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[celinesommers]

Vampire Chris

That damn smirk makes me feel some kinda way and

[celinesommers]

I WAS ALL OVER HER. (bang chan)

pair. ex soldier! chris x fem! reader | genre. attraction at first sight, bartender mc, angst, smut | warnings. smoking, profanity, mentions of trauma, mental struggle, flawed characters, alcohol consumption, use of pet names, sexual thoughts, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cunnilingus | word count. 5.7k

synopsis. you get off exactly at two o’clock every night. chris is patient—he drinks, and watches. you don’t look very happy where you are. he wants to change that, wants to know why. he’s not happy, either. but he could be, maybe. with you. for you.

Every man in there has been flirting with you.

You appear oblivious to it, and maybe that’s exactly it—a pretense, a hoax, because this is how you pay the bills and keep your job, and now Chris sees you under a different light, no more the deer in the headlights, but rather the car heading straight for the poor animal, foot on the gas, unyielding.

Not quite so innocent, and nothing about this place is. Lee Minho’s own bar, his pride and joy, bleeding reds and yellows, a jukebox from the late eighties bought at an auction placed aesthetically by the window wall with the neon sign and the street lamps outside. It’s all very purposeful, very strategic. A house of cards, if you ask the man sitting at the bar, sporting a whiskey-on-the-rocks in his strong hand, but what isn’t? Everything collapsing, all at once, constantly—he’s seen that, too, a thousand times.

His rib cage feels restricting, his breath hitches. You’re bending over the ice cooler, and he can clearly see the trace of your underwear underneath the black linen skirt. Your ass curves deliciously, and his palms are suddenly itchy. No, Chris is no different than the men polluting this establishment, nor has he ever claimed to be. He’ll show you a good time if you’re up for it, but he won’t beg, won’t even pick up the courage to flirt his way into that sinful fucking skirt. Black suits you.

He doesn’t stand a chance. And he’s not a creep, not for the most part, at least.

He’s been a regular, though. You know his name and he knows yours. He heard about your grandma passing and that one time your car broke down in the middle of nowhere and you had no one to call except for your boss. He almost volunteered that night; almost opened his stupid mouth, muttered something he would never be able to take back—you can call me, I’ll always come—but he didn’t, because there had also been a boyfriend for a while back then, too. Tall and lanky, covered in tattoos and bad decisions. Chris knows all about those, but what he didn’t know—

What you saw in that guy. How he took you home once and then kept taking you, in multiple ways he supposed, burying between your legs, kissing your lips and laying a claim on you everytime he got the goddamn chance—he’s glad the fucker’s gone, but not glad for the broken heart and the tears. Oh, and the shots. You’d been too drunk to stand, could barely talk. Still, Chris wasn’t the one to take care of you then, either, though he’d jumped out of his chair the moment he saw you swaying. Hands as fists, teeth clenched, he saw Minho carry you to the back, then called for Jisung to come and close the bar for the night.

He’d been an observer his whole life. And when he wasn’t—when he showed up, took initiative, buzzed his hair and made a choice—it all went to shit. Two years of goddamn sand, sunburns, bullets scratching past his thick fucking head, innocent civilians dying before his eyes, his own arms raising a rifle, pointing, threatening. Killing. Lots of that, mostly that, and orders. So many fucking orders he could recite them in his sleep, if he had any of that. Insomnia was a hell of a bitch, as it turns out, and she’ll see you know that. She’ll make sure of it.

Sergeant, take your comrade and go back! This is an order from your captain. Do you fucking hear me? It was a suicide mission, for fuck’s sake—

But enough of that. He does a lot of remembering on his own. He’s there to forget about it all for a while. He’s there to look at you, to observe your hands fixing other men drinks, to fantasize having those same hands wrapped around his cock, to feel how they would work him over the edge, how much or how little you’d squeeze, if you’d take him in your mouth, how your lips would pucker to suck him in, his head falling back, breathing rugged, his entire body in full attention, very similar to his training days, mud up to his knees—

It’s only been six months. You’ll go back to normal in no time, they’d said. If you have any concerns, don’t hesitate to give us a call on our office number. He had a lot of those. Concerns. Mostly about the dead people behind closed eyelids, how they moved and moaned his name even though he never told them, or just the simple fucking question of his mind—it’s all jumbled now, it replays memories like a broken record, and cannot seem to shut the fuck up, not even for a single moment. Chris feels like he’s drowning, most of his days. Neck deep in water, surrounded by bulletproof glass, no way in, no way out. What to do about that?

Leave a message after the beep, apparently. We’ll get to you as soon as we can.

He’d like to flirt with you. He’d like to say one thing and then keep pouring out, keep saying, keep talking, if only to have your eyes on him, to keep your gaze trained on him, to have your undivided attention. But to hear your voice reply back, to invest in him, to listen and have words for him. He craves your words, the way your mouth would curve around the syllables, how your lipstick will coat your sentences, so that when they travel they reach their destination sweeter than ever.

Chris is starved. Of many things, yes, but of what you have to offer him. Of what he wants to ask of you. It’s a specific hunger, wanting you, one that’s hard to shake. So, he doesn’t. He couldn’t possibly.

The men continue ogling. He considers it a mercy to let them—to his friend, but to you, also. ‘Heaven knows I’m miserable now’ starts playing on the old piece of junk in the corner, the guy responsible for the choice of song going back to his booth, cherry cigarette glinting amongst a rain of color. Chris tries not to smoke in front of you, you’ve probably inhaled enough of it to last you a lifetime, but it’s times like these, times he can’t seem to stand himself—

“Really, Al?” You ask the record player, and the man shrugs, lifts his glass your way.

“It’s one of those days, doll.”

It is, indeed.

“And you?”

It takes Chris a full five seconds to realize you’re addressing him. Why? Which God should he thank? And how to form coherent sentences when your eyes are piercing through him like a million knives? He wraps his hand tighter around his drink, hoping you don’t notice how undone, how completely in your web he is now—a caving man, ready to fall on his knees for you. You could do anything you want, you could spit at him for all he cared, kick his sorry ass out, as long as you didn’t take your eyes away.

His voice comes out raspy, distorted. Alien. A false sense of confidence.

“What about me, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks are flushed, your eyebrows knit together as if you don’t quite understand what he’s asking. His eyes travel to where your shirt has ridden up to reveal the soft skin of your waist, though he doesn’t let himself indulge too long. Chris would love to have you under him, to guide your hands over his bullet wounds and his own down the hills and mountains of you. But how to get you away from here, how to take a girl like you from this impenetrable tower he’s locked you in. He laid down the bricks, he cemented you in place to keep you out of his life, when all he’s ever wanted to do was let you take over everything, let you annihilate, destroy, build anew.

He really can’t fucking stand himself.

“You look sad, Chris.”

I’m sorry. His fingers search for the pack in his jacket, slipping a stick between his teeth, bringing the flame close, and inhaling. You blink and busy yourself with wiping down the counter, but he can tell you don’t like it when he smokes, him in particular, a question mark he’s burning to know the answer to. Do you care? Do you care like I do?

How simple it’d be, to be sad. A state that will pass, chemistry of the brain that can easily be overturned, switched with a quick fix of serotonin. It almost makes him laugh. No, what he is—wretched, forlorn. A rotting corpse somewhere in the Middle East. If he were to guess, he came back, some fucking semblance of him, only for you. And he’s fucking it up, he’s letting you slip right through his very hands. You’re single now, but for how long? How fucking long will it take for him to grow the balls and tell you straight up?

Tear me apart and put me back together. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you. I’m all fucking wrong now, but you can fix me. God, I’ll let you. Say the word and I’ll let you.

His lips quirk, a bitterness enveloping him. “Yeah? Is that what I am?”

You turn your back to leave a beer to the man on the other side of the bar, and he misses you already. Chris obliges you when you look ready to make small talk with him. He’s even cracked a joke or two on occasion, just to feel that constricting feeling in his chest again, the one that warms his bones and makes his ears ring. The sound of your laughter is intoxicating, unlike anything he’s ever heard, but much like a bomb. Devastating. Impossible to ignore. Today’s not one of those days.

The clock on the wall reads one-fifteen. He’s faintly aware of the sputtering on the window, the rain that’s coming or is already here. He’ll have to go home soon. He wonders if you’ll come. He wonders if he’ll ask you to.

When you turn around, he thinks the rainbow’s already out. The worst has passed.

And then you lean in. Towards him. The cigarette in his mouth stills, his heart stops. He can smell you, the sweetness of you, the warmth of your hair, and he’s surely dreaming. You’ve never done that before. He’s never let you. But you’re here now, so close he could exhale in your mouth, so close there’d be a misunderstanding, could be considered an invitation—

“I’m here if you need to talk, you know?” Your eyes are real empathetic. They make him sick to his stomach.

Deflect, deflect, deflect. Brick after brick.

“There’s nothing to say, baby girl.” Tell me what shampoo you use. Do you have trouble sleeping at night? What are you doing in this bar?

Let me take you away. Come with me.

You don’t believe him. “Promise?”

The side of his mouth curves again. He muses at the cherry between his thumb and index. “Scout’s honor.”

You walk away from him, time and time again. Angel hair framing, devil’s body swaying, those fucking lips taunting.

“If you say so, Christopher Bang.”

What do I know, sweetheart. What do I fucking know.

He waits. He’s real good at waiting, too.

Chris thinks about your proximity earlier and can’t seem to let it fucking go. In that same sense, he could do anything, and he ponders over that leaning against the exit, knowing you’re in the background of him, sweeping, putting chairs up, washing the glass his lips have touched, and isn’t that a closeness as well, a different one, one that matters more than anything else or ever?

He feels like he’s on the verge of something tonight, and for once he’d like to know what it is. He wants to screw concepts like control and restrain and just grab you—hold you—press his nose against your cheek. You’re such a vague emotion for him, he doesn’t know what to do with you, how to start, he just wants, he just craves, and that same hunger stirs again, the one that never goes away, the one that started the first night he ever set foot in this place, the soft opening, and he saw you, and you looked at him, and he was gone.

Have you ever felt that way? Do you want to? Is it even a sane feeling to have? It never ends for him, never stops. Not the war, not you, not the orders, and maybe control isn’t so overrated, maybe he still has time to pull it all together enough to walk to his car and go sleep it off on his empty bed with the colorless sheets and the humidity that clings on and to and from everything.

His waiting had a purpose, though. He has to go through with it.

Hyunjin, your little helper on Saturday’s, comes out the door with a backpack strap on one shoulder, cig drooping between full lips, brown hair falling out of a loose bun. Chris barely glances at him, before tapping his boot on the cobblestone underneath him, and focusing his gaze back towards the light coming from the street lamp on the other side of the street. It’s drizzling now, but he wishes to see that magnificent lightning crack once more, to feel thunder under his skin, the water pouring down on him like karma from times passed.

Some sort of punishment, surely, he deserves. He fought for a country that won’t even acknowledge him, lost friends he’s known since he was four years old learning how to ride a bicycle, and his mind is somewhere left behind trying to dig itself out of the thick of it, and for that—surely, surely for that—redemption will not come, but cruelness? Cruelness must. It has to.

“She’s been sleeping with Minho, you know,” the pretty boy says exhaling clouds of smoke. Chris watches them morph then dissolve into nothing.

He knew that. It was bound to happen at some point.

“You come so often and yet never say anything at all, man. What do you think she’s gonna do? Wait?”

There’s humor in that, he supposes. Wait, yes, one option. He has, he thinks, for so long. It’s never crossed his mind to stop, to look elsewhere, to find someone else. It’s who he is, it’s how it works with him. But were you anything else besides a princess locked in a tower with a dragon, a tower he’d build you, and it keeps coming up because it’s true, it won’t seize just because it doesn’t fit the narrative in his stupid head. He has no right to feel anger, no reason why he should feel wronged. Minho is your boss, you’ve worked for him for a good while, you’re pretty, beautiful, fuck, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon, and Minho’s cunning. Handsome. Successful.

Why the hell not? No, he doesn’t fault you. He can’t.

It doesn’t sting less coming from someone else.

Chris asks what is obvious. “How’d you know? About me?”

Hyunjin lifts his hands in front of him. “Tunnel vision. It’s like you see no one else,” he pauses to take another drag of what looks like a Camel. “Kinda obsessive, don’t you think?”

Yes. If I knew better I’d walk away right now. But he won’t. Because he doesn’t care that someone else has you, has had you, will eventually have you. It’s you he wants, not the pretty packaging, no matter the fantasies and hard ons. You, he wants to talk to you, bring you in his car and dissect you, learn about you, hear you speak, let you address him how you do—Christopher—his full name taking shape, blooming, transforming into something else just because it came out of your mouth.

He’s never let himself think about kissing you, not really. But, God, would that feel a resurrection.

The door opens again.

“Hyun, what—oh.”

The boy smiles, dips his head at Chris and walks away, two fingers up and swiftly moving as goodbye. Your phone is pressed on your ear, and you look tired. He was wrong to sit there and demand. He was wrong to expect, to assume. Embarrassment creeps, and the back of his neck feels hot. He bites on his tongue and tastes metal.

“I’ll call you back,” you say to the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah, no, maybe not tonight. Okay,” your eyes on him. “Okay, bye.”

He can’t help himself. “You had plans.”

Your lips curve, and your skirt is so fucking short. He could bend you over right then and there. He could have his way with you, and walk away forever. Get you out of his system, strip you from him. How easy it all sounds.

“I have new ones now,” you simply say, and take a step towards him. “Why are you still here, Chris?”

You’re begging him for the truth. This time he thinks he can give it to you. “Because you’re here.”

You blink and shift on your legs. Your boots are black, leather. Tall. Still not taller than him. You look into him like you know him and it pisses him off. He wants you so badly his insides twist and turn against him. He could die with this want, he almost has. Move closer. Reach out. Keep your eyes on mine.

I could fuck you so good. Almost as good as you fuck me.

“And that means?”

He swallows. He doesn’t think. “Whatever you allow it to mean.”

Your huff is bitter, your gaze manic. You’ve had a few drinks, laughed with a couple customers, let them slip you tips and led them on until you couldn’t, and he watched it all. He won’t say it out loud, but you’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you. If so, why don’t you give out? Why must you starve him like this?

He lights another cigarette just to see you care again.

You click your tongue on the roof of your mouth, and glare at him. He grins. You shake your head, and cross your arms, fake mad. Look how good you’re playing this game. What if you played forever? What if you played it in his bed or his car?

“I’ve fucked your friends,” you admit, but he thinks it’s supposed to hurt, because there’s an edge to your voice. “Jisung still has my clothes. Minho thought we were gonna fuck in the back after work yesterday. I almost let him. His fingers were inside my cunt for the longest.”

I could kill them. I could wear the arms that aren’t mine and pick up a gun again. But you want this reaction.

“Is that so, sweetheart,” he says carefully, concealing any sign of acid jealousy running rampant inside of him.

“You didn’t come yesterday.”

You do care. I can’t believe it took me this long to see it.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“You are a blind man, Christopher,” you scorn him, eyes turning vile.

He’s losing you before he’s even had you. You told him loud and clear, and he still won’t dare lift his hands from his ears. This needs to be something more. He needs to make it so, build on it. The smoke burns his eyes, burns you. Let it burn me alive. He had you, somehow. He walked the line, treaded carefully, and found you in the middle, like a mirage. Where you weren’t before, you appeared suddenly. It had been like that for a while, and he’d never dared lift his head up, in fear you disappeared, in fear of missing you.

“Show me, then,” he rasped. He watched your hands as you locked the entrance, as you hesitated to turn back. “Come with me.”

You were hurt. “And let you become one of them? You’re not one of them, Chris.”

You’re right. They’ll never want you like I do. But to go from one point to the next—something needed to give.

“I won’t touch you,” he licked his lips, stepping back, stepping down. “I swear it.”

Something he didn’t expect you to do—snatch the Marlboro right out of his mouth, stick it in yours. Your saliva mixing, the tobacco running down your throats, blackening your lungs. He was staring. You looked back just as defiantly. The rain was nowhere to be seen.

She’s testing me. Measuring up.

“Fucking liar,” you accuse. “Say that again and look at me straight.”

Chris started walking, instead. You exclaimed and laughed triumphantly. But if you followed, he didn’t check. He almost didn’t want you to, couldn’t trust himself with the promise he made, and isn’t that how he mostly gets himself in trouble—words that can’t seem to match his actions. He’s fucked himself over too many times like this. Surely there’s some sort of award for that.

“You have been nothing but a coward and that’s why you’re running away, even now, even knowing what you know.”

The need to make you shut up was raw and primal. It made his teeth grit, his fists clench. It also made him stop dead in his tracks.

“What do you know about running away, baby girl?” He spat, turning his head half way. “You think it’s easy?”

He heard them, then. Your footsteps.

He almost smiled, the crazy bastard.

“Yes, I do,” you retorted stubbornly. “My ride is gone and I stayed. What do you think that means?”

Don’t love me. Don’t get in the same pit, six feet under.

“You’re playing with me.”

“No more than you are with me.”

It took exactly three strides to reach you, to bury his fist in your hair and bring your face flush against his. Your breath hitched, your eyes grew wide, wild—he’d caught you off guard, he was rough, angry, furious. If he passed his forearm under your ass you’d shoot your legs up and around his waist in surprise, perhaps desire even, that was simple to calculate, but—what then?

Chris would fuck you tonight. He knew fuck all about anything else that had to do with you, but your very scent spoke to him. You were turned on, you were fucking wet. For him. Your knees squeezed together, he felt it against his pants. He bets you can feel him, as well. He wanted you to.

“Dangerous path you’re treading there,” he mumbles against your mouth. His fingers dig deeper in your scalp, he wants to feel your heartbeat over his, he wants it to accelerate, to make you dizzy, to surrender, to give in, finally, for fuck’s sake. “We’re not very good at bluffing with each other, are we, baby girl?”

You did something, then, something he hadn’t counted on—you leaned in, you let go. Chris almost flinched away, almost locked you back in that room, in that tower, away away away.

“You should kiss me,” barely a whisper, barely a command. “I want you to kiss me.”

There was no logic behind that, if that were to happen he’d— “I’m not gonna stop,” he warns, pleads. “I have—I have been starving for you…for so long, (Y/N). If you know what you’re doing, know I’m not gonna stop.”

You blinked, and then you smiled. “No one’s stopping you.”

He continued, entranced, drunk, insane, “I’m not going to fucking be one of them. You’re gonna stay with me. We’re gonna give this a try.”

“You’re delusional.”

You kiss him first. You end it first.

His car is right there, so close, so far, but he’s clutching your shirt, your hair, your face, your hip, and it’s so fucking hot, no, you are, you’re the hottest thing he’s ever touched, he could burst into ashes and smoke right there if it were possible, perhaps he wants to, perhaps making the first move was never an option for him—

Your teeth click against his and it hurts but it feels good, like violence, like the battlefield, and he wants to show you—what the bullet feels like piercing the skin, what hands as guns are capable of, how truly terrifying it is to not be in control of your own life, of your own destiny; Chris is sure you’re holding that red string for the both of you. You could snap it, twist it, break it. Maybe you should. Maybe there’s still time to put a full stop to this, the what if’s are too many, his head is spinning, his cock is fully erect, he’s—

Fuck him, he’s really holding you right now, isn’t he? He’s backtracking you to privacy, he’s looking for the keys in his back pocket, and you’re going along with it like you would’ve all along. It pisses him off. He wants to tear you apart, limb from limb, not quite aware of how dark that sounds, only the insistent pulse of hunger present.

“Don’t hold back,” you breathe into him. He staggers, scared of your thought-reading abilities. “Not for my sake.”

There’s one bone chilling moment where he pulls back and stares at you. In the feverish dream, he could pretend this was all make believe, that he had most likely passed out on the bar stool waiting for you to close, or even further, that he was still choking down sand next to dead bodies and machine guns—to actually—actually think you craved something like this?

After all the pushing and pulling? After Jisung’s embarrassed unanswered calls, Minho’s obnoxious smirk, Hyunjin’s shame inducing comments?

“You want this,” he tests, stricken. Confused.

You dare roll your eyes at him, closing the door after you. You’re properly straddling him now, your core pressing where he needs you most, and his hips buck, instinctively, his arms steadying you unconsciously. He wants to do it again, goes for it, but you meet him halfway, and it’s as good an answer as any. What comes out of your mouth, not quite a moan or a quiver—heaven, it must be, the gates opening, welcoming.

“I’m here, Christopher,” you say, and—

Say it again. Say it again and again and again. Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.

“Isn’t that enough? Get it through your head or I’m leaving.”

He does. He tries. He undresses you slowly, whatever he can reach, whatever’s accessible, and you let him, you stroke his shoulders, relax them, tense them to the point of fucking stiffness, but he can’t tell you that, he’s got one chance, he’s fucking taking it, he won’t miss, he won’t back down.

When he goes in to kiss you again, you press your naked chest over his thin tank top, and even then, he feels it—your pointing nipples, how hard they are, asking for attention. His hand comes out to reach for your neck, creating space by pushing you back, his tongue quickly wrapping around one bud, nibbling, sucking, teasing. You shudder, and his dick twitches. Holding you like this, applying just enough pressure to induce pain but making it manageable, he learned it for other purposes, it was never supposed to be for this, never for this—

He thinks he can begin using it for pleasure now. For something softer, more innocent. For you. On you.

You slip his thumb past your lips, licking over it, and he looks up through dark eyelashes, watches you do it, fantasizes about that mouth and how it would feel in other places, but he doesn’t want that from you now. He’d rather bury himself between your legs. He’d like to think you’ll have more time for everything else, more miracle chances.

Chris can smell your arousement. You’re practically soaking his pants with how you’re dry humping his thigh. He loves watching you losing yourself, he’d just love it even more if you were doing it with his cock inside you. His nails dig into your waist, his wanting unbearable, uncontrollable.

He’s shaking with the sheer force of it, though he would never truly admit it to himself.

You release his finger, and he brings you back, hand getting lost at your nape, holding you there, boring his eyes into yours, searching, asking, verifying. You’re so warm, his girl. The girl he’s wanted for so long, he’s dreamed of, has fought for in a silent war—before he even knows what he’s doing, he pulls you in for a hug, forgetting his own flesh, his desire.

You’re warm. Are you always this warm? Will you let me have this? I’ve been cold for so long, so fucking long…

“We’ve waited too long, don’t you think?” You mumble in his ear. You fall into him, relax your weight. Crush me. Let me feel you. “Do it, Chris. Please.”

Yes. Yes, you’re right. “I want you to know,” he starts, voice cracking, full of emotion. “I’ve lived through Hell wasting all that time. I’ve thought about death and addiction, and about how none of that could ever fucking compare to having you, like this, one day. You’ve kept me straight, sweetheart. Sane.”

It takes only a second for the words to register, before you’re unbuckling his belt, unzipping, hand getting lost, and he holds his breath through all of it, holds you even tighter, and when you finally, finally, have him in your hand, he pulls your panties to the side and guides you over, slams you down, on him. You bite his lip to keep from screaming out and he only digs deeper in your cunt.

“Take them off,” you cry out, trying to move by your own volition. He won’t let you. “Take them off now.”

He reaches behind your back and rips the thin fabric off you, throwing it on the driver's seat. Then he’s fucking into you full force, pistoling his hips up into your warmth, feeling you squeeze around him, your mouth sucking on his neck, the car heavy with your breathing, windows smudged. When he’s not guiding your hips, he’s gripping your ass, he’s abusing your waist by smacking you down on his length, hard, forcefully, painfully by the scrunch of your brows, but the way you take it all—the way you’re blossoming over him, hungrier than he is, a slut dripping for him, for his cock, for the way it fills you up, the way he fills you up—

Chris is convinced your pussy was made for him, he fits so perfectly inside it. Your rhythm is manic, chasing, brutal, but you’re so wet, so fucking wet, it feels so good, he needs you to know, he needs you to hear it, something else other than his cock burying, fuck, fuck, baby girl, your cunt, your sweet fucking cunt, I wanna be inside it forever, I’m gonna fill you up so good, look at you, look how you’re moving on me, let me see you, sweetheart, let me taste it, I bet you taste incredible; God I could fuck you all night, I could ruin you, I want to, you’re gonna fucking kill me.

“I’m going to cum,” you rasp, breathless, turned on beyond belief. “Chris, I’m going to fucking cum, fuck, just like that, please, don’t stop, faster, please, please…”

He drills into you one last time, two, three, before his arms fully wrap around you and envelop you, bodies shaking, releasing. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, and you’ve made a mess of his car seat. He could give less of a fuck about the stain, it’s the smell that’s driving him crazy, his musk mixed with yours, the desire stirring in the pit of his stomach, the way he wants to throw you in the backseat and to take you from behind as well.

His cock empties itself inside you in aftershocks, and your rocking hips against him are not helping. He wants to pin you down but can’t bring himself to do it. It feels overwhelming, good as fuck, to know you want him this much, even if just like this, it’s a start, it’s something he can work with.

“Never fucked in a car before,” you admit, dazed, giggling.

The sound tickles him.

“Took your first time, then, didn’t I?” He retorts, aware of how ridiculous it sounds.

But then you lean back, your gaze grows serious, you stop squirming. He listens, he tunes in.

“Wish you had,” you say. “My first time was in a back alley of a club. I was drunk and left to find my own way back afterwards… Not quite a decision I’m proud of.”

Chris’ heart dropped. “Consensual?”

You nodded. “Not to worry.” But the smile you threw at him didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I wonder how it would’ve been, though, if it was you from the start. You joined the army so quickly, I wasn’t sure what to do.”

His worst mistake. Something he’ll regret for the rest of his life. Chris gently lifts you from his lap and lays your upper half body on the seat next to him, quickly propping one knee where he was sitting, grabbing your hips and passing your legs over his shoulders. You squeal, hands clutching at your chest, as you watch him.

He boyishly grins your way before digging in your pussy, slurping away, cleaning you dry. The sound that came out of your mouth upon contact, fucking hell, he’ll never forget it. His cock rose in full attention again, his heart melted right off his goddamn chest. And you kept making it, kept giving it to him, sending him straight to his grave, moaning his name like that, his full name, as his tongue lapped, his nose nudging your clit.

Fuck no, you weren’t cumming. He wouldn’t let you. Not yet.

He withdrew his mouth, lowering you gently but still having a forearm under and across your waist. You kept your eyes closed, your chest rising and falling in quick motions.

“Now I can take you home.”

Your hand in his, he brought you back to his lap, held you until you calmed down. He kissed your lips and let you taste yourself. He looked at you and looked at you and looked at you.

You weren’t going anywhere.

“This could be something,” you muse quietly, face nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

Chris bit down a chuckle, nodded softly in agreement.

“Let it,” he responded. “Let it be.”

You didn’t move an inch. A minute or a year passed, it was hard to tell. Then, ever so agonizingly slow, you tilted your head.

You smiled.

Fuck me.

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @j-0ne25, @danyxthirstae01, @streetlight-s, @amnmich, @imtoooyoungforthisshit.

[celinesommers]

Bang Chan Fics Recommendations (Oneshot A-M)

Last Updated: 09 Sep ‘23

P.S.: Please let me know if any of the links aren’t working

a - angst, f - fluff, s - smut

♡ - personal favourite

* - newly added

DRABBLES/SHORT STORIES

ONESHOT (N-Z)

SERIES

Keep reading

[celinesommers]

ohdtidotdphc

💭 bang chan bubble update

[celinesommers]

I love this gahhh

Enemies-to-lovers!Bang Chan

request: Hey! Can i request and enemies to lovers slow burn with bang chan where they dont like each other but theres undeniable chemistry

genre: enemies-to-lovers!au, workplace/office!au, (fluff, slow burn, lots of denial of feelings lol) 

pairing/s: Chan / Reader (ft Seungmin and some ocs!) 

word count: 21k rip I got pretty carried away 

tw: not any prominent ones that I can think of, kind of hints of the whole misogyny in the workplace kind of thing 

a/n: I got super carried away writing this I hope you guys like it haha im currently working on the other requests so do look forward to those!! ill try to put them out as soon as I can~~ all this staying at home is really giving me time to write… ( I HAD TO use this gif I just HAD TO) but yes this was a little hard to find reasons why y/n wld hate chan bc im for the chan is an angel agenda but I ended up having so much fun ok BYE 

“Hey, you free to get lunch later?” You’d bumped into your friend who worked in the company’s legal department, Seungmin, on a Thursday morning while you were in the pantry preparing coffee and tidbits for your boss. 

You nodded, “uh-huh,” mixing the coffee absently, “what are you doing here?” 

Seungmin shrugged, leaning against the counter as he munched on a cookie, “felt like taking a walk. Things have been pretty busy in the legal department lately.” 

“Why?” 

Seungmin gave you a cheeky smile, shrugging, “can’t say, but you’ll find out soon enough.” 

You rolled your eyes, gritting your teeth with feigned menace towards him (his smile stayed unwavering, even sticking his tongue out at you to mock you).

“Who’s that for?” Seungmin gestured to the coffee mugs on the tray. 

“Mr Bang’s supposed to be meeting his nephew or something, he made it seem really important but all he told me was that it’s for his nephew,” you shrugged, glancing down at your two cups of coffee, realisation hitting you. 

“Shit, that just reminded me. He said his nephew doesn’t drink coffee. Do you want this?” You shot Seungmin a pleading look, holding up your now unneeded cup of coffee. 

Seungmin scoffed, taking the mug from you wordlessly, “how exciting your job is, huh,” he deadpanned, sipping the coffee, “wanna reconsider joining the legal department now?” 

Keep reading

[celinesommers]

Grey- mini series.

In a world where facade and authenticity collide, you unravel your oldest wounds with the one person you expected the least - Christopher Bang Chan.

Chapter i.

pairing : body guard!bang chan x heiress reader. she/her pronouns.

genre : slow burn. enemies to lovers. forbidden love. morally grey chan.

cw : depiction of a robbery. violence threat.

a.n : this was inspired by masked chan, i didn't plan on this becoming a mini series but oh well :") this is an introductory chapter so things will make more sense later. promise. hope you enjoy <3 (also very different from anything I've ever written so feedback is highly appreciated!)

Classical music, expensive wine and the most boring individuals one could imagine.

This was the summary of the luxurious party thrown in your honor by your father, the nation's most renowned jeweler. He couldn't attend, bound by some unexpected obligations, but he still organized this grand gathering to commemorate your first creation: a necklace adorned with tear-like diamonds, graced by ten exquisite blue sapphires.

Your gaze wandered through a sea of middle-aged men, clad in perfectly tailored suits in shades of blue, black and gray- colors that drew a muted painting, blending seamlessly into melancholic shades of pastel. Beside them stood stunning women, sporting lavish gowns. You could see radiant smiles on everyone's faces, but you knew it was all fake. Every gesture, every word was meticulously orchestrated to serve a hidden agenda. Everything had a selfish end goal.

You were also a skilled player in this charade. Every move of yours was choreographed as well, from the way you cradled your glass of red wine, to the way you crossed your legs. Each motion was curated to fit the unspoken codes of the elite. You were the heiress of this entire empire, after all. One with an intricate eye for the craft, as your father said. You were bound to the same rules as everyone.

The ballroom of your mansion was a spectacle of elegance, with blue flowers cascading from the ceiling like an enchanting waterfall. The entire room was cast in hues of blue, mirroring your necklace displayed within a glass case at the center of the room- a piece of art for everyone to admire.

Yet, among all this opulence, your eyes gravitated toward the lone piano tucked away in a corner. Its sleek black surface glistened under the soft glow of the chandeliers- your most prized possession. Playing the piano was your duty during these gatherings, one you did not mind at all. You enjoyed having your fingers dance upon the ebony and ivory keys, taking on a life of their own.

You always thought that life would be easier if humans resembled the keys of a piano- black or white, devoid of the middle ground grey that makes everything confusing. Your father, for instance, was absent and cold beyond belief. But he nurtured your love for the piano- that was the singular white dot in a sea of his darker complexities.

You take a sip of your drink before your eyes land on your father's right hand, and he nods subtly at you- your cue to start playing.

So you rise up from your seat, slowly, because poised people are never rushed to go somewhere. You glide across the room, your back straight, a confident smile traced on your red painted lips. Your heels click against the cobblestones and you relish in the sound they make- a rhythm of authority, causing heads to turn your way in unison. The woman of the hour.

You sit on the small leather couch in front of the piano, and then you start playing one of your favorite pieces- Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 by Chopin. You close your eyes, trying to forget where you were, and who you were with. You wished the notes echoing through the room would fill your soul, stitching the void you sported within you. You felt utterly alone in a room full of people dying to get in your good graces.

You finish playing, and people clap accordingly. Not too meekly, but not too eagerly either. The perfect middle ground. As is everything in this world. Perfect, stable and still.

You go to stand up when you notice a man leaning across the piano, his icy blue eyes fixated on you. He's young, must be around your age, and he's beautiful. Dark slicked back hair, one strand of it falling in front of his prominent eyebrows, a strong nose and plump lips. They look soft and rosy.

"Chopin, Nocture Op. 9 No. 2," he speaks, his words carrying a faint Australian accent, as if he tried his best to conceal it- and ended up failing.

"Ah, you recognize it?"

"Of course. But my personal favorite would be Prelude in E minor."

"Seems a bit melancholic for a celebration party," you smile politely and he returns it. There's an aura of confidence surrounding him, as if he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He leaned onto your piano with ease, arms crossed over his chest, his black suit framing his muscles perfectly. You've never seen this man before.

"Who are you? If I may ask."

"An associate of your father," he speaks, sending a kind smile your way.

"So you know who I am."

"Everyone here knows who you are." He states, his tone now edged with a touch of unfriendliness. An odd sensation of unease creeps over you. You suddenly felt as if he knew something you didn't, and he was enjoying holding that concealed knowledge from you.

"I've never seen you here." You raise an eyebrow at him, a hint of skepticism coloring your words, but he doesn't bristle, trailing a finger across the piano's smooth surface.

"This is my first time coming."

"Father never told me about such a young associate." You don't know what's prompting all of these questions, but something in you tells you to ask them anyways.

"You are just as young. You must be bored here, right? All alone," he gestures to all the guests surrounding you, and you narrow your eyes at him.

"I'm neither bored, nor alone. Do you play?" you interject, changing the subject. You couldn't allow yourself to become agitated, not in a room full of important people observing you.

"I do."

"Play me something." You order, sliding off your chair. He takes a quick glance at his wristwatch before smiling at you- it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Gladly."

Now it's your turn to lean across the piano as he takes your place. His fingers trail across the keys expertly, and you close your eyes, allowing the familiar melody to transport you far away- River Flows In You by Yiruma.

He was right, you felt terribly alone.

But then, the rythme accelerates, and the man's playing become more frenetic. He strikes the keys with greater force and you glance warily around the room, only to find everyone looking at him with puzzled expressions.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, voice tense. He lifts his head, a taunting smirk playing on his lips.

That's the last thing you see before sudden darkness envelopes you. The lights go off but he doesn't stop playing. It's become more eccentric, coupled with screams from the crowd surrounding you.

Something's wrong, and he's behind it.

You walk backwards, trying your best to distance yourself from him. You can hear people running, as raw panic ripples through the room. He's stomping on the keys now, as if feeding off the nervous energy from everybody around.

But then he abruptly stops, and the lights flicker back on. The man has vanished, you realize, and so did your necklace. Its only remains were the shards of the glass box left behind on the ground.

You can hear your dad's right hand barking orders at his bodyguards, but you tune him out. You are absolutely livid, you were sitting here entertaining him while he knew this would happen all along. While his associates took away the necklace you've been working on for months.

Because he can't be alone, since he never stopped playing the piano. Someone must have turned the lights off from the main generator, and atleast one other person stole the necklace. That makes up three people.

And you're all alone.

You make a beeline for the nearest exit. They can't be far, you think. You know this mansion like the back of your hands since you live here. They don't.

You pause by the entrance, your mind racing. The front door is too exposed, already secured by guards. Windows won't provide an escape route. The rooftop is too high, and there's a lengthy stretch between your residence and the parked cars.

That leaves only one possibility: the concealed exit in the library. No one knows about it, except for your father and you. They must've gotten the architectural plans of the mansion- this was too well planned to be a random robbery.

So you bolt for it, taking out your lipstick from your purse, or rather, a small dagger hiding inside the tube. Its weight in your hand reassures you, that and the knowledge that you've been taking a self-defense class since you were fourteen. You always thought your father was exaggerating when he forced you to take up these safety measures- not anymore.

You reach for the library's doorknob when a hand grabs your arm and another one clamps on top of your mouth. Your back is against someone's warm chest, pinewood cologne emitting in waves from their body. You watch helplessly as guards rush past, heading to the rooftop, unaware of your presence. You merge with the shadows perfectly, your black dress camouflaging you in the dim corridor. They can't see you, and you can't possibly scream.

You suck in a deep breath before reeling your heeled foot into the person's kneecap, forcing them to double over. You swivel around, aiming your dagger for their throat only for them to do the same.

It's a masked man, and under the dim moonlight, you can only see his cold blue eyes and strong eyebrows.

It's him- the man you were just talking to.

"What?" he challenges, tilting his head to the side and squinting his left eye threateningly at you. His tone sends shivers down your spine.

You can't kill him, you aren't a murderer, but he might be. He shouldn't know that about you.

"You play well," you manage to say and you can tell that's he smirking, from the way his eyes close a bit. "Maybe try Experience by Einaudi next time. It will fit your maniac mood better."

In response, he digs his knife further onto your throat, and you gulp involuntarily. He's so close, he can easily slice your veins and leave you there to bleed. Alone as you've always been.

You don't take your eyes off of him though. You know you can't stop him, nor his associates. But you are trying to memorize his face as best as you can, to help with a potential police sketch. That's what your father would've done in your place.

"The exit is in the library," you mutter. You needed him to go inside so you'd look at him under better lightning, to see if he had a distinctive mole or scar on his face, anything to easily recognize him with.

"I'm well aware," he says, pushing the door back with his feet. You glance around, finding two other men standing there, as expected.

One of them is wearing a blue and white leather jacket, sporting dark hair as well. His eyes are sharp, like a fox, and they narrow even more once they rest on you. The other one is wearing a black jean jacket, with red detailing. His hair is lighter and his eyes are softer around the edges, but that's all you can see. All of them are wearing masks.

"Drop the dagger," he orders, bringing you back to him and you comply reluctantly.

The metallic thud reverberates through the room, and he smiles satisfied, before pulling away his own knife. His hand goes up to trace the place where he held it, and you tense at the featherlight touch.

He swipes his thumb gently across the minor cut, before wrapping his hand around your throat. You know he can feel your wild heartbeat, but still you try your best to keep on a straight face.

He leans in, his mouth a hair breath away from the shell of your ear. "Pretty... and fierce," he whispers, squeezing your throat once lightly, as if to remind you who's in power there.

And then he drops his hand, taking a step back. A shaky exhale escapes you, one you didn't realize you were holding.

"Let's go," he finally says and the two other men go in first through the hidden door, what you assume is your necklace hiding in one of their bags. They'll be long gone before you can get downstairs. They've won.

The man in front of you walks backwards his eyes still fixated on you.

"We will catch you," you say and he only smiles, bowing down at you in grand theatrics.

"I hope my playing was to your liking, princess."

And then he's gone, and you're left standing all alone in the library. Echoes of him linger behind- his velvety voice and his hand on your throat. It will haunt you for the weeks to come.

[celinesommers]

a memory kept forever — hwang hyunjin. best friends to lovers. conversation inspired by a lumax scene in s4. (1.1k words)

“What are you thinking of?”

You blink up at Hyunjin when you feel a large palm rest gently on your shoulder, squeezing it to get your attention. He doesn’t mention anything about the way your eyes focus and unfocus, he simply waits until you’re ready to answer him.

It’s past midnight where you are in Chan’s living room, having padded here after unsuccessfully falling asleep in his guest room during one of your sleepovers. You wonder what Hyunjin’s doing awake. Maybe he couldn’t sleep either.

You fiddle with the blanket that’s wrapped around you, scooting aside to leave room for Hyunjin in case he wants to sit down next to you.

He does.

“Just a time when I was happiest.” Hyunjin doesn’t ask what prompts you to think about it, simply nods his head as he extends his arm so it’s resting just behind you on the couch’s headrest. He’ll get closer as minutes pass by until your thighs are touching and he fiddles with the end of your hair the way he knows you like.

“Was I there?” You let out a breathy laugh at his question which triggers a smile to pull on his lips. When you look at him, he’s looking back with a glint in his eyes. You know he’s trying to hide his hopefulness – that maybe your happiest memory litters him all over it.

“That’s presumptuous of you.” The silver glow of the moon through Chan’s slitted windows does a wonderful job highlighting the way Hyunjin’s face brightens at your teasing response. You press your lips together to try and suppress your smile.

(You fail.)

Instead, you choose to lean a little more towards where he’s seated next to you, hovering slightly as if to test the waters. You and Hyunjin have cuddled multiple times before, but tonight feels different. He responds by pulling you down his chest.

Nights like these remind you of it. The time when you were happiest.

+

(flashback)

The quiet sound of an OST playing from your television plays in the background. Close to romantic.

Hyunjin had come over on a whim, simply because your schedules hadn’t aligned lately, and he missed spending time with his lifeline. He likes when he’s with you. He doesn’t have to outsmart time with you.

He sighs in content when he feels your fingers tugging lightly through his hair, getting to work the moment he positions himself in front of you on the couch. Your touch is gentle as you start to section through his hair, massaging his scalp in the process.

With closed eyes, Hyunjin feels himself completely relax.

You hum along to the music, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment of comfort. Lately, thoughts have been plowing through your brain and putting your mind at work. Always exhausted. Always sorrowful. But it never feels that way with Hyunjin.

All you can think of is the way his hair feels through your fingers and the quiet music playing in the background. Nothing else. This is nice.

You don’t know how long you stay there, with your best friend positioned just between your legs, and it’s only when his warm hand rests on your thigh that you bring yourself back to reality. Your fingers twitch in his hair when you feel the contrasting warmth of his palm – he notices. The gesture is distinguishable because it’s you. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have batted an eye.

“‘M almost done.” You tie up your messy work, using the tie wrapped around your wrist. “Go take a look.”

Hyunjin’s eyes, which had been closed in total relaxation, flutter open when he hears you speak. He hums in acknowledgement, grabbing his phone from the ground to check his reflection through the camera.

Maybe it was the atmosphere, or the way he can see you looking at him expectantly, but Hwang Hyunjin lets out one of the girliest giggles.

“Did you just giggle? Hwang Hyunjin. 23 years old. Giggling over the way I braided his hair?” You tease, tucking a stubborn strand of hair behind his ear.

“Oh, you think you’re so funny, hm?” He argues despite the fluttering in his heart.

“I wasn’t trying to be.” You giggle, and the sound has Hyunjin rolling his head back to rest on the couch seat so he can see you better. You could stay like this forever, or until Hyunjin has to leave at—

“Oh, the time! Jinnie, it’s nearing 8pm!”

“So you’re kicking me out after bullying me?” He juts his lower lip out in a pout, and you laugh as you look down at his half-lidded and tired eyes. Braiding his hair always made him sleepy.

“I would hardly call that bullying.” You reach out to pat his cheek, where his head still rests on the couch, and you gesture for him to get up. “But seriously, don’t you have that thing at Chan’s tonight? I’m sorry I held you up. I didn’t think I would take so long—”

“No.” He interrupts you, hand tentatively reaching out to grab your hand that had come in contact with his cheek seconds prior. You have to blink to process his response. What does he mean, no?

“Think I wanna stay.”

“Oh.” An unexpected smile grows on your lips. “Okay.” You respond, hand still in his. You think you haven’t felt this content in a long time.

You notice the shift in the air. Maybe it was because it was late at night, or because you hadn’t seen each other in a long time. Or maybe it was in the way he was looking at you right now, with a soft smile on his lips and with every intention to hold your hand for the rest of the night.

(end of flashback)

+

“Well, was I there?” His giggly response pulls you back to the present, tethering you to this moment, on the couch with him. You ponder over his question, wondering if you should respond truthfully.

And then you feel his hand lace with yours, like he did that night, and your heart stutters at the contact. His hair is shorter now, but he’s adamant on growing it out again. You think you might know why.

“You might’ve been there.” Gentle and fond. Silver bells ring from the way you speak, and Hyunjin finds his hold tighten around you. You look up at him to give him a warm smile, and he smiles back at your confession. He knows what you mean. And you can tell from the way he’s looking at you that he knows.

You laugh at being caught, and he laughs back, and it’s a moment that feels so simple. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s so quiet, and the moon is tinting his face in a glow, and it feels so easy.

You cement every second of this moment with him, committing every detail to memory. Something’s telling you this moment will be one you’ll look back to in a few days, or months, or the rest of eternity. So you hold his hand tighter.

You’ll remember this clearly.

[celinesommers]

Five-Point Star (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: Bodyguard/Assassin!Chan x Mercenary!F.Reader Themes: Smut | bit of Fluff | Angst | Strangers to lovers to enemies but lovers? (i don’t even know how to categorise this one) Word Count: ~6k | AO3 Synopsis: With a career like yours, you knew you shouldn’t let yourself fall in love. But honestly, in retrospect, there was no way you wouldn’t have fallen in love with Chris. After meeting him, you couldn’t help but hope that he’d be the last person you fell this deeply for–maybe foolishly so… Warnings: pet names · cold weapons · firearms · questionable morals · graphic depictions of violence · graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut) · open ending.

Author’s Note: as soon as i watched the 5-STAR trailer my creative juices started flowing, and i set camp in my google docs until this piece was born. please don’t hesitate to let me know if i missed any warnings… this one’s a bit sad (or, at least, it made me sad). i apologise in advance. thanks once again to @straylightdream and @cursed-mars-bars for reading this and letting me know it didn’t suck💜

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

Smut Warnings: unprotected penetration [piv] · finger sucking · some praising, of course · oral [F&M Rec] · rimming [F.Rec] · nipple play · creampie · overstimulation · multiple orgasms

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.

In your line of work, it was hard to have any kind of interpersonal relationships. Having either platonic or romantic connections posed a risk, not only to you, but also to the others involved. 

Even then, you were a firm believer that, as long as no one knew your identity while you were ‘on the clock’, was enough for you to keep at least a handful of people close to you. You had a few close friends, some with a similar profession to yours, some just office or retail workers that had no idea what you did for a living. What you didn’t have, though, was a romantic partner.

It was tough to keep a relationship going when you couldn’t tell them what you did to bring food to the table. You’d always dance around the topic fairly easily, but, eventually, the situation would become unsustainable, and either you or the other person decided to break things off.

You’d been single for a while now–a long, long while–and you honestly had no active desire to find yourself a romantic companion. That was…until you met Chris.

Chris was a friend of a friend of a friend, someone you had seen once or twice at the odd social gathering you attended. He was incredibly handsome, but, most importantly, he was funny, always made you laugh whenever you interacted, and also seemed to have similar interests to yours. 

In a twist of fate–and against your better judgement–you ended up going on a date with him. A date that, surprisingly, ended with you and him tangled in his bedsheets. That night, you discovered that, not only were you compatible with Chris when it came to opinions on the current state of the world, on the theories for the next season of your favourite shows, but also in bed.

It was honestly almost crazy how good he made you feel, how there seemed to be sparks flying in the air whenever your bodies touched in any way, and, not to throw roses on your own garden, but you were confident that you made him feel good, too. So much so, the next morning, when you had to leave and he’d kissed the oxygen out of your lungs before dropping the most adorable ‘You’ll call me back, right?’ you knew you had no escape, that there was no way you’d pass up this opportunity.

Five months down the line and you already had a Christopher-shaped hole in your heart. You knew it was stupid, that it was dangerous, but you just couldn’t help it. Not when he was quite possibly the best romantic partner you’d ever had–to be fair, the bar was already quite low, but he still managed to jump ten metres over it.

In any relationship you’d ever had you always avoided the topic of work, not only yours, but the other person’s, too. If you avoided asking about their job, maybe they wouldn’t ask about yours, that was your reasoning. However, you’d discovered that people loved to talk about their jobs, that some people even made them their one and only topic of conversation, which was incredibly inconvenient.

Thankfully, Chris didn’t talk about work at all. Not his, nor yours. You had no idea what he did for a living, all you could infer was that it paid enough for him to live comfortably in his cosy flat. You honestly didn’t care, he could keep that information to himself as long as you could keep yours as well.

What you did for a living was probably not the most morally right career path, but it was your family trade. You’d been trained for it since you were very young, so it was honestly a no brainer for you. Some people called it a gun for hire, some called it being a mercenary, you, personally, didn’t particularly feel like calling it anything at all.

People hired you whenever they needed someone kidnapped, tortured, or killed. And, although you had killed for your job before, you almost always tried to turn those offers down. Clean-up was messy, and even if you hardly had any empathy for your targets, killing them always made you feel a bit uneasy.

Two nights ago you were called in for a job, the kidnapping of the eldest son of the Kim family that ruled the capital city. Seungmin, his name was. Based on the investigation you’d done he was younger than you, a bit rowdy, and an apparent oddball. He, very inconveniently for you, also had a handful of very skilled bodyguards protecting him at all times.

You couldn’t find any records of those bodyguards of his, only that they called themselves the Five-Point Stars, and that they were good at what they did. Regardless, you had a lot of confidence in your own abilities. After all, never once had you lost a fight, nor been unable to finish one of your jobs–although you’d been close to being killed sometimes, you’d admit.

As soon as you woke up, you started to recount the plan you had put together for your mission tonight.

After wiretapping his personal tailor’s phone, you heard him tell someone how he had prepared Seungmin’s suit for the night. You knew Seungmin was going to attend a screening of a new movie that was financed by his father. It’d be dark, crowded, and the perfect setting for you to sneak in, get him unconscious, take him out of there, and hopefully outsmart his bodyguards.

A particularly loud snore next to you snapped you out of your focus, and you turned around to find Chris on his back, with an arm over his eyes and his mouth slightly open. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, and, for a moment, even if just for this morning, you decided you wanted to enjoy being just a regular civilian instead of a trained assassin.

“Baby…” You reached for Chris’ shoulder to lightly shake him awake. “Baby, wake up”.

Chris’ whole body tensed. His hand flew to catch yours that was shaking him awake, and he held it in a tight grip. Throughout your relationship you’d discovered that Chris had incredibly quick reflexes, and a very intense fight or flight response, so his sudden movement didn’t faze you in the slightest. “W–what?”

“You were about to choke, baby. You need to move”, throughout your relationship, you’d also learnt that Chris suffered from a sleeping disorder. You found out about it the first time he woke you up in the middle of the night gasping for air.

Poor thing, he’d been so embarrassed while he told you about it, but you were quick to reassure him that you didn’t mind, if anything, it only made you worry about him.

Because that was how important Chris was to you. Important enough for you to care about his sleeping habits, important enough that he warmed your cold heart.

So now, any time you were awake and you heard him snore particularly loudly, you woke him up before he could choke on his spit.

“Ah… Thank you, sweetheart”, he mumbled, clearly still half asleep. 

Chris turned to his side, scooting closer to you and pulling you into his arms. You couldn’t help the small giggle that left your lips as soon as your head was tucked under his chin, just like he seemed to not be able to contain his at all, either. 

The feeling of his bare skin against yours was incredibly comforting, his warmth seeped into you, reaching areas deep within your heart that no one else ever had before.

As you laid there in his arms, as you heard his heartbeat under your ear, and as you felt the minute rumbles of his snoring resume, you realised this was probably the happiest you’d ever been with a partner, and you hoped that your relationship with Chris would be the last one you ever had.

Getting into the movie screening was easy. Your specialty was sneaking around undetected, you’d learnt to walk without making a sound–no sound from your feet hitting the ground, nor your breath going in and out of your lungs, nor your clothes moving with the wind…

You’d also heard from Seungmin’s tailor–whose name was apparently Hyunjin–that the Kims had a special, private room in this particular cinema, so that was likely where the eldest son of the family would be.

Finding this room was the hard part. It wasn’t in any of the blueprints of the building, so you spent a good hour surveying the place, until you finally saw a waiter coming out from what seemed to be a simple wall.

Tightening the hood over your head, making sure the lower part of your face was covered properly by your kerchief, you made your way to that wall to inspect it closely. There was a tile on the wall that was shaped differently than the others. It was barely perceptible, just a tad smaller than the ones around it, so you pressed on it, and immediately you were able to push what you now knew was a door camouflaged as part of the wall.

As soon as you stepped into the room, you saw Seungmin, sitting on what looked to be a very comfortable armchair, watching the movie from behind the glass that kept this area hidden from the rest of the auditorium. 

Slowly, you approached him, careful to not make a single sound as you unclipped the rope you had attached to your belt. Before you could use it, though, you felt a slight disturbance in the air around you, and every single one of your senses zeroed in on the direction of it.

In a second, you ducked, just barely missing the bat that had been swung your way.

“Chan!” You heard Seungmin scream, but you didn’t dare turn to look at him, not when his bodyguard had all his attention on you.

It was just one man. You could barely make out the features of his face, not only because it was dark, but also because he had a mask covering the lower half of his face, and because he was moving so fast you could hardly take in anything else.

The man, Chan, based on the name Seungmin had screamed, certainly put up a good fight. Any blow you sent his way he blocked without much difficulty, just like you did his. It was a pretty on par encounter, but you were running out of time. The longer you stayed there, the more time you were giving them to get back-up, so you reasoned the wisest choice was to retreat. This mission was getting way too dangerous, and if they captured you it’d all be over.

Chan wasn’t giving up, though, and he was making it incredibly hard for you to make your escape. You managed to kick him in the chest, but aside from a grunt of discomfort he didn’t relent, and, with a swing of his bat, he was able to land a hit on your arm.

It was painful, yes, but you could hardly feel it with the adrenaline pumping through your system. Taking a knife from their designated place on your bodice, you threw it in Chan’s direction. It didn’t stab him, but it did manage to cut one side of his mask, enough to distract him so you could make your escape.

By the time you were out of the cinema the place was full of guards, so you knew your night was over.

It didn’t matter. 

You hadn’t lost. You were just experiencing a set-back.

“Missed you so much, gorgeous”, Chris mumbled between kisses, further pressing you against the back of your front door.

“Missed you, too”, was all you mumbled back, unable to keep your lips away from his for too long.

You hadn’t seen Chris for seven whole days. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to, you were honestly desperate to see him, but once you were back at your place after your failed attempt to kidnap Seungmin you realised how hurt your body was.

That guy Chan had certainly done a number on you, and the only thing that kept you from bursting into flames by the rage you felt, was the fact that you were sure you’d done a number on him, too.

Your bruises had now just started to fade, so you figured they were now normal-looking enough that your boyfriend wouldn’t think much about them. 

You were supposed to go out for dinner tonight, but as soon as Chris was at your doorstep, as soon as his lips were on yours, you both quickly realised you didn’t want to go for dinner anymore. How could you, when the taste of each other was much better than any meal you could possibly have?

“Come here”, Chris pulled himself away from you, taking a hold of your hand and tugging you towards the sofa. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about those nudes you sent me”.

You couldn’t help the smirk that came to your face. Of course he couldn’t stop thinking about the pictures you sent him. That was their entire purpose, after all. They were simple, really, but clearly enough to rile him up. It was just you riding one of your favourite dildos, with your ass on full display for him to ogle.

Chris pushed you to the sofa. As soon as you were seated he dropped to his knees, and spread you open for him. Wearing a skirt to your date was certainly the wisest choice you made tonight.

“Maybe I should send you a video next time. I’ll ride it just like I ride you”, you said, just as you lifted your hips enough for him to pull your underwear down your legs.

“Fuck, you spoil me too much”, was the last thing to come out of Chris’ mouth before he dived between your legs. His lips found your clit with expert ease, gently sucking on it.

Your entire body came alight, a moan of his name escaped your mouth, and you brought a hand to his head so you could tug on his curls, just how you knew he liked it. “So fucking good with your mouth, baby, fuck…”

Chris simply hummed in response, sending vibrations through your body, making you whine.

With his hands on the back of your thighs, he pushed your legs further towards your chest, getting better access to your centre. Chris had very quickly learnt his way around your body, and he’d even shown you new ways in which you could feel good, ways you’d never even imagined you’d get to experience.

His tongue changed focus, from your clit to your entrance, diligently licking your folds, and he groaned at the taste of you on his tongue once he pushed it within your walls. He stayed there for a while, occasionally coming back up to lick and suck on your clit only to come back down to slurp you up. Until he finally moved further down so he could lick the tender skin of your ass, all while he stimulated your clit with his fingers, making you shiver. 

Desire pooled in the pit of your stomach, and the most pathetic whine left your mouth as soon as he started to lave at your skin. You would’ve never thought how good this could feel, never let a partner come anywhere near your ass, but one night, after drinking one too many beers, the topic of things you would’ve liked to try in bed came up. 

You could still remember the look on Chris’ face when he confidently said ‘I’d really like to eat your ass. Like, would love to, honestly’. And maybe it’d been the fact that you were a bit tipsy, or the fact that he was so utterly unashamed when he said it, or maybe even the fact that you trusted Chris like you’d never trusted anyone else before, but you weren’t entirely displeased with the idea… So you gave it a try, and now you couldn’t even fathom getting head if you didn’t feel his tongue on your ass at least once.

Without detaching his mouth from your sensitive skin, he brought two fingers to your mouth, and you wasted no time on wrapping your lips around them, sucking on them, licking them. You couldn’t help but moan around his digits, and Chris simply gave you a satisfied hum in response.

He let you enjoy the feeling of his fingers in your mouth for a while, until they were thoroughly coated in your saliva. As soon as he removed them from between your lips, he brought them to your entrance and pushed them into you, to the last knuckle. “C’mon, baby. Show me your pretty tits. Hm?”

You just nodded in response, unable to form a sentence with the now relentless pace of his fingers continuously hitting the most sensitive areas within your walls. With trembling fingers, you unbuttoned your blouse and squeezed your breasts over the fabric of your lace bralette before you pulled them out of the cups.

“Shit, look at you… Touch them, baby. Just how you like it”.

So you complied, lightly dragging your fingers over your now stiff nipples, sending tiny shocks of pleasure up and down your spine with the motion. The stimulation you were giving to your chest, Chris’ fingers going in and out of your cunt, and the dirty words coming out of his mouth brought you close to the edge, and you started to feel incredibly desperate for your relief.

“Chris, baby…” You whined as Chris sped up his motions, as you rolled your nipples between your fingers.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Chris’ voice was so soft, a complete contrast to the brutal pace of his fingers.

“Want your–Your mouth”, you could barely hold eye contact anymore, seeing the desire in his eyes brought heat to your cheeks. It was always the same when he found himself between your legs, he always looked at you like you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, and it made you feel incredibly wanted. 

“Hmm… You sure that’s what you want?”

You nodded, a bit frantically, you’d admit. “Want your mouth to…make me come, please, love–”

You knew that the second the word ‘please’ left your mouth you’d get exactly what you asked for, and you barely registered the broken moan that flew past your lips as soon as his lips attached to your clit once again.

Chris’ movements didn’t relent until you were coming. They didn’t even relent while you were coming. He kept sucking on your clit, fucking you open with his fingers, turning you into a whimpering mess as he pushed you past the brink of overstimulation, and making you fall face first into a consecutive high.

When he was done with you, you were still trembling, panting, and he finally left his place on the floor to sit next to you on the sofa and pull you into his chest so he could softly caress your hair, mumbling sweet words of encouragement. ‘Mmm… Such a good girl, aren’t you, love? So good to me. You did well…’

You just hummed, burying your face in the crook of his neck to leisurely press kisses on his skin. 

As soon as you regained some of your composure, you kissed him. You kissed him with such want one would’ve thought he hadn’t just made you feel like you’d gone to the moon and back four times. You quickly undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and tugged them and his underwear down just enough to let his length free of its confinements.

In no time, you had straddled him and sunk yourself on his cock, eliciting a shared sigh of relief.

You sneaked a hand under his shirt just as you leaned in to kiss him again. His abdomen tensed and relaxed while you slowly traced every muscle with your fingertips, your soft caresses eliciting content sighs to fall from his lips and get lost in your mouth. Taking a hold of the hem of his shirt, you tried to get it off of his frame, but Chris shook his head, pulling your hands away and mumbling a “no time for that… God, bun, move…”

Chris held your ass tightly in his hands as you bounced on him. His mouth attached to your chest, sucking your nipples into his mouth so he could lick them, nibble on them. Under the unfaltering pace of your hips, it only took a handful of minutes to turn him into a moaning, whining mess.

“Fuck, baby… If you don’t slow down, I’ll blow”, Chris nuzzled his face on your chest, and you brought your hands to the back of his head, further pushing him into your cleavage.

“Good”, was all you told him, admittedly a bit breathless. “Need you to fill me up, Chris, baby… Need it so bad…”

Chris swore under his breath, and his hold on your buttocks tightened. It wasn’t long until you got exactly what you wanted. With a moan of your name, your boyfriend pumped you full of his release, making you whine at the warmth of his cum reaching deep inside you.

You didn’t stop moving, though.

Even if your thighs were burning, you kept bouncing on his cock, until his groans of relief turned into desperate whines, until he was whimpering against your chest and digging his short nails on the supple flesh of your buttcheeks.

“P–please…” You heard him whine, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t felt accomplished by the sound. That was when you took pity on him, finally sitting down fully on his lap and stopping your movements.

Chris groaned, exhaling all that air he’d been holding in while you overstimulated him. He threw his head back to rest it on the backrest of the sofa, looking eighty shades of fucked out of his mind. He was breathing heavily–as were you–and he could barely keep his eyes open, but he still let out an incredulous laugh, giving you one of his blinding smiles, making you smile in return.

Cupping your cheeks, he pulled you down for a kiss before he whispered, “I fucking love you”.

And once he said it, you finally let yourself voice those thoughts that had been roaming your mind for a while now, just before you leaned in for another kiss. “I love you, baby”.

By the time you had both thoroughly enjoyed one another, you were too tired to leave your place. So you ordered takeout, got into your comfiest pyjamas, and decided to have your dinner date in the warmth of your home while watching your favourite show together.

Although, to be fair, you didn’t get very far into the show. With your now full stomachs, Chris pulled you into his arms while you both laid on the sofa, softly caressing your hair as he sang to you, inadvertently lulling you to sleep.

This Chan guy was seriously testing your patience. 

Every time you tried to get to the Kim kid he’d always be there, he’d always manage to get you to back off. It was starting to hurt your pride, and, even if you were one to avoid killing, you started to genuinely consider taking his life just so he could stop being a nuance.

You’d had three other failed attempts at your task since that fiasco in the cinema, so tonight would hopefully be the day you succeeded. Seungmin was to attend a piano concert at one of the classic theatres his family owned, meaning he’d once again be in a dark, crowded place. There was no hidden room as far as you could tell from your surveillance earlier this week, so that gave you some semblance of peace.

You weren’t sure if it was the fact that this particular job was taking longer than usual to get it over with, or if it was the fact that you kept being forced to retreat by that one bodyguard of Seungmin’s time and time again, but lately you’d been incredibly frustrated, and it seemed like the only way to get that frustration out of your system was to get it fucked out of you. Luckily, even if your boyfriend didn’t know what was going on, he had been giving you exactly what you needed and more any time you asked for it.

The droplets falling down Chris’ pecs and his toned stomach added a delightful shine to his physique, yet you could hardly focus on any of it. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of his cock on your tongue, heavy and warm, the delicious sounds coming out of his mouth and bouncing off of his shower’s walls as you took him in and out of your throat, and the dark, lustful, but somehow still loving look in his eyes. 

“Shit… You always tell me how good I am with my mouth… But what about you, baby, huh?” Chris leaned his head back on the tiles, holding your head in place so he could start slowly thrusting into your mouth, making you moan.

You just couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him to fuck you dumb, you needed to further disconnect your mind from reality outside of these walls. So, with a tight grip on the base of his cock, you pulled your mouth off of Chris and started pumping him in your hand, looking him right in the eyes.

“Fuck me”.

Chris just laughed as soon as the words were out of your mouth. He swiftly helped you to your feet so he could turn you around and push your chest against the cold tile wall. “Someone woke up a bit needy today. Hm?”

“And what if I–Fuck…” You completely forgot where your sentence was going as soon as you felt your boyfriend push himself into you, stretching you open just so perfectly all you could do was rest your forehead against the wall when he started to move.

“Maybe you should move in…” Chris attached his lips to your shoulder, kissing and sucking on your skin as his hand found its way towards your front, right between your legs to diligently rub that sweet bud at the apex of your thighs. The mix of his motions between your legs, of the words he mumbled against your skin, and the obscene sound of your wet skin colliding time and time again was steadily clouding your reason, enough to genuinely consider what he was offering. “If you did, we could do this every day, sweetheart…”

“Maybe I should…” You were certainly delirious, there was no way you could live with another person while trying to keep your trade a secret. But the longer you stayed in that shower, relishing the company and precise motions of your boyfriend, the more you wanted to believe it was possible.

Even after he’d coaxed a mind-numbing orgasm out of you, after he’d stuffed you full of his cum, and after he’d helped you dry your hair with the hairdryer he kept in one of the drawers of his bathroom, when you both were getting dressed in his bedroom, you desperately wanted to believe it was possible to have a normal life. Maybe you should start considering retirement… But would you be able to live a civilian life without the thrill of your job? You weren’t too sure. For Chris, though, you might try…

“Come here, bun”, Chris suddenly held your waist and dropped to his bed, bringing you down with him. All you did was laugh, scrambling to find a comfortable position on top of him so you could kiss him.

He was really giggly today, and the sound warmed you up. You dragged your fingers over his still damp curls as you peppered his face with kisses, chuckling with mirth and an immense amount of love for this man that had managed to make you feel a bit normal again. 

“Pretty?” Chris tried to get your attention. You just hummed in response to let him know you were listening, but you didn’t stop pressing kisses on his cheek.

With his hands on your waist, he tried to get you to look at him. “Listen, baby. There’s…there’s something I’d like to tell you…”

You finally pulled yourself away a bit, enough to look him in the eyes. He looked incredibly serious, more than you had ever seen him over the course of your relationship, and it gave you pause.

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but before any words came out, the obnoxious ringtone of his phone interrupted him. With a roll of his eyes and an annoyed sigh, he gently pushed you off of him, muttering a ‘Gimme a sec, gotta take this…’

You watched Chris leave the bedroom entirely before you stood up from his bed and continued getting dressed. You could hear your boyfriend’s hushed voice coming from the living room, but you couldn’t make out a single word. Maybe it was for the best, you honestly didn’t like to pry on his private conversations. After all, you’d hate it if he tried to eavesdrop on yours, all things considered.

By the time he was back you had already gotten yourself into a fresh set of clothes. There was a frown on his face, but it quickly disappeared the moment he spotted you by his mirror.

Standing behind you, he placed his hands on your belly, pulling you back towards his chest as he pressed kisses on your neck. You just hummed, watching him through the mirror and melting in his hold. 

“Babe”, you mumbled, getting him to open his eyes and look at you through the mirror. He rested his chin on your shoulder, intently listening to you. “What’d you want to tell me?”

Chris took a deep breath, pulling himself away from you to take a hold of your hips once you turned around and looped your arms around his neck. “It’s nothing urgent. Say… What if we go on a little vacation to the coast this weekend?”

“Mmm… A little escapade?” You chuckled, and Chris hummed in response, cupping your cheek with one hand to pull you in for a kiss.

If everything went well tonight, you’d more than appreciate some time to wind down from the entire thing, and spending the entire weekend relaxing, barely even clothed, listening to the waves crashing against the breakwater with Chris sounded like absolute heaven. It’d be like your own little celebration for your win over that insufferable guard dog of Seungmin’s.

“Sounds like a great idea, baby”, you told your boyfriend as soon as his lips detached from yours, smiling brightly at him.

The sound of the piano could be heard perfectly even outside of the theatre. You didn’t know the name of the piece, but it was clear that it was being played by expert hands. Even if you were mostly impassive whenever you fell into your…professional mode, you were still a bit on edge after months of having your plans ruined by Chan, so the melody floating in the air certainly helped soothe you a bit.

The corridors to the main hall were empty, completely quiet save for the sound of the piano bouncing off of the walls. The old construction was a bit difficult to navigate, but you’d gotten well acquainted with the place throughout the past week, so you found your way to the concert hall with ease.

Everything was dark, save for the lights shining on the stage, illuminating the silhouette of the musician sitting on one of the three pianos that’d been set on the podium. 

Something felt odd, though.

In an instant, you noticed the emptiness in the hall. The music stopped, replaced by a loud bang and the sound of the bullet hitting the wall, right where your head had been just seconds before your instincts kicked in and you moved away.

It was a trap.

You’d stupidly let them lure you in here, where Seungmin was, very clearly, not even present.

No matter. You might not get your target tonight, but you could still get your peace back.

Chan kept firing at you from the stage, and you continued to expertly dodge his bullets as you swiftly got closer to him. Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear your father’s voice from back when he was training you, telling you that chasing after someone that wasn’t the one you’d been hired to attack was foolish, that it’d put you at risk. You didn’t care, this was personal now.

Taking one of the knives from your bodice, you threw it in Chan’s direction, just barely missing his form when he ducked out of the way. It felt like it lasted for a long time, you throwing knives at him, and him shooting at you, until you made it to the stage and he had no option but to physically fight you.

He was incredibly agile, but so were you. Especially after having fought him so many times. You’d picked up his tells, how he shifted his weight on his heel before he threw a punch, how he moved slightly to the left when he kicked, so it’d gotten easier to counterattack each and every single one of his moves.

Chan was good at what he did… But you were better.

With a kick to his knee and a push on his chest, you managed to send him to the floor and pin him under you. He tried to move, but you swiftly pressed one of your knives to his neck, effectively stopping his movements.

There was a moment of silence, a moment of you staring down at him, and a moment of him staring up at you.

This was the first time you’d actually gotten to see his face this clearly. There was usually barely any illumination whenever you’d fought before, and both of your quick movements made it easy to miss the details on the exposed areas of your faces. His straight hair pushed off of his forehead–save for one single piece that seemed to always be out of place–gave you plenty of room to see the blue contact lenses he wore. You couldn’t help but wonder if those were simply for aesthetic purposes, or if they held any sort of special tech quality to them–he worked for the Kims, after all.

There was something eerily familiar in the way his eyebrows furrowed, in his eyes, even with the obviously fake blue colour. Whether you were going to kill him or not, you suddenly felt an intense need to see his face. All of it. So, with your free hand, you hooked your finger on the side of his mask so you could pull it off.

For a split second, you couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes were playing a trick on you. Despite the straight hair and the blue contacts, the curve of his lips and the shape of his nose were so distinct there was just no way this man could be anyone else.

You tried to never speak while on the clock. After all, your voice might be a very good indicator of your identity. It might’ve been the shock of seeing such a familiar face, but you really couldn’t help the name from coming out of your mouth, as a barely audible whisper. “…Chris?”

Confusion crossed the features of the man under you. His eyes jumped all over your face–or what could be seen of it, at least. His angry frown turned into a look of shock, mixed with some concern, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob in your peripheral vision when he swallowed, almost audibly.

You still had the knife pressed to his neck, but you were honestly unable to move at all. So much so you didn’t even flinch when he slowly started to move himself.

With a trembling hand, he reached for the black kerchief that covered the lower half of your face. You didn’t stop him, you just let him tug it down to your neck and reveal your face to him.

The sound of your name, coming out as a breathless whisper out of his mouth hurt more than any hit you’d received throughout the past handful of months.

“What the…fuck”, the hurt tone in his voice broke your heart, and you could feel the lump form in your throat. “All this time…?”

“I had no idea”, you couldn’t help the tremble in your voice, and you weren’t sure if you hated yourself for being so vulnerable in front of the enemy. But then again, he wasn’t only an enemy, he was also the man you’d fallen madly in love with.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to get to Seungmin?” His voice trembled, yet neither of you dared to move further.

“I was hired to do it”, you replied simply.

“By whom?”

“I won’t tell you… I…can’t”, you could feel them. The treacherous tears that pricked your eyes… Crying in front of the enemy was unheard of, but you supposed these weren’t normal circumstances.

Chris swallowed again, and you could see tears of his own well in his eyes. “So…what now, bun?”

The sound of the pet name coming out of his mouth fully obliterated the remaining pieces of your heart, and you couldn’t stop the tears from falling anymore. So you didn’t. “I–I don’t know…”

“You should kill me”, Chris said, very confidently, without any semblance of doubt in his voice. And even though your grip on the knife tightened, you didn’t move it, you just shook your head in response, trying to contain the sob that threatened to come out of your mouth.

“You should”, he repeated after a few moments of silence. “I’ve done…many horrible things in my life. I’ve killed people, tortured people… I’ve done it proudly, too”, Chris brought a hand to your wrist, holding it gently, but firmly. “I’ve made peace with all that a long, long time ago… But knowing I’ve spent months hurting the woman I love is something I can’t live with…”

“You didn’t know”, your hand started to tremble, too, and Chris’ hold on your wrist tightened to keep it steady.

“Doesn’t matter”, finally, tears started to fall from Chris’ eyes, and his voice broke a bit when he spoke to you. “I wanted you dead. Even if I didn’t know, I was trying to kill you”.

You shook your head, closing your eyes tightly.

Maybe, if you closed them hard enough, you’d realise this was all a dream, a horrible nightmare you could still wake up from.

“Why don’t you kill me instead?” You mumbled after a while, when you finally opened your eyes. “I, too, was trying to kill the man that I love…”

“I can’t stop protecting Seungmin. I won’t stop. I’m the only thing keeping you from reaching your target, pretty. Look at us…” Chris’ thumb softly caressed your wrist, right on the sliver of skin your gloves exposed. “Look at our positions. You know you already won”.

You shook your head again, and Chris pushed on your wrist, further digging the blade into his skin as he mumbled, “Do it…”

He was right, you had the upper hand. Logically, it made sense for you to kill him, but there was no way you would. What a selfish thing for him to ask… Did he think getting to Seungmin was more important than his own life? That you’d be fine just…taking it?

Yanking your wrist out of his grip, you threw your knife to the side, as far away from you as possible. Chris just looked at you, confused, hurt, and you just couldn’t bear to see that look in his eyes. In an instant, you were standing, finally getting off of him.

“Baby…” You mumbled, trying to steady the sound of your voice. You turned your back to him, unable to look at him any longer. “I’m sorry… I don’t think I’ll make it to our vacation this weekend”.

With that, you started walking, trying to get as far away from that stage as possible.

The last thing you heard before you left the theatre altogether was the cacophony of sounds produced by what you knew to be the erratic smashing of piano keys, a complete contrast to the soothing melody you’d been listening to when you came in here… That soothing melody that you now knew was being played by Chan, by Chris, by your biggest rival who turned out to also be the love of your life.

As you left, with tears in your eyes, with your heart shattered in your chest, you realised that this was the first time you’d truly lost. There had been no room for you to win since the very beginning.

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General Masterlist

[celinesommers]

what a time to be alive

Maniac World Tour in Osaka (23.02.26)⁘ Bang Chan

[celinesommers]

BANG CHAN ♡ STRAY KIDS TOKYO MISSION TOUR EP. 1

[celinesommers]

Bang Chan .:. UNVEIL : TRACK 4 “TOPLINE (Feat. Tiger JK)”

[celinesommers]

for reasons wretched and divine:

act ii ↠ part iii

↠ pairing: bang chan x fem reader (afab)

↠ genre: wolf demon au, greek mythology au, demon!stray kids

↠ word count: 8.5k

↠ includes: fluff, angst, eventual smut

↠ rating: mature/18+

↠ chapter-specific warnings: language, explicit smut, oral (f receiving). minors DNI.

↠ summary: You’ve heard stories about the Lykos clan for your entire life. You know the rules about dealing with demons - never look them in the eye, never trespass on a shrine without an offering, and never walk in their territory alone.

When did you forget to listen?

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The nails on the ends of his hands grow right before your eyes—they’re more like claws, now, dark and long and sharp like a knife, lunging at one of their opponents, all tall men in white and gold robes, and cutting several of them open. They all deliver several fatal blows, but the men are clearly immortal just like the demons they fight, and so it doesn’t matter. You know the Lykos demons are extraordinarily resilient, and you watch them all recover from any injury they receive in mere seconds, but you can still tell the recovery time is starting to slow down. It’s taking longer for the wounds to close up—and the tall men are taking advantage of this, going back in for the kill while he’s down on one knee. The stab to the stomach sends him fully to the floor, locking eyes with you from across the room.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, panic and fear and disbelief all rising up like a swelling tide—watching all eight demons in the council fall to the floor individually, rage and despair and defeat in all of their eyes, and your gaze flickers back to him briefly as you realize he’s mouthing something.

Do it. I know you can.

That tide of panic swells in you again—there’s no way you can do anything right now. They’re going to die—and you’re going to be forced to watch.

~~~

You’re jolted awake by a hand on your shoulder.

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[celinesommers]

I'm asfhdkxafgdz

💭 chan drabble…

“What do you want?”

“What I can’t have.”

“If you could have it though,” he pressed, his body moving closer to yours.

Your breath hitched at the proximity between the two of you.

“I can’t.”

“How are you so sure,” Chan sighed, features obviously frustrated.

“Because I don’t deserve it.”

You felt the unwanted tears swell in your eyes as you looked away from him.

“Be selfish for once. What do you want,” he asked, even though he already knew your answer deep down.

You shook your head as you stepped back from him, “Please, don’t make me say it.”

“Fine, then I will.”

With that he sealed your lips together in a heated kiss, making sure with every slide of his lips against yours and the gentle caress of his hands on your body to show you just how much he wanted you back.

tags: @multifcndoms

[celinesommers]

love me, even in my darkest moments

pairing: chan x reader

themes: jealousy, cursing, heartache, angst, reader is insecure about her relationship with chan, mentions of break up, hurt/comfort, happy ending

gif creds to owner ©

It’s not something you can easily admit but you were a very jealous person. You’ve always hated this aspect of yourself. You wished you weren’t so on edge every time someone got so close to him. Even more so, you knew that you could never talk to him about it. You felt physically ill thinking about ever confessing how you felt to him, afraid that he would begin to hate you for it.

You knew you were in your own head; that if it came down to the truth being exposed Chan would be more than understanding. However, you couldn’t shake the familiar feeling that gnawed at your chest whenever you would work up the courage to finally say something.

Chan had a lot of friends, rich, successful, talented, perfect, gorgeous; all of which were categories you knew you would never and could never fall into. You always felt like the odd one out when everyone got together, often opting to slip away most of the time. You always hoped that Chan would never notice—that he would be too distracted by the others to even miss your presence.

There was only so much of the ogling at him that you could take.

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[celinesommers]

It’s Cold Out (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader

Themes: Supernatural/Fantasy AU | Smut (Fluff at the end) | Roomies to Lovers

Warnings: curvy MC, swearing, pet names, possessiveness, good ol’ rut driven intercourse, intercrural sex, unprotected penetration [F. Rec], oral [F.Rec], lots of praising (LOTS), impregnation kink kind of, copious amount of fluids, knotting.

Word Count: 7474 | AO3

Summary: Your roommate had been acting weird lately, weirder than usual. It was because of his condition, you thought, and in a way, you had been right, just not in the way you had expected.

Author’s note: Happy Halloween month to all of us! If there’s a God up there, only she can judge me for this.

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[celinesommers]

Not to be that whoree but Bang chan can absolutely wife me up

SUGAR N’ SPICE: BANG CHAN FACECAM MOMENTS for my irl bff’s @wheregodseyescanbefound birthday 💕​

[celinesommers]

Bang Chan for Men’s Folio