, pushing through masses of tourists and civilians parading around the city. It’s not long until the crowds wear thin, leaving you, Joshua, and the occasional pedestrian roaming the streets. “I’ve always loved this city,” Joshua muses as the two of you stroll through one of the many parks dotting the town.

Nodding, “It’s lively for sure.” Your hands move to close his jacket tighter around your bare shoulders, “I don’t think I could imagine leaving it.”

“Maybe for a summer home though?” Joshua laughs, moving his hands to his pockets. “I remember how you’d stay inside whenever it snowed or went below thirty when we were kids.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, “I wouldn’t say it’s that much of a problem anymore, I’m just a big fan of the sun in all its glory, not when it’s obscured behind a wall of cl—” Perhaps you would’ve finished that sentence had the heel of your, admittedly too high-heeled shoe not gotten caught between one of the junctures of the sidewalk, causing you to fall forward. You feel a pair of hands on you, one wrapped around your waist and one on your shoulder, as the ground rapidly rises to meet you.

Eyes closed you hear, “Are you alright?” as you’re hoisted back up onto your feet, never feeling the impact of the ground.

“I’m fine.” Once his hands had left you, you raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling the rushing blood warm your palms, “I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought.”

Joshua looks at you for a moment, and then down to your feet, “I think you broke a heel.” Finger raised; you follow it downwards to look at the heel almost completely detached from the sole. “Here,” voice quickening as if to distract you from it, he takes your arm and puts it over his shoulder so you can lean some of your weight onto him, “wouldn’t want you to fall over again.” After offering him a quick smile and a small ‘thanks’ of gratitude you begin to walk again.

After a minute or so of walking, the pair of you take a turn onto one of the main drags of the city, the cool air soaking into you. “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” You ask, thinking you may have twisted your ankle when you tripped.

“Of course,” the two of you make your way to a bench along the sidewalk, you sit while Joshua stands next to you. It’s a moment of quiet before he speaks up again, “Are you feeling alright?”

You can only shake your head in the negative, for fear that you may explode should you open your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, sitting down next to you, his hand falling atop yours in an act of subtle comfort.

Everything. Your throat becomes dry as you lean forward and embrace him, unable to vocalize the horrid deluge of hopelessness and heartbreak washing over you.

You had seen the shop where Wonwoo was apprenticing when you’d gone into Seungcheol’s one morning, it had been featured in some editorial that he subscribed to. Seeing that it was a beautiful boutique and was quite revered among local and international audiences hadn’t dampened the blow at all. Wonwoo hadn’t been lying when he said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

It still hurts. You’d been selfish in trying to make things work, too absorbed in it you hadn’t felt him slipping away until it was too late. Vernon had sat you down one day and told you to shape up. Wonwoo wasn’t coming back and the sooner you realized it the sooner you’d get over him. You don’t remember how long you cried into his shoulder for. For the eidolon of him was beginning to fade now, the lingering remnants of it still striking you to the core whenever you catch a glimpse of it.

“I just want to go home,” you try your best to sound strong, hating that the veneer you usually kept was able to slip so easily. Pulling away from the other you move to stand, kicking off your shoes and moving to hold them before you begin to walk.

“Aren’t your feet going to get cold? It’s nearly the middle of winter,” Joshua calls out after you as he catches up, unsure of how to go about comforting you.

“I’ll be fine,” your toes cold on the concrete, “It’s only a few blocks away.”

It’s silence once more as the pair of you two amble to your apartment, the windows dark when you approach, Sooyoung must be out again. A sigh leaving you, alone again.

“Thanks for walking with me, Shua.” You stop, turning to your accompaniment and smiling softly at him.

“Shua?” His brow raises at that, “Are you sure you’re not still drunk? I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. But I mean it, thank you.” Your other friends had tried to console you but Joshua’s attempt had been the most successful so far that had gotten you to even budge ever so slightly from the slump you’d found yourself in.

1967, Summer. The sparkler hisses as Joshua hands it to you, the bright end flickering with every centimeter the flame engulfs. A smile on your lips as you look at him, an equally bemused smile gracing his face as he steps away and begins handing out sparklers to a few other guests. After the host finishes handing out the sticks a large chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ begins to ring out, directed at Jihoon Lee.

You didn’t really know the guy, but Joshua said he was hosting a birthday bash at a lake house up in the Catskills this weekend and it was a good excuse to get away from the city for a bit. It was a work friend of his, not sure from which endeavor but you aren’t complaining. Work at the shop had been far too busy to manage with just Vernon and you, you’d been looking at several applicants, but you had a difficult time sifting through the resumes. This was a much needed, and much deserved, break away from it all.

Before the sparkler has a chance to burn down to your fingertips you blow it out and set it onto one of the porcelain plates atop the table in front of you. A small crowd had gathered to sing and with the rapidly setting sun it was difficult to see familiar faces among the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” A pair of hands placed on your hips as the question sounds out, the familiarity of it making you smile a little brighter.

“Just you,” You turn, looking at Joshua.

“Oh?” He questions, leaning in for a brief kiss before pulling away, “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re thinking of something,” A sparkle in his eye, the light from the nearby dock casting a green glow onto the lawn.

“Just work things,” you admit, “Even if I’m miles away from the shop it’s still on my mind.”

“Work’s a sickness, isn’t it?” He mutters, “Well, they’ve already started to cut the cake, want to head in and grab a slice?”

“Sure,” you say as his hands leave your sides, taking one of your hands in his and heading through the lawn and into the brightly lit interior of the home.

“Seungcheol said he’d be arriving a little later, my sister’s ready to blow a gasket but, when isn’t she?” Joshua laughs as you make your way to a nearby table, grabbing a plate with a precut slice of cake on it before turning back to him.

“Is this from the same bakery who made my cake last year?” You ask with nearly a mouthful of cake.

“I told you I made that cake,” he says jokingly, grabbing his own slice, “And if it were, would you say yea or nay for them making the wedding cake?”

“Yea. Definitely, this is by far the best buttercream I’ve ever had,” you nod, “Although I do need a drink.”

“Amaretto sour?” Questioning as he sets down his plate, ready to go off and mix your drink himself.

“You know I can’t,” a frown settling on your lips as you take another bite, “Just water.”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Joshua says and heads to the bar in the next room over.

You move out of the way of the other partygoers looking for food and make your way to a window that looks out at the road in front of the house. As you watch, you see the bright headlights of a car pulling into the drive, trying to careen past the other vehicles lined up there. It must be Seungcheol.

It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, having to mail his orders to him now that you’d moved shop locations. So, you head to the front door, anxious to see an old friend. The door opens with a swing of grandeur, Seungcheol Choi stepping inside with a clear look of panic on his face.

Seungcheol spots you as he enters, rushing over to you, “She’s not angry, is she?”

“Your wife?” You question, putting a finger under your chin in thought, “She’s only told half of the people here how upset she is, so I think you still have time to save yourself.”

“I’d better get in there then,” he sighs, almost brushing past you before he stops, “I should also tell you that—”

You don’t hear what he says, though. Because you hadn’t realized that there was someone standing behind him until they step through the dark entranceway and into the bright lights of the foyer. For a moment it feels like time has stopped, the plate in your hand straining from the pressure your fingers now exert on it as you lock eyes with someone you hadn’t ever expected to see again.

It’s you who breaks away first, mumbling about needing to find Joshua while it feels as if your heart seizes upon itself in your chest. Before you’re able to rejoin the party, you feel a hand gently grasp your arm, “Can we talk?” The question is quiet, almost lost in the atmosphere of the celebration as Wonwoo asks.

A strangled gulp as you nod, setting the plate down on a small mail-table before you brush past him exit out of the front door. He follows you wordlessly, from the gravel path that wraps around the house and to the backyard that overlooks the lake. You keep walking, wading through grass that comes up to your knees until you’re standing on the wooden dock, the gentle sloshing of water hitting the posts giving you something else to focus on.

Face green in the glow of the dock light overhead, it beams around the soft fog rising from the water as you hope it would swallow you up instead of you having this conversation with Wonwoo.

“You never returned my calls,” he says, standing several feet away. His tone isn’t accusatory, it sounds hurt.

“I kept forgetting.” Liar. Nails digging into your palms as your hands clench with an anxiety that hadn’t riddled you for two years. “And you only called four times.”

“Five.”

“Four.” Resolution in your voice as you try and stand as firmly as you can. The shoes you’re wearing are pinching your heels and you want nothing more than to kick them off into the water. You turn to look at him, trying to stay calm. “Would you have picked up even if I did call back?” A tangle in your stomach as you recall having Sooyoung answer the phone for the next handful of weeks after the two of you had parted, each time he’d called Sooyoung would say you weren’t home.

He hesitates, at least his body does, the words, “Of course I would have,” escaping him before he could prepare himself with a more eloquent response.

“You seem to be doing well,” It’s silent until you break it, noting the suit he was wearing was from a higher end retailer.

“So, do you,” a break in his voice as he notices the crack in your demeanor, “I didn’t see you at Seungcheol’s wedding, I thought he would have invited you.”

“My mother got sick, so I missed it,” you recall having to forgo the event last year. Did that mean Wonwoo had been back that soon?

“You still have the dress.” There had been a melancholy deep set into your bones that had lasted for what seemed like lifetimes, now resurfacing more and more the longer you look at him. You’d forgotten about what you were wearing, the same dress that the tailor had labored unknown hours over and that had been the figurative wedge between you and him. Maybe this was some deity’s cruel sense of irony. “I still think it’s one of the best I’ve ever made,”

“It’s a little tighter now but it’s still one of my favorites,” you can’t lie. Be it from the laborious love that was sewn into every stitch or the bygone memories associated with it, it was and still is one of the best pieces you own.

“I really was an idiot for letting you go, wasn’t I?” Hands shoved into pockets, he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“You did what you had to.” Brow hardening, a remembrance of the last time you’d spoken.

“Don’t say it like that,” a soft plea, he’d never meant to hurt you.

“Then how should I say it?” Bitterness you thought forgotten riddles every word you pose.

“You know I tried to visit your shop when I first came back,” Deterrent of the conversation, he looks across the water to the distant shore. “But it was empty, some guy passing by had said you packed up months earlier and just left.”

“There was a water main break, ruined most of our inventory and we had to rebuild from scratch in a new place.” You still remember the dread you’d felt that morning, walking in to find everything in shambles.

“With Joshua’s help?”

“Joshua helped.”

“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way,” eyes flickering to the ring on your finger, the light of the dock glinting off the main stone. “He’s a lucky man.”

Wonwoo sounds bitter, you can understand why but you can’t understand one thing. “Why did you come? I’m sure that Seungcheol said that I was going to be here.”

“I don’t know.” The answer is simple, but there’s a heaviness to it that you can feel. “I’m supposed to be flying out to Milan tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to see you again.”

“Did you expect me to fall into your arms, Wonwoo? To take you back?” Lip bitten, you’re sure you were going to draw blood if you kept at it any longer.

“Maybe I did when I came back last year, when I’d tried to see you.” He frowns, “I think now I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Happy. It feels as if that word dances off of the water behind you, across the sound and into the forest. Were you? The encroaching despair that had taken aim and marked you when Wonwoo had left was gone, a memory overwritten by the years that had followed, by the people who had followed. The shedding of yourself that came when he left took a while but without a doubt you can truly say this is the most complacent you’ve ever been.

The door to the lake house opens some ways behind Wonwoo, the lights from inside spreading across the lawn in an obscene spotlight on the two of you. A silhouette stands in the doorway, it’s easy to tell who the figure is as he leans against the door frame. You smile as you look at the outline of Joshua, heart swelling as it once had for the other man in front of you.

“Yeah, Wonwoo, I’m happy.”

enjoy what you read? leave a comment! it helps with motivating us writers to keep producing content for our lovely readers ❤

#seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagines #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo x you #svt smut #svt fluff #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt x you

674 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 29 days

Text

cherrybomb || csc

(banner by @sailorrhansol)

cherrybomb seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.

wc: 19.5k

warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut

Author's note: thank you for @sailorrhansol for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily

This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!

Also in this universe: storm breaker by @/sailorhansol

Teaser:

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer.

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest.

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...

The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.

That’s what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.

That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.

You’d marked him as your first choice.

You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.

You needed Seungcheol.

The jaeger program didn’t turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.

Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.

When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that you’d get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.

Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly we’d work together.

And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.

Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.

It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.

You didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.

The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.

You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.

—

He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didn’t get from you.

“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”

He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”

Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”

You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.

“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”

“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”

“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”

“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”

“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”

You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”

He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.

“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”

You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”

Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”

You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”

You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.

If only you could.

Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.

“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”

He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”

This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.

“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”

—

You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.

You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapids’s main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.

Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.

You got to know Seungcheol’s fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.

None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didn’t pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.

You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.

Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.

The fighting was the easy part.

You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldn’t even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.

On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.

Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.

Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.

Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.

You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.

“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”

“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.

“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“Do you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?”

You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.

You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.

“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”

“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”

“To Duellona Fury,” you echoed.

On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.

You never asked them if they missed it.

—

You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.

“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.

“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”

You nodded. You’d grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.

“Normally,” you explained, “you focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So there’s no resistance.”

“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.

You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”

This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.

You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheol’s inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.

When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -

It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadn’t felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.

You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.

Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”

You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”

A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”

“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.

You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.

He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”

You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”

Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”

“Sort of,” you mumbled.

He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”

Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”

You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”

Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.

“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one… nothing was going to be… the same, or okay. I don’t know.”

“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”

He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”

You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”

“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”

He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.

“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”

You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”

He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”

You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.

“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”

“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”

“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”

And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.

“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”

Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.

—

Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.

You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.

“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.

“Sure,” he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.

You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didn’t know.

Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.

“There’s Chan and Wylie,” you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.

“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.

You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”

“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”

Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”

“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”

“Is that her team at our normal table?” you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.

The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.

“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”

“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”

“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”

“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.

“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”

“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.

Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.

“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.

—

The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.

“I’m never nervous,” he said, suddenly cocky.

If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.

“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”

He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.

“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.

“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”

Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.

He didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.

Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”

Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.

The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.

Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.

Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.

You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.

“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”

“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”

The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.

You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, you’re going to be fine.

And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.

Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.

Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure… recalibrating in 3… 2… 1…

“It’s only a memory,” you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.

Neural handshake disengaged…

“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”

He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”

“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”

He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”

You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”

“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”

But you were laughing through the scolding.

“Stop,” you whined.

Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”

“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”

“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”

He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.

The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.

The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.

You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”

The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.

You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his father’s memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.

—

It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.

The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.

Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.

You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.

“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.

“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”

His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.

You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t approved to fight.

Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.

“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.

“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”

You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.

“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”

“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”

“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.

You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”

He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”

You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.

You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”

Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

—

Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.

Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a planner’s touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.

But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before you’re even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.

That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.

Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.

“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.

“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.

“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”

The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.

“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”

You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.

Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.

For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.

“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”

It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.

—

The west bay became Duellona’s playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.

It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.

“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”

Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.

“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.

“You know I am,” he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.

When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.

“Let’s fucking go,” Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.

It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.

The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.

“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.

“Not yet!” he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.

You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”

“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.

Don’t fight me.

You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.

“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.

Duellona’s arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.

“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.

“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.

“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”

“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.

—

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.

“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”

“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.

His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”

–

You marked the passing of two years in statistics.

Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.

Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills.

Seventy-two mainframe repairs.

Twenty-eight achievement awards.

Nine television interviews.

Six upgrades.

One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.

Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.

It was a good high. Your team had a good run.

It wasn’t a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.

There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.

There was no moment of realization at all.

Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.

If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.

Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead.

You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.

“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.

“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves.

You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated.

He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.

For a second, things felt better.

The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju you’d been sent for.

You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each other’s.

This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away.

It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.

No.

You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.

Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.

You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted.

Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.

“Recalibrate faster!” you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them.

You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.

You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.

“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.

“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate.

“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.

You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.

Then, more calmly this time, he asked, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”

There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true. “I got scared.”

“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”

You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.

Your parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly.

He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.

You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.

You didn’t go to your parents’, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol.

“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you?

You weren’t sure she’d understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.

“What’d you do?” Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.

“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.

Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded.

“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.

Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.

You looked up at Duellona Fury again.

“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”

You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.

You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.

Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.

And right now, you were the problem.

“Hey?” you tried meekly.

He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood.

He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.

“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low.

You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”

He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.

If he was in your mind right now, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it.

His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away.

You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.

“Only for a minute.”

“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.

He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”

It was an accusation, but it was also a question.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”

Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”

His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that you’d found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones.

But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.

You don’t know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.

You didn’t mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.

“Cherry,” he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.

Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces.

His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you.

His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.

“Yours,” you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.

Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.

You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.

The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.

You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it.

He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction.

Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.

The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like he’d just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.

Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that.

His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.

Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense.

You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission.

Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him.

The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.

He felt how you’d always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.

You didn’t speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t need wires.

You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling.

He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. “Cherry… Cherry…”

You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing.

You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.

–

The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt.

You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.

But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. You’ve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.

Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole.

Being unable to pilot, unable to fight.

Being brokenhearted.

Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind.

You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise you’d swear it was at least a hundred.

The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When you’d first come, you’d legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that.

As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.

It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome.

It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles.

When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.

“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.

You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”

The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner.

You’re mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still haven’t figured out how that happened.

It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.

But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheol’s teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.

The final time you’d tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.

“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.

Don’t do this, he’d said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.

After that failure, you didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.

You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.

“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”

A call?

Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.

You’ve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop.

You greet the person on the line with your real name.

“Cherry?”

Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.

“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”

You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”

“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”

“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”

“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”

Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck.

You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away.

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”

Not anymore.

The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response.

“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”

“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to…. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administrator’s pen.

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time.

And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer.

The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.”

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest.

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

The girls cry when you tell them you’re leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.

It’s standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago.

You’d been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. You’d been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.

But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh.

As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the ship’s railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.

You’d been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.

Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together.

But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then… that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.

Of course, you’d lost it all anyway.

Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?

Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.

You turn away from the ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.

You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.

The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.

The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll pick up right where you left off.

This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation you’d feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someone’s mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.

You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long.

You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve craved it ever since.

You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.

You know you can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.

When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter.

They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival.

You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze.

“It will be okay,” she whispers.

Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons.

You disagree. There’s no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.

“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside.

All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. He’s the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.

His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control.

You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a scowl.

You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat.

He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.

“I trust your travel went well?” the Marshall begins.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.

“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”

Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it.

The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.”

You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch.

“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.

In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol.

He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.

Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. You’re not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night you’d spent together.

Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.

Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.

Strangely, it’s stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.

It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesn’t speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.

Well, that and sleeping together, but you don’t see that on your agenda.

You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what he’s feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.

Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.

“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”

Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.

You and Seungcheol could - literally, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s too easy.

You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.

Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.

It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.

After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.

After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when you’ll spar for real.

You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like it’s your first time again.

Seungcheol attacks as you’d expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging won’t be enough - eventually he’ll cage you in unless you distract him.

You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.

You can’t do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.

You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.

You aren’t hurt. Not this time.

“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”

He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.

You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.

The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.

“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.

“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.

It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.

“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.

“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.

“Don’t curse at me,” you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.

You hate this side of him.

You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.

“Seungcheol,” you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.

“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”

“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”

The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.

You don’t know what to do to make it all better.

You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.

You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.

You can’t focus at all - can’t shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.

Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.

He doesn’t.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.

“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”

“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”

He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.

“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”

You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.

“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.

He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.

The pain feels like a cramp, except it’s behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that you’re out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.

You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.

It won’t do any good, and you know it.

He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.

—

Dinner is just as bad.

You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you haven’t seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.

“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.

“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.

“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?

You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.

Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.

The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.

His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.

Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”

“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?

“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”

You slink out before anyone else can argue.

You can’t even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.

When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.

You don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.

—

You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.

“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.

Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.

You work in silence for hours.

Eventually, you crack. You’re not sure if it’s the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.

You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.

“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”

“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”

You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it.

“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly.

“And that’s it?” he demands.

You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?

And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.

Is there more to it, his anger?

Should you call him on it, should you ask?

You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”

This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight.

“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”

He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.

He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.

“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”

He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”

He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”

For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.

“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”

He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.

“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision.

The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.

—

You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.

After, you go to the Marshall’s office, determined. Or maybe resigned.

When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.

“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.

He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”

You step inside but leave the door open.

“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”

You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.

“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”

The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”

You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”

The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.

Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”

“No problem,” you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.

When you step out of the Marshall’s office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. That’s always how it was, before.

You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”

He nods, once.

“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”

For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.

“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.

Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”

He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.

“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”

You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and you’d had to harbor your broken heart.

He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.

—

You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.

The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Dome’s recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isn’t quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.

Then, he schedules you to spar.

In your first week, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.

Now, you’re fucking furious.

For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and he’s been learning the steps in secret.

The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve never been angry at him.

You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.

He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.

“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”

“‘M fine,” he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.

“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”

He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”

You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”

He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”

You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.

Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.

He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.

You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”

You can’t help but smile.

“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”

He’s watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.

“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.

“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”

“What was the best part?” he asks.

You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.

It feels like a trap.

You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.

“What was the worst part?”

There’s only one answer.

“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”

He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.

When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.

–

You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.

You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.

“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”

Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.

Something about his hurt. Something about why.

“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.

This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”

You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love.

But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness.

Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk.

It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.

You buzz with nerves. The last time you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.

The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.

His first memories are a breeze - the ones you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.

You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.

You watch yourself walk towards the chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.

You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.

The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”

He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding.

There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.

You can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following.

He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.

When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.

The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake.

He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.

“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”

Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.

“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”

You know.

And you owe him your side of the story.

You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.

When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.

Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.

You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.

Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide.

Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide.

“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory.

“You -?” he starts to ask.

“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”

You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.

Alaska.

The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.

And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.

If he didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.

“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.

“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s hand in yours.

You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Fury’s conn-pod.

As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”

His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.

Home.

You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.

Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.

“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”

“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”

He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”

You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”

He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”

“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”

He nods. “I did.”

The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.

“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”

“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”

You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign.

“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”

He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”

You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.”

He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”

It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I… was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed… hopeless to keep trying.”

The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.

You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”

Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.

He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.

“We really are.”

“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.

“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”

“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”

This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”

You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem.

“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d missed it entirely.

You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.

You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d slept with him.

When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”

“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”

He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart.

You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly.

You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”

“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”

Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”

“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”

You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded.

You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”

Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…

You’re crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.

“Ready to drop?” He looks sideways at you, sly.

You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”

– end

thank you so much for reading!!!!

stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Wylie and Chan will get their own fic written by @sailorrhansol, as will Woozi! I'm also planning a Vernon x Reader in this universe, too! Should be a fun time!!

814 notes · View notes

amourcheol · 1 year

Text

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

4K notes · View notes

cheriden · 2 months

Text

「 my "i love you" 」 | pt. 1 。。。

"You're so pretty, I love you. Brows furrowing, you tuck your mouth behind your teeth. Desperately trying to ignore his whimpers and profanities, you find it difficult as Beomgyu chants the phrase louder like a prayer. "

── synopsis 。Your best friend with benefits (whom you have a crush on) is too sweet in bed

pairing 。switch!top choi beomgyu x f! reader

.ᐟ genre 。angst, smut, mdni!

.ᐟ tags 。friends with benefits, unrequited love, praise kink, missionary so they can argue, a lot of teasing, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it and get tested!), creampie (on pill!), miscommunication, beomgyu's an idiot

.ᐟ status & word count 。two-parts | 3.04k

part 1 | part 2

.ᐟ warnings/notes 。reuploaded because i'm fucking stupid. i do think ppl can be fwb without feelings but mc is a lovergirl for today ☝☝, not really proofread, semi-rushed, beomgyu is kinda dumb, no happy end (yet?)

At some point this arrangement has to end. You know that. He knows it; moreover everyone who knows that you’ve been sleeping with Beomgyu says it. You’re also aware that you should be the one to end it; A friends of benefits situation hinted at by Beomgyu, leading to a proposition started by you.

He comes over more frequently, showers you in more affection, in addition to subconsciously doing little habits lovers would do. As the patterns start to weave with your everyday life, you start to wonder who gains the most out of this agreement. Of course, such matters shouldn’t be weighed, especially between friends. He gets his release out of a glorified, whiny, pussy mitten, and you get to take a sneak peak of what it would be like to be his.

It’s not like you’re gonna get more than that.

Naturally, this thought process circulates your mind a lot, its conclusion always left as a draft or with a conflicting thought. Listening to the pitter-patter against the glass pane, you reason with yourself while you send him a text and sink into the bed, thinking, “The aftercare is nice, plus things have gotten stressful lately.”

All the inward bickering with yourself never lasts, because in the end, a full five minutes pass before three’s knocking on the door. With a heavy mind and body, you drag yourself to the anterior of the studio to unlock it.

On the other end is a panting brunette, glasses skewed and hair disheveled. Beomgyu brings his hood down, leaves his keys on the shabby table up front, kicking his shoes off beside it. You step away from the door, with him trailing behind you meekly. No words are exchanged, contrast to the obnoxiously loud string of filth when the two of you hook up. Once you enter the bedroom, you immediately fall onto the bed, propping yourself up to the headboard. You study him expectantly, moving to your right and replacing your weight with his own. He scans the room, playing with the hem of your shirt. “You got new sheets.” He starts, voice soft and low while he rests into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “They’re really soft.” With a hum, you move to get on top of him, your legs entrapping him. Simultaneously, you set your weight down on him slowly, and he seals his eyes with a small jerk from his hips. “You really came over to talk about my sheets?” The brunette gives you a small smile, cocking his head to the side. “You seriously texted me just to do nothing?” The other returns, sitting up to meet your form.

He latches his lips onto your neck, trailing it upwards to kiss the sharp of your jaw. “You’re assuming.” you comment, biting down on the inners of your bottom lip to fend off sound. “We used to hang out all the time before we started fucking.” He stops his kisses to peer at you, his mouth covered in sheen. “You texted me saying, ‘Wanna do it?’ I don’t think I was that far off from what you were planning.” You nod your head, lifting the ends of his shirt, bringing his face back into your neck. In turn, he brings his arms up the small of your back, caressing it before detaching himself once again. “You don’t have a bra on.” He says, like it’s some sort of otherworldly fact. Raising an eyebrow, you respond, “Well yeah, it’s my apartment. Nobody’s home and my top’s frilly enough to hide everything.” He nods, planting a swift peck on your lips, he gives you a bright-eyed smile. “It suits you.”

You don’t know if he’s teasing, or if this is part of the foreplay. You recall wearing the exact same top half a decade ago to see a movie with Beomgyu alone, loose and brand new with a skirt that sat right above the upper quartile of your thigh. You told yourself that it would be the day you confessed to him, or tried to get him to do something in the theater. Instead, he giggled at you, smoothening the sides of your frayed braids, telling you that you dressed silly and clean. You weren’t sure what he was implying about you, but the red hue that had painted on your cheeks that stayed throughout the whole run-time of the movie was enough to get you to quit wearing that top outdoors out of embarrassment.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, pushing the bunched up shirt around you, pulling it above your head. “Nothing” you mumble, yelping when he flips you, hovering above you as he begins to tug at the garter of your shorts. Lifting your ass, the other pulls at the fabric in one swoop. “Don’t get distracted and ignore me.” He pouts, hooking your underwear while the knuckle of his middle finger grazes over your core. “Couldn’t possibly forget,” you huff out, subtly lowering yourself onto his digit, “you’re too annoying—” Cutting yourself off with a gasp, his tongue replaces his finger, giving kitty licks over the cloth. “I’m so annoying I’ll have you screaming my name by the end of this.” He gloats in between breaths, left hand intertwined with yours as the right has its hold on the skin atop your pelvic bone, thumb rubbing circles and drawing patterns. You keep quiet, concentrating on suppressing your noises and grabbing the brunette’s hair. Pulling his face into you, he retracts, kissing the sides of your underwear. “Beomgyu,” you hiss, yanking his head up to study him. “Don’t be a prick.” The brunette gives you another pout, slowly bringing the garment to level with your knees. “But you’re cute when you’re squirming,” he pauses, trailing kisses up to your belly button. “You're also hot when you’re mean.” With a scoff, you shove his head away, and he returns to face your heat. His tongue prods at your entrance; you curse, grinding yourself onto it. “You’re impatient today,” he remarks, rubbing the apple of his cheek against your lower abdomen. “Stop playing around,” You bite back, grasping onto his hair to keep him in place, “you’re not usually this taunting.” Beomgyu sneers, pressing his nose on your clit. “Taunting you? Can’t I just want my baby to feel good?”

The term of endearment causes you to jolt against him. He chuckles, vibrations shooting up your body, draping an arm over your eyes. “Does my baby like it when I call her that?” He asks, to which you nod unconsciously, body writhing as your whines get pitchier.

Beomgyu gets off on your praise, gets off on seeing just how much you need him. So it's obvious that his next course of action is to stop contact with you altogether, pulling himself back, smirk plastered on his face. “Say it.” He coos, frotting the fabric of his jeans over your bare cunt; the texture makes you writhe. “Say you like being called baby, and that you love it when I go down on you.” A sense of protecting your dignity washes over you. You turn away with your mouth shut as he moans over you. “Never.”

The other picks up speed, and you clamp the back of your hand against your lips to prevent a whimper. Beomgyu shrugs, paying no mind to your stubbornness. “Guess I'll have to force it out of you.”

He’s cocky now, but the more he rubs against you, the louder and sloppier he gets. “Don’t cum in your pants over dry humping me, Beomie.” You mock. In return he ends with one last slow grind. “Shut up.”

He relents, mouthing the opening of your core again and lapping it in circles—prying it open with his fingers, tongue moving to suck on the tip. Toes curling, you grip at the headboard as he eats you out. His hips buck at the sheets beneath him, ruining the cloth he was praising a few minutes ago. “I’m close,” you sputter, grip on his strands tightening with little regard for his breathing.

Beomgyu—the brat that he is, halts the process once more, and you shoot him an annoyed look. “Are you serious right now? Do you not want me to cum?”

He purses his lips as if in thought, leaning to spread kisses over your clavicle. “Tell me that—” “You groan, throwing one of the smaller pillows at him. “Be for real. I’m not doing that shit.” The other pretends to sulk, hands working his way through your body and massaging your breasts. “Fine. Tell me what you want then, since my princess is so impatient and temperamental. You moan at the new nickname, and he doesn’t fail to notice. “I’ll call you all the names you want if you just tell me what you want.”

He’s back to teasing your entrance. Defeated, you tell him as fast as you can, “Need to cum, need you in me.”

Beomgyu tuts, shaking his head. “What’s the magic word?”

“Now.” You hiss, glare sharp. All he does is smile, kissing you one last time. “Okay, only because you’re so cute and you need me.” You’re not given the time to act all snobbish about his words, thoughts cut off by the sudden moaning at your cunt, Beomgyu trying and succeeding at pushing all your buttons as he sends you to the edge. A long moan exits you as you ride your orgasm out on his face, seeing spots of white as your mind tingles in pleasure.

The brunette kneels to undo his bottoms with your help, with you kissing the bands of the underwear and carved bone. “Like I said,” he sighs, hands on your shoulders to push you back into the mattress, “Impatient..”

He curses as the tip of his dick runs through the lips of your pussy, rutting it slowly. “You’re so hard,” you coo, cupping a cheek and working his dick to press on you, “You look like you haven’t fucked in—ever.” He whines at your ridicule—but it spurs him more, bucking his hips faster against you.

Beomgyu’s lids are heavy and his jaw is slack, grunting. “Look at me,” You start, his eyes finding yours as he whimpers, “I thought you were proving just how much I needed you?”

He says nothing, staring at you intently. You ask, “What do you want?” He moans, grinds deeper and paces wider. “Need to fuck you so bad," you tilt your head, encouraging him to say more.

“Please.”

You give him the go ahead, and he wastes no time in sliding himself in, his desperation making him seem too excited and clingy. You let out a small laugh, though it’s not long before your prideful smirk is displaced by the other’s mouth. By your command, he thrusts swifter with more depth, moaning into your mouth.

Your lips leave his, watching the line so spit snap, falling over his own, pink and swollen. “You look so pretty, my baby.”

It’s so confusing to you, intense in a way that it gets you going, yet also in a sense that it’s heartbreaking. You savor the moments he calls you his, even if it's only for a moment.

“You’re so pretty,” he pants against your temples, short for breath. He clenches his eyes closed, rolling his hips into you at a painfully slow pace. Your heels dig at the lower portion of his back, urging him to focus on fucking you fast and hard. Beomgyu on the other hand has a different idea in mind. He pulls back, detaching your arms from his, observing the shaft of his cock work its way into your sopping wet cunt. This whole scenario is obscene, dick outlining your stomach when he buries himself into you, pussy clamping on his member, the wet sounds paired with your cries get him off further. “Fuck, I’m close.” He groans, elbows back down near your sides while you cling yourself onto him once more. Thrusts hastier and needier than the last, he mutters something mindlessly—loud enough for you to hear.

“I love you.”

Brows furrowing, you tuck your mouth behind your teeth. Desperately trying to ignore his whimpers and profanities, you find it difficult as he chants the phrase louder like a prayer. You feel the sting of tears building in your eye sockets. Chalking it up to overstimulation, you direct all your energy to hinder it, but you can’t multitask, the bruise forming on your lips finding a break as you squeeze your eyes shut. Soon enough you’re vocal, something in the middle of wailing and moaning. “Beomgyu,” you sob, yanking his tugging his head back to meet your gaze, “I’m—” Drool trickles down your chin; he swipes it away with his thumb, trailing it with quick open-mouthed kisses. “You’re so pretty.” He repeats, smudging your tears on the sides of your face. “Always pretty when you go dumb on my cock.” He moans, rhythm quivering and sights set on getting you to come one last time before chasing his own release. “I’m close, gonna fill you up.” His thrusts fasten in urgency, hissing when you scratch his back and scream his name, your back arching off the mattress. Your hips set its pace to his, and soon enough you come to the feeling of his own, hot and thick as lava against your walls while the both of you ride out your orgasm.

Regulating your breathing, you wipe your tears before he pulls his head up to gaze at you directly. He looks properly fucked out, but pulls out slowly with kisses across your face to distract you from the feeling, settling beside you instead of keeping on top of you.

A slurry of emotions plague your mind all at once, an aftershock that feels like it hit the ground too fast, too soon.

It��s overwhelming—not the good kind of overwhelming you should be feeling when someone tells you they love you, because you know Beomgyu didn't mean it like that. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes you want to gut and lobotomize yourself, cursing about the fact that you’re feeling such mental and emotional torment over something so trivial.

Mind clearing up a little, you slide the thin duvet up your form; you sit up and clear your throat. “I think we should stop doing this.” You say slowly. The room is still, save for the heavy rain and whirs of the flimsy standing fan. His gaze frantically runs up your body, focusing alternating between your eyes and nothing in particular. His Adam's apple bobs vertically, yet all that comes out of his mouth is one word that teeters on a whisper. “What?” Locking your gaze with his own, you take a shaky breath, “People think we’re dating, Beomgyu. I don’t want this,” you gesture between the two of you, “whatever this is, to get in the way of me finding a potential relationship.” He sinks deeper into the mattress, Gaping at the ceiling. He asks, “Is this so bad?” View following his—you stare at the barren overhead, replying monotonously. “It is if I want to find a loving partner.” “I mean for people to think that we’re dating. Would that be the worst?” He interjects, the air from your lungs thinning out when you stutter. “Piss off.”

He scoffs, sitting up to match your posture. “It’s not that big of a deal. You get horny, we have sex. That’s it.” You lower your head to shake it. “It is to me. You may not have a problem sticking your dick in anything that moves, but I want to feel wanted.” The bed creaks as he inches his body closer to yours. “Fuck you. I—” You lean back, widening the distance between the two of you. “Don’t start. This is different. I want a loving, meaningful relationship.” “That’s bullshit.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “Fuck you.” You spit, beyond aggravated. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it these past months.” He retorts; you start clenching the plush blanket at your sides, knuckles turning white. After a few beats, you speak up again. “I think we should just be friends.” You watch him gnaw at the lower half of his lips, nodding his head. “Wait, Is it because I said that I love you?” He starts, “because, I don’t ‘love you’ love you. That was a heat-of-the moment, middle-of-sex ‘love you’.”

You render yourself taciturn, silence thickening as time passes. You hold yourself back from saying words you know you wouldn’t be able to take back, Fixating on counting the droplets resting on the window. His hands sneak up and move your face to look at him, coaxing his forehead against yours after planting a delicate peck on the wrinkles.

“I don’t love you. Promise.”

Beomgyu brushes his lips on the corners of your own, thumbing circles gently across your cheeks. “You have nothing to worry about.”

His grasp on you has gone icy and numbing, matching the cool of the downpour as your mind tunes into its melancholic static.

since this is a reup, i've decided to take the results from the deleted post, which was a landslide vote anyway. thank you to those who helped me reach 200+ notes and who reblogged, i would have lost this fic otherwise:)

thank you for reading! feedback, reblogs and tags appreciated♡

464 notes · View notes

cheolhub · 1 year

Text

LAVENDER — CHOI SEUNGCHEOL ࿐

summary. you really don’t want seungcheol to go to work, so you give him a million reasons to stay at home with you.

wc. 3.7k+

warnings. whew… dom!cheol, teasing, very needy f!reader, morning sex, f. masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, lots of dirty talk, pussy drunk cheol <3 rough but very passionate sex, size kink if you squint, heavy praise, heavy use of pet names [pretty/sweet girl, baby, love] (im not sorry) — MINORS DNI 18+

note. happy birthday to cheolhub (not me, my account. she turns 1 today ^^) we will celebrate with a self indulgent fic. i was blinded by need for him one morning a while back and then BOOM, this was born. so here u guys go, i hope u enjoy. p.s. the title has nothing to do with the fic, stream lavender by dreamer boy :p

early mornings are the absolute worst for seungcheol. the tedious morning routine, watching the sun peek from the bleak, dark sky, and worst of all, parting from you. he hates leaving you before you can even form a coherent thought, body wracked with last night's sleep. he hates leaving you ‘cus you look so adorable while you’re drooling over your pillows, whining at him to get back in bed.

but this morning was different. normally, you’d be sound asleep by the time he had to leave, but you had been tossing and turning all night so by the time seungcheol’s alarm had gone off, you were well awake. you frown at him as he takes a deep sigh, forearm coming to rest on his forehead once he snoozes the alarm.

you scoot closer to him, snuggling into his side and wrapping an arm around his naked torso. he hums at your touch, “g’morning, baby,” his raspy voice sends a shiver up your spine.

“nothin’ good about this morning,” you mumble passively, pressing your face further into his side.

cheol raises an eyebrow. you sound too awake this morning. “did you sleep at all?” he pressed, noticing the lack of tiredness in your voice. the arm on his forehead comes down to wrap around your frame. he takes your vow of silence as a no and he whines cutely at you, “angel, why didn’t you wake me?”

“‘cus you had to wake up early, cheollie,” you pout. “and i didn’t wanna bug you.”

“you could do no such thing,” he defends, his hand rubbing your hip. “why couldn’t you sleep?”

you shrug, shyly. you could tell him about how you had imagined him fucking you all day yesterday and how you needed him horribly while he was at work, but your embarrassment keeps you from admitting your desperation.

but, cheol is smart. maybe a bit too smart. especially when it comes to you. he can read you like an open book, knows you like the back of his hand.

“aw, was my pretty baby horny?” he coos feeling the way you wordlessly nod your head into his side. “yeah?”

“yeah… missed you all day yesterday,” you murmur, pressing chaste kisses to his naked, warm skin. “ needed you so bad, but you seemed tired when you got home… ‘n, like i said, i didn’t wanna bug you, so,”

seungcheol shakes his head disapprovingly as he maneuvers his body to hover over yours. “what did i just say? you could never bug me, Y/N.” he reprimands and you pout once more. “tell me what you need, baby, hmm?” his voice drops an octave and you feel yourself melt to putty. “what does my pretty baby need?”

the sheer dominance that emits from his body has your insides churning in anticipation. “need you…” you can barely breathe out.

he chuckles, “yeah? ‘m right here, love.” the lilt to his voice signals he’s teasing and you let out a soft whine. “did you need anything else?”

“need you in me,” you exhale.

“that so?” he questions, raising his eyebrow, feigning awareness, “i dunno baby, doesn’t seem like you actually need me…”

you squirm under him, your panties soaking as his patronizing tone arouses you to no end. “please, i do,” you whimper. “i need you so bad, cheol, please.”

his breath hitches and his previous teasing manner suddenly vanishes. before he can say anything, though, his second alarm rings indicating he has to get ready. forreal this time.

you’re saddened at the thought of him leaving… it would be totally selfish of you to provoke him, right? especially so early in the morning while he should be getting ready for work…

but he did say that you could never bug him…

“cheollie,” you mumble. “can’t you call in for the morning? just go in a lil late?” you ask, hopeful.

the sigh that he lets slip his lips is one you know all too well. it’s a heavy sigh that comes right before he’s about to tell you something disappointing. something you don’t want to hear. “baby…”

you deflate before he says anything else, huffing out, “fine.” he smiles at the pout that etches into your lips but it’s quickly wiped off his face when you sulk out your next words, “guess i’m just gonna have to fuck myself all day while you’re gone.”

“huh…is that so, baby?” his soft tone is gone, replaced with one that makes you immediately submit to him. he leans into you, a sinister smile creeping back onto his face as thoughts roam through his mind. “yeah? gonna shove those pretty little fingers in your cunt and pretend it’s me making you feel good?”

you exhale sharply, gulping when you feel your throat dry up. “y-yeah.” your stutter doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, yet he plays along with your cute little game.

“guess that means i don’t have to make you cum this morning then, huh?”

you gasp, snapping your head back to look at him, eyes filled with regret. “what?! wait, no, no, i-i want–”

he cuts off your stuttering while wearing a faux pout, “what happened, baby? i thought you wanted to fuck yourself? i think you should go for it, you don’t need me.”

“no, cheol, i do– i’m sorry, i do need you.” you tell him feebly, a whine following your words.

he coos, “aw, really? then why don’t you show me, sweet girl.”

“but you’re gonna be late–”

“don’t worry about that, baby, just go ahead and touch yourself for me.”

you whimper, nodding your head. you hook your fingers into the elastic bands of your sleep shorts and wet panties, lifting your hips up to pull the thin pieces of fabric off your body. your heated core is now exposed to the cool air, chilling your feverish body the second it fans over your cunt.

seungcheol can see the way your pussy glistens with the soft light peeking in through the window. blood rushes straight to his cock and it throbs almost painfully under his loose shorts. he doesn’t feel like going all the way to work like this, nor does he want to be there with the thought of you touching yourself without him.

your hand trails down to your pussy, two of your fingers finding your clit. your eyes flutter close, shifting and getting comfortable on the bed before moving faster.

your eyes don’t need to be open to see him staring intently at you. you can feel his gaze burning holes into your skin and knowing he’s sitting on his knees above you…just watching makes you squirm a bit. adrenaline continues to pump through your veins, exciting you further.

your breath hitches and a soft, “fuck,” tumbles out of your mouth. your fingers pick up their pace, rubbing into the swollen bud with pure desire.

your lips tug up a bit when you hear your boyfriend’s shuddered exhale. you decide that— maybe— it’s your chance to put on a little show for him.

your free hand comes up to fondle your tits, squeezing the fat with vigor. you arch into both of your hands helplessly. your eyes screw together and your jaw goes slack as moans come out of your open mouth.

and, fuck, you bet you look so lewd to him. playing with your tits through your thin shirt and panting like a bitch in heat, all the while you're desperately grinding your hips for more.

and then you give him something he can’t deny. something he can’t ignore even if he wanted to.

“mmm, fuck,” you moan, fingers dipping down into your pulsing core. “fuck, ‘m so wet, cheol.”

when he doesn’t reply, your eyes crack open and shoot to stare at him. with your eyebrows knit together, you moan again, curling the fingers trapped between your warm, velvet walls. you speak as if he’s not inches away from you, as if you’re not staring directly at him while you fuck yourself with your fingers. “wish you’d just come ‘n fuck me, cheollie. wish my fingers were your cock so bad.”

the wet sounds of your fingers curling and scissoring inside of you fill the room and it’s driving him absolutely insane. heat begins to radiate off his body and he realizes he can’t take this much longer–

“need your fat cock to fill me up so bad–” you pant, eyes rolling to the back of your head, the sight of him disappearing and your vision fades to black. “need you to split me open, make me take it all.”

and you’re not that close– even though your fingers feel fucking amazing– but stretching the truth never hurt anyone, so you whine out, “m close.”

he finally cracks..

his hand spans over your tummy and his thumb finds your clit, circling the puffy bud faster than you could imagine, “so soon, baby?” he asks with a low voice, words heavy and dripping with sheer dominance. “you’re that horny? gonna cum after playing with your pretty pussy for five minutes?”

you weren’t close before, but the stimulation to your clit along with the fingers in your messy cunt and your hand on your breast have you tensing up. your tummy tightens and your brain goes a bit haywire, his vulgar words not helping the situation in the slightest.

“needy girl… so fuckin’ dirty.” he murmurs. “talkin’ about getting split open on my cock. need me to fuck you back to sleep, don’t you?”

you nod eagerly as his fingers work you faster, swiftly rubbing into you. he’s grinning at the way your movements are inconsistent, how you’re unable to keep your speed from faltering– your hand is probably cramping up inside of you.

his free hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers out causing a mewl to erupt in the back of your throat, but before you have a chance to complain, his longer, thicker fingers are replacing yours. he’s mocking your actions, but he’s making it feel so much better as he stretches you further and hitting all your spots better than you were.

he hums, “you sure you can even take it? you’re squeezin’ my fingers so tight—”

your eyes snap open again and you protest through a moan, essentially cutting him off, “i-i can! you know i can!”

a deep, dark chuckle reverberates through your room as he nods, “you’re right, huh? you always take me so well. my good girl.”

you really are going to cum now and seungcheol can feel it. you clamp around his fingers and your own curl around his wrist in attempts to ground yourself before your impending orgasm washes over you.

“is this really how you wanna cum before i’m off to work, baby?” another faux pout appears on his face. “you don’t wanna cum on my cock? don’t want me to cum with you?”

you cry, shaking your head incessantly, preparing to have pure bliss cruelly ripped away from you. “cock, want– fuck, cheol– i-i want your cock.”

his pout morphs into yet another devious smirk as he pulls both of his hands off of you, abandoning you to cry and mewl in disappointment. the orgasm bubbling up in the pit of your tummy quickly flees, dissolving into nothing and leaving you with a dull ache in your needy core.

seungcheol quickly strips his boxers off, his hard cock slapping against his abdomen. he doesn’t need to with how wet you are, but he still lets a trail of spit coat his angry, red tip.

you’re still heaving, recovering from your loss of orgasm and seungcheol is very aware. he can see that you're heavily anticipating the feeling of his dick finally pressing into you, doing your best to be patient and he has to fight off the urge to tease you for being so desperate.

but, in all honesty, he’s doing no better than you. his hands eagerly find the backs of your thighs, spreading you open and then pushing them back till your knees knock against your chest. you gasp when you realize the position he’s put you in–

he’s really going to give it to you.

he slaps the heavy tip of his cock against your clit a few times causing your hips to jolt after every strike. he laughs quietly to himself, savoring the sight of you like this even though he knows he’ll have you like this again tonight and tomorrow and for the years to come. he’ll still burn the image of you before him into his brain every single time. you’re just too beautiful not to.

he runs his head through your drenched slit and you can’t resist the impatient groan that comes out of your mouth. “god, cheol, don’t tease. please.”

“you’re so cute when you’re worked up, though.”

“i’m a lot cuter with your dick inside of me,” you mumble, clenching around nothing as another flash of arousal courses through your body. “taking all of you.”

he can’t argue with that.

he finally trails down to your drooling hole, slowly and steadily pushing into you. daunting inch by inch. he lodges his bottom lip in between his teeth, biting back an embarrassing moan over how incredibly tight you are.

he’s only a quarter of the way in and you’re almost in tears. the pain from the stretch is one you’ll never get used to, but you breathe through it. he guides you through it.

“good job, baby, just breathe. it’s gonna feel good, just relax.” he gets out with a strained voice as you let out an incoherent string of words.

you give him a broken nod and moan, doing your best to control your labored breathing and physically unclench.

he decides to just go halfway for the time being, gently thrusting in and out of your vice-like pussy till the pain subsides– till you’re able to take it all.

and it’s not long before said pain turns into fervor and immense pleasure.

“ch-cheol– oh, my god.” your words are something between a whine and mewl. “so big, oh my… fuck. you’re so big…”

he groans, cock twitching at the praise. he doesn’t mean to, but he fucks another inch (or two) into you, driving himself deeper into you. when you gasp at the intrusion, he swears he won’t be able to last long.

he moans out his words, breathy and a bit stuttered. “d-don’t say that… swear to god, you’re gonna drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

you give him an airy laugh– though it quickly dies and turns into a whimper– and say, “you can give it to me.”

a growl bubbles in his chest at the implication of your words. before he moves, he asks, “you sure?” and when you give him a soft yes, he doesn’t hold back, the switch– the sanity switch– in his mind and body flipping off.

he grabs the back of your thighs for support before pushing the rest of himself inside of you in one go. his hips meet yours and it has your eyes rolling back, an array of mewls and moans bouncing off the walls of your room mixing with his loud groans.

he holds himself there for a second, but when you clamp around him tighter than before, he pulls his hips back and slams back into you. he repeats his actions, almost completely pulling out and pushing back in over and over till he gains a steady, consistent pace.

he’s in deep, the tip of his cock scraping against your sweet spot. he hits it persistently while spewing praises left and right.

“such a good girl. fuck, you’re so good, you know that?” he rambles, stars in his eyes as he watches your face contort and your body twitch at the sweet words. “feel so fuckin’ good, shit–”

you wish you could reply. give him back some praise about how his cock is fucking incredible, how he’s perfect, how he’s the most beautiful man ever, but the words escape you, as does your mind. instead, you tighten around him, velvety walls molding to the shape of him.

a guttural groan leaves him and he moves faster, forcing himself in and out, “not gonna last if you keep doing that.”

you do it again, clenching around him as he’s keeping up his impressive speed. “f-fill me up.”

“i fucking will,” he growls as if that were his plan all along. “but you’re gonna cum for me first.”

he discreetly snakes his hand between the two of you, hand splaying over your stomach as it did earlier except, this time, he’s pushing down and feeling himself inside of you. he groans at the sensation as his thumb catches your clit.

“cheol!” you gasp, shockwaves running through your body at the contact.

“come on, baby,” he coaxes in his sultry, breathy voice. “you can do it, can’t you? you can cum for me?”

you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, body becoming overstimulated at the onslaught of pleasure. your tummy tightens, just like before, and you feel the knot reforming with his deep strokes filling you to the brim and skillfully hitting your spot every time.

“y-yeah– fuck, yes,” you pant, eyes screwing shut and body arching. you squeeze him tight– so tight he’s scared you might not let him leave. every nerve ending in your body is tingling, electrified– you may have the best orgasm of your life at six in the fucking morning. “cheol– cheol! cheol, i–” you sob, each version of his name getting louder and more incomprehensible than the last.

looking at you, he thinks he’s in heaven. or maybe he’s in hell because his cock is twitching uncontrollably and he’s just barely hanging on. a pretty whine– one that he finds a bit embarrassing– escapes him before his wavered voice says, “fuck, i got you, baby. cum for me. cum all over my cock like the pretty girl you are.”

your body jerks and vision goes white at his command. the knot in your belly unravels rather quickly and you persuasively drench his length in your syrupy arousal. a silent scream leaves your mouth and you’re squirming under him as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm before your entire body goes lax.

you whine out little, mindless babbles, begging him to cum while he picks up his pace, fucking into your near lifeless body with so much vigor.

“gonna let me fill this pretty pussy, huh?” he grits through his teeth, pulling his hand from your tummy in favor of putting it on the back of your thigh again. he pins your legs to your chest with a sense of urgency, nearly folding you in half. “tell me how bad you wanna get fucked full of my cum, baby.”

you shudder at the thought of him pumping you full. you nod dumbly, “p-please, cheol. wanna feel it inside of me so bad.”

“yeah?”

“fuck yes,”

he groans, his nails digging into your flesh. if he wasn’t close before, he’s going to fucking explode now.

his hips stutter, thrusts growing sloppy before he stills with his tip nestled at your hilt. his abs contract and he twitches and pulses in between your walls. a soft cry of your name falls from his plush lips right as he shoots ribbons of warm cum deep into your cunt.

the warmth of his cum causes a wanton moan to escape you. there’s so much of it that it’s hard to keep it inside of you. so much that it ends up spilling and dribbling out of your hole as he slowly pulls out.

he watches in awe, dick twitching in excitement at the sight. he shakily exhales, holding himself back from shoving it into you again.

you’re so sore. coming down from your euphoric high, you let your legs down, stretching them out due to the strenuous position, and try to regulate your breathing.

a few minutes pass and you finally feel like your heart rate is back to normal. you still feel his load slipping out of you, so your hand comes down to your messy pussy, swiping up some of his seed and bringing your fingers to your lips.

seungcheol groans at the moan you let out at the taste of your mixed cum. “you’re such a tease.” he mutters, hands soothing over your body.

you pull your fingers out of your mouth and smile lazily at him. “we’re meant to be then.”

he cracks a wide grin, “we are, huh?”

“very.” you nod.

he leans down, whispering a soft i love you and pecking your lips. right before you can wrap your arms around him and tangle up with him again, he moves away.

you groan in annoyance, “you’re not still going to work are you? after that?!”

“baby,” he laughs. “i’m already gonna be late. i have to clean you up and then get ready.”

“noooo, stay with me.” you whine making grab hands at him. “we could have so much more fun here. for example, i could suck you off.” you say in joking matter though you have never been more serious in your entire life. “orrrr, we can do some of the things you’ve always wanted to try.” you whisper, a taunting smile on your face.

he gasps, face flushing, “baby, don’t play.” he shakes his head, pushing his dirty thoughts to the back of his head. “while the offer sounds tempting–”

“just today, cheol,” you plead, a pout on your face. “for me? please? just don’t wanna be away from you.”

he wishes that you weren’t so persuasive, but, unfortunately for him, you are. he can’t resist the pouts or the pleading eyes or how cute you are when you’re clingy. an exasperated sigh slips his lips. he’s going to have to play catch-up tomorrow, but the idea of spending the day with you instead makes it seem worth it.

“fine, i’ll give them a call. tell them i’m sick or something.” he says, a smile playing onto his lips. “just for you. just for today.”

“yay!” you cheer, sitting up on your messy bed sheets. “round 2 in the shower? then maybe we can work through your bucket list.”

“you are literally insatiable.” he scoffs as if he isn’t pulling your arms to get you out of the bed.

“seems like you’re way ahead of me.”

taglist! @ficrecnctskz @bowmonde @jinxedmuse @rubyreduji @peachyaeger @roe-sinning @hyuk4ngel @ollieollieoctopus

wanna join my taglist? click here!

#seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seventeen smut #svt smut

2K notes · View notes

nishloves · 9 months

Text

svt with pillow princess s/o

words : 1k // genre : nsfw reactions // warnings : use of a few derogatory pet names.

choi seungcheol - urges you to ride him even though he knows that you'll get tired pretty soon.he loves to watch your hips stutter and watch your whole body shake as you're trying to reach your high but you're oh so tired.

your whines for him to take control are music to his ears as he grins and admires your worn out expressions, on the few days you want to be the top and the giver he will deliberately hold back his cum so that in the end you'll have to beg him for release. "you're tired? weren't you wanting to pleasure me through the night, sweetheart?" yoon jeonghan - you're a pillow princess? he's not big on stamina either- so what do you do? loads and i mean loads of lazy sex. expect him to slip between your folds while you're cuddling and he's for sure gonna edge you. you need more stimulation? but jeonghan is tired too! his pace is torturously slow as he rams himself into you, doesn't move until you literally cry/beg him to help you out. hong jisoo - complies; yes, once in a while he does like to be on the receiving side but mostly, he's happy to give you whatever you want. kisses your lips softly while he's going at his fastpace too- just butterflies all over your body. but, BUT once in a while- if you're being whiny, be prepared to be edged out till the dawn of the other morning because joshua loves it when you beg, but he won't tolerate whiny sluts <3 wen junhui - probably the sweetest among all omg! would happily give you whatever you want, lay you down on the bed, with a pillow below your hips as he works hard to help you reach your high, stimulates your clit so that your pleasure increases tenfold and will happily fondle your breasts! "you want me to go faster? anything for you baby." kwon soonyoung - i have this image- listen to me! two-three pillows under your hips for better arch as he slowly pushes his dick into you, one of his hands just below your waist and the thumb of his other hand subtly rubbing your clit, he's eerily slow though- he would relish the way your walls feel around him as you repetedly ask him- touch him to move faster, he won't comply- he won't listen to you until he feels like he is near and will 100% get you to agree for more rounds, man has endless stamina and patience- good luck. (he'll be mean too T-T) jeon wonwoo - d e g r a d e s . "my little slut wants me to do all the work, hmm?" he turns you around, pillows under your body as he props your ass up, sliding in his cock as deep as he can before he rams himself back in you. honestly- he's way too happy to have a control over you, it just fuels his calm ego whenever you're begging him to be fast (or slow). lee jihoon - he's somewhat like jeonghan, jun and cheol combined. on his lazy days or on the days when he really needs to work, he will ask you to cockwarm him, but his patience is far better than cheol or jeonghan; if you're riding him he will make you work for it despite knowing of your "princess" habits. he doesn't care, even the most arrogant of princess (you) will beg him for more friction, why not enjoy your stubbornness more? on the days when he's ready to pay attention to you- uhm... well, all the best, i guess. xu minghao - d e g r a d e s p t 2. oh boy, he will take care of you, goes as slow or fast as you want; touches you wherever you ask him to, but all while degrading you to the core- embarrassing the fuck out of you, eliciting the strangest whimpers, noises and retorts out of you as he obediently complies with all your wishes, only if you're nice and polite tho <3 kim mingyu - service top! kim mingyu at your service your highness, you need his hands there? or rather his tongue? he'll give it all to you, you just need to ask for it once and he's at your door. doesn't even care about his pleasure at the moment to be honest- it's all about how to pleasure you, which does make you feel a little guilty afterwards.

lee seokmin - complies pt2, it doesn't matter- what you want, you get. sex could be pretty vanilla with him but the moment you look at his pretty face as he's pleasuring you and doing all of the work, your libido just increases tenfold. he's a sweetheart tho, will do and stop whenever you want <3

boo seungkwan - he's confusing, on the few days when he's feeling all generous and giving, he's down to do whatever you want- give you everything you need- but the day his resolve breaks- he's having you sit on him for hours, not doing anything and just scrolling through his phone, you need to work for your release then- he can be selfish too, albeit only a few times.

chwe hansol - he can be quite lazy at times- so expect something like jeonghan 60% of times, but on the days he's not- he's gripping your hair or neck, his hands tracing your body as he's ramming into you, as fast as you want while he's worshipping your body.

lee chan - he likes giving more than he likes receiving when it is the matter of sex, so he happily complies to all of your wishes- he asks you if your position is comfortable or not and if its getting too much for you to handle, but on the few days when you want to return the favour to him, his eyes widen like that of saucers as he almost whimpers at the imagination- yeah, i don't think you can stay a pillow princess for too long.

1K notes · View notes

itsbeeble · 2 months

Text

Cheerleaders and Stereotypes

SUMMARY: Choi San isn't an idiot. He's also very patient. How long will it take for you to let him admit that he bagged the hottest cheerleader in the world?

GENRE: fluff, angst, smut

PAIRING: Choi San x afab!reader

WC: ~4.7k

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: reader is dumb, relationship is actually a little toxic I won't even lie, san tries to make reader jealous and it works, p in v sex, fingering, size kink, SIZE. KINK., softdom!san, big dick!san, um reader struggles to ride san idk, bulge kink, san lowkey mocks the reader a bit, insecurities, arguing, san lowkey is way too patient for reader, idk i think that's it

A/N: h-heyyyyy *chuckles nervously* Everyone say welcome back tumblr user itsbeeble! Everyone say thank you @from-izzy and @sanaxo-o for distracting me while I was writing and to ally for supporting me through a very very very very long writers block hahahahhahahhahhahha....haha...ha

Choi San, despite popular belief, was not an idiot. Not really at least. Unfortunately for him, he seemed to fit most of the stereotypes of a college athlete.

He was fit, that was without a doubt and he would not deny it. Six days a week in the gym after football practice did him good. Toned arms that hardly fit any of his shirts, the fabric stretching and nearly tearing every time he got dressed. Thick thighs that bulged against every pair of jeans or sweatpants, noticeable from the stands on game day and having girls swooning as he walked. Not to mention his ass. Had he not built up a brick wall called “confidence” the comments made about his ass would have had him blushing and covering his cheeks rather than smirking.

God, that smirk. He flashed it casually to anyone who looked at him— students, professors, the crowd, the opposing team, the cheerleaders. It was a near unfortunate bonus that he was just as hot as he was fit. That stupid chiselled jaw, the dimples, and his tall frame. It’s irritating.

At least, it’s irritating for you.

See, being the supposedly stupid captain of the football team came with many stereotypes.

Dating the captain of the cheerleading squad was just one more, even if no one knew.

No one important, that is.

“Sannie,” Yewon was practically hanging off San’s arm, her manicured nails lightly scratching the tan skin. The sing-song tone of her voice made you cringe, the noise scraping at your eardrums and creating a dull throb in your already aching skull. Your back was turned to the pair, but San could tell you were likely trying to grow eyes in the back of your skull to watch the interaction. That stupid, casual smirk of his was trained on the newer cheerleader, her eyes big and filled with faux innocence. “How did you get so big?”

A poorly stifled snort from another girl on the squad, Sihyeon. A good friend of yours who knows exactly what goes on between you and San behind closed doors, and knows exactly what he’s planning. That little snort has you turning the daggers you call eyes onto her, the girls around her shifting uncomfortably at the now tense energy around you.

Jealousy. That’s what San’s goal is and you know it. He’s pulled this trick several times before, trying to egg you on and expose the relationship that you’d chosen to hide. So he’d play stupid, that same act that everyone believes is a poor reality. The dumb, hot captain of the football team who can’t seem to get a girlfriend despite the girls falling at his feet for a moment of his attention. All he wants is for you to finally get jealous enough to rip that girl off his arm and finally stake your claim publicly.

Unfortunately, you’re patient.

Fortunately, so is he.

He smirks down at her, his arm grazing the skin of her lower back that her top doesn’t cover. You can practically hear her breathing stutter, and your grip on your pom poms tightens.

“Never skip a day at the gym, never skip practice, throw a good party on the weekends.” His answer is…lackluster at best. Your nose wrinkles, knowing he did it on purpose. The idiotic responses are for you, in hopes that you’ll turn around and yell at him for pretending to be a moron even though he’s one of the best students in the Kinesiology department.

“You’ll have to coach me through a workout one day,” Yewon grabs San’s arm tighter when she sees you turn to face the pair.

“Maybe I should take you up on that.” San isn’t looking at her, not even a brief glance down to acknowledge that she’s there. No, his eyes are trained on you. Daring you to say something, anything.

Do it.

You know you want to.

Stake the claim.

You know I’m yours. Why not let everyone else know?

You open your mouth to speak, and he quirks an eyebrow at you. Do it, do it, do it.

“Kim Yewon,” the words are laced with venom and she goes rigid. “Break ended ten minutes ago.”

“I was talking to Sannie!” She glared at you, and you almost laughed.

“Sannie,” you mocked, watching a pout form on your boyfriend’s lips, “has his own practice to get to.”

“Our practice ended half an hour ago.” He argued, toeing the limits of how far he can push you before you finally break.

“Then leave.”

“I don’t want to. I wanna stay and talk with Yewon.” He challenged. Sihyeon grimaces behind you, watching as San digs himself a grave not even he can climb out of.

The two of you stare each other down for a few moments, a mix of emotions running through you. You know that he’s challenging you and trying to get a rise out of you, but you know better. You know you can’t challenge him like that without exposing your relationship— the one thing in your life that you want to keep to yourself for just a little while longer.

You’re the first to cave, your shoulders slumping just enough to be noticed by San, and his eyebrows knit together.

“Do what you want. Practice is done for the day.”

The two-story rental house you share with Sihyeon and a few other girls from the squad is eerily silent. The air conditioning and the sound of you quietly walking around your room are the only things keeping you from the thoughts in your head.

Did San take Yewon up on the ‘offer’?

Did you take it too far?

Should you have just caved for him?

What if he’s sick of this? Of the secret meet-ups and the acting?

Something hits the window as you’re walking past it, and a loud squeak escapes you. You whip your head around just as, what you now realize is, a rock hits the window. Not a large rock. Small, just enough to be noticeable and visible to the naked eye as it tumbles back down to the front lawn. Another rock as you take the two steps you need in order to peer down and see San with a pile of rocks on the ground next to him, a fourth in his hand ready to be thrown if needed. He grins when he sees you, tossing the rock up and down a couple of times before taking aim.

You fling your window open, scowling down at him before he winds his hand back.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Choi San.” He pouts up at you, but all you do is glare.

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“Ring the doorbell, dumbass. Like a normal person.”

Much to your annoyance, San just grins and drops the rock. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You lean against the window frame, arms folded as you run your tongue over your lip in thought. “Shouldn’t you be with Yewon?”

You can see San’s nose wrinkle at the thought, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he makes his way to the tree he’d been using as a sort of ladder to get into your room. He’d been doing that since you met, since the first time you ever slept together. He’d never been a fan of the whole…front door tactic. Your father would probably hate him. He’d think San was no good, a troublemaker if anything. You would disagree.

Maybe your relationship was more stereotypical than you were willing to believe.

San’s shoes are louder than either of you had expected as he jumps down from the tree, grimacing at the noise he makes.

“If my neighbors didn’t know any better, the police would’ve been here by now.” You shuffle back as your boyfriend tucks awkwardly through your window. His large frame pushes against the frame, the vinyl creaking against him as it struggles to stay in one piece. His neck cranes to look up at you, his feet hitting the ground with another loud thump.

“Glad they know better then.” He pushes a hand through his hair, the silky black strands falling loosely over his forehead in spite of his best efforts.

A moment of silence falls between you, and you take this time to sit at your dresser. Makeup wipes and cleansers are scattered in front of you from when you’d made a weak attempt at distracting yourself from, well, the problem you’d created.

San sits on your bed behind you, watching every move you make. He sits quietly, like a child in a timeout chair. He waits, letting you make the calls. You never knew why he started doing that— started letting you take the lead in every argument, even the petty nonsensical ones.

“You never answered my question,” your eyes are trained on him through the mirror. He presses his lips together, loosely folding his legs.

“Are you really that upset?” The question is innocent enough, but it brings back the previous irritation from the field.

“Why wouldn’t I be? My boyfriend is openly flirting with other people knowing that I’ll get pissed off. You flaunt that knowledge like it’s your fucking birthright or whatever. Do you really think I’m not gonna get upset about it?” You put your moisteurizer down with more force than you’d wanted to, shaking your dresser a bit. San flinches at the sudden noise, gnawing at his lip in thought.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Are you, though?” Your eyes are narrowed as you turn around in your chair. A momentary pause as San lets the words sink in. He’s patient. So patient with you, even when you feel you don’t deserve it. “You act like you don’t give two shits about our relationship, and then show up at my fucking window acting like nothing is wrong and that the world is all sunshine and fucking rainbows. You go out of your way to piss me off, make me angry at my own squad, just for what? So you can get a good fuck at the end of the day?”

Sometimes you forget that, while Choi San is patient, that patience runs thin.

He isn’t stupid. He knows that this outburst, this frustration, isn’t just at him, but the more you spit your venom at him, taking your anger and misdirecting it, the more his patience begins to run out. You can see it in the clenching of his fists, the ticking of his jaw, and the glare in his eyes.

Unfortunately, you’re far too lost in your mind that you can’t see the way San rises from his seat on your bed and takes a step toward you. Then another, and another, and suddenly he’s right in front of you.

“Sometimes I think that the idiotic front that you put on isn’t exactly a front at all—” You spin around, expecting him to still be on your bed. A loud yelp escapes you when you come face-to-face with his well-built frame. “Jesus Christ, San! Why the fuck are you right behi—”

“Shut up,” he says it so simply, so calmly that you almost think he’s not being serious.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” You snarl, and San scoffs.

“Do you even realize why we’re in this situation to begin with?”

“Yeah, you were flirting with my fucking—”

“Don’t blame me for your fucking problems,” San spits out. Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “I’ve been going along with this stupid fucking secret relationship for who knows how long, and all I’ve gotten in return is you bitching about me wanting you to just come out with it!”

“You know I want to keep—”

“You want to keep your love life private,” San interrupts and flings his hands into the air. “I get it. I understand, Y/N. That doesn’t make it suck any less.”

“It isn’t just—” you huff, pressing your hand to your forehead in a poor attempt at calming yourself down. “It isn’t just the fact that I want to keep us private, Sannie. I just— I don’t—”

Your eyes are welling up with tears, and you blink a few times to force them back. San pulls you toward him, his hand practically engulfing yours as he tugs you onto his lap. Your legs are on either side of his, and he laces his fingers with yours, resting them between the two of you.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong, sweetheart.” He murmurs, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “Let me help you.”

You shake your head, and his chest rises and falls with a quiet sigh. “I’m just— I’m just so sick of— of everything.”

San presses a little kiss to your forehead, tugging one of his hands free from yours and lacing it through the strand of hair on the back of your head. He doesn’t move for a few moments, placing another kiss on your forehead and then another. He waits for you to calm yourself and gather your thoughts.

“Can—” your voice is quieter, a bit more shaky than it was just moments ago. “Can you kiss me?” San smiles, his lips still just millimeters from your forehead.

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” Your hips shift against his, and you drop your head against the column of his neck. Your breath is warm against his skin, and the scent of your shampoo begins to flood his senses. His hand tugs at your hair, drawing your attention back to him. “You’re absolutely insatiable, you know that? Tell me what’s wrong or I’m leaving.”

You can’t fight the little whine that’s pulled out of you. Not that you wanted to. You wanted him. You wanted Choi San so badly that it hurt.

“I was— I was mad because I didn’t want…” You can hardly form a sentence, too distracted by the gentle tugs at your hair and the way San’s other hand has drifted to your hip, drawing circles underneath the fabric of your sleep shorts.

“What didn’t you want, sweetheart? Tell me.” San pulls your head away from his neck, holding back a grin at the near-glazed look in your eyes.

“I didn’t want to be part of anymore…stereotypes. We already fit so many, I just—I just wanted to hold that one back for a bit longer.” You whine, your lips falling into a pout that San just wants to kiss away. Instead, he smiles.

“Was that so hard, pretty girl? So much fighting just for a silly little reason like that?” Your pout deepens, and he sighs. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And nothing is gonna change that, no matter how many stereotypes we fall under. You understand?”

“Yes,” San smiles, stroking your hip and squeezing it.

“‘Yes’ what, baby?” Your eyes are glossy now, your lips parted slightly in your daze.

“Yes sir.”

Despite San’s patience running thin, he always recovers it with ease. Patience is what he’s known for in class, on the field, in your relationship, and in your bedroom.

He can edge you for hours, cooing at the way you beg for him, beg for that sweet release, for just one more finger, please just one more.

“Pretty girl,” he strokes your cheek, letting his hand slide down your spine to rest against the small of your back. You’re writhing beneath him, trying desperately to bring your hips up just enough for him to hit that sweet spot inside of you but failing miserably. “I don’t think you can handle anymore.”

Only two of his fingers sit inside you, but it’s more than enough to stretch you out, to provide you with the stimulation you need to go right over the edge—

“San—sir, please.” Your hands grip the pillow beneath your head tightly, nails digging into the fabric so tight you’re afraid it might tear. “Pl—Please lemme cum, I prom—promise I’ll b—be good. Please,” You’re nearly hysterical, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as he plunges his fingers in and out of you, his thumb dancing over your clit but not quite giving you that extra stimulation. Not that you need it with the way he grinds the tips of his fingers into the spongy spot just within his reach.

“You wanna cum that bad?” San leans down, his chest pressed against your back and his lips right up against your ear. “You’re gonna have to work harder than that. Beg for it. Scream. I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

Patience is a virtue you haven’t quite learned yet. What you have learned? You’re extraordinarily good at making Choi San cave for you.

“Sir,” you plead, pushing your hips back against his hand just enough. There’s a burning feeling in your stomach, the knot winding tighter and tighter until you almost can’t take it. “Please. I’m so so—sorry for yelling. Please I’ve been so good for you. I can take it. Please let me take it. Want you s—so bad. Want you to ma—make me cum. Want you, Sannie! Please, please make me cum. Want you to fuck me so bad, ple—please!”

For a moment, San’s hand stills inside you. For a moment all you can hear is your desperate whining and your boyfriend attempting to steady his breathing.

Then he’s ripping his fingers out of your sopping cunt and rolling you onto your back. His frame looms over you in a way that has your body quivering with anticipation, eyes searching yours for…something that you can’t figure out in your lust-filled haze.

“Such a pretty girl,” San murmurs, pressing his palm at the base of your stomach, one hand nearly covering the expanse of it. “So small, so good for me. So good for Sannie, hm?”

“Yes!” You grab his wrist, nails digging so tightly you’re afraid you might draw blood. “Please, wanna be so good for you Sannie!”

He sighs, prying your hand away from his wrist and pinning it to the mattress. “You say that, but I don’t know if I believe you.”

A sob pushes out of you, your back arching into him. He catches you before you can lower back down to the bed, his arm looping around you to keep you pressed against his chest while he sits back. You’re right where you started— on the bed, straddling him with tears running down your cheeks— but this time you’re both completely undressed. You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, little twitches being the only indication of any impatience. You try to roll your hips against him, trying anything to get that friction back. San clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, stilling your hips with one hand. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”

“I—I will!” You grab his shoulders, leaning your face up to his, trying desperately to kiss him— to do anything that might sway his decision. “I’m sorry, sir! I promise I just— I just wanted—”

“I know,” he kisses you gently, smiling softly, deceptively. “I know you just wanted to cum all over your Sannie’s lap. Been edgin’ you for so long, haven’t I? You deserve to cum for being so…patient.” You let out a relieved sob as San releases your hip and grabs his cock. He guides it through your folds briefly, soaking it in your arousal and pumping his hand up and down his shaft to thoroughly lubricate it. “You’re gonna prove to me that you can be good, baby. Okay?”

“Yes, yes Sannie!” You lift your hips just enough for him to align his tip with your entrance, almost starting to cry again at the feeling. He helps you sink, knowing that two fingers weren’t enough for you. It never is. No matter how much he fucks you, it’s always a tight fit for you, not that you ever complain. You never complain about how big San is compared to you. He’s caught you drooling over this size of his dick more times than he can count, usually trying to talk you out of riding him out of fear of hurting you. But not today. No, today he’s giving you exactly what you wanted.

“Go ahead, sweetheart.” He encourages. “Fuck yourself dumb on Sannie’s cock.”

The look in your eyes becomes almost animalistic. You shift your body a bit, steadying your hands on his shoulders, and lift your hips until just his tip remains inside of you. San can feel the way you’re clenching around his tip, knows you’re doing it intentionally, and he lets his head fall back.

When you sink intohim for the first time, you emit a strangled gasp, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your nails digging into your lover’s shoulders.

“F—Fuck Sannie!” You bite down on your lip, lifting your hips again and dropping back down. “Mmph—fuck you’re too big!”

“You wanted this, sweetheart,” San tells you, rolling his head to the side and groaning as you continue to struggle with riding him. You try so, so hard to build a steady rhythm, but your legs are shaking and your breath is already gone. “I thought cheerleaders were supposed to have good stamina.”

“No—Not when their boyfriend has a f—fucking huge dick!” You cry out, giving up and grinding your hips against his. The steady rolling of your hips relieves the burn just a bit, and you moan as the tip of his cock grinds into that spot with more strength than his fingers did just minutes ago. “Fuck, I can fe—feel you in my stomach!”

San lifts his head at that, a new hunger in his eyes and he leans you back. You slow your hips at the sudden movement, furrowing your brows while you watch him. He kisses his teeth and places a firm slap on the side of your hip.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” He grips your hip tightly in both hands, forcing you to keep riding him. “Keep going, sweetheart. Keep going until I tell you to stop.”

You do, your hips picking up a steady pace with the help of one of his hands to guide you along. His other hand presses against your stomach, and you hear his breathing hitch.

“Baby,” he takes your hand from his shoulder, squeezing it gently as he guides it to where his hand was previously. “Feel right here.”

You hesitate just a moment, and he looks down at you, smiling encouragingly.

Then you feel it.

The bulge in your stomach where the tip of his cock reaches as far as it can possibly go.

“You feel that, baby?” San presses your hand down and you both let out a simultaneous moan at the feeling. The white-hot pleasure builds back up in the pit of your stomach, the loosened knot returning with renewed fervor and you know San can tell. You know that he’s close too, his hips thrusting up to meet yours halfway. “God, you feel so good. How did I get so fucking lucky, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. The pleasure is blinding. All you can feel, see, hear, and smell is San. He clouds your thoughts, your senses, your very being. The pleasure is winding up, drawing that knot tighter and tighter and tighter—

“C—Cumming, San!” You arch into him, and he holds your hip to keep you moving. “Fuck, fuck I’m cumming!”

“I know, pretty girl,” he grunts, his thrusts stuttering. “Fuck, I’m close. Keep going baby, wanna cum with you.”

Your hips are moving slower, your muscles burning and you can’t stop yourself from forcing San back until he’s laying against the bed. Your hands find purchase on his chest, sweat beading on your forehead with the effort to keep moving, to keep riding him until you’re both forced over the edge you’d been begging for.

San’s thumb drifts across your hip, finding purchase on your swollen clit and rubbing sloppy circles into it until you’re sobbing again, sobbing his name and begging for that sweet release.

When it hits you, it’s blinding. Stars spark behind your eyes, your head tossed back and sweet cries pulled from the depths of your chest. His hips thrust into yours one more time, his eyes trained on how you arch your back and twitch with your release, and then he’s cumming. Thick globs of cum fill you up to the brim, seeping out from the seams of your cunt and mixing with your release. You let yourself collapse against his chest, practically gasping for air and shaking from the effort of riding him.

“You finally got what you wanted,” San murmurs, resting one of his hands on the small of your back as his cock softens in you. “You finally got to ride me.”

“Never…never doing that again,” you mutter back, placing a kiss on the base of his neck. “Absolutely…not.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually letting this happen.” San is grinning ear to ear as he drives you to campus, his free hand holding yours tightly. You purse your lips, refusing to admit defeat.

“This doesn’t mean I want everyone knowing—”

“Bullshit,” San interrupts with a grin. “You want everyone to know that I bagged the hottest cheerleader in the world.”

“You didn’t bag shit, Choi San. And if you say that you ‘bagged’ me to anyone on the football team,” your eyes turn to daggers as you jab a finger into his shoulder, “I will end your bloodline where it stands. Your mom can say ‘bye’ to any chances of a grandchild from us.”

San grimaces, but it’s replaced by a radiant smile as he pulls into the parking garage closest to your building. “You can make as many threats as you want, sweetheart, but you and I both know you won’t risk that. You love getting fucked after dealing with Yewon every day.”

He opens your door for you, beaming as he helps you out of his car.

“I’ll make you a deal, sweetheart.”

“Will you now?” Your response is sarcastic but San ignores it.

“You let me show you off as much as I want, and I bitch out Yewon today.”

You don’t even have to think about your response, a grin replacing your scowl.

“That sounds like a damn good deal, Choi San.”

“Sannie!”

Yewon’s grating voice has never sounded so fucking heavenly in your ears, knowing exactly what’s going to happen next. San is already at your side, rifling through your bag for the extra granola bar he knows you have. He grimaces at the sound, his eyes almost begging you to help him, but you shake your head.

“You dug your own grave, Sannie.” A quick pat on his shoulder and his fate is decided for him.

“Yewon,” he greets the girl, continuing to rifle through the bag. “Can I help you?”

The disinterest in his voice didn’t deter her, not that anyone was surprised. The cheer squad watched the younger, newer, dumber member as she stumbled through her flirtations, complimenting him on things he didn’t need nor want to be complimented on while searching for a fucking granola bar.

“Yewon,” San finally interrupts the girl, rising with the snack in his hand and glaring down at her. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not interested.”

The shock on her face made you smile. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it was a bitch named Karma. Or, maybe, you were sick of the shitty stereotypes that you always seemed to fall victim to.

“But you—you always—”

“I was trying to make my girlfriend jealous of me, as shitty as that is,” San pinches the bridge of his nose and scoffs. “But I’ve already got myself a cheerleader, Kim Yewon. And she’s the best girlfriend I could ever ask for. Plus, she’s hot as fuck,” San grins at you, but you can only roll your eyes.

“I said no—”

“You said I couldn’t tell people I bagged you,” it takes him three steps to reach your side and grab your chin. “Not that I couldn’t call you the hottest cheerleader in the world. No offense, Sihyeon.”

“None taken,” your best friend waves her hand dismissively. “I’m just glad you two finally got your heads out of your asses.”

“Shut up, Sihyeon.” You scowl, but San is quick to bend down, hunching at the shoulders to reach your height and kiss you firmly on the mouth. It’s a searing kiss, more than he said he would do in front of the squad, but you let him have his moment.

You’d made him wait long enough.

427 notes · View notes

boba-beom · 4 months

Text

✮⋆˙ baby, I love you | CHOI YEONJUN NSFW

PAIRING. fiancé!yeonjun x fiancée!reader GENRE. soft smut, fluff SYNOPSIS. after attending the rehearsal dinner two nights before your wedding day, the tension and excitement rises continuously. your fiancé has been working hard with the preparation of your future together, and it's only right you show him the love he deserves. WARNINGS. p w/ p, kinda sub!yeonjun, soft dom service top!!reader, oral (m. rec), body worship (m. rec), praise and praise and dirty praise, balls love, soft sex, breeding kink, simp talk from yeonjun hehe, petnames;(baby, love, pretty boy etc.) WC. 2.4k A/N. I've had these thoughts leaving and coming back so join my jjun brainrot with me 🫠 also took some inspo from Angel 2 Me — Mckay ft Jeff Bernat. enjoy reading!!!

pictures from twt accs @/page1305 and unknown T^T

tipsy giggles and gentle affirmations fill the room along with loose touches between you and your fiancé. the feathery touches that you've grown accustomed to is now something you'll be feeling for the rest of your lives together, and that's something you'll cherish forever.

yeonjun's waited so long to have time alone with you; after the both of you have been busy with schedules that included your hen and stag-dos, pictorials and now the rehearsal dinner—this was finally the only time you'll be able to be alone and relax together. you were told you can't sleep together the night before the wedding so this was your chance to show yeonjun how appreciative you were of his planning throughout the past few weeks.

it started with his gentle caresses during the dinner, though surrounded by close friends and family, that didn't stop him from giving you a kiss to your temple here and there, or a stray hand that was attached to your waist half of the time.

then came talking to your guests; memorable and fun conversations igniting the excitement towards their favourite pre-wedded couple. glasses upon glasses of what deemed to be a little more than an appropriate amount of alcohol had yeonjun's cheeks flushed and yours burning up ever so slightly, but because of the company by many, the buzz was just so exhilarating that neither of you held back—but told each other tipsy to borderline drunk was when you would stop.

and now you're having to go through with the consequences of heightened senses—minds a little clouded but not enough to not know what you're doing. the consequences being wet kisses along each other's necks, slow wandering hands along each other's torsos and not leaving an inch of skin untouched.

you've shared plenty of tipsy kisses with yeonjun throughout your long six years of your relationship but every experience was never the same as previous ones. there were times where yeonjun was a little needier than you were, or perhaps rougher than other times, but either way you've enjoyed every single moment with him.

at this moment you feel more love than you've ever felt. may it be the excitement of getting married to him, knowing that this will be the man you will be calling your forever, or perhaps it's the fact that you're two and a half champagne glasses in and your need for yeonjun has elevated.

you crane your neck to the side, your hands lingering over the warmth radiating off of yeonjun's bare, broad shoulders while your chest heaves from his gentle kisses across your bare skin.

"mmh, you're so beautiful baby." he mumbles against your collar bone, kissing up to the side of your neck and taking note not to mark you... for now.

a sigh slips past your parted lips, eyes shut and taking in the hot trails of his hands circling your waist. his hands fits your body perfectly like your missing puzzle piece that you can finally set in stone. your hands wrap around his wrists lightly, opening your eyes to look at him; lips swollen from scattering his invisible love marks that only you can feel.

"sit on the bed for me, sweetheart." you kiss the edge of his plush lips, leading him to the edge of the pristine white sheets provided in this pretty villa.

and as your future husband, he obliges, eyes hooded and hazy with lust and love only for you.

yeonjun sits a little past the edge of the bed, leaning back so his elbows supports his weight, still looking up at you with his dark orbs that twinkled with specs of longing for you to act on your next move. as you walk over to him, the bed dips from your knees shuffling on either side of his legs until you're hovering him.

"such a pretty boy under me like this." your thumb and finger lightly lifts his chin to look up at you, only then you could see the smirk on your lover's lips.

"you look so sexy from this angle, think you should do it more often." he shifts underneath you, leaning on one arm as the other stretches out for him to hold your waist and lower your panty cladded core onto his bulge prominent in his slacks.

"yeah? I could get used to this." you chuckle and he does too.

"well, we have forever together. I'll let you do it as many times as you want to." you gasp a little from his words, but more so from him guiding your hips to grind down on his erection ever so slowly.

you still your hips immediately, causing yeonjun to tilt his head in confusion.

"let me." you whisper.

remembering that it's your time to shower him with love and appreciation, you dip into the crook of his neck and lay delicate kisses against his lightly tanned skin. you loved when the sun kissed his skin, whether or not you're in broad daylight your fiancé always looked like he was glowing.

he returns to leaning on his arms, attentively watching you gradually kissing down his bare chest, down along his soft abs until you're kneeling on the floor between his legs and your fingers are fiddling with his belt.

"you've worked so hard lately," you start, kissing his clothed knee while you undo his belt. "I just wanna show you how grateful I am..." your voice trails, unzipping his slacks and sliding your fingers over the buldge in his calvin klein boxers. "... grateful I get to call you my husband in two days."

yeonjun lets out a sharp gasp once your fingers hook onto the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down along with his slacks to have them pool by his ankles then discard them with his white blazer somewhere in the room. he groans quietly from your fingers skimming down his shaft and back up to wrap around his girthy cock, pretty pink tip decorated in clear beads dribbling down his length.

"so, so pretty." your eyes look up at yeonjun's, his cheeks blushed while you stick your tongue out to taste the salty beads, and his sighs only get louder.

that was your sign to take him deeper into your mouth. you fist his cock slowly before enveloping your lips around the head, heavy on your flat tongue until you gradually swirl around his length, slowing down the movement when you feel the prominent vein against the middle of your tongue.

you've given head to yeonjun plenty of times and he loved every single one of them just as much as you enjoy giving it to him. every time you do, your first and foremost priority is to make him feel good, and this is no different with your eyes steady on yeonjun and taking more of his length until the head carefully bumps the back of your throat.

yeonjun just loves the feeling of your warm and wet mouth encapsulating his cock, hot and heavy while you stop your head and pulling off of him with a string of saliva connecting your tongue and his tip.

"god that feels so good, I've been wanting to feel that mouth on me the past few days." he sighs, caressing your cheek then resorting to carding his fingers through your hair.

you suck on his pink, now red, tip, "then why didn't you say anything hunny?" your tongue immediately kitten licks his tip, having him twitch beneath you.

"because I didn't want to disrupt you," you sink down onto him, nose touching his pubic bone, "I know you're focused on- shit- wanting the best preparation for our big day."

you groan around his cock, throat sending pleasurable vibrations to the point yeonjun throws his head back with a moan a little louder than before. a few steady bobbing of your head and your throat contracting around his length has your eyes tearing up and yeonjun's moans picking up. luckily your shared room was the only one on the ground floor, but either way, you didn't care who would have heard the both of you regardless.

releasing his thick cock from your throat, you kiss down his shaft until your lips spoils his balls with soft kisses. the pace on his dick doesn't stop, your fist remains with steady pumps while you gently suck on his balls, toying your tongue around them. you know just how much yeonjun loves it when you play with his balls, almost guttural groans fill the room if it wasn't for his teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

"fuck baby, c'mere." yeonjun hisses once you take his balls out of your mouth one more time.

with ease, you crawl back onto your man's lap, seated prettily with your hands instinctively wrapping around his shaft, another brief smirk displayed on his face from the sight of your thumb and fingers hardly touching.

"you've been such a good boy, planning out almost everything, hm?" your brows softly scrunch feigning pity. "working so hard to have everything perfect, is that right?"

your fist picks up the speed, slick sounds of your saliva mixed with his pre-cum only leads to yeonjun panting and whining in your hold.

"always wan- want everything perfect for you, baby." he fights his head from leaning back, fixating on the motion of your fist.

"mhm? and you deserve to feel good, hunny."

at this point you were leaning close to yeonjun's ear, whispering plenty of praises and kissing his lobes while his hair strands were slowly falling over his face, the hairspray somewhat keeping it intact. he's always been such a beautiful man, but something about watching him fall apart ignites something inside of you.

you still had your panties on, the only piece of clothing between the both of you, but yeonjun could already tell that it was about time to lose the article of clothing knowing just how damp it is from your cunt leaking.

"think it's about time you take this off," his voice raspy as he hooks on the band of your panties, releasing it and having it slap your hip.

"be a darling and take it off for me?"

the bed dips again as you kneel higher, your hands planting on his shoulders for support. you make it easier for yeonjun to pull your panties down your thighs in a teasing manner; his lips latching onto your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardening bud until your last piece of clothing falls past your ankles.

"you're so beautiful," he mumbles against your nipple, releasing it with a pop and moving onto the other. a sound nothing short of a quiet whimper escapes his lips once your hand returns to his cock, his mouth hanging open almost immediately once the pace of your fist picks up. "oh yeah- fuck baby just like that."

"faster?" you tilt your head to the side, the same soft brows scrunching and lips slightly pouting at his chest heaving.

"yes, yes please," he lets out a strangled cry and you giggle at the sound, knowing that your pussy's dripping over his lap, but you hold yourself from rutting against his thigh. you just want to prioritise his pleasure over yours. "wanna be inside you, pretty."

yeonjun reaches out to hold onto your hips, chests colliding from pulling you forward. he aligns his tip at your entrance, returning with his lips finally on yours, whispering sweet pleas and promises of wanting to make you feel just as good.

"relax baby," you mumble, lightly nibbling on his lip. "gonna have you cum inside me and fill me up."

you sink down onto him, walls squeezing him and full of his thick cock with his tip nudging against your cervix. the both of you moan in unison, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and his one hand on your waist to help you lift your hips and sink back down on him again.

"fuck jjunie, your cock's always stretching me out so good." you whimper as you throw your head back, repeatedly bouncing on his dick and feeling him already twitching inside.

"need, mph, need you to cum with me baby." his free hand moves between your sweaty bodies, fingers naturally rubbing quick circles on your clit. he's so eager to have you catch up with his high, knowing that you'll be cumming in no time from the double simulation.

his lips are back on yours again, swallowing each other's moans and whimpers. your walls are uncontrollably spasming around your lover's twitching dick and you could feel your orgasm catching up to his. yeonjun's hands are both holding onto your waist as he fully lays his back against the bed, holding you up while he whimpers, raising his hips up to drill into your swollen cunt.

"oh baby! yeonjun I'm gonna cum!" you almost squeal from his rapid pace, your hands wrapping around his wrists.

"gonna fill you up so full, gonna make you a mommy on our wedding night." he babbles.

with a couple more harsh thrusts up into your cunt and joint moans, your thighs start shaking around his legs, staccato pumps of warm white ropes gradually fills you up deliciously. yeonjun's hands soothingly rubs the surface of your thighs, panting beneath you as he closes his eyes for a brief moment.

"so you really wanna start a family asap?" you ask him genuinely, leaning down and hovering over him as you peck up along his chest and neck, his dick still inside you.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind it." he kisses your forehead and lightly thrusts up into you, causing you to groan quietly in his hold as his cum leaks out slowly. "baby making's just too fun."

you scoff at his comment, shaking your head at him teasingly. once you've caught your breath you lean your head against his chest, listening to his heart beating.

"I wouldn't mind it either, hunny." you say simply. "I think you'd be a great dad to our children."

yeonjun lifts his head at you abruptly, eyes a little wide in curiosity.

"children? how many? I can give you as many as you want."

you chuckle at his excitement. he's always been so fond of children and him wanting his own is a part of his dreams.

"you're so cute." you cup his cheek and caress his soft skin. "no more than three is enough for me. but give me time in between–"

"oh yeah, of course. I still wanna be able to make love to my wifey without as much disruption." he cuddles you tighter, littering your face with chaste kisses. "baby, I love you so much."

his smile melts your heart, and you still can't believe you're going to marry this wonderful man.

" and I love you so much more."

taglist: @bb-eilish @ericyjun @luvsoobs @yeonyeonyeonjun @junniieesbby @kyrkitten @day6andetcetera @dainsleif-when-playable @txt-yaomi @soobinsman @ahnneyong @wccycc @lizdevorak @fairybin @laylasbunbunny @acaiasahi @itaehynz @cha0thicpisces @fairybinie @yunkiwii @prodsh00ky @moamidzyism @lovejoshua @aprilisque @ja4hyvn @beomnoullistheorem @seolis-world @jak-ey @my313 (send an ask to be part of the taglist! here's the spreadsheet for reference!)

feedback would be much appreciated <3 I haven't written in what feels like years T^T

494 notes · View notes

hannieween · 8 months

Text

wanderer | heartbreaker series | c.sc

You were far from the girl that Seungcheol use to love. Because, time has a funny way of changing things and it sure as hell changed you.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x afab!reader ✧ genre: smut (18+) ✧ aus: boss seungcheol, exes to lovers ✧ word count: 18.5k

↣ part i | other fics | taglist | ko-fi

₊🎧: blame – i.m ♡ | bad – so!yoon

₊ nsfw tags under the cut

✧ warnings: hurt/comfort harassment: gross interactions with men, kinda ? slow burn—it takes them a while to get down to business, foul language, smut with plot, daddy kink, dom seungcheol, reader is really subby, big dick seungcheol, pussy drunk seungcheol, oral sex (f, m), multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v sex, manhandling, rough doggy style, creampies, dirty talk, pet names: love, angel, baby, newb, newbie (hers) daddy (his) ✧ please if you see mistakes, cont. errors no u didn't i'm very sleep deprived

✧ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

part ii

A streak of bad luck has been following you around lately, so it seems.

The past few days you have been stuck with a decision, one apparently easy to make, but something held you back. And the dilemma had settled a feeling of deep regret in the pit of your stomach, from the moment you wake up, to the moment you laid your head in your pillows.

You were used to late nights. In fact, for the past two years you've been staying up late, dealing with the stressful pace of academic life and it slowly made you lose the need for sleep at night.

It was only 2 AM. And you were tired enough to force yourself to sleep, but the dilemma had you feeling alarmed and anxious to the point that it shook your body, impulsing you to take action, to do something, anything.

You sighed, trying to relieve the tumultuous pressure crushing you from the inside.

In a sudden movement, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, sitting up and saw your feet hanging.

You remembered the times you wished you could just pick up the phone and call your ex boyfriend and tell him how much you missed him, and how deeply remorseful you were of breaking up with him.

It haunted you for weeks, which turned into months and now you were faced with the possibility of going back together, after two years of zero contact.

But, even if it seemed impossible, going back to Choi Seungcheol was not the most urgent of your decisions to make.

Bad luck, it seems.

First, you had to get a job quick in a local bar due to your bills piling up and your stipend not being sufficient to live on. Then, you had the surprise to find that your ex is the owner of said bar. Not only that, things had ended up bad with him. So the only solution was to have sex with him on his office, obviously.

And now, your roommate is giving you the very late notice that you have been mandated to vacate the apartment you've been renting for a year. Apparently you got the notice a month ago, but your roommate just forgot to tell you until it was evidently too late.

You packed your things, which luckily for you, were not many. So you only occupied a few boxes for your clothes and stuff that fit perfectly on the trunk of your car and the backseat.

Now, you just needed a new place.

And it was in the following morning that you decided to leave your apartment. You knew that this situation could be solved through some legal counsel, but for months, you and your roommate have been at odds and you suspected that was why they 'forgot' to tell you about it all.

It was tuesday and also the day that you had to vacate your place. Returning to the bar after a day off was not as fulfilling in the sense that you had little to no rest. Packing things, disposing of some others.

And now, you needed to sleep.

But the memory of fucking your ex occupied your head, it needed your attention. His hands all over your body, his soft moans in your ear, the very familiar touch of his lips. The memory itself felt like a fever dream.

A dream which you dragged onto your subconscious long enough to also haunt you in your sleep, when it finally came. You dreamed of him, you saw flashes of the night you met him and experienced again all the awful things you made him go through.

The sensible thing was to let your boss know that you had run into trouble and needed to find a place soon. But being so that would mean talking to Seungcheol, you decided not to tell anyone just yet. You could manage, you could get crafty.

Sleeping in your battered Hyundai was a whole new adventure for you. And you were pretty much all for it. You made it feel cozy for you: throwing a bunch of pillows and blankets on the co-pilot seat, leaned back and you even found a way to change into your pyjamas inside the car.

But that would come after your shift.

Tuesdays, according to Wonwoo, were really slow. To the point that he was leaning on the countertop, each elbow propped to hold a book in his hands.

"Where's Mingyu?" you asked when the bar opened for business and were one bartender short.

"He's not coming today," Wonwoo, his roommate replied shortly.

"Is he okay?"

"He'll be alright," he cooed and lowered his book, pushing the rim of his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "His girl broke up with him yesterday morning."

"Huh? Why?" you gasped. "I thought–"

"Yeah, me too," Wonwoo said and scrunched up his nose in discomfort. "It caught him by surprise too, destroyed him. Boss told him he could take the day off."

You faltered for a second. "God, he must be feeling terrible," you said and thought of the happy-go-lucky guy, heartbroken.

"Mmm-mph," Wonwoo hummed and clasped his hands together on the countertop. "Well, there's not much to do for today, I think. Boss will come by later tonight so maybe we could do the little boring tasks."

And by that, Wonwoo meant doing the things you did not have the opportunity to get done during the weekend shifts, tasks ranged from the usual to deep cleaning.

"You have a thing for cleanliness," you pointed after an hour of deep cleaning all the utensils for the bar, the blenders, the mixers. He even emptied the ice machine and gave it a thorough sweep.

"It clears my mind off things," he mentioned quietly beside you.

"Mm, I see what you mean," you nodded. It had been an hour of pure silence between you, except for the low humming of the speakers that played something of your request and you noticed that Wonwoo was silently vibing to it.

Wonwoo could be a friend, you thought.

"What does your mind need clearing of?" you pried while you cleaned all of the napkin holders thoroughly.

"A few things that have been occupying it for a few days," he replied with a soft tone to his voice.

"I assume as much," you quipped with a grin, which he did not see. Wonwoo's back was turned to you as he seemed to be finishing the tedious task.

"That's bartender talk," Wonwoo said, turning around as he dried his hands from the little bits of ice with a cloth rag.

"Or friend talk?" you suggested with a shy smile.

One thing you were certain of these past few days of drowning in your own thoughts in silence was that you needed friends. It was a truth you've been ignoring for your own sake.

After the breakup, your closest friends seemed to fade quietly into the background, evidently siding with Seungcheol. Since most of your friends were his friends too, it was obvious whose side they had taken, but you did not resent them for their choices.

"It's nothing, newbie," Wonwoo sighed and nodded to the task you were in the process of. "Almost done with that?"

"Yeah, why?" you said, trying not to convey that Wonwoo just refused your invitation of being friends.

"Boss is coming," he said, and he sent an inquisitive glance your way and nodded to the front door of the bar.

You jolted and turned with a gasp to face the door before you could even take control of your body.

Only to find that the door stood still, and no one was approaching it.

"What?"

Wonwoo coughed and you turned to see him, a weak attempt to hide a chuckle. "I see," he said in a nonchalant manner.

"What? What do you see?" your eyes narrowed.

He mumbled with a very tiny voice an unconvincing 'nothing', pretending to busy himself with another task.

"Tell me," you insisted, glaring at him.

Wonwoo looked over the thick paste of his glasses and grinned at your seething expression. "Fine, okay," he said and stood up right facing you. "Do you... have a crush on him?"

"A crush?" your voice raised an octave higher. "A crush?!"

Wonwoo pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, like a minor infatuation–"

"I know what a crush is, Wonwoo," you stopped him with a laugh.

"Ah, yeah. Well, do you?" he pushed his eyebrows.

"Why would I have a crush on him? I met him last week," you muttered unconvincingly and looked away from his curious eyes.

"And? I'm only asking because you act weird around him, even when he's not being a pissy asshole," he put in and you raised your gaze to find him scratching his chin.

"I don't think he's a pissy asshole," you interjected, and then shook your head. "I mean, he can be sometimes, but he has given me no reason to think that."

Wonwoo chuckled. "Right. Wait 'til something really pisses him off," he muttered. "But that's not what I wanted to say! You're really calm and collected and the minute he steps in, you're weird and shifty."

You looked at him in disbelief.

Wonwoo and Mingyu have been every step of the way with you since you started working at Seungcheol's bar. And you saw a potential of starting a friendship with both of them. It felt good to finally have a talk with someone in such a way.

"You are quite the detective," you pointed with a huff. "I just feel unnerved by him, Wonwoo. What can I say, you really helped pushing the asshole narrative around him."

"Around who?"

A gasp left your mouth again, but now it sent real shivers down your spine. You turned around to find Seungcheol standing behind you, quirking up an eyebrow at you.

"No one," you stuttered.

He wore what he usually did to work, just a plain white t-shirt, black jeans and boots. A pair of sunglasses pushed his pale blond hair back, it was still humid from what you assumed was a recently taken shower.

"Why are you chatting during work?" he asked with a low tone and looked at Wonwoo.

"I–we, we were working!" you blurted and dropped your gaze to your feet. "And talking... for a bit."

"What about?"

"A-bout something," you muttered nervously.

"Boss, she's terrified," Wonwoo chuckled and you lifted your gaze to see Seungcheol grinning from ear to ear.

And then he winked at you.

Your stomach dropped and you turned to see that Wonwoo was not watching your interaction with your ex turned boss.

"It's a slow day today," Seungcheol said with a commanding aura. "But don't relax too much, we're one staff short out here and I have a meeting later today so I can't be around much. It'll be just you two."

"Got it boss," Wonwoo nodded.

You nodded too, unable to speak a word under the nervousness tying a knot in your throat.

Wonwoo left the countertop and entered the kitchen, promptly leaving you and Seungcheol alone.

"How are you?" Seungcheol asked, his gaze had softened and started reading your face.

"I'm fine, Cheol," you put in unconvincingly. "Just a bit tired."

"We're just starting the week," he pointed, his eyebrow lifting slightly.

"I don't get rest," you said and added: "PhD stuff," you shrugged.

A restless feeling made your insides twist. Seungcheol knew you better than anyone on the planet. He knew your every mannerism when you lied and the shrug was a dead giveaway.

And he was also one of the smartest men you've ever met in your life.

"You better get around managing your time with that," he advised. "Don't want you to be overworked one week into this job."

You noticed his tone was not condescending, he looked a bit worried, even. His big brown eyes went over your worn expression, the dark circles under your eyes, chapped lips. And probably it did not help that you decided to forgo makeup that day.

"Okay... boss," you muttered softly.

But he was turning away from you already, effectively finishing your conversation when he pushed the 'STAFF ONLY' door and disappeared.

Deeply obfuscated, you meekly rubbed your hands in your jeans to wipe the sweat from them and returned to your seemingly pointless task, wanting nothing more but your shift to be over.

Seungcheol had been distant, keeping interactions with you at minimum. You understood he was giving you space, but you could not help but thing that he was probably taking your silence for a rejection to his proposal of going back together.

That night you had sex with him in his 'office', Seungcheol told you to think about his proposal, and give him an answer whenever and if you're ready.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now," he had whispered, leaning down to plant a kiss on your cheek. "But please think about it, will you?"

You saw his brows knit together and you could've swore something stabbed you in the heart. "I will. I'll think about it," you assured him.

From that moment on, there was not a single day when you did not think about him. He plagued your mind, every day and every hour. The feeling of Seungcheol being in your waking thought resembled the time you were freshly broken up, and there was not a day that went by that you didn't think of him.

But of course, this time it was different.

After your shift, you pretended to drive away in your car, only to get back after driving a good fifteen minutes around the block and parking on the small parking lot of the bar.

Sleeping in your old Hyundai was a whole new adventure for you. And you were pretty much all for it. You made it feel cozy for you: throwing a bunch of pillows and blankets on the co-pilot seat, leaned back and you even found a way to change into your pyjamas inside the car.

You rested your head and propped up your feet on the deck while you tried to sleep. First night sleeping in your car was not bad, even as a voice in the back of your mind told you this was supposed to be hitting rock bottom.

But in reality, it wasn't. It was temporary, you told yourself. Shit happens. And you got yourself in this mess, so you would get yourself out.

Now, another one of the worries in your head was something that you feared so much you tried not to pay attention to: Seungcheol.

Being the one that broke up with him, you certainly had a lot of guilt to carry. And you still needed to have that conversation with Seungcheol, even if he was apparently avoiding it.

Said guilt manifested itself as a painful jolt in your heart every single time you thought about him. You knew you still loved him, probably never stopped. But you also broke his heart.

If you were even thinking of going back to him, you needed to have that conversation. And you weren't sure if you were equipped to face what he had to say.

Last time you checked the clock before finally falling asleep it read 5 AM. Which would mean that you had about three hours to sleep if you wanted to get important stuff done the following day.

On the following morning, you woke up at 11 AM. You quickly changed into normal clothes inside your car. It was so cold outside that your windows were thankfully condensed. You couldn't see out and probably and hopefully no one saw you change clothes.

You drove to your university campus. One of the perks of the campus was the gym, which had showers and hot water, everything you needed to freshen up. You tended to your needs and quickly moved to the library to do some apartment scouting.

Being in a PhD meant that you had to do a lot of research, mostly. Your tasks were reading, writing and presenting weekly results. But due to the time crunch you were in, you had to make do and search for a new place to live and send out some emails pertaining to your research.

So you had about six hours to maybe find a place to move in as soon as possible. It was a difficult feat, though, to find something affordable, in a close proximity to where you used to live and leasing immediately.

Hours flew by, your stomach jolting from anxiousness and hunger when you had to leave the library and drive to the bar.

You bit the inside of your lower lip. The mere idea of seeing Seungcheol had you sighing and muffling a small yelp of pure anxiety and your forehead hit the steering wheel, and you did it again, and again.

Three taps on your window made you jump in your seat and look up to find Wonwoo standing outside of your car, looking to the interior with a concerned face.

"Are you okay, newbie?" he asked, standing back as you opened the door of your car and stepped out.

"I'm fine, just hungry," you partially lied. You were hungry, but that was not the reason why you were banging your head against the wheel.

"You know that you have a meal, right? Boss didn't tell you?" he said slowly, pointing to the bar with his thumb.

"Nope," you shook your head once.

His eyes focused on the backseat of your car, which was stuffed with boxes, then he spotted your blankets and pillows huddled in the passenger's seat.

"Are you–," his eyes snapped back to yours. "Are you living in your car?"

You closed your eyes in defeat, sighing. "Yes," you replied flatly.

"Why?" he looked alarmed, but then he quickly added: "Are you okay? Do you want a place to crash?"

"I'm fine, Wonwoo," you tried to reassure him, but the tone in your voice betrayed you. "I... like it."

He blinked in bewilderment. "You're telling me that this is your choice?"

Wonwoo was so tall that you had to angle your face up to see him, your eyes squinted because of the daylight hitting your eyes.

"Yeah, it is," you weren't lying, but telling the whole story didn't seem like something you were equipped to do at the moment.

"I'd ask if you have someone you can stay with but if you did you'd be doing that already," he put in simply and then crunched his nose instantly. "Crap, sorry. Please ignore I said that."

You laughed awkwardly. "What was that?"

"I tend to have Freudian slips when I'm really really tired," he brought a hand to the nape of his neck to rub embarrassedly.

"What–Freudian slips," you huffed. "Well don't let me be around you every time you don't get enough sleep," you laughed.

"Just smack me in the head if I say something like that again," he looked embarrassed and it was a cute sight from the ever reserved Wonwoo.

"Noted," your eyebrows quirked up. "But I'm fine, you don't have to worry."

"You're not convincing me," he stated. "You can crash in our place, I promise Mingyu won't have an issue with it," he offered kindly.

Your heart swelled a little to the idea of someone worrying about you. Even if that someone you didn't completely know yet.

"And we're also not like, creepy or whatever. We'll give you space," he added, seeing your hesitation over it.

"I'll think about it over food, alright?" you gave him a weak smile. "Thank you, though. I really appreciate it."

That made him smile sweetly at you and nodded towards the bar with his head. "Alright, let's go inside."

"Hey, can I ask you a favour?" you walked by his side through the small parking lot behind the bar.

"Sure, anything," he nodded again with his head.

"Can you... not mention this to anyone? Specially Se-seungcheol?" you stuttered a bit.

He paused and looked at you. "You got it," he replied with a hint of intrigue in his eyes.

"Thanks," you muttered before going through the back door of the bar.

The dark hallway smelled faintly of floor detergent like it did before your shift. All of the doors were closed, so you didn't know yet where Seungcheol was yet as you walked through the door that led to the interior of the bar.

"No problem," he muttered softly and opened the door that led to the bar. "The reason why I approached you was because I have something I forgot to tell you last night."

You smiled. "You're being weird," you pointed. "Tell me."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, to then toss his backpack in the last booth at the back of the bar. "I'm tired, leave me alone," he muttered shyly. "I'm recruiting an extra pair of hands to help you during the weekends. I'm actually interviewing someone in a few minutes."

"Oh?" your eyebrows arched up. "That's nice! Do you want any pointers for your jerk persona now?"

He laughed shyly, his nose wrinkling a bit. "It's okay, Newbie. I'm not doing that this time."

"Why?" you frowned.

"Cheol is going to listen to the interview. And I don't want to see what his reaction would be," he muttered, looking around the bar for any signs of his boss. Your boss.

"Yeah, I wouldn't either," you mumbled with a smile.

"Go get your meal and I'll cover you if necessary, got it?" he nodded to the kitchen.

Wonwoo could be a friend, you thought. You had friends, yes. Some people you met in university that are in your life.

After the breakup, your closest friends seemed to fade quietly into the background, siding with Seungcheol. Since most of your friends were his friends too, it was obvious whose side they had taken, but you didn't resent them for their choice.

The menu for today was chicken hamburgers.

Mingyu sat with you in the kitchen, keeping each other company as you both ate in silence. Mingyu ate his food at a slow pace and heavy reluctance. You noticed he was hungry enough to keep eating, but had little to no energy to do so.

It broke your heart to see him like this, his puppy eyes dimmed, the heaviness of his movements, barely talking. You gently patted his shoulder once and he almost jolted awake from his thoughts.

Mingyu patted the back of your hand and nodded in understanding.

You briefly thought of Seungcheol and that made your heart lurch even harder. Who stood by him when you left?

When you came out of the kitchen, some ten minutes later you started with your tasks, which mainly consisted in arranging cutlery, napkins, etc.

You could hear over the music Wonwoo's low voice speak with another person. So you assumed that he perhaps was in his interview, and you knew Seungcheol would be close, so you stuck to the other side of the bar, pretending to be busy.

The day before, during your shift, you took the same tactic: pretending to be busy to avoid even looking in the direction of your ex.

So you were restocking bottles of ketchup in the bartop where Mingyu was also busy himself, and didn't looked as glum when he had something to do.

His eyes lifted up and toward the bar's entrance.

"Oh, hi there Jeonghan-hyung," he called with a lazy smile. "Are you here to see Cheol?"

The exchange was quick, so the moment you looked up from Mingyu to the person he was talking to, you saw your former best friend walk into the bar, but stopping dead in his tracks when he saw your face.

"Jeonghan?" you blurted, your voice quivered with emotion, picking up a higher pitched tone.

His eyes widened and he approached cautiously as if he had seen a ghost. You identified with the feeling; your heart was pounding a mile a minute as you struggled to maintain your composure.

Despite your best efforts, tears welled up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion of seeing your best friend after years of no contact.

"Oh, you two guys know each other?" Mingyu's voice sounded faint in the buzz in your ears.

His brow furrowed. "Uh, yeah, she's-"

You made a motion to shook your head ever so slightly, as if saying stop right now, abort mission, and he, knowing you like the palm of his hand understood in a second.

"She's an old friend," he pressed his lips in an empty smile. He closed the distance between you and him.

You flinched a little when he pulled you into a hesitant hug, seemingly playing his part in the old friends thing; a situation you hadn't entirely processed yet. At least he understood your silent message and stopped himself from mentioning you were Seungcheol's ex.

"You got some explaining to do," he muttered in your ear so quickly that you had to take a second to process what he'd said.

"I know," you whispered and pulled away.

Jeonghan was the first friend Seungcheol introduced you to when you started dating, almost six years ago. The two of you hit it off instantly and formed a strong bond that ended rather tragically when you left.

So it could probably come as a shock to find the person who broke his best friend's heart after two years of zero contact.

And you didn't blame him.

"Uh, yeah. We're old friends," you muttered shakily, turning away from the still pale looking Jeonghan.

"Are you working here?" he asked in a low tone, and looked around.

You followed his gaze, understanding that he was looking for Seungcheol.

"Yeah," you replied with a shaky breath. "I've only been here for two weeks."

"What?" he whispered bewilderedly. "Where is he?"

"If you're looking for Cheol, he's interviewing someone right now," Mingyu interjected, still paying close attention to the conversation between you and your former friend.

Your eyes could not stop looking at him. Unchanging, never aging Jeonghan. Once your best friend, your brother and confidant. The ache in your heart was so sharp that it made your breathing quicken, swelling in your chest.

Jeonghan nodded. "Mingoo, can you tell him that I'm here, please?"

"Of course," the taller man turned to carry out the favour.

It was evident to you that Jeonghan wanted to get a minute alone with you. If Mingyu noticed it too, he didn't look the part.

"What the fuck?" Jeonghan whispered, dragging you to a corner and far from the ears of anyone else. "I thought you were in the other side of the planet. The fuck are you doing here? In Cheol's bar?"

"I came ba-back a year ago," you muttered, the internal turmoil had your in the brink of shaking.

"And?" his hand was still on your shoulder from where he dragged you out of earshot, he was leaning slightly toward you, still looking deeply confused and alarmed.

"I'm cut off from my family–,"

"Again? Fuck," he run his hand through his short black hair irately.

"This time is definite," you repeated the same thing you did to your ex. "And I needed a job so I got here but I swear I had no idea this was Seungcheol's. I promise I didn't know and Wonwoo hired me and–"

"Stop, stop," he whispered hurriedly, looking over at the bartop.

Wonwoo was returning from the interview, looking over at you and Jeonghan with his analytic eyes, the expression on his face didn't give away anything else.

"Han," Mingyu called from behind the bartop. "Boss says to meet him in his office."

Jeonghan nodded and turned to look at you. "They don't know, right?" he muttered through tight lips.

"Seungcheol doesn't want them to know."

"Fucking hell," he said under a breath. "I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

You nodded, feeling like you could cry. Which Jeonghan noticed, and quickly snuck a hand on the back of your head to pull you in a warm embrace, your face landed on his shoulder and you stifled back a sob.

"Come on, don't cry. Everything's fine," he muttered softly. "Bar's almost about to open and you don't want to be all puffy and red for that now, do ya?"

"Shuddup, Han," you giggled.

"I'm just saying. Now, I have to get going. But I'll call you okay?"

The hand on the back of your head ruffled your hair before pulling away, and you watched him walk away and disappear through the door that led to your ex's office.

You stood there contemplating the nothingness for a second before you felt someone's eyes looking fixedly at you. Wonwoo was working, but keeping an inquisitive eye on you.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to ignore his scrutiny by continuing to get the bar ready for open hours.

When the bar finally opened, you were eager to immerse yourself carrying orders out and basically doing anything that could distance yourself mentally from your ex.

After an hour, Jeonghan came back to the bar, looking the way he did when he needed to speak his mind. But he just pulled you aside after making sure you were free enough to do so.

"I'm still confused about all this shit," he muttered briefly. "Look, I only came here to drop something off and I need to go, but I want to catch up with you," then he hugged you again.

You returned the hug, closing your eyes to savour the moment as best as you could.

"I'll see you soon," he reassured you and pulled away once again, leaving the bar at once.

In a few words, your day was a bit shitty so far. It was the first time in two years you saw Jeonghan, who in all fairness, had all the right to not even acknowledge you after leaving his best friend heartbroken.

But to your surprise, he was open to have a conversation with you.

Something you were looking forward to.

The bar was starting to really pack up by 9 PM. And you understood what Wonwoo said about having a helping hand soon, because you could barely manage. Being a wednesday night, the bar was reasonably packed and you were growing more and more tired.

So you had to deal with a number of problems: despite being quick and efficient, you were only one person to cover most of the tables. Most of your orders got delivered on time, but you couldn't always be as fast enough and a couple of customers were starting to get annoyed.

Feeling stressed, you let out a heavy breath while you looked at the machine, preparing the bill for a table.

"Do you want some help?" you heard Seungcheol ask.

You turned abruptly with a start, a hand flying to your chest. "You scared me," you explained but it was evident enough.

His eyebrow arched and his lips pressed in a line. "I have to stop doing that," he muttered with a nod.

"Yeah," you sighed, straightening your t-shirt. "I'll appreciate that—some help, I mean. Thanks," you tried giving him a smile.

But you just couldn't. You looked up at his dark eyes, adorned by his beautiful eyebrows that frowned at seeing your face.

"Something wrong?" he muttered, reading your face.

"Can we-," you started, but you got distracted by someone on the tables waving for your attention. "Sorry, I have to get this," you got the bill and grabbed the pin pad and left to continue working.

You walked over to the table that was occupied by two older men. The one that had waved you down had that look on his face that made your skin crawl and put your guard up.

"There you are, sweetcheeks," he said in a gruff voice, raw from alcohol. "What took you so goddamn long?"

In your experience, you've had many people call you things. It certainly doesn't matter in those times you notice the names mean no harm. But this time, it was different.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up, and something told you to finish the interaction and ask for backup immediately.

"Are you ready to order?" you put in flatly, trying to maintain your expression blank.

"Oof," the other one interjected. "Aren't you nice," he spat with an obvious tone of sarcasm.

You sighed heavily and clicked your pen and pretended to wait for them to order.

"Are we boring you?" one of them spat.

At that, you knew you had to finish the interaction.

"Well, let me know when you're ready to order," you retorted and turned away from the table.

But a rough, calloused hand caught your wrist before you could walk away properly.

"Don't go yet, kitten," one of the two gross men whinged, you didn't care to look who it was.

In a split second, you thought of responding verbally to back off. But every cell in your body just wanted to walk away from the situation. Dealing with gross men was not something you wanted to do in that moment, you just wanted to walk away.

With a clean move, you yanked your wrist away from their grasp, turning to give the deadliest stare you could muster to the guy that dared to touch you and walked away hurriedly.

Neither of Wonwoo or Mingyu appeared to have witnessed the crude exchange. But in your hurry, you stumbled against Seungcheol who was just walking past you.

"What's wrong?" he stopped you, looking at your face carefully.

You probably looked disturbed, and rightfully so—you felt deeply unnerved. It was not your first time dealing with gross men, it wasn't even your first interaction with someone rude in the bar, but it was the first time someone dared to touch you.

"Nothing—those guys are fucking rude," you muttered offhandedly, but you knew there was no deterring from Seungcheol's scrutiny.

"What did they say? What did they do?" he asked darkly.

"Cheol, I'm fine, just–," you looked up, his gaze had hardened completely. You faltered. "They grabbed me and called me gross names," you blurted and held your wrist, trying not to convulse in utter repulsion.

"Who?"

His eyes were devoid of all liveliness, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. That was the real angry Seungcheol you knew.

You pointed meekly towards the table you just walked away from.

"Go to my office," he muttered before approaching the table.

The last thing you saw was Seungcheol make a sign with his hand at Wonwoo, who just nodded and left his post in a heartbeat before you walked to the door and into the hallway.

You made a stop at the bathroom to frantically wash your hands and attempt to calm yourself down. The attempt was futile, though, because you felt like you had been shaken to your core.

When you opened the door to Seungcheol's office, you half expected to find the dark room lively and packed with gamblers. But it was completely vacant, it made you feel uneasy. You desired to hear the bustle of the active gambling tables.

Instead, you sat at a chair near the entrance. Not wanting to go to Seungcheol's large desk in the corner of the room for obvious reasons.

The door was pushed open some ten minutes later, which to you felt like an eternity.

"Are you alright?" Seungcheol closed the door behind him, but he didn't approach.

You nodded with your head. "I'm fine," you muttered. "What happened?"

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It's taken care of," he replied simply.

But you knew he was acting controlled—probably still containing his anger.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, feeling ashamed. "I could've handled the situation–"

"You don't have to apologize," he cut in, lifting a hand to stop you.

He closed the distance between you and him and crouched in front of you, so now, you were looking down to find his dark gaze.

"Nobody lays a finger on you. You know that, right?" he said as he reached for your hand, giving it a squeeze.

The many times you've heard Seungcheol say that in the past. Oh god, the mental whiplash it gave you to see him like this again, to hear him say the same things he used to when you were together.

You bit your quivering lower lip and nodded. "I know," you replied.

"I can't prevent something like that from happening again. But never apologize for stuff like this. It's not your fault."

You sighed heavily because of the emotions swelling your chest. "Alright," you whispered.

His dark eyes studied your face again, noticing how shaken you still were because he stood up, not letting go of your hand to pull your body gently to his own.

"Come here," he muttered.

You stood up from the chair, being pulled to a warm embrace by Seungcheol. You buried your head in his hard chest and at that, you let yourself crumble under the swell of emotions that plagued your whole day.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay," he whispered, bringing a hand to caress your hair.

God, you could die in his arms. It surely felt like that. So many times had he lent a shoulder for you to air out your emotions, but this time felt like being born again. You stayed in his arms for quite some time until you felt like you were okay and slowly pulled away.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked in a soft tone.

You nodded, avoiding his eyes. "'m fine. I have to go back," you muttered.

"You don't need to if you don't want to," he suggested.

"That's not fair for the guys," you pointed. "I'll go back. Thank you for... everything," you darted a look.

At seeing his serene eyes, your insides jolted uneasily. You urged to kiss him, to listen to his voice and laugh, it had been so long since you've heard his bursts of laughter you ached for it.

Seungcheol was looking at you attentively, his eyebrows nudged slightly. "You were going to tell me something before."

You sighed, nothing ever escapes him. "Can we talk?"

His gaze softened. "Of course," his lips pursed in a downturned smile.

"After work?" you suggested in a small voice.

"Whenever you want," he replied.

Your heart hurt from how eager he looked for a second.

You nodded and whispered, "Okay," before exiting his office and returning to the bar.

It was the last hours of your shift, so most tables were leaving before the closing hour. The table where the incident happened stood vacant until you closed the bar for the night.

"Guys," Seungcheol called once the place had emptied of customers and everyone was good to go home.

Wonwoo and Mingyu stopped what they were doing in the moment to look at their boss.

"We need to talk about what happened tonight," he sighed heavily and ran a hand through his pale blond hair—a dead giveaway that he was getting heated again.

"Yeah, what happened, boss?" Mingyu frowned. "One minute, Newb was managing the tables just fine and the next you were kicking out two dudes on your own."

Your cheeks flushed and your gaze dropped to the floor.

"Two idiots thought it was okay to lay hands on her," Seungcheol put in darkly, and sighed again. "I apologize for the way I acted but–"

"It's okay," Wonwoo intervened calmly. "We understand."

Your eyes narrowed and you found Wonwoo offering a quick knowing look to you.

"It was... kinda epic boss," Mingyu looked exhilarated at the memory. "I mean, no offence but the way you handled those guys?"

Mingyu made a brief reenactment by using Wonwoo's body as a prop; grabbing him by the nape of his neck and twisting his arm behind his back.

Wonwoo snorted and broke away with a small smile on his lips.

You muffled a groan in sheer embarrassment. "I'm sorry for any inconvenience I caused guys. The least I wanted to do is cause a sce–,"

"What?" Mingyu blurted. "Newb, don't apologize for that. The minute you feel someone is disrespecting you, tell us."

"And if anyone oversteps again, they will be kicked out. By any means necessary. Don't even get their bill. I don't care," Seungcheol instructed.

"Got it boss," Mingyu nodded.

"Also, a new hire is coming in tomorrow, to lift some weight off your shoulders," Wonwoo told you directly.

"Wait, so Newb will need a new nickname? I kind of got used to calling you that."

"How about you call her by her name?" Seungcheol retorted with a huff.

"What's your name again?" he asked you, and burst in a goofy giggle. "I'm kidding, 'm kidding."

You rolled your eyes, but seeing Mingyu laugh easily made you smile and laugh with him.

Seungcheol caught that, a small glint of contentment appeared in his eyes and you could see that the corners of his lips twitched before he pretended to cough and walk away and into his office.

"Freakin' weird," you heard someone whisper and raised your eyes to see Wonwoo shaking his head.

"What is?" you dared ask, seeing that Mingyu had busied himself in other stuff so it was just the two of you.

"Cheol is been acting weird all week," he shrugged and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, but you two were alone. "And I'd never seen him this upset."

Well, I have, you wanted to reply but that would be a lot to explain. Not towards you though, he never got irked at you. Arguments with him could get heated, but never in the way that would get anywhere near that intimidating.

"Is it the first time something like this happens?" you asked instead.

"Nothing like this," he shook his head calmly. "We've had a few cases of problematic people but... whatever. Have you decided yet if you want to crash at our place?"

The sudden change in conversation made you snap back to reality. You had almost forgotten that you were sleeping in your car.

"I uh..."

"Newb is staying at ours?" Mingyu came back carrying his backpack on one shoulder.

You both looked at the taller man who was fixedly looking at his phone screen, a small smile appearing on his face.

"No, guys. Thank you but I need to... sort out some things first," you replied hesitantly.

"Oh okay," Wonwoo shrugged. "Are you sure, though? Sleeping in your car doesn't sound pleasant."

"I'm fine," you maintained. "Thank you."

You were barely familiar with Wonwoo and Mingyu, they haven't given you any reason to not trust them but it just didn't feel right to accept their proposal.

Wonwoo nodded. "Let me know if you need anything," was the last thing he said before exiting the bar along with his roommate, essentially leaving you alone with Seungcheol.

He was in the backroom, as you supposed. You glanced first inside the dark room, only to find him sat in the long chair, elbows propped in his desk, his eyes immersed in his phone screen.

You landed a knock on his door, and his eyes snapped to find you by the doorway.

"You don't have to knock," Seungcheol showed you a gummy smile and nodded toward you, the movement making his blond bangs fall on his eyes.

"Sorry, didn't know if you were busy," you explained as you made your way to the desk, using all the strength you had in you to push the memory of him fucking you in this same desk just two nights ago.

His dark eyes were fixed on your face and he stood up so he could level with you.

"Everything okay?" he asked in a low tone, denoting his anxiousness.

"Yeah, just," you swallowed thickly, feeling already very restive. "I wanted to talk about what happened."

An awkward smile rose in his lips. "When?"

You sighed. "Last week," you muttered shyly. "We can't do that again, Cheol."

When you didn't follow up, you could see his features change and break. He nodded in silence and dropped his gaze to the floor.

Then it dawned on you that you weren't being entirely clear. "I mean, I work here now. And the guys are not dumb, they are catching on a few things."

"Why do you say that?" his eyes met your again.

"Wonwoo thinks I have a crush on you," you said while trying not to blush.

"Why?" he frowned. "He told you that?"

"Yeah, he was a little upfront about it. But not only that, I... kind of got emotional when I saw Jeonghan earlier today and Mingyu noticed," you muttered with some embarrassment.

"Oh," he blinked and his eyes appeared to be knowing. "I should've given you the heads up that Jeonghan was stopping by. I'm sorry."

A frustrated sigh fell from your mouth. Suddenly feeling like you could explode from so many emotions under one day. The exasperation in your eyes made Seungcheol frown.

"But that's what I'm supposed to say, Cheol: I am sorry. I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry for how I ended things," you said, your voice thickening with emotion.

"I'm sorry, too," he whispered, and it broke you how much it still hurt.

"No—please, Cheol listen to me, I could have done things differently, but I was irrational. Trust me, the minute I boarded that plane, I wanted to go back–,"

"You had no choice," he cut off, his frown deepening. "Baby, don't think for a second that I blamed you for that. You were left with no choice. I understand that now, and I moved on."

Your eyes welled up in tears and rolled down your cheeks as soon as the words sunk in. "But I left anyway," you insisted. "I'm sorry for leaving."

His eyes glistened, a hand reaching out and grabbing yours. "I'm sorry for not trying to stop you."

It was like reopening a wound in your heart. The pain from it shook you so hard that you physically recoiled from it. Many times, you wished he had stopped you from leaving, but you had to live for years with the knowledge that he respected your choice to go.

"Cheol, don't be–,"

"But I am, I'm sorry for letting you go that easily when we could've tried and find a way to solve things together," he explained, his voice dropping to a mere murmur and you could tell that he wanted to have this conversation for the longest time.

Then his hands cupped your face, making your chest tighten under so much resentment and pent up emotions from the past two years.

"Look at me," he whispered and you met his dark eyes. "We both made a mistake. But we can fix it together."

You grabbed his wrists, brushing his skin with your thumbs. "I need more time to think, Cheol," you pleaded. "My life is a bit chaotic right now."

His eyes softened as he felt your touch. "Take all the time you need," he replied in a low murmur. "I'm here whenever you're ready."

"Thank you, Cheol," you whispered, mustering a small smile. "I promise I'll sort things out soon."

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I'll wait for you. Don't worry," he assured you, squeezing your hand gently.

A deep sigh escaped you, revealing that you had been holding back tears throughout the entire conversation. Your throat tightened, and within moments, tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down as the last image you saw was his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

A second later his arms were wrapped around you again. You instantly hid your face on his shoulder to cry freely, releasing all the guilt you've been bottling up for the past two years.

But hearing him apologize to you too made you discover that you've been wanting this for the same amount of time. You always felt like he let you walk away from his life too easily, even if it took you all the energy you had to do it.

Seungcheol's arms held you close, but you could feel his face snuggling on the crook of your neck, comforting you with his hands rubbing your back.

He let out a shaky sigh. "It's okay, baby. Let it all out. It's okay."

After five minutes of sobbing on his shoulder, you pulled away sniffing and trying to smooth down his ruined t-shirt.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to cry that hard. I just had the shittiest day," you muttered, gathering yourself and wiping your tears.

Seungcheol nodded in understanding. "I know, baby. I know it was hard. Don't let me rob you of more time you could use to be resting."

He motioned towards the door and got the lights of his office before stepping out into the parking lot behind the bar.

"Is working with me horrible?" he wondered, looking at the night sky. "I guess working with your ex must be stressing."

"Is it stressing for you?" you retorted as you made your way to your car.

"A bit," he admitted, showing you a smile to let you know he was joking. "It's not, really. Just the first day, I was losing my shit."

That made you chuckle. "Me too," you coincided. "But to answer your question, no. Having you as my boss is not as terrible as the boys said it'd be."

His thick brows furrowed. "They say that?" he pouted.

"Oh, you didn't know?" you asked alarmed. "Forget I said that."

His face relaxed and he grinned again. "I'm just playing with you. I'm well aware of what they say."

You shrugged and tried to come up with a response but a long yawn got in the way, making you shudder and almost shed a little tear.

"Wow," he laughed. "You need to get some rest, soon."

"Hm, sorry," you mumbled shyly, feeling a blush creep on your cheeks. "It's just that I haven't been getting much sleep and with the research and apartment hunt... 'm just so stressed about it."

"You didn't tell me you were in the middle of moving," he blinked, looking a bit more serious. "Do you need help with searching?"

You bit your tongue. Was that a Freudian slip?

"I uh... actually need a place to stay as soon as possible," you admitted.

"I'm not following," Seungcheol frowned.

The face he made next made your insides twist. He pursed his lower lip upward, pouting slightly. It was so rewarding to see him lose the initial resentment he had just a few days ago.

But deep down you knew that rebuilding your relationship with him would probably result difficult.

So you decided to start with being honest.

"My ex roommate gave me the late notice that we were evicted," you explained slowly: "I've been sleeping in my car for the last few nights."

"What, seriously?" he leaned toward the windows of your car to take a look inside in.

More than appearing to be worried, he looked kind of disappointed.

"Why didn't you–," he started, but then he seemed to remember: "Oh, wait. You were taking your space."

"Sorry about that," you shrugged. "I've been managing just fine but I do need to find a place soon."

You watched him nod with his head and press his lips together, making the dimples on his cheeks show.

"Seems like you're coming with me," he cooed softly.

You arched an eyebrow. "Don't look so unwilling, Cheol. You're making me feel bad," you quipped.

He just sighed and tutted softly, the way he did when he was putting the show of being disappointed. His hand fished the interior of all his pockets and pulled out his car keys.

"You can leave your car here," the locks of his grey wrangler clicked off. "Now let me move your stuff to the trunk."

You reluctantly unlocked the doors of your car and Seungcheol flung the backseat door open to unload the cardboard boxes and put them in the trunk of his car.

"Thank you," you smiled once Seungcheol loaded the trunk of his jeep with your stuff.

"Don't mention it," he muttered as he opened the door for you.

You climbed in his wrangler and looked around. "You got your dream car," you pointed, sinking in the creamy white leather seats that still smelled brand new.

"You remember," he said with a smile that reached his sleepy eyes before starting the engine.

Of course I do, you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him that there wasn't a single day in your two years without contact with him that you didn't remember him.

Seeing Seungcheol at the wheel, driving in the dead of the night brought a slew of memories. The amount of times he would drive to get you back home before dawn, or the times he'd pick you up to take you to dinner.

He would grab the steering wheel with one hand and with the other he would stroke your thigh with his thumb. Sometimes he would tease you a little, dragging his knuckles down your thigh, then down and so on.

"Your thoughts are loud," he muttered and sent a knowing look at you.

Your ex boyfriend was different now. Not the younger, dark haired version that used his brother's car to get you back home before your parents noticed you were gone.

It wasn't just the hair that had changed, or his body that gained more muscle mass.

"I was just... thinking," you mumbled, looking away from him and into the quiet streets.

"Yeah, I just said that," he laughed goofily.

You felt your heart swell hearing his goofy laugh, it made you choke back a sub. "Stop it," you whined, but couldn't resist to laugh with him. "I'm tired. I can't think straight."

He sighed with a smile on his face. "Do you want to grab something to eat or do you want to go straight to bed?"

"Bed," you muttered, dropping your head to the window beside you and letting yourself rest a little.

The car came to a full stop some five minutes later.

You blinked and stretched your arms, unbuckling your belt as Seungcheol opened your door for you. To get out of the car you practically had to jump and that made him smile fondly.

"Do you have all your stuff there?" he asked nodding to the boxes.

"Yup. I don't own much," you explained, searching for a medium sized box labelled 'pjs and stuff' where you put everything you needed for sleeping such as hygiene stuff, pyjamas and undergarments.

"Let me carry that," Seungcheol hurried, taking the box from your hands. "Do you need anything else for tonight?"

"Mmm dunno," you considered to look for the box that had your jeans and most used tops but you were just too tired to do so.

"Let's go up then," he nodded towards a building and you walked towards the back door, you pushed it open, letting Seungcheol through.

"Can you get my keys, please?" he asked before stopping in front of the elevator doors. "They're in my back pocket."

"Which one?" your arm circled on his right side.

"I don't know," he replied with the ghost of a smile, looking down at your face.

You let out a sigh and dug your hand on the back pocket of his black trousers, practically feeling his firm ass to find the pocket empty.

"I'll try the other pocket," you mumbled shyly, and circled your other arm to dig into the other pocket. "It's empty, too."

Your cheeks were growing hotter by the second, because the enjoyment in Seungcheol's eyes was undeniable. You rolled your eyes and palmed the front pockets of his trousers to find the keyring on his right front pocket.

"What, no groping this time?" he chuckled a little.

"Don't push it, Cheol," you sighed and called the elevator and used the fob key on the sensor.

"We're going to one-eight," he nodded to the buttons of the elevator and you followed, pressing the button to the eighteenth floor.

"That's high," you pointed. "Is that the second to last floor?"

"It is," he nodded and rested the back of his head on the wall.

"When did you move here?" you pried.

Seungcheol was standing across from you, so you could see him clearly under the dim lights on the elevator.

"Five–six months ago," he replied, looking upward while he remembered. "I moved out of the other apartment a month after you left, if that's what you're actually wondering."

It was what you actually wanted to know.

Seungcheol didn't use a condescending tone whatsoever. His tone was quiet and his eyes told not resentment but reassurance: he tried to move on. You couldn't reproach him for moving out of there and leaving everything behind.

You nodded silently, wanting to ignore how much it hurt you to know that you'd be facing all the things that he had to do to forget you.

"I can sleep on the couch. You can have the bed," he offered before the doors opened for you and slipped to the shiny floor of the hallway.

But before you could answer that you were okay with sleeping on the couch, you went after him. You actually already felt that he had done so much for you by letting you sleep at his place, you didn't want to take his bed as well.

"This way," he showed you to the door. "Use the number pad."

"Oh, this is really fancy," you muttered.

"As if you've never seen something like this before," he rolled his eyes, but a smile of pure endearment lifted to his eyes. "You know my passcode."

"I don't?" you blinked from him to the lock.

Is it...?

"Yes you do," he muttered beside you.

You entered the only number combination you knew he used to have on his phone's passcode lock.

"Why is our anniversary date still your passcode lock?" you asked when you opened the door to his apartment.

It was disconcerting to see him detach himself from all memory of you while still keeping something as significant as the day he asked you to be his girlfriend as his passcode lock, something that remained a part of his daily life.

"I use it for everything still," he admitted as he set down the box on a table and turned on the lights of the living room.

Though that was not necessary, since the wide windows of the living room stood tall and wide, from floor to ceiling, welcoming the faint glow of the city lights that filtered into the room, illuminating dimly.

"Why?" you asked again, standing by the doorway still.

"Well I didn't want to change everything, it was way too much work. And honestly, I suck at remembering stuff," he shrugged and used his hand to motion you over to him. "Come on in. I'll show you to my bedroom."

"I can crash on the couch, Cheol," you insisted, walking into the interior of the apartment after kicking your shoes and placing them beside his.

The apartment had a sophisticated feel to it, with faux marble floors complementing the countertops in the kitchen open to the living room. In the centre of the living room was a plush cream-colored rug. A long couch and armchair surrounded the coffee table.

Seungcheol always had a good taste, but the paintings on the walls and accents here and there made you think that maybe he had help with a few things.

"You are sleeping on the bed," he concluded, grabbing the box again and showed you to a door that led to the master bedroom.

The bedroom also had tall windows, partly covered by blackout drapes. Seungcheol put the box with your stuff on top of a dresser and turned on the bedside lamp.

"Make yourself comfortable. If you need anything let me know," he smiled fondly and left the room to give you your privacy.

Even though it was not a week that you and Seungcheol had sex in his office, you welcomed the very needed space and privacy he was giving you.

You took the liberty of using the shower and even using his towels after forgetting to bring in yours.

A while later you came out of Seungcheol's bedroom, dressed fully in your fuzzy pyjamas and found your ex lounging on the long couch, looking at his phone until he spotted you waking towards him.

He sat up when you stopped just before him and sent a confused look at you.

"I used your towel. Hope that's okay," you sat beside him with a tired sigh.

"You're free to use all my stuff," he muttered softly and wrapped an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him.

"Thank you Cheol," you whispered shyly, toying with the casing of your pyjama bottoms.

"Don't worry," he sighed as you placed your head on his shoulder. "I'm happy to help."

That drew a smile on your face. Seungcheol was someone that always made you feel safe, he used to be the person you trusted the most.

You let out a weary sigh through your nose, your eyes going over the nicely decorated apartment. There were no signs that he actually lived there—everything seemed neat, carefully placed, untouched and barely used.

Knowing him, he probably spent more time at his bar than in his home.

"Are you falling asleep?" you heard his low voice ask.

"'m trying to," you turned your head to find his tired eyes.

"You're not sleeping on the couch," he muttered with a pout. "If you fall asleep here I'll just carry you to bed."

The reaction those words caused inside you was of a fiery excitement. You smiled, feeling yourself flush a little.

"Well don't mind me then," you muttered cheekily before pretending to snuggle his shoulder as if it were a pillow and you closed your eyes.

"If that's what you want, just say so," he muttered with a tone of bemusement.

He promptly stood from the couch and snuck his arms underneath your body that was on the couch and carried you bridal style back to his bedroom.

The joy you felt at being treated this way again was not foreign to you. Even when you were his girlfriend, you felt elated at the princess treatment he gave you.

But reliving it also caused you to feel emotional, nostalgic of having him back into your life like this.

"There you go," he muttered as he carefully placed you on the side that you noticed he used on his bed, since the bedside table was the only of the two that was cluttered.

You quickly grabbed his arm as he was standing back from the bed and pulled him in, using the vulnerability of his stance to fully bring him on top of your body.

"What are you—," he chuckled as he stumbled on top, he was stronger than you so his hands stopped him from fully crushing you with his body, placing them strategically on the bed and at your sides.

You sighed in pure adoration at seeing his gummy smile again. Despite the tired look in his eye, he seemed relaxed, almost content as he pressed a knee on the bed to regain balance when he understood what you wanted.

Your hand slid on his nape to drag him into a needy kiss, which Seungcheol responded to in a split second with a groan that was muffled in your mouth, kissing you as fervently.

"I thought you needed time," he groaned, pressing his lips on yours a couple of times before trailing down to the underside of your chin.

"I need you, Cheol," you whimpered as his wet lips reached your throat, placing an open mouthed kiss to make his way to your collarbones.

Seungcheol stopped and turned his head to face you. "What do you need, baby?" he asked with a weary tone.

You knew that it was a tricky situation and that you still needed time to think if you were ready to go back to him fully.

"Can you lie down with me? And hold me?" you asked in a tiny voice.

His smile was warm. "Of course."

Seungcheol cuddled behind you, hugging your body closely to his own.

Moments passed, silence dragged on and you could sense that Seungcheol was wide awake. He snuggled his face on the back of your head, breathing you in.

It almost broke you to think of the times you needed this. When you were alone and far away in a distant country, you ached for his warmth and care. The simple reassurance of his presence was something you longed for so many nights.

You knew he missed you too. Every now and then he would tighten his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body.

"Why are you not sleeping?" he asked after what felt like an eternity, or so you wished for.

"I can't," you admitted with a sigh of defeat.

"You want me to go now?" he started to move his arms from your body.

"No, don't–," you stopped him from breaking his embrace. "Stay."

"You have to get some rest, baby," he urged.

You turned in his arms to face him and curled up against his body, your hands sneaking past his chest and to the sides of his neck, to angle your face to his and kiss him sweetly on his full lips.

He hummed into the kiss, his hands sliding down your back but stopping before your bum. You smiled, not caring that he'd feel that on his lips and decided to press the full front of your body against his.

At that, he broke away from your lips, his eyebrow twitched. "Someone's needy," he muttered before diving into your mouth again, kissing you hungrily.

You chuckled and wrapped a leg over his hips, understanding what you wanted he pushed your back to the bed, positioning himself between your legs as he continued to kiss you.

"Do you want me to help you sleep, baby, is that it?" he asked, darting a curious look to your eyes.

You only nodded eagerly with your head, feeling a blush creeping in your face.

His mouth pressed into a smile. "You haven't changed in that, love."

A fiery rush of emotions invaded you. Maybe you have changed in some aspects, but he always read you so well, better than anyone. In the four years you were lucky enough to be his girlfriend, he made a big commitment to remember every detail about you.

Seungcheol wasted no time and moved his body back and sat on his heels to hook his fingers on your pyjama bottoms and yank them off your legs swiftly.

He sighed in delight, looking down at you.

"What?" you asked, growing timid under his awe-struck gaze.

He shook his head slightly. "I just–," he pushed his blond hair with his hand. "I never even imagined that-"

Seungcheol was practically stuttering and he smiled in defeat when you laughed at his struggle.

"Come here," you extended your arms to him and he leaned his body towards you.

You cupped his face with your hands to kiss his full lips softly, enjoying the fact that he was just as jittery as you were.

His hands slid beneath the fuzzy material of your top, his thumbs rubbing your nipples in small circles as his tongue dragged your lower lip, eliciting a low whimper from you.

"I missed you so much, baby," he whispered as he broke away from you to get rid of your top.

"I missed you too," you replied to him as soon as he returned to press loving kisses on your face.

Your fingers tangled in his long blond hair, and as he pushed away from your face, you saw his glinting eyes, revelling at the sight of you.

The endearment written on his face made your chest hurt. It was clear what he meant to say but wasn't ready to speak the words yet. You tried smiling but resorted to blink slowly at him once as if saying, 'I know, me too.'

Seungcheol flashed you a smile in response, clearly getting the message.

He kissed your lips once before dipping his head to kiss your collarbones, pressing soft kisses over the dark hickeys on your tits as his thumbs played with your nipples for a second time.

You hummed into his mouth, feeling yourself swept away by the tenderness of his kisses. He slid his hands on the sides of your body, caressing your skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

When his fingers grabbed the band of your panties, he broke away from your lips. His hands slowly slid your panties down your legs, looking at you fondly as you lifted your feet from the bed and his fingers dragged your panties from your ankles and set them aside.

"You're so beautiful, baby," he murmured with a soft, smallest sigh, almost as if it were escaping from his mouth: "You've always been the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

You smiled, your chest swelling with pure bliss. "Thank you, daddy," you replied with a small voice.

Then he left a trail of wet kisses toward your belly button, kissing your tummy lovingly before using his hands to angle your thighs open for him.

He placed more kisses around your core, in the soft and sensitive area of your thighs, making you whimper and grab his soft hair with one hand when he ran his tongue flatly on your skin, and again, leaving a tingling sensation on your pussy lips.

A shaky whimper spilled from your lips as he darted a hungry look at your eyes before pressing his tongue flatly on your core, licking a stripe up your folds, savouring you, drinking you in with a satisfied groan.

"Cheollie," you mewled with a sigh, already weak in your legs as your jaw went slack, and your back arched up.

You heard him hum in response, his hands pressed your body down by your lower belly, his thumbs caressing your skin while his tongue gave broad strokes on your pussy lips, placing kisses in between licks, teasing you softly.

"I missed you so fucking bad, daddy, you have no idea," you whimpered, your hand grabbing at his hair and the other clinging to the bed covers.

Seungcheol's mouth was pressed so close to your core that you felt his lips move into a smile. He didn't stop at your words to give you a reply, he continued to eat you out, the tip of his tongue sinking into your core, slurping your sweet juices delightfully.

Lewd whimpers and cries flooded the room. You knew he loved the sounds he got out of you, just as Seungcheol knew what to do to get you crying out in pleasure.

He stopped licking and kissing your cunt and concentrated on your clit, pressing his full lips on your clit before pushing the tip of his tongue on it to then move it side to side, darting the swollen bud with a swift pace.

You cried out loudly, wanting more and more your fingers twisted around his long hair, following the movements that his head started to make, slightly up and down as he continued to suck on your clit.

"I'm close, daddy," you gasped. "Fuck! I'm so close, please, please, daddy," propping yourself on your elbows as your legs began to shake, making one of his hands slide down from your lower belly and force your thighs open for him.

The last thing you saw before your eyes screwed shut was Seungcheol's head buried deep between your thighs, his hands holding you down firmly to his bed as your legs trembled on his sides.

Your head dropped back, crying out loudly as your orgasm washed over your body, the sounds you made left your voice raw until you started panting.

"Oh god—oh my fucking god," you whimpered lewdly as you came all over his mouth. "I missed you so, so much, daddy. Daddy!"

Seungcheol groaned in your cunt, teasing you with his mouth as you came down from your high. But he wasn't stopping. You noticed he moved his mouth from your clit, but he resumed giving broad strokes across your folds, savouring your arousal again.

"Daddy, what are you—oh," you started, but then his hands blindly found yours, lacing your fingers with his and then pulling so that your elbows no longer supported your body.

The back of your head hit the pillows and you heard him let out a low and raw groan. You understood that he wasn't done. Because of course he wasn't.

Seungcheol worked his mouth on your cunt to hear you moaning and whimpering again until he hummed in satisfaction against your folds.

Then the tip of his tongue swirled around your clit a few times before it darted side to side swiftly and continued to do so, knowing that would draw your orgasm out of you again.

"Mmm, 'm gonna cum again, daddy," you mewled, your chest rising and falling heavily as you felt your limbs growing numb. "Daddy, 'm almost there, I'maah-"

The grip you had on his hands tightened as his mouth forced a second orgasm from you, making you moan loudly repeatedly calling out his name until you were completely breathless.

Your limbs went limp just as his hands broke free easily from yours to smooth your legs soothingly. He placed one final kiss on your mound and lied his head on your thigh.

"Tired yet, love?" he asked, pressing the side of his face against your upper thigh, using it as a pillow.

"Mmyeah," you hummed. "I could die right now," you sighed weakly.

He smiled fondly. "I think you mean sleep?"

You nodded and added: "After I make you feel good too."

He raised a hand to stop you from moving. "Shh, let me enjoy this," he muttered lazily, nuzzling the side of your face against your thigh.

"But, I want you to feel good too," you frowned.

He blinked sleepily and shook his head that was still on your thigh. "I'm good, baby."

"Really?"

"Really," he whispered with a small smile, looking elated. "I missed this. I missed you," he smiled lazily.

Seungcheol moved on top of your body to capture your lips with his, kissing you sweetly before climbing down the bed, where you lied languidly watching him get rid of his shirt in one movement and throw it to the side.

"I'll be back in five, angel," he told you before he walked into the bathroom, turning on the shower a minute later.

When he returned, you weren't aware if five minutes passed precisely. Since you were fast asleep already, only to feel his hands move you beneath the covers, and then his warm body pressed behind yours, his arms wrapped around you.

Seungcheol held you closely throughout the night, until somewhere in the distance you heard an alarm go off. And you were barely aware of the kiss he left on your cheek before pulling away from you and leaving the bed.

Some hours later you woke up in his large bed, naked and alone. You searched for your phone but then you remembered that it was probably back in the living room.

After finding your clothes which were scattered on the floor around the bed you got dressed and went to search for your phone. You wanted to know what the time was, and if you needed to tend to any texts.

But luckily, it was still fairly early in the morning and you didn't have any messages or emails.

So you busied yourself as best as you could. Starting by changing into casual clothes and after perusing what the wifi password was—which Seungcheol had in a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet, you then grabbed your laptop and browsed for a place to move in.

You were sitting on the stool in the kitchen countertop working on finding an affordable place when Seungcheol returned. You being the first thing he laid eyes upon entering his apartment.

"Hi there," you hummed with a smile.

"G'morning. Brought you breakfast," he lifted a bag with his hand and placed it beside your laptop and promptly placed a kiss on your cheek.

You noticed his hair looked messy and sweaty, and you noticed he had gone to the gym, his compression t-shirt hugged the muscles of his chest, and the grey sweatpants that hung on his waist just right.

You gulped.

"Thank you," you smiled at him as you pushed your laptop aside and inspected the box containing the food he grabbed for you.

"Any luck yet?" he nodded to the screen on your laptop, where your search has stopped cold at the sight of food.

He leaned on the countertop beside you to look closer to the screen.

"Nope," you replied shortly, stuffing your mouth with food eagerly.

He shrugged. "You'll find something," he said reassuringly and when he looked at your cheeks full he smiled fondly.

"I'll be out of your hair soon, don't worry," you muttered, trying to cover your mouth as you were still chewing up your food.

"You can stay here as long as you need, you know that," he brushed off with a small frown on his face.

You nodded. "Thank you, Cheol."

His eyes lingered on your for a second before he muttered reluctantly: "And if you don't find anything that suits your needs, you can stay here, indefinitely."

You had to take a second to understand what he was saying. And your heart skipped a beat.

"I appreciate that, Cheol. But I think I need to find a place of my own," you muttered and looked down to your food.

Seungcheol shot a brief glance your way, his expressive eyes had dimmed. Upon realizing that he had touched on a sore subject that had caused arguments between you in the past, he turned away from the counter and walked out of the open kitchen, distancing himself from you.

"I'm taking a shower. And then we leave," he announced awkwardly.

"O-okay," you nodded. "Thank you for bringing me food."

"Don't mention it," he nodded before turning his back to you and walking off to his bedroom.

This shift was not as heavy as you initially had prepared for.

It was thursday, and instead of it being a night in which you had a live band playing, it was ladies night, a new concept that Mingyu proposed when Midnight Haze announced they'd be going on tour opening for another big rock band.

The concept to say the least was... interesting.

"Hey newb, you'll be behind the bar tonight for a bit," Wonwoo instructed and nodded to the guy that was in deep conversation with Seungcheol on one of the booths before opening hours.

"Oh, right, the newer newb is here," Mingyu said. "And who's going to help the new kid?"

"You," Wonwoo stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mingyu's jaw almost dislocated. "Me?" he pointed to his chest. "Why me?"

"Because you've been distracted. I want you to change tasks for tonight," he explained briefly and then looked at you. "You can handle the bar, right?"

Mingyu rolled his eyes with a snort and came out from behind the countertop and got to work, although fuming.

"Yeah, I can," you shrugged.

And also, you had a license. You don't know how Wonwoo even remembered that but you were glad he did. Because you also were in need to take a break from managing the tables.

"Right," Wonwoo clasped his hands together. "Let's get to work, Newb."

You nodded and followed Wonwoo behind the countertop.

The actual newbie's name was Chan. Who was a dark haired guy with an easygoing personality, you learned that he was an aspiring singer, within the first 60 seconds of you talking he mentioned his SoundCloud with great enthusiasm.

But the real reason he was here was because Wonwoo sort of convinced him to work here under the promise of juicy tips. Which, worked to the favor of the new concept of ladies night, something that you'd also learn soon.

The bar was nicely packed around 9PM. And Mingyu's idea seemed to stick, since the tables and barstools were occupied and most of the customers were, in fact, women.

"Holy shit," you said under a breath, watching with keen eye the looks being thrown at the boys tending the table.

And also to you and the man beside you tending the bar, and you felt slightly nervous whenever you caught someone on the countertop looking your way.

"Indeed," Wonwoo responded with a breathy laugh. "I mean, we get this crowd whenever the Haze boys come around, but not like this."

"Looks like the boys are having fun," you pointed with your nose to Mingyu and Chan, who kicked right off with the right foot and worked with a nice synergy.

"Finally," Wonwoo said with a sigh. "Need Mingyu to get out of his own head."

"Breakups are hard," you muttered as you turned to get the new orders from the machine.

Something caught your eye, Seungcheol's blond hair as he flipped it back with one hand as he strolled his tall body in front of the row of booths, inevitably turning the looks of people he passed by.

A sigh escaped your lips. Seungcheol has always had this effect on people. He is alluring, by the way he walked and stood. He commanded himself with a confidence that you have not seen in anyone else you have ever met.

You bit back a smile.

"Hello?" Wonwoo snapped. "Newbie, gimme that," he said with urgency and yanked the order from your hand.

"Sorry," you said, feeling a hot wave wash over your face.

"Seriously?" Wonwoo tutted and shook his head.

"What?" you said as he handed you another order and you got to work.

"At least try not to be obvious," he flashed you a grin and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose while the other hand was busy pouring a glass of whiskey and coke.

"God, okay," you widened your eyes in annoyance. "You are snoopy."

"And you are sloppy."

You chuckled. "Maybe. But at least I mind my business."

"Shut up," he hissed with a bright smile.

"Yah! You two," Seungcheol pointed towards you and Wonwoo. "Stop bickering."

Seungcheol had made his way to one side of the countertop, that being the side Wonwoo was mostly in charge of. You nodded with your head and it took you a second to notice that Seungcheol was amused by you.

"Like kids, I swear," he said with a click of his tongue.

"It's all her, boss," Wonwoo pointed teasingly at you. "She has her head over the clouds, god knows why."

"Wonwoo!" you shrieked like a little girl and pushed him by the shoulder.

But he obviously didn't budge. The man towered over you, but he only giggled. "See? She's even blushing, had to clean drool off the counter, you shoulda seen boss."

"Fuckin'stopit, Jeon Wonwoo," you hissed at him.

Seungcheol chuckled goofily, making you stop your feeble pleas to Wonwoo, who also looked somewhat stunned by your boss's reaction.

"Stop it you two, alright," he shook his head once before walking off to the kitchen.

"Huh," Wonwoo huffed. "That went well."

"What?" you gasped. "You just embarrassed me in front of him!"

"And it worked," he shrugged with a sly smile on his face.

"Uh... no it didn't—what worked exactly?" you demanded, your cheeks blazing hot that you had to lower your head a bit so that no one saw your embarrassed expression.

"He got shy."

You stopped and looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure."

It was weird to have the need to conceal both your excitement and nervousness. Sort of working in your favour because Wonwoo was so sure that you were jittery because you were crushing on your boss, according to him.

You didn't want to imagine what expression would take on his features if he ever knew that you weren't crushing on your boss, but your ex.

The shift ended quietly and you silently thanked the gods because you still felt embarrassed by the exchange between you and Wonwoo. And he appeared to be knowing of that, because you were trying to turn a blind eye towards Seungcheol, who for some reason kept strolling around the bar, helping with minor tasks here and there.

Wonwoo sent you some smug looks when Seungcheol went around the countertop and started helping you with the close up.

After everyone had exited the bar, you stood around your car for a bit, pretending to be busy responding to texts as Chan, Wonwoo and Mingyu had left, and the rest of your coworkers did too.

Seungcheol crossed the small parking lot behind the bar as he got his car keys from the pocket of his jacket, unlocking the doors of his jeep.

You hopped in the passenger seat of Seungcheol's jeep, feeling your heart almost thumping out of your throat when your ex sighed a smile.

"So," he threw a hand over the steering wheel. "You were caught drooling over someone."

"Not you too," you scoffed but laughed at his smug expression.

"No wonder Wonwoo is catching onto something, you might be a bit obvious," he smirked and ignited the car, driving away from the parking lot.

"I only looked at you once," you mumbled sheepishly.

"What were you looking at?" he inquired with a soft tone.

"I might have been looking at your butt," you laughed out of embarrassment.

"In front of everyone?" Seungcheol chuckled.

You hid your face behind the palms of your hands with a groan. "I couldn't help it."

A hand slid on your thigh, his fingers softly digging into the fabric of your jeans.

"Baby, you can't do that while working, the boys might actually start questions and what are you going to say?" he teased and you looked at him through your fingers, he was smirking while darting a few looks at you.

"I mean I wasn't the only one looking," you muttered shyly, your voice sounding tiny. "You look really good in those pants."

He laughed in response. "Is that what you told Wonwoo, baby?"

"No," you replied quickly. "I told him to stop snooping."

"I could tell him the truth, if that makes you feel better," he suggested with a small smile as the car came to a red light.

"What?" you squealed, dropping your hands to see his face illuminated by the soft red glow.

He shrugged. "I trust the boys. They would have no issue with you being my ex girlfriend."

Somehow the last word made your chest tighten.

"Bu-but I thought you didn't want them to know," you blurted.

"That would be the sensible thing to do, if I didn't trust them. But they've been here with me since I started this, I really trust they will understand," he muttered while he rubbed two fingertips over his plump lips.

"Um, okay," you mumbled, completely unsure.

"Only if you want to," he quickly put in when he saw your hesitation.

"I don't know," you sighed and bit back a yawn.

Seungcheol continued driving with his large hand firmly parked in your thigh, making your body tingle in anticipation.

"Jeonghan asked me for your number, forgot to tell you," he mentioned in passing, as if wanting to drive the conversation elsewhere.

"Oh? Did you give it to him?"

"Yeah, I did," he nodded with a frown. "Thought you'd want him to have it. Was that okay?"

"Totally!" you smiled, eager to finally reconnect with your former best friend. "Thank you, Cheol."

A smile reached his eyes and he sighed.

"What?" you asked.

Seungcheol parked and turned the engine of his car off. "Nothing," he said, unbuckling the belt. "It's nice to see you happy, that's all."

"It's been so long. I never thought I'd see him again," you said with a sigh. "I honestly thought he'd hate me..."

You dropped your gaze to your hands.

"Hey," he muttered, turning on his seat to face you. "Don't think that, baby. He has no reason to hate you, even if he did, he wouldn't."

You mustered a smile and looked at his big dark eyes, then his lips.

"Let's go," he muttered, noticing your wandering gaze.

"'kay," you sighed and followed him out of the car and onto the building.

In the elevator, Seungcheol had his hands behind his back, leaning back against the wall as he eyed the ceiling.

You watched him carefully, every detail of him. He way he stood, the way his t-shirt clung on his lean pecs and the wide shoulders that stretched the fabric down to his biceps.

One eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.

"You're staring again," he muttered without looking at you.

"No, I'm not," you mumbled sheepishly, dropping your gaze.

"Your thoughts are loud, baby," he giggled and you lifted your gaze to find him smirking.

"Tell me what I'm thinking, then," you quipped, returning the smirk.

Your heart fluttered rapidly, sinking with the familiarity of playing around like this with your ex.

Seungcheol pushed himself off the wall with a step forward and stood before you, making your knees wobble.

"I could show you," he said with a confident smirk, the eyebrow twitched slightly again.

The doors of the elevator opened, the small bump when the elevator arrived to the second to last floor left you feeling somewhat dazed. Or perhaps was the man standing in front of you, with a smirk plastered on his face when he knew the effect he had on you.

He walked into the long marbled floor hall and you followed him, noticing a slight urgency on his movements when he opened the door for you.

As soon as he closed the door, his hands slid on your waist from behind, stopping you in your tracks and pulled you closer to his body. You gasped slightly, your hands immediately flying to cover his with a jerk.

"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind, love?" he asked with a low tone, his nose bumping with your ear.

You turned to see him, his eyes had darkened, and was now wearing an expression that you knew too well.

When he saw you falter, he slowly turned you on your feet, his hands firmly parked on your waist. "I know that we still have a pending conversation but," he paused, searching your face. "I really need you right now, baby."

A shiver of pure delight ran throughout your body, earning a soft sigh from you.

"Then take me, Cheollie," you breathed, pressing your body against his.

He drove you against the wall, effectively pinning you with his large frame and not a second later he locked your lips with his own, groaning in your mouth with a sigh.

The hands on your waist slowly slid down your ass, grabbing it momentarily before crouching slightly before you and you understood what he wanted and jumped in his arms.

"Good girl," he muttered gruffly, moving his hands firmly on your ass as he carried you in his capable arms to his bedroom.

Seungcheol threw your body on the large comfy covers of the bed, muffling your fall perfectly. You let out a small blissful squeal and focused your eyes on him, feeling so needy already that you might've combust.

Seungcheol stood before you, his darkened eyes roaming all over your fully clothed body impatiently.

"Do you still like it rough, baby?" he asked as he pressed one knee on the bed and crawled on top of you.

"You know I do, daddy," you replied with a honeyed tone.

Seungcheol lowered his elbows, framing your head and pressed his body on top of yours. "Did the guys you fucked treated you the same way I do?"

Your breath hitched and something clicked in your brain instantly. Your eyes read his face frantically, he seemed calm, controlled, just like he always did when he dommed you.

"O-of course not," you whispered, quivering under his darkened gaze. "No one fucks me like you do."

Did he really want to know? He might have assumed that you had other partners when you went away, right? Did he had other partners? Oh fuck, you did not even want to entertain that thought, your heart sank at the mere prospect.

Seungcheol probably did, though. Assuming that he already thinks the same of you.

He smiled playfully, like a cat toying with his food he dipped his head to graze his lips against yours slowly. "Did you think of us when you fucked other people, baby?"

His lips moved to kiss your cheek and you quivered when his hands slid under your shirt, feeling your waist.

Did he think of you? You thought to ask.

"No," you replied sincerely. "But I would when they'd leave and I had to finish alone."

"Mmm," he hummed thoughtfully. "That bad I ruined you, baby?"

"That bad," you nodded. "I tried to convince myself it was good. But it just wasn't the same."

His lips pressed on the shell of your ear before saying: "Of course it wasn't, angel. No one knows you like I do."

You let out a shaky moan when he nipped your earlobe. "No one," you echoed. "Not even close."

You felt him smile on the spot below your ear. "And no one else will, baby."

You let out a pathetic whimper, not even daring to process what his words really implied. "No one," you parroted entrancedly.

Seungcheol groaned softly in your ear and pressed more kisses down the crook of your neck, earning more sweet sounds from your lips, you squirming under him, one hand had made its way on the hard muscles of his back, while the other cupped the back of his head.

"I need you naked, now," he muttered quietly and pulled his body back, kneeling on the bed before you.

Somehow your body silently started synergizing with his, you sat up in the bed just as his hands took the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it over your head with one move and tossing it to the floor. And then you lied back again when his fingers hooked on your jeans after yanking the button and zipper undone.

Lifting your hips for him to yank your jeans down your legs so hard that you heard some seams rip.

He let out a huff with a smirk. "These fucking jeans," he muttered through his teeth. "Can't fucking get you out of my head on a regular basis and then you wear these jeans... fuck baby, it's like you know."

He climbed back on top of you, placing his forearms on each side of your head to kiss you chastely once.

"It's like you know what you do to me," he muttered gruffly. "But you do, you know me better than anyone too."

Your heart lurched at his words, but couldn't help but show him a small smile. "Yeah, I do," you said confidently.

Seungcheol returned the smile. "Yeah, baby?" he whispered on your lips, trapping your lower lip to pull at it softly. "Can you still take me like before?"

Your whole body burned at his question and you nodded with your head slowly. "Ye-yeah I can," you faltered for a second. "I can take it."

"That's my baby," he whispered and swiped a line on your lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "Arch your back for me. I need to see you," he slid a hand beneath you to unclasp your bra and uncovered your breasts for him.

Seungcheol instantly palmed your breasts teasingly rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, making you squirm when he leaned down to wrap his mouth around one of them, sucking lightly and nipping at it with his teeth.

"Fucking perfect," he grunted. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, I swear."

"Daddy," you mewled and grabbed a handful of his soft hair when he decided to pay attention to your other nipple, sucking at it, playing with it and tugging it with his mouth.

"I'm here, love," he replied, darting a look at you. "Daddy's gonna treat you right. Fuck you like you deserve."

You nodded eagerly. "P-please, I need it."

Seungcheol sighed with a smile at your plea, his fingers hooked on the band of your panties, pulling them off to watch the string of arousal that stretched as the fabric separated from your wet core, broke and fell on the covers.

"So fucking wet already," he clicked his tongue.

"All for you, daddy," you sighed, feeling a blush creeping on your cheeks.

"All for me," he echoed, hovering over your body to press a hungry kiss on your lips.

Your hands slid under the white t-shirt to drag it up his body, feeling his muscles tighten and he sighed shakily under your touch, standing upright for you to continue undressing him.

You marvelled at his half-naked body for a second, your hands caressed his shoulders and slid down his chiselled chest and stopped at the belt of his pants.

"You've gotten bulkier," you whispered, darting a look at his eyes.

"Do you like it?" he asked, tilting his head to the side a little.

"Yeah, I do. A lot," you muttered, mustering a smile.

He pinched your chin gently but said nothing more.

"I need you to get up," you mumbled nervously before undoing the button of his pants.

This felt different than the night he fucked in his office. You felt nervous under the pressure of your decision, that and the fact that Seungcheol wanted to have his way with you like before, but that caused another kind of nervousness.

Seungcheol got up from the bed and you followed him, getting him out of his jeans to then bit back a sigh when you saw the huge bulge he store beneath his briefs. You ran a palm over his clothed cock, noticing a small patch of his briefs wet with precum.

A shudder in excitement invaded you when you pushed his briefs down. His cock sprung free and you let out a strangled sigh in pure bliss.

You pushed him with your hands at his sides, earning a soft chuckle from him when he understood what you intended to do. Sitting him down on the edge of his bed and kneeling on the floor between his splayed thighs.

You caressed his supple thighs with a shudder that shook you to your core, almost whimpering pathetically at the sight of him. Naked, hard, leaking and needy.

Seungcheol cupped the side of your face with one hand and your eyes fluttered shut under his warm touch. "Is this what you had in mind, angel?"

"Yeah," you breathed lewdly with a nod to your head. "Can I suck you off, daddy?"

"Fuck, yes," he sighed, the corner of his mouth stretching in a grin as his hand brushed your hair back gently.

You made sure to look in his eyes right before grabbing his girthy cock with your hand, you wanted to see his features dissolve into pleasure as you took him in your mouth. Starting with a broad stroke with your tongue from the base of his cock to its head, tasting the salty precum in his slit and his mouth parted a little, releasing a low guttural moan.

"You don't know how much I missed your mouth, baby," he mumbled faintly.

You pushed your mouth down his cock and hummed around it, swirling your tongue around his pink tip every time you pulled your mouth back.

Seungcheol hissed and his hands started gathering your hair in one tight fist as your mouth started to feel more comfortable on his cock and felt bold enough to take him further, so that his cockhead pushed up your throat.

Your hand stroked what you could not take in your mouth fully, while the other caressed his thigh, making him shudder and swallow a moan in his throat.

"God, baby that feels so good," you sneaked a look towards the man completely trapped under your spell.

You hummed again, making wet sounds with your mouth on is cock loudly to make him shudder. He had his half-lidded eyes trained on you, one hand gathering your hair and the other gripping the covers tightly.

"Fuck, that's it, baby," he whispered. "You're taking me so well," he kept his praise with a low raspy tone.

At that, you picked up the pace, your drool coated hand moving faster on the base of his throbbing cock while you worked your mouth around its head, earning more sweet praises and moans from him.

The overwhelming need to worship his body invaded you. It made your cunt throb and moan around his cock, making slurping sounds as you sucked his big cock and took him further in your mouth.

You gagged a little bit when you tried to push his cock in your throat, and his hand tightened around your hair. "Stop," he instructed.

You pushed your head back and got him out of your mouth, breathing through your nose deeply.

Seungcheol leaned down to kiss your lips chastely, his hand still on your hair. "I want you on all fours," he mumbled in your mouth, but his command was firm.

You complied almost immediately, crawling on all fours to the middle of the large bed. You propped your elbows on the pillows and looked over your shoulder to see him.

Seungcheol pressed one knee on the edge of the mattress, the soft covers dipping around him as he climbed his wholly naked body on the bed. Then you noticed that the curtains of the large windows were drawn still, creating a backdrop behind his frame of the city lights in the middle of the night.

It was not only the sight of his beautiful body that caught your sight. Nor the way that the lights seemed to shimmer behind him. His eyelids were lowered as he looked at your body, you saw his heavy lashes, his full lips.

He leaned his head to one side as one of his hands caressed your skin from the small of your back, down to one of your glutes.

Your tummy fluttered nervously.

"Do you remember our safeword, love?" he asked, pausing for a second.

How could you not remember? You nodded and told him the safeword you established for each other years ago.

Looking at him over your shoulder still, you saw him take one hand to the space between your bodies. A smile appeared on his face when you arched your back for him in anticipation. Then you felt him run the tip of his cock between your pussy lips once, teasing you briefly before easing himself inside you in one go.

But he wasted no time, starting to push his hips against you, giving you no testing or shallow thrusts. His pace was hard and fast, nearly brutal. It had you mewling against the bedcovers instantly, your fingers curling on the pillows for support.

"That's my girl," he gasped each word between his brutal thrusts. "Stretching so nicely for daddy's cock."

You hummed in affirmation and closed your eyes, savouring every inch of his big cock dragging out of your gummy walls and then sinking back in.

"Daddy," you sighed a moan. "Please."

You were not sure why you were begging, or what for. But when Seungcheol picked up the pace a little, slamming his hips against you so hard that your body started to bounce on his bed, you forgot what you wanted to say.

"Fuck, daddy, just like that please," you gasped lewdly, when his cock reached a glorious spot deep inside you, making your mind go blank.

You heard him groan gutturally and looked at him over your shoulder. Seungcheol had thrown his head back a little, his tongue was trapped between his teeth. The hand parked on the small of your back had travelled far up your back a little, while the other held you in place.

"God," he sighed. "You're taking me so well, baby."

"Mm-mmph," you mewled, closing your eyes to lose yourself in the blissful pleasure you got from him hitting that spot with his cock repeatedly.

Seungcheol was practically growling, his raw moans spilling from his lips in a frantic manner as his hips slammed into your ass, making you gasp and moan with every thrust.

"F-fuck, I'm almost there, daddy," you sighed and gulped hard, tasting your sweet release.

His hands gripped you so hard on your hips as he quite literally pummelled you that you knew you'd have bruises on your hips and ass the following day. But he didn't stop, and you internally thanked him.

"You want to come, baby?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Yes please, daddy. I'm so close," you whimpered your eyes brimmed with tears. "Feels so good, so fucking good—"

Hearing you being so needy for your release made him let out a deep groan in pleasure. But he continued with his brutal thrusts on you, his hands firmly grabbing your hips, his fingers digging in your skin so deep you knew you'd have marks in the following morning.

"Come for me baby," he gasped. "Come on daddy's cock," he said in a low guttural tone.

All you could feel was his cock plunging in your clenching walls as your orgasm hit you so hard and good that your ears rung, drowning out your own cries of pleasure.

Then a hand circled your neck, and effortlessly pulled you up so what his hard chest was pressed to your back. Seungcheol's fingers didn't press that hard, but with enough strength to make you gulp abruptly and grab his wrist.

"I love the sounds you make for me," he growled. "You're so fucking good for me."

You whimpered at the sound of his voice so close to your ear, his cock still pumping hard inside you so hard that you could feel your whole body bouncing against his.

"I'm gonna stuff this pretty cunt with my cum. You want that, love?" he asked, gasping softly at your ear.

"Yes, please!" you replied with a whimper, your hand clenching the wrist up your neck. "Fill me up, please. Please, daddy."

A groan left his mouth, sounding so low and guttural that it vibrated on his chest so hard you felt it on your body. His hips slammed against you, his hand tightening in your neck as he came inside you, gasping softly on your shoulder.

Slowly his hand released your neck, his strong muscly arms encircled and pressed your body against him. He held you close to his chest, as he breathed heavily on your neck in a mixture of exhaustion and bliss.

"You're always so good for me," he muttered lazily as he showered you with loving kisses on your neck and shoulder.

You snuggled closer to his warmth, angling your head for more of his kisses and you felt him smile on your cheek.

"Can we cuddle?" you asked when his lips reached your own.

He paused, reading your eyes before nodding with his head. "Whatever you want, baby."

You slowly lied face down on his bed and Seungcheol followed, slumping his naked body beside you.

Then his big arms were wrapped around you, efficiently pulling you on top of his body. You pressed your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soft hum he released.

Two fingers gingerly took your chin, commanding you to look at him.

"Okay?" he breathed.

You nodded and pressed your lips into a smile. "Okay."

The corner of his mouth stretched slightly in the faintest of smiled. "C'mere," he whispered, reading your eyes before leaning in for a warm, tender kiss.

"Cheol," you breathed in his lips.

"You don't know how much I missed you, baby," he quickly cut in, almost as if he did not want to let the moment be swept away. "So much."

"I missed you too," you echoed with shaky voice. "So, so much."

"Only in my most insane moments I dared to imagine you here with me again," you felt him smile on your lips. "But here you are."

Your heart broke a little, making you close your eyes before you could control yourself. "I'm here, Cheol."

The tip of his nose nudged yours gently before he pressed a soft kiss on your lips. "Don't leave again."

You choked back a sob in his mouth, unable to utter a word.

"Please," he whispered.

"I'm not entirely sure if this is a good idea," you told him sincerely. "I'm a different person now, Cheol. Not the girl you once loved."

It was true. You were far from the girl that Seungcheol loved. Time has a funny way of changing things and it sure as hell did with you.

But he smiled, an endearing glint in his eyes. "I know you've changed, baby," he muttered. "I've changed too. We can get to know each other again."

The idea sounded good. After all Seungcheol was you first love. Your first everything: first (real) kiss, first boyfriend, first sexual partner, first heartbreak. So the prospect of getting to know him all over again after years was exciting.

Something to look forward to.

"I don't think we can go back to what he had," Seungcheol said softly. "And honestly, I don't want to. I want to start over."

"Can we? We can't just turn a blind eye to what we've done for the past few days," you pointed to your naked bodies, alluding to having sex multiple times already.

"Remember when we started dating?" he asked while his fingers brushed your hair from your face. "We moved so fast, we were already having sex within the first month of knowing each other."

You laughed, your cheeks bundled up and forced some tears from your eyes. "I know, I remember. But that's not what I'm saying, Cheol," you playfully pushed his shoulder. "How would this work? You being my boss, and my ex–"

"You're overthinking it," he shook his head once. "We'll take it step by step. I know it's tricky, and it's going to take a lot to figure it out. But I know that I'm ready now."

He was right: you were overthinking everything.

Nothing could ever get you back to what you used to have with Seungcheol. There was no going back to the person you were when you were madly in love with him. Even if you still loved him now, there was a lot you had to rebuild.

His thumb gently brushed away a lonely tear that rolled down your cheek. "What do you say, love?" he whispered so softly that it was barely audible. "Can we start again?"

Seungcheol paused, looking hesitant, but in the brief silence that followed, you understood that no matter what your answer was, one thing was still very evident: you still loved him.

As you nodded with your head, he pulled you into a tender kiss. It was too soft, slow and warm and wet. You melted into the kiss, your whole body shuddered under his touch, making you stifled a sob in his lips.

"Thank you, baby," he whispered in between kisses. "I won't let you down again, I promise—I promise."

✧ a/n: heyyyyoooo (´◡`)

if this has mistakes or continuity errors, please forgive me, i only picked up this draft after i abandoned it since october

thank you for waiting for this part! i really appreciate everyone who engaged with part i and waited for this one. it took me really long to post this because i wasn't feeling it, idk 🥺 pls forgive me

i'll try to update soon!!

if you liked reading this, please let me know? i'd appreciate a comment, reblog, like or an ask! my ask box is always open and i love to know your thoughts on anything pls i'm lonely 🥺

so if any of you guys have read my other fics, you may or may not have noticed that all my fics are connected in one single universe hehe. i might make a masterpost soon. so stay tuned for that and,

✧ PART 3 !!✧

anywhoos, i love you all ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

toodles

#seungcheol smut #scoups smut #svt smut #choi seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #choi seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #choi seungcheol fanfic #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #ff:heartbreaker #hannieween

740 notes · View notes