#soobin choi

you never thought marriage would taste this sweet.

a year had passed since the two of you tied the knot, and not a single day had gone by without his hands on your skin, without your lips on his, without your body aching for him. most people said the passion would fade after the honeymoon, that routine would dull the fire, but it only seemed to burn hotter the longer you were together.

you weren’t just lovers. you were addicts. both of you.

it didn’t matter where you were or who was around—when the heat hit, you both found a way to release it. on the elevator to your apartment, pressed against the mirrored wall with soobin's hand covering your mouth to silence your moans. in the restroom of an upscale restaurant, your dress bunched up around your waist, legs trembling as he whispered filth into your ear while fucking you senseless against the sink. on your balcony at night, the wind carrying the scent of sex through the city, your knees bruising against the railing as he held you in place. at the beach, with the tide lapping at your ankles, his fingers inside you under the stars. in the backseat of your car, windows fogged up, your panties hanging from the rearview mirror by the time you were done. and then there was his office.

soobin was the editor-in-chief of one of the most renowned publishing houses in the country. prestigious, respected, calm under pressure. nobody would suspect that the man in that pristine tailored suit spent half of his lunch breaks buried between your thighs.

it always started the same way.

you’d text him something simple—are you free to eat together today?—and he’d reply with a time. never a word more than needed, not over messages. he liked it clean on the outside. so you’d walk into the lobby with your bag in one hand and a shy smile on your lips, nodding politely at the receptionist, who recognized you instantly. she’d give you that usual knowing glance, and you’d just giggle to yourself, acting like you weren’t about to get wrecked on the top floor.

his office was spacious, framed by tall windows and lined with bookshelves. his desk was always organized, the glass surface spotless—until you came in. the second he locked the door behind you, he turned into someone else entirely.

“took you long enough,” he murmured that day, voice thick with restraint as he pulled you in by the wrist.

“you said twelve-thirty,” you teased, your breath catching as he pressed you against the inside of the door, lips brushing your throat. “i’m right on time.”

“mm,” he hummed, dragging your coat from your shoulders with one hand, the other already slipping beneath your skirt. “that’s cute. thinking you get to play innocent.”

you gasped when his fingers met your bare heat, your thighs already sticky, aching, pulsing for him.

“no panties?” he chuckled darkly, dipping a finger between your folds. “what would the board say if they knew their editor’s wife walked into the building dripping like this?”

“they’d say it’s your fault,” you whispered, tilting your head to give him more access, already trembling when he started circling your clit slowly. “you make me like this.”

“that’s right,” he growled.

he dragged you away from the door, lifting you effortlessly onto his desk, scattering a few papers in the process. he shoved your skirt up to your hips, kneeling between your legs without hesitation. the cold glass pressed against your skin, contrasting the warmth of his breath as he kissed your inner thighs, teasing, licking, biting. then his tongue found your center, and you arched your back with a broken moan, one hand flying to grip the edge of the desk while the other threaded through his dark hair.

he always made you feel like this—unraveled, ruined, adored.

his tongue moved with practiced precision, licking you open as if you were his only purpose in life, savoring every twitch of your hips, every breathless cry. when your thighs started shaking, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “come on, baby. give it to me. i want to taste you.”

and you did. hard. moaning his name like a prayer, thighs clamping around his head as you came on his tongue.

he didn’t stop there.

before your body could recover, he stood up and unbuckled his belt with slow, deliberate movements, eyes locked on yours, filled with hunger. his cock was already hard, thick, leaking as he stroked it once, twice, while stepping closer. he didn’t ask. didn’t need to. you were already spreading your legs wider for him.

he slid into you in one smooth, deep thrust, swallowing your gasp with a kiss.

“fuck—” he breathed against your mouth, voice strained. “you’re so tight. always so good for me.”

you clung to him, arms around his neck, nails digging into his back through the fabric of his shirt. he fucked you slowly at first, savoring the way you clenched around him, the way you whimpered every time his hips rolled into yours. but it didn’t stay slow for long.

“you think i don’t know what you do?” he grunted, thrusting harder, faster, his desk creaking beneath the rhythm. “you walk in here all sweet and quiet, but you’re just begging to be used.”

“yes,” you cried, breathless. “yes, soobin—please, harder—”

he gave it to you.

his pace turned punishing, relentless, fucking you into the desk so hard you could barely think. you could hear your slickness every time he drove into you, could feel the tension coiling in your belly all over again, already close to a second climax.

he brought his hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit until your vision blurred, until your moans echoed through the room.

“come for me again,” he ordered, jaw clenched. “want to feel you squeeze me while i fill you up.”

you came again, harder this time, your whole body convulsing around him as you sobbed his name, and seconds later, he buried himself deep and groaned as he spilled inside you, warm and thick, making you gasp at the sensation.

neither of you moved for a while.

his forehead rested against yours, both of you panting, still trembling from the high. he kissed you softly, this time slower, gentler, like the man everyone else knew.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered with a smile.

“you started it,” you replied, smiling back.

he chuckled, pulling out with a groan, helping you adjust your clothes before tucking himself back in and fixing his tie like nothing happened.

you straightened your skirt, kissed his cheek, and headed for the door.

“same time tomorrow?” you teased.

his eyes darkened.

“count on it.”

people would say it was just the honeymoon phase. a spark that would eventually die out.

“give it a few months,” they said. “you’ll settle down. you’ll calm down.” but they didn’t know you. they didn’t know soobin.

because a year into your marriage, the fire hadn’t dulled—it had grown. hotter. deeper. more desperate.

you craved him constantly, and he wanted you like he needed you to breathe. it didn’t matter how many times he’d had you the night before—when morning came, his hands were already wandering beneath the sheets. sometimes you barely made it out of bed before he was fucking you into the mattress, your sleepy moans muffled by the pillow as he thrusted into you from behind. and when breakfast was over, when the dishes were still in the sink, he’d pull you onto the kitchen counter and eat you out until your legs went numb, just because he missed the taste.

when you both came home from work, it didn’t matter how exhausted you were—he always kissed you like it was the first time, always touched you like he’d been starving all day. in the shower, you’d grind against each other under the hot water until one of you caved. on the couch after dinner, he’d have you straddling his lap, his hands under your shirt, his cock pressed between your thighs. even when you were both tucked into bed, skin warm and clean, he’d still reach for you in the dark, whispering soft, filthy things against your shoulder until you were whimpering for him again.

sometimes, in the middle of the night, you’d wake up to find his hand already between your legs, his mouth on your chest, his cock hard and ready against your hip.

but nothing compared to how needy he got when you dressed up.

you’d gone to dinner with his parents that evening. the restaurant was elegant, quiet, candle-lit. you wore a dress he hadn’t seen before—tight, black, hugging your body like it was made for you. it stopped just above the knee, a subtle slit climbing up one thigh. you knew the second he saw you walk out of the bedroom that you were in trouble.

he didn’t touch you during dinner. not once. but his eyes never left you. his hand stayed clenched on his thigh under the table, his jaw tense, his smile too tight whenever someone complimented the way you looked.

and the second you stepped out of the restaurant and slid into the backseat of the car, he lost it.

you barely had time to buckle your seatbelt before he reached over and unfastened it again.

“soobin?” you blinked at him, surprised.

he didn’t answer. just climbed over you, slammed the door shut, and pushed you back against the seat, his lips crashing into yours like he’d been holding it in for hours.

“fuck,” he hissed against your mouth, his hands already tugging your dress up your thighs. “you wore this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“i thought it looked pretty,” you breathed, gasping when his fingers found the edge of your panties and yanked them down without hesitation.

“you looked like a fucking dream,” he growled, kissing down your neck, biting your shoulder through the strap of your dress. “do you know how hard it was to sit across from you and pretend i wasn’t dying to fuck you under the table?”

you moaned when his fingers slipped between your legs, already coated in your arousal.

“you’re so wet already,” he muttered, rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your clit. “does dressing like that for me turn you on, baby?”

“yes,” you whimpered. “you looked so good in that suit, hubby. wanted to jump you the whole time.”

he groaned, cock twitching in his slacks at the sound of the word.

“say that again.”

you bit your lip, arching your hips into his hand. “my sexy husband. my baby. always so handsome.”

“fuck, baby, i’m gonna ruin you,” he grunted, already undoing his belt, freeing his cock with a breathless hiss.

he was hard, thick, leaking, and you couldn’t help but reach out and wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly while he growled under his breath.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, grabbing your wrist and guiding you down onto the seat. “turn around. get on your knees for me.”

you obeyed, heart pounding, body trembling with need. the soft leather dug into your skin as you leaned forward, dress bunched up around your waist, bare for him.

he gripped your hips and shoved into you in one swift, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt and making you cry out.

“god—soobin—!”

“shhh,” he murmured, leaning over your back, pressing kisses to your spine. “you want them to hear, baby? the valet’s still outside.”

you whimpered, biting your fist to muffle your sounds, and he started moving—deep, rough thrusts that had the entire car rocking.

he held your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you harder, faster, his cock slamming into your sweet spot over and over until tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“mine,” he growled. “my pretty wife. you love this, don’t you? love getting fucked like this by your husband. so desperate for my cock you couldn’t wait till we got home.”

“yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”

he reached around to rub your clit, fast and messy, and you broke with a cry, your whole body convulsing as your orgasm crashed over you.

but he didn’t stop.

“so fucking tight when you come,” he panted, slamming into you harder, chasing his own release. “gonna fill you up, baby. you want that?”

“yes, hubby—fill me up, please—need you—”

he groaned, buried himself deep, and spilled inside you with a shudder, hot and thick, making you tremble all over again.

you collapsed onto the seat, both of you panting, his cum already dripping down your thighs.

after a few moments, he kissed your lower back and helped you fix your dress, his hands gentle, voice softer now.

“you okay, baby?”

“never better,” you whispered with a lazy smile, reaching back to squeeze his hand. “think your parents noticed we left too fast?”

he laughed, pulling you into his lap for a kiss.

“they probably think we’re still in the honeymoon phase.”

you grinned against his lips.

“good. let them.”

you didn’t always mean to take it that far.

sometimes, the need just crept up slowly—starting with a brush of hands, a glance too long, the way his voice dropped when he leaned in to whisper in your ear. but with soobin, it was never just harmless teasing. not when the fire between you burned this deep, this fast, this endlessly.

the worst was when you were supposed to behave.

you were at a gallery opening, invited as a couple by one of soobin’s publishing partners. the space was sleek, minimalist, dimly lit with soft instrumental music echoing through the marble hallways. guests murmured about brushstrokes and contrast, sipping champagne, admiring modern pieces as if they understood them. you should’ve been focused. polite. engaged.

but all you could think about was the way soobin’s hand kept pressing low against your back, the way his lips brushed your temple every time he leaned in to comment on a piece, the way he looked in that black turtleneck and tailored slacks—quiet, elegant, composed. and the way his cock pressed against his thigh when he caught you watching him with that soft, hungry gaze of yours.

you lasted an hour. maybe less.

“you look stunning,” he murmured while you both stood in front of an abstract canvas, his fingers ghosting over the inside of your wrist.

“so do you,” you whispered back, stepping closer.

“i can’t stop thinking about the way you looked last night.”

“baby,” you warned in a low voice, heart fluttering.

“i can’t stop thinking about how tight you were. how you moaned for me.”

you swallowed, thighs clenching.

so when he found a quiet corridor tucked behind the private wing of the gallery, with large velvet curtains shielding the entrance and barely any foot traffic, you didn’t even hesitate when he took your hand and pulled you in with him.

the space was dark and unused, some storage room filled with rolled canvases and crates, dimly lit by a dusty lamp on a side table. you barely had time to glance around before he pulled you onto his lap on an old velvet loveseat, your dress riding up your thighs as he guided you to straddle him.

“here?” you breathed, heart racing, but already grinding against him.

he cupped your ass and pulled you down flush against his cock. “shh, just for a little. i promise i’ll be quiet if you will.”

you kissed him hard, needing him more than you cared to admit.

you fumbled with his belt, both of you breathless, frantic, silent laughter shaking your shoulders as you tried not to giggle while exposing him in the middle of the damn gallery. when you finally pulled him free, hard and hot in your hand, you didn’t hesitate. you lifted your hips, pushed your soaked panties aside, and sank down onto him in one smooth, aching motion.

you bit your lip hard to keep from gasping, forehead falling to his shoulder as you took him in completely, your walls stretching, pulsing, wrapping around him perfectly.

“god, baby,” he whispered, voice trembling. “you’re always so tight for me. always so wet.”

“i missed you,” you whispered back, starting to move slowly, your hands gripping his shoulders as you rolled your hips in slow, fluid waves. “i know it’s only been a few hours but… i missed you so much.”

his hands slid beneath your dress, gripping your waist, guiding your rhythm, helping you ride him deeper, slower, harder. every time you rocked down, you could feel his cock hit that spot that made you tremble, made your eyes flutter shut.

his head fell back against the wall as he watched you move—so beautiful, flushed, glowing under the low light. his perfect wife, riding his cock like it was her god-given purpose.

“fuck,” he whispered, jaw tight. “you’re gonna make me come so fast like this, baby. you feel too good.”

you leaned in, kissing his lips sweetly before whispering into his mouth, “then come with me. come inside me, love. fill me up. again.”

he groaned, desperate now, thrusting up into you as you bounced on his lap, your movements sloppy and fast, your moans barely restrained against his neck. you were close—so close—the tension in your belly winding tight, heat blooming between your legs as you chased your second high of the day.

and then he grabbed your face gently with one hand, the other still gripping your ass, and looked at you with that softness that always broke you.

“i’ll never get tired of you,” he whispered. “never. not your voice, not your body, not your mouth, not your moans. i’ll crave you forever, baby.”

you whined, overwhelmed, heart racing, body trembling.

“i love you,” you breathed. “you know that, right? i love you so much, soobin.”

“i love you more,” he said, and then you both broke at the same time—his warmth filling you deep as your walls clenched around him, your cries caught in the hollow of his throat, your nails raking down his back as you trembled in his arms.

you stayed there for a while, still joined, breathing each other in, hearts beating fast and in sync. you nuzzled into his neck as he stroked your back slowly, reverently, his softening cock still buried inside you.

and in that quiet little hidden room, beneath dim lights and forgotten paintings, you both made a silent vow without needing to speak it aloud:

to never tire of each other. to never stop touching, loving, needing. to crave, devour, and worship until your last breath.

“For example, the library,” the consultant said happily. She opened the door to the depressing room. It’s large, Soobin notes. That’s well enough. “There isn’t a single window in here,” Soobin commented aloud. It’s in his nature to push people’s noses into the bitter truth. Might as well point it out. It’s obvious. Stone walls, linoleum floor. He’d seen gas station restrooms with more vibrance. “The ladies get their sunshine in day-to-day exercises, as well as windows in their bedrooms,” the consultant smiled. 

Soobin wondered if she ever gets sick of that ridiculous smile and the voice to match. 

“What books does the library have stocked?” Soobin asked. “If these girls aren’t allowed to even continue school beyond freshman year, what’s here for them to read?” 

He can’t help the sharp tincture in his voice. A cold lawyer’s voice. 

The falter in the consultant’s eyes is just slight. What’s her name again? Cindy; it’s on her stupid name tag. “The girls receive an education parallel to what we deem standard for ourselves upon entry into the Center. They have a tutor until age twenty one. Even after that, however, they are all welcome to continue coming here. The library is stocked with classics to modern young adult fantasy, history, and everything in between. At the center, we encourage every lady to keep reading, writing, and keeping up with her arithmetic. 

Soobin snorted. “Arithmetic? Do any of these girls know a math beyond pre algebra?” he inquired. Cindy floundered at that. “Whatever,” Soobin backtracked. “Listen, I’m not here to get a full tour. I’m just here for…” “For…? For a companion?” Cindy asked hopefully. The word made Soobin’s mouth go bitter. “No. Yes, but not-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Sure. A companion.” This wasn’t a choice he’d made easily. However, since he graduated law school and actually started practicing, he found that there’s an emptiness inside him nothing can fill. He’s deliberated for a long time that he’s fundamentally broken, doomed to fail all relationships, never even have a family. He can’t even keep a secretary. 

Taking a hybrid in was not something Soobin ever thought of doing on his own. Most people taking in hybrids are like him, however. Lonely. 

So, the young, pretty ones are snatched by perverts. The little ones are taken in by couples who raise them like any other child. The idea of raising a hybrid child as your own is a concept introduced by newer, younger generations. Millennials started that trend. Still, of all the sour shit millennials have done, that’s by far the best. Giving hybrids a chance to grow up in a home rather than a facility in the first place? Regardless, between adopting infants and taking in perk, young adults means there’s a large amount of older hybrids being left with the short end of the stick. Soobin had someone in mind. An idea of someone. Old, lonely, likes to cook, needs a friend. Done. That’s it. 

He feels rotten at the idea of taking someone in who would otherwise be noted as a convenient commodity. 

His cousin had pointed out the idea that if Soobin did take in a female his own age, there’s a strong chance romance will flourish. It’s ridiculously common these days. Incels will scramble to get the cutest hybrid at the nearby centers. And male hybrids? Male hybrids, in general, have an easier time. They’re taken in for manual labor around the home, a helping hand here and there. Probably, too, for lonely MILFs who otherwise have no spice in their marriages. 

The cold truth for hybrids is they’re sex appeal carries them forward. At least now the new generations of hybrids are going to at least grow up being taught that they’re not just someone to keep around to avoid loneliness. The perpetuated standards of hybrids are pretty much soldifiied in that hybrids cannot marry, cannot drive, and cannot work. Though, there are many work arounds and petitions. Advocates have pushed the Senate to discuss a bill to at least let hybrids have a driver’s license. 

Not to mention more and more of these couples-be it man and female, women and male-are applying for domestic partner certificates. Not quite marriage, but a step in the right direction. Either way, the idea makes Soobin’s blood curdle. In his mind, it would be subtle manipulation to bring a female home. A guy and a girl? Living in a house together? And the girl goes through wild heats every one-to-two months? Like that’s not the number one to manufacture a relationship. Soobin isn’t an idiot. And he’s not an asshole. So, yeah, he wanted an old, old, old woman. Someone who just needs company and friendship in her final days. 

“I was informed over the phone that the center is one of the only ones in the state that didn’t evict females over the age of forty,” Soobin explained. 

Cindy paused. “I apologize, Mr Choi, but you were informed incorrectly,” she said carefully. “The statewide notice mandated males and females aged forty years or older be sent to retirement facilities.” 

Soobin scoffed. “Oh, that’s what they’re calling them? Retirement facilities?” He shook his head. He can tell he’s got that look; the look that makes people anxious. “Let’s head back to the office and get a better look at the sort of companion you’re looking for,” Cindy suggested. The long walk back to the top floor, where the consulting center overlooks a pretty fountain, is cold. Soobin makes out the spaces he’s not shown. In passing glances, he can see rooms lined with cribs. Girls sitting in plain, tiny rooms, cramped up and silent. But sure, save the pretty fountain overlook for the people who have the luxury to do whatever they’d like. Soobin has never been the sort to consider himself a social justice warrior. He still wouldn’t describe himself as a person who gives a fuck. And yet here he is, confronted by the stifling ache for every girl and woman in this place that just can’t leave. It’s part of why he became a lawyer in the first place. He wanted to be a pastry chef. In high school, anyways. Then life happened. And here he is, half listening as Cindy drones on about the benefits of taking in a hybrid. “What age range are you seeking?” Cindy asked. “Are you looking to adopt a child? We have infants in need. There is a background check, a CPS meeting, and-” 

Soobin shook his head. “No. No, no, no. Who’s the oldest? I mean the oldest.” 

Cindy tilted her head. “An unusual request.” “I’m sure,” Soobin scoffed. “I just want an old, quiet lady who will sit and watch the news with me at night. Can we do that?” 

Cindy hesitated. “I can look…” She logged onto her work station. The quiet tapping and clicking goes by for about ten seconds. “Twenty four.” Soobin’s eyes widened. “Twenty four?” he repeated. “You said forty and over were deported, where are the mid thirties and forty year olds?” 

Cindy shook her head. “We don’t have any in our care. Twenty four.” 

Soobin took a steady breath. “Okay…” he said calmly. “Would you like to meet her?” Cindy suggested. Uh, no, no thank you. It’s Soobin’s immediate inner response. “I assure you, Mr Choi, even though she is young enough to appear that she’s not ‘in need’, she is,” Cindy said softly. “You would be doing any of these young women a great service.” Say less, Soobin thinks. “She’s twenty four. She has no family. Not even a sibling. Dead mother, father didn’t sign the birth certificate.” Of course. Please, continue telling me about the tragic girl that has nowhere to go and no one to rely on. Fuck. “Alright. Fine. I’ll meet her,” Soobin sighed. He really has no fucking back bone. 

It’s almost ridiciulous how easy he is to be swindled into this shit. Because Cindy is already on it, already sending for someone to bring the female in. Soobin is already bracing himself to break someone’s heart. She’s probably wide eyed and naive, probably packing her things like Annie preparing to be adopted by Daddy Warbucks. 

He’s not doing it. He’s not taking her home. He’s not doing it. The door opens. 

Oh. 

Soobin seriously has no back bone. 

ᨀ. summary 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁

The nineties in Korea were full of secrets. He was one of them. Because where the warm touch of the sun doesn’t reach, Choi Soobin inhabits. Rude, mean, sour and rough—he was a hitman hired by whoever could meet the price.  The underground was the counterpart of heaven, where you and other guardian angels looked after their assigned humans. You’ve been watching him ever since he got his hands bloody for the first time, five years ago. Whatever he does, you’re there, guarding his soul. Never understanding the mundane problems and diligences of humans, you often visited, hidden among them, relishing the secrecy. Sometimes you let yourself into his dusty apartment, which is barely used, to take in the small details, the textures, the scents. Everything you can’t see from above. Until one day, Soobin comes home early. One bite of the apple and it’s free-fall.

ᨀ. wc. 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ 11.3k ᨀ. pairing 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ Hitman!Choi Soobin x guardian angel!f reader. ᨀ. genre 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ drama, dark romance, forbidden love. ᨀ. type 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ one-shot.

ᨀ. warnings for this chapter 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ no use of y/n. Dead dove do not eat. I love writing stories full of plot so it takes some time to get to the smut :P. Violence and Blood. Mentions of gore. Mentions of suicide. Heavy themes. Religious topics (glup). Morally gray characters. This probably is highly unethical. Smut (an attempt at it). Soobin is a bitch. Reader is obssesive and an unreliable narrator. Inexperienced reader (literally an angel). Reader watches Soobin all the time. Dom!Soobin and Sub!reader. Reader gets injured. Unprotected sex (wrap it up guys!). Penetrative Sex. Not pulling out. A knife is used like thrice but there is no kind wound (yeah oops!). Fingering. Oral (f & m). (i think thats all... if I forgot something lmk...).

ᨀ. inspo 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ fallen angels (ily wong kar wai). Apocalypse and Derre by BIBI

ᨀ. mar's note 𓏲🪽˚. ˖ . ݁ I got this idea at 1 am while sneezing because I got a cold and I was half delirious. It took me like a month to finish this because I had writers block and I was halfway through the smut scene and I was so tired of it?? Idk, I know I'm learning to write smut so have that in mind. Barely proof read sorry!

You had gotten used to watching Soobin’s calloused hands drip in blood. The silence after a bullet was always deafening; even from above, you could hear the spatter of the scarlet liquid against cement. Despite five years of following his everyday life, your body never stopped flinching at the sound of a life being taken. Some might think that you should be unfazed by this by now, but you were surrounded by beings that represented the virtues of the universe. Outside your duty as a guardian angel, you only saw good.

When you first got assigned to Choi Soobin, you were excited. The last human you guarded was an infant who died young because of cancer. Emotionally, you kissed her forehead silently the day she passed; you commended her soul to the heavens. Praying that you could help your next mortal as much as you could.

When you gazed at him with hopeful eyes and a cheery smile, you saw him walking through a dark alleyway. Puddles of unknown substances splashing when he stepped on them. The neon lights reflecting against his fair skin showed his boyish features. He seemed nervous, an undecipherable expression plastered across his face. You didn’t know this was the last glimpse of innocence you were going to get.

You knew he was eighteen and freshly out of school; your superiors told you some details before you could get to work. Confused as to why he was out in the middle of the night, you frowned. It was only when his trembling hands lit up a cigarette that you started to worry. “He might get hurt. Somebody might do something to him." You thought, frantic to get him to safety—if only you knew.

The rattle of his shoes was swallowed by the muffled noise coming from the bar in front of him, a red neon sign perched above the black doors. He took a long puff before throwing the cigarette butt to the ground, smashing it with his foot. Adjusting his black jacket, he entered. It was full of grown men, faces toughened by the years. They paid no attention to Soobin, busying themselves with their drinks, cigars, and women in scarce clothing chatting too close to their faces. The dim lights made it hard to see clearly, so Soobin narrowed his gaze. He walked through the crowd, avoiding bumping into anyone. The loud music was overstimulating; your whole body was tense and confused.

He maneuvered himself well, like he knew where he was going. Everything seemed to point that this wasn’t his first time here. He took a turn to his right, where a little hallway made way to a series of rooms. Two of them were bathrooms, but on the end of the corridor was a room full of men gambling, a table in the middle packed with cash and different games. He looked around, to his left was the emergency exit and in front was the chamber.

He silently reached for something at his back. It was quick, and feelingless. He took a gun and shot everyone that stood in his way. Their blood spattering in every direction, making a bloody mess, some droplets staining his dark clothes. Some gasped, others muttered incoherent sounds. There were bullets so poorly aimed that he had to shoot twice in some cases, targeting their heads or hearts. But it was no use, bodies fell with a thud, without time for someone to retaliate—it was too late, they were dead before they knew. The clatter of the coins against the hardwood floor was the only thing left, decks of cards colored scarlet red.

Not even caring to glance back, he walked toward the back exit, the night swallowing his silhouette while he stuffed his warm weapon back into its place, you saw how he cleaned his dripping fingers on the back of his jacket. You were frozen in your spot, mouth slightly agape. Your whole body was quivering, tears forming in your eyes. The echo of the bullets was distant in your mind, the ringing lingering in your ears, haunting you. It could have been the way their forms fell to the ground, their souls now commended elsewhere. Or maybe it was how his expression remained bored—but something rotten bloomed inside you for the first time. A dark, red feeling that you could only attribute to what you just had witnessed.

And when the rivulets of tears wetted your cheeks, nobody knew how to handle it. Everyone asked if you were okay, confused. Angels weren’t used to feelings or even crying, sympathy was what they allowed themselves to have. But it was for a matter of duty. A long-lived angel swept the tears from your eyes mechanically and asked patiently why you were making such a scandal. You sobbed and said that your human was too complex this time.

She sighed and shook her head and just said, “Humans are complex, that is what differentiates them from us. They are faulty.”

You nodded, unable to explain the situation you were in.

You quickly learned that this would become routine for him. It was quite strange, because this was the very first job he took. You later overheard him on the phone talking with his employer, asking for his part. The caller scolded him because of his inability to kill in one swift motion. It could be said that this was a new thing for both of you, yet you wished to create good; he only sowed pain.

His days flew by fast. For him, the night was the time that mattered. Watching him eat, sleep, kill, and repeat, you got accustomed to his habits. You found it strange how he would only eat from the same ramen brand, the flavors he repeated the most were always spicy. You sometimes wished to slip in some vegetables and nutrients, the ones the mortals so highly praised.

A year in, you started venturing into the mortal realm. Against the protest of your friends and coworkers, you did it anyway. In general, guardian angels were even able to go to earth—to soothe or help. Never revealing their role, of course. You kept the truth about Choi Soobin a secret, you never knew why you didn’t blurt the words out. And each time you had to cover it up, you felt your wings sting. You only told them your human worked at night, in uncommon establishments.  Given the mystery of your situation, everyone was afraid you might get hurt. Humans were known to harm each other, some countries had a deadlier night than others. And due to this, even angels were wary. You knew the truth. You knew the danger was closer than they imagined, you had seen it without exception every single time the sun hid.

Every fiber in your body screamed for more, contradicting common sense. You needed to fill the gaps in your head. How did he smell? Did he use cologne? Or was his scent a mixture of his natural odor, blood, and gunpowder? He seemed so mysterious. Even when you had observed so much about him that you knew how he took care after his injuries, you still knew nothing.

One time he got cut with a knife because one of his victims tried to defend himself. Retaliating, he smashed the butt of his gun between the man’s eyes, drawing blood. After that he shot him rapidly in the temple. The force of the gun scattered its contents out, dirtying his face. Cursing under his breath, he wiped the gray matter away from his eyes. Blinking, he noted that there was blood coming out of his stomach. Assessing the situation, he opted to continue with his modus operandi and leave the scene fast.

He was starting to look pale when he reached his apartment. An improvised tourniquet with his black button-up tried to stop the blood. He was incredibly careful, cleaning his hands and using latex gloves before reaching for his injury. His hands were usually careful when handling open wounds. He always made sure to have medical supplies. You even thought that some were only meant to be handled by a doctor. He rarely allowed people to get near enough to damage him, yet this wasn’t the first nor the last time it would happen.

You always looked away when he fetched bullets from his flesh, squeaking in your spot. You covered your eyes with your fingers. There were other times where you observed how he brushed his wet hair, droplets of water falling from the dark strands. Shyly, you heard him shower, averting your gaze. Counting how many minutes he stood under the showerhead, thinking. You wished you could know what goes through his head. Or maybe not, that’s something you hadn’t decided yet.

Yet you still cared enough to go through the hassle of traveling here. Clad in worn-out clothes, hiding your hair under your hoodie, wings gone. It was a stark contrast from the white, flowing dresses you wore. Your aura was heavenly by nature, and you had to intentionally camouflage this. If he were to see you, he would know something was odd about you. You took your façade so deep that you even tried smoking—it didn’t go well.

This time he was walking with his hair brushed back, a cigarette between his lips, fingers fidgeting with a set of dangling keys. Clothes dark as always. You stood behind an alleyway, watching his moves closely. He stopped at an entrance; there was a line of people waiting outside. It was crowded. They wore different kinds of garments. Women in tight short dresses—too short to cover anything. Showing their cleavage seductively, confident in themselves. Men were flirting or even kissing some girls, groping them shamelessly. They were wearing shirts that showed their muscles.

Almost everyone was chatting loudly, chewing gum, drinking, or smoking unknown substances. Soobin took lives, but you rarely saw him with something other than a cigarette between his fingertips. He eyed the long line, brows slightly furrowed. He walked toward the security guard, grabbing something from his pocket, and he showed the object to the guard. Nobody asked questions; he simply let himself in.

Gulping loudly, you looked at your fake ID. Was it going to suffice? You didn’t know. You walked with feigned confidence towards the entrance. Nobody cared about your presence, busy with whatever drug they were inhaling. Your ragged clothes didn’t highlight anything about you. If anything, they made you look like a tramp.

A thousand excuses ran through your mind before the interaction even began. The security guard was tall and broad. He had a permanent scowl in his face. One hit from him would leave you with a bruise.

“Huh? Name.” He was mean. His voice laced with tiredness, probably from people’s antics. It was very deep into the night; he probably had seen and heard everything by this time.

You forced your fake name out, hoping that you picked a normal human name. You tried to be nonchalant while fetching your ID, placing it at eye level. “I came with that guy.” You pointed inside, Soobin’s figure a blur inside the neon crowd.

“Take your hoodie out. I can’t even see your face.” Pointing toward your head, he scoffed.

You prayed to God that your nervousness would dim or maybe stop the suave quivering of your hands. You obliged quickly, so he couldn’t see your movements too closely. He raised a brow, scanning you.

“Why did you come after? If you two came together.” Taking a breath, he continued. “And you don't look the part. Are you here to scavenge through the trash?” He laughed at you when he finished, mocking your stupid excuse.

It was a series of logical questions, ones that didn’t occur to you. Your mind racing, you saw the outcome of every single one of the answers you were thinking of. Before you could even blurt one out, he tsked.

“Get lost. You are wasting my time.” He forcefully shoved your ID back to you, forcing you to take a few steps backwards to avoid losing balance.

Humans were rude. They were flawed creatures, kicked away from paradise. The divinities still had mercy and assigned them guardian angels to many who didn’t deserve them. At the same time, they were entrancing. Or at least Soobin was.

Slumping, you gave up, walking to the back exit. Several washes of disappointment coursed through your body. There was no way you were going to speak to him, but you wanted to get close enough to see how his features evolved across the evening. And, without a trace of rationality, you hid behind a few funky bins. Knowing the smell and scenery were unpleasant, you sat down. You forced the bile that arose in your throat down. Repeating this several times after you felt something warm against your thigh. At one moment you came to the realization that you were a heavenly being, you were above this. Any angel, be it guarding or not, would scold and shame you if they saw you. Any human would do so too. If you were stooping so low, what were you now?

Why were you even doing it?

Shaking your head and scrunching your nose, you endured it, shoving the questions to the back of your mind. Your improvised lair was far enough that anybody would confuse you with a homeless person yet close enough for you to see who left.

The track of time was something new to you. You found yourself learning it just so you could track how long his movements were. And like a naïve toddler who was gifted a lollipop, you were happy when you started getting how many minutes he spent training right.

Hours passed without a trace of him. You saw drunk groups of people walk past you. Their nonsensical chatter dissolving in the cold dawning air. A handful of them shoved each other playfully while others had their arms intertwined to avoid losing balance. Cars passed by with obnoxiously loud music, throwing trash your way. Sometimes they lowered their speed to spit on the asphalt. Until the doors flung open.

He walked with a girl under his arm. She was alright for a mortal; her body was full of curves. She had plump tits and a round ass. You thought that she had too much trust in her top and questioned the sinful way her body was glued to Soobin’s. Her hair was luscious and long, framing her face just right. She was no different from the catalog of girls you saw at the entrance. There was nothing special about her, yet he whispered lulls into her ear. Nibbling the tip softly. Like they'd known each other their whole lives.

She was loud; he spoke softly. They drunk-walked to their left; she twirled her hair, puffed her cheeks and giggled stupidly from time to time. You were unable to hear what they were saying. But judging by the way his left hand roamed over her waist, even going down to squish her butt at times, you knew he probably was going to take her somewhere secluded.

Your heart threatened to betray you. It wanted to leap out of your body and scream. You felt the tips of your ears and cheeks warm, too warm. Clutching your sweatpants tightly, you waited for them to be out of sight. You didn’t know you were holding your breath until you started feeling dizzy. Something inside you started churning, your eyes unfocused. You knew what he did to girls; you had seen him before.

He took them to motels—never to his apartment—and fucked them until they were so exhausted they couldn’t form a thought. You immorally acknowledge that you should’ve given him more privacy, but you were curious. As to why he was expressionless the whole time. Or the way he avoided kissing them, just sucking at their necks. Not a single sound erupted from his lips, only grunts. Sometimes you covered a gasp from your lips when you saw the way he licked their breasts, his lips sucking and nibbling their sensitive buds. A shiver ran down your spine.

And now you hoped that this wasn’t the exception. Because the bitterness wilting your body would be unbearable. Because the way your back burned in the spot where your wings should be is a reminder. You don’t belong in this world.

The path back to heaven that day was defeating. Everyone was so worried about you, not a single angel lost sight of your filthy body coming into view. For them, you were a poor angel abused by humans who didn’t understand the rules of the universe. They were rude because they were flawed creatures. You allowed them to believe whatever they wanted. Partially because you knew something inside you wasn’t supposed to be there. Because you were having trouble keeping your ideas at bay. You weren’t a weak mortal. You were supposed to be above them. Feelings were there for you to try and empathize with the mundane. Not to feel like them.

The days turned into months, then into years. Time flew by fast, lives did.

Two years of observing Soobin had passed. He had already killed more people than the days you had been watching him. You were keeping count of every life he took. Every night your fingers itched to caress his cheekbones, wanting to soothe whatever sorrow he was into. There was no other reason for him to cause such pain. He had to be fueled by his own. Because even after such a long time observing him, you never knew what happened to his family or if he had friends. He spoke with people, but it was purely pleasure or business. You wanted to believe he wasn’t entirely lonely—at least spiritually. He still had the chance for his soul to be taken care of.

You prayed to God that he would stop this nonsense. You never prayed to God, you didn’t need to pray, you were only supposed to carry his will. But you were desperate enough to let him fix this mess. Yet he never answered, never listened. His lackeys were the ones who had to endure human pain. He allowed as much beauty and as much evil as he wanted. He toyed with lives as he pleased.

Still hating the sound of bullets penetrating bodies and the way they fell with a squelch, you closed your eyes forcefully. Afraid of what might welcome you if you opened them, you mentally counted five minutes before opening your lids. You already dominated human time, and Soobin was meticulous. He never took more than five minutes before leaving a crime scene.

He had gotten better at taking lives, his hands were trained every day to learn new lethal points. Using fewer bullets, he was even faster at murdering. Often, you spoke to yourself, letting the word “murder” roll off your tongue. Your mouth always felt cottony after saying it out loud, its corrupt nature breathing heavy down your neck. Assigning that word so close to him was the truth, but you avoided acknowledging it frequently.

The night for humans was interesting, the city felt much more alive. The silvery touch from the moon was a silent promise that the secrets it witnessed were going to remain hidden. Couples under swaying trees, promising the world and beyond to each other. Drunk teenagers who ran away from home arguing on the streets. And proficient assassins doing their jobs. This is where Soobin existed, under all the “harmless” ruckus of the streets, he maneuvered himself.

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to the mortals. Even when they were so different from each other, they had distinct patterns. But he was peculiar, his situation. You had only taken care of normal people before. From day one you had been learning and perhaps tainting your celestial aura. Everyone was too flawless where you lived, they had nothing captivating. It was an endless cycle of abnegation, which you didn’t hate. Couldn’t hate. Your creation was done to fulfil your role. That was it.

Today he was out. You were out too. With the passing of months, you learned how to dress properly depending on the situation. And you used that ability well. You started frequenting bars and restaurants Soobin went. You knew by heart what he usually asked for, ordering it diligently when the bartender or waiter approached you. You were sitting at a secluded table at a ramen shop three blocks away from his apartment. You were nearing a line you knew you shouldn’t cross, this was as close as you were going to get to him. Still, the thrill of being within walking distance of his sacred place made you feel lightheaded. Knowing he probably was sleeping because it was afternoon with the sun beginning to set, you ventured into the earth.

Cautious not to draw too much attention, you dressed like a normal woman in her twenties during summer. Fresh and comfortable clothes, wings hidden and the slightest dab of makeup—this you didn’t do well. You had started enhancing your features when you saw that this was a recurrent detail in people’s faces. You mostly copied the girls you saw during the day. It was a much softer and natural style. The night style cosmetics were bolder, trying to make a statement as soon as you locked gazes with someone.

Shifting in your seat you put the menu down. This too, was an act, you knew what you were going to get already. The young waiter walked to your table, a friendly smile across his lips. Notepad ready to register your order he asked if you knew what you wanted. Tapping your fingers on your chin for a few seconds, faking a thought, you nodded.

“I’ll take the beef ramen.” He scribbled on the paper, his eyes never leaving your face. “Extra spicy, please.”

He nodded. “Anything else miss?”

“And one can of lemon-flavored soda. Thanks.” You grinned softly.

Learning how humans expressed their emotions silently was a challenge. All the grinning, thanking, politely asking, frowning or whispering was too much. But you were forcing yourself into these situations, trying to make your being slowly adapt to social norms.

“Alright!” With that he left you alone.

The place was not full, there were few people. You silently scanned the room, the decorations. It was full of figures of cats. The smell felt warm, human. The voice of the scattered customers holding lively conversations mixed with the ambience music. Some were talking about their day, taking long puffs of smoke between sentences. Others were complaining about coworkers with a pout. The scenery was alive, it felt so much different from what you usually saw from above.

Angels were indifferent to each other. They reserved emotion for humans. Practicality mattered above everything else. It was engraved in your nature, abiding the rules of God. You didn’t know when you started losing sight of the shine in heaven. When you started feeling a pang of disappointment every time you took breaks from work to talk with your kin. The days were gloomier in heaven than on earth and the rotten feeling invading your body made your wings sting, hurt. Almost feeling like they were going to fall, there were times when it was unbearable.

You reminisced about the times before Choi Soobin. Closing your eyes, you pictured your existence when your life felt full. Everything was easier, you didn’t have to hide anything. When you were created you thought that God made angels perfect, that there was no other way to be. Heaven was the desired target for every living soul, everyone opposed to it deserved punishment. It was luster, precious and pristine. There was not a corner where the light didn’t reach. These days you found yourself longing for a speck of color, for a shadow. For life. You questioned why you were made to serve. Were you that low of a creature? It should be a privilege to follow God’s will. You didn’t know anymore.

But it didn’t dawn on you until you were assigned a younger guardian angel to teach her the diligences of your job. She was bright, like a flower who just blossomed. Her eyes sparkled and she spoke softly. You thought if you were once like this, now you were the shadow of that young angel. She asked if she could see your human, you denied it amicably, saying that you preferred to respect his privacy.

“I want to have a human too. How long does it take?”

You both were walking after a long day of teaching. “You will probably assist an experienced angel first. After that you are good to go.”

She nodded. “Do angels love their humans?”

Gulping you felt nervousness. This was a habit you picked up from humans, you had to mentally suppress it whenever you were in heaven. Love was a strong word reserved only for one being in the universe: your creator. Young angels often needed to learn these implied rules with the passing of time.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We shall never learn to love humans. We pity them. That noun is strictly reserved for God.” Your voice was severe. As soon as the words left your mouth there was a tingling sensation in the joint of your wings with your back.

She tilted her head. “But do you love your human? You never said no.” You felt like cursing and clenched your fist behind your back.

What were you going to answer? No, yes, maybe, probably. I don’t know. Reaching for the last rational moments in your heart you huffed with the same scolding tone your elders had with you.

“Don’t ask stupid questions. I already told you my answer.” The pain in your wings had become sharp. The feeling of thousands of tongues of fire enveloping your feathers. You saw the features of Choi Soobin, his fair skin contrasted against the shadows. You felt your heartbeat accelerate. You acted as if nothing happened.

She apologized and continued her stroll, never mentioning it again.

Good angels learnt fast and obeyed tacit rules. If not, you might risk losing your status. There were stories of the things that happened to disobedient angels. Depending on the offense they either were sent to earth or to the depths of hell. Condemned to live a life full of sorrow either way. It was whispered that their wings usually withered slowly. It climbed feather by feather, necrotizing everything it touched. Until they fell from their bodies, like dead bodies. The process was long and torturous, nobody knew how long it took. The ache was supposed to be so unbearable that fallen angels committed suicide before reaching that point. Fallen angels that take their lives are eternally damned to hell.

The clatter of the bowl of ramen against the wooden table snapped you back to reality. You blinked slowly, getting rid of the lingering image of your home. The young man placed your food in front of you. The beef broth filled your nose, bringing you fully back.

Thanking him, you picked up a fork—you were still clumsy with chopsticks. You looked around to see how people ate this meal. Placing down your fork, you grasped the spoon, tasting the broth. It was amazing. You didn’t need food to live. Angels reached for other sources for their existence yet the pleasure that flooded your mouth was unique. Then the hurt came. It raised the temperature of your mouth and made you gulp down soda. Sticking out your tongue, you fanned your hand over your face. Brows furrowed.

You were too busy trying to soothe the pain that you didn’t pay attention to your surroundings. You saw a dark silhouette from the corner of your eye, blinking you focused your eyes on it.

It was him. It was him.

The pain in your tongue seemed to dim, a distant reminder of where you sat. He was bored looking at the menu, a cigarette between his fingers, casually flicking it above the ashtray. He looked at a newspaper, reading it silently. His jaw was relaxed, his body usually so alert now calm.

You averted your gaze before he spotted your presence. The food didn’t seem so appetizing anymore. A bead of sweat travelled from the back of your neck to your lower back. The wet sensation grounding you. You saw the waiter approach him, he ordered exactly what you were having. Voice stern.

Urging yourself to act normal, you took your fork and ate some noodles. The spice wasn’t so strong anymore, you endured it like it was nothing. Even from the next table you could smell him. For the first time you registered his scent. He smelled ordinary. It could’ve been soap, his shampoo, sweat, cheap cologne. You didn’t know what it was, you were new to human smells. You could discern the odor of the strong cigarettes he smoked. But to you this was the most precious smell in the universe, because it wasn’t random. It was his.

Closing your eyes you relished another piece of him being shown to you. With warm cheeks and tears forming in your eyes, you left money on the table. It was much more than you needed to pay, but you didn’t mind. You left as fast as you could, avoiding being noticed. You told yourself that the spice was too much, that this made you overwhelmed.

You knew this was a lie.

And when the days passed and you felt feverish every time you remembered his scent you closed your eyes. Legs pressed together, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

By year five you had visited the human realm more times than you could count. You knew him more than you did before, you had seen his features sharpen. He became an expert killer, his expression hardened by his job. There was no trace of the doubt he had on day one. Yet you still knew so little about him, so many gaps to be filled.

You didn’t know how it started. Maybe it was after you saw him fall asleep with his clothes on, soft expression plastered across his face. You wished you could feel the texture of his bed, how his sheets felt against your bare skin. Maybe it was that one time you saw him look at an old polaroid picture with sorrow. Eyes narrowed, he stuffed it in his locked drawer. Whatever reason you had to be doing this didn’t matter because it was eclipsed by one thing—you wanted it. Nothing else could change your mind because you simply wanted it.

So, from seven pm to eleven pm you roamed free in his apartment. It had begun a while ago, when you were casually walking near his house while he was out working. One day you walked up to his door, frozen in your spot, fingers itching to open it. You repeated this for weeks before actually letting yourself in.

You skillfully went up the stairs to his floor, sneakers squeaking against the ceramic tiles. Your black skirt swaying with your movements. You bit your lip to contain your excitement. His door was ugly, the paint was peeling and there wasn’t even a carpet. Every single door had at least a decoration to claim the place as theirs—his had none. You reached for the key that rested on top of the door frame, letting yourself in. You smiled, kicking off your shoes, leaving the key on the table by the door.

His smell clouded your mind. The lingering scent of his cheap cologne floated in the air, and the trace of cigarette smoke clung to the walls. You didn’t mind it. His place was broad. The living room was just a black sofa, a coffee table and the TV. He barely had any ornaments, just the necessary. The windows were covered by drapes slightly parted, letting some of the sunset rays in. You always walked towards his room first. Everything was messy, he had clothes discarded on the ceramic floor, his nightstand was packed to the brim. An ashtray with dozens of smoked cigarettes. A scribbled notepad with a pen, few crumbled papers surrounding it. And a silver clock. The drawers were locked. His unmade bed was your favorite place here. You plopped yourself against the mattress, the bed screeching. There was a certain roughness to it, the texture felt fresh against your skin, the smell of fabric softener mixed with traces of soap, shampoo and sweat overpowered everything else. You smiled, stretching your limbs happily.

You looked at the time. Seven thirty. You could allow yourself to take an hour nap. It was routine for you now because you had never rested as well as you did when you slept on his bed. You never rested outside of this apartment. Angels didn’t sleep, it wasn’t a need. You took the clock by his bed, adjusting the alarm. Hugging a white pillow and covering yourself with the weight of the duvet, you made yourself comfortable. Drifting towards sleep you dreamed of a distant paradise, of a faraway warmth.

When you woke up, startled by the loud noise, you spun, placing a pillow over your head. Groaning, you took an arm out reaching to turn off the alarm. Reluctantly, you sat up, blinking slowly. Feeling your mouth pasty, you noticed the wet spot on the pillow and cleaned a trail of saliva with the back of your hand. Getting up, you went to the kitchen to prepare the instant ramen you had bought—without spice.

By ten thirty, you had cleaned up any trace of your presence, the ramen cup in a plastic bag stuffed inside your purse. You always had to restrain yourself from tidying the whole place. You knew he would notice. You didn’t want to risk it. Brushing your fingers against the duvet of the bed, you silently said goodbye. Before leaving you made sure to leave the pillows in the same position and the alarm turned off.

You walked to the living room, giving one last look at the space. But before you could move, a sharp pain hit your stomach, a deafening sound exploded inside the room. You knew this sound well, it was his gun. The force of the bullet made you stumble two steps back. Legs quivering, you fell to your knees, your hands on the floor, supporting your body.

“O—Oh god.” You cried under your breath.

“Who the fuck sent you?” He stood at a reasonable distance, wary of your movements.

You had to stabilize your breath before slowly getting up. He saw how the hole in your tank top remained intact. There was no trace of blood, of flesh. A few seconds later, a bullet came out of it, hitting the floor with a metallic sound. Healing your body rapidly. The pain was white, sickening. Akin to someone stabbing you and twisting the blade slowly, tearing your insides every time it spun.

“Nobody.” You said breathless.

His jaw clenched when he stared at where the bullet pierced you, puzzled, brows tight. His grip on his gun tightened, pointing it again, this time at your thigh, shooting. You closed your eyelids tightly, gasping, balance faltering. Vision blurring, stars appearing before your eyes. You thought you might faint.

He took a step closer. “I’m not asking again.” His tone was demanding, threatening.

The pain was unbearable. So unbearable that your wings sprang out along with your heavenly aura. There was a silence, nobody moved. A few white feathers fell from your back, your whole body suffering the effect of the need to recover. Your mind raced.

His grip on his gun never loosened, even when he saw the feathers drift to the floor. His expression, however, cracked, you caught a glimpse of disbelief. Confusion. This was not normal, there wasn’t anything quite like this. And if there was, he had never seen it.

“Please—just. Don’t shoot again.” Heaving, you tried to steady yourself. “I have been taking care of you for a while now, Soobin.” Your words came out strained, the ache still lingering on your body.

He stared at you in silence for a moment. “Taking care of me?” The words came out in disbelief, a laugh at the end. He walked to your figure and examined your wings. He touched the feathers with his free hand, leaving a burning trail, his gaze was intense, fixed on the whiteness of them. He pressed hard, intent on discovering what you were.

You were hurt, your body throbbing where you had been pierced, there was no wound anymore, yet you could still feel it. And now all you could think about was how his coarse fingers touched you, it shouldn’t feel good. But it did. You were shuddering. It could have been because you were shot or because he was so close to you, you didn’t know. He kept his gun aimed at your heart, not leaving any room for error. You knew he could kill you if he wanted to, yet you still were an angel. You couldn’t die from this.

“What are you?” He hissed, voice low, locking his eyes with yours.

His eyes were deep, you knew you could’ve looked at them for an eternity. The moment was electrifying, it brought your body back to life, dimming the weight of what just happened. Your mind barely functioned, any coherent thoughts long gone. You thought your flesh would dissolve with the tension in the air. There was once an imaginary line you knew you weren’t going to cross for Choi Soobin, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You couldn’t stand straight, still you tried, wincing. “I’m not human.”

He seemed skeptical, the touch of his curious fingers distracting you. “Then what are you?” His eyes narrowing, he pressed his gun to your chest forcefully with his other hand, hurting you. Your eyes never leaving his, you gulped, nervous.

Shaky hands rising to eye level, you shook your head. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You were sincere, there was nothing behind your voice. You spread your arms open. “You can check.”

He stopped touching your wings, withdrawing his hand. “If you try anything I’ll shoot you.” His tone was matter of fact. He maneuvered his weapon with one hand while the other approached you.

He patted your back first. He checked under your tank top, the bareness of it making your skin prickle. You knew this meant nothing to him, it was something he needed to get out of the way to ensure his safety. But to you this was more than you ever thought you would get, and the idea alone of his hand on your skin made you lightheaded. He moved his hands down, to your lower back until he reached your butt. He moved his hand under your skirt, shamelessly. You wished for a moment that he would squeeze your ass, but you had to mentally remind yourself that you were not in a good situation. That you needed to survive.

He realized soon how you reacted under his touch, seeing how you could barely contain it. Nibbling on your lip, fingernails pressed against your palms. Body still quivering. He didn’t move an inch, still wary. When his fingers grazed your tits, you had to avert your gaze, he allowed himself to explore a little bit more—more than he should have. He felt how your nipples started to harden under his digits, but as indifferent as he seemed, he continued down. Touching under your skirt, he actively avoided going anywhere near your core, moving to your bare legs instead.

The cold gun never left your skin, it only moved from its spot at your heart anytime Soobin moved. It was a chilling reminder of the reality of the situation. When he finished, he lowered it, stuffing it at his back.

“Explain yourself.” He crossed his arms.

The absence of his warmth took the air out of your lungs. You had to blink a few times before speaking. “I have been watching you since your first job.” Inhaling you fiddled with your fingers. Were you really going to say it? You couldn’t take it back. This was dangerous. “I have been taking care of your soul. You have never been alone, I have been above, watching.”

He huffed annoyed. “Above? Be clearer.”

Shifting in your spot you mentally prepared yourself for what you were about to say. “I’m your guardian angel.”

The truth was out, the weight of it settled on your shoulders. You searched his face for a reaction. There was a moment of silence, then he scoffed.

“Do I look like I would have a guardian angel?”

Frustrated you nodded. “I don’t choose my humans. You were just assigned to me.”

“You aren’t making any fucking sense.” He stood tall in front of you, brow raised. Questioning the mere fact of your existence.

“I know you were eighteen when you first killed, your hands trembled even before you held your gun. I know that you like spicy beef ramen and that you get it three blocks from here. And I know there is a polaroid picture you don’t want anyone to see locked inside your nightstand’s drawer.”

He froze, his hands clenching. The third fact surprised him, a sudden glimpse of fear seeping through the crack of his front. He seemed taken aback at the sudden burst of vulnerability. He thought no one was seeing him, that those were things time was going to erase. A flickering of belief sparked in his eyes, he opened his mouth doubtfully.

“You are…an angel?” The words were foreign to him.

“Yes. I’m your guardian angel.” You chose your words carefully, hoping it would make sense to him.

“Fuck.” He muttered incredulously. “Why are you here?”

Oh.

That was a logical question, one that you didn’t want to answer. You remained silent. He walked towards you. A hint of danger behind his irises. “You know, it is weird.” He twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers, focusing on it. “For a while now, I have been smelling something out of place in my bedsheets.”

The proximity took you by surprise, the warmth that radiated from his body contrasted well with his usually cold persona. You tittered before speaking. “Maybe it’s the brand of detergent you’re using. Or you know you might reconsider sleeping with your clothes on. The blood smell on them might be—” You kept rambling, nervous.

His face was close to yours, he seemed calm, in control. “I know what blood smells like.” He sniffed the hair in his fingers, then he came even closer and took the scent of the skin in your neck. You never wear perfume, there was no way your natural scent was this strong. “It smells like you.”

“I—” Stammering, you tried to place some distance from him. His whole being was overwhelming. The way his eyes roamed over your figure was enough to send someone to madness. He grabbed your arm with enough force to keep you still. Your heart was pounding loudly, you could feel it all over your body. He was getting too close. He was already too close.

“Tell me everything. I want to know how much you know.” He loomed over you, voice low, barely above a whisper. His breath hitting your skin softly, prickling it. He was centimeters away from you, you could hear him perfectly.

Debating internally if you should just be honest with everything you had done these past five years, you locked eyes with him. There was so much to lose, so many to disappoint. And then there was him, just him. In front of you, finally, speaking to you, demanding answers. He acknowledged your existence, and that was enough. You didn’t need anything else. Determination in your irises you knew what you had to do.

“I’ve seen you kill. I’ve seen and heard every single life you have taken. I’ve seen you eat that stupid cup ramen you always buy. I’ve seen you sleep. I’ve seen you nervous. I’ve seen you get every single wound you ever had. I’ve seen you stitching yourself. I’ve seen you alone. I’ve seen you smoke alone in the darkness of your living room.” Blurting the words out you forced yourself to look him in the eye. You stopped registering his reactions the moment you splayed yourself raw. “I’ve seen you f—fuck. I’ve seen every single one of those. I see when you touch them, when you bite their skin. Every time you make them moan. I’ve heard, seen it and hated it.”

You waited five seconds to compose yourself, to breathe. “I’ve hated every single time you touch another woman. Each moment I’ve wished it was me.” Your wings were starting to throb.

After that you stopped looking at him, fixing your gaze on the floor. His grip on your arm loosened, staring silently at you. “You’ve been watching me fuck other women?”

You nodded, ashamed of yourself.

He chuckled in disbelief. “You’ve seen me kill.”

This wasn’t a question, this was a fact. You whispered yes anyway.

“And you still wanted me?”

You were surprised by the ease with how he spoke. These were things you tried to hide for years, these were secrets nobody knew. He knew what to say, what to ask to get you to say them aloud.

“Y—yes.” Inhaling, you spoke. “I’ve wanted you for a while now.” The confession made the pain in your wings ablaze, you winced. It was finally out.

His hand roamed from your elbow to your waist, tentatively. He brought you closer to him, your chest clashing against his. There was something similar to hunger taking over his eyes. “Such a pure creature meddling with things she shouldn’t.” His fingers brushed your cheek, as if he were afraid to touch you fully. “Taking care of me…” He trailed. “You’ve done a terrible job.”

You breathed heavily, following the movements of his fingers closely. You were alight, something gurgling underneath your skin, threatening to explode and take this whole world with you. You knew you were still alive, that this was real, because your figure throbbed and your wings were aching like they never had before. Every single fiber in your body screamed that this was wrong, that you should escape at the very first chance you had. That you should return to heaven and request another mortal.

You weren’t going to do any of that.

“I’m sorry. You are not an easy human to take care of.” Your tone was hushed.

 He paused, looking for something behind your eyes. What could he be looking for? There was nothing more than this, this was you. Just you. “You are a weird angel. I don’t think you are supposed to get involved with me…” Then closing the distance, he stopped about two centimeters away from your lips. “You want me to touch you, don’t you? Your eyes look like they need me.”

“I…” Stammering because of how straightforward he was, you struggled to find coherent words. “I shouldn’t even come to earth this often.” Your breaths mixed and you felt it on your parted lips, the residual pain of the bullets still present—a reminder of his nature, of how opposite you were from him.

“For someone so pure, you seem to be having sinful thoughts.” He shifted and with how close your bodies stood, you could feel everything. His hand on your waist squeezed hard. You suppressed a sound. “Just look at you. You are such a fucking mess under my fingers.”

You gulped, trying to get something out of your mouth but you couldn’t. “Say it. Say that you need me.”

You had accepted a long time ago that you weren’t going to have this—that you couldn’t. This wasn’t right, you knew it. The apple was right there, juicy and vibrant. You just had to take the first bite.

“I…I need you.” Admitting it felt foreign.

“Such an obedient little angel.” He mocked you, leaving feather-like kisses on your neck. Then he moved to your cheek and patiently kissed the corner of your lips. He took his sweet time, entertaining himself with your little noises. With how large and impressed your pupils were. “I’ll make an exception for you, my guardian angel…” He kissed you, deep, furious, and hungry. You didn’t know how to answer to this, to such intensity. You’d never done it and you are sure he never does it either. You’ve never seen him kiss. There were millions of things going through your head right now, and all you could feel is your brain turning to mush. Trying to match his speed you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

“You are so bad at it.” Realization dawned on him. He looked at you amused, then he smirked. “Have you ever been kissed?”

Embarrassment flooded you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Soobin’s hand grabbed your chin, keeping you in place, demanding an answer. “No, I haven’t.”

“You think too much.” He sighed, moving his thumb over your lips. “Just follow my lead.”

Kissing you, slower this time, he allowed you time to explore. This one was different, the build-up tension was still present, he seemed careful with you. Ignoring the sharp pain coming from your back, you relished the way his lips felt. Every single one of those times you had pictured them did no justice to reality, he seemed to know how to maneuver himself with his body. You hated being so clumsy. His tongue parted your lips, allowing him to wander freely. You let him, happily.

He started walking towards his bedroom, never separating from you. He paused abruptly. “You really want to do this?  You’ve seen me. You know how this ends.” He looked into your eyes. His were dark and hypnotic, you felt like he was restraining himself from something. You just didn’t know what.

“Be my first, Soobin.” You pleaded. There was something hidden underneath all of that, an acceptance of reality. A choice was made today, or perhaps five years ago. You couldn’t take it back anymore, you knew. You were already too deep the moment you saw him touch himself and hoped you could make him grunt like that too.

He trapped your lips, clouding your senses. His scent was so strong, and it mixed with your sweaty frame, which made you almost dizzy. Since you couldn’t resist temptation anymore, you allowed your fingers to travel to his arms, feeling every muscle, grazing his rough skin. He guided you towards his room, a path you both knew very well. It was difficult to walk thanks to the overwhelming sensation of being touched by human hands. You had never felt the warmth of somebody else. Every nerve in your body jolted every time he grabbed you by the waist or when his fingers pressed hard into your arms to keep you stable.

You felt the mattress squeak under your weight. He broke the kiss. “You taste so pristine…” He fetched a shiny, sharp knife from his belt and tore your white tank top from top to bottom. The ripping sound and your pulse were the only things your ears registered; everything else floated unnoticed in the air. This was actually happening. “I can’t wait to ruin you.”

You shuddered, your chest only covered by your bra. He toyed with the knife in his hands, thinking with his brows knitted. With resolve, he pushed you towards the bed. And as you lay there expectantly, the night air drifting through the window, tingling your bare skin, he came close to your frame. He gave feather-like touches to your skin with the tip of the knife, the cold metal a reminder of who you were entangling yourself with. He had the power to do whatever he wanted with your body, yet he was so careful and so knowing with his movements that you redirected all the faith in your body to him.

He adjusted your torn clothes and hair before taking in the sight of the art he had created. His gaze roamed free over your body. Your wings splayed over the duvet, cheeks red and breath uneven. The remains of your garment rested on your sides, hair disheveled and wet with sweat. Your eyes, consumed by lust, looking at him expectantly. He was able to smirk when he saw the tinge of innocence behind your irises, almost fading.

Satisfied with your state, he took the liberty to pull out one of your breasts. Your nipple already hard and ready to be taken care of. He groped your tit, pinching your nipple. The sensation was like something you had never ever imagined, it awoke the familiar warmth that bloomed in your lower abdomen every time you saw Soobin touching somebody else’s skin. You whimpered, pushing your legs together to soothe the growing heat from between your legs. “Your skin is so soft.”

He placed his arms on your sides, supporting his weight, while he positioned a leg in between yours, one of his knees meeting a delicious pressure with your clothed core. Your thighs engulfed him, silently pleading for more. He lowered his head to the band of your skirt, nuzzling it with his nose. Breath teasing you. You wanted him lower, that much you knew, yet he was intent on denying you this. He nibbled you at the bare skin over where the fabric ended. Creating a wet trail with his tongue, nipping and licking at your flesh, he hovered above your exposed tit. His ragged breath softly hitting your nipple, eager to be touched. You were buzzing under his ministrations.

When you couldn’t take the wait anymore, you reached for his hair, burying your hand between his locks, tugging at them. Desperately trying to break the distance. He answered your silent plea by enveloping your breast with his mouth. He sucked your nipple, sometimes pressing it carefully with his teeth, the sensation sending waves of joy that collapsed in your core. Other times just twirling his tongue around it. You pulled his strands harder, a choked sound escaping your parted lips. You saw how his arms flexed under his button-up. The wet sounds coming from your chest made you shudder.

With a pop, he separated, licking his lips. He pointed downwards. “Open your legs.” He demanded.

You slowly opened them, releasing his limb. Your skirt now hardly covered you. From his point of view, he could see your dollar-store white panties peeking; you weren’t the type to wear shorts underneath. There was a wet spot forming in them. “I’ve barely touched you. You are so painfully obvious.”

Crouching, he squeezed your thighs before kissing you near your throbbing entrance. “Don’t move or I'll stop.” He knew, of course he knew, how desperately you wanted to be touched there. It felt like a test of patience, the hardest one you ever had to overcome. Because when he nibbled your inner thighs, you had to grab a fistful of sheets to avoid flinching.

He stayed long painful minutes in between your legs, his hair tickling your skin. He seemed to like how loud you were; you had zero idea how to control these desires, and everything was so overstimulating that the only way you found relief was with sounds. That was until you felt his finger hook on your panties, because you went completely still and silent when he grabbed the wet fabric.

He used the cold knife to rip your panties, the fabric recoiling to expose your aching cunt. You saw how he licked his lips before enveloping your throbbing bud in his mouth. Gasping, you couldn’t avoid moving, closing your eyes. He didn’t stop, lapping at it. Moaning his name, your hands gripped the duvet tightly, your legs squeezing his neck. You felt every single fiber of your body threading a sensation you couldn’t quite put a name on.

He stopped for a brief moment to spit on his finger before slowly thrusting into your core. He looked at your face, flushed and messy. Your pupils were blown, walls clenching over his digit. "M—move," you whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” He spoke above your pussy, you could feel the movements of his lips.

Pushing the shame to the back of your mind, you spoke. “Move!”

To this, he smirked, sinking his finger to the depths of your core, thrusting. His mouth continued to tease your clit. It was like being touched everywhere; you felt it all over your body. He picked up a pace after a few minutes, and when he saw that your juices were flowing, he inserted a second finger. Startling you, he didn’t give you any time to adjust. The tension was delicious, stretching you.

He adjusted the angle of his hand, and you knew he was hitting a precious spot. Because your back started to arch and your body was brimming with an unknown white sensation. You tensed your muscles and closed your eyes, unable to see the filthy movements of Soobin.

“You are getting tighter. Don’t tell me you are going to come so soon?” His mocking tone wasn’t enough to snap you back into reality. You were too far gone.

“Please don’t stop.” Imploring him, you bucked your hips forward. This seemed to amuse him because he withdrew his fingers entirely. Shaken, you lifted your head, your eyes scanning his face for an answer.

He looked at her with a lopsided smile, relishing the sweet look of your eyes. Panting, with a tit out and hair tangled, you gulped. There was the dormant pain of your wings underneath all of that, it hadn’t stopped. On the contrary, it just seemed to escalate forward. And there was only one way out of this story, and you were ready to face the consequences of it.

The clinking of metal broke the silence of the room, snapping you back to reality. You followed his trail of movements closely, interested. The bulge in his boxers was thick and tight, you saw how it stretched the fabric of his underwear. “Help me out.”

You opened your eyes like a deer caught in headlights, dazzled. You adjusted your position so you could sit in front of him. The outline of his shaft made you wet your lips instinctively, wondering if you could do with your mouth what he used to do with his hand. Wanting to pleasure him.

He freed himself, his length sprang. It was glistening, covered in a sticky substance that oozed from the tip. He stroked himself a few times before smugly looking at you. You adjusted the loose strands of hair that stuck to your face and hesitantly took his member in your hand. His eyes were focused on you, a spark of hunger crossing his irises for a fleeting moment. And for some odd reason, that was enough to drive you insane. The mere thought of being desired by this man sent you into oblivion.

You pumped his cock up and down, hand trembling, vacillating. “C’mon. You should do better than that.” His sardonic words laced with boredom fueled you. You were going to be better than any woman who ever dared to even lay eyes on him. You had to be better than any fling, you were more than that. You needed to be more than that.

Furrowing your brows, you fully focused on trying to please him, now grabbing his shaft with newfound confidence. You saw him narrow his gaze, a slight telltale sign that he was enjoying himself. Trying to draw expressions on his face, you tried different ways to make him feel good. At first you squeezed a little bit tighter, to which he nodded smugly. Then you decided to drag the head with your thumb in a round motion, the precum allowed the movement to be swift. He bit his lower lip, yet you still weren’t satisfied with it. You wanted to make him grunt.

With a little bit of doubt, you parted your lips and wrapped them around his cock, taking him in, gliding until you had to physically suppress a choke, tears pricking your eyes. You freed him, needing to cough, muttering a "sorry" with frustration.

He shook his head, exhaling a sharp breath, almost becoming a laugh. “What did you expect? You had never blown someone.”

You felt a blush creep to your cheeks, averting your gaze. “It’s not a big deal.” He sighed, grabbing your chin so you could face him. “I’ll teach you.”

“Instead of trying to take it all at once, try to test how much you can handle.”

You tried a second time, taking as much as you could without gagging. “Try to hollow your cheeks a little bit and start to bob your head.”

You did as he said, looking expectantly from your position to see if you were doing good. He nodded as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding you. “Keep going, little angel. You are just starting to get good.”

You allowed him to set the pace, doing your best to feel him. Lips pressed to him. The salty taste of precum invading your tongue. The unknown substance making you frown. “Try to circle the head with your tongue.”

Not releasing your hair, he guided you out so you could catch your breath before positioning you near his cock. Panting, you stuck your tongue out, circling his red tip. After that you mixed your tongue in between sucks, and it worked wonderfully. You were a fast learner, and the soft grunts he started to mutter after a while encouraged you.

You had never stayed watching long enough to hear Soobin moan. It wasn’t because of shame or even respect. It was rooted in the deep hatred you felt towards the women that lingered on his bed for too long. When a soft cry escaped his parted lips, glossing thanks to the sheer layer of saliva coming from them, he stopped you.

“I want to come inside you.” The bluntness of the statement left you at a loss for words, not knowing how to exactly answer that. Nervousness was the first thing that came to mind. “I want to be the first to taint you.”

He pushed you softly against the mattress, your back crashing against the soft bedding. When he started parting your legs, you stopped him hurriedly. “Could you take out your shirt?”

“Mmmm…Why?”

“I want to feel the warmth of your skin.”

He thought for a whole heartbeat before caressing your cheek. Feeling the curves of your cheeks. Looking into your supplicating eyes. “I wonder how cold heaven must have been.”

You shuddered at the mention of your home, you wanted to bury the fact that you were ever a pristine creation in the first place. Because what you were doing had a name, and it was rightfully punished. You were a sinner, the worst kind at that. Detaching yourself from that was the only way you were ever going to be able to pursue the passing joy of having Soobin, at least for a brief second.

He saw your face shift to worry, hands fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. He tsked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take my shirt off.”

He undid the buttons of his shirt skillfully, looking at you the entire time. Throwing the garment to the floor, he picked up where he left off, not wasting a second. You grabbed his shoulders, kissing him, letting your hands roam free over his bare torso. Nails scratching his back, leaving red trails. He was startled by this, not quite meeting the pace of the kiss. You stopped for a second, grabbing his hands and placing them on your body.

“Feel me, touch me. Desire me.”

You didn’t have to kiss him because he buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and nibbling at the exposed skin. Every hickey he left was a claim over your body, he wanted to say he proudly helped you fall from grace. That he turned you evil. It excited him; it made him spiral. Because you were the first being that he could touch that didn’t feel like a mere piece of meat to him. You were so loving with your touch, yet you knew what his hands were capable of. How? Just how could you lay there and demand his touch? How could you dare relish in the warmth of an assassin?

A symphony of moans erupted from your throat, you hugged him tightly. Burying your hands in his dark locks, encouraging him to keep going. He pressed his body above yours, you felt his erection on your stomach. He was harder than before. The thought of having him inside you made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He stopped, gasping for air. This time he roughly parted your legs open. “Fuck. I just want to feel you.”

Positioning himself in your entrance, he didn’t even think about teasing you before parting your folds with the tip and sinking his shaft. The stretch brought a sharp pain, and you couldn’t avoid letting out a cry. “I’ll give you time. Tell me when you want me to move.”

A few seconds in and the pain melted into an indescribable yet delicious feeling. Mewling, you demanded that he move. It started as a lazy drag, trying to allow you to fully adjust to him. When you brought him closer to your body, hugging his torso with your legs, he sank his cock to the hilt, knocking the air out of you. Without notice, he thrust strongly, drawing all sorts of sound from your body. Bucking your hips, you tried to meet his thrusts, and when you did, you swore you saw stars.

“You feel so good, little angel.”

The only correct answer for you was a messy kiss. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, exploring. Biting your bottom lip, savoring your taste. He changed his angle, hitting the same spot he discovered with his fingers making you nip at his lips. You knew your walls were clenching around his shaft, squeezing him. Grunting, he let you go, a shiny thread of saliva connecting your mouths.

He stopped speaking altogether when he saw your teary eyes looking at where you two were joined. “Faster, p—please.” And he obeyed.

You sank your nails into his shoulder blades when it was becoming too much to handle, when one of his hands started circling your clit quickly. You knew you were nearing something, that something was supposed to happen. It scared you, yet it pushed you to plead for him to not stop. A long, sharp moan came from the depths of your throat when the storm inside your body collided into an unbearable pleasure. You came undone under him, the remaining strength in your body holding onto him.

He smiled smugly, biting his lip, bucking his hips forward. The pain of the overstimulation wasn’t enough to bring you back. You were being used by him to reach his pleasure, and you were thankful. You were here, hugging him, his body like an anchor to earth, and there was nothing else beyond him and this moment.

“Moan, please.” You mustered weakly.

He did. He made all sorts of sounds just because you asked. And when he came undone, his seed filling you up, he tiredly whispered into your ear. "A human tainting an angel like this? Unthinkable.”

He rested on top of you, catching his breath. You were so far gone you didn’t realize when your feathers started cascading off from your wings. Falling to the ground like dead leaves, turning from white to a dull ashen black.

tysm for reading!