So Ya Girl Read Over On Ao3 And I Figured I'd Just Add My Thoughts And Keysmashes Here

so ya girl read over on ao3 and i figured i'd just add my thoughts and keysmashes here

Herbie (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: Mechanic!Chan x F.Reader Themes: Smut | Some Fluff | Strangers to Friends to Lovers Word Count: ~10k | AO3 Synopsis: Chris was the best mechanic you’d ever met. He was good at his craft, capable of bringing your dingy car back to life time and time again. He was, also, excellent at riling you up just by existing, which wasn’t the best when you were absolutely convinced he just wanted to be friends with you. But maybe, just maybe, he’d prove you wrong. [You can find part two here]. Warnings: curvy/chubby reader · reader is clueless · personification of an inanimate object (the car is referred to by name and male pronouns sometimes) · improper use of car related vocabulary probably (author is clueless on the topic, they don’t even know how to drive) · discussions of weight and usage of the word fat (in a very neutral manner) · Christopher is Stronk · special guest appearance: Jisung.

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Author’s Note: mechanic!chan was suggested by an “anon” (👀), after they watched this performance, and i felt inspired by the suggestion, so i decided to write a little something for it. a little something that somehow managed to gather more words than i ever expected, as usual. anyway, hope it doesn’t disappoint :^)

fun fact: i dreamt once that i wrote a fic called herbie, so i guess the prophecy has been fulfilled now.

Smut Warnings: the reader has an oral fixation · the reader has sexually charged thoughts (i can’t blame her) · pet names (baby, babe, gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, etc) · lots of praising (it’s a staple in my chan fics at this point, oops) · praise kink · strength kink if you squint? · oral [M&F.Rec] · deepthroating/mouth fucking · protected penetration [piv].

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

Christopher Bang. 

The man who’d saved your ass countless times in the past handful of months. The man who’d been plaguing your thoughts since the very first moment you entered his repair shop.

And to think it was your older brother’s fault. ‘Get a second-hand car’, he said. ‘It’s cheap and super reliable’, he said. ‘Yes, of course it’ll be fine’, he said. Your brother was, ultimately, full of bullshit. You’d never trust his opinion ever again.

Getting a second-hand car was quite possibly the worst financial decision you’d ever taken.

At first you’d been incredibly excited. You even named it Herbie, after the famous car that was… Well, called Herbie. 

With Herbie, you’d be able to get to work faster, you’d no longer have to stay in uncomfortable social situations just because you were waiting for your ride for the night to take you home, you’d no longer have to balance grocery bags on your tiny bicycle, you’d be independent. 

For two months, you were living your best life with Herbie. But then he started showing The Signs.

It started with the AC not turning on, then, the wipers wouldn’t wipe, until eventually, he shut down completely. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, had it not happened while you were driving on the fucking highway. To say you were pissed was an understatement. That day, when that happened, you were fortunate enough to be with your friend, Jisung. 

Not only did Jisung calm your fit of rage, but he also told you he had a friend who fixed cars for a living. ‘He’s very reliable. He won’t overcharge you, really. I vouch for him, trust him with my life at this point’, which, honestly, finding a mechanic these days that wasn’t trying to find problems that weren’t there to overcharge you was hard, so you took Jisung’s advice and took Herbie to Wolfgang: Repair Shop.

That was where you saw Chris the first time.

You could still remember the exact moment your eyes landed on him. Although, to be fair, the first thing you saw were his boots peeking out from below a car.

“Hello?” You heard a thud after you greeted the pair of legs, followed by a very graceful ‘fuck!’.

“Just one second!” He slid from under the car, and when he stood from the creeper, you honestly weren’t prepared.

Broad shoulders, strong, defined arms, a mess of curls on his head, plush, pink lips, and that nose. Jisung had forgotten to give you the most important detail about his friend, the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous. Even with the oil coating his exposed arms, hands, and the smudge on his cheek, he was probably one of the finest specimens you’d ever seen.

“Can I help you?” He smiled, and God, he had dimples, too. Of fucking course he had to have dimples…

“I’m–I–” You were embarrassing yourself, barely even capable of forming a coherent sentence, all as he looked at you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. So you got your bearings, taking a deep breath. “My car keeps dying on me. I’m a friend of Jisung’s, he told me to come to you”.

“Oh!” His eyes widened and he honestly looked beyond surprised. “You are Jisung’s friend?” There was a slight tone of disbelief in his voice, and the way he looked you up and down honestly confused you a bit. Was there a problem with your outfit? It was a bit warm out and this was a nice, comfortable dress… Maybe you were supposed to wear something different to a car repair shop? Maybe it was one of those social rules no one talked about but you were supposed to just know they existed. 

Regardless, you decided to ignore the thought altogether, because he started talking again. “I’m Chris. I’d offer my hand, but I don’t think you’d like to get yours covered in motor oil”, he chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag that hung from his belt, and it genuinely made you smile. “C’mon, let’s take a look at your car and see what we can do. Hm?”

That was how it all started. Chris was polite, he certainly knew his way around these things, and every time you had a problem with Herbie you went to his shop. At some point, you became well acquainted with him, it was impossible not to when Herbie kept dying practically every other week, and when Chris was just so friendly.

You enjoyed spending time at the shop with him, and sometimes you wondered if you were being weird or annoying by staying a bit longer than any customer probably would, but Chris seemed to be just as engaged in the conversation as you were every time, so that spark of doubt in you always died very quickly. 

After a couple of months, Chris simply handed you a piece of paper. ‘Here’s my number. Text me whenever you need’.

And you did. Although, you took a while to text him. You finally did it only because Herbie had started to leak water; after all, that was what he had given you his number for. But it seemed like after that Chris and you just… Started to talk about other things, completely unrelated to Herbie.

“You slut, who you texting with that smile on your face? Did you finally get yourself a man?” Jisung teased you one day when you were hanging out with him, supposedly watching movies.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “As if. You know the only thing I attract are mosquitoes, and it’s only because they want to suck my blood. It’s just Chris. He sent me this funny video of Wolfgang, wanna see?”

Wolfgang was Chris’ dog, an overly excited husky that seemed to be a walking disaster. You told Chris once in passing that you liked dogs, that it cheered you up whenever you saw them do their Dog Things, and since then he started to send you pictures or videos of his dog regularly, which you highly appreciated, they did bring up your mood every time.

Jisung blinked at you. “Christopher Bang? My friend Chris?”

“Yeah? Which other Chris do we both know?” You returned your eyes to your phone, chuckling at a meme Chris had just sent you.

“What’s he sending you? Lemme see”, Jisung grabbed your phone out of your hands, ignoring your protests altogether. “Huh… Would you look at that…”

“Why are you scrolling? Stop that, it’s a private conversation”, you lunged at your friend, trying to get the phone out of his hands. After a bit of jostling he finally relented, and you huffed as you diverted your attention back to the chat with Chris.

Jisung called your name, and you looked up from your phone to your friend, seeing his confused face. “You… You do know he’s flirting with you, right?”

“What?” You laughed at that. “Don’t be ridiculous”.

“I’m being serious”, Jisung turned to face you fully on the sofa, looking at your face very intently. He was quiet for a moment, but then he was gasping–rather dramatically, if you might add. “Oh my God! You haven’t noticed!”

“There’s nothing to notice, Jisung. Chris isn’t flirting with me, don’t be silly”, you chuckled just at the thought. As if the Christopher Bang would be flirting with you.

“You seriously can’t be this dense”, Jisung scoffed, turning back to the movie. “You do you, then. I’m telling you, though. He’s one hundred percent flirting with you”.

How ludicrous. Chris had shown zero interest in you for as long as you’d known him. You were sure he only saw you as a friend at best, and that was only because you were on ‘sending memes’ basis now, before you were just his customer with the dingy car that kept needing repairs. 

You’d admit, though, that after a handful of months, Chris had become a really close friend. He’d text you every morning without fail. Most of the time, he’d send you a picture while he was walking his dog. It could be a picture of Wolfgang, or a picture of the sunrise, or a selfie–those were the hardest ones to look at, to be honest. 

At some point, you realised you had developed a crush on him, and looking at his face in those selfies, still a bit swollen with sleep, with his hair a bit tousled, or with a beanie over his head covering his eyebrows, looking incredibly cuddly, wasn’t helping you cope much.

Sometimes he’d text you while he was in the gym, too. Which would’ve been fine, had he not also started to send you selfies when he was there. They were never anything too revealing, he’d always be fully clothed, but the sight of his reddened hands, his bulging veins after lifting, his flushed face, and just overall sweaty form was just something you didn’t need. It always heated you up, made you suddenly feel like your mouth was just too empty, it’d made your mind wander into very dangerous, and very horny territory. 

It was already hard enough to watch Chris work on Herbie. Whenever he did and you were at the shop, you’d start to fixate on the way the muscles of his exposed arms moved, or how his ass looked when he was bending over the motor to do whichever magic he needed to do, it always made you wonder if he’d be able to perform that magic on you, if his hands would touch you as delicately but as precisely as they did with Herbie’s components, or how it’d be like if you were the one bending over the bonnet, preferably with him just right behind you… Regardless, seeing him also at the gym through his pictures was just too much. He’d sometimes ask you weird questions while he was there, too, which always left you a bit confused.

‘mind if i ask what’s your weight? you dont have to tell me if you dont want to, i’m just curious. i’m trying to bulk up, you see. mine’s…’ You didn’t particularly have a problem with the question itself, you just found it odd that he asked you that out of the blue, and for a brief moment you wondered if he’d been trying to say you were fat–which wouldn’t have been the first time that happened to you, having lived most of your life as person with extra fat on their body for what was considered ideal in this society’s standards had already numbed you to questions like these.

You hadn’t told him right away, you simply sent him a ‘why? are you gonna tell me to lose weight? lol’ to which he replied a string of messages in quick succession ‘oh god no. far from that, you’re perfect just as you are honestly. i’m just curious cuz i want to get to…’ He’d go on about his goals and what-not, and you decided to humour him, since it genuinely didn’t seem like he was trying to make fun of you, he actually never brought up the topic again after that.

Chris wasn’t just handsome, he was also cute, and a bit of a dork. A dork with extensive knowledge in cars and each of their components, but with even more extensive knowledge in pokemon and each and every single type.

‘Ice is strong against dragon and ground, you see? So I have to fight this Garchomp with a pokemon that can do ice attacks, but that can also withstand his attacks, like Gyarados, you know?’ The first time Chris pulled an explanation like that, while he was still covered in Herbie’s oil, you understood why he was friends with Jisung. They were both just dorks. Gym rats and dorks. The oddest combination you could possibly think of, but somehow it just added to their charm. To Chris’ charm specifically.

That balance of his technical knowledge, his hotness, and his dorkness, coupled with just how good of a person he genuinely was–always willing to help, always ready to stand his ground for things he believed in–only made you fall stupidly deeper for him. But you decided to keep these feelings to yourself, you liked having Chris by your side, not only because he was the only one who seemed to be able to bring Herbie back to life, but also because he was just a good friend, and you were sure that if you confessed your feelings things just wouldn’t be the same.

Taking Herbie out these days was always a gamble. You never knew when he was going to break down, but sometimes you really had to take a leap of faith. Most of the time it all went fine, but today, it seemed like he wasn’t in a mood to cooperate. Herbie had decided that breaking down in the middle of nowhere at twenty hours on a Friday was the best idea, which left you on the brink of frustrated, angry tears. 

So, obviously, you called the only person you knew could help you in this situation.

“You alright?” Chris asked as soon as he arrived and stood in front of where you were leaning on your car. “Oh, God. Are you crying? Why are you crying?”

“I’m just so fucking done with this car”, you brought your hands to your face, sobbing once the frustration that had built inside of you couldn’t be contained anymore.

“Hey…” You felt Chris’ body heat practically envelop you when he moved into your space, and, had you not been crying like a baby, you’d probably feel a bit flustered about it. “Are you– Can I– Do you want a hug?”

You just nodded–still covering your face with your hands–because of course you wanted a hug. You were trembling with your quiet sobs, so a hug sounded like absolute heaven at this moment, and when Chris finally leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you to him, the fact that Herbie had left you stranded in the middle of nowhere seemed so insignificant now.

Chris was so incredibly warm. The way he softly caressed your back helped ease your trembles, and, eventually, the tears stopped, too. So you finally moved your hands away from your face, bringing your arms around his waist to hug him as well, just as you buried your face on his shoulder–probably leaving small puddles of tears on the fabric of his boilersuit.

That was when you noticed his attire. Similar to how he dressed when he was at the shop, but clearly completely clean. His boilersuit even smelt like his fabric softener still, and… Was he wearing perfume?

You pulled yourself a bit from him, and his calloused hands cradled your face immediately to wipe your tears with his thumbs. You could feel heat spread on your cheeks as he did.

Chris was so close to you still, the heat of his palm on your cheeks seeped into you, shooting straight to your fluttering heart. He truly was incredibly handsome, and as you looked him in the eyes the words left your mouth before you could even think twice about them.

“Wow. Your eyelashes are so pretty”.

A look of surprise crossed Chris’ features, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob, right before he pulled his hands away from your face and opened the driver’s door of your car, giggling. Giggling in that utterly Christopher way he always did.

“Well, yours are, too”, he said while he pulled the lever near the wheel to release the safety latch so he could open the bonnet of your car.

For a moment, you could’ve sworn his ears were red, and you wondered briefly if he might’ve been feeling warm with his boilersuit on, since it was warm tonight, which was why you had decided to wear a dress in the first place. “Were you at the shop when I called?”

“Was on my way”, Chris rounded your car, finally standing in front of it and opening the bonnet. “Ahh, Herbie. You’d certainly seen better days, haven’t you, buddy?” He took his phone from his pocket, switched on the torch, and handed it to you. “Could you hold this for me? Please?”

“Why were you going to the shop this late?” You asked as you pointed the light towards Herbie’s insides.

“Was gonna work on the bike. Angle this a bit, please”, Chris took your hand, angling it however he needed it so he could see whatever it was he needed to see–for you he might as well had been doing dark magic on your car. You saw him push cables around like he knew what each of them was for, which he surely did, this was his livelihood, after all, but it all just looked the same to you, so you were immensely relieved that he was able to help you out tonight.

“You fix cars all day and still have the drive to work on your bike in the evening?” You chuckled, just as Chris moved your hand to point the light somewhere else.

“You’d be surprised how much drive I can have when I’m doing something I like”, there was a smile on his face as he said it, and honestly you couldn’t help but believe him. Just like you couldn’t help but wonder what else he could like that’d fuel that drive of his… “Alright, we’re gonna have to jumpstart it. Gimme a sec”.

Chris left your side for a moment, and he returned almost immediately after with a jumper cable in his hands. Once he had attached it to his 4X4’s and Herbie’s battery, he instructed you to go back to the driver’s seat and to turn the ignition at his signal.

You did as asked, and as soon as you did Herbie came back to life, making you heave a sigh of relief. Chris appeared by your door a few seconds after. “Let’s go to the shop, yeah? I don’t think he’ll make it much further, to be honest”.

And honestly, you didn’t think your car would make it far, either. So you followed Chris’ 4X4 out of the area and through the familiar roads to his repair shop. You couldn’t help but feel immensely grateful, not only because he was helping you now, but because he always did it. Whenever you’d needed him, he’d always been there, which did nothing to appease the ever growing feelings you had for him.

When you made it to Chris’ shop, he simply opened the gate to the garage and signalled you to come in. You got off your car as soon as it was parked, just as Chris was unzipping his boilersuit, revealing his black vest top underneath and his admittedly mouthwatering arms as he tied the top part of the garment around his waist.

“Thank you, Chris. Really”, you told him as soon as he stood in front of you, handing him Herbie’s keys when he opened his palm.

“Oh, please”, he waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought, as if what he did was something not even worth thanking him for. “I’m glad you called, I would’ve felt really bad if I couldn’t have helped you with this”, he gave you a smile, one of his blinding smiles that made his dimples appear on his cheeks and his eyes disappear, and you suddenly felt your cheeks warm up and like your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

Chris made sure to place a wedge behind each of Herbie’s wheels just so the car was secure in place, and then turned to you. “Come with me”.

He guided you to the sink by the corner of the shop. Pumping some soap into his hands and opening the tap, he started to generously lather the suds all over his hands. 

“Come here, you need to wash your hands, too”, Chris took your hands in his, getting them all soapy, making sure to spread the soap between each of your fingers, going as far as to rub your hands between his, or lace his fingers with yours to fulfil the task.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Chris, I didn’t touch anything”.

“You sure?” He chuckled, but his motions didn’t stop. “It’s better to be safe than sorry, no?”

“I guess”, you didn’t think your cheeks could’ve felt any hotter. You seriously hoped it wasn’t that noticeable.

After thoroughly rinsing your hands under the tap, he gave you a clean rag to dry them on just as he motioned for you to follow him again. So you did, walking past his half restored bike and into his office.

Chris placed Herbie’s keys on the designated case that corresponded to the number in which you had parked your car, and then turned to the minifridge. “You want a soda?”

“Sure”, you took the glass bottle from him as soon as he opened it and handed it to you. You always found it odd that he had glass bottles and not cans, considering how little space he had in that fridge. When you asked him about it once Chris simply went on about how ‘cans just don’t taste the same! The soda tastes so much better when it’s drunk from a bottle’, and as soon as he said that you just couldn’t untaste it anymore. Glass bottles were, ultimately, superior.

“‘Suppose I’ll get an uber”, you sighed after you took a sip of your drink, walking a bit so you could lean against the wall.

“An uber? Nonsense, I’ll drive you home, don’t worry”, Chris took a sip of his drink, just as he leaned on his desk.

“Aw, c’mon. You already went out of your way to rescue me. I don’t wanna take more of your time”.

Chris scoffed. “Don’t make me beg”.

“I wouldn’t dare”, you chuckled, although you were suddenly curious of what would happen if you did make him beg… “But what about your bike?”

“The bike won’t be ready anytime soon. The only reason I was coming here was because I was restless at home. Now I’d much rather spend some time with you, to be honest”, Chris took a sip of his drink again, and suddenly holding his gaze felt like too much, but the way your eyes decided to focus on his Adam’s apple moving with every sip he took wasn’t that much easier.

“You know…” Chris said after a few moments of silence, pulling your eyes back up from where they had been glued to his neck. “I think it might be time for you to consider letting Herbie go. It’s been months, and I honestly don’t think I can save him”.

You sighed. “I know… But I fear I’ve grown attached to the damned thing. Besides, wouldn’t you lose your most regular customer?” You added the last part with a chuckle, taking a sip of your drink right after.

Chris chuckled. “So you’re saying you only talk to me ‘cause of Herbie?”

You almost choked on your drink. “N–no. Of course not. You’re a good friend, Chris. Truly”. 

He placed his drink on the desk, and a smirk made its way onto his face. “Just a good friend?”

“Uhh… A great friend?” You laughed softly, drinking some more of your soda.

Chris went silent for a moment. As you saw him worry at his bottom lip and looking anywhere but where you were standing, you wondered if you had said something wrong. That was, until he chuckled.

“I don’t think I’m a good friend, to be honest”, he crossed his arms over his chest, bouncing his leg a bit. “Good friends don’t secretly hope for their friend’s car to break down so they’d call them for help”. 

You were just bringing your bottle to your lips, but his words made you stop in your tracks. “What?”

Chris looked at you for a moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but then he was tipping his head to the side and laughing. “God, I seriously didn’t believe Jisung at first, but you really are dense for some things, aren’t you?” 

“I am… So confused right now”.

Chris shook his head a bit, and he walked closer to you. “Let me tell you a secret…” He got into your space, close enough that you could smell his perfume, and the proximity made you swallow the saliva that seemed to have suddenly pooled in your mouth. Leaning into you, he brought his mouth to your ear, whispering. “I really, really like you”.

You blinked, and you honestly felt like your brain had short-circuited. “You… What?”

No way was Christopher Bang telling you he liked you. There was just no way. You would’ve noticed… You would’ve, right? You definitely would’ve… Wouldn’t have you noticed?

Suddenly you remembered Jisung. How he’d tried to tell you multiple times throughout the past few months that Chris was flirting with you, that you should shoot your shot, but you honestly had never believed him, because it seemed just so ridiculous to you that Chris could even look at you in that light.

“I’ve, uh… Liked you for a while. A long, long while”, Chris pulled himself away from your space completely, and he looked at your face for a moment. A moment that you stayed completely silent, still trying to process the fact that Chris liked you… And for a while now.

You saw his brows furrow as he chewed on his bottom lip. Then he was speaking again. “I just… Couldn’t keep quiet about it anymore. When we hugged earlier I realised I wanted to do that more, and that I should probably grow a pair and tell you already. I’d like to take you on a date, if you want, but I can understand if you don’t want to…”

He was rambling. A lot. Saying a lot of things. This was the Nervous Chris you’d only seen a couple of times, the Nervous Chris whose coping mechanism was just to jump to conclusions and talk in a single breath. Suddenly, it all seemed to click into place. The good morning texts, the selfies, the late night talks at the shop after Herbie had died on you time and time again, it was so clear to you now.

“If you don’t like me back that’s fine, you can just say so, I won’t take it to hear–”

You kissed him.

It was barely anything. Just a peck on the lips, but it was enough to shut him up, enough to make his eyes go wide in surprise, and, to your own selfish delight, enough to bring a delicate blush to his cheeks.

“I like you, too”, you said simply, still a bit shocked by his confession, a bit shocked by your confession coming out of your own mouth. You honestly never thought you’d be able to say that to him out loud, but you did. Just like he had.

Chris looked stunned for a bit. But that stunned look didn’t last long, it quickly turned to something else, something raw and incredibly alluring. Stepping into your space again, he brought a hand to the back of your head, holding you in place just as his other hand took the bottle from your hands to place it on the tool cart next to you, right as his lips found yours.

This kiss was nothing like the peck you’d given him. It was loaded with need and want and lust. So much of all of it you couldn’t even believe how blind you’d been. Every press of his lips against yours kindled the fire that started to burn in the pit of your stomach. When his hand joined the other cradling your head, you just couldn’t help the small whimper that came out of your mouth, and that tiny noise seemed to have spurred Chris on, enough to press you flush against the wall as his tongue made its way inside your mouth, as your arms wrapped around his waist.

Heat was spreading quickly inside of you, and you were starting to feel lightheaded–whether it was due to the shock, or due to how Chris was pressing you against the wall, or due to the motions of his kiss and the lack of oxygen, you weren’t too sure. One of your hands laid palm flat on the small of his back, while the other pressed between his shoulder blades, and the hum that came out of his mouth seemed to have travelled all the way to your heart, making it beat even faster in your chest.

Chris detached his mouth from yours, only for a moment, enough to talk. “Does this mean…” He pressed another kiss on your lips. “That you’d like…” And another. “To go on a date?” This kiss lasted a bit longer than the others, it lasted until you nodded your head.

“Yes”, you pressed a kiss on his lips, just as your arms moved to loop around his neck and his wrapped around your waist, keeping you impossibly closer to him. “Would love to”.

He hummed again, and he immediately resumed the soft movement of his lips on yours. Keeping you tight against him for a while. Until it seemed like his brain had caught up with him. 

“We should probably stop”, but he didn’t stop kissing you, just like you didn’t, either. You just couldn’t get enough of his full lips on yours, of his tongue pushing against yours.

“Do you want to?” Your fingers made their way through the curls at the back of his head, holding the strands between them just how you’d dreamt to do so many times throughout the past handful of months.

“God, no”, and you believed him, not only because of how desperate he sounded when he said it, but also because he just kept kissing you, talking in between quick pecks of his lips. “But I don’t want… To make it seem… Like this is all I want… You know?”

You knew. You knew because you were thinking exactly the same thing. You could feel him against your pubic bone, hard, warm, and it all made you incredibly wet, maybe embarrassingly so. But this was Chris, it was hard to feel embarrassed with him, which was part of the reason why you had developed feelings for him in the first place.

You hummed, just to let him know that you understood what he was trying to say without removing your lips from his. As you kissed him, as you felt him and his warmth, your mind started to cloud a bit. The mix of his motions, of the months and months of pining for him, and the even more months of self-inflicted celibacy clearly made it so logical thinking wasn’t your strongest attribute at this time.

“Would you still… Take me on a date… If I sucked you off right now?” The words flew past your mouth between kisses, too fast for you to even think twice and stop them.

“Shit…” Chris pulled himself away from your lips completely, looking you in the eyes. As you took in the flush on his face, his plush, kiss-bitten lips, and his blown pupils, you couldn’t help but think just how incredibly beautiful he looked like this. “Are you being serious?”

“Dead serious”, your chest was heaving, and your fingers carded through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails, making Chris bite his lip and take a deep breath.

“Of course I would. I’d take you to the fucking moon even if I got it wet right now”.

You chuckled at that, and pressed a brief kiss on his lips. “A date is enough, babe”.

“Babe, huh?” Chris took a deep breath, just as you pushed him away from you a bit, enough to have space so you could drop to your knees, uncaring of your bare skin touching the floor. All you could care about was the outline of his length against his clothes when you pressed your hand on it.

“Sorry, you don’t like ‘babe’?” You looked up at him, right in the eyes, just as you untied the sleeves of his boilersuit from around his waist.

“I like it a lot, actually”, there was a bit of a smug smirk on his face, and it had you licking your lips.

Just as you were about to pull the bottom of his suit further down, he brought a hand to one of yours, diverting your eyes back up to his. His gaze had softened, and the smile on his face coupled with that look in his eyes made you flush further. “You don’t have to, seriously. Don’t feel obligated to do it”.

“I don’t”, you reassured him. “I want to do it. Badly. But only if you want it, too”.

“Fuck… I do. So bad”, he licked his lips, and he moved his hand away from yours to place it on your head instead. “You’ve got no idea how much, shit…”

So you resumed your motions, tugging his bottoms along with his underwear, enough for his length to spring free of its confinements. You weren’t surprised with the sight, honestly. A pretty face like his surely came with a pretty cock, too. So of fucking course it was pretty, especially so as precum pooled at its tip, especially when it looked just so delectably hard. It was a bit on the girthier side, but nothing too crazy, nothing you couldn’t handle. If anything, it just made your mouth water, and you licked your lips in anticipation.

“Shit…” You took him in your hand, spreading around the bead of precum that had collected on his tip to give him a couple of tentative pumps, making him swear under his breath and bite his bottom lip. “How do you like it?”

“Fuck… Sloppy. Make it as wet as you can, the messier the better”, the words flew past his lips, completely shamelessly, almost as if he didn’t even need to think about them. Chris seemed to be transfixed on the sight of your hand working his length, and you took that opportunity to spit on it, making him groan while you started to coat him in your saliva.

So you delayed no further, dying for a taste, and a taste you got. As soon as your lips wrapped around his tip Chris swore. Loudly. He threw his head back and his fingers seemed to tighten a bit on your head, but he didn’t move you, he let you keep the pace as you saw fit. You started slow, holding him by the base and just bobbing your head for your lips to repeatedly catch on the ridge of his head and for your tongue to rub against the frenulum on the underside, taking him deeper into your mouth with every other stroke.

The moment you opened your eyes and your gaze found his, your inner walls involuntarily clenched around nothing, and suddenly you felt like you needed some relief. But you ultimately decided to keep your focus on Chris, on his lustful gaze, on his furrowed brows, on his gentle hold on your head, and the grunts and groans threatening to come out of his mouth, dampened by the way his teeth trapped his bottom lip.

He wanted it messy and sloppy, so you were ready to give it to him messy and sloppy. It’d been a while since you’d done this, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try. With a deep breath, you took him in deeper, breaching past the initial resistance for him to ease into your throat.

“Oh, fuck… You’re kidding… Shit…” Chris threw his head back, letting the most delicious noises out of his mouth, almost making you lightheaded with how aroused his heavy cock in your mouth coupled with his blissed out sounds got you.

You took your time slurping him up, uncaring if saliva dribbled out of your mouth as you worked against your gag reflex, feeling tears quickly collect in the corner of your eyes. When you felt confident enough with your motions, you brought your hand to his that held your head in place, while you placed the other on his hip, holding him tightly. 

“You want me to move, pretty? Fuck your perfect little mouth?” You nodded in response, humming around his length.

Slowly, he started to thrust into your mouth. Chris was being extremely careful, being mindful of every controlled push of his hips, but even with his slow pace, you couldn’t help but moan as soon as he started moving, making him groan in response. That was when you finally gave into your own desires, moving your hand away from his that lay on your head to bring it under your dress so you could press circles on your clit over your underwear, eliciting broken whimpers from your mouth.

“Shit, look at you…” Chris looked fucked out of his mind already, with his heaving chest and the increasing pace of his hips. You were sure you weren’t looking any more collected than he was, especially when you started to feel tears finally fall from the corner of your eyes every time you blinked.

With one particularly precise thrust of his hips, Chris’ length went in further than you were used to, essentially choking you on his cock, making you gag harshly. Chris pulled his length out of your mouth, and you gasped for air immediately.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, so fucking good with that mouth… Come here, beautiful”, Chris helped you to your feet, wrapping his arms around your waist once you were standing on your feet and pressing kisses all over your cheeks. You were still panting a bit, flushed from exertion, but Chris kissed you anyway, and you kissed him back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Need to taste you”, he mumbled between pecks of his lips. “Please, please, please let me eat you out”.

You just nodded, very eagerly if you might add. But you honestly couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed about it, not when Chris begged so fervently for it. Just the thought of seeing him between your legs had you already clenching with need.

While you kissed, Chris removed his arms from your waist. You felt him fumble with his underwear and his boilersuit, hastily wrapping it around his waist, and before you could even register what he was doing, he was taking a hold of your ass and scooping you into his arms.

“Chris, fuck, wait. I’m heavy as hell”, you were slightly alarmed, but your legs wrapped around his waist for stability anyway just as you held onto his shoulders.

“Heavy?” Chris chuckled, moving towards his desk. “Baby, I can lift almost thrice your weight”.

“You, what?” You asked, a bit confused–and also aroused, because, fuck, how strong was this man…–Chris pushed away some of the items on his desk to sit you on it, close to the edge. After all the revelations that had come to light earlier, it finally dawned on you. “Is that… Why you asked what my weight was all those months ago?”

“Of course! Needed to make sure that if I ever got a chance I was able to do everything I wanted”, he dropped to his knees, starting to press tender kisses up your shins. “Must admit I had to stop whole hip thrusts sets sometimes because I’d get so fucking hard halfway through, fuck”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, a hearty, and slightly incredulous laugh. “Holy shit. I genuinely thought you would tell me I had to lose weight at some point”.

“What? I’d never”, Chris chuckled, bringing his hands to your thighs, squeezing them. “I mean, it’s your body, you can do whatever you want, but know that I find you incredibly attractive however you look”, he moved his hands further up, right under the hem of your dress to finally hook his fingers on the waistband of your underwear. “Can I take these off, gorgeous?”

“Yes”, you giggled, feeling yourself heating up further just by his words and the feeling of his hands on your skin. With your hands on the desk you lifted your hips enough for him to slip the garment down your legs and off of you. He threw your underwear on the desk, and they landed somewhere behind you.

Bringing his hands back to your thighs, Chris rubbed circles with his thumbs for a second, only to finally move them further up, catching the hem of your dress and bringing it with him as he went. You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling a bit nervous all of a sudden. That was, until he finally pushed your legs apart. With the way he swore under his breath and the way his eyes seemed to get impossibly darker as soon as he took sight of your seeping core, any nervousness seemed to have been obliterated, and you couldn’t help but feel just so incredibly wanted.

“Fuck… Even here, huh?” He threw your legs over his shoulders, and you felt yourself heat up in anticipation. “Plump, pretty… Shit…”

Desire pooled in the pit of your stomach, it was honestly almost pathetic how affected you felt just by the things he was saying and the sight of him between your legs.

“You know…” Chris pressed his lips to your inner thigh, sucking harshly, leaving marks on your skin, making you inhale a shaky breath. “This is the exact same dress you were wearing the first time you came into my shop”.

Your eyes widened a bit in surprise. “You remember what I was wearing?”

“Hm, ‘course I do”, he moved his attention back to your eyes, just as he pressed a chaste kiss on your inner thigh. “I’ve been dreaming of you in this fucking dress for months, baby…”

“You have?”

“I have”, one of his hands came to grip your thigh, while the other moved to your hip, giving you a hefty squeeze. “How do you like it, pretty? Or how do you not like it, for that matter?”

You licked your lips, suddenly transfixed by the sight of his lips brushing your skin. “Gentle sucks go a long way. I’m a bit, uh… Sensitive”.

“Sensitive, huh? ‘Course you are… Hold this for me, hm?” He took a hold of your hand and brought it to one of your thighs, just as he spread you open further, propping your foot on the desk. So you did as asked, keeping your legs open as he diverted his attention back to your heat. “Good girl… Just like that…”

As soon as he spread you with two of his fingers, and he dived, landing soft, tentative licks on your clit, you knew you were done for. Your whole body jolted a bit, and a soft whimper escaped your mouth. “Oh, fuck…”

Chris just hummed, moving to lick at your entrance, getting a taste of your essence with his brows pulled together, looking just so fucking delighted. Just the thought that he was genuinely enjoying himself got you moaning a bit louder under the quickening movements of his tongue, and as soon as his lips pressed on your clit, giving you those gentle sucks you had asked for, your mind just disconnected completely.

He took his time working you up, turning you to a whimpering mess just with his lips and his tongue, gradually increasing his tempo to build your upcoming release. Whenever he dipped lower to lick at your entrance, his nose would bump your clit with every movement of his head, he was essentially making out with your cunt and you would gladly let him do whatever and however he wanted. Your nerve endings were on fire, your toes curled with need, and your walls clenched with his unrelenting pace.

When he detached his mouth from your core you almost wanted to cry, but he only did it for a second, enough to ask a “Fingers, baby?” only to press his lips to your sensitive skin again, sucking your clit into his mouth and licking it with his tongue.

You weren’t sure if the ‘yes’ actually came out of your mouth, you vaguely only registered your eager nodding and the soft moan that escaped your lips as soon as you felt one of his digits at your entrance. Chris groaned against your skin as soon as he inserted the first finger to the knuckle, the vibration of the sound further fueling that fire in the pit of your stomach. He pumped his finger in tandem with his tongue on your clit, touching and prodding and gauging your reactions to his every move.

One particularly sharp nudge of his finger on your walls had you moaning a bit louder than you were before, and Chris seemed to have picked it up immediately, because he plunged a second finger right after and started pumping his digits in and out, hitting that sweet spot over and over while his lips gently sucked on your clit. You needed to have a hand on the desk to keep yourself up, to maintain some stability, so you shuffled your foot a bit and simply let go of your thigh to bring the hand that was holding it to his head, burying your fingers in his hair and pushing him further against you with a whimper.

Chris groaned as soon as your fingers threaded through his hair, immediately picking up the pace of his fingers and his tongue, bringing you further and further towards the edge, and God if you needed to tip over that edge… With how well he was working you up you felt your lower belly tighten with exertion, and your walls spasm more frequently around his fingers.

“Chris… Fuck, fuck, I’m so fucking close, please–” You almost choked with the moan that came out of your mouth after you spoke, since Chris immediately started ramming his fingers into you harder, faster, just as his plush, now swollen lips kept sucking that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.

He was absolutely determined to give you your relief, and as soon as you were able to open your eyes and look at him, the look in his eyes, lustful, greedy, was enough to finally push you over the edge. Searing heat spread all over your body with your release, pure pleasure overflowed each and every one of your senses, making you perceive nothing but Chris, Chris, Chris, and his lips between your legs, and his hair between your fingers, and his fingers inside of you.

Chris’ motions didn’t relent until you were thoroughly satisfied, until you weakly pushed on his head with a ‘shit, baby, enough, please’ when he had you on the brink of oversensitivity. As soon as his mouth detached from your heat, he pulled his fingers out and brought them to his lips, sucking them clean before he finally stood up and caught your mouth in a heated kiss. The fact that you could taste yourself on his lips only seemed to spur you on further, making you whimper while you brought a hand to the back of his head and took a handful of his curls to finally get completely lost in the motions of his kiss.

“So pretty, fuck…” He mumbled when his mouth disconnected from yours, cradling your head in his hands as he smothered your face with kisses. “So fucking gorgeous when you come for me, shit…”

His borderline adoring words had you feeling tingly all over, somehow both making your heart swell in your chest and your walls involuntarily flutter even when they were still sporadically spasming from the after effects of your orgasm. When Chris kissed you again, you looped your arms around his neck just as his hands found your hips, pulling him flush to you, heaving chest against heaving chest, getting lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and his hands kneading your flesh.

“Holy fuck”, you chuckled as soon as Chris’ lips parted from yours, and he followed suit, chuckling while he made his way to your neck, to press kisses all over your skin.

“Mmm, I know, right?”

Chris hugged you close, leisurely kissing and licking your neck and shoulders. His soft, lingering touches seemed to shoot straight to the deepest areas within your heart, and even though you’d just had a mind-numbing orgasm, you certainly wanted more. More of him.

“Chris?” You mumbled, hugging him a bit tighter.

“Mm?”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then moved to take his earlobe between your teeth, tugging gently before you whispered, “want you”.

Chris took in a shaky breath, and he pulled himself away from your neck to look at your face. God, you wanted to kiss him, his flushed face and his swollen lips would be a sight that’d haunt your wettest dreams from now on, you just knew. 

He licked his lips. “We don’t have to, pretty”.

“Mm… You’re right, we don’t have to”, dragging one of your hands from his shoulders, down his chest, his abdomen, all the way to his length, you pressed your palm firmly, feeling him still hard under your grasp. “But do you want to?”

“Fuck, yeah, I want to”, Chris held your hips tighter, and you wondered if you’d see bruises tomorrow just as he placed a kiss on your lips. “I want you so bad”.

“You have me. Right here, baby. You can have me right here”, you mumbled against his lips, pressing a kiss there right after, just as Chris swore under his breath.

“Shit… Gimme a sec”, he detached himself from you, rounding the desk and pulling one of the drawers open, muttering to himself. “There were some here, I’m sure…”

You turned to look at him, oddly amused by the way he carelessly moved things around in his drawers. “What are you looking for?”

“Aha! These”, he pulled a three piece box of condoms, and he turned it around a few times in his hand with a frown on his face. “I seriously hope these aren’t expired…”

You chuckled at the sight of his focused face, amused, but also incredibly curious. “Why do you even have a box of condoms in your desk’s drawers? How many girls have you had in here?”

“Believe it or not, you’re the first one”, he chuckled, opening the package and taking one of the foil packets out, examining it closely for a moment, only to finally heave a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Not expired”.

With a smile on your lips, you quirked a brow at him, just as you watched him round the desk again to stand in front of you. He shrugged to your silent question, taking the foil packet between his teeth so he could untie the top of his boilersuit from around his hips and tug the rest and his underwear down enough so his length was free again, and you’d admit you got a bit distracted by the sight.

With the corner of the condom packet still held in place by his teeth, he finally tore it open, and you took the bit of foil that was still in his mouth to drop it somewhere on the desk while Chris carefully slid the condom down his length.

“You’d be surprised how many things a condom can be used for when working with cars. They’re always useful when you need to get creative and use whatever you have at hand”, Chris stood between your parted legs, placing his hands on your hips and squeezing.

“What kind of MacGyver bullshit is that?” You chuckled, but the sound quickly turned into a surprised yelp when Chris held you tightly and pulled you closer to the edge of the desk.

“They’ve always been helpful when I’ve needed them”, leaning into you, Chris placed a hand on your cheek, pulling you into a kiss just as he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down your slit, spreading your juices around and teasing your clit in the process, making you whimper into his mouth. “But I’ll be honest, I’ve never been more happy to have them at hand than I do right now”.

You brought a hand to play with the hair at the back of his head, pulling him for a brief kiss. “Put them to good use, then”.

“Demanding, are we?” Chris chuckled, but he lined himself with your entrance anyway, slowly easing his length into your heat. “Oh, shit…”

It was a stretch, alright, but he was being just so incredibly careful, and you appreciated it, you really did. But you were also incredibly desperate to be filled, so you wrapped your legs around his torso and pushed on his ass with your heel, urging him on, making him jut his hips further forward.

“Shit… Have mercy on me, will you?” He mumbled against your cheek, pressing a soft kiss on your skin while his now free hand made its way to your hip again, holding you tightly.

“Want you”, you replied simply, probably whinier and less demanding that you were trying to sound, but Chris complied with your request anyway, finally thrusting all the way in, making you gasp with just how incredibly full you felt.

“Want you, too”, he pressed his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin. The thought of waking up tomorrow and seeing his marks on your neck or your hips made you flush impossibly further, even as he moved along to press kisses on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “Want you so bad I’m genuinely about to burst just by being inside you right now. Need a second”.

Bringing a hand to his cheek, you made him turn away from your shoulder to look at you, and the way he bit his lip before he leaned in for a kiss had you involuntarily clenching around him, eliciting a choked groan from his lips.

“Fuck, driving me nuts… Seriously, we’re gonna have… The best fucking date ever… You’ll see…” He mumbled his words between kisses, and it genuinely had you laughing, because of course he was still thinking about your future date. “C’mon, beautiful. Hold on to me”.

So you did, bringing your arms to rest on his shoulders, burying one of your hands in his hair, all while he placed one hand on the small of your back, and the other on the desk for stability. Finally, Chris moved, starting a rhythm with precise thrusts, making you gasp at the sensation of his length dragging against your walls, making him groan.

“Fuck, shit… That’s good. So good. Feel so fucking perfect around me, baby. Perfect”, with the increase of his tempo you could barely register the words coming out of his mouth, all you could do was whine while you nodded in agreement, hoping that he, too, would know how just incredibly good he felt inside of you.

The way Chris kissed you, almost desperate, the way he started to ram into you, stretching you so deliciously you were already starting to feel lightheaded, all combined had that little bit of sanity you had left in you leave your body entirely, finally letting you succumb to just your utmost primal need for pleasure. But more specifically, for pleasure you could share with Chris.

You honestly couldn’t tell how long you spent getting pounded to that desk, you could just feel Chris’ cock repeatedly splitting you open and his lips on yours and the words that he’d occasionally mumble against your skin, his words of praise and encouragement that had you once again feeling tingly all over, words that fed that pool of arousal inside of you, threatening to spill it all over. You vaguely registered words of your own leave your mouth, too. Words that seemed to spur him on, that seemed to pull blissed-out sounds from his lips and yours nonstop. 

“Lean back a bit for me, gorgeous”, and you couldn’t help but comply, removing one of your hands from his shoulders to place it behind you to lean on it, leaving just enough space between your bodies for Chris to sneak his hand between your bodies, finding your clit and drawing fervent circles on your already oversensitive bud, eliciting a moan from your lips as soon as he did. “Fuck, fuck, that’s it, baby. Just like that, milk my cock just like that, huh…”

“Chris–” You honestly weren’t sure what you were even going to tell him, you could just feel your next high approaching increasingly fast, and you needed it. You needed it badly.

“It’s fine, pretty. Whenever you’re ready, just let go”, he mumbled the words against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss on it, a complete contrast to his sharp thrusts and the fast movement of his fingers between your legs. “Want to feel you so bad, fuck…”

“Shit–” With a few more flicks of his fingers on your clit, you finally got that sweet, sweet relief. The feeling spread all throughout your body, dragging sounds of pure, unadulterated pleasure out of your mouth, making your legs shake from exertion as you tried to keep your hold around Chris’ torso.

Bringing both of his hands to your hips for leverage, Chris chased his own release, his grunts and groans getting lost in your mouth while he kissed you again. One, two, three thrusts and he was flush against you, shooting his load into the condom while he was buried as deep as he could within your warmth, a mix of his groans and your name and a colourful string of swears flying past his lips as he rode the waves of his ecstasy with minute rolls of his hips.

“Holy fuck”, he cradled your face in his hands, pulling you in for one more heated kiss while he came down from his high, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“I agree”, you were panting a bit, breathless, leaning back on both of your hands as you tried to catch your breath.

Chris laughed, a hearty laugh that had a smile appearing on your face immediately. Taking a hold of the condom by the base of his length to make sure it was secure in place, he finally pulled out, carefully sliding it off of him, tying a knot and throwing it in the bin by his desk. You missed his warmth inside of you immediately.

Taking a roll of toilet paper from one of the tool carts nearby, he quickly cleaned any remnants of his release from his length before he was tucking it back into his briefs, finally wrapping the top of his boilersuit around his waist again. With more paper in hand Chris asked you to ‘please open up those pretty legs for me, hm?’ so he could clean you up, helping you back into your underwear right after.

As soon as you were standing back on your–admittedly unsteady–feet, Chris wrapped his arms around your waist, placing a quick kiss on your lips only to move up and press another on your forehead. “You okay?”

“I’m more than okay”, you chuckled, melting into his embrace. “Everything hurts, though. How’re you?”

“On cloud nine”, he replied simply, giving you one of his blinding smiles, making your heart race with the sight.

When Chris finally detached himself from you, he reached for the soda he’d taken out of your hands earlier, giving it back to you once you told him ‘I still want to drink it. Even if it’s not cold anymore, seriously’, and after a bit of back and forth he simply relented.

“Would you…” Chris started to ask, while he bent down to take the bag out of the bin. “Would you like to come to my place? I mean, I can take you to yours, too, that’s fine, but I figured, you know, you could stay over, and we could have dinner, and I can make you breakfast tomorrow, and I’m sure Wolfgang would love to see you, and we could cuddle to sleep, you know? But if you don’t want to, it’s fin–”

You took a hold of his hand, squeezing it in yours to stop his rambling. “I’d love to”.

Chris just giggled a bit, pressing a quick kiss on your lips and tugging you out of his office back to the garage once he’d switched off the light. When you were outside, you made your way to his 4X4, watching him chuck the small bin bag from his office into the bigger bin out in the garage and going through the motions of switching every light off in here, too.

As you watched him, your eyes drifted to Herbie, parked in his–by now–usual spot. Maybe Chris was right, maybe it was time you considered letting him go. He’d served you well for those two months at the beginning, and when you were in a pinch he was very forgiving, but his condition was unsustainable at this point.

As soon as Chris was by your side again he gave you a kiss for good measure, opening his 4X4’s passenger door for you. You just smiled at him, pressing one more kiss on his lips before you finally hopped in. Chris rounded the bonnet and started to very animatedly talk about a funny thing Wolfgang had done just this morning, gesturing with his hands while he recounted the event, making you laugh.

While Chris drove you two to his place, with soft music playing on the radio, with his hand occasionally shifting from the gear lever to squeeze your thigh, all while a light, easy conversation flowed between you two, you figured that Herbie might’ve been the worst financial decision you’d ever made, but at the very least, he’d brought you to Chris, so you really couldn’t hold a grudge against him, not when you felt so incredibly light and couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

You can find part two here

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© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate.

Constructive feedback (or even keysmashes, really) is always welcome :)

P.O.V: You ask SKZ to buy you pads (Hyung Line)

Genre: crack

Warnings: none

Request: no

Characters: Chan, Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Y/N

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Tag list ~ @koos-euphoria @raethethey @hugs4chan @hotmesshapa @manonblackbeak-trash @hendsernoodle @stanskzseungmin @ateez-babygirl @dalamjisung @dinosdawn @cookiemonstermusic258 @strwbrryfroyo @gazelle-des-pres @qtieskz @stigmvta @necromancersupreme @super-btstrash-posts @changlix-mp4 @exonations @changboobies @jeyelleohe @rae-blogging @planetdemon @dani41 @jumbocircus @octalalica @velvetand-roses @foivetimesacharm @anaaam @waverzzzzzzzz @peachy-flxwr @elizabeth11moreno @lenfilms @xhazmania @starshine-moon @justoutfromdead @snow-pegasus @lixiesbabyhands @bbychannie97 @laylasbunbunny @americanokisses @bluechan @bellamuerte1987 @meowmeowisdaname @chanssmiles @minunivers @septicrebel @bangchans-angel @spacegirlstuff @sstarryoong (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

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Aspen, my friend.

i know we spoke privately a lot and you have expressed a lot with me, but i just want you to know despite it taking me so long to finish this chapter today. it's so beautifully done. so full of emotions, descriptions that are beautifully done, perfect in their words alone, and i will forever be here to give you that peace if need be. my heart breaks for both mc and hyunjin. for mc is in pain, struggling to see the good in things and healing from a loss greater than any artist can understand. the feeling of wanting to create, a hyperactive mind that craves and thrive in the peace of it, and not being able to execute it in the way the mind and heart wants. it's a pain no one wants to experience. i hope mc can come to a place where she can find a different form of art for her art even relearning too. if warranted, my heart absolutely breaks for mc. for hyunjin, the poor boy who is looking at the person who helped him find confidence in doing his dream but not aware of it. i know things will come out sooner than later i'm sure but i hope he finds a place to be more patient with mc somehow. he seems as if he is gonna be good for mc. both seem to be good for each other. my heart is absolutely broken with the ending of this chapter in so many ways words are failing to come to me at this moment. i genuinely can't wait to read the next part my dear friend.

Part Two

prev | masterlist | next (soon)

warnings: ptsd/nightmares after an accident, general depression, ANGST, self-imposed isolation, themes of guilt/self doubt, swearing

wc: 8.99k

“You sure know a lot about color theory…” he mused as he added thin spokes between sections of the wheel, tilting his head at the canvas. “Mhm,” you said simply, chest already feeling heavy as you predicted what he’d say next. "You don’t just know it for fun, though, right?” he continued, still carefully adding the finest of lines to his piece, “You paint.” Your prediction was correct. “No,” you said quickly, any hint of softness you’d forced into your voice expelled the moment that question left his lips. Your lips were set in a hard line, though your heart thumped furiously against your ribs, “I don’t.”

a/n: hello, lovely readers. I'd like to start by apologizing profusely for how long updating this has taken me. I won't bore you with the details of my health - physical or otherwise - and will simply leave it at this; life is ROUGH sometimes. Thank you to those who have patiently waited for this release. I hope that it was worth the wait. I'm doing my best to get back into writing, and I assure you that updates will start coming for my other fics soon, too. I hope you enjoy this second installment of Desderium.

with love and forehead smooches (if you consent),

-Aspen

taglist: @findingjieunn @hyynee @hyunverse @dreamstarsandskz @linaliann permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts

“Mother knows best.”

You’d never quite understood why that particular phrase had become so popularized. You’d assumed up until now that it was simply a scare-tactic that adults tried to drill into pliable, adolescent minds. A way to remind them to listen, even if they didn’t understand, even if they didn’t like it. 

Standing in front of the mirror dressed in clean clothes, hair still damp from a shower, you began to understand. 

Though you never would have chosen to pass along your knowledge of your own volition - and as much as you hated to admit it - teaching Hyunjin had forced you to take better care of yourself. 

You had no desire to impress him, by any means. If anything, it was the opposite. You’d found yourself beginning to hope that he’d grow weary of trying to communicate with you, as your company was far from being considered anything close to pleasant, and that he simply would not show up for the next session. 

Yet, here you were, brushing your teeth and tying back your hair. Not ‘just in case,’ or out of anything close to it, but simply because you knew better now. 

You knew better than to hope.

The day was a stark contrast to your permanent melancholia. It was beautiful, uncharacteristically warm for mid-May, with a breeze just cool enough to soothe any discomfort from the sun. Clouds straight out of a children’s book, fluffy and broad, were sparsely littered across the expanse of blue. Birdsong accompanied the scent of the nearby blossoming trees, filling the air with a whimsy you could imagine being a work of fiction.

However, you weren’t that lucky. 

The day, despite how perfect it seemed, still carried with it its own share of hardships. Flowers could bloom all they wanted, and the sun could continue to shine, but what did that really change? 

Nothing, because this was not a work of fiction.

You still had to go to the art school, you still had to teach Hyunjin, and you still had an angry pink scar atop your hand. Indeed, today was real - and, you’d go as far as to say it really wasn’t that beautiful at all. 

If you looked at the sky for long enough, those fluffy clouds would dissipate into amorphous blobs. If you listened harder, past the birdsong, you were sure to hear a couple fighting or a parent scolding their child. If you sat beneath the warmth of the sun for too long, you would burn. 

Today really wasn’t all that beautiful. Not at all. 

You watched the world move around you as you took a seat on the bench, waiting for the bus to take you to your choice of hell. The sun had lured more people than usual from their homes, the park across the street filled with more life than you’d seen in a while. 

Two children chased after each other, giggling and shouting in excited voices under their parents’ watchful eyes. You wished you had as easy of a time as they did, playing make believe. If you could, then maybe today could be beautiful. 

But you couldn’t. And it wasn’t. 

The scent of diesel in the air foreshadowed the bus’ arrival, urging you to your feet just as it appeared atop the hill. The bus driver, a man in his fifties whose name you’d never learned, gave you a curt nod as he opened the doors. He grumbled something resembling a greeting as you stepped up the two steps to the aisle, earning a tight-lipped smile in response. 

The bus was packed today - you blamed the day’s masquerade as lovely for this, too - and you found yourself having to choose which patron to sit next to for the next ten minutes. You quickly crossed off the snoring man with his head against the window and the heavily pregnant woman across from him - you didn’t want to end up a pillow for the former, your hesitance for the latter stemming only from good manners. 

You scanned the remaining seats, contemplating if it would be too terrible to sit next to a woman in business attire chattering away on the phone, until a gentle voice called out to you. 

“You can sit here if you want.” 

Your eyes darted to the source of the invitation, a man around your age with a comforting smile and welcoming aura. He held an earbud between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out likely to hear your reply should you have one. 

He didn’t seem like a terrible companion for the ride, likely returning to his music as soon as you answered. That was ideal, truth be told, not having to engage in conversation. Your decision was rushed, though, by the driver clearing his throat impatiently. 

“Yeah, sure,” you nodded, sliding into the seat before sitting, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he urged with that same gentle grin, “Wouldn’t want you to end up drooled on,” he jutted his chin towards the man you’d decided against before, earning a scoff and a smirk from you as you settled into the leather.

He seemed disappointed that you hadn’t laughed, but that was likely because he hadn’t the slightest clue that he’d gotten closer than anyone else had in months. 

This kind-faced stranger must not have been too terribly broken up over it, though, putting his headphones back in properly and tapping play against the cracked screen of his phone. You found yourself strangely comforted that you could hear bits and pieces of the song - it gave you something to focus on without having a window to stare out of. 

You shut your eyes, then, as you tried to recognize what he was listening to based solely on the thumping of bass obscured by his ears. The man with the reassuring smile was humming along now, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to be bothered. You instead listened, not particularly invested though you welcomed the occupation of your mind. 

Squealing tires brought you to full attention, though you couldn’t open your eyes. Horns blared over the sound of crunching glass, screams overtaking the crunching of glass. The whooshing of your pulse in your own ears left the distinct groan of bending metal as nothing more than background noise. 

Your heart began to race, bringing an all-too-familiar panic to the forefront of your mind. You wanted to call out as the sound of sirens drew nearer, but you couldn’t speak. 

It was as though you were frozen in time whilst the world spun out of control around you. You wanted to call out, to tell someone that you were there, to beg someone to find you and pull you from the dark. 

“Can you hear me?” you could feel pressure against your shoulder, though the ability to form a response was nonexistent. 

You wanted to respond, to tell them that you could. To tell them that you were in there. To tell them not to leave you in the chaos - in the dark. 

You hadn’t realized the stranger next to you had stopped humming, nor that you’d dozed off, until you realized that it was his cautious hand patting your shoulder. 

You felt your eyelids shoot open, a pair of concerned eyes and furrowed brows staring down at you bringing you quickly back to the surface of consciousness. You felt sick, a thin sheen of sweat rising to your face quickly cooling the burn of the embarrassed heat that had crept up your cheeks. 

“You okay?” he asked then, the fear in your features registering with him the longer he looked at you.

You nodded, blinking hard as the look he wore pierced through your chest.

You had seen that look before - it was the same look your mother wore when she’d run out of tears to shed at your bedside. The same look Felix and Changbin would send your way when they dropped off their weekly bouquet - after they’d given up on trying to get any conversation out of you. The same look Ms. Park had as the nurse escorted her out as you screamed and cried.

The pity only felt worse coming from a stranger. 

You cleared your throat, finding your voice to be much smaller than you remembered it being, “I’m fine,” you assured him quickly, “Sorry if I bothered you.”

“Hey, no worries,” he spoke quickly, as though the thought of you feeling like a bother were something of importance to him, “Are you sure you’re okay, though? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…” he wore that same carefree smile, though his eyes carried something akin to worry. 

Why did he care? He was nothing more than a stranger you’d met on the bus, someone who shared his seat with you out of courtesy. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, hoping your voice would come out with a more believable strength this time, “I’m really okay.”

Not quite as confident as you’d hoped, but it would have to do. Less lioness, more housecat - but at least you weren’t a mouse. 

“If you say so,” his eyes darted to the driver, then back to you, “This is my stop.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ as it finally clicked in your brain that he’d been standing this entire time. You looked out the window, noticing that you were outside of the campus, “Mine, too, actually.” 

His brows shot up before he chuckled, gesturing grandly with the hand not holding his spare headphone towards the aisle, “Well, then, ladies first I s’pose!” 

You gave him your best attempt at a smile, though a grimace would be a much more accurate descriptor, before rising to your feet and walking towards the door. You mumbled a thank you and waved to the driver, who simply grumbled under his breath in reply. 

You didn’t blame him for that, though. You’d managed to hold up the bus twice in one day, effectively lengthening his workload. If you weren’t in such a haze from what you now knew was nothing more than a dream, you may have felt the need to call him out for his rudeness.

You ignored the irony of having such a dream, seeing as you’d wished your reality were just that - an unfortunate nightmare. You ignored the way your heart sank when you caught a glimpse of your hand when you waved to the grumpy driver, plunging deep into your stomach at the sight of your scar. You ignored the clamminess of your palms and how cold the once pleasant breeze felt against the moistness of your skin.

“You sure you’re alright? You really are a little pale,” your kindhearted seatmate spoke again from behind.

You wished you could justify ignoring him, too. 

“Yeah,” your voice quavered as you answered, turning around to witness that look - the look you hated, the one everyone seemed to send your way.

You weren’t surprised at the disbelief on his face, certain that you couldn’t have sounded less okay if you tried. You expected him to press the issue, forcing you into either running away or losing your temper - fight or flight, one could say. You expected him to act entitled to your story - your trauma. You expected him to push. 

“You in a hurry?”

You hadn’t expected that. You pulled your phone from your pocket, brows wrinkled in confusion as you noted the time - 9:30 - before shaking your head.

“C’mon, there’s a cafe on campus,” you knew that, of course, being alumni. The kind stranger, however, did not - and you were still too shocked to burst his bubble, “Want a coffee? Or tea? Whichever you prefer,” he rubbed the back of his head, visibly stiffening at his own awkwardness, “My treat, of course!” 

You hesitated, considering the possibilities. On the one hand, he was a complete stranger. Someone who you’d only just met moments ago, someone who could see how vulnerable you were right now. Someone who looked at you with that look you hated. On the other, he’d shown compassion and left you alone until he’d needed to wake you to get off of the bus. He seemed genuine in his concerns, though you wished he’d not noticed your distress in the first place. 

“You’re paying?” you reiterated, finally coming to the conclusion that one cup of tea wouldn’t hurt. 

He threw his head back then, a bellowing laugh coming from deep within his stomach before he got a hold of himself. He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning from ear to ear, “Yeah, I’m paying. C’mon.” He tilted his head in the direction of the cafe, waiting until you started towards that direction to fall into step next to you. 

Hyunjin had taken extra precautions to ensure he would not be late today.

He hadn’t predicted just how annoyed he’d become with his past self, however, until he found himself reaching out of the shower to snooze an alarm - the third of five he’d set - interrupting his playlist. His irritation was short lived, fizzling out nearly as soon as it started. After all, how could he possibly stay upset by something so small? 

Today was a beautiful day. 

Hyunjin turned down the volume of the song that played, content to allow the trilling call of the sparrows outside to overwhelm the gentle melodies he’d chosen. Despite his earlier frustration, he found himself oddly at peace with the replacement.

As he packed his bag of supplies, his thoughts began to drown out the symphony coming in through the windows. His mind was on you - just as it had been ever since the two of you parted ways last week. Hyunjin wasn’t obsessed, at least not in a way worth any concern, but he did have questions. 

Why was someone who’d volunteered as a mentor so visibly discontent with their pupil? Was it because of Hyunjin himself? Had he done something to bother you? To accidentally offended you somehow? Why did you all but run from the art room? Why weren’t you painting alongside him to show him the way? Did you even paint? You had to, seeing as you were capable of fixing an issue Hyunjin had been dealing with for weeks in a matter of minutes. Right? 

Hyunjin shook his head, damp blonde strands tickling the apples of his cheeks. After his first alarm, he’d debated on whether or not he should even attend the session today. If he made you that uncomfortable, was learning a few pointers really worth it? Your pursed lips and glossed-over gaze were burnt into his memory and - after the initial joy of fixing the issue with his painting had worn off - he couldn’t shake the mounting curiosity they brought with them. 

In the end he’d decided that he couldn’t pass on whatever advice hid behind your icy exterior, though. He couldn’t pass on scratching that itch, the one your venom-laced words had given him. The one that could only be relieved by answers - answers which his intuition told him would not come easily.

He zipped up his bag, considering the routes he could take to get you to open up. His ideas weren’t terrible; asking the standard questions about family and friends, debating favorite artists, bringing up his own interests in passing…but all of these ideas held one thing in common that made Hyunjin feel very, very small.

They required you to actually want to speak to him. 

He glanced at the clock, then - it was only 9:45 - noting that he had enough time to swing by the cafe for an americano. Caffeine was, for all intents and purposes, a great way to sharpen his focus and lift his spirits. He could definitely use the boost. 

His mind was swimming with thoughts, worries even, about today’s session - about you - and for a moment Hyunjin wondered if you felt just as unsure about today as he did. 

Sliding a black cap over his slicked-back hair, Hyunjin slung his supplies over his shoulder and made his way out of the dorm building. He barely registered the waves and smiles his classmates sent his way as he walked across campus, responding to them in kind with a slight delay. His mind was too busy trying to unravel the tangled enigma that was you.

The birdsong was louder without his walls as a buffer, lightening the weight he’d been carrying by a little. He looked up to the sky, a soft smile tugging at his features at the way the clouds bloomed against the sky. 

The sight made his heart feel light, forgetting for a moment about his concerns regarding his new mentor. The sky felt like the joy he’d feel at the fair as a child, and he found himself comparing the clouds to cotton candy as they melted against the brilliant sky. 

Hyunjin knew what he would paint today. Before he could paint, though - coffee. In a matter of minutes, he was walking through the heavy mahogany door of the campus’ coffee shop. Passing through those doors always felt like an entirely different world to Hyunjin; the warm-toned lights mounted in metal, industrial-style brick with exposed pipes, and the scent of cinnamon and coffee grounds immediately seemed to cancel out the surrounding environment. The choir of birds was replaced by the clattering of ceramic and overlapping chatter, the gentle breeze now thick bursts of warm air from the kitchen door swinging on its hinges. Though this was definitely more man-made than the beautiful spring day he’d left outside, Hyunjin quite liked it here.

Stepping forward on the worn-down wood floors, he stopped at the counter and ordered his typical iced americano. He paid, leaving a tip before scooting to the side to allow others to place their orders as he waited for his own. He’d started to zone out slightly when he heard a familiar name called from an employee’s mouth.

Your name, followed by another that he recognized.

His head snapped up, scanning the room so suddenly that it was a wonder he hadn’t managed to give himself whiplash. His eyes landed on the carefree smile of Han Jisung approaching the counter from a booth in the corner - at which you were seated.

Hyunjin felt a pang of something akin to jealousy in his chest as he watched Han accept the drinks, surprised to see a soft smile on your face as the boy carried the drinks back to the table. His mind raced, out of his own control, as his eyes fell to the floor.

Up until now, Hyunjin had assumed that you simply just…didn’t like people, as a general consensus. Though seeing your calm smile as Han handed you a tea, he felt himself shrink. It wasn’t that you hated people as a whole, you just for some reason hated him. What had he done? Had he accidentally offended you in some way? Was his art not good enough? Were his aspirations annoying you? Was it just…him, as a person? The insecurity ran rampant as he peeked back up at the two of you, his chest aching. He’d truthfully been hopeful, hearing he’d have a mentor that had survived the same art program he was a part of now. He’d even spoken to his friends about how cool it would be to have a friend who could fully comprehend the pressure he was under.

It wasn’t that he had any problems with his current friends, it was the simple fact that all of them had majored in a different department. None of them were artists in the same sense as Hyunjin was, opting for theater or music rather than traditional art methods.

He was so excited to meet someone like-minded and artistically inclined. Beyond excited, even, his friends having called him out on how annoying he’d gotten as he counted down the days to meeting his new mentor. And, now, he felt stupid.

As he watched you sip your tea, your eyes alight with inaudible laughter at something undoubtedly stupid Jisung had said, he felt stupid. As he realized that, despite having so much in common, you’d so easily warm up to his friend; that this may actually be the first time he’d seen a ghost of a smile on your face, he felt stupid.

If he had to feel this way, the very least he owed his bruised ego would be the privilege to act the same way he felt.

Without a second thought, Hyunjin left his position against the countertop and strode with false confidence over to your table, plastering a grin on his face that he hoped would hide his distress, before sliding in next to Jisung. “Jisung,” he greeted warmly before casting his eyes towards you, watching as the light slowly left your eyes, “I see you’ve met my mentor.”

You imagined this is what crashing through thin ice during a leisurely skate would feel like. One moment, you were focusing on the offhanded quips coming from your new companion, the now-unfamiliar sensation of contentedness lulling you into a sense of security. You’d stopped thinking about what happened to you, not even noticing the slight tremble in your scarred hand when you’d lifted your tea. 

You’d been about to laugh, though perhaps out of pity for the awkward jokes Jisung had been spouting, but still…for the first time since the incident that had stripped away your joy, you were about to laugh just as you would before. Until your blood ran cold, nearly knocking the wind out of you. Before you now sat Hyunjin, staring straight into your eyes with a nearly imperceptible curiosity. Along with Hyunjin came the memories. Along with Hyunjin came the pain. Along with Hyunjin came the truth. You would never be the same. You felt your features fall into absolute blankness as you held his gaze, eyes darting to Jisung briefly before returning to Hyunjin. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Hyunjin continued, casually tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. His statement seemed to pull Jisung out of his shock at his sudden arrival, the clueless grin he often wore finding its way back to his face. “Ah, we just met today!” He said cheerfully, pulling your attention away from Hyunjin momentarily, “On the bus.” You nodded, the air having not quite returned to your lungs enough to provide an auditory response. Hyunjin was looking at Han now, which helped greatly in your quest to find your breath, but your chest still ached.

Hyunjin looked puzzled as he turned to Jisung, a brow raised as he cocked his head to the side. He wore his disbelief plainly enough that the other man had no trouble understanding what the look meant. “She had time before a meeting,” Jisung looked between the two of you now, his expression shifting back into one of comfortability as he put together the pieces in real time, “With you, I’m guessing?” Hyunjin nodded, his brows still knitted together despite the small smile he wore whilst listening. You could tell, despite your short time knowing him, that the wheels were turning behind his calm facade. About what, you were unsure, but something about the neutral position of his features felt completely fabricated.

That alone was enough to keep your voice at bay.

“Small world, huh?” Jisung continued, his cheerfulness a welcome - though temporary -  distraction from the tension you felt radiating from Hyunjin. “Yeah, very,” Hyunjin replied, turning to face you once more. As his dark eyes met your own, it felt as though you were shrinking. If you could dissolve into the plush booth seat, you’re sure you would have. 

You should say something, right? Certainly, you knew that you should. Of course, engaging in conversation with him was something a normal person would do in this moment.

You, however, simply could not.

Despite the way Hyunjin looked at you expectantly, not much differently than a child waiting for instruction, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say hello. You felt smaller and smaller as your mouth ran dry, clutching your cup of tea tightly enough to indent the thin plastic cup.

You were saved as the barista called Hyunjin’s name, watching helplessly as he slid out of the booth. 

“Lesson’s in five minutes, we can walk together.”

Though you were sure he meant it innocently, the way he phrased it as a certainty rather than an offer nearly sprang you into a panic. Had Jisung not been present, you’d be searching your mind for any believable excuse - not wanting to spend more time alone with Hyunjin than was required of you. But Jisung was there, and Jisung was far from able to understand why, exactly, you had an aversion to spending time with his friend.

“Sure,” you managed, barely a whisper as you pulled yourself to your feet. You still held your tea, now in both hands, as you turned to Jisung. “Thank you, for the tea. And the bus.”

The man grinned up at you again, “Yeah, no problem. Have fun!”  You felt guilty at the fact that, despite his genuine encouragement, you knew you would be doing anything but. Regardless, you gave him your best attempt at a smile - though you wouldn’t be surprised if it came across as more of a grimace - before turning towards Hyunjin.

“Ready?” Hyunjin asked, his expression still pleasant - if he’d sensed your mood shift along with his presence, he wasn’t showing it.

You simply nodded, casting one last glance to Jisung before following Hyunjin out of the building. He didn’t look back at you, not even once, as his long legs carried him effortlessly towards the studio. You quickened your pace to keep up, though it didn’t seem that Hyunjin noticed. The last thing you wanted to do was thicken the already awkward air - it was much easier to just half-jog behind him.

Even as he held the door open, his gaze still wouldn’t meet yours. It was impossible not to feel a bit grated by his sudden attitude. He’d interrupted your prior conversation, pulling you to the lesson alongside him, just to all but pretend you weren’t there.

Not that you were really complaining, seeing as you hadn’t the slightest intention of being buddy-buddy with the stark reminder of your own misery, but his sudden shift from the vibrant persona he’d exuded at your previous lesson still left an odd taste in your mouth.

Perhaps he’d finally gotten the message? Maybe, after your less-than welcoming attitude on day one, Hyunjin had given up on trying to weasel his way into your life aside from lessons? It didn’t seem as though that would be the case, though. Despite your sharpness, he’d still chosen to attend the lesson today…

Then, why? Why was his face lacking the blissfully ignorant smile he’d worn last time, even as you’d made it clear that you had no desire to befriend him? Why was the silence he’d once found absolutely necessary to fill left alone?

You hadn’t expected your questions to be answered so quickly, but as  you approached the door to the studio, pulling it open and stepping inside, Hyunjin finally spoke.

“Did I do something?”

It was such a simple question. Four words that, on their own, didn’t hold much weight - but spoken in such a small, genuine voice from your once-enthusiastic pupil felt like a punch in the gut.

Is that what this was about? You were teaching him, weren’t you? What else did he expect?

“What are you talking about?” you asked him, voice sounding filled with more disinterest than you’d intended as you set down your bag, having a seat on an empty stool.

“Did I do something to offend you?” He repeated again, remaining frozen in the doorway. He still wouldn’t look at you, studying his own shoes against the floor as though they were the biggest point of interest in the room.

It was painfully obvious that Hyunjin truly believed there was something he’d done to warrant your offputting behavior; from the way his shoulders hunched up to his ears to the way he shuffled in place. He looked like a child that had been scolded in front of his friends as he awaited your answer, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“No.” Your response held much less weight at first glance than his initial question had. A single word, simple enough for an infant to claim as their first. Though, paired with the way it cut through the air - terse, leaving no room for debate - you didn’t doubt that Hyunjin had felt a sting. Hyunjin nodded, flinching at the word as if it were something much less innocuous. He swallowed hard before stepping forward, sitting on the stool opposite of you and pulling a blank canvas from his messenger bag. He set it on the easel with delayed movements, his eyes appearing glazed over - as if he were in a trance. “If I didn’t do anything,” he started, pulling out his paints and setting them up on a small table, “Then it must just be me in general, hm?” You raised a brow, ignoring the pang of jealousy you felt to the best of your abilities as he pulled out his brushes, twirling one around his finger delicately as he stared at all of his color options. How were you supposed to answer? It wasn’t as though you could tell him that your innate dislike for him came from his ability to do what was taken from you. It wasn’t as though you could simply say that you were sure he was a great guy, and that your quiet rage came from a place of envy. You simply couldn’t. Hyunjin already made it real enough, speaking aloud what had happened would only serve to twist the knife. He must have taken your silence as an affirmation, a laugh escaping his lips in the form of a whisper as he shook his head. He lifted a tube of vermillion before pulling out his palette, filling one of the divots with the rich shade before setting the tube down - letting it clatter noisily amongst the others. His foot tapped against the floor as though he were physically holding himself back from speaking, dipping the brush into the paint carefully. His body language was screaming anything but calm yet, despite this, his hand was steady as he raised the red-tinged bristles to his canvas. You watched as the single line he painted was joined by another, forming haphazard, angry angles. Scarlet against white. The heartache watching him create with such effortless movements was different than any you’d felt before. You averted your gaze as the dull ache grew into something bigger - something quietly furious, intimidating in its sheer density as it took up each crevice of your mind. Your attention seemed much less volatile as you focused in on your own hands, guiding your vision from your fingertips to your palm before turning your hand over. Your heart plunged into your stomach before you glanced back at Hyunjin’s canvas - now blended with different shades of orange and pink alongside the aforementioned red. You looked back down at your own angry, red line. 

Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, there weren’t any complimentary colors that could be added to lessen its impact. There was no gentle pink to soften it, no comforting orange glow.  Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, the angry red you’d been cursed with could not be changed into a sunset. The mood could not shift into something inspirational, it could not become something soothing on the eyes. It could not, and would never be a sunset.

Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, you could not blend out the rough edges. You couldn’t simply feather out the red until it looked like it belonged. You couldn’t add or take away anything, there was no camouflaging the puckered evidence of loss that you were forced to wear.

Hyunjin’s words rang in your mind once more; it must just be me in general. It wasn’t that you necessarily felt bad about your feelings - those were your right, the only thing you’d earned from your tragedy. You did, however, feel a bit guilty about the collateral damage sitting alongside you, moving his brush along the canvas wordlessly.

You were right before. You couldn’t tell him why you felt this way, he definitely wouldn’t understand. Nobody would, after all, unless they’d been forced through what you had endured. There was, however, one thing you knew you could do.

“It’s not you.”

Hyunjin paused, moving his brush away from the canvas as his back stiffened. Your words weren’t soft, weren’t sweet, weren’t meant to be reassuring whatsoever. You’d stated them plainly, as if they were simply a fact you’d decided to share. As dark irises flitted over to you, curiosity filling their chocolate depths, you held your breath.

“No?” he asked before looking away, resuming his work after the initial shock of your voice had worn off.

“No,” you echoed, looking anywhere but his palette as he squeezed a bit of yellow into an empty space.

“Then what?” he asked, still focusing on his work. Though you weren’t looking, you could hear the whisper of bristles against vinyl. It was a beautiful sound, or at least it was before.

“I…can’t tell you that,” you mumbled, looking out the window at the students wandering campus. Two girls running into an embrace that nearly convinced you they could be lovers, a couple of boys doing that odd, handshake hug that men had somehow decided unanimously meant they weren’t in love, a girl beneath the shade of the old ginkgo tree sketching away.

Even absolute strangers held the power to remind you of loss, it seemed.

You looked back towards Hyunjin as he blended daffodil yellow into the sky he’d created, wondering if you’d be better off watching the girl outside.

“You can’t?” he hummed, setting his brush aside before grabbing one with thinner bristles, tucking it behind his ear as he reached for a tube of black paint.

“No,” you reiterated.

Hyunjin simply hummed in response, supposedly deciding against pressing further as he dipped the thin brush into the inky black.

He was bringing it towards the canvas when you sucked in a sharp breath, coming to a realization about what he may be about to do.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, causing Hyunjin to stiffen once more before turning his head towards you.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make a black silhouette,” you said simply, still shocked that you’d corrected him at all. It was almost funny that you’d startled yourself - you were supposed to teach him, after all.

Hyunjin slowly set the brush down, a single brow raised as he waited for you to explain.

“It’ll contrast too heavily with the backdrop, and it won’t look natural,” you mumbled, looking away from his expectant gaze as though you feared he’d read your mind otherwise, “Blend black into one of the shades you used for the sunset until it’s dark enough to mimic a silhouette.”

Hyunjin nodded, finally peeling his eyes off of you long enough to slowly add a bit of black to the purple tone he’d used before. He seemed almost scared as he held the palette out towards you, tentatively speaking in a voice so soft it was a miracle you heard him.

“Like this?”

You took a glance and nodded, looking away again right after. Hyunjin pulled the stained palette away slowly, setting it down before dipping the brush into the handmade indigo and beginning to add a shape against the glowing backdrop.

You looked up as he worked, fighting against your instincts as you watched him carefully craft a circle, the shape of a ferris wheel slowly coming alive against his beautiful skyline.

Hyunjin continued to work, and you continued to watch, the sounds of breath and brushstrokes filling the otherwise empty air of the studio. The discomfort was still there, still pushing against your lungs with every inhale, but it was no longer suffocating as you watched Hyunjin focus in on his work.

He looked so absorbed that you were a bit taken aback to hear him speak.

“You sure know a lot about color theory…” he mused as he added thin spokes between sections of the wheel, tilting his head at the canvas.

“Mhm,” you said simply, chest already feeling heavy as you predicted what he’d say next.

“You don’t just know it for fun, though, right?” he continued, still carefully adding the finest of lines to his piece, “You paint.”

Your prediction was correct.

“No,” you said quickly, any hint of softness you’d forced into your voice expelled the moment that question left his lips. Your lips were set in a hard line, though your heart thumped furiously against your ribs, “I don’t.” The words felt like poison in your mouth, sour enough to burn your throat.

How did Hyunjin manage to endlessly remind you that things were not the same?

You wouldn’t pick up a brush with a joyful smile again, creating to your heart’s content. The images and ideas that flew around your mind now destined to wither away there, never to be given life against a stretched canvas.

“But,” Hyunjin continued, painfully oblivious to the rising levels of envy and rage radiating from you, “There’s no way you’d know this otherwise,” his almond eyes stayed focused on his work as he spoke, never leaving the canvas even when he dipped his brush back into the deep purple shade.

You would no longer lose track of yourself - of time - as you became absorbed in manifesting images from your mind’s eye. Unique sights were no longer subject materials. Flowers were simply flowers, sunsets simply sunsets, ferris wheels simply ferris wheels.

“I said no,” you repeated, clenching your fists at your side as if you could physically hold the facade of being calm in place, “I don’t.”

And you meant it. 

You did not paint, not anymore. 

You would never again need to brush off complaints that you smelled of paint at parties, and your mother would not tut disapprovingly at the colors caked beneath your nails. You would not fill a mug with water to clean brushes. Coffee cups were just coffee cups, glasses just glasses, and jars just jars. “And last week,” Hyunjin added, almost as though you hadn’t said anything at all, “With the oil paints, that wasn’t common knowledge.” Your nails dug painfully into your palms now, sure to leave an indent when you let go. Your balled up fists trembled slightly with the sheer force you’d squeezed, your lips parting to reiterate your point until it happened. The white-hot sting, sudden and overwhelming, radiating from the marred flesh atop your hand. You hissed, pulling it quickly to your chest and covering it with its unsullied counterpart while you opened and closed your fingers quickly, chasing relief desperately. Hyunjin turned to face you now, his eyes widening as he caught a glimpse of your scrunched up features. He set his palette down hurriedly, not bothering with grace as it clattered against the table - a tube of paint falling to the floor in the process. “Are you okay?” You hated how genuinely he’d asked this, concern written across all of his features as he reached towards you carefully - as though you were a cornered rabbit he’d decided to help, despite its skittishness. Considering the evasiveness you’d insisted on keeping behind every word you’d said to Hyunjin thus far, you supposed that would be an accurate assessment. Teeth metaphorically bared at every opportunity, subliminally warning him to stay back - letting him know that you wanted him gone. Hyunjin didn’t seem to care, though, as his brows creased together - his eyes shooting to the hand you were cradling. He took a sudden step back when you jerked your head up, meeting his eyes with a ferocious mixture of rage and shame.

“I’m fine,” you snapped before grinding your teeth together, pulse whooshing in your ears as the adrenaline pumped through your veins. You didn’t want to discuss this with Hyunjin. You didn’t want to explain to anyone ever again what had happened to you. In that moment, you truly were the injured animal Hyunjin had approached you as - hissing as you were slowly backed further into a corner. Your only hope being that he would simply drop the matter - leaving you to lick your wounds alone. Of course, Hyunjin did no such thing. “Are you sure?” he asked, taking a single step back after registering the harshness of your tone. His widened eyes, brimming with genuine compassion and worriedness, quickly faded into nothing as you zoned in on a splash of red against his cheek. Red paint - cracking as it dried - against his pale skin. He’d likely wash it off later, perhaps even laughing about how clumsy he’d been to manage staining his skin in the first place. The red paint - blended beautifully with concise brushstrokes and complimentary shades - against white canvas. A gentle yellow that radiated warmth, peeking between periwinkle clouds to illuminate a perfectly captured carnival ride.

An angry, red scar - cradled desperately against your chest as it throbbed incessantly, ensuring that you would always remember your loss. Always remember your pain.

Your red couldn’t be cleaned off, washed down the drain and forgotten. Your anger could not be softened by colors more delicate, could not be blended into something beautiful. This line would not turn into a sunset, would not become the backdrop for nostalgia, would never become pretty.

“I said I’m fine!” you snapped, causing Hyunjin’s face to pale. He backpedaled once more, only stopping when his thigh brushed the stool he’d been sitting on. Without uttering so much as another syllable, Hyunjin simply picked up his brush - continuing to paint.

The air was heavy with a wounded silence as Hyunjin worked on his piece. Your pain had dulled from a scream to a soft hum, searing heat turning into more of a prickle. You found yourself wishing your internalized wounds would settle as quickly as your hand. Certain broken things, it seemed, couldn’t be reset to heal accordingly.

It wasn’t until Hyunjin broke the silence, barely above a whisper, that you’d realized how much time had passed. “You’d be good at it, I think,” he’d said, setting down his brush as he eyed his work carefully, “Painting.”

You didn’t respond, not trusting your tongue at his sudden proclamation. 

You were good at painting once. You were really good. He couldn’t know that, enough people were aware of your loss. You often found yourself wishing that you’d simply stayed asleep, comatose after the accident. At least that way you wouldn’t have to deal with the pity-stained faces of those who loved you. It was strange, now that you thought about it. 

You weren’t sure you remembered what their eyes looked like before. Before you were broken. Before they felt sorry for something far beyond the reach of their own doing.

Before everything had changed.

“I actually didn’t start painting until recently,” Hyunjin continued, almost as though talking to himself, “I switched majors at the start of this year.”

You listened to his monologue, though you weren’t looking at him. You were watching out the window once more. The girl was no longer beneath the gingko tree sketching, and the groups of friends were nowhere to be seen. The campus was quiet as the sky melted into a replica of Hyunjin’s canvas - warm and soft, casting a golden glow on everything it touched.

It bothered you - it bothered you a lot - that Hyunjin hadn’t been serious about painting for longer than a few months. He didn’t realize how lucky he was, to be allowed to dream. To be allowed to pursue something you’d loved with your whole heart on a whim. 

You bit your tongue, not wanting to end up saying something you’d regret - something you couldn’t take back. You couldn’t control your past, of course, but you could make an effort to control your effect on the present.

Hyunjin continued on despite your lack of input - you were nearly convinced he’d have continued talking even if you’d left the room. 

“I’ve always liked art, though,” he insisted, adding a few highlights to bits of the wheel before chewing his lip in thought. He added a dash of a muted turquoise to the indigo silhouette as he continued on.

“I guess I was just inspired recently,” he mused, seemingly unbothered by your silence, “I actually tagged along to a gallery exhibit with my aunt. There was a piece there…” he took a deep breath as he painted, his lips parting into a fond smile as he recalled what must be a precious memory for him.

“It was so delicate,” he said quietly, setting his brush down to examine his piece, tilting his head at nearly a ninety-degree angle, “A hand holding onto a flower so loosely that I truly wouldn’t have been surprised if I watched it fall down the canvas.”

Your heart stopped before jumping into your throat to race uncomfortably.

No.

“The flower matched the pink of the knuckles and palm so perfectly,” he hummed, tilting his head in the other direction, “Everything was so muted, yet so…believable.”

You knew the exact pink he was referring to. You knew that the flower was a Chrysanthemum, and you knew that the petals alone had taken ten painstaking hours to complete.

No, no, no, no.

“It wasn’t inherently happy,” Hyunjin’s voice stayed level as he rambled on, “It wasn’t inherently sad, either…” he grabbed his brush again, adding bits of a golden highlight to the cool clouds.

You knew exactly what he meant, the loose grip on the stem chosen specifically to depict apathy - uncaring of whether or not the delicate bloom fell to the ground.

This cannot be happening.

“But, for some reason, it made me feel lonely to look at,” his brows furrowed then as he focused harder on his application, ensuring he wouldn’t muddle the colors as he added contrast, “I decided to switch majors so I could do that, too.”

You felt a knot in your stomach, the air becoming increasingly more difficult to pull into your lungs.

What the fuck?

Hyunjin stood from his spot then, taking a few steps back to look at the canvas from afar, “So I could tell an entire story without words or gestures. So I could make people feel.”

Even if you’d wanted to reply at this point, your mouth had gone dry long ago. Your hands began to tremble at your sides as he spoke.

What the actual fuck?

“I was kind of disappointed that the artist wasn’t there,” his lips were pulled into a frown now, his reminiscing cut short by visible displeasure, “I had so many questions…” he trailed off as he stared at his canvas, searching for anything he could alter to give it the exact feeling he’d sought after during its creation.

You already knew that the artist hadn’t been there. That the artist had been in a hospital bed, hooked up to machinery, with their hand wrapped in a bright white cast. You knew that the artist was surrounded by people who loved them, yet had never felt so empty and alone in their life.

How is this happening?

“Apparently, they go by Eclipse, so I’ve asked the gallery owner to contact me if another piece is put on display,” he approached the painting again now, sitting in front of it with a studious expression on his face, “Even if they wouldn’t answer my questions, I want to thank them,” Hyunjin picked up his brushes, one by one, and made his way over to the sink to wash the acrylic from their bristles.

This is actually insane.

Your breathing became ragged as you struggled to maintain your composure. It was your art that had inspired the very person you envied to begin to chase after your dream. It was because of your art that he’d even chosen to take painting seriously. How fucking ironic was it, that the event that had changed everything for you had done the same for another? 

You had lost, he had found.

“It’s thanks to them that I’ve discovered something I love so much, after all,” he mused, setting his brushes on a towel to dry neatly. He turned to face you, then, his eyes alight from his recollection. It wasn’t until his face dropped that you realized there was something hot running down your face.

Your vision had blurred the moment he’d mentioned the pink in the hands you’d painted, though you hadn’t noticed until just now. There were no tears falling, no - that would indicate singular, controlled drops. Emotion poured from your eyes in streaks, unending as they dripped down the edges of your jaw.

Hyunjin appeared panicked as he hurriedly dried his hands off, though he didn’t approach - not that you’d expect him to after your earlier outburst.

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” he asked, brows furrowing together as he recognized the trembling of your breath. 

Words evaded you as your throat began to close, your shaky hands gripping the sides of the stool as if that could somehow steady you. You shook your head, hoping that the dark bits of his outline you stared into were his eyes.

How could you blame him for being confused? “We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he said softly, his voice shifting from the calm and enraptured way he revealed his inspiration to a quiet, almost guilty tone.

“Okay,” you exhaled more than actually spoke, but Hyunjin seemed to hear you clearly as he nodded his head.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I didn’t think you’d –” he cut himself off as you held up your hand, signaling for him to stop.

“Don’t,” you managed between uneven breaths.

“But –”

“Don’t,” you repeated, finally releasing your vicegrip on the stool to wipe your eyes with your sleeves.

“I’m sorry, I just thought maybe…I dunno, I really thought you’d wanna give painting a shot…”

You shook your head, giving him a barely audible, “I’m not a painter,” before turning your head away, still wiping helplessly at the wetness on your cheeks.

“I–” he cut himself off, simply to nod once more. The atmosphere felt heavy as you sniffled quietly, doing your best to regain composure - hoping to at least be able to look him in the eye and speak clearly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated himself, voice still laced with regret, “I won’t bring it up again, okay?”

You pulled your bag up onto your shoulder, stepping towards the door as Hyunjin watched, the frown remaining etched between his brows giving away just how taken aback he’d been by your reaction. To anyone else, it would’ve been a nice, heartwarming story about a boy who fell in love with painting.

But you were not anyone else.

You were an inspiration to the boy who’d picked up your dream, claiming it as his own and thanking you for it with the same breath.

You were Eclipse, the one who’d painted the noncommittal hand and the carnation dangling from its fingers.

With your broken pieces Hyunjin had become whole. 

In any other circumstance, you’d have told him that you’d created that piece. You’d have asked him what questions he had with a smile on your face. You’d have felt honored to have inspired someone else to pick up a brush and create.

But this wasn’t any other circumstance.

And you did not feel happy, or honored.

You felt hollow.

You looked at Hyunjin then, his face not too different from how you’d imagine a deer caught in the headlights to appear. His full lips were parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words he’d been searching for. 

You stopped with your hand on the doorknob, shifting your focus from Hyunjin to his canvas. Collecting yourself enough to give him critique was the least you could do - unwilling or not, you were supposed to be teaching him. You did your best to push back the pain, at least for long enough to do your job.

Nostalgia hit you in waves as you studied his piece, a comforting and child-like wonder encouraging your eyes to stop their leaking. The canvas as a whole felt warm like summer. You could swear you could hear children’s laughter and the crashing of waves in the distance the longer you looked. 

He’d done exactly as he said he wanted to. His work made you feel something, even amidst the confusing swirl of emotions you were experiencing. His work, because of you had stopped the flow of tears, at least for now. You pulled your still-watery eyes away, meeting Hyunjin’s. The clarity and calm your voice now held was a surprise - to you and Hyunjin both.

“It’s a beautiful piece, Hyunjin,” you said truthfully, casting a glance over your shoulder at the shell-shocked boy still stood by the sink, “Really beautiful.”

You meant it, too - his piece was beautiful.

A part of you had wanted to say more - to tell him in detail how it had made you feel.

But that part of you was gone.

That part of you had been broken off, picked up by Hyunjin himself.

And despite your desire to pretend it was still there, to thank him for the warmth of his work, you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t there, it belonged to him now.

With one last glance at his unchanged, startled expression, you stepped out into the hallway. You didn't know if he could hear you as you spoke your parting words - and you honestly weren't trying to be heard.

Yet, the words left your lips with an unlikely conviction - softened only by the thickness your tears had left in their wake.

"I'll see you next week, Hyunjin."

---

dear author,

i just need to give you praise. a ton of it. i have never read a fic where gods and greek/roman mythology is so beautifully intertwined with a modern day story and i'm in awe. i genuinely loved this so much and i'm sure ending is left up to reader but i hope at some point we can see another part. a closure for reader and yet a new history to be written for mc and chan.

— from eden

❝ all my life i've been heading for hell, but never had i thought i'd drag you down as well. ❞

synopsis: god created adam & eve… and then eve fell in love with the snake in her garden.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

genres: angst, smut, god!au, non idol!au, college!au, past lives, soul bonds

word count: 18.3k

warnings: 18+, religious themes/references, unprotected sex (practice safe sex pls), cheating, marking, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), light corruption kink (reader is a virgin), chan cums inside, slight major character death but he lives don’t worry!

m.list

playlist

a/n: the creation story is just a summary of the actual verse or wtv, but the adam & eve story is not the original. this fic's version of "God" is not the version of God that christians or other religions worship. it is simply my take on religion & spirituality. greek mythology and christianity are kind of intertwined here, but it is not a reflection of the actual religions or mythologies that the original stories are from, so with that being said, enjoy! & thank u @yeonjunszn for helping me & betaing for me 🫶🏻 love u (gay) and forever appreciate u. if u didn’t help i’m sure i would have died (real). also! new drinking game ! take a shot whenever Chan tells Cato to shut up!

❝all the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl.❞

When God created the universe, he first created light. He separated the light from darkness and called them “Day” and “Night”. Then He made the sky, separating the water with a dome to keep it in two separate places. Then he made the sun and the stars, weaving his essence to light up his beautiful creation to help guide those who will soon live on it. Then He created animals, for both the sky and the water. He blessed them and told them to live in the sea and the sky, to fill the ocean and the earth with bustling cycles of life.

On the last day, he created humans. He created man and woman, and told them to have children so they may produce their own descendants to walk over earth and bring everything into their control. The first two humans he created were Adam and Eve.

He provided them with an abundance of fruits and grains for them to eat in a beautiful garden he called Eden.

In the garden of Eden, they were to fall in love and create many children. Adam was the first one to fall, and Eve pliantly went along with it. 

But, something in Eve felt… empty. Like Adam was not the one she was to be with. Adam was not the one she was to share this beautiful, vast, garden with. But, she wasn’t sure who she was to share this with. Eve knew she couldn’t delve much more into the unsettling pit in her stomach at the thought of her fate already sealed by Adam’s side, as it was not smart to defy God. 

“God knows best,” she would tell herself as she lay with Adam in the garden of Eden.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

I’m dying.

If the blood flowing around him wasn’t enough of a tell, or the way his sight blurs in and out. The heavy rain pelting against his dying body is a desperate, yet pathetic, attempt of the universe trying to save him and wash the red sticky liquid away. His breathing is shallow, hitched. He feels the urge to cry, to mourn the life he’s no longer going to be able to have. He was so close to reaching his goals too, and now they’re all washed up and ruined, like trash washing back up on the shores of beaches he visits. Or, in just a short while it’ll be visited.

“I’m sorry, m—” Chan chokes. “Mom. I did everything I could.”

Just as he is about to slip into eternal sleep, a bright light opens up in the sky. It’s blinding, and warm? 

Why is it so warm? Is this heaven?

Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on his body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in the road. The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. His entire body relaxes, and he feels himself being pushed further into his body, into his own mind.

Is this really what dying feels like?

—

Chan wakes up in a hospital room. 

His body is aching, and his head is filled with an uncomfortable pressure. Breathing hurts, and he’s sure his ribs are broken. The machine that’s keeping track of his vitals beeps rhythmically, and he lets out a, albeit pained, sigh of relief at it. 

He looks up at the ceiling, like he was looking up towards the heavens and thanking whatever God was gracious enough to let him keep living. 

“Ah! You’re awake!” A voice says, cheerily. A woman in her late thirties is standing in the doorway. Her slick black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, a few strands falling into her face from being up for what Chan presumes to be hours. “I’m your nurse, Eunkyung. I’ll go grab the doctor.” Chan barely has the chance to respond before the nurse leaves, the sound of her shoes squeaking steadily quieting as she hurries down the hallway.

The doctor follows her into the room a few minutes later, inspecting his eyes and the nasty bruising around his ribcage. “Do you remember your name?”

“Bang Chan,” he answers. “Do you know how I got here?”

“You walked yourself here, do you not remember?” The doctor asks, bewilderment encasing his wrinkled face. “You were a sight to see. I don’t know what kind of God has your back but, you should have died last night. It’s quite literally a miracle.”

Chan’s head pounds at the doctor’s words, and he flinches. He pinches the bridge of his nose as an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

“We’ll keep you here for another day or two to see how you’re feeling. Do you have any family we can call?”

“Oh, uh,” Chan looks down at his scraped hands, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “No, I don’t. My emergency contact should be Seo Changbin, though.”

Changbin does make it up to the hospital that same night, with Han Jisung bounding in right behind him. Changbin and Jisung aren’t one to shy away from theatrics, so when they finally enter the room, the younger of the two is loudly shouting in distress as he practically launches himself onto the bed to lay with Chan. 

“Oh, my precious hyung! I can’t believe you almost died!” He wails out, wrapping his arms around Chan’s shoulders and obnoxiously crying out, the sound of his faux wails echoing into the room and piercing Chan’s eardrums and racking his brain even more. 

“Ah, Sung. I love you, but please don’t yell. My head feels like it’s splitting.” He whines out, pinching the bridge of his nose once again. 

“Yeah, the doctor said you have a pretty nasty concussion,” Changbin says. Chan nods, trying his best to move his shoulders to shake the younger boy off, but to no avail. Han Jisung is glued to his side, no matter how much pain it’s bringing to his ribs, but he eventually decides to give up and relaxes in the younger’s hold. Before he can fully relax, though, boney knuckles are making contact with his bicep, which then makes him groan and lurch up, shooting more pain into his torso. He opens his eyes to see that the worry is wiped clean off Changbin’s features, and instead replaced with a feign look of anger. “You idiot! How could you get yourself hit by a car!” Chan flinches at the rising level in the man’s voice. 

“Did we forget that I said my head hurts?” Chan whines. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was crossing the street and then the next thing I know I’m laying in the middle of the road.”

“The doctor said you walked here,” Jisung says. “How did you even manage to do that, hyung?”

“Funny thing is, I don’t even remember doing it.”

— 

Chan’s discharged after three days, and given a stern order from Ms. Eunkyung to “take it easy” until his head fully clears. He chuckles to himself, because he knows he’s not exactly going to follow that order. 

Not if he wants food on the table. 

Speaking of food; his fridge is empty. Save for a stick of butter, a gallon of milk Chan is more than a hundred percent sure is expired, and a singular tomato staring at him pitifully. Even the tomato looks like it’s on its last leg, too. He cringes.

Suddenly, his head starts pounding again. He groans, shutting the fridge door and stumbling to his couch where he throws himself down on it. He lets out a pained whine as the pressure in his head builds, and he’s almost convinced his head is going to explode.

“Am I dying for real this time?” Chan whispers to himself. The pressure feels almost familiar, like how it did when he was dying because soon it’s encasing his entire body again and his eyes slip closed.

—

When Chan awakes again, he feels so far away, like he’s not fully in his body.

He must have taken a harder hit to the head than he thought. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, let alone when he moved to his bed. He thinks maybe he should call Minho over to watch him in case he passes out like that again. Maybe he really is dying this time.

Fuck. This isn’t entirely how he wants to go out. Alone, in his shitty apartment with no one around, barely any food in the fridge and nothing to his name that can be tied to any sort of legacy.

Though, he isn’t surprised he’s dying this way. It’s just his luck.

“Can you stop thinking so loud?”

What the fuck.

That was his voice. But he’s sure he wasn’t talking. 

“Oh you mortals and your need to constantly think, think, think!” He feels his palm hit against his temple. 

What..

“You’re not dead, kid. Well, not until I leave this vessel,” He says… to himself. He sighs. “I’m a god. Gotta say, you decided to go and get yourself killed at just the perfect time too. I didn’t even have to find you.”

What?!

“Don’t yell! You echo in my head and it’s giving me a headache!” The god scoffs, rubbing at his temples. “I’ll explain it to you in a second I just…” just then, Chan’s stomach growls and the god groans. “I’m fucking starving. When’s the last time you ate? You mortals love treating your bodies like shit.”

I ate… Wait, what time is it?

“It’s the next morning,” the god responds. 

The next morning?!

“Yes! Gods, stop yelling!” Cato shrieks, gently knocking his fists on the top of his head in an attempt to quiet the human in their shared consciousness. “You were out for quite a while. I was convinced I completely shoved you out of your body. Just my luck I got someone who holds on, though. Tsk.” Chan watches as the god moves his body to sit up in his bed, swinging his legs over to firmly plant them on the ground. He groans, his body is sore and his joints are aching. Chan groans too, still able to feel everything. Just a little more dulled, but he still feels that incessant knot in his neck he’s never been able to get rid of. “You really let this thing get this rickety? How old are you?”

Twenty five.

“So young,” the god says, an almost mournful tone in his voice as he stretches his (their?) arms above his head. He walks out of the tiny bedroom and into the main apartment. “Cute place,” he chuckles. Chan doesn’t respond, as he watches the god look around the small apartment and take in everything. The god’s curious gaze lands on his stack of records, old vinyls he’s collected since he was about fourteen. “Nice collection.”

Thanks. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?

“After I feed myself,” the god quips. “So impatient.” He rolls his eyes as he makes his way into the kitchen. Chan doesn’t miss the grimace that paints across his face as the god stares at the stack of dirty dishes in the sink.

Don’t roll my eyes at me.

“I’m piloting this plane right now, so they’re my eyes.” The god snaps. 

Can you at least tell me your name?

“Cato,” the god responds as he opens the fridge. Cato lets out an indignant sound at the sight. The same stick of butter, expired milk, and pathetic tomato are glaring back at them once again. “You have no food, you useless man! How are we supposed to eat!”

I haven’t had the time to go grocery shopping. 

“How have you not died earlier?” Cato asks, sarcastically. 

You’re so not funny.

“It’s still a sensitive topic, I see,” Cato quirks his eyebrows. “Where can we get food?”

There’s a convenience store down the street I usually go to when I’m in between groceries.

“Is this your definition of in between groceries?”

Shut up. I’m a busy guy. 

Cato doesn’t respond as he goes and gets himself dressed. He pauses putting on the tee shirt he chose to look in the mirror the human has hanging on his wall. He’s bruised heavily on his torso and his face is scraped up. He and the god both grimace at the damage done to his body. “How did you even manage to do this?”

It’s not like I was playing chicken with the car. It just happened.

“You got hit? And they didn’t take you to the hospital?” Cato presses down on the bruise along his ribcage, which sends a sharp pain to crawl up his spine. Chan whimpers quietly in his head at the touch. Cato whimpers out loud. “That’s why I had to walk us there myself.”

That’s usually what entails in a hit and run. Stop touching it! That hurts. Wait – you were the one that took me to the hospital?

“Yeah. I was in a lot of pain… You can feel that?” Cato asks, eyebrow raised as he looks in the mirror. He presses on it again. Chan lets out a whine.

Yes. It hurts. A lot. My ribs are broken. I don’t know if you remember, but that’s what the doctor said. At the hospital. That you walked me to.

“You lost a lot of blood last night,” Cato says. “I don’t know how I managed to heal your cracked skull but not the bruises and your ribs. But also, this isn’t just your body you stupid mortal. It’s mine, too.” Chan sighs, annoyed.

Maybe they weren’t life threatening? 

“No, it’s not that,” Cato murmurs. He places a finger on his chin, eyebrows scrunched as he racks his brain (or, his borrowed brain) for an answer. His stomach growls again. “Oh, man. I can barely think. Food first, everything else later. Oh, and try not to talk to me. I don’t wanna look like a weirdo talking to myself on the street.”

You could just not respond out loud.

Go fuck yourself.

Walking to the convenience store was quick. The cold winds nip at Cato’s nose, painting it a delicate shade of red by the time he enters the store. The heat from inside the building wraps him in a hug, thawing his frozen nose and hands as he steps in almost instantly. The store itself is small, maybe four aisles at best with a line of freezers and fridges lining the back wall. There’s a table with a microwave and two two-seater tables next to it. 

Cute.

The old lady that owns it gives me a discount because I help her stock sometimes. 

That’s called a job. 

I don’t work here. 

But you do — whatever I’m not arguing with a stupid mortal. 

Didn’t know God can get hangry. 

I’m not “God”, I’m a God. Did you not hear me when I made that exact distinction when you woke up earlier?

I see I’ve hit a nerve.

It’s like if I called you an animal when you’re a human. It’s rude. 

To whom?

To me! And to the big man himself, but that’s not who we’re concerned about right now.

Sorry, God.

Are you not going to apologize to me?

No.

“Fucking mortals.” Cato whispers under his breath as he walks the aisles.

I heard that. 

You were meant to!

“Chan?” a soft, pretty voice speaks out from next to him. Cato whips his head to find a girl. She has a look of uncertainty on her face, but once she realizes it actually is who she thought, a bright smile paints across her angelic face. “Hey! Missed you in class yesterday.”

Cato stands there, shell shocked. His mouth drops open and he’s standing there, gawking at her for a full ten seconds. For some reason, after seeing this girl, a hole feels as if it’s torn open in his chest, where his heart should be. It’s painful. Raw, carnal pain shoots through his chest and it makes his eye twitch.

Answer her, idiot! Don’t make me look stupid!

“Oh!” Cato sounds out, plastering a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, you…”

Y/n. Her name is Y/n.

Y/n. Why does that sound so…familiar?

“Hey?” You say, confusion lacing your voice. The confusion is wiped away once your eyes settle on the scrapes along his jawline and eyebrow, concern replacing it instead. An attentive hand reaches up and carasses against his cheek, and both Cato and Chan have stopped breathing. They both can feel how their cheeks heat up at your touch. Cato has half a mind to flinch away, and he does. Your hand retracts immediately, your mouth pulling to the side in regret for accidentally hurting him. In truth, you didn’t touch him. But the heat of your hand so close to his skin felt as if it was burning. Your pretty eyes are filled to the brim with worry, and you ask, “What happened to your face? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just took a pretty nasty fall last night,” Cato responds, sheepishly. He scratches the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. “That's why I wasn’t in class yesterday. Had to go to the hospital and get my head checked out.”

“Oh, that’s awful! I’m glad you’re okay, though!” You respond, your bright smile coming back to your face, though it is tainted with worry still. “Since you missed class, we were partnered together for a project. Maybe we can meet and I can go over the notes and the project with you? Or I can just… send them to you.”

Tell her we can meet tonight. 

What happened to ‘taking it easy’?

Chan only laughs in response.

“I’m down to meet you tonight, if that’s okay.” Cato smiles down at you. 

“Yeah, for sure!” You chirp. “I’ll see you at your studio tonight, then? I get off work at seven!” 

Studio?

Y/n and I major in music production. 

“Cool, I’ll see you there.” Cato responds. You give him a wave goodbye, making your way up to the cashier to check out your things. Cato was so in shock he didn’t even notice you were carrying anything. 

His stomach growls. He groans quietly. 

For someone who had such a sense of urgency over eating, you sure are taking a long time to get something to eat. 

Will you shut the fuck up?

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

❝i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door.❞

As Eve bore child after child for Adam, for the earth, that pit she so desperately tried to bury in her stomach grew bigger. More insistent. She watches as more and more of her children experience many things she didn’t get to; exploring, meeting, falling in love with who they choose and so on and so forth. 

As much as she hates to say it, let alone even let it into her heart, she resents her children. She resents Adam. She resents the life that the strings of fate have weaved for her, as she watches her children experience the freewill that God gifted them. Yet she and Adam are forced to simply be their means to an end, to push their future generations along so the human race may flourish. 

As she sits in the garden, weaving a crown of flowers and singing a song she does not think has been orchestrated yet, the stream she sits in front of singing quietly with her, a snake slithers up to her. It’s beautiful brown scales and equally as beautiful brown, slitted eyes glint etherally in the early morning sun. She extends a gentle hand towards it, its forked tongue stretching out to slide across her fingers curiously. She giggles at the ticklish sensation, watching with her own curiosity as he climbs up her forearm and upwards so its head rests gently against her naked shoulder. 

She goes back to weaving the stems, the soft melody she hums lulling the snake to sleep against her shoulder.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

So, I’m… your vessel?

“Correct,” Cato responds, watching the electric kettle impatiently. Cato had finally decided on food after you left, a bowl of ramen and a couple seaweed snack packages he managed to find in Chan’s desolate cabinet. Seriously, why doesn’t this guy have any sense of care for himself? “Every God and angel has a vessel on earth in case we need to come down.”

Can you just not come down in the way you look?

“No. Our heavenly form will drive an ordinary person insane,” the god lets out a small noise of glee once the kettle settles, indicating it’s finally done heating the water. Humans, as stupid as they can be sometimes (he’s looking at Chan, specifically), they sure have made quite a few amazing inventions. Just like this kettle. He’s absolutely enamored with it. “We originally weren’t supposed to have access to earth. We were just supposed to observe from the heavens.”

But?

“But, there’s just some things the Big Man dangles in front of you and you take the bait,” Cato pours the water in the bowl of ramen, watching as the spices he added immediately dissolve in the scolding liquid. He chuckles in amusement to himself as he recloses the paper lid, laying a pair of chopsticks over it to keep it closed. “Hey, how long should this sit for?”

Like two or three minutes. What do you mean by bait?

“A lot of god’s fell in love with mortals on earth,” Cato answers. “You ever read any Greek mythology stories? Apollo and Hyacinthus. Eros and Psyche. So on and so forth.”

I mean, yeah, but, I didn’t think they were real or anything.

“Oh, they’re definitely real,” the god chuckles. “Apollo and I are friends, actually.”

No way! So, like, is every God from every religion real, then?

“Yeah.” Cato shrugs. He takes the chopsticks off and rips the paper cover off of the bowl, excitedly using the chopsticks to stir the broth and noodles around.

So, why did you come to earth?

Cato pauses. He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen like an idiot, frozen in real time as he stares dumbfounded into the bowl of noodles. Why… Why did he come to earth?

Hello? Earth to Cato? Your food is gonna get cold.

“Oh, right,” Cato shakes his head to rid him of his internal struggle. “I… I don’t know why I came to earth. I don’t seem to remember.” He manages to make his way to Chan’s kitchen table, which is just a small round table with two rickety chairs in the corner of his living room.

So do vessels usually die before god’s possess them?

“No, not usually – ah! Fuck, that’s still hot,” Cato whines, sticking his burned tongue out and waving air onto it with his fingers. Chan’s laugh echoes in his head, and he makes an offended noise from the back of his throat as he continues fanning his tongue.

So, me dying the same time you came down was just… pure luck? 

“Yeah,” Cato makes sure to blow cold air onto the noodles this time. “I mean, lucky for me. Not so much for you.”

What’s gonna happen when you leave?

“You’ll probably die.”

But you healed me? Shouldn’t that stay when you leave?

Cato shrugs. “Don’t know. You’re technically not even supposed to be conscious like this, either. I’m supposed to have full control of your vessel if I possess it.” 

Comforting.

It’s silent after that. Cato is grateful Chan has stopped playing twenty questions. It gives Cato’s one track mind a way to fully focus on his food and not about the fact that he does not remember why he’s even here in the first place. But it’s not like he can just go back up to the heavens and ask someone. As annoying as he is, he quite likes the human that’s his vessel. It’s a shame that once the god is done on earth, Chan’s fatal wounds will most likely come back full force.

Cato hopes he’s able to leave fast enough to not have to witness it.

After Cato ate, Chan was insistent on switching when it came time for his meet with you later in the evening. It took a lot of bickering back and forth, but once Chan got it through the stubborn god’s head that you would know something was off with him (that didn’t have to do with his head injury) the second Cato opened his, in Chan’s words, “big dumb mouth”.

“Why do we have to pass out to switch?” Chan asks as he steps out of the shower. 

Do you always have this many questions? Gods, I feel like I’m speaking to a toddler. 

Chan copies his words in a silly voice, rolling his eyes as he does so. “Sue me for wanting to know how to work my body with someone else camping in it.” 

The way you said that just sounds so… weird. 

“And a god possessing a human body is just a regular Tuesday, right?” the human jokes. 

For us, yeah. 

“Shut the fuck up, Cato,” Chan chuckles, shaking his head in faux annoyance. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and runs his fingers through his thick curls. For some reason his stomach is buzzing at the thought of being in his studio with you. 

Why are you so nervous to see y/n?

Chan’s cheeks heat up. “I’m not,” he mutters.

You know I can feel everything, right?

Chan doesn’t respond, too afraid that his voice might way to just how flustered he is. It’s true he finds you very attractive, and your personalities mesh well together. You both have a lot in common and since the day he met you he’s felt a weird, otherworldly pull towards you. “You said her name was familiar to you. Why?” Cato doesn’t respond for a minute, and Chan almost wonders if the god even heard him ask. “Cato?”

I… I don’t know. Just when you said it it just felt like deja vu for some reason. How long have you been friends?

“Since she started college,” Chan replies. “She’s like two years below me.”

Chan doesn’t miss the weird boulder that settles in his stomach. But for some reason, it feels distant. Like it’s not his boulder.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

❝apollo showed me the sun. told me not to fly too close or else i would be one with the people on the land.❞

The snake visited Eve in the garden everyday, in the same spot, resting its head on her naked shoulder as she weaved crown after crown of flowers every day, humming the same tune. It became a routine, and then it became something for Eve to look forward to. She finally had something for herself! Adam was out every day for most of it hunting so Eve spent a lot of time with this serpent. 

She couldn’t place her finger on why, but when she was alone, weaving her flowers, with the snake on her shoulder, she’d talk. Like word vomit, she vented about her unhappiness in the garden and her jealousy towards her children being able to explore the vast earth and experience things she will never have the privilege to. For she was cursed to stay here, day after day, weaving her flowers in the garden, and bearing more and more children for a man she felt absolutely nothing for. Even the garden, once vibrant and vast to Eve, was now growing dull and shrinking in on her. She feels trapped, she’d say. Her world was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

“Why me?” She asked the snake one day. “Why did I have to be the first one made? Why do I have to carry this responsibility? Why wasn’t I asked first? Where’s my freewill?” 

The snake nuzzles its head, like it was gesturing that it was listening to her. “I wish you were a person,” Eve whispered. “Maybe then I’d have someone who gets me.”

The serpent nuzzles its head again. Eve’s eyes well with hot tears. 

She’s so lonely. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

Chan is reeling. 

It’s hotter in his studio than usual. It’s definitely not because you’re alone with him in his studio and for some reason that’s making him more flustered than usual. Definitely not. He’s definitely not noticing the perfume you used, or the way your fingers flit over your laptop keys almost elegantly, the click of the keys echoing in his ears. He also most definitely was not looking at how your thighs look sitting in his extra chair, or how your dainty necklace falls on your neck, the charm brushing against the low collar of your tee shirt. 

You’re sweating profusely right now. Calm down, you pervert.

Shut up, Cato. I feel like I can barely breathe right now. 

Yeah, I know. That’s why I said calm down, pervert. Did you not hear me?

“Are you okay, Chan?” You ask him, concern washing over your pretty features as he tugs on the collar of his shirt for the fourth time in thirty seconds. “Do you want to cut this short and meet another day? You don’t look so good.” 

Chan all but stops breathing when your delicate hand reaches up and presses gently against his forehead. Your hand is cold, and it works to cool his heated skin almost immediately. His eyes fall close, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “No, I’m okay,” he says, opening his eyes again and giving you a gentle smile. He watches as your cheeks flush the slightest bit. “Just needed a second is all.”

“Let’s take a break, yeah?” You say, closing your laptop as an excuse to not look at him for a second. Chan nods, and then it’s quiet for a minute. Neither of you know how to act around each other. Sure, you were friends but you weren’t best friends. Chan and you also never really hung out one on one; it was really always you, Chan, Changbin, and Jisung or anyone else in your classes. While he didn’t consider everyone to be his friends, always keeping to his close knit circle, he did know a lot of people, and those people also happened to know you. So it was never the right time to get know you by yourselves. “So… Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?” You puff your cheek out, shyly. Chan can’t help but let the smile stretch across his face.

“What’s there about me you wanna know?” He asks. Your cheeks flush again, and you scramble to keep your hands busy, opting to twirl your pen between your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “We’ve known each other for so long but I don’t think we’ve ever really had the chance to actually know each other.”

He nods. “You’re right,” he sucks in a breath, letting his gaze fall towards his desktop as he thinks of what to tell you. “Well, I was born in Australia.”

“Yeah, I know that,” you giggle. “You and Felix talk about it all the time. What’s it like there?”

“Hot,” he chuckles, shrugging. “It’s beautiful, really. All my family is still there so there’s… like this part of me that’s still there with them, if you get what I’m trying to say.” Chan lets out another breathy laugh, suddenly embarrassed. 

“I think I do,” you say, nodding your head. “Like a piece of you is missing because it’s back home?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Chan says. “I miss it sometimes.”

“I bet. It must have been hard moving here all by yourself.”

“I mean yeah, but… I don’t know, as much as Australia is my home, this is also home, you know? I love what I do and I’ve found my people. So it makes up for the part of me I left at home,” you both nod along to his words, small smiles shyly turning up your mouths. “What about you?”

“Well,” you sigh, still twiddling with the pen. Your leg starts shaking. “I’m from here.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Chan copies your words, which brings out a giggle from you. His heart lurches. 

I felt that. 

Shut up. 

“I don’t know, I…” you trail off, letting yourself think of what you wanna say. “My moms a school teacher and my dads a realtor, so we’re well off on my dad’s money. They’re kinda the… traditional, married at nineteen, had me at twenty, church every sunday, and have a certain plan for their daughter kind of people.”

“And?”

You shrug. “For the most part I went along with what they wanted me to do. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect boyfriend that I’ll one day have to marry and continue the cycle,” Chan doesn’t miss the way his eye twitches at the mention of a boyfriend. “But, I really rocked the boat when I said I wanted to go into music production.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s… Well they say it’s unrealistic,” you sigh. “I’ve always loved music, and when my perfect, middle class family life got to be too much pressure to uphold, it comforted me. I taught myself all the instruments I know.”

“Impressive.” He chuckles. 

“Right?” You giggle along with him. Chan decides he really likes that sound. “But, they expected me to almost go into something… I don’t know, easy? Something that will let me rely on Seojun when we eventually get married.” 

“Do you want to get married?” Chan asks, eyebrow raising a little. Your fingers stop twiddling with the pen and your leg goes still for just a second before it picks up again. 

“Honestly? No,” you say. “It’s just not something I feel like is for me. Of course, I want to spend the rest of my life with someone but I don’t need a piece of paper or an expensive ring to solidify that I love them and they love me.”

“How long have you been with Seojun?” Chan almost feels the bile that coats the man’s name as he says it. 

“Three years,” you answer. “My dad is business partners with his dad and we met at a company party and it just kind of… I don’t know, happened.” You shrug.

“Is he in college too?” You nod your head yes.

“He’s in finance,” you glance over at him. “He’s actually almost done. He’ll be working under his dad after he graduates. His dad is also paying for his real estate classes after he graduates so he can sell commercial properties.” 

It’s quiet again, and your leg is still shaking. Your face, now pointedly looking away from him, holds a sort of… loneliness. And almost a hint of regret for even saying what you did out loud. 

Don’t ask that. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Chan interrupts the heavy silence, and pointedly ignoring Cato’s warning. You hum, letting yourself look at him again. The loneliness he saw on your face floods your eyes. It’s almost overwhelming. “And you can tell me if I’ve crossed the line and we’ll never talk about this again.” 

Don’t ask that. 

“What is it?”

“Do you… like Seojun?” 

And you asked it. I cannot believe you.

Your face falls, but it doesn’t morph into anger like he thought it would. You don’t yell at him, or tell him to mind his business and storm out. He doesn’t know why he was expecting you to lash out at him like that, though. Call it anxiety, he guesses. Instead, that loneliness intensifies — if that was even possible. You’re quiet for a minute, almost like you were deciding to lie to him or if you were about to spill something he’s not sure he — or you — would know what to do with.

“He’s nice,” you settle on. “We don’t have that much in common, but he treats me well.” 

I don’t like that answer. 

Neither do I.

Chan only nods, though.

“Should we get back to it, then?” You ask, your mouth turned into a tight lipped smile. 

“Yeah.” He smiles.

You both delve into a rhythm of bouncing ideas off each other, and the building almost obsessively on the idea you both really like. Chan doesn’t know why he hasn’t worked with you before this, you’re so smart and your ideas are so unique and full of life. He can really see your love for music and the creative process behind making it. His heart flutters a bit at the thought that you both share this pure love for music in the same way.

“Do you wanna maybe meet again tomorrow?” You ask as you pack up your stuff. By the time you both decide to call it quits, it’s nearing one in the morning. He walks with you to your dorm, and he can’t help but smile shyly at the hopeful look in your angelic eyes. You're holding onto your tote bags strap that sits comfortably on your shoulder. He sees you shiver a little, and then only notices the pathetic little jacket you decided to wear despite it being less than forty degrees outside. He fights giving you his jacket. He would, normally without hesitation, but after learning you have a boyfriend he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, no matter how cute he thinks you would look swimming in his hoodie.

Down boy, down.

Will you stop?

I’ll stop when you stop being such a male.

“We can go to the cafe on campus after class,” Chan suggests. You nod, giving him a bigger smile at his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your eyes glint with excitement as you nod your head. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Will do.” He reassures you as you open the main door to your dorm and walk in. He waves to you from outside and then steps off the porch, walking down the lit walkway, unable to erase the smile from his face.

You like her.

“Shut up,” he sputters out. “She’s always been in my sights, and I always thought she was cute. We just never had the chance to bond like that before. Changbin or Jisung are always usually with us, or my other friends.”

Too bad she’s someone else’s.

Chan rolls his eyes. Quietly, though, he wonders what would have happened had he met you before you met Seojun. Would you be his? Would you be happier with him?

Cato heard those too.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

❝didn’t know my world was dark until you came.❞

Eve sits in her usual spot, weaving her flowers once more. It’s another day, but this time she’s by herself. The snake hasn’t showed up yet, but she hopes it's on its way now. She tries not to let herself get too upset over not having her usual companion today, but she can’t help it. This newfound routine of her weaving flowers and talking to the snake while he rested peacefully on her arm has brought her more happiness than anything else in the garden – even the entire world – could.

So when a day turns into two, and then turns into three, then seven, her mood worsens. Even Adam, as unobservant as he is, noticed her change in mood. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong though, of course he doesn’t. As much as he claims to love her, to cherish her with his entire earthly being and his heavenly soul, he never seems to notice her until he wants to bend her over in the grass and give her another baby. Or two. Or three.

On the eighth day, when Eve is back at her favorite spot, weaving flower stems, a frown on her lips, a man approaches from out of the brush. It’s a man she has never seen before, but he is beautiful. Chocolate brown eyes and pretty brown hair to match with them, he gives her a gentle smile. “Hi,” he says. “You might not recognize me.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Eve says, on guard. She’s covering her body, cautious. “You’re not one of my children. So who are you?”

“I– I’m the snake,” he says. “My name is Cato. I’m a god.”

“Cato,” Eve repeats, the name swirling around her tongue pleasantly. “That means all-knowing.”

“Yes.”

“So, why did you come to me as a snake and not as yourself, Cato?” She asks, sitting up straighter against the tree behind her. “Why not show yourself to me from the start instead of deceiving me?”

“Forgive me, my dear,” he bows his head in apology. “I did not have an earthly body, and my heavenly form would have scared you. I transformed myself into a snake to meet you, and until my earthly body was ready. I am sorry for tricking you.” His eyes, his beautiful eyes, shine with genuine regret.

“What do you want from me?” She asks.

“Forgive me if I sound weird,” he starts. “But I was there when God made you. You are so beautiful, I will never understand how he did not make you an angel. Alas, I fell for you. And then before I could say anything, he sent you down here with Adam. And I had no way of meeting you anymore.” 

“You…” she trails off. “Fell? For me?”

“Yes, my angel,” he says, walking closer and settling himself on his knees before her. “I fell for you. You have my heart. And if you let me, I would love to have yours.” The god takes her delicate hand into his, running his thumb over her knuckles. His hands engulf hers, long, spindly fingers holding hers with such love, such gentleness that she’s never felt from Adam’s rough, calloused hands. 

She finds her heart fluttering at his honey coated words.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

When Chan gets home from dropping you off at your dorm, he remembers to send you a quick text before he retires into bed. 

When he sleeps that night, he dreams. He dreams of him, in an earlier time, walking with you through a beautiful garden.

Your cream colored dress encases your body so elegantly, and the way you wore your hair out of your face yet still cascading down your back makes you look so… ethereal. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”

“I am too,” he says, his own smile unable to leave his face. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t marry you before I left. I hope Lord Emroy is treating you well, though, and giving you everything you could ever want.”

Your smile falters, and your gaze flitters away from him. Loneliness fills your pretty eyes and you quiet for a second. “He does treat me well, Chan,” you glance up at him for a quick second before your eyes cast down to the ground once more.``But that does not mean I am happy with him.”

“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling. 

“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.

He sighs, stopping your walk and placing himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I wanted to marry you, I still want to marry you. But, I could not let you wait for me, for if I were to not have come back, I would have made you a widow, and you did not deserve that. You are beautiful, Y/n. And you deserve to have the chance to have a long, healthy, and loving marriage.”

“My marriage is anything but loving,” you say bitterly, tears welling in your eyes. “Sure, he doesn’t belittle me like other husbands, but it is not a marriage forged out of love, Chan. It was a business transaction. I was property he wished to buy,” a single tear falls down your cheek, down your neck and soaking through the neckline of your gown. His heart breaks at seeing you cry. He cups your face, letting his thumb wipe the tears falling from your eyes away.“He will never love me the way you did.”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”

He wakes up in the morning, confused. The sadness he felt within the dream stays with him as he gets ready for the day, unable to shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, and he tries to get it to go away by saying to himself in the bathroom mirror, “it’s just a dream. Why are you so upset about it?”

Upset about what?

“Oh,” Chan says, startled by Cato’s questioning voice in his head. “Just… A weird dream. It’s nothing.”

Whatever you say, human.

Chan doesn’t respond, brushing his teeth in a tense, perturbed, silence.

—

Classes were dragging. He’s unable to fully pay attention to what his professors are saying because he can’t get the dream out of his head. Why did it feel so… real? And familiar? Like it's actually happened before? And the loneliness in your eyes from the dream matched the loneliness he saw in them last night when you were talking about Seojun. 

Your thinking is echoing and it’s annoying me. What was the dream about?

A nicer way of asking “what’s wrong” is just asking what’s wrong, you know.

Chan’s eyes roll, but he doesn’t do it himself.

Don’t roll my eyes for me, I’m the one in control right now.

Sorry, I just had to show you my annoyance somehow. 

This time, Chan does roll his eyes. 

“Hyung?” Minho whispers from next to him, tapping his pen against the older man’s forearm. “Are you okay? You keep rolling your eyes.”

Damn, were they that dramatic?

Roll your eyes quieter next time, idiot.

You’re the idiot.

“I’m okay,” Chan reassures quietly. “Just trying to keep them from falling shut.”

“Did you not get enough sleep again? Do I need to start coming over and knocking you out?” Minho balls his hand into a fist, and it takes everything in Chan to not laugh at his friends' antics. Before he can respond, though, their professor clears his throat in annoyance, giving them a glare from his spot in front of the lecture hall. They exchange embarrassed glances before going back to listening to the lecture. 

He quickly makes eye contact with you from a few seats in front of him, and he watches in amusement as you scramble to face completely forward, flustered that he caught you staring at him. He exhales a laugh at your antics, shaking his head slightly as he goes back to typing on his laptop.

Cute. 

Yeah.

After class ends, and Chan’s packing up his stuff, you walk up to him, your tote bag over your shoulder, giving him a shy smile.  “You ready?” 

Minho wiggles his eyebrows at Chan, and he tries not to notice how his cheeks flush at his younger friends' antics. “Yeah, let’s go,” he responds. He turns to Minho, who’s giving him a raised eyebrow. “See you around, Min.”

“Yeah,” the younger male responds. “Bye, y/n!” He waves her a goodbye, of which you copy quite excitedly. The corner of Chan’s lip turns up into a small smile at your antics towards the other male. He knows that out of their whole group, you seem to be closest with Minho and Hwang Hyunjin, always seeing you three together in passing. He wonders if you two will start getting closer, even after the project is finished. He hopes so. He doesn’t think he can go about just being casual to each other – especially after last night's conversation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Your voice breaks through his thoughts, causing him to shake his head a bit in response. 

Good going, idiot.

Shut up, Cato. As if you’ve done any better with her. Remember the convenience store?

This isn’t about me right now.

He fights rolling his eyes. “No reason,” he answers you. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”

The cafe he took you to is the one right across the street from the building your class was held in. It used to be a house, now repurposed as a cafe, and it has the perfect homey feel to it to help you feel comfortable and relaxed as you picked a seat in one of the upstairs rooms that has a couple tables in each of them for a little more privacy. The morning sun is shining brightly into the window, and Chan can’t help but let out a small chuckle to himself as he watches the way you squint from the sun as you try and look out the window. “Should I close the blind?” He asks as he sits across from you, pushing your tea to your side. 

“No,” you say as you happily pick up the cup. You blow on your tea to cool it down, and Chan can’t help but let his smile grow at the way your cheeks puff out dramatically when you blow on the drink. “I like sunbathing. Minho’s cats and I will lay on our bellies together in front of the big windows in his living room.”

“I’d love to see that sometime,” he laughs out. He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush and you giggle shyly in response. “I’m sure Min has a plethora of pictures of it.”

“Don’t tell him I told you but,” you start, taking a sip of your tea. “He joins us.”

“Somehow I really don’t doubt that.”

You fall into a rhythm once more over your project, and after a couple hours, you both decide to take a break. 

“So, are you seeing anyone?” You ask him out of nowhere, now sipping on a second cup of tea. Chan chokes on his coffee, but he quickly covers it up by clearing his throat.

Cato laughs. Nice one.

Shut the fuck up, Cato.

“No, I’m not,” Chan answers, taking a more cautious sip now. “I’ve never actually been in a serious relationship.”

“Oh?” you say, quizzically. “So, you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“No, I have.” He answers, his cheeks heating. He doesn’t understand why he’s so flustered with your questions, even if they did come out of nowhere. Well, he does understand why. He just doesn’t wanna say it out loud. 

They weren’t y/n, though, right, Channie boy?

Cato, I swear to God.

Don’t bring the Big Man into this.

“But?” You inquire.

“But,” he copies. “They just didn’t work out. We wanted different things.” He shrugs, and you nod in understanding. “Why the sudden interest in my love life, y/n?” The teasing lilt to his voice causes you to stammer out, falling (rather cutely) over your words, trying your best to come up with a reason. Chan chuckles at the rattled expression on your face.

You know why she’s asking.

I don’t.

Don’t be stupid, Chan.

Chan fights a scoff at the god’s words, not wanting to give you the wrong impression. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to explain who’s camping in his consciousness with him without taking a trip to the nearest psych ward. 

‘Man claims God lives in him’ has been a headline I’ve seen too much in the time humans have existed.

I wonder why.

Before Chan can continue the conversation he has with you (more like redirect it so he doesn’t have to admit to his commitment issues), something – or someone – catches your attention from behind him. The way your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and a flash of disdain that goes away as fast as it showed up cause Chan to turn around. A man is seating himself in the room across the hall, a blonde girl at his side as they laugh at something the man says. He turns back around to see that you’re still looking at them. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that’s Seojun,” you say. Chan’s stomach drops, turning back around at the exact time Seojun turns to look at the two of you. Something flashes across the other man’s face, but it’s gone before Chan can even fully register what it is.

Seojun turns to the blonde next to him, before he turns back and starts walking towards their table. Seojun is… wow, is he tall. And buff. Chan almost feels intimated.

Oh great, here comes the jolly green giant.

Chan has to force himself to not laugh at Cato’s comment as he turns back to you. You give him a weird face, which he decides to ignore.

Cato, please.

I’m just saying. Why is God so unfair when he makes you humans? He could have given Seojun’s extra height to you.

Stop it!

No one needs to be that tall is all I’m saying.

“What are you doing here, babe?” Seojun asks as he stands next to you at the table, a rushed lilt to his voice. Almost like he’S panicking. Chan watches your face as it drops, the tight lipped smile you give to your boyfriend is clear to no one but him. “Who’s this?”

“This is Chan,” you answer. “He’s my partner for a project.”

“Hey. I’m her boyfriend, Seojun,” the other man says, outstretching his hand for Chan to take. He does, giving it a firm shake and a quick head nod in greeting. “Though, I’m sure you’ve already heard of me.”

Arrogant.

Tell me about it.

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty,” Chan responds, the snark in his voice subtle enough that it seems like a genuine compliment. “She said you were in finance.”

“Oh, yeah,” Seojun answers. “It’s gonna help out a lot, money wise. This girl right here wants a big wedding. Isn’t that right, babe?” 

Chan’s eye twitches as he looks to you for your response. Your smile is that of discomfort, tight lipped as you rigidly nod your head, not making eye contact with Chan.

“Who are you with?” You ask, changing the subject as you strain your neck to look into the next room. “Is that Aecha?”

Seojun’s face drops. “Oh, uh, no. That's my project partner,” he answers quickly. “We have a business plan due in a couple weeks so we’re meeting to get it done early.”

“Oh, okay,” you say simply. Your eyes stay on the girl in the other room, squinting a little in suspicion.“I didn’t know you had a project.”

“Yeah,” Seojun rubs his neck, almost nervously. “Well, I should get back to her. I’ll leave you two alone, now. Don’t forget about the dinner with our parents tomorrow.”

“How could I,” you mutter as he starts walking away. “I’ll see you later.”

Chan’s almost grateful that Seojun didn’t kiss you. It seems you look grateful he didn’t, too. He can’t help but notice the way your mood instantly sours after Seojun leaves, though you try not to show it too much. You give him a forced smile. “Shall we continue with our project then?” You ask him, your voice pitches higher towards the end, and Chan knows you’re uncomfortable.

I don’t like him.

Neither do I.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

❝i could die in your arms.❞

Eve is giggling.

She’s resting her head on the soft grass that encases her body, the edges of the blades tickling against her naked waist. Cato lays next to her, chuckling along with her. “So,” she starts as she sits up on her side, picking a flower from the field and rolling it between her fingers gently. “If your name means all-knowing… Does that mean you’re a god of knowledge?”

Cato quiets. Eerily quiet. In the short time Eve has known him as his humanly self, he is never short of words. He always has a story or a joke to tell, Eve wonders how his puny human lungs can even hold that much air for him to talk so much. So, for him to go as quiet as he did, she worries. 

“Did I say something to upset you?” she asks, her delicate fingers stopping its movements. He also sits up on his side, letting his long fingers brush through the front of her hair as a small smile encases his beautiful face. 

“No, my angel,” he responds. “You could never do anything to upset me,” his thumb swiped gently across her bottom lip, and then down her chin before his hand fell back to his side. Eve feels her face heat up. “I’m not the god of knowledge, as you might think. Actually… I’m a calamity god.”

Eve doesn’t respond. “Like… the flood? That kind of calamity?”

He nods. “I was ordered to flood the earth myself.”

“It killed everyone…” Eve whispers, widened eyes filled with tears. “Why?”

“God is…” Cato trails, unsure if he should continue. His eyes, so beautiful and such a deep color, cascade down to glare at the grass blades dancing in the wind, unbeknownst to them that a god is staring them down with a look of disdain on his expression. Eve can see the regret and the anger in his eyes as he stares down at the earth beneath them. Eve wishes she can rid him of the hatred he feels for himself.

He doesn’t have to say anything, though. Because Eve knows how God is. She knows how He is all too well. For she, too, has been forced to be things she does not wish to be, solely because the person who created her says so. Her own eyes well with tears. Tears of anger and sadness, for both her and Cato. She doesn’t think anyone on this damned planet will ever understand them the way they do each other.

“Did you want to?” She asks. Cato shakes his head.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he adds. “It’s what I was created for. To bring destruction.”

“I think you’re more than what you were meant for.” She says, a smile on her face. 

Eve doesn’t expect it, but the god starts crying. And as he cries, she cradles him in her arms, brushing her fingers through his curly hair. “You are good, Cato,” she whispers in his ear, letting her lips ghost gently against the shell of it. “It does not matter what you have done, you are good.”

She presses a gentle kiss to his temple as his wails echo in the garden.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

Chan doesn’t hear from you all weekend. You weren’t in class Friday morning, and you haven’t answered any of his messages since before your dinner with your parents. He hasn’t thought much of it. He assumed you had a late night on Thursday and just skipped class the next morning because you were nursing a hangover. 

“Hey, have you heard from y/n?” Minho asks him Monday afternoon, when their whole group is sitting at a table in the cafeteria. “I’m only asking because you two have been… close recently.”

His cheeks flush as he watches his other friends look at him with widened eyes and agape mouths. “Uh, no I haven’t. I was actually just gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Didn’t she have dinner with her parents on Thursday?” Jeongin asks. Chan nods in response. “Last I heard from her was when she was asking me which outfit was appropriate for the dinner, she didn’t seem like she wanted to go, though.”

“Yeah, she was texting our group chat during it and she wasn’t having a very good time. But she never usually does with her parents involved.” Hyunjin adds, taking a bite of his noodles. 

“What group chat? I didn’t get anything in our group chat,” Jisung whines, opening his phone to double check. 

“Me, y/n, Minho hyung and Felix all have a separate group chat together,” Hyunjin answers casually. “She was texting in there.”

Chan tunes them out as Jisung and Changbin start whining that they want a group chat with you, but all Chan can focus on is how you’ve gone completely silent since Wednesday. 

“Hey, hyung,” Felix says, getting the older man’s attention by waving his small hand in front of his face. “Don’t worry about y/n. She’s okay. She goes ghost like this sometimes, especially after an event with her parents. She’ll come back around soon, she just needs to recharge.”

“Are you mad at her for not answering you?” Minho questions, eyebrow raised. The younger male looked as if he was waiting for Chan to answer the wrong way. 

“No, of course not. Why would I be?” Chan shakes his head in response. “I was just worried. We’ve just… been talking a lot recently and I wasn’t sure if I did something to upset her or anything.”

“I don’t think you could ever do anything to upset her.” Felix mutters, and Chan watches in confusion as he and Hyunjin both share a knowing look with one another. Minho elbows Hyunjin in the ribs. 

It means she likes you, idiot. 

Do you know how to be nice?

Chan doesn’t get any response from you until Tuesday night. A simple “can i come over?” was all you sent him.

Now, he’s panickedly cleaning his apartment while he waits anxiously for you. 

Why don’t you clean like this on a normal day?

“Because,” Chan grunts as he scrubs at a particular stain in his bowl. “I’m a busy guy and don’t have time to keep up with things regularly.” 

Just as Cato is about to respond, there's a knock on the front door. Chan stops in his tracks, hurriedly rinsing the bowl and adding the last couple of dishes into one side of the sink to hide them as he runs to answer the door, clumsily drying his hands on his pants. When he opens the door, you’re standing there, glaring at the space where the door was a second ago. “Hey,” he says, which snaps you out of your trance to look up at him. 

“Hi,” you answer softly, smiling. Though it doesn’t match the defeated look in your eyes. “Can I come in?”

Chan nods, stepping aside as you walk into his apartment. He follows you to his couch, where you both sit on opposite ends. Your legs immediately go up, knees pressing against your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. You’re not making eye contact with Chan, and it makes his stomach hollow in anxiety. You look so sad it almost feels like it’s creeping into his bones, souring his mood and ramping up his anxiety as he sees you cave in on yourself from the other end of his couch. He watches as you bat away tears, rolling your eyes in annoyance as they fill your pretty eyes. 

“Is there something you want to talk about?” Chan asks softly, scooting himself closer to you. He crosses his legs on his couch and turns his body to you, giving you a softened, welcoming look. The hand that isn’t propping his head against the back of the couch is twitching on his legs to reach out, to hold yours to comfort you. But he doesn’t want to over step and make you uncomfortable. You don’t answer, seemingly falling back into a spaced out trance, if the unfocus in your eyes is anything to go by. He lets his finger gently rub against your shin to get your attention, and he watches as your eyes fill with tears once more as you look up at him. “What’s wrong, y/n?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, biting the inside of your lip. “Just… wanted to see you.”

Chan doesn’t believe it, giving you a raised eyebrow. “Just to see me?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing. “I missed you is all,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving him a small smile. “I got used to seeing you all the time now.”

Chan’s cheeks flush, and he tries not to let his smile get too dopey as his heart flutters at your words. 

Oh! You pathetic man. 

Stop. 

“How was the dinner with your parents?” Chan asks. You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your throat as you look away from him. “Was it bad?”

You’re quiet. You look as if you want to say something, the words on the tip of your tongue and threatening to spill over. But you hesitate. You’re biting your tongue as you contemplate your next words. It almost concerns him. 

“If I do something,” you start quietly. “Would you be mad?”

Chan’s eyebrows scrunch, his head tilting to the side in question. “What is it?”

“Can I try something?” Eve asks, tilting her head as her eyes flicker between Cato’s mouth and his pretty dark eyes. Cato nods, watching in nervous anticipation as Eve climbs over his lap, plush thighs on either side of his lips as she leans in and ghosts her lips against his. 

Cato catches her mouth in a soft, tender kiss. It raises goosebumps to their skin, and their heartbeats quicken. Eve’s belly erupts in butterflies, climbing up her throat and she lets out a small sound. Cato hands find home at her waist, the pads of his fingers indenting her skin as he squeezes gently.

You finally look at him, eyes flitting down the length of his face, stopping at his mouth before looking at him again. Your gaze flickers between his mouth and his eyes before you lean forward, your nose ghosting against his as your lips meet. Chan responds immediately, cupping your face and deepening the kiss.

It’s shy, yet so electric. The butterflies you feel in your stomach are intense, prickling up your back and making you light headed. It isn’t long before you're clamoring across the couch and into Chan’s lap. His hands slide down your waist before he wraps his arms around your back, caging you into his body. He keeps his mouth working against yours, and can’t help the way his cock jumps when your hips shift a little, pressing your clothed core against him. Your hands hold his face, your thumb brushing against the apples of his cheeks every once and a while. His heart swells at the noises you make as you shyly start to grind yourself down against him, wanting to feel him more and more against you.

Should you really be doing that?

Doing what?

Kissing someone who isn’t yours.

“Wait,” Chan says as he pulls back. He has to swallow the groan that’s threatening to escape his throat as he takes in the sight of you. Your cheeks are red, lips swollen and spit slick. You already look so fucked out and all he’s done is kiss you. He feels like he’s going crazy. “What about Seojun?”

“What about Adam?” Cato asks Eve as he breaks away, his fingers rubbing circles on her hips. 

“It was never Seojun,” You respond, shaking your head. Your thumb swipes against his cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Chan.”

“It was never Adam,” Eve responds, nails digging into the skin on his shoulders. “I waited for you for so long, Cato.”

“Since the day I met you,” you continued, breathless. Somehow, your cheeks turn redder. He doesn’t think you could look more angelic than right now. “I’ve wanted you.”

“Since the day I came into existence,” Eve sighs out. Cato thinks she looks absolutely ethereal this way. “I’ve waited for you.”

Cato can’t help the smile that stretches across his lips as he leans up to kiss her again.

Chan doesn’t respond, only placing a hand at the back of your neck and pulling you back down to him. He kisses you again, this time a little more desperate, a little more aggressive. You whine, letting your lips fall open so his tongue can explore inside your mouth. Your mouths work in perfect sync with one another, a desperate, needy, rhythm that says more than any words in the English and Korean lexicon could ever say. He can’t explain the way he feels while he’s kissing you, but he feels as if clouds are filling his head.

His hands move back to your hips, helping you to grind down against his hardened cock, and he doesn’t miss the way your whines sound more and more breathy each time he moves you against him. “Have you ever had sex before?” He asks you.

“No,” you say. “No one’s ever touched me, either.”

“You mean, in the three years you’ve been with Seojun, he hasn’t fucked you once?” Chan asks, eyebrows furrowing and a sense of pride filling his chest. You shake your head. “Why?”

“I didn’t want him to.” You whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist as he stands up from his couch, carrying you into his bedroom and gently placing you atop his sheets. 

Cato lays her naked body gently on her back in the soft grass. She looks so pretty like this, some of hair still laying softly over her shoulders and the rest blending beautifully with the grass, eyes widened in curiosity. “I got you, my love,” he says in a gentle voice as he crawls over her. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

He thinks this sight alone is enough to be painted and framed in a gallery. Eve, splayed out like this for him with her ruddy cheeks and widened eyes. It was a sight he never wanted to stop seeing.

He kisses her again before letting his mouth move from her own to her cheek, jaw, then down her neck, biting softly on his way down. 

Chan unbuttons your jeans, and you help him with getting them off your legs and onto his floor. He takes off your shirt and bra next, leaving you only in your underwear. He crawls over you, his thigh slotting in between your legs and ghosting against your clothed cunt. “Let me take care of you, my love.” 

He kisses your lips once more before he places a kiss on your cheek, then along your jaw, then down the expense of your neck, leaving pretty purple marks along the way. He stops at your breasts, ghosting his mouth around one nipple before taking it into his mouth. His free hand comes to tweak the other, softly pinching and rubbing along the top of it while his mouth works at the other. Your hand weaves its way into his soft curls, pushing them off his forehead so you can see what he’s doing better. He almost moans at the feeling of your hips bucking up to slide your cunt against his thigh. 

“Just like that, angel,” he mutters against your skin. You whine, your fingers almost kneading the top of his head. He presses his thigh more into your core, giving you more friction that makes your sensitive body jolt and your breath hitch.

He doesn’t stay long at your breasts, opting to let his kisses and marks trail down your torso, right to your hips. He settles onto his stomach, hands holding the under part of your hips as he takes in the sight of your cunt. A wet patch has soaked through your underwear, sticking to your lips and outlining the shape of you. He presses a gentle kiss against the wet patch, and he doesn’t miss the way your hips jolt back. “Chan,” You whine. 

“Yes?” He coos, freeing a hand from under you and letting his pointer finger gently ghost along your cunt. You wiggle your hips, trying to get more pressure from his finger but he pulls it away. “You have to tell me what you want, angel. Wiggling your hips isn’t gonna help me know what you want.”

He watches in adoration as your cheeks flush yet again, your eyes darting to look everywhere but at him as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “I want you to touch me,” you whisper. “Please, touch me.” Your words come out so breathy, so desperate, it makes Chan’s head want to explode. He gives you a smile.

“Anything for you, my love,” he responds before he sits back up on his knees, letting his fingers grab ahold of the waistband of your panties and sliding them slowly down your legs with your help. They fall somewhere on the edge of the bed behind him, but it’s not something he’s concerned about as the musky smell of your cunt hits his nose again as he lays back down. Your cunt glistens so prettily for him, and he forces himself to hold in a moan. “You’re so pretty.” 

His fingers slide up and down between your swollen lips, and you let out small whines whenever his fingers rub a teasing circle against your clit that’s peeking out between your slit. He kisses along your inner thighs, across your mound as he slowly inserts a finger into your entrance. 

Cato kisses along Eve’s thighs, before he gives a broad swipe of his tongue up the expense of her cunt. She gasps, hips twitching. “Has he ever done this to you?”

“No,” Eve sighs out as Cato gives another broad swipe. “He barely touches me.” Cato doesn’t respond, letting his tongue circle around Eve’s clit, which elicits a moan to fall from her pretty mouth.

“Don’t worry, my angel,” Cato says. “I’ll show you just how a man should love you.”

Your walls clench around his finger, and he places gentle kisses against your sensitive nub, whispering, “Relax, baby. I got you.” Your body deflates when you let out the breath you were holding, your own hand falling towards the hand that’s gripping onto your hip. You intertwine your fingers together, and he gives you a reassuring squeeze as he crooks his finger up into that spongy spot that has your back arching slightly and a gasp falling from your pretty lips. His mouth attaches itself to your clit, alternating between lightly sucking and feverish kitten licks. Your hand squeezes his as shy moans involuntarily fall from your lips at his ministrations. 

He feels his cock pulsing at each sound you let out, and he can’t help but grind his hips down onto the bed for some friction of his own. “Chan, more, please,” you whine out, bucking your hips into his face. He doesn’t hesitate to add another finger, scissoring you open as his mouth continues at your clit. He pumps his fingers in and out of your entrance slowly, making sure to hook up when he plunges back in. You’re so tight around his fingers, and he can’t help but let out a moan at the thought of you taking his cock, sucking him into your warm walls. The fact that no one has ever touched you – not even your own boyfriend – and that he has the honor of being your first is driving him up a wall.

Only he gets to see you this way. Only he gets to hear your whiny moans, and only he gets to see the pretty way your body reacts to his touch. He can't help but let his fingers get a little faster, a little more prominent in the way they press against that sweet spot that has the coil tightening in the pit of your belly. “Chan.”

“You gonna cum, angel?” He asks against your pussy, keeping his steady yet harsh rhythm of his fingers plunging into your hole. You let out a hum as your response, and he can’t help but smile against your cunt. He keeps his mouth on your clit, his eyes rolling back as you let out another moan, your hips bucking to feel more, more, more. You clench around his fingers, your pretty sounds are strangled as your body clenches up, and that’s when he knows to remove his mouth from your clit, watching your face as your jaw slacks, and your body writhes so prettily under him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” He slows his fingers, helping you ride out your high on his fingers. You feel so much more wet than before, and it takes every ounce of control Chan has to not dive back in and overstimulate you, drive you to another one. And another one. Until you’re spent and begging for him to stop, yet pushing him closer to continue.

Next time.

He moves up your body, and kisses you again. You let out a whine when you taste yourself on his tongue, your own essence covering your chin from his own as he licks into your mouth. You use your legs to redirect him, so his clothed cock lines up with your dripping pussy as he grinds his hips down against you. You shiver, still sensitive from just a second ago. “I want you,” you whisper. He pulls away, looking at you with widened eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “Cause if you’re actually not ready, tell me. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ve waited for you long enough,” you answer, rutting your hips up against him. He sucks in a breath. “Please?”

Chan only nods as he climbs off you to discard his clothes to the floor. The bruising on his side hasn’t fully gone away, but it’s not as bad as it was last week. “Was that from your fall?” You ask him as he climbs over you again, your delicate fingers ghosting over his ribcage. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking down at your hand. “I didn’t actually fall, though. I got hit by a car.” 

“I know.”

Chan gives you a double take, eyebrows scrunched and his mouth agape in confusion. You giggle and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You know?”

“Yeah, I was with Changbin and Jisung when he got the call,” you respond, still giggling. “I just figured you said you fell to not worry me.”

Yeah, we can go with that. Really I was just saving you the embarrassment. Who gets hit by cars these days?

Don’t ruin this, Cato. 

Chan only chuckles softly, his smile widening and crinkling his eyes in such a pretty way. You can’t help but lean up and press your lips to his, your hands cupping his cheeks to bring his face down with yours. He kisses you back quickly, letting you take the lead as he opens your legs and maneuvers himself so his cock can glide along your slit. You lift your legs more, letting the head of his cock catch along your entrance. “Please,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m ready.”

Chan moves a hand down to guide the tip of his cock into your entrance, and he goes slow as he sheathes himself inside. You tense up, the pressure a foreign feeling. “Relax,” he whispers, kissing along your cheek and down your jaw. A small whine leaves your mouth and he stills his hips immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt it just… feels full.”

“Yeah?” He asks, letting himself move again. One his hips are touching yours, you can fully feel him snugly inside you. You feel so full, and it’s so overwhelming but so addictive at the same time. It feels as if you were molded to fit him. He gives an experimental movement, and your hands immediately go to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You can move.” He kisses you, distracting you as he pulls out and then plunges back in again. He keeps it at a slow rhythm at first, letting you get used to the feeling before he gradually starts speeding up. You were so tight around him, your velvety walls welcoming him in with each time the head of his cock ghosts along that spongy part that has the breath punched out of you again and again.

“You feel so good, angel,” he grunts against your neck. “Like you were made for me.” You can only choke out a moan in response, nails raking over his shoulders. He intertwines his fingers with yours above your head, and he digs his face further into your neck as he places wet kisses along it. 

Cato intertwined his fingers with Eve’s as he slowly moved his hips. “You’re mine?” Cato asked.

“Yours. I’m yours,” Eve gasped in response.“I love you.” Cato can only smile as he dips his head down to capture her lips in a messy kiss.

Chan keeps a steady pace, making sure to angle himself upwards when he thrusts back in. He hits deep, stretching you around his cock and every time he’s at the hilt, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. The breathy moans you let out at each thrust sends Chan deeper and deeper into the clouds, mind hazy and senses full of you. You’re everywhere, it seems, encasing his body in yours as the whole world melts away. He about loses his hold on himself when your quivering walls start clenching around him, greedily sucking him back in. His thrusts speed up, his one hand letting go of yours and finding home under your head, a fist full of hair as he brings your body as close to his as possible. The feel of your breasts pressing against his chest grounds him a bit, and he lets out a strained moan from the back of his throat.

“Cum in me,” you manage to say in between strangled sounds. “I want it, please.”

“Just a little more,” Chan grunts out. “Almost there. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so good for me, angel.”

Chan’s hips still, his cum shooting into you and painting your walls. He moans, whiney, as he shoves his face back into your neck. Your hands move to his hair, raking through it as you whisper in his ear. “I love you.”

Chan smiles. “I love you, too.”

—

You spend the night at Chan’s house, only sending a simple message to your group chat with Hyunjin, Minho, and Felix where you were staying and that you were okay. Your simple message respectively blows up the group chat, with Felix and Hyunjin practically screaming to tell them details, and then Minho crashing into your world like a meteor with one single question.

Did you break up with Seojun?

You decided not to answer that question (because you haven’t), only texting back that you’ll explain when you get back to class on Friday and then shakily put your phone down on the coffee table. You look over towards the kitchen to see Chan’s back towards you, the sizzling of the food in the pan the only sound filling the apartment. You can’t help but smile at the sight. You uncross your legs from the couch, walking into the kitchen area and standing behind Chan. Your arms wrap lovingly around his waist, your cheek pressing into his back and you feel his body relax into your hold. He turns down the stove and turns around in your hold, a smile adorning his features as he places a kiss against your lips.

“Thanks for letting me stay last night,” you say as he pulls away from you. “I didn’t want to face Ryujin’s interrogation yet.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to face mine,” Chan says, raising his eyebrow at you. You smile sheepishly at him, your gaze tearing away from his. He lifts your chin up, forcing you to keep eye contact. “What happened?”

You sigh, pulling your body away. You run your hand over your face as you lean against the counter behind you. Chan does the same on the opposite side, giving you an expectant look as he waits for you to start talking. “I found out Seojun was cheating on me. At the dinner.” You say, voice a little shaky.

Chan pauses, and his stomach drops. Seojun was cheating?

Don’t act as if you aren’t happy to hear that. 

I’m not happy! That’s awful!

You know what I mean, you idiot. You’re happy he’s out of the way now.

Chan doesn’t respond to Cato, focusing his attention back to you. “I’m so sorry, y/n,” he responds, his arm stretching over to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t deserve that.”

You take in a breath. “Yeah, well,” you shrug. “It happens. Sad thing is, I can’t even say I’m surprised. Looking back, it makes a lot of sense.”

Chan’s eyebrow furrows. “Did… you break up with him?”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “I… haven’t yet.” 

And you slept with her. 

“You… You haven’t?” He asks, confusion painting across his face. “Why?”

“I— I was going to,” you start. “I just… I wanted to see you first,”

“y/n,” Chan says, voice shaky. “Am I a rebound?”

You shake your head vigorously, your own eyes shining with unshed tears. “No! No, I really wasn’t planning on last night happening at all. I wanted to break up with him first but I just… I don’t know, I had to see you first.”

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks. “About wanting to be with me as long as you said?” 

“Yes,” you nod. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Hyunjin or Felix. Even Minho. They know how I feel about you.”

Chan’s quiet. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what to think. On one hand, the selfish hand, he’s over the moon he had you in his bed last night, and he’s still a bit drunk off your words from last night. But, on the other hand, he wants to send you on your way, to give himself, and you, some space. He can’t believe he didn’t prod further about what you meant last night. He just assumed by your confession, you had already broken it off with Seojun.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I should probably go.” 

“Call me when you break it off with Seojun, okay?” Chan finally says, nodding his head. His heart clenches as he sees a tear fall down your face. “We’ll talk about us after that.”

The silence that replaces the apartment after you leave is deafening. 

Chan?

“Not now, Cato,” Chan replies, shaking his head. He can feel a migraine coming on, his eyes becoming sore and sensitive to the bright lights of his kitchen. “Shit,” a pained whimper falls from his throat as he massages his eyes. “I think I need to call someone.” 

I remember why I came to Earth.

“Can it wait until later, please?” Chan winces, annoyance mixing with the pain in his voice. “My head is fucking splitting.”

Chan…

“Cato, for fucks sake, please!” He yells, which makes his head pound even more. “I can’t figure out your problem right now.”

Cato doesn’t respond.

Chan calls Minho, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the best idea, but he knew Jisung and Changbin would be loud and dramatic and he really didn’t want that right now. Minho is quiet, and he knows what to do when Chan is under the weather. 

The younger male is quick to arrive, immediately shoving pain pills into Chan’s hand and ordering him to take them. “Were you making something?” Minho asks as he points to the pan. 

“Oh, yeah,” Chan said from the couch. His head feels as if it can explode. “I was making y/n and I breakfast when—” he stops himself, looking over through his lashes at the other man. 

“I already know,” Minho says. “So, where is she?”

“Uh, well,” Chan starts, having to take a second to will away the urge to vomit. “I slept with her…”

“And?”

“She never broke up with Seojun before we did.” Minho sighs, shaking his head as he joins the brunette on the couch. 

“I told her she needed to do that first,” Minho responds. “She’s just as impulsive as Han Jisung. Worse than Han Jisung, actually.”

Chan wants to chuckle, but his head is somehow getting worse. His body starts aching again, as if the bruises are coming back. And suddenly it hurts to breathe. “Min,” he grunts out. “Min, I think we need to go to the hospital.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

Chan?

I feel like I’m fucking dying again. 

Chan collapses to the floor, and when Minho slides down with him does he notice the blood pooling and staining the rug underneath the older man’s head. “Fuck. Fuck, okay. Hold on, hyung. I’m calling for help.”

Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on Chan’s body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in his living room. He starts to panic, lungs starting to work overtime as Minho calls the emergency hotline from somewhere in the room.

Cato, what’s going on?

Your… Your injuries are coming back. 

A white, blinding light floods Chan’s vision from the ceiling, and he feels a pull from the light. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Cato?

I’m getting taken back, Chan.

Cato! Don’t leave me!

The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. He feels like a layer of his skin is being peeled away as the pressure in his head worsens, and Cato’s voice gets farther and farther away.

“Ca—” Chan tries to call out to him, but he passes out before he could.

I’m dying.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

❝took my breath from my open mouth, never known how it broke me down.❞

Cato and Eve snuck around under Adam’s nose after that fateful morning in the garden. Always meeting at the spot where they first met, making love to the song of the stream whenever they could. It felt different with Cato. It felt… good. Like lying with this man wasn’t a chore, but something she felt was their way of bonding. Connecting. She didn’t give a damn what God said. 

She was not made for Adam. She and the god, Cato, were weaved from the same essence that brought them life — a single soul split into two different beings. And by lying with him, it strengthened that. She was his, as he was hers. 

Cato was such a gentle lover, compared to Adam (if you could even call Adam a lover). Cato took her into his arms and worshiped her body as if she was a Goddess herself. The way his fingers indented her skin on her hips when his head was in between her thighs, lapping at her nectar, had her seeing stars. She found God in a lover, and the forbidden fruit tasted so sweet on her tongue.

Eve was happy.

That happiness didn't last long, though. And she was foolish to think it would.

She swore Adam went out to hunt that day, she saw him off. So, how he managed to find Eve at the stream hanging off a cock that wasn’t his, she’ll never know.

Adam told God right away.

Cato was ripped from her before she could even get to her knees. Before she could beg. She watched as a bright light encased Cato’s earthly body from the heavens, the light so blinding she’s forced to look to the ground if she still wished to keep her sight. She wailed that day, a mantra of inhuman, throat curdling sounds ripped from deep within her core as she punched her fists into the soil. 

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” She howled. Adam stood behind her, face stoic as he watched Eve mourn the loss of her lover. 

“It’s what you deserve,” Adam spits. “You’re lucky I’m gracious enough to let you live. Your pretty face would be one with stone if I was anyone else.”

Eve’s crying stopped then. The garden of Eden was silent, not even the stream was brave enough to sing. Everything was dead still, a simmering animosity burned brightly just under the surface of Eve’s plush skin. Adam’s stoicism fell as he caught the look on his wife’s face. 

It was that of pure, unadulterated rage.

“I should have strung you up to that tree when I had the chance.” The venom drips from her words and poisons Adam’s veins the second they hit him.

—

“You weren’t supposed to tempt Eve,” God’s commanding voice boomed across the heavens. Cato sat on his knees, wrists and ankles chained to the marble ground. Different god’s sat around, watching the serpent intently, curious as to what was to happen to him. “You weren’t even supposed to make yourself known to her.”

“I told you why I was going to Earth,” Cato responded, voice tired. “I told you I fell for someone.”

“And that person was not supposed to be Eve!” Thunder cracked angrily across the sky. Murmurs erupted among the other gods. “You have tainted her, driven her off her path to her purpose.”

“Her purpose?” Cato repeated, indignant. “Her purpose is to be a breeding cow for a man who can’t even bother to see her as his equal?”

“And you were equals?” God laughed, a bellowing, boom laugh at the lesser god’s foolishness. “You’re a god, Cato. A heavenly entity that simple mortals can barely fathom the concept of. And you think Eve and you are equals?”

“I love her.”

Whispers of “love her?” echo through the chamber. 

“She’s not yours to love!” God’s angry voice silenced the whispers, a tense stillness crushing Cato and pressing on his lungs. “You know I have to punish you.” 

“Punish me all you wish,” Cato spat. “It will never deter how I feel for Eve.”

“Oh, my sweet child, it will.”

— 

Cato wakes to cold biting at his skin. It’s so cold, so so cold. His eyes open to gray skies and heavy snow sprinkling along his cheeks. Snow covered trees line the horizon of his bleary vision, head pounding and body aching. He moves his fingers, feeling under the layer of snow and making way to the dead grass underneath. 

He’s on Earth.

He tries to sit up, but his chest is burning and he’s having a hard time moving his arms. He feels like his body is being held down by a cinder block, unable to move himself from his spot. 

“General Bang!” A voice shouts, muffled. He moves his head to find the voice, but a face comes into his line of vision as he looks right. “General Bang! You’re badly injured, don’t move. Wagon! I need a wagon!” 

“What happened?” Cato whispers out, and the man grabs one of his hands from the snow. “Who are you?”

“It’s Hwang!” the man yells. “Hwang Hyunjin, do you remember?” 

Cato wasn't able to respond as his eyes fell heavy and then closed.

When he awakes again, he is in a tent. He shoots up in a panic, looking around the space. A sharp pain shoots through his chest, making him groan and his elbows give out. “Hey, easy,” the same man says as he helps Cato lay back down. Hyunjin. His long black hair is tied up out of his face, a look of relief washing over it as he settles back down in the chair next to Cato’s cot. “You got a pretty nasty gash across your chest. It’s a miracle you didn’t die out there, Chan.”

“What do you mean?” He asks. 

“I mean a dozen other men died from the same wound,” Hyunjin responds. “Your guardian angel is really looking out for you.”

“What happened?”

“Did you hit your head? We’re in a war,” Hyunjin responds, his eyebrows furrowed. “This was the most brutal battle we’ve fought in three years. How hard did you hit your head?”

Chan’s memories of the past couple years flash in Cato’s mind – like a short synopsis of what his vessel has been up to before he took over. Cato realizes that at that moment, Chan was dead. Cato was the sole entity keeping this body alive.

But why?

“Pretty hard, I guess,” Cato chuckles in response. “Does that mean… we won?”

“You bet your ass we did,” a smirk spreads across the male’s mouth. “We lost a lot of good men out there, though. Not looking forward to letting their wives know they’re widows now,” Cato nods his head, his gaze flitting around the ceiling of the medical tent. Hyunjin nudges his arm again, a grin on his face. “Are you gonna go back to y/n?”

A pulse shoots throughout his entire body at the mention of your name, a sinking feeling in his stomach that’s accompanied by the racing of his heart. He only shrugs. “If she’ll have me.”

“I don’t think she’d have anyone else.”

—

The war ends, and the troops all come back home. And Cato finds himself in front of a beautiful castle. Memories of Chan courting you for years flash in his mind. He seemed to have really adored you. Cato feels a twinge in his heart at the thought that Chan will never be able to experience being with you. 

But, to Cato, you give him an overwhelming sense of deja vu. Like he already knew you. Like he already knew your body, your soul, like the back of his hand. So, when he visits you after three long years, and you were already taken by another man, his heart shatters. For Chan, and for another unknown reason he doesn’t think he’s ready to explore.

He still walks with you in the garden that day. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”

“I am too,” he says, his own smile unable to leave his face. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t marry you before I left. I hope Lord Emroy is treating you well, though, and giving you everything you could ever want.”

Your smile falters, and your gaze flitters away from him. Loneliness fills your pretty eyes and you quiet for a second. “He does treat me well, Chan,” you glance up at him for a quick second before your eyes cast down to the ground once more.``But that does not mean I am happy with him.”

“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling. 

“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.

He sighs, stopping your walk and placing himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I wanted to marry you, I still want to marry you. But, I could not let you wait for me, for if I were to not have come back, I would have made you a widow, and you did not deserve that. You are beautiful, Y/n. And you deserve to have the chance to have a long, healthy, and loving marriage.”

“My marriage is anything but loving,” you say bitterly, tears welling in your eyes. “Sure, he doesn’t belittle me like other husbands, but it is not a marriage forged out of love, Chan. It was a business transaction. I was property he wished to buy,” a single tear falls down your cheek, down your neck and soaking through the neckline of your gown. His heart breaks at seeing you cry. He cups your face, letting his thumb wipe the tears falling from your eyes away.“He will never love me the way you did.”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”

Cato doesn’t respond, only letting his eyes flicker around your face, sadness overtaking his gaze. You both stare at one another, so close to each other. It’s quiet, between you two. Not tense, but not comfortable either.

His eyes widen in shock when you lean up to kiss his lips. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, letting his hands cup your cheeks. You pull away after a second though, tears pulling into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I just… needed to know what it felt like to kiss you.”

You turn and walk away, leaving him alone in the garden with the taste of you still on his lips.

Cato is sentenced to live a life next to the reincarnation of Eve, always at his fingertips but never having the right to have her. Chan’s soul was with him for every single one. Each life is a punishment, a test. Each time he gives into his temptation of having Eve to himself, of dancing along that line with her, he is ripped from his mortal body and Chan’s own soul is torn with him. 

Chan dies every time.

Again. And again. And again. And again. For millennia, Cato is subjected to always losing Eve in the most brutal of ways just as he finally thinks he has her for himself. As soon as he lies with her, he is forced to leave her soon after.

He can never escape it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

❝i won’t die for love, but ever since i met you, you could have my heart and I would break it for you.❞

Cato sits on his knees in a desolate chamber. It’s deathly still, and eerily silent. The only sound is his breathing – which is slowed. His wrists, bound in enchanted steel cuffs, sit chained to the ground in front of where he sits on his knees. His hair lays on his shoulders, dirty and knotted. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here — it could be months. It could be centuries.

He doesn’t think he cares anymore.

Chan is dead. He has to be. There’s no way he managed to survive the way Cato was ripped out of him like that. He hasn’t survived it in any of the lifetimes Cato spent using his body. 

It was cruel — the way Cato and Chan are subjected to this, lifetime after lifetime, a never ending cycle of Chan losing his life before he can even turn thirty all because Cato fell for someone he had no business falling for. He grimaces to himself, shaking his head in defeat as he remembers the way Chan was crying out for him when he was ripped from his subconsciousness. 

“When are you ever going to learn?” A voice echoes in the chamber. God.

“I do not wish to speak of this.” Cato snaps.

“Don’t you wish to see how Chan is doing?” God asks, snapping his fingers. A gateway to Earth opens under Cato, and he watches in horror as medics work on his dying body in the middle of his living room floor. “He’s still holding on. For now.”

Cato looks away, clamping his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to see Chan like that. Not when he knows he’s the cause of it.

Chan is going to die. Again.

“Please,” Cato whispers. “Please, kill me.”

“Kill you?” God repeats.

“Yes, fuck!” Cato spits, his shout echoing deafeningly throughout the empty chambers. The silence that refills the space is enough for the god to break, sobs racking through his body from where he is chained. “I can’t do this anymore. Let Chan live, and let me die. Please.”

God does not respond, only watching as the calamity god wails, a mixture of snot and tears pooling on the concrete from under them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Is that what you truly want?”

Cato can only nod his head. “Chan’s life, for my mortality,” he responds, still crying. “I can’t keep watching him die.”

“You know that means he might not be reincarnated,” God says. “The only reason Chan is a living soul on earth was for you to use him as your vessel. He’s not needed after that.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Cato shakes his head. “That’s a better outcome than having to die before twenty six every single time.”

“How do you wish to go?”

“Like Icarus,” he doesn’t hesitate to respond, finally looking up at his creator through his bangs. “I will fling myself into the sun.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

Walking away from Chan has to be the hardest thing you’ve done.

You genuinely weren’t planning on sleeping with him the night before. You don’t know what took over you. It just happened. That’s not to say you regret it, though. Because you don’t. While you’ve never slept with someone before, laying underneath Chan felt so… right. Even if it is wrong from a moral standpoint. But, it felt otherworldly. Not just because the sex was good, but you felt as if it was meant to happen. You and Chan were meant to happen. As cliche as it is, and you cringe thinking of it, you wholeheartedly believe you and Chan were written in the stars, destined to find each other in this life. And the next. Nothing has felt more clear than being with him, and you use that as courage to knock on Seojun’s door.

When he opens it, he’s still in his sleep clothes. “Did I wake you?” You ask, voice and face void of any emotion.

“Kinda,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”

“I just came to say that I know you’re cheating on me,” you start. His eyes widen in quick panic, and he’s about to respond when you put your hand up to stop him as you shake your head. “I just want to tell you that we’re even. And it’s over.”

“You cheated on me?” Seojun repeats, indignation in his voice. “You fucking whore!”

“Yeah, save it, Seojun,” You scoff, shaking your head. “I already know about Aecha so you have no room to take a moral fucking high ground. Just nod and say okay and shut the door with what little dignity you have still intact.”

“Y/n?” A voice echoes from behind Seojun. His mother walks up behind him, a cup in her hand. Her eyebrows are furrowed. “Did you just say you cheated on my son? Do your parents know what you did?”

“I also said he cheated, too, so,” you shrug. Her mouth drops open, her face scrunching up in anger. It looks as if she’s about to scream at you before you continue, “I’ll leave your stuff with Aecha.”

You don’t let either of them speak as you turn around and walk down the stairs and out onto the street. You pull out your phone, about to call Chan and let him know you’re on your way back when Felix’s contact name pops up on your screen. You slide to answer, placing the phone against your ear. “I know what you’re gonna say, but I just broke up with Seojun and I’m–”

“You need to get to the hospital right now, y’n,” Felix cuts you off, his voice shaking. “Chan had an accident, and he might not make it.”

Your phone falls from your hand.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

God’s of all origins gather around in the chambers to witness Cato’s execution. Everyone is whispering anxiously amongst one another. One deity stands silent, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at where Cato is chained intently. His heart is heavy, having to watch his dearest friend kill himself in the worst way possible.

“Have you spoken to him yet, Apollo?” Artemis asks as she walks up behind him. “I’m sure he would love to see you one more time.”

“What am I to even say?” Apollo asks. “Nothing I say will change his mind, you know how stubborn he is, that bastard.”

“It still must hurt,” Artemis responds. “You’ve been in love with him since the day he was created. I know it must kill you to see the torture he’s gone through.”

“There is nothing I can do about it,” Apollo shakes his head. “I love him, but it hurts more to see him be thrown back to earth again and again. It’s better this way.”

“He will live on in your heart,” his sister assures, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But you don’t have to put yourself through the torture of seeing this.”

“After a millennia of divine punishment, Cato, god of calamity, has decided to take his life,” God’s booming voice echoes through the chamber, silencing everyone in an instant. “He will join Icarus in the deep sea below.”

Hushed whispers resound once again through the chambers, all of them having remembered watching the man’s wax wings melt from the flaming star and plummeting to his death in the never ending, and unforgiving seas. 

Cato does not look up at anyone, not even to God himself. He does not speak, nor does he try to beg for forgiveness. He’s tired. He’s so tired. 

God stands next to him, a hand on his shoulder as two angels unlock the shackles from his wrists and ankles. “Chan will wake up once you have hit the seas. You have my word.” Cato only nods in response.

And as he launches himself towards the sun, the burning heat of it burning at his skin and singing his feathered wings, he wails. He wails and screams, mourning his love for Eve and the time he’s spent being tortured with her almost in his grasp. Truly, he thinks death is better than being without her. The sun dries his tears, and it brings him a dark sense of comfort. And when his wings are all but ash, and he’s falling into awaiting waters, he smiles.

Apollo cries quietly as the god’s body is swallowed by the dark blue seas.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀──────

Chan wakes up in a hospital room.

© lvandrmoon — all rights reserved. no reposting

---

i was not expecting a voice clip at all, but holy shit. man was in for an amazing ride lmao. but also, i feel like as much as i kinda relate with chris in this one(for things i will keep private) i genuinely hope with future chapters he finds his place to stand up to his wife more. his wife seems extremely cunty and not in the affectionate way.

DON'T LET ME LOVE YOU | Chapter 1

«SERIES MASTERLIST»

«We shouldn’t. We really shouldn’t.»

SEDUCTION 📜9.9k | Aprrox. 41-min. read 🚨Refer to series masterlist for general themes & warnings of this story: Referenced past traumatic experiences (broken home, domestic abuse, implied murder, runaway situation), various criminal acts, depictions of a dysfunctional marriage, heavy sexual frustration, sexting, mention of sex toys/teledildonics ("Connected" is a fictional app where partners control each other's sex toys), (mutual) masturbation, handjob, blowjob, risk of getting caught. 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

This chapter features NSFW audio purely for the sake of an immersive story experience. Should you choose to listen to it, please proceed at your own risk.

Penguins are monogamous creatures.

The male penguin brings the best, smoothest pebble he can find and offers it to the female. If the female accepts it, they mate for life. Keep one mate away from the other and they will get sick. They will even stop grooming themselves because what’s the fucking point when their literal other half is not around to appreciate them?

The logistics are exactly the same for humans. You offer a shiny stone to your partner with the promise of mating for life. If they accept it, that should be your happily ever after because that’s how every fairy tale ends. Little do those scam stories tell you that shit goes down after you say “I do”.

What is marriage at the end of the day anyway? It’s an insurance policy you never hope to use. It’s a gamble where you go all in that the other person won’t break your heart.

Penguins don’t coerce their partners into mating. It’s an instinctive thing for them. They are unaware of the concept of blackmail.

The only thing some humans have in common with penguins is the tuxedos they wear on their wedding day. Some humans, mind you. They are selfish. They are mean. They are lying, scheming, ugly creatures, and they will do anything to get what they want. Good luck trying to stand in their way and not getting razed to the ground.

Christopher Bang was also married. Beautiful couple, beautiful house, living large on the seven figures he made annually. Pure envy fuel.

If he said out loud that he was thinking about cheating on his wife every second of every day, he would either get shunned to the final circle of hell or get publicly lynched Game of Thrones style because what the literal fuck could someone possibly want more from life? You wanna get your dick wet outside of the holy institution of marriage? Get a fucking divorce!

If only people shut the fuck up for once and provided their unsolicited opinions after knowing the truth.

Because it was nothing but ugly.

Thistles had such a bad rep.

Not only were they categorized as invasive plants, but they were also viciously thorny. Nobody ever cared about how beautiful the bright violet flower was, but for some reason, roses didn’t get the same treatment.

That was exactly why you adored the thistles growing in the backyard of your childhood home. They provided a safe haven for you like a pillow fort made of spikes every time you ran from the yelling and screams of pain echoing in some room of the house. Nobody ever cared to look for you among the vicious thorns.

Nobody ever cared for you.

It was six weeks before your seventeenth birthday that your mother couldn’t endure it anymore. It was six days after her funeral that you left everything behind and disappeared into the night with a piece of thistle stuffed in your pocket. The prospect of getting stranded on the side of some highway was much better than going through the system now that your excuse of a father was behind bars.

Nobody ever cared for you, and no one was going to. You would rather die than rely on someone other than your own shoulders. 

You did try the honest ways at first; just trying to make a humble but decent living to get by, abiding by the rules, and being conscientious. The more you tried to do the right thing, the more people thought you were this poor little naive thing that had nobody, ripe to be taken advantage of.

You would rather die than let someone use you in any capacity.

Yes, all was fair in love and war, but nobody ever talked about how it was also the case in survival. It started as a simple coping mechanism to keep people at bay, just a thin sheet of metal between you and the rest of the world. With all the trials life threw at you, with all the fuckers you had to deal with, it morphed into heavy body armor made of spikes that would put the most reputable knights to shame.

Those who touch it, prick themselves.

Nobody was born a badass. You had to become one.

You were spending your life completely unaware of the concept of taking roots, going wherever the wind took you, frequently changing identities, dancing and scamming for a living, which eventually led you to become a part of The Club, the only woman-led gang that put themselves on the map with branches all over the country. They were the closest thing you had to a family.

You didn’t even know what family was supposed to be like prior to meeting them.

You weren’t ashamed of anything you had done—on the contrary, you were proud of staying afloat on your own and living your life on your own terms. If it came to that, you would do it all over again. 

Nevertheless, human beings had limits, and it was getting more apparent to you as you were getting older.

You agreed to marry some hedge fund guy who was deliriously in love with you for his money. He had promised to take care of you. You didn’t have to do any of this anymore and just enjoy the good things in life like the princess he took you for.

Rule #1: If it sounds too good to be true, it most likely is.

You were so exhausted from being on constant survival mode that you had forgotten all about it.

If taking care of you meant you were supposed to be this window exhibit for him to admire any time he wanted, keeping you away from all human contact, and experiencing acute rage when a male mosquito was passing by then fuck all of this very disrespectfully.

You had grown up adoring thistles. Obviously, you weren’t just going to walk away without a bang. You sought the assistance of The Club’s lawyer then. An absolute expert in shady shit. Lee Minho.

Your last ‘number’ featuring Minho involved framing your dear dear husband for embezzlement to get rid of him, which granted you an automatic divorce and enough money to start a new life. Away from all of this shit. From all the lying and scheming and running away. Just enjoying the good things in life by your fucking self.

And at long last, you saw the sign at the borders of the town.

Welcome to Sunderland!

You didn’t know it back then, but this big-ass cursive sign should have come with a tagline attached to it.

...where suburban dreams are made and all people do is live fake-ass lives.

“Thanks! I’ll take it from here.”

You saw the moving people off, and stood right in the middle of your spacious living room, just looking around your new ‘home’. You thought the warm and fuzzy feeling that you heard about so much would start creeping in already, but… You had no clue what warm and fuzzy was. 

While you were opening a bunch of boxes in search of coziness, your doorbell rang, and on the other side stood someone that looked like they belonged to the cast of Bling Empire.

“Hi, welcome to the neighborhood! My name is Casey.”

A woman in a white sundress with floral patterns. Slightly taller than you, glowing skin, shampoo commercial-looking-ass coiffed long hair, and Instagram model measurements that you knew were obtained after several operations. You ran her through the bullshit filter you had acquired courtesy of meeting way too many people in your lifetime, and your initial results? 

Fake bitch with the potential to be even more annoying.

“Y/N. Pleasure to meet you,” you smiled at her as she handed you what looked like homemade banana bread.

“I live right over there,” she pointed at the house across yours, “Is your husband around? I’d love to welcome him as well!”

Good god, why is she talking in a pitch that disturbs cats?

“Oh, I’m not married,” you kept your composure at the thinly veiled insinuation.

“Aww, it’s okay,” she pouted and placed her hand on your shoulder, “You never know when your soulmate will come knocking on the door. He’s right around the corner, I can feel it!”

There ain’t no way this woman wasn’t hopped up on Adderall or some shit. Who the fuck squeezed eighty five different prejudices about someone in a span of thirty seconds?

What a fucking cunt.

“If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to come knock on our door. My husband and I will be more than happy to help you,” her eyes disappeared behind her smile, “I’ll let you get back to unpacking. Welcome again!”

You thanked Casey and closed the door behind you, your ears still ringing from the extraordinarily high decibel she spoke in.

Your doorbell didn’t stop ringing that entire day, and different couples composed of good-looking people kept appearing at your doorstep as if they were auditioning for a real estate commercial, but it didn’t feel like a welcome parade at all. It was more like somebody told someone that there was this denim-short-wearing single person moving into the neighborhood, and the word somehow traveled at lightspeed. From the way those pretty ladies were intensely judging you while smiling at your face, it was so obvious they were just there to declare their assets and show you what you should not touch at all costs. Meanwhile, the aforementioned assets looked at you once and then turned around to look at you again, enraging their partners beyond control on their way back home.

You most certainly did not belong with these modern-day Stepford wives, and needless to say, it was gonna be so much fun to piss them off.

Since you kept being interrupted, you said fuck it to unpacking. In between the doorstep speed dating with your new neighbors, you hung out on your balcony instead, smiling and waving at the passersby. With a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other, you looked like you were badly photoshopped into that backdrop—all that was missing was a scarlet A stitched to your chest. 

When the goddamn doorbell rang again for the jillionth time that day, you were pretty buzzed and annoyed out of your mind thanks to the unsolicited auditions. Did no one give a shit whether you were available or not?

Fine, we get it, y’all have a commemorative organic cock in your house and I have my fucking dildos. What do you WANT from me?!

“Hi, yes, I’m new here,” you clenched your teeth with a forced smile and snatched the plate from the visitor’s hand, “and I have negative interest in your husband. Thank you for the cookies.” 

“Wow, you’re a bit of a bitch, aren’t you?”

It was… surprising to say the least. You were so conditioned to the saccharine cookie commercial niceness of the Stepford wives that the bluntness hit you like a cool refreshing breeze. Your attitude towards this woman immediately changed because she reminded you so much of your friends from The Club.

“I like you, badass lady,” you extended your hand to her, “I’m Y/N. You daydrink?”

“Nathalie,” she accepted your olive branch with squinted eyes, “Whoever says no to sauvignon blanc in the afternoon cannot be trusted.”

“And now we have to be best friends. Please come in.”

That afternoon, you made your first friend and bonded with her over your mutual annoyance with these fake as hell people. For a second there, you thought you were maybe just being paranoid, but when Nathalie confirmed your observations, you were unequivocally convinced that these people were straight up judgmental assholes.

With the wine-induced comfort she found with you, Nathalie told you all about being as shunned as you the day she moved here because she was ‘new money’—after an extremely lucky weekend in Vegas, she and her husband Jisung had decided to move here in hopes of living a happy life. The Stepford wives were seemingly very cordial with her, but their attitude was nowhere north of ‘you can’t sit with us’. It was like they were doing everything in their power to remind her that she did not belong with them. 

You, on the other hand, immediately liked this woman because honestly, she was the only real one among them. You were pretty sure her husband was as likable as her.

“Okay, I was mad when you first came, but seriously thank you for the cookies. Come by anytime you want, okay? I live alone.”

You exchanged phone numbers with Nathalie and saw her off. As you were opening a new bottle of wine on your balcony, thinking it was going to take a lot of self-brainwashing to get used to this town and its Trumanesque people, you noticed some movement in your peripheral vision.

The garage door to Casey’s house was open, and there was a man inside, literally the only person who did not drop by your place the entire day. He was naked from the waist up and he was punching the sandbag in front of him so hard that you wondered whether he had a personal vendetta against it.

You didn’t make much of it at first. Who the fuck were you to judge when you had that eye candy for a street view anyway?

The next evening you watched him shoot hoops very aggressively for almost two hours all by himself. The day after he did maybe sixty laps in his pool. It was quite obvious he was an active guy, but he seemed to be doing that excessively as if he was trying to compensate for anger management issues or something. He always seemed to be quite irritated, never once smiling.

Besides the fact that he was the only person inducing something akin to butterflies in your stomach even from that afar, there was nothing to worry about.

That Friday, you invited Nathalie for brunch, which was a complete excuse for socially acceptable daydrinking. After you downed three glasses of Bellini each, the topic of conversation shifted to a spicier realm, which happened to be among the things you were a bit too knowledgeable about.

According to what she told you, Nathalie and Jisung both seemed a bit clueless when it came to exploring pleasure. She quite clearly wanted more, and her husband was eager to please, but they were stuck in the vanilla rut of most marriages. 

“Well, have you tried openly communicating with him about this?” you asked while adding ice to her flute.

“I don’t know how. Don’t get me wrong, I love Jisung, but…” she trailed off and heaved a deep sigh, somewhat afraid you were going to judge her, “Sometimes a girl just wants her man to… hit that, you know what I mean?”

“Preach, good woman,” you raised your glass for a toast, “Want me to teach you a couple of tricks?”

“Like what?”

“Y’all have a sex shop around here?”

“A what?”

You looked at Nathalie with wide eyes as if she had told you the earth was flat.

“You’re kidding me,” you raised your voice but immediately backed down and grabbed your phone, “No judgment! The internet will save us all. So what are some things you are into?”

As you were going through some of your favorite products on your phone, you heard the loud sound of an engine, and a car pulled up in Casey’s driveway. You watched the hot workout guy get off the car and head straight into the garage instead of inside the house.

“Hey, Nat, who’s this?”

“Girl, don’t even!” Nathalie immediately protested, “His wife would tear you to shreds.”

“What did I do?!”

“You breathed. You’re the only single in this entire neighborhood and a hot piece of ass. Your chances of survival are very slim.”

Shortly after, he emerged by his pool in his red swimming shorts and immediately jumped into the water to do laps. Your lips parted at the sight, and you spoke without even thinking.

“God, he gives me a massive lady boner.”

“BITCH!”

“What? I can’t control who’s turning me on, can I?” you stretched your hands to the side, “Seriously, who is it?”

Nathalie let out a defeated sigh, “That’s Chris. Or as Casey keeps correcting people, Dr. Bang.”

Dr. Bang me all night long, indeed.

“Casey… Casey… Cas—  He’s married to Malibu Barbie?!”

Nathalie looked at you with raised brows and bust out a loud cackle, “That’s the most accurate description of her if I ever heard one.”

“So he’s a doctor,” you nudged her for more information.

“Yeah, he has his own practice,” she continued, “He’s been to second base with all the ladies of Sunderland at one point.”

“You too?”

“Of course.”

“Damn, the dude’s a player, huh?” you turned to his direction again.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous! He’s a cosmetic surgeon,” Nathalie immediately corrected you, “There’s not a pair of tits in this town that hasn’t seen his magnificent treatment.”

“Oh…” your eyes inadvertently shifted to her chest, “I mean your tits are indeed awesome.”

“I know right?” she grabbed her breasts and mischievously smiled, “Granted, most people use breast implants as an excuse to ethically spend time with him.”

“Why? Does he grant wishes or whatever?”

“It’s the way he talks, sweetie,” she munched on her croissant, “The guy’s Australian.”

Oh, GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK! 

“Hot doctor dude with a hotter accent and he’s taken?” you whined a bit too loudly, “Well, fuck my life indeed.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she swallowed her bite and gave you a pat on your back, “You can always consider breast implants, though.”

“I’m good, Nat, thank you.”

A doctor. Ridiculously good-looking. Seemed well-off. Of course every job came with a certain amount of stress, but why did he throw himself into physical activity the second he arrived home?

“Every time I see him he’s working out, though,” you spoke, your eyes still on Chris.

“And? Sue the guy for wanting to keep fit.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted, “He’s overdoing it a little bit. Like he’s angry or some stuff. Why is that?”

“So what if he likes working out?”

“Nat…”

When you stood firm with your observation, Nathalie heaved a sigh and scooted closer to you.

“Between you and me, Casey loves flaunting him around, but I don’t think their marriage is what she makes it out to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve seen Little Miss Perfect, right? She acts like she’s living in a reality show,” then she continued with even a lower voice, “But rumor has it they don’t even have sex.”

What an interesting piece of information, indeed!

“And… he’s okay with it?”

“I doubt it.”

“So, what is it? Is he like— seeking the company of other people?”

“As if! Everyone’s dead scared of Casey.”

Well, you weren’t.

The more you kept watching him, the more Chris reminded you of the surfers you knew from your time at Kirra Point.

Sunkissed friendly guys who would get you soaked just with their filthy mouths.

Well-behaved guys who were into kinky shit behind closed doors.

Considerate guys who would mark their girls in their beds.

Laid-back guys who fucking lost their shit when someone else touched what was theirs.

You wondered if Chris was one of them.

From that day on, you stopped fighting the urge that had been bubbling inside you. Not only was Chris fucking gorgeous, but his vibe was way more distinctive than his cigar-smoking, scotch-drinking, golf-playing counterparts. You hadn’t even talked to him once, but he had already colonized every single corner of your mind. He was the only thing you could think about every time you touched yourself.

“Just what the fuck are you doing being the Ken to that Malibu Barbie?” you uttered out loud in your bed one night, “A man like you belongs with me.”

“Fuck!”

You were supposed to head to the city center that day to run some errands, and of course that would be the day you had a flat tire. Right when you walked back to your driveway to search for some auto shop nearby, you noticed your neighbor’s garage door was very much open.

Maybe every cloud indeed had a silver lining after all. 

“Nice ride,” you pointed at the Maserati as you walked into the garage, “I’m assuming you also have a car jack?”

“A car jack?” Chris spoke with his back still turned to you.

“I have a flat tire. I haven’t been able to get all my garage stuff yet.”

When he turned around, you established your first eye contact with him. His gaze on you shouldn’t have affected you so maybe, but you felt shocked from head to toe although you didn’t let it show.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he launched a pair of dimples and extended his hand to you, “I’m Chris.”

“Y/N. I just moved across the street,” you pointed to your house.

“Nice to meet ya. I’ll go get the jack.”

Nothing too extraordinary. His sandbag you were a bit too familiar with hung to the ceiling, some boxes he stored in his garage, a bunch of tools lying here and there… It didn’t tell much about who he really was.

“What brings you to Sunderland?” Chris came back momentarily without being able to find the jack, “This is not really a place to move to unless you have to be here.”

“Very long story. I’ll tell you sometime,” you smiled and leaned against the wooden desk, “What do you do?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Specialty?”

“Cosmetic surgeon.”

“Oh, goodie, are you doing give-a-shitometer implants because I need one to survive here.”

Chris involuntarily burst into laughter at your words. It had been a while since he genuinely laughed at something.

And the sound of his voice gave you an extreme case of butterfly invasion.

“Unfortunately, can relate.” 

He was still looking around to look for your request, and you decided to fill in the silence with some more small talk.

“Got any kids?”

“No. Happily married without children.”

There was something in his voice that you were a bit too familiar with. It was the exact tone you used when you were trying to pass something as trivial. You cocked a brow and snorted.

“Wow, do they not teach you about the dark arts of lying in med school?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, I don’t know you from Adam. You might be a great doctor, but you’re a horrible liar, man,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “You don’t have to take me up on the offer, but I’ll just put it out there that I’m around if you ever need someone to talk to.” 

Chris had found the jack by then so you walked over to him to grab it from his hands.

“Or other things if you ever need it,” you winked at him and reassuringly smiled, which caused him to get flustered for some reason.

“Ot–other things?”

“You know, information,” you shrugged, “Not only am I very perceptive, but I’m also great at research.” 

“Yeah? Anything interesting you’ve perceived so far?”

His tone changed to something much more playful. If you didn’t know any better, you would be inclined to say that he was… flirting with you.

“For starters, I know sexual frustration when I see it,” you brazenly grinned, “That’s why you box a lot, isn’t it?

His expression immediately transformed into shock, which was how you knew you hit the nail on the head. 

“And I’m very discreet. I can keep your secrets too if you want,” you nonchalantly uttered, “It’s been a while since you had some back-arching, toe-curling sex, hasn’t it?” 

Chris was completely stunned, having less than zero clue as to how to respond to that. He didn’t deny it, nor did he tell you to mind your own business for that matter. With the courage you derived from that, you continued.

“What is it? Vanilla lady just lays there and you do all the work?”

No, that wasn’t it. His eyes darted to the floor and you could see his ears getting concerningly red.

“Or is it because you’re too much of a deviant?” you carried on with a smaller voice, “I know for a fact that not everyone can handle that shit.”

He was drawing a total blank. It shouldn’t have been hard to refute, but he clearly enjoyed your blatant flirting considering the smile he was trying to hide with a discreet bite of his lips. Unfortunately for him, you noticed that, too.

“I uh– I don’t– I’m–”

“Sweetheart, are you—? Oh. Hello.”

“What’s up, Barbie?” you greeted the owner of the voice with a salute of two fingers on your forehead, completely unfazed by her presence.

“Casey. We met the other day,” she spoke with a forced smile, “Did you need something?”

“Yup. This bad boy,” you held the car jack.

One needed to be next-level dumb not to notice Casey was looking at you with absolute malice. Chris might have learned how to block the fuck out of it considering how unresponsive he was, but you knew that look. You had seen it many times before directly targeted at you.

“It’s good that I ran into you,” Casey walked over to Chris and linked her arm with his, “We’re hosting our annual fall dinner at the end of the month. You should definitely come!”

Good fucking grief, who knew what the fuck kind of ulterior motive this woman had. Then again, one thing she did not yet know about you was how much of a thick skin you had, and this could be your ultimate chance to put this woman in her place. 

“Sure,” you shrugged and readily accepted her invitation, “Can I bring a friend?”

“Of course! Feel free to bring a date.”

“As much as I’m not married, I also don’t have a partner.”

“I can arrange someone for you!”

“Casey,” Chris warned looking to his left.

Goddamn, Barbie. Way to be subtle about your neurotic tendencies.

“Nor am I looking for one,” you reflected her fake smile back at her, “I meant Nathalie and her husband from two doors down.”

“Oh,” Casey stole a look from Chris and smiled again, “Why not? The more the merrier.”

“Then it’s a date,” you chirped, “Thanks for the jack, Chris.”

“Oh, actually,” Casey corrected you, “It’s Dr. Bang.”

“Ah, of course,” you exaggeratedly reverenced all the way to the floor, “Please accept my eternal gratitude for the car-lifter his almighty excellency, Dr. Bang. I am but a humble servant to your whims whenever you wish, your grace.”

Chris laughed so loudly at your antics that it seemed to have made his wife much angrier.

“And I mean it,” you winked at him teasingly and walked away.

One thing you learned that day for sure was that Casey did not like you.

It wasn’t really discernible. You were reading a book on the swing on your balcony when you heard some yelling in the distance, followed by Chris loudly slamming his front door close and driving off into the night. 

If this is not the proof that suburbia dreams are a scam, I swear to fucking god…

After some time, the night air became a lot chillier, and you decided to walk inside, which was when you heard a knock on your door. Nobody had ever knocked on your door besides Nathalie, much less during nighttime.

“Chris?” you wrapped yourself in your shawl while opening the door, “What are you doing here?”

“Does your offer still stand?” he looked at you with a mixture of desperation and annoyance, “I just need someone to talk to.”

“What’s your poison?” you stepped aside for him to come in, “Scotch? Wine?”

“Gin.”

“The best I can do is vodka.”

“Fucking deal.”

You grabbed two glasses from your cabinet and momentarily returned to your living room couch.

“If you don’t mind me asking, don’t you have any friends?” you started pouring the drinks, “Like male ones your wife won’t flip out about.”

“They are worse than the women populating this neighborhood. You say one thing and it travels all the way to the city council by the next morning,” Chris grabbed the glass and downed the content in one go, “Nothing they already don’t know about anyway.”

“So I’m getting the executive summary on your household drama,” you attempted some lighthearted humor to ease his apparent tension, “Good to know.”

He let out a faint chuckle, and while you were expecting him to start talking, only silence followed.

“I actually don’t even know why I came here.”

“Because you needed a friend,” you gently touched his shoulder, “You can vent as much as you want. I meant it when I said I’m very discreet.”

And boy did he go off. 

Why the fuck did people always have to do everything together, huh? Maybe sometimes he fucking needed his space. Come to think of it, Chris needed his space all the time. Couldn’t people just get the fucking hint? If someone was not spending time with you, it meant they fucking wanted to be away from you, and he was sick of locking himself in his clinic. He wanted his goddamn work and personal spaces to be separate; was that too much to ask? It wasn’t like there were any places he could go to in this godforsaken town anyway. If he could, he would, and he would only come home to sleep. He was seriously considering investing in a shooting range in this town because otherwise he was going to fucking kill someone.

Chris was completely breathless by the end of his monologue while you were looking at him with a calm expression.

“Feeling better?”

“Loads,” he answered, having massively calmed down by then.

You didn’t ask any questions. It didn’t look like Chris could answer many of them in that headspace anyway. You just lent your listening ear to him and kept refilling his glass until he was all vented out. After about an hour later, he noticed what time it was.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry. I should go,” Chris got up from the couch, “Thank you so much for listening to me.”

“Anytime.”

You walked him to the front door to see him off, thinking about how to properly do it. A handshake after a heart-to-heart talk was going to be too formal. A kiss on the cheek might have been too familiar. A hug. A hug was the way to go. It was friendly, but not too intimate. Everybody hugged, after all, right? It didn’t have to mean anything else. You opened your arms to offer him an embrace and he reciprocated. That was it. Everything was going fine. Zero damage.

Until he decided to fucking linger and steal a whiff of your scent from your neck.

You were dead scared to face him and look into his eyes. His big, sad eyes that seemed to harbor some inexplicable restlessness. You wanted to kiss him. Just once. Feel his perfectly plush lips between yours. You just knew he was a good kisser. He would get you so wet just with that moist pair of flesh alone. You could make him cum just by kissing his face off if he let you. 

You didn’t even realize how you were pulling at each other like magnets. The distance between you was almost completely closed when he suddenly stopped himself.

“Do you uh– Do you mind exchanging numbers?”

“Right!” you immediately backed away like somebody pinched you, “Of course.”

He handed you his phone for you to type in your digits, and you called yourself to save his number. After that, there was nothing else left for him to do but leave.

“I um– Yeah, good night.”

“Good night, Chris.”

Once you closed the door behind him, you dashed to your window and watched him walk towards his home with his hands in his pockets. To pretend everything was fine and that he didn’t have a shred of worry in this world. As if he wasn’t trapped within the tight walls of the holy institution of marriage. Who did they think they were kidding? Was this entire town experiencing a collective case of blindness, or did everybody just go along with it? If they did, just fucking why?

That Malibu Barbie-tch was never going to leave him alone. Except maybe for a casual greeting on the street, or making up excuses to borrow stuff from each other, there was no way for you to see him again unless he came to see you.

You really wanted him to come and see you. Just once more. To shelter him from whatever it was that was making him so unhappy.

Until then—if that was ever going to happen, that is—all you were able to do was text one another. About whatever. The basketball game last night, some documentary, ‘You’ll never guess who walked into my clinic today’, which happened to be the mayor’s wife coming in for a butt lift. Stuff that one would assume you would be able to talk to your spouse with. But he was talking about them with you instead. Days were passing by and nothing was happening. 

Except something was happening to you, and you fucking hated that feeling.

It was another lonely night. While watching some rom-com to diss the couples you saw on the screen out loud, you had seen the bottom of a pretty decent rosé bottle already, and you were contemplating whether you should open a second one. You might have been watching a movie to keep the front end of your brain occupied, but you were thinking about Chris again in the background. You were thinking about him a lot.

With all the courage granted to you by the dumb decision juice, you grabbed your phone and opened his message tab.

You Wyd? Chris Can’t sleep. Netflixing. What u doing up so late? You Alcohol intake [Typing…] You alone? Chris Yeah You Where is she? Chris On a plane coming home unfortunately [Typing…]

He stopped typing. You had seen Malibu Barbie just that morning jogging like a reality star followed by cameras, which meant she was out of town for less than twenty-four hours, but more importantly, Chris said she was ‘unfortunately’ coming home.

Huh.

You I can see you typing Finish that sentence Chris [Typing…] Been thinking about you

Goddammit, Aussie dude!!!

Being a cool-ass woman was a matter of pride for you, so you thanked everything fucked up and twisted that there was nobody around to see how much that stupid text made you giggle.

You May have been thinking about you too Chris What are you thinking about? You What are you thinking about? Chris I asked you first

He wanted to know what you were thinking about? Fine. You took off your bottoms in one go, sat down in front of your full-length mirror, spread your legs apart, and took several pictures. After deciding on the one that showcased the gloss on your folds the best, you hit send.

You [IMG_301.jpg] Your mouth right here Chris [Typing…] Are you trying to drive me fucking insane????? You Maybe :) [Typing…]

Was that too much? That had got to be too much. Then again Chris didn’t outright tell you what the fuck you were doing, and one could argue that he gave you a rather satisfactory reaction instead. Maybe he was as drunk as you. Maybe he was also thinking about it. If shit hit the fan, you could always blame it on the alcohol, apologize, and call it a day.

But not without shooting your shot first.

Chris You’re doing it this time Finish that sentence You [Typing…] Can I send you an invite? Chris For? You Some fun [Link] “Vibe with neonredlights on Connected.” Download this app Chris [Typing…] You’re underestimating me [Link] “CB69 is inviting you for a Connected session.” You really shouldn’t

Yeah, apparently you absolutely shouldn’t have, but how in the genuine fuck did Chris know about Connected in the first place? You had never seen a guy owning a remote-controlled vibrator for himself before, and you would bet good money no one in the vanillaest town ever that was Sunderland knew how to spell sex toys. Unless you were playing solo, the app required knowing another person’s username to directly connect to them within a 200-feet radius, and that was all the evidence you needed to conclude that Chris’ frustration levels were through the fucking roof.

So the rumors were true. So that was why he was obsessed with excessively working out every single day.

They weren’t having sex.

You 🧍‍♂️ You own a fucking stroker???? Chris :) [Typing…] I can see you Why don’t u come closer to your bedroom window? You [Typing…] Can I hear you too? Chris [Typing…] What’s the point of letting me play with you if I can’t hear your voice? In that case... Your partner CB69 wants to start a video session.

The excitement was too much to handle all of a sudden. Not only were you going to see him in all his fucking glory, you were also about to make each other feel good. So good that you were sure it was going to be beyond either of your wildest dreams.

But the call screen disappeared before you could take it, and a text followed instead.

Chris Fucking… There’s someone at the door To be continued? Please?

You let out a heavily frustrated sigh as this was the worst case of blue balls you had ever experienced. When you stole a quick glance from his gate, you saw that it was Casey waiting for the door to be opened. You cursed a mouthful and responded.

You You bet

It might not have gone as you pictured it, but that night you still came to the thought of Chris playing with you however the fuck he pleased.

“I did something bad.”

You weren’t looking for Nathalie to condone what you did. You just wanted to get it out of your chest because you weren’t exactly sure you were allowed past the threshold of a church. 

“What did you do?”

“You mean who did I do…”

She tilted her head, indicative of the fact that she knew where this was about to go, and let out somewhat of a scared whine.

“Oh, god, not Chris!”

“Well, technically I didn’t do him,” you darted your eyes to your glass and continued with a smaller voice and at a faster pace, “We sorta sexted the other night.”

“You WHAT?!”

“Look, I’ll listen to your scolding in a second, but he also came by my place some time ago,” when her eyes widened even more you immediately continued, “Nothing happened, I swear. We just talked.”

“And?”

“The man’s in horrible shape, Nat. He seems so unhappy.”

“That’s literally none of your concern.”

You were getting a bit frustrated at the whole let the sleeping Caseys lie attitude of this entire fucking neighborhood. Just what the fuck did this woman have as leverage to scare everyone not to even have a genuine conversation with Chris? Or did she even have anything for that matter? What if it was all a big fat bluff, and nobody was fucking calling it?

“Looks like it ain’t anybody’s concern, either. Aren’t you guys friends with this man?”

Shame. You recognized that expression wherever you saw it.

“I’ll talk to Jisung to make some time for him. Just don’t get yourself in trouble until we know more, okay?”

Well, you could at least try. 

That afternoon, you went to the city center for some shopping and you ended up making a day for yourself, just checking out shops, walking at the park, and having dinner somewhere by yourself. By the time you got home, it was already dark and you were dead tired.

As you were in your room getting changed, you caught a glimpse of the illuminated pool of your neighbor. You recalled the memories of how he frantically swam in it like he was trying to soothe some burn. The way he slicked his wet hair back when he got out, drops of water trickling down his perfectly sculpted body, his bulging arms, his large hands, his thick thighs…

Oh, god.

You felt yourself getting wet at the mere thought of him again. You were never not getting turned on by this guy lately. If only there was a way to manifest him in your room every time you felt that way because—

Chris Hey

Well, that was quick.

Hey. A simple opener. A casual greeting. Literally no meaning behind it.

Yet it immediately fried your brain.

Chris [Typing…] You awake? You I am Chris You looked so pretty today :) You Thank you :) Where did you see me? Chris Passing by my clinic You Oh your clinic is around the square? Chris Yup I’m still there actually You What are you doing there all by yourself at this hour? Chris Currently? [Typing…] Thinking about you I can’t concentrate

A sudden rush of excitement immediately started coursing through your body. It wasn’t an assumption; he was as aroused as you were. You were looking for a quip to hit him back with, but Chris took your one chance of snark away from you.

Chris I want to touch you so bad

There was no other way around it but to just dive into the water headfirst.

You Just touch? Chris [Typing…] Among a lot of things I want to show you how good I can make you feel

Fuuuck this guy entirely!

Your breath hitched in your throat. You climbed on your bed and started replaying all the fantasies you had about him from the top.

You You ever been to the Ritz in Mayweather? Chris For conference only You Their suites are to die for Wanna go sometime? Chris [Typing…]

Waiting for that reply was fucking torture, but you were completely entranced, just looking at your screen with your lips parted as if you were having this conversation with him face to face. Was his heart beating as fast as yours? Was he also imagining all the things he would do to you? Was he thinking about you as often as you were thinking about him? Was he cumming to the thought of you at all?

Chris It would be fucking amazing Just the two of us Spending the entire 24 hours in a room Fucking I wanna drive you insane

In all honesty, who would drive whom insane was up for debate, but it was nice to hear that he was up for the challenge. You couldn’t help biting into your smile.

You I would dress up for you you know Chris You would? [Typing…] What would you wear? You I have a respectable collection of black lace You like bralettes? Chris LOVE them Show me You Not so easy Show me what I’m doing to you first Chris [IMG302.jpeg]

You literally felt your sanity evaporate when you saw how flushed and hard he was. Just how the fuck was he this… fucking… gorgeous?!?!

You FUCK [Typing…] I’m salivating all of a sudden Chris Your turn

You jumped from your bed to change into one of your favorite lingerie combinations. Then you laid on your bed face down with your feet up, snapped a picture in the mirror, and sent it to him.

Chris I hope you’re not attached to those I so wanna rip them off you [Typing…] Talk to me baby

You wondered what it would actually feel like if he said that to you while looking right into your eyes. When he was hovering over your body. When he was touching you. Kissing you. Filling you up over and over again just to fuck his cum deeper into you. 

Talk to me, baby. 

Give it to me, baby. 

I’m yours, baby.

Unbeknownst to yourself, you started stroking yourself over your underwear.

You I want to know what you taste like I want to know what I taste like on your lips But even better I want you to know what you taste like spilling out of me

Chris was definitely playing everything through in his head on the other end of the line. Every time you were waiting for his reply, it felt like some undiscovered part of you was getting filled with excessive amounts of anticipation, and the second you received that text, it morphed into elation and released as complete zeal all over your body.

Chris Fucking Keep going Please [Typing…] I’m so fucking close

Out of complete instinct, you took your top off and sent him a picture of your breasts with your nipples visibly hardened.

You [IMG303.jpeg] I wanna feel you cum on these Chris [Typing…]

He stopped typing. All of a sudden, that little indicator turned into something so unexpected that it immediately skyrocketed your blood pressure, causing your heart to thump in your ears.

Chris [Recording audio…]

He was fucking recording. You weren’t able to mentally prepare yourself for what he was about to send you. It could be fifteen different things. Maybe a song playing in the background. Maybe a sentence. Maybe… Maybe… 

Chris Audio (1:22)

By then, you were so overwhelmed with desire that your hands were shaking when you were about to press play.

There was no way you were the same woman you once were after listening to Chris’ voice, pleasuring himself to the thought of you, moaning, panting, whining, and begging to the ghost of you for his release. The recording hadn’t even finished when you felt a sudden peak in your arousal and came untouched to the sounds of his pleasure.

Chris I’m fucking gone [Typing…] You’re amazing

You bit into your smile, experiencing this kind of an afterglow for the first time ever, and responded to him.

You Good night handsome :) [Typing…] I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner

Who knew, maybe Casey was right. Maybe your soulmate was really right around the corner in the literal sense of the word.

You appeared at your host’s doorstep with Jisung and Nathalie, clueless about what to expect from the night. Chris was the one to greet you by the door, and once he let the Hans in, he turned to you. There seemed to be sparks flying between you two, and once he caught a glimpse of the intricate front straps of your bralette under the oversized shirt you were wearing, it almost short-circuited his brain.

“You– you wore black lace.”

“I told you I would,” you winked and handed him the bottle of wine you brought.

“Welcome to our home! You absolutely shouldn’t have,” Casey snatched the bottle from Chris’ hands and gestured towards the living room, “Come in!”

Your trio seemed to be the last people to arrive although you came in at 8 PM sharp. You sat next to Nathalie while exchanging greetings with the rest of the guests, and Casey started serving dinner.

“So Y/N, we never had a chance to speak. What do you do?” she asked while bringing you a bowl of soup, “Besides seducing the entire neighborhood with those looks, I mean.”

“Casey.”

“I’m kidding, Chrissy! Learn to take a joke, christ,” she pseudo-playfully scoffed at her husband and turned to the table with an exaggerated laugh, “Doctors, am I right?”

Well, no, you’re not.

You looked at her with a faint smile, very much aware of what she was trying to do. What she was trying to make you out to be. You responded with as much composure as the docile women of the table possessed.

“I’m a freelance translator.”

“Freelance translator? Does that pay a lot of money?”

“Casey!”

“What?” she looked at Chris, seemingly not following what he was so scandalized over, “I’m just a little surprised that someone is able to pay a mortgage in Sunderland just by freelancing, that’s all.”

So that was how she played, huh? The lead cheerleader of the team, doing and saying whatever the fuck she pleased and no one else besides her husband even dared to tell her to take it down a notch no matter how uncomfortable she made them.

“When you know five languages, it’s easier than you think,” you replied with your smile getting wider, “Do you speak any languages, Casey?”

But she wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to anyone one-upping her in any capacity because god forbid if anyone ever surpassed Casey Bang by the narrowest of margins. There was a collective silent conviction that she would kill everyone in their sleep.

Nevertheless, all she was able to do is to shoot you a blank stare with her lips parted.

“I’ll bring the chicken,” Casey got up to her feet with a defeated smile while you happily munched on the roasted sweet potatoes on your plate. You could swear Chris was a part of Nathalie and Jisung’s silent entertainment bubble watching you throw snark at the prom queen.

Me: 1 — Malibu Barbie-tch: 0

Casey didn’t bother you for the rest of the evening after learning her lesson. Little did she know, these were only basic tutorial sessions and the main lectures were a long way away. As she got engrossed in a very heated debate over this year’s Met Gala looks with her entourage, you silently asked Chris.

“Where’s your restroom?”

“I’ll show you.”

You followed him to the guest bathroom on the second floor. As you were about to go in, Chris stopped you.

“I’m really sorry on her behalf,” he spoke with a genuinely apologetic voice, “She just can’t tolerate any kind of competition.”

“I’m flattered she thinks there’s competition,” you leaned into the doorframe, “but it seems like she can’t tolerate her husband, either.”

That very same caught-off-guard expression as the day in his garage. He looked like he didn’t know what to say.

“It’s– That’s–”

“Trouble in paradise, Chrissy?”

“No, everything’s fine.”

That response was such a knee-jerk reaction that it was obvious he was lying. You took one step towards him and touched his arm.

“How hard did you cum to the thought of me last night?”

He was instantly flushed at your unexpected question.

“I uh– That’s… You– you heard—”

“Not enough. I wanna know what you really sound like,” you took one more step and started talking in whispers, “Not only did I absolutely cum untouched to your voice, I soaked my goddamn mattress listening to you. You’re the sexiest fucking thing, handsome.”

You noticed how he twitched under his pants, and your mouth was watering at his hardening bulge. Your hand started moving by itself as if it had a mind on its own.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Giving you a hand.”

He shuddered at the simple brush of your fingers, and a quiet groan escaped his lips.

“Good god, how long has it been since you’ve been touched?”

“C-Casey’s downstairs.”

“Aren’t you sick and tired of being taken for granted, gorgeous?” you tilted your head and feigned the fakest innocence, “Don’t you wanna be reminded of what a magnificent man you are?”

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. You were literally taking his breath away, paralyzing him with your mere words.

“Someone’s gonna see us,” he spoke very throatily, acutely aware he was already neck-deep in trouble. Yet it wasn’t fear painting his voice.

This excited him.

“So your concern is getting caught.”

You pulled him inside the bathroom in one swift motion and closed the door behind you.

“It’s not that hard to stop me and put an end to this,” you slowly loosened the button of his jeans and halted your movements, “But you want it too, don’t you?”

You weren’t doing anything else, just standing there right in front of him with two of your hands on each side of the sink, trapping Chris in that confined space. He was a man with spectacular physical stamina, so if he wanted to get out, he could easily do so. Any time he wanted. Scold you. Chastise you. Shun you out of his house and tell you to never speak to him again.

But he didn’t.

“You want me,” you quietly spoke against his neck.

“We shouldn’t,” he gulped trying to get a hold of his sanity, but his eyes were closed, “We really shouldn’t.”

It was obvious Chris was sitting for the ultimate test of willpower, and the way he was miserably failing at it was entertaining the shit out of you.

“You hear that faint sound?” you brushed the back of your index finger against his chest and dragged it down, “It’s the rules whispering to us to ignore them.”

He smelled heavenly. Woody. Oceany. Subtlest hints of musk and spice. He smelled like the refreshing breezes of Kirra Point.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you placed the smallest kiss on his jawline, “But once I touch you, there’s no turning back.”

He couldn’t do it. He did not possess the physical or mental faculties to opt for what he knew was the logical choice. Chris was burning from head to toe, so much so that you could feel the heat waves emitting from his body washing over you. He had resisted so many things in his life up until that moment, but you… A dangerous enchantress. A fearless seductress. An irresistible temptress.

Everybody had a weak spot, and for Chris, it was you. 

“Let me take care of you,” your hand started sliding past his waistband, getting dangerously close to where he needed you the most, “I promise it’ll feel much better than your stroker.”

And once you palmed him, you could fucking swear you both felt that jolt of electricity jumping from skin to skin.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathily cursed through his teeth as his eyes rolled back. You started stroking him with a very languid rhythm.

“God, you’re so hard,” you rested your head on his shoulder, “Bet it feels incredible to sit on.”

He squeezed his eyes tight. Chris was so turned on that he was about to combust. With every flick of your wrist, his breathing escalated like he was sprinting.

“You want me to sit on you, don’t you?” you faced him again, “You’re wondering what it feels like to actually fuck me.”

That was the moment Chris gave up and completely let go.

“Touch me more,” he pulled you closer from your waist while relaxing against the sink, “Don’t– don’t stop.”

You placed his hand on your chest and let him fondle your breasts. He throbbed under your touch at the contact.

“Would you like to fuck me, handsome?” you spoke softly, “You can, you know. You can fuck your troubles away. Take all your frustration out on me.”

It had been so long. Too long since he felt a speck of lust for someone. Someone he knew in person for that matter rather than nameless strangers fucking on camera for a living. Now there you were, utterly drowning him in the depths of desire, pushing his head down underwater just to see for how long he could hold his breath.

And he was fucking loving it.

“You are so handsome, you know that right?” you filled your lungs with his scent, “You’re just so… so… so sexy.”

You calling him those names was killing him. He couldn’t open his eyes. If he did, one look at your face and he was going to violently erupt. He wanted to relish this stolen feeling for as long as he could. Melt under your touch. Feel himself get out of his own body. Of his reality. Of this burdensome life. 

With you.

“You wanna know what it feels like inside me?” you lightly chuckled, “It feels really warm. Really really wet, too.”

“Faster.”

“And so tight,” you gently squeezed him, “If I clench once, you’ll fucking finish five seconds in.”

“Fucking god, I’m– I’m gonna cum.”

You freed yourself from his grip and shoved his leaking cock down your throat, quietly humming to provide little vibrations for a more brutal orgasm. Chris came so hard that he had to grab the hand towel nearby and scream into it. It was everything he had imagined and more. Savagely thrilling. Scorching hot. Mindnumbingly delicious.

“You taste fucking amazing, handsome,” you wiped your mouth and placed a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose, “Gather your wits. Then come back downstairs.”

You washed your hands and left Chris in the bathroom to collect himself. When you made your way back, you were instantly subjected to Casey’s interrogation.

“There you are! Where did you run off to?”

“I was trying to find where your safe is. You know, to pay my mortgage,” you looked at the rest of the table with a smile, “Can I have some more wine, please?”

Not too long after, Chris also returned to the table, basically floating on air in utter bliss.

“Everything okay, honey?”

“Yeah, um– Work,” he flashed his phone from his back pocket.

You decided to use the moment to give Casey a taste of her own medicine and started bombarding her with questions like a stress interview.

“So, Casey where did you graduate from?”

“Yale.”

“Class of?”

“2010.”

“What did you major in?”

“English. What is up with the interrogation, though, am I right?” she laughed a little nervously.

“No reason,” you took a sip from your wine, “I just think you’re an incredible woman.”

She pressed her hand on her chest with somewhat of a moved look on her face, “Aw, thank you.”

You and Nathalie exchanged a brief knowing look and returned to your fruit parfaits.

“Thank you very much for tonight,” you thanked Casey as they were seeing you off and then spoke directly addressing Chris, “Everything was excellent.”

Several question marks had already formed in your head about Casey and that night was just the salt and pepper on top of everything. It was pretty late already, but this couldn’t wait. The second you got back home, you grabbed your phone and called Minho.

“What do you want?”

“What’s up fuckface? I missed you too,” you exchanged your usual greeting with him.

“This better be important. Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby, I can still keep fucking you.”

“Minho, am I legit interrupting a dicking down session right now?”

“If you don’t start talking, I’m hanging up. Oh, fuck yeah, just like that.”

“Ugh, fine. I need intel,” you managed to suppress your nausea, “Get me everything you can about all the Caseys who graduated from Yale in 2010.”

“There are twenty-three variants to that name. Text me the correct spelling. That’s it, baby, take it.”

“Oh my god, fine, just don’t cum when I’m on the phone!”

“As if you haven’t done that before. Fuck, don’t stop!”

“Don’t be gross. Get back to me as soon as you can.”

“OH, GOD, YES!!!”

You threw your phone on the coffee table and yourself on the couch, watching the ceiling for some time while replaying the entire night in your head.

You’re hiding something, Malibu Barbie, and I will find out what it is.

«TO BE CONTINUED»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

Meet the horniest Chris I've created to date. You're welcome. Sound ref: moon xx (several sources retrieved and compiled from creator's public content)

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to share your thoughts with me in reblogs, tags, or in my inbox. As long as you're kind, that is.

-R. (CB97%)

📢Regarding tagging: Please do not ask me to tag you if you won't be meaningfully engaging with my work. Additionally, I do not tag ageless and/or blank blogs, nor can I tag you if your blog is listed as "invisible" / if you've changed your URL and didn't let me know. Thank you for your cooperation in advance!

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『paradise lost』

series mlist ｡

↳ A story of two people navigating life & love; the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly.

『 pairing 』 : kim hongjoong x fem!reader (other pairings per chapter)

『 genre 』 : friends to lovers, romance, heavy angst, explicit sexual content.

『 warnings (vary per chapter) 』 : heavy angst, drama, very bad decision making, selfish behaviors, substance use and abuse, language.

ꕥ 01: do you ever wonder?

ꕥ 02: passion

ꕥ 03: comfortably familiar

ꕥ 04: misplaced bitterness

ꕥ 05: pull the trigger

ꕥ 06: the words unspoken

ꕥ 07: nobody has to know

ꕥ 08: annihilation

ꕥ 09: compliance

ꕥ 10: chasing

↳ before the story…

ꕥ 05.5: the pros and cons of breathing

pairing: kim hongjoong x jung wooyoung

↳ after the story…

ꕥ interview with the littérateur:

pairing: kim hongjoong x journalist fem!reader

↳ non-canon spin-off…

ꕥ bad for the soul: 

pairing: jung wooyoung x fem!reader

this is a remaster. coming soon! ♡

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