patrixjia

[patrixjia]

One Night in the District

Plot Overview: After a sold-out concert in Amsterdam, Bang Chan and the rest of Stray Kids are ready to explore the city like tourists. Stumbling into the Red Light District, Chan finds himself drawn into a world he never expected to be part of. There, he meets you—a stunning woman who works behind one of the famous windows. What begins as a playful encounter turns into something far more intense and unforgettable. In a city where nothing feels permanent, both are swept up in a night that will change them, even if only for a fleeting moment. But reality waits, and as the morning light breaks, so does the connection they shared.

Warnings: Mature content (explicit scenes, sexual content), Adult themes (mentions of prostitution, power dynamics), Strong language, One night stand/Temporary connection, Potential triggers: abuse of power, objectification (depending on the interpretation of the story)

Author note:

Hey everyone! So, here’s the thing… I’m going to Amsterdam this summer for Stray Kids’ dominate tour (yes, I’m already counting down the days 😱), and while I’m super excited for the concert, I couldn’t help but get a little inspired by the fact that… the Red Light District is just there 😂 Like, how could you not get inspired by the vibe of the city, right?

This fic kinda wrote itself, so here we are—Chan, a beautiful city, and a very intriguing setting. It was a lot of fun to write, and I really hope you enjoy this little adventure. As always, let me know what you think! I can’t wait to hear your thoughts (and yes, I’m already mentally planning my trip to Amsterdam… 🤩).

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The concert had just wrapped up, the final notes of the last song lingering in the air long after the last echo had faded. The crowd was still buzzing, but for the boys, the energy had shifted. They were no longer the performers, the idols on stage—they were just a group of friends walking through the streets of Amsterdam, taking in the cool night air.

“You should’ve seen your face when the crowd went wild for ‘God’s Menu,’” Seungmin teased, elbowing Chan in the ribs with a smirk.

Chan rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at his lips. “I know exactly how they react. It’s not a surprise anymore,” he shot back, though there was a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

Felix, walking beside them, raised an eyebrow. “Please, you were about to tear up. Don’t even try to hide it.”

“I was not!” Chan shot back, laughing, though there was no denying the emotion in his voice. “It’s just… it’s a lot. Every time. Especially here, in Amsterdam. You never get used to it.”

The group continued down the street, the energy between them light and carefree. Laughter and casual banter filled the air as they walked through the winding roads, taking in the sights of the city.

The further they went, though, the more the mood began to shift. The streets grew quieter, less crowded, and the neon glow of the city gave way to the dim, atmospheric lighting of the Red Light District. As they walked, the conversation started to quiet down. The boys’ attention was drawn toward the flashing red lights and the strangely alluring energy of the area.

“Do you think we should check this out?” Hyunjin asked, his eyes glinting with curiosity as he glanced at the others. “I mean, we’re in Amsterdam, right? It’s part of the experience.”

Jisung chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re not really suggesting we walk through there, are you?”

“I mean… why not?” Felix grinned. “It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. It’s just a part of the city, a part of the culture.”

The guys exchanged amused glances, the curiosity written all over their faces. They had all heard of the district, of course. Everyone had. But being here, in the heart of it all, felt different. It was… intriguing.

Chan glanced over at the others, the corners of his mouth lifting into a playful grin. “Alright, alright, we’ll take a walk. But stick together, alright?”

“Yeah, don’t get distracted by anything,”Seungmin joked, nudging Chan with his elbow. “We don’t need any… souvenirs from this place.”

They all laughed, but there was a tinge of excitement in the air as they walked deeper into the district. The neon lights seemed to get brighter the further they went, casting strange, alluring shadows on the cobblestone streets. The mix of tourists and locals filled the atmosphere, and with every step, the boys couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the unfamiliarity of it all.

As they wandered deeper into the district, the neon lights painted the streets in shades of red and purple. The boys’ footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestones, their laughter muffled by the strange, almost hypnotic hum of the area. It was a world of its own—alive, electric, yet unsettlingly calm all at once.

They passed by various windows, each one filled with an atmosphere of seduction, mystery, and intrigue. Some women sat in quiet repose, some smiled and waved to passing tourists, while others kept their gaze steady and unreadable. But then he saw you.

Your presence caught Chan off guard. You were sitting in the window, backlit by the soft red glow of the neon lights, an effortless beauty that contrasted sharply with the chaos of the district. You seemed completely at ease, almost detached, like you were in your own world while the outside buzzed around you. The way you looked out at the passing crowd, calm and confident, was different from the others. You didn’t look like someone simply waiting for attention—you looked like someone who was in control of everything around her.

And then your eyes met his.

For a split second, everything else in the world vanished. The laughter of his friends, the distant sound of the city—it all faded into the background. It was just you and him, connected by that fleeting moment of eye contact. His heart beat a little faster, a strange pull settling deep in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was about you, but there was something undeniable there.

Seungmin’s voice broke through his trance, pulling him back into reality. “Chan, you alright?”

Felix followed Chan’s gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, someone’s got their eye on someone.”

Chan blinked, quickly shaking off the effect you’d had on him. “I’m fine, just… looking around.”

But his gaze remained fixed on you, and even though the others were talking and laughing, the moment between the two of you hung in the air, unspoken. It was clear that something had shifted. He couldn’t look away, not this time.

“She looks… different,” Jisung murmured, watching you through the glass.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin agreed, his voice low with curiosity. “She’s got this vibe about her.”

Chan barely heard them, his thoughts tangled in that brief connection he’d felt. There was something about the way you carried yourself, something that intrigued him, something that called to him. It was like the district had faded around you, leaving only the pull of your presence.

Without thinking, Chan stepped closer to the window, his eyes locked on yours. The others followed, though they were starting to get the feeling that this moment was something more than just another curiosity. Chan’s attention had shifted—entirely.

“I think I’ll stay for a bit,” Chan said quietly, his voice almost uncertain, as though he was trying to justify the decision.

Seungmin, with a playful grin, teased, “You’re seriously doing this, aren’t you?”

But Chan didn’t reply. His eyes were still on you as he made his way toward the door, his friends exchanging looks but ultimately following his lead. He wasn’t sure what exactly had drawn him to you, but he felt something… something worth exploring.

He stepped inside.

He stepped closer, his heart thudding in his chest, each footstep feeling heavier than the last. The closer he got, the more he felt that pull toward you. The moment wasn’t just a chance encounter—it was like something had been set into motion, a magnetic force drawing him in. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You were sitting there, as calm and collected as the rest of the world spun around you. The red neon light painted your skin in soft, seductive hues, but it was the way you held yourself that caught his attention. You weren’t like the others—those who lingered, waiting for a customer or a passerby. No, you seemed to be in your own world. Detached, but not in a cold way. You had an effortless beauty that didn’t need to demand attention; it just existed, glowing under the dim lighting.

Your eyes—those dark, captivating eyes—were locked onto his, and for a moment, it was as if no one else existed in the room. The tension between you was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged, like something was brewing beneath the surface, something neither of you had fully acknowledged. His breath hitched slightly, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

You noticed him. He could see it in the way your lips curved up ever so slightly—almost like you were amused by the attention, but also intrigued. There was something about you, something that made him feel like he had to get closer, like he couldn’t leave without knowing who you were.

As he stood at the door, watching you, he felt like an intruder in this intimate space. He hadn’t expected to feel this drawn to someone here—not in this place, not tonight. But there was no denying it.

You leaned forward slightly, your eyes still on his, an unspoken invitation hanging between you.

“Come in,” you said, your voice soft, but there was a sharpness to it that made it impossible for him to misunderstand. You knew what this moment was, what this space was, and yet you didn’t hesitate. You were in control of everything, every glance, every word.

Chan hesitated, but only for a beat. He stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind him, the noise punctuating the silence between you. The room was dim, lit only by the red glow of the streetlights outside, casting an almost surreal light across your face. You were seated on a small chair, legs crossed, your posture relaxed yet commanding. There was a sense of freedom about you, a confident energy that made him feel both out of place and inexplicably at ease.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension was thick, almost suffocating, but neither of you seemed in a rush to break it. It wasn’t awkward, though. It was more like two people, both aware of the gravity of the situation, taking the time to feel it out.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice smooth like velvet. “You came in,” you said, the corner of your lips curling up in a playful smirk. “Most people just walk by.”

He swallowed hard, the weight of your gaze suddenly making everything feel very real. “I guess I’m not like most people,” he replied, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. There was a quiet confidence in his voice, but the way his heart was racing betrayed him.

You chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing. “Clearly.”

You studied him for a moment, as if weighing him—his intentions, his hesitations, the part of him that still seemed like he wasn’t sure if this was really happening. But you didn’t judge. You simply observed, your eyes never leaving his.

“Are you always this curious?” you asked, your tone playful, but there was something beneath it, a challenge laced in the words.

He tilted his head, meeting your gaze directly. “Maybe I am,” he answered, his voice low, just above a whisper. There was no pretense, no bravado, just… honesty.

The silence hung for another beat, and then, without warning, you stood up from the chair. The movement was fluid, confident, and when you took a step toward him, the room seemed to shrink around them. The air felt charged, the anticipation nearly palpable.

“Stay,” you said simply. It wasn’t a request; it was a command.

Chan didn’t hesitate this time. He knew exactly what you were offering, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t overthink it. He stepped closer.

And just like that, the tension between you snapped.

You didn’t move at first, just standing there, sizing him up, your gaze steady as you watched him. There was something different about him—something beyond just the casual curiosity he had shown when he first walked in. His body language was more assured now, every step he took further into the room radiating confidence.

Chan took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “So,” he began, his voice smooth, confident, as though he was already in control of this moment, “you’ve got your price, right?” He tilted his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he inched closer. “Tell me your price, and you’ve got it, babygirl.”

Your eyes flickered briefly at his words, something sparking behind your calm, collected exterior. The challenge was clear, but there was no hesitation from him, no second-guessing. It was just… his truth. He wasn’t guessing about the game here—he knew exactly how it worked.

You stood your ground, your lips curling up slightly as you took a step toward him, closing the space between you two. “You think it’s that simple?” Your voice was playful, but there was an edge to it that caught his attention.

Chan’s smirk deepened. “It is when you’ve got the cash to back it up.” He leaned in just enough to lower his voice, the words slow and deliberate. “I’m not here to play games, sweetheart. Just tell me what it costs, and it’s yours. I’m not the one who’s going to hesitate.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but not backing down. “You think you’re the one in control here?” you asked, your tone almost challenging.

Chan chuckled softly, the sound rich and confident. “I’ve always been in control,” he replied, taking another step toward you, his presence becoming more imposing, more sure. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”

You didn’t break eye contact as he closed the distance between you two, your breath catching in the still air of the room. The tension was thick—charged, yet not suffocating. He wasn’t forcing anything. He was simply letting the moment unfold.

“You know,” Chan murmured, his voice dropping an octave, “I could make you an offer you can’t refuse. All you need to do is say the number.”

There was no hesitation from him now, no questioning of what he was asking for. This wasn’t about fancy talk or unnecessary games. This was about getting what he wanted—and knowing you would want it too.

You stood still for a moment, the room seeming to shrink with the weight of the silence. His words hung in the air between you both, and for the first time since he entered, you weren’t sure whether you should respond with the usual cold distance or lean into the challenge he was offering.

But as you finally met his gaze again, you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corner of your lips. He had his confidence, but you weren’t about to make it easy for him. “Tell me, Chan,” you said softly, “what makes you think you’re in a position to dictate the terms?”

Chan let out a soft laugh, the sound almost disarming. He took another step forward, close enough now to feel the heat radiating off you. “Because, babygirl,” he whispered, “I already know you’re not the type to let a good opportunity slip by.”

You looked at him, the challenge still present in your eyes, but now… something else was there too. That flicker of curiosity. He was right. You weren’t the type to let a good opportunity slip.

And now, it seemed like that opportunity was standing right in front of you.

You paused, the playful glint in your eyes lingering as you took in his words. There was something about him—the way he carried himself, how unflinchingly confident he was—that made it hard to ignore. Normally, you’d keep your walls high, impenetrable, but something in him was… different. He wasn’t like the usual customers that came through. He was here because he wanted to be, and he was showing it in every word, every movement.

“I don’t just hand out what you want, Chan,” you said, your voice still laced with that confident edge. “You’ve got to earn it.”

Chan’s smile only widened at your response, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I’m not asking for anything yet,” he said, his tone light, but there was an undeniable undertone of sincerity. “But if you think you can keep playing this game, I’ll play along. I’ll earn it however you want.”

The air between you both shifted again, and this time, there was less tension and more… anticipation. You could feel it building, could almost taste it as the space around you both seemed to pulse with unspoken understanding.

Without waiting for a response, Chan took another step forward, closing the last bit of distance between you. He didn’t hesitate. His hand gently cupped your chin, his thumb brushing along your jawline in a way that was both soft and commanding at the same time. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You don’t have to be so tough, you know,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You can let go, just for tonight.”

His words were almost a plea, but there was a quiet confidence in the way he said them. He wasn’t asking you to give up control; he was offering you a chance to let go of the defenses that you’d built up. For a moment, you wondered if you could. If you wanted to.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing in a teasing way. “You really think I’m that easy to break, Chan?”

His hand slid down from your chin to your neck, the touch barely there, but enough to send another pulse of heat through you. “Not easy,” he said, his lips curling into a grin. “Just… willing. All I need is for you to show me what you’re really after.”

His thumb brushed over your pulse point, his gaze dipping down to watch the way your body responded, how your breath quickened, just barely. The vulnerability in the way you reacted—despite how controlled you tried to be—was too tempting for him to ignore.

“Just say the word, and I’m yours,” he added softly, his lips nearly grazing your ear, his voice a whisper of heat against your skin. The promise in his words wasn’t an empty one—it was a truth, wrapped in teasing confidence, a guarantee that he’d give you exactly what you wanted.

Your breath caught in your throat, the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in your stance not lost on him. The power dynamic was clear, but it was shifting with every passing moment. And now, you were starting to see it, starting to feel it. He wasn’t just here for a transaction. He was here because he wanted you.

With a smirk, you tilted your head, meeting his gaze once more. “You really think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he spoke, his voice practically dripping with confidence. “I don’t need to figure you out, babygirl. I just need to know that when the moment comes, you’ll be ready to let go.”

You stayed still for a moment, feeling the weight of his words sink in, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your neck. Then, finally, you nodded, just the slightest movement, but it was enough for him to catch it.

“Tell me your price,” he repeated, this time more softly, but with a certainty that made it clear this wasn’t a request. He wasn’t just here for the surface; he was ready to take this to a deeper level, to see just how far this night would go.

You looked at him, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but something about the way he held himself—so sure, so commanding—made it impossible to resist.

“Two thousand,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the way your heart was beating in your chest.

Chan smiled, the most genuine expression you’d seen from him all night. “Done,” he said, voice low but with a finality that sent a shiver of excitement through you.

And just like that, it was no longer about the game, the teasing, or the power struggle. It was about something else now. The unspoken agreement. The night ahead.

As soon as the words left your mouth, a sense of finality settled between you both. It was a transaction now—no more teasing, no more games. But in the way Chan’s eyes glinted, in the way his lips curled, you knew there was more to it than that. This wasn’t just business. There was something else, something more primal, that neither of you could ignore.

Chan reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his wallet with a fluid motion, the sound of the leather snapping open echoing in the otherwise silent room. His eyes never left yours as he removed the cash, crisp bills that seemed almost too clean for the dimly lit space. He placed them on the small table next to the bed, the gesture smooth and deliberate, as though marking the start of something much bigger than either of you had anticipated.

But he didn’t move back. He didn’t step away.

Instead, he closed the distance again, his hand sliding down your arm, warm and steady. The touch sent a shiver through you, the kind that went deep—straight to your core. His fingers lingered on the skin of your wrist, his thumb tracing over the delicate bone before he slid his hand up to your shoulder, then the back of your neck. The way his touch felt like it could burn you or melt you, depending on how you responded, only made you crave more.

“You’re still holding back,” Chan murmured, his voice low and seductive. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze with a challenge, your voice steady but laced with the same undercurrent of desire. “Maybe I like holding back,” you said, a smile curling at the corner of your lips. “Maybe that’s the fun of it.”

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Then I’ll just have to make sure you can’t.”

There was a moment of tension as you felt him pull back just enough to see your face, his fingers still lightly grazing the nape of your neck. His eyes were dark with intent, but there was a flicker of something else too—something that mirrored what you felt, something you both recognized without needing words.

He took a slow breath, then his hand slid lower, pressing against your back and guiding you closer until your body was flush against his. The heat between you both intensified, your chest rising and falling with every breath you took. His touch was no longer tentative, no longer uncertain. Chan was fully in control now, and you could feel every inch of his confidence radiating off of him.

His lips finally found yours in a kiss that was slow, almost teasing at first. His mouth moved against yours with careful precision, as though he was savoring the taste of you, committing every sensation to memory. The kiss deepened, and you couldn’t help but respond, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, demanding more. He groaned against your lips, a low sound that made your pulse race.

“You want me to break you down, don’t you?” Chan murmured between kisses, his words soft but laced with an undeniable confidence. “You want me to make you forget where you are, forget everything but me.”

You met his words with a smirk, breathless but unyielding. “You think you can?”

“Oh, I can,” he replied, his voice low and sure. “I’ll make you beg for it.”

And with that, something inside you snapped.

The playful game was over. There was no more teasing, no more holding back. In that instant, you realized you did want him. You wanted him to break down every last wall, to make you forget, to take you to the edge and beyond.

Chan’s hands roamed to your waist, tugging you toward him, his body pressing into yours. He was relentless now, pushing you to the point of surrender, taking full control. The way his hands felt on your skin, the way his mouth moved with increasing urgency—it was everything you had secretly been craving.

He pulled back for just a moment, his hands now firmly gripping your hips, holding you in place. “Say you want this,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Say you want me to take you how I want.”

Your breath caught, the power in his words making something inside you stir. You met his gaze, your voice steady but with a raw edge. “I want you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I want you to take control. Make me forget everything.”

A satisfied grin spread across Chan’s face as he moved you toward the bed. The moment his hands slipped under your robe, your breath hitched in anticipation. He wasn’t in a rush, no, but you knew this would be the kind of night that would leave you both changed forever.

His mouth found your neck, kissing, nipping, tasting you as his hands continued their exploration. Everything about him felt like fire, and you didn’t want to escape it. You were his now—body and mind—and you couldn’t wait to see how far this would go.

As Chan’s hands slipped under the delicate fabric of your robe, the cool material brushed your skin before being discarded entirely. The lacy black lingerie underneath was a sharp contrast to the soft glow of the room, accentuating every curve, every line of your body. The air between you two grew heavier, charged with anticipation, and Chan didn’t waste a second, his eyes darkening as they took in the sight of you before him.

His fingers traced the edge of your lingerie slowly, feeling the intricate lace beneath his touch as if memorizing every detail. “This… is perfect,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire as he let his hands move down your sides, over the smooth skin exposed by the robe’s open front. The way his touch seemed to set fire to your skin made your breath hitch, the sensation so electric it left you trembling.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. He could feel your heartbeat thudding, your chest rising and falling with every breath. It made his confidence grow, seeing you react to him like this. He was in control, and there was no doubt in either of your minds.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his chest firm against yours, as he placed his lips to your neck. His kisses were slow and deliberate, moving from your pulse point to the soft line of your collarbone, each kiss igniting a deeper hunger within you. His hands slid up to your ribs, grazing the delicate lace of your lingerie, the touch making you ache with anticipation.

“I could feel you holding back before,” he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing over the sensitive spot just behind your ear. “But not now. You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

You sucked in a breath, feeling the intensity of his words pulse through you. His confidence was contagious. There was no hesitation in his movements, no uncertainty. It made you want to surrender to him entirely, to let him take control in every sense of the word.

“I’m not holding back,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but the challenge in your tone was undeniable. You reached up to pull him closer, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him back to your lips. His kiss was heated, demanding, as if he was taking everything he could from you, just as you wanted.

Chan groaned into your mouth, one hand sliding lower to your hips, urging you to the edge of the bed, his fingers expertly tracing the line of your lingerie until they brushed the soft skin of your inner thighs. The sudden contact made your breath hitch, your body arching into him instinctively. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark and full of promise.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me you want me.”

You could feel your body tightening with every passing second, the heat between you two almost unbearable. You’d never felt like this before—never so completely overwhelmed by someone’s presence, by the raw power of their touch. But here, with him, you were willing to give up that control, to let him take you where he wanted to go.

“I want you,” you breathed, the words slipping from your lips without a second thought. “I want you to take control. I’m yours tonight, Chan.”

A victorious smile spread across his face as he leaned down, capturing your lips once more in a kiss that was full of hunger, full of everything that had been building between you two since the moment he stepped into the room. His hands worked quickly now, no longer teasing, but pulling you closer, guiding you back onto the bed, his body following yours down.

The moment his lips left yours, his hands trailed down your body, expertly unclipping the delicate straps of your lingerie, sliding the lace away to reveal more of your skin. His eyes darkened even further as he took in the sight of you beneath him, vulnerable yet powerful in your own right.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, his voice filled with awe, but his actions were far from gentle. He was claiming you—completely—and you welcomed it, knowing that you were exactly where you needed to be.

Chan’s lips moved down your body, leaving a trail of heated kisses and soft bites that sent waves of desire crashing through you. His hands roamed over your skin like he couldn’t get enough, tracing every curve, every dip, until you were completely exposed to him, your body laying beneath his touch, vulnerable and open. The contrast between the softness of his caresses and the heat in his touch was intoxicating.

He pulled back for a moment to look at you, taking in the way you trembled beneath him, your breath shallow, eyes clouded with hunger. There was a look in his eyes, something darker, more primal, but it was also filled with admiration. He seemed to savor every inch of you as if he knew the power he held over you, the way his presence made you surrender without question.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent, but his eyes gave away the intensity behind his words. “So fucking beautiful, Y/N.”

You met his gaze, your fingers sliding through his hair, pulling him back down to you with a quiet urgency. There was no need for more words now. Everything was clear. The way your bodies pressed together felt like the world outside no longer existed. It was just you, just him, just this moment where nothing mattered but the burning connection between you two.

Chan’s lips found yours again, kissing you harder this time, with an almost desperate need. His hands gripped your body, holding you in place as his kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with an intensity that left you breathless. You moaned into the kiss, your body reacting to him in ways you didn’t think possible. He was pushing you to the edge of your control, and you didn’t want to fight it.

He pulled away, breathless, his lips barely hovering over yours as he whispered, “You’ve got me, Y/N. Every part of me.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and you responded without hesitation, your hands sliding down his chest, pushing his jacket off his shoulders before pulling his shirt over his head. You weren’t waiting anymore. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

His eyes darkened as he watched you, as if he was trying to memorize every movement you made. His hands followed the path your fingers had taken, tracing the shape of your body, as though he wanted to feel you in every way possible. The heat in the room was unbearable now, the tension thick as he slid his body over yours, his chest brushing against yours, sending sparks of heat through your skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he said again, his voice a deep growl, his lips brushing against your neck. “What do you need, Y/N? I’ll give it to you.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, the muscles beneath his skin firm and taut. The way he spoke to you, the way he touched you—it was all too much to bear. You felt like you were burning up from the inside out, your body desperate for him.

“You,” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the intent behind it was crystal clear. “I need you, Chan. I need all of you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift motion, he pulled you closer, his body aligning perfectly with yours. You could feel the heat of him pressing into you, the hard edge of his desire undeniable. His breath was ragged as he looked down at you, as if trying to gauge if you were truly ready, truly willing.

And you were. You’d never been more sure of anything in your life.

“Good girl,” he murmured, a smile of approval curving his lips before he kissed you again—slow, deep, as if he was savoring the moment before everything else unfolded. His hands moved to your thighs, pulling them apart, positioning himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the intensity of it pulling you to the brink.

“Just let go, Y/N,” he whispered against your lips, his voice almost pleading, though it was clear he had no intention of asking for anything. He wasn’t waiting for permission. He was taking what he wanted, just like he promised. And you were ready.

With one smooth movement, he entered you, and the world around you blurred into nothingness. There was only him. Only this.

The sound of your breaths, the press of your bodies together, and the way he moved inside you made everything else fade into the background. Every stroke, every thrust was slow and deliberate, building an intensity that you knew would consume you both completely. He didn’t rush—he was taking his time, savoring every second of this moment, and you let him. The way he felt inside you, the way he touched you—it was overwhelming, but it was perfect.

Chan’s lips were on yours again, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, urging you to meet him with every movement. You were both completely in sync, bodies moving together as one, and every thrust, every movement only made the connection between you two that much stronger.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his breath ragged against your lips. “You feel so good. So fucking good, Y/N.”

The heat between you both was building, and you could feel it, the way your body was tightening, pulling him closer, wanting him deeper. You didn’t need to say anything. The way your body responded was enough.

As he moved faster, harder, you couldn’t help but let out a low moan, your fingers digging into his skin, urging him on, needing more. The way his body felt against yours, the way he filled you—it was everything you wanted, everything you craved.

Chan’s pace quickened, each thrust now measured but firm, as if he were claiming you entirely, and you were lost in the rhythm, the heat, the pressure of it all. The bed creaked beneath you both, a constant reminder of the wild intensity that was building with every passing second. The world outside didn’t exist anymore; there was only Chan, only this moment that felt like it would swallow you both whole.

His lips trailed down your neck again, kissing you with abandon as his hands slid to your back, pressing you closer to him, if that was even possible. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and the sound of your breathless moans filled the space, matching the pulse of your bodies moving together. Every part of you seemed to hum with need, and he was more than willing to satisfy it.

“You feel so good, Y/N,” Chan grunted between kisses, his voice rough with desire. His breath hitched as he adjusted his position, his hands gripping your hips tighter, making sure every inch of him was as deep as it could go. “So fucking tight.”

You gasped at the way his words seemed to vibrate through you, making your body tighten even more around him. The sound of his voice, the harshness, the way it made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered right then—it sent shivers of pleasure down your spine.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, if that was even possible. The need to feel him, to have him fill you completely, was overwhelming. Your hands slid down his chest, feeling the hard, defined muscles beneath his skin as he moved above you.

“I’m going to make you forget everything else, baby,” Chan whispered, his voice a low, gravelly command. “All that matters is this. Just you and me.”

You barely had time to respond, not that words even seemed necessary anymore. You were too far gone in the moment, too caught up in the wild intensity of it all to care about anything else. The way his body moved against yours, the way he touched you, the way he whispered those dirty words into your ear—it was all too much to resist.

His lips found yours again, rougher this time, as though he was tasting you for the last time, as though he needed every part of you before it was over. His hand slid between your bodies, finding the sensitive spot between your legs, and the added pressure sent a wave of pleasure coursing through you, making your body arch beneath him, begging for more.

“Chan,” you moaned, your voice almost pleading now as the pleasure started to build. “Please… don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Not for a second. His hand worked with precision, his thrusts deeper now, faster, pushing you to the brink. The air between you both was thick with the promise of release, and with every movement, it felt like you were teetering on the edge of something unforgettable.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking close.”

You couldn’t respond, not with words. All you could do was let out a breathless gasp as his hand moved faster, his body pounding into you with relentless force. The pressure in your core grew, tightening, building, until you couldn’t take it any longer.

With one last forceful thrust, you came undone, your body trembling beneath him, the world spinning in a blur of pure sensation. Your name escaped his lips in a ragged moan as he followed you, his body stilling as he buried himself deep, a final release that sent waves of satisfaction flooding over you both.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of heavy breathing, the echo of your shared release hanging in the air like a sweet, bitter memory. Chan collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms with surprising tenderness after the intensity of the moment.

You both lay there, still, your bodies intertwined, and the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with something unspoken, something deeper than just the physical connection you’d shared. It was an understanding, a realization that whatever had just happened, it would stick with you both.

“You’re incredible,” Chan murmured, his voice soft as his fingers traced the line of your jaw.

You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips curving as you closed your eyes, letting the moment settle. “So are you.”

For a moment, you just lay there, the world outside of this room forgotten, and the only thing that mattered was the quiet aftermath of everything that had passed between you both.

As the moment between you two started to settle, the weight of everything that had just happened began to creep in. The heat, the passion—it all felt so raw, so real. But reality had a way of crashing in when you least expected it, and now, as the silence settled between you, you could almost hear the hum of the city beyond the walls of the room, the noise of the outside world slowly seeping back into your thoughts.

Chan pulled away from you just enough to look at your face, his hand tracing the outline of your jaw, like he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment. But there was a softness in his eyes now, the confident, playful edge replaced by something a little more uncertain, like he knew this was only temporary.

The silence stretched, and you couldn’t help but break it first, your voice quieter, tinged with something that felt almost vulnerable. “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah… we’re only here for a few days. The tour goes on tomorrow.”

You both knew the truth. He was Bang Chan, a star on the rise, surrounded by the buzz of the world, and you were just… you. A girl who had ended up here because of circumstances far from ideal, surviving, doing what you needed to do. There was no pretending that your worlds were the same.

“I guess this was… never meant to be more than a night,” you said, the words tasting bittersweet on your tongue. You wished it could be different. Hell, you wished he could be different. But you were who you were, and he was who he was, and no matter how deeply you had connected in that room, you both knew how the story would end.

Chan’s gaze softened, his hand resting gently on your arm as if trying to soothe the tension in the air. “Yeah, but this night? It’s gonna stick with me. You’re gonna be my most precious memory from Amsterdam.”

The words were like a punch to your chest, unexpected and raw. You looked up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the sting. The vulnerability in his words hit you harder than you’d anticipated. “You really think so?”

He nodded, his thumb brushing against your skin, the gesture so tender it almost felt out of place. “I do. You’re unforgettable.”

For a moment, the weight of it all felt heavy, but you wouldn’t let yourself feel too much. This was the way things worked, wasn’t it? You gave them a little piece of yourself, and in return, they gave you a memory, a fleeting moment. You could live with that.

"I hope you have the best time on your tour, Chan,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “Keep shining.”

He smiled softly, that familiar confident glint returning to his eyes, though there was a bittersweet edge to it. He leaned down one last time, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before he pulled back. His lips brushed against your skin in the softest of gestures, and you felt the weight of the goodbye settle between you both.

“You’ve got a beautiful soul,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Never forget that.”

You nodded, the words more meaningful than you cared to admit. “I won’t.”

With one final glance, he turned, walking toward the door with that same quiet grace he always carried. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed in the stillness of the room.

And just like that, the moment passed, leaving you alone once again in the room that had held so much passion, so much heat. You leaned back against the bed, your fingers running through your hair, trying to shake off the weight of everything that had just happened.

You had a memory now. A memory that, for better or worse, would stay with you. A memory of a man who, for one night, was yours.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[patrixjia]

Drabble

Requested by @velvetmoonlght (prompt 16 w/ Felix)

The silence was unbearable. It stretched between you like an open wound, raw and festering, filled with all the things he refused to say.

Felix stood by the door, his back against it like he needed it to hold him up. His hands were shaking—whether from guilt or something else, you didn’t know anymore.

“You’ve left me in pieces,” your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. Let him hear it. Let him feel the wreckage he had made of you. “And I’m starting to think you never cared about putting me back together.”

His breath hitched, his lips parting like he wanted to deny it, to say something—anything. But he didn’t. He never did.

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? He never stayed long enough to pick up the mess he made. He only knew how to shatter things—your trust, your heart, you.

A broken laugh slipped past your lips, hollow and aching. “You always do this, you know? You make me believe you’re staying. That maybe, this time, you won’t leave me picking up the pieces alone.” You shook your head, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “But you never do, Felix. You never stay.”

He took a step forward, then hesitated, his hands clenching at his sides. “I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered, swallowing down the sob rising in your throat. “I’m done waiting for you to try.”

Felix flinched like you had struck him, like your words had finally cut through whatever had kept him silent for so long. But it was too late.

You had begged for him before, reached for him with shaking hands, hoping—praying—that he would meet you halfway. But he never did. And you couldn’t keep breaking yourself just to make up for what he lacked.

So you turned away, your heart fracturing one last time.

And when the door finally clicked shut behind you, he didn’t stop you.

He never did.

[patrixjia]

No Ordinary Groupie

Plot Overview: You’re Bang Chan’s groupie. It started as a no-strings-attached fling, just the thrill of being close to him after the concerts. But as the nights blur together, so do your feelings—his and yours. What began as fun and games quickly becomes something more complicated, and you’re left wondering if this was ever just about sex or if you’re falling for the one person you can’t have.

Warnings: smut, explicit content, angst, lust/passion, angry sex, emotional intensity, tension and jealousy, explicit language, a bit of degradation, happy ending

☆･ﾟ:✧☆･ﾟ:✧☆☆･ﾟ:✧☆･ﾟ:✧☆☆･ﾟ:✧☆･ﾟ:✧☆☆･ﾟ:✧☆･ﾟ:✧

It started like any other concert. The deafening music, the blinding lights, the collective energy of thousands of voices singing in unison—it all blended into one euphoric moment. But you never imagined you’d be standing here, watching him from across the room, a little too close for comfort. The sweat on his skin, the intensity in his eyes as he scanned the crowd—it was like his gaze lingered a fraction too long. Maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but somehow, it always felt like he was looking right at you.

You’d told yourself it was just a coincidence the first few times. You were just another fan in the crowd, right? Another face in a sea of screaming STAYs, eager for a glimpse of their idol. But now? Now you were here backstage, lingering in the shadows, waiting for him like it was your spot. You’d slipped past security more times than you cared to count, your secret handshake with the staff—one only they seemed to know—making it easier each time. You’d been to so many concerts now that your face had become familiar, and with each show, your role seemed to shift. You weren’t just a fan anymore. You were his groupie.

You never thought it would be like this. Hell, you didn’t even know what the fuck a ‘groupie’ really was until it was you—until you were the one he pulled behind closed doors, the one he made sure was always there after the show, the one who stayed when everyone else was long gone. The one he’d kiss like it meant something, only to vanish into the night, leaving you with nothing but the thudding of your heart and the memory of his touch.

It had started with stolen moments—quick glances across the stage, backstage conversations as if no one else was watching. The text messages, casual at first, but slowly, gradually becoming something more. His words would linger, text after text, like a breadcrumb trail leading you deeper into a place you weren’t sure you wanted to go. You’d told yourself you’d stay detached—that you’d just enjoy the ride, keep things light, and move on. But every time he looked at you, every time his hand brushed against yours, every time he grinned like there was a secret only the two of you knew… it became harder and harder to pretend it was just about the music.

The first time you caught his eye? It was during the encore of a show. You’d always thought of him as just another idol, another guy performing for a crowd. You’d seen plenty of famous faces before, but there was something different about him. Maybe it was the way his energy filled the entire room, the way he didn’t just perform but became the music. Maybe it was the intensity in his gaze as he swept over the crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of people until they landed on you.

You didn’t think it was anything special at first. A passing glance, nothing more. You were just another face, another member of the audience, right? But as the seconds stretched on, his gaze didn’t waver. It felt like he was staring at you—like he saw something there that you didn’t even see in yourself. And that look… it was like an unspoken promise. A silent invitation to something you couldn’t name.

After the show, you weren’t expecting anything. But somehow, you found yourself in a coffee shop the next morning, standing in line, hoping to grab a caffeine boost to get through the day. You’d been going about your usual routine, convinced that meeting him the night before was just a one-off encounter. But fate had other plans.

There he was. Chan. In the same coffee shop, no more than a few steps away. You froze, unsure if you should act like you hadn’t seen him or just pretend it wasn’t a big deal. But then, he turned, his smile wide and unbothered like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“I swear, I’m not following you,” he said, his voice light, playful, as he slid into the seat across from you like he had every right to be there.

You couldn’t help but laugh, an involuntary response to the absurdity of it all. “You’re following me now?”

He smirked, taking a sip from his coffee, looking way too comfortable for someone who was supposed to be famous. “I’m just getting coffee. You happen to be in my favorite spot.”

“Uh-huh.” You raised an eyebrow, barely containing the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m sure. You just happened to pick the same coffee shop on the same day at the same time…”

He shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yeah, alright. You got me. But I’m glad I ran into you.”

There was no hiding the smile that broke across your face. Of course you were glad. After everything that had happened the night before, you both knew this wasn’t just a coincidence. This wasn’t just a random meeting. This was something—something that had started the night before and would continue whether you admitted it or not.

By the time you made it backstage that second night, you were already in too deep.

The whole backstage area felt like it belonged to him—every corner, every hallway, every whispered conversation. It wasn’t the music that kept you there anymore; it was him. The way he looked at you when no one else was watching. The way he touched you, lingering just a bit too long when no one was looking, his fingers brushing your skin like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he made you feel like you weren’t just a face in the crowd, but someone who mattered to him.

And then, that first time—that first night.

You couldn’t quite remember how it happened, only that it was like everything changed in an instant. One minute, you were standing there, talking casually, as if the world hadn’t shifted under your feet. And then, the next moment, his lips were on yours, demanding, soft, and completely overwhelming. His hands were everywhere—under your shirt, pulling you close, pressing you against him like you were the only thing that mattered.

You could have stopped it. You could have pulled away, told him it was a mistake, told him you weren’t the type of girl who did this. But you didn’t. Because it felt right. In a way you couldn’t explain, it felt like this was where you were supposed to be.

And here you are again. Another concert. Another night where everything feels different. The lights are still blinding, the music still pounding in your chest, but this time, you don’t feel like you’re part of the crowd. This time, you’re his. The one he seeks out, the one he texts between shows, the one who’s always there in the background, waiting for him. It’s complicated, it’s messy, and it’s nothing like what you imagined when you first moved to Seoul.

But you can’t deny it anymore. It’s not just the music you’re here for. It’s him. And now, you’re his ‘regular groupie’. The one who knows all the backstage secrets, the one who gets special treatment, the one who stays long after the lights go out. You’re not just another fan anymore, and neither is he.

You never thought you’d be here. But then again, you never thought you’d end up falling for him.

The moment the final song ends, the roar of the crowd still vibrates through the walls of the venue. The adrenaline is thick in the air, the members still breathless from the performance, their bodies damp with sweat, grins plastered across their faces as they stumble off stage. The energy is chaotic, electric—post-show euphoria still buzzing in their veins.

You’re already waiting in the hallway leading to the dressing rooms, leaning against the wall with a casual ease that only comes from experience. This isn’t your first time here. You know exactly how this goes.

The first to spot you is Seungmin, his eyes lighting up as he jogs toward you. “Hey, look who’s here!” he calls, loud enough to get the others’ attention.

“Y/N!” Han beams, his voice slightly hoarse from performing but still bright with excitement. “How was it? Did we kill it or what?”

Felix, still buzzing with energy, practically bounces on his heels as he waits for your answer, while Hyunjin shoots you a knowing grin from behind him, tossing his sweat-damp hair out of his face.

“You guys were insane,” you say with a wide smile, your voice genuine. “Every show I go to, you just keep getting better. The energy, the performance, everything was unreal.”

Chan appears through the group, his presence like gravity, pulling your attention immediately to him. He’s still catching his breath, his hair a mess, sweat glistening on his skin, but his eyes—his eyes are locked onto you, unreadable yet intense.

Then, that smile. The slow, lazy curve of his lips, the kind that makes your stomach tighten, your pulse spike.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice just low enough for you to hear over the chaos of the dressing room.

His arm finds your waist like it belongs there, fingers pressing lightly against the small of your back as he pulls you in. It’s subtle, almost casual, but the warmth of his body against yours is anything but. It’s a quiet claim, one that doesn’t need to be spoken.

The others, used to this by now, don’t bat an eye. They just keep laughing and talking, still riding the high of the show.

Then, Chan leans in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks. “Come back to the dorm with us. Little afterparty, just to celebrate.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze. There’s something behind those words—something heavier than just a casual invitation.

“And after a few drinks?” you tease, your voice low, playful.

His smirk deepens. “Something more,” he promises, fingers subtly squeezing at your waist.

You pretend to consider it for a second before giving a small nod. “Alright. You convinced me.”

From the side, Minho watches the exchange with a quiet knowing. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t call Chan out for the way he looks at you, for the way his hands linger on you longer than necessary. He just observes, his gaze sharp, understanding something that maybe even Chan himself isn’t ready to admit.

Chan pulls away, satisfied, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something deeper, something unspoken.

“We’ll head out in a bit,” he says, turning toward the others. “Y/N will meet us there.”

You already know the drill. You can’t just walk out with them, not without risking recognition. So, as the members pile into their usual cars, you’re led to a separate vehicle—a staff car, discreet, barely noticeable.

You settle into the backseat, the events of the night replaying in your mind, but most of all—his voice, that promise lingering in the space between your ribs.

Something more.

And you wonder, not for the first time, if either of you even knows what that really means anymore.

The atmosphere in the dorm is lively, the kind of buzz that lingers long after a good show. The music is playing low in the background, the members scattered across the living room, sprawled on couches or sitting on the floor. Empty soju bottles and half-eaten snacks litter the table, proof of the celebration already in full swing.

You’re comfortably seated on the couch, a half-filled shot glass of soju in hand, the warmth of alcohol already settling pleasantly in your veins. The energy is light, effortless, the conversations flowing easily between teasing and reminiscing about the night’s performance.

“You seriously nailed that last verse, Jisung,” you say, pointing your glass at him before taking a sip. “You looked possessed out there.”

Jisung laughs, leaning back with a smug grin. “Possessed by talent, obviously.”

“Possessed by something,” Felix chimes in, making the group chuckle.

From beside you, Chan snorts, shaking his head. He’s sitting close—not close enough to be obvious, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the awareness that’s always there between you two. His arm is stretched over the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing the ends of your hair, subtle but deliberate.

You glance at him, playful. “You were good too, I guess.”

Chan scoffs, tilting his head with an amused smirk. “Guess?”

You hum, tapping a finger against your chin as if you’re in deep thought. “Yeah, I mean… you were okay,” you tease, dragging out the word just to rile him up. “Not bad for a guy pushing thirty.”

The others burst out laughing, while Chan gapes at you, feigning offense. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, barely biting back your grin.

“You know what?” He leans in a little, voice low enough that only you can hear. “I’ll remember that later.”

Your stomach flips at the weight in his tone, at the underlying promise beneath his words. You tilt your head, smirking. “Oh? You gonna prove me wrong?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, but there’s a flicker of something dark in his eyes. “You have no idea.”

Before you can retort, Changbin—who has definitely had one too many shots of soju—suddenly flops onto the couch beside you, his broad arm slinging over your shoulders.

“You’re so fun to have around, Y/N,” he says, his voice slightly slurred but affectionate. “Seriously, why aren’t you here all the time?”

You chuckle, leaning into his side without much thought. “Because I have a job, Binnie.”

He makes a dismissive sound, tightening his hold around you in a half-hug. “Your job should be hanging out with us.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, amused, but doesn’t say anything. Jisung snickers behind his glass.

You just shake your head, entertained. “Oh yeah? I should just quit and become your full-time party companion?”

“Yes!” Changbin exclaims, grinning. His hand slides down to your waist, resting there casually, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns over the fabric of your shirt. It’s nothing too much, nothing you haven’t seen before—Changbin is always like this when he drinks, all warm affection and teddy bear energy.

So you don’t think anything of it. You indulge him, letting him rest his head against yours, laughing when he dramatically sighs and says something about how comfortable you are.

But you don’t see the way Chan’s jaw tenses.

He’s watching. Burning.

The fingers resting on the couch behind you curl into a fist. His easygoing posture remains the same, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, a flicker of something sharp in his expression.

Because he knows what Changbin is doing.

It’s not random, not just the usual drunk affection. No, Changbin is making a point—a very deliberate one. Because unlike you, he knows exactly how deep this runs for Chan.

And Chan hates it.

Hates how easily you lean into it. Hates how you laugh, how you let Changbin touch you so freely. Hates how unbothered you look—how it doesn’t even register to you that this might be a problem.

Because to you, this is just fun.

But to him?

This is his worst fucking nightmare unfolding in real-time.

Still, he doesn’t say anything.

Not yet.

He just grips his shot glass a little too tight, jaw clenched, the warmth in his veins now burning.

And the worst part?

Changbin smirks at him from over your shoulder.

Like he knows.

Like he’s challenging him.

And fuck—Chan hates losing.

Changbin hasn’t moved from your side. If anything, he’s only gotten bolder, the soju clearly fueling his every action.

His fingers, once resting innocently at your waist, now trace absentminded patterns over your hip. His arm around you lingers a little too long, his body leaning into yours just enough that the line between friendly and something else starts to blur.

And then there’s the flirting.

“Come on, Y/N,” Changbin says, voice playful, slurred just enough to be noticeable. “You sure you don’t wanna quit your job and just be my personal cheerleader?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Oh? Yours specifically?”

“Obviously,” he grins. “I’d treat you right, you know? Spoil you. Carry you around the house if you’re too tired. You’d never have to lift a finger.”

From across the room, Jisung snorts. “Dude, you can barely carry your own weight when you’re drunk, let’s be serious.”

Changbin ignores him, his focus entirely on you. “Think about it, though,” he hums, his fingers lightly drumming against your thigh now, his voice dipping into something suggestive. “Bet you’d love the attention.”

You scoff, nudging him playfully. “You’re full of shit, Binnie.”

But you’re smiling, entertained by his antics. Because to you, this is just how he is—warm, affectionate, a little ridiculous when he drinks.

You don’t notice the way the room has shifted.

The way everyone has gone quiet.

The way Chan hasn’t said a single fucking word.

But the others? They see it.

Felix glances between the two of you and Chan, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Jisung raises an eyebrow, like he’s waiting for the inevitable.

And Minho—Minho just sighs, shaking his head slightly, because he knows. Knows exactly what Changbin is doing.

And he knows exactly why it’s working.

Because across from you, Chan is seething.

His fingers grip his shot glass so tightly his knuckles have gone white. His jaw is locked, his breathing slow and measured, like he’s forcing himself to keep it together.

But his eyes.

His eyes are burning, locked onto every single movement, every single touch, every single word that leaves Changbin’s mouth.

And then, Changbin—fucking Changbin—takes it one step further.

He turns his head, leans in just a little closer, his lips near your ear as he murmurs, “Or maybe you already like all the attention you’re getting, huh?”

And that’s it.

There’s the sharp, sudden scrape of glass against wood as Chan slams his drink onto the table, standing up so abruptly that the entire room freezes.

His chair scrapes back against the floor, his movements tight, controlled—but his expression?

Fury.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The words slice through the air, low and dangerous, his voice taut with restrained anger.

You blink, startled, finally looking up at him. “What?”

But Chan isn’t looking at you.

He’s staring directly at Changbin, his eyes dark, his body tense, barely keeping himself in check.

Changbin, to his credit, doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks satisfied, like he’s been waiting for this.

“What?” he echoes, feigning confusion. “What’s the big deal, hyung?” His voice is light, taunting. “I mean… after all, you’re just fucking, right? That’s what you said. Or what?”

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence that stretches through the room.

Chan’s entire body locks up.

And the worst part?

You feel everything shift.

Because the way Chan stiffens—the way his breath catches—tells you everything.

This isn’t just about Changbin being drunk.

This isn’t about harmless flirting.

This is about something else entirely.

And suddenly, you get it.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

The tension in the room is thick, suffocating.

No one moves. No one breathes.

And then—Chan laughs.

But it’s not his usual laugh. It’s not warm, not full of amusement.

No, this is something sharp, something bitter, something that barely conceals the sheer rage simmering beneath his skin.

He tilts his head slightly, his jaw clenched so tightly you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. His hands ball into fists at his sides, muscles tensed like a predator about to pounce.

“Say that again,” Chan says, his voice dangerously low.

His tone makes the hairs on your arms stand up.

Changbin leans back slightly, but his expression is unapologetic, his mouth curling into something almost challenging. “I said,” he repeats, slow, deliberate, “what’s the big deal, huh? You’re just fucking, right? That’s what you said. Or what?”

The second time he says it, the words sting.

Because now you’re fully aware—of the way Chan’s fists are shaking, of the barely contained fury in his eyes, of the way his entire body looks like it’s about to snap.

But most of all—you’re aware of your own reaction.

Of the way your stomach twists.

Of the way your chest tightens.

Because it’s true.

That’s what Chan’s always said. That’s the unspoken rule between you two, the line that’s been drawn and reinforced over and over again.

And yet—he’s standing there, looking like he wants to fucking kill Changbin for just saying it out loud.

The air crackles, seconds stretching into an eternity.

And then—Chan moves.

Faster than you can register, he lunges.

The table between them rattles as Chan grabs a fistful of Changbin’s shirt, yanking him forward, their faces inches apart.

“You think you’re funny?” Chan growls, voice thick with barely contained rage. “You think this is a fucking joke?”

Changbin’s smirk falters slightly, but he doesn’t look scared. If anything, he looks vindicated.

“Oh, I know it’s not a joke,” he says, his voice lower now, something pointed in it. “But you keep acting like it is. Maybe it’s time you fucking admit it, Chan.”

Chan’s nostrils flare, his fingers tightening in Changbin’s shirt.

“Chan,” Minho warns, standing now, his voice calm but firm.

But Chan isn’t listening. His breathing is heavy, his entire body coiled, seething with something primal.

And then—Changbin glances at you.

Right at you.

And his next words are for you, not Chan.

“You really think this is just sex?” Changbin asks, voice quieter, almost pitying. “Because if you do—” His gaze flicks back to Chan, and he smirks. “Then why is he about to beat my ass over it?”

Something cracks in Chan’s expression.

Like something inside him has just snapped open, raw and exposed.

You feel it happen.

And it makes your heart fucking race.

Before anyone can react, Chan lets go of Changbin’s shirt—but only to turn on you.

The shift is instant. One second, he’s staring Changbin down like he’s about to throw a punch—the next, he’s grabbing your wrist, tight, his grip possessive.

Your breath catches.

“Come with me,” Chan says, voice low, rough—demanding.

You freeze. “Chan—”

“Now.”

The authority in his tone leaves no room for argument. He’s not asking.

And you—fuck, you should resist. You should say something, should call him out for how he’s acting.

But you don’t.

Because the way he’s looking at you—the fire in his eyes, the sheer desperation laced beneath the anger—sends a rush of heat down your spine so intense it almost knocks the air out of you.

So when he pulls you toward his room, his grip unrelenting, his movements rough, you don’t fight it.

You follow.

And the moment the door slams shut behind you, you know exactly what’s coming next.

And fuck—you want it.

The second the door slams shut, Chan has you.

Your back barely hits the wood before his mouth is on you, crushing against yours in a kiss that is desperate, furious, all teeth and tongue and raw need.

You gasp into it, barely able to keep up as his hands roam—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, pressing you against the door like he needs you there.

And fuck—you feel it.

The anger. The frustration. The jealousy that’s been burning in him, now spilling out in the way he holds you, in the way he devours you.

This isn’t just sex.

This is a claim.

You barely have a second to process before he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head against the door, his breath hot against your mouth.

“You think this is just fucking?” he growls, his voice rough, dangerous. “That what you think, huh?”

Your breath hitches.

“Chan—”

“Answer me.”

You swallow, your body burning beneath his touch. “I—”

But you can’t. You can’t answer, because you don’t know.

Because the way he’s looking at you right now—like he needs you, like he hates that he needs you—makes your head spin.

His grip on your wrists tightens, his body pressing flush against yours, pinning you there.

“Changbin touches you once,” he grits out, his jaw clenched, “and suddenly you forget who you belong to?”

Your stomach drops.

Your lips part, but no words come out.

And Chan notices.

His eyes flick between yours, something dark flashing in them—something possessive, something dangerous.

“That it?” he breathes, his voice low, pressing in even closer. “Say it.”

Your body shudders.

Because you can’t.

Because the moment you open your mouth, the only thing that comes out is a ragged, “Chan—”

And that’s all it takes.

Something inside him fucking snaps.

Suddenly, his grip breaks—only for his hands to move fast, dragging down your arms, over your shoulders, grabbing your hips as he spins you around, pressing your front against the door now, his chest firm against your back.

“You want me to remind you?” he murmurs darkly against your ear, his hands sliding under your shirt now, gripping at your bare skin. “Want me to show you?”

Your breath stutters, your fingers flexing against the door.

“Chan—”

“Say yes,” he rasps. “Say fucking yes.”

And fuck—fuck—you do.

“Yes.”

And then?

All hell fucking breaks loose.

The second the word yes leaves your lips, Chan moves.

His hands yank at your clothes, his patience completely shattered. The shirt you’re wearing is gone in seconds, peeled off like it’s offended him just by existing. His fingers dig into your waist, pressing you harder against the door, making sure you feel just how much he wants this—wants you.

“Fucking teasing me all night,” he grits against your ear, his breath hot, his tone dangerous. “Letting him put his fucking hands on you like it’s nothing.”

You shudder, your forehead falling against the door as his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, dragging them down your hips, leaving you bare.

“I—”

“You what?” he interrupts, his palm smacking against your thigh before gripping at the flesh, kneading hard. “Didn’t notice? Didn’t think it was a big deal?”

You whimper at the sheer possessiveness laced in his voice, at the way his hands are claiming you.

“Didn’t think it’d fucking matter,” you gasp, your cheek pressing against the cool wood.

Chan laughs—but it’s dark, bitter.

“Didn’t think it’d matter?” His teeth graze the shell of your ear before he bites down, just hard enough to make you gasp. “Look at where you fucking are right now, baby. Look at what I’m about to do to you.”

His hands are everywhere—gripping, marking, making sure you feel him. His breath is ragged, his movements rough, his usual careful touches completely gone.

Because tonight isn’t about taking it slow.

It’s about making a fucking point.

You belong to him.

And by the time he’s done with you—you won’t forget it again.

Chan’s hands are everywhere—gripping, pulling, forcing you closer to him with each sharp motion. He’s barely holding on to the last sliver of control, and it’s obvious in the way his fingers dig into your skin, the way his breath comes out in heavy, uneven pants.

His mouth trails down your neck, biting harshly at your skin, marking you like a fucking claim.

“You think you can tease me like that?” he spits, his voice hoarse with frustration. “Think you can let him touch you and nothing’s going to happen? You really think you’re just gonna waltz in here and walk out untouched?”

The anger in his tone is palpable, each word hitting you like a blow, each word reminding you how much he wants this, how much he’s burning for it.

You can barely hold yourself steady against the door. His hands are pulling at your underwear, tossing it aside with the same force as the rest of your clothes, stripping you of any semblance of control.

You’re shaking, your mind spinning as you finally understand the depth of his frustration. This is no longer about just sex—it’s about him needing to own you in the worst way possible. He’s not asking for permission. He’s demanding it.

His fingers slide between your legs, making you flinch at the roughness of the touch. He’s not being gentle. He’s not being careful. He’s giving you exactly what you’ve awakened in him—a need, a hunger that won’t be tamed.

“You’re mine,” he growls, voice low and dark. “Mine to fuck, mine to touch. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You gasp, his fingers moving faster now, pushing you closer to the edge with each rough motion, but you don’t know if it’s because of him or the frustration rising inside you.

“Chan—please…” You don’t know if you’re begging for mercy or for more, but he’s not stopping.

“You want it? Want me to fuck you like you’re begging for it?” He growls, his hands pulling at your hips, guiding you to him. The heat from his body feels like a furnace behind you, and you’re desperate for it, desperate to feel all of him.

Without warning, he slams into you—hard, unforgiving.

You moan, your hands scrambling against the door for balance as he begins a pace that’s frantic, angry. There’s no rhythm, no gentleness. Just a fucking need to feel you, to claim you, to show you who you belong to.

Each thrust is a punishment. Each movement feels like an explosion of frustration, of desire that has finally been set free. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, but it’s not enough to calm the storm between you.

The only thing that matters is the sound of his voice—growling, demanding, pushing you to the edge of everything.

His hands grab your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, his mouth now ravaging your skin like he’s trying to mark you for good. His words are gritted out in between thrusts, filled with venom and need.

“You think you’re just gonna walk away from me? Think I’ll let you leave here, like nothing ever happened?” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “You’re fucking wrong.”

You can barely breathe, your body giving in to him, to the need, to the rage he’s pouring into you. The heat between you is suffocating, overwhelming.

You’re his. In this moment, you’re nothing but his.

And when the pressure builds to a point where you can’t take it anymore, you give in, your body shattering around him, your fingers gripping at the door for dear life.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps fucking you, pulling you back into him with an intensity that makes everything burn.

You hear him curse under his breath, and with a final, powerful thrust, he follows, his body jerking against yours as he holds you tight, like he’s afraid to let go, afraid to lose the one thing that��s finally his.

The two of you are left panting, sweating, your bodies still locked together.

And as he pulls away slightly, his hands find your hips again, guiding you back toward the door.

Neither of you says a word. Not yet.

The silence between you is heavy. Too heavy.

But Chan doesn’t look at you with the same anger anymore. There’s something darker in his eyes, something that hasn’t quite settled yet.

And you know.

This isn’t over.

Chan’s hands are back on you before you can even catch your breath. He grabs your arm, tugging you towards the bed with a force that makes your heart race. He’s silent, but the anger in his eyes is louder than any words he could say. There’s no softness in the way he touches you, no tenderness, just an urgency that makes everything else disappear.

He doesn’t give you a moment to think before he’s pushing you down onto the mattress, positioning you with a swift, almost harsh movement. The edge of the bed digs into your knees, and you don’t have the chance to protest before he’s behind you, his hands gripping your hips to steady you.

“You don’t get to act like this,” he growls, voice thick with frustration. There’s no hesitation, no slowing down, and it’s clear this is no longer about lust—it’s about something deeper, something darker, something that’s been simmering beneath the surface for way too long.

You feel the cool air against your skin as he presses against you, his body hard and unforgiving. His breath is hot on your neck as he speaks again, each word a harsh reminder of everything that’s been building.

“Thought you could just waltz in here and let him put his hands on you,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Thought you could just—”

Before he can finish the thought, he thrusts into you, a sharp, punishing movement that makes your body stiffen in response. The pain is quick, the intensity raw, and there’s no gentleness in his touch—this is his punishment. For everything.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you back against him, and the way he moves is rough—demanding, punishing, as if he’s trying to carve the frustration out of him.

You can’t breathe properly, every thrust pushing you further down, the bed creaking beneath you, but it’s almost impossible to focus on anything other than the overwhelming force with which he’s taking you.

“This is what happens when you act like a slut,” he growls, each word punctuated by a brutal thrust. “You think I wouldn’t notice?”

You want to answer, want to push back, but your words get caught in your throat as he pulls you back to him again. You’re lost in this—lost in the anger, the tension, the sheer intensity of what he’s doing.

His grip on you doesn’t loosen. It tightens with every movement, as if he’s afraid to let you go. His body presses against yours, his breath ragged in your ear, his voice demanding, possessive.

“You don’t walk away from me,” he spits, the words almost a command, a declaration of his need, his desire, his control.

The rawness of the moment, the way he’s fucking you in such a frantic, desperate way, makes everything inside you twist, your body responding to his anger, to the heat, to the frustration.

And when he finally speaks again, his voice lower this time, softer almost, it feels like the weight of the moment hits you. “You’re mine. Don’t forget it.”

As the tension between you both builds, Chan’s movements become more frantic, more desperate. The anger, the frustration, the unspoken emotions—everything is tangled together in this moment. And as his body presses into yours with a final, powerful thrust, a gasp escapes your lips. His name slips out in a breathless moan, and everything inside you breaks, the pressure, the need, the raw energy finally unraveling.

He follows right behind you, his body tense and straining as he shudders, pushing himself deeper with one last, heavy motion. His hands dig into your sides, holding you in place as he rides out the last waves of his release, his breath harsh in your ear. The world seems to slow down as you both find your rhythm, as the energy between you finally begins to settle.

Chan, still pressed against your back, stays there for a moment, both of you still tangled together, unable to move just yet. His fingers slowly loosen their grip on your waist, but he doesn’t let go. The weight of his body on yours is comforting, almost possessive, and his breath fans over your ear.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice rough and low, like he’s barely holding it together. His lips brush against your neck, leaving a trail of heat behind. “I fucking love fucking you.”

The words hang in the air, loaded with meaning, and the rawness of the moment lingers as the intensity of the night finally starts to settle.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his gaze heavy, his chest still heaving from the intensity of it all. There’s something in his eyes—something possessive, something soft, but raw all at once. He’s still trying to piece together the storm that just passed between you both.

He doesn’t move right away. Neither of you does. And even though the anger has died down, the connection is undeniable now, clearer than ever.

As Chan pulls away, the silence between you both feels heavier than the storm of emotions that just ravaged the room. Your heart is still pounding, your skin flushed, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Everything is so intense, and yet there’s something lingering that feels like it should have been addressed—something more.

You push yourself up, your legs shaky as you sit on the edge of the bed, the cool air feeling sharp against your heated skin. The satisfaction from moments ago seems to slip away, replaced by something darker, something uncertain. You want to understand, but you can’t.

Your voice trembles, shaky with frustration, as the tears start to pool behind your eyes. You look at him, his gaze still soft but guarded, his chest rising and falling with every breath. But you can’t ignore the feeling creeping up inside you—the anger, the confusion, the hurt.

“That’s all?” You say, your voice tight. “You just love fucking me?”

The words taste bitter in your mouth, like they don’t even belong to you. You never thought you’d be the one asking these questions, and yet, here you are, lost in the aftermath of his raw need.

Chan’s silence stretches, his jaw clenching, eyes still on you, but it’s like he’s struggling to form an answer. He’s not the one caught in the mess this time—it’s you.

“I don’t fucking understand, Chan!” You stand up now, unable to stay still, your body trembling with frustration. “We do this over and over, but you don’t even talk about it. Don’t even acknowledge it.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “What the fuck, baby?!” The words escape in a rush, the emotion finally pouring out of you. You’re not even sure if you’re angry or heartbroken, but your voice cracks as the tears finally spill over. “What are we doing? What do you want from me?”

You wipe your face, your hands shaking. “Am I just a fucking game to you, Chan? Is that it?” Your breath hitches. “Because I can’t— I can’t do this anymore if you don’t—”

That’s when he moves. Fast, like he can’t stand seeing you like this anymore. His hand reaches out, gripping your wrist to pull you towards him with a desperation you weren’t expecting. He’s on his knees in front of you now, his face inches from yours. His voice is low, strained, a mix of frustration and something softer, something deeper.

“No,” he breathes out. His eyes lock onto yours, and there’s an intensity in them that makes your heart stop. “No.” He presses his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily. “It’s not like that.” His voice cracks with the weight of the words he’s finally letting slip.

“I don’t fucking know how to say this,” he admits, his hands shaking slightly as they rest on your waist. His thumb brushes against your skin, almost like he’s grounding himself. “But this… this isn’t just about sex. It never was. I—”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes softer now, full of that raw vulnerability that he’s rarely shown. “I care about you, Y/N.”

You feel your chest tighten at the confession, the weight of it crashing into you. It’s almost too much to process, too sudden. You’re a mess, your tears still fresh on your cheeks, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at you now that’s different. Something that finally feels real.

“I can’t just fuck you and let you walk away,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “You mean something to me. You’ve always meant something.”

Your heart flutters, but you’re still confused. “Then why the hell do you keep doing this? Why push me away?”

Chan’s expression softens even more, and his hands come up to cup your face gently, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “Because I’m scared, okay?” He finally admits, his voice shaky. “I don’t know what to do with this. With us.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. It’s thick, but there’s a vulnerability there that wasn’t before. You’re both breathing heavily, still trying to understand what just happened, what you’ve just confessed to each other.

“I’ve never been good at this… at feeling things, Y/N.” His voice is almost apologetic. “But I can’t lie anymore. I want you. I want more than just the fucking. But I don’t know how to make you understand that.”

You stay quiet, letting his words sink in. You’re still processing everything, but it’s clear that the anger between you is shifting into something else. Something that feels real.

“So, what now?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, your heart still racing but lighter now, finally beginning to understand the rawness of it all.

Chan takes a deep breath, his fingers gently cupping your face as his eyes trace over every detail of your expression. He can see the vulnerability, the confusion, and the hope all mixed together in your gaze. He knows this moment—this conversation—is the turning point, and he wants to make sure he doesn’t screw it up.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before lowering his lips to your jaw, placing gentle, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin there. His hands slip around your waist, guiding you back onto the bed with careful, deliberate movements. His body hovers above yours, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him, but not pressing—just enough to keep the connection. His gaze is soft now, steady, as he speaks again, voice lower, softer than before.

“Now,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your neck as he speaks, “now you let me take you out on a proper date.” His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as his hands trail down to your hips, gently caressing the curves of your body. “I’ll buy you flowers,” he continues, his words a whisper against your skin, “take you to a nice place to eat… and we’ll see from there.”

You close your eyes for a moment, the tenderness of his words colliding with the warmth of his touch. It’s so different from the rawness of before—so much gentler, more vulnerable. And something about it makes you give in, your body relaxing beneath his touch, your fingers curling into the sheets.

“I never thought I’d hear that from you,” you say with a soft laugh, a playful edge creeping into your voice despite the emotion you still feel in the pit of your stomach. “A date… flowers? You sure you’re not just saying that to get in my good graces?”

His lips pull into a smirk as he pulls away slightly to look at you, his gaze filled with amusement. He leans in again, kissing your neck softly before brushing his lips against your ear. “Trust me, I’m not that smooth,” he says, his voice teasing, yet sincere. His hands move back up your body, gently running along your arms, the touch almost too tender compared to the previous moments. “I’m just trying to make this right.”

You feel your heart flutter again, his affection suddenly making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. Chan isn’t just saying these things—he’s showing you, in the way he holds you, in the way his touch is no longer rough but soft, deliberate. His hands caress your arms and shoulders, a gentle reminder that the anger has melted away, replaced by something deeper. You meet his eyes again, allowing yourself to fall into this moment with him.

“You always know how to make me feel conflicted,” you say, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. You run your fingers through his hair, just to feel him a little closer, to keep this connection.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “I’m full of surprises,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. His lips trail down to your collarbone, his hands now resting lightly on your waist as if holding you in place, not to restrain you but to keep you with him. “But seriously, Y/N… I don’t want to keep pretending like this is just a thing that happens. You deserve more. And I want to give you more.”

His words strike you deeper than you expect, and you let out a small breath, the weight of everything sinking in. The sincerity in his voice, in his touch—it’s enough to make your chest tighten with a mix of emotions.

“Then show me,” you whisper, meeting his gaze again. “Show me you mean it.”

He nods, his hand gently brushing the side of your face as he moves even closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, not desperate or angry, but slow, tender. It’s a kiss that feels like an unspoken promise, something more than just the heat between you. It feels like the beginning of something new, something real.

He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you still tangled together in the quiet aftermath of everything. “I’ll take you anywhere you want, Y/N. Just say the word,” he says, his voice soft and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[patrixjia]

Angst Prompts

I’m feeling the angst vibes, so here’s a list of 20 prompts for you! Pick one and send me the name of the idol you want me to write it for.

"I never asked for this. I never asked to be a part of your mess."

"I was never your first choice, was I?"

"If you think walking away is the easy option, you don't know me at all."

"You said you'd always be there, but you're the one who left."

"How many times do I have to prove I care before you believe me?"

"I thought I could handle the truth, but now that I know, I wish I didn't."

"You can't expect me to stay when you've already checked out."

"I gave you everything, but you still chose someone else."

"Maybe we were never meant to be. Maybe we just wanted to believe we were."

"I loved you, but you were never mine to keep."

"I thought we were strong enough to get through this, but I was wrong."

"You can't just come back after you've broken me. It doesn't work like that."

"I should've known better than to think you'd ever stay."

"You say you're sorry, but your actions speak louder than your words."

"I can't keep waiting for you to change when you never will."

"You've left me in pieces, and I'm starting to think you never cared about putting me back together."

"You promised me forever, but forever turned out to be nothing more than empty words."

"I should've listened when they warned me, but I thought you were different."

"It hurts more than I expected, but maybe I deserved it."

"We were never really on the same page, were we?"

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (FINAL PART)

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V, PART VI

Plot Overview:

In this chapter, Y/N confronts her past in a final, pivotal moment. As she faces the consequences of the choices she’s made, she finds herself standing at a crossroads, where the future is uncertain but full of potential. With everything she’s fought for coming to a head, the chapter explores themes of freedom, family, and finding strength in the aftermath of destruction. The journey is far from over, but the bonds formed along the way will guide the way forward.

Warnings: Mafia!BangChan, Mafia!StaryKids, Mafia!AU, Dark themes, Triggering content (violence, blood, death), Emotional Angst, Swearing, References to trauma

Author Note:

We did it! You stuck with me through all the chaos, and I’m honestly blown away. Thank you for your love, comments, and patience—this story wouldn’t have been the same without you! You’re all legends. 🖤

And hey, this may be the end of this series, but it’s never really the end, right? Catch you on the next wild ride. 😉

⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆⭒⋆

The drive to Victor’s estate feels like the longest of your life. The roads are dark and winding, the weight of what you’re about to do pressing down on you with every passing mile. You force yourself to keep your breathing steady, your hands loose in your lap despite the pulse of adrenaline beneath your skin. You need to play this perfectly. If you slip—if you hesitate—Victor will see through you, and this entire plan will fall apart before Stray Kids can even breach the gates.

The car slows as you approach the entrance, the heavy iron gates parting as if welcoming you home. But this isn’t home. Not anymore.

Two of Victor’s men flank the doors as you step out, their expressions unreadable, but their hands linger near their weapons. They don’t trust you. Good. They shouldn’t.

The moment you step inside, you feel it—that familiar chill that always seemed to cling to this place. The estate is as grand as ever, a calculated display of power and wealth, but now it feels like a mausoleum, a relic of an empire that is already crumbling.

Victor is waiting for you. He stands at the head of the vast room, his silhouette framed by the golden light of the chandeliers. He looks calm, too calm, dressed in his usual tailored suit, a glass of whiskey in his hand like this is just another business meeting.

“Y/N,” he says smoothly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Finally come to your senses?”

You school your features, keep your shoulders loose as you step forward. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Victor chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting it aside. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d come back at all, not after the mess you made.” He gestures lazily to the side, and your eyes follow—to Jake.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked onto you like he’s waiting for you to make the wrong move. Unlike Victor, he doesn’t look amused. He looks like he’s still trying to figure you out, like he doesn’t know whether to believe you or put a bullet in your skull.

“You didn’t bring your new friends?” Jake asks, voice cool but edged with something else. “No Bang Chan holding your leash?”

You roll your eyes, giving him a flat look. “I don’t need a leash. I make my own choices. That’s why I’m here.”

Victor hums in approval, stepping closer. “A good choice, then. You were always meant for more than being Chan’s little pet project.” He studies you, his gaze sharp and calculating. “But I need to hear you say it, Y/N. Are you ready to come back where you belong?”

You swallow down the revulsion curling in your gut and force yourself to hold his gaze. “I want to make things right.”

Victor watches you carefully, the room so silent you can hear the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Then, he smiles—slow, pleased, but not entirely convinced. “Words are cheap, my dear. If you’re really here to make things right, you’ll have to prove it.”

Your stomach tightens. “How?”

He motions toward one of his men, who steps forward, dragging someone with him. Your breath catches when you recognize the man—a low-level informant who had been feeding intel to Stray Kids. His face is bloodied, his wrists bound behind his back.

Victor turns to you, his smile widening. “Kill him.”

You knew this was a possibility. You knew Victor would test you, make you prove your loyalty in the most brutal way. But still, the sight of the trembling man on his knees in front of you makes something clench deep in your chest.

“Or,” Victor continues, voice silky smooth, “if that’s too much for your conscience, you can get on your knees instead. Beg for my forgiveness. Show me you’re willing to crawl back where you belong.”

You force yourself to keep your breathing steady. Not yet. Stall. Just a little longer.

“Is this really necessary?” you ask, tilting your head as if you’re considering it, as if you’re not already planning the best way to end this charade. “I came back. I chose you over Chan. Isn’t that enough?”

Victor chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, my sweet girl. I taught you better than that. Trust is earned.” He gestures toward the gun resting on the table beside him. “Pick it up. Prove your loyalty.”

The weight of the moment presses down on you. You can feel Jake watching you, feel Victor’s men shifting slightly, waiting for you to make your move.

And then—

A distant thud echoes through the walls. A second later, the power flickers.

Showtime.

The infiltration has begun. Stray Kids is in position.

You don’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, you grab the gun—but instead of turning it on the informant, you whip it up, firing a shot straight into the nearest guard. Chaos erupts instantly.

Jake lunges for you, but you’re already moving, ducking out of the way as the room explodes into gunfire. The doors burst open, and Chan is the first one through, his gun raised, his expression cold and deadly as he takes out one of Victor’s men without breaking stride.

His eyes find you across the chaos, and for a split second, the rest of the room fades away.

“You took your damn time,” you say breathlessly, flipping the table for cover as another bullet whizzes past.

Chan smirks, his voice rough but steady. “You seemed like you had it handled, baby.”

And then, just like that, the war begins.

The estate is in chaos. Gunfire rings through the halls, echoing off the marble floors and high ceilings as Stray Kids crashes through Victor’s fortress. The air is thick with smoke and the acrid scent of blood and gunpowder. Bodies hit the ground, shouts and orders blending into the cacophony of war.

You don’t hesitate. You duck, roll, and fire, your movements swift and precise, years of training kicking in as if they were second nature. But this is different. This isn’t a mission under Victor’s command. This is your fight.

Somewhere across the battlefield, you catch a glimpse of Chan, his presence unmistakable in the storm of bodies and bullets. His expression is unreadable, his gun an extension of himself as he moves through the chaos, cutting down Victor’s men with ruthless precision. But his eyes—those sharp, dark eyes—are scanning, searching. For you.

Your heart pounds, but you don’t let it distract you. You push forward, taking out another one of Victor’s men as you make your way deeper into the estate. This has to end tonight.

A movement to your left. Too fast. Too familiar.

You spin, barely dodging the knife that slashes through the air where your throat had been a second earlier. Jake.

He stands before you, breathing hard, his knife still poised in his grip. His face is a storm of emotions—anger, betrayal, something almost hesitant beneath it all. But there’s no time for hesitation now.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” Jake growls, shifting into a fighting stance. “You don’t belong with them.”

You tighten your grip on your gun but don’t fire. Not yet. “And you don’t belong with him.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels tight. “Victor’s not our family, Jake. He never was. He’s just using you the way he used me.”

Jake scoffs, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “And you think Chan is any different?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you move.

Jake expects the gun, but he doesn’t expect you to charge at him head-on. You duck under his next attack, using his own momentum against him as you twist, slamming the butt of your gun into his ribs. He stumbles but recovers fast, swiping his knife toward you again.

The fight is brutal, raw, a clash of past and present.

Every move, every counter, is a reflection of the years spent training under Victor’s shadow. You know each other’s tells, each other’s weaknesses. But you’re not the same girl who fought by Jake’s side before.

You’re faster. Sharper. Stronger.

You land a hard kick to his stomach, sending him sprawling against a broken table. You’re on him in an instant, pinning him down, your gun pressed to his temple.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Jake’s breathing is ragged, his eyes locked onto yours. And for the first time, you see it—the hesitation, the flicker of doubt buried beneath all that fury.

“Don’t make me do this,” you whisper, your finger hovering over the trigger.

Jake swallows hard, his chest rising and falling beneath you. “Then don’t.”

A voice cuts through the chaos—Victor’s voice.

“You should be putting that gun somewhere useful, sweetheart.”

You snap your head up to see him across the room, standing near the entrance to the underground tunnels. He’s trying to escape.

And in that moment, you make your choice.

With one last look at Jake, you push off him and bolt toward Victor.

He smirks, amused at your decision. “Finally thinking for yourself, huh?” he taunts, stepping backward toward the tunnel. “About time.”

You raise your gun. “You’re not getting away.”

Behind you, Jake pushes himself to his feet, watching as you leave him behind. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t have time to think about what it means.

Because tonight, this ends.

And you’re going to be the one to end it.

You follow Victor through the tunnel, fully aware that it leads straight to your father’s office. But this time, you’re determined to end things for good.

The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and blood as you step into Victor’s private office. The chaos of the battle still echoes distantly through the estate, but here, in this room, there is nothing but silence.

Victor stands behind his grand mahogany desk, his movements slow, calculated. He’s not panicked. No, Victor doesn’t panic. Even with his empire burning around him, even with the weight of a gun aimed directly at his chest, he remains composed.

You tighten your grip on the weapon, steadying your breath. This is it. The final moment. The culmination of everything.

“Y/N,” he says smoothly, as if greeting an old friend. “Look at you. Standing there like you’ve already won.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “But we both know that’s not true.”

You take a step closer, gun unwavering. “It’s over, dad.”

“Is it?” He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “You think killing me changes anything? That he changes anything?”

You don’t rise to the bait. You’ve played this game too many times before. Victor thrives on control, on twisting words into weapons. But not this time. Not anymore.

“I stopped believing your lies a long time ago,” you say, voice steady. “And I’m done playing by your rules.”

Victor exhales sharply, finally dropping the pretense. “I made you,” he says, his voice colder now. “Everything you are—the way you fight, the way you think—you wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for me.”

Your jaw clenches. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never saw me as a person. Just a piece of your empire.”

Victor’s expression shifts just slightly, a flicker of something almost resembling regret. “I gave you power.”

“You stole my choice.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and heavy. You feel it now—the weight of everything he’s taken from you. The childhood lost. The blood spilled in his name. The years spent clawing your way out from under his shadow, only to find yourself standing here, at the very end of it all.

And yet, there’s no hesitation when you raise the gun.

Victor studies you carefully. “You really think Chan is any different?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pitying. “You traded one leash for another.”

You don’t flinch. “No. I chose Chan. I chose Stray Kids. I chose myself.”

Victor smiles, slow and cruel. “Then pull the trigger.”

You hesitate—for only a second.

Then the door bursts open.

Chan steps inside, his gun raised, his breathing heavy from the fight outside. His eyes find yours instantly, then flick to Victor. His entire body tenses, his finger twitching over the trigger.

“You don’t have to do this alone, baby,” Chan says, his voice low, steady. “But if you need me to, I’ll do it for you.”

Victor scoffs. “How romantic.”

Your hands tighten on the gun. This is your moment. Your decision.

You take a slow breath, locking eyes with your father one last time. “You don’t control me anymore.”

And then you pull the trigger.

The shot echoes through the office, deafening in the silence that follows.

Victor stumbles back, a stunned look flashing across his face before his knees buckle, sending him collapsing onto the floor. Blood spreads in a dark pool beneath him, his breath rattling as he struggles against the inevitable.

His lips part like he wants to speak, to say something final, but no words come. The light fades from his eyes, and just like that—it’s over.

The weight that’s been crushing you for years suddenly lifts.

Chan steps forward, his gun lowering as he watches Victor’s body go still. Then he turns to you, his expression unreadable at first—until you see it.

Pride.

Relief.

Something deeper, something unbreakable.

You exhale, your entire body trembling as the adrenaline starts to fade. Chan moves toward you without hesitation, his hands framing your face, his forehead pressing to yours.

“It’s done,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “You did it, babygirl.”

You nod, unable to speak, the reality of it crashing over you. But you don’t have to say anything. Not when Chan is here, holding you together as the past crumbles at your feet.

Victor is dead.

And for the first time in your life, you are finally free.

The estate is in flames. Smoke billows through the corridors, the heat pressing against your skin as you navigate the destruction. The air is thick with the scent of burning wood, gunpowder, and blood. Every step forward feels like moving through the wreckage of a past that refuses to let you go.

Victor is dead. His empire is collapsing.

But there’s still one last loose end.

Jake.

You find him near one of the estate’s side exits, a path that could lead to his escape. But he isn’t running. He’s waiting.

His knuckles are bloody, his suit jacket long discarded, his face streaked with dirt and sweat. His expression is unreadable at first—until he sees you.

And then all you see is rage.

“So,” he breathes, his chest rising and falling heavily. “You really did it.” His lips curl, but it isn’t a smile. “You actually killed him.”

You tighten your grip on the knife in your hand. “It was over the second he made me his enemy.”

Jake lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think this is over?” His eyes darken, the fire reflecting in them like something unhinged. “You think killing him makes you free?”

Something in his voice sends a chill down your spine. This isn’t the brother you used to know. This isn’t the boy who once protected you. This is a man who has lost everything. And a man with nothing left to lose… is dangerous.

“You chose him,” Jake spits, taking a step forward. “You chose them.”

“You could’ve made the same choice,” you say, your voice steady but your heart pounding. “You didn’t have to follow him, Jake.”

He scoffs. “And what? Run to Chan like you did?” His jaw clenches, his fingers twitching at his sides. “You betrayed your own blood for some fucked-up idea of freedom.”

“I betrayed a monster,” you correct, voice sharp. “You’re the one who stood by him. You had a choice, and you chose wrong.”

Jake’s nostrils flare. “Fuck you.”

And then he lunges.

You barely dodge the first swing, his fist grazing your shoulder before you twist away. But he’s relentless, coming at you harder, faster. He’s fighting like a man possessed, like the only thing keeping him standing is the fury burning inside him.

You block a strike, counter with one of your own, your fist connecting with his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t slow. The two of you move like you’ve been trained for this your entire lives—because you have.

Brother against sister. The last remnants of Victor’s bloodline tearing each other apart.

“Stop this, Jake!” you yell between blows. “You don’t have to do this!”

But he’s past the point of listening.

He lands a brutal hit to your stomach, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stumble back, gripping your knife tighter.

He doesn’t stop. He charges again—

A gunshot echoes through the burning estate.

Both of you freeze.

Jake’s eyes flicker, his breath ragged as he turns.

Chan stands at the entrance to the corridor, his gun raised, his expression deadly. Smoke curls around him, his presence a force of nature against the chaos.

“Back off,” Chan warns, his voice low, dangerous. “I won’t ask twice.”

Jake laughs, breathless and wild. “Oh, this is rich,” he sneers. “Here to rescue your little pet?”

Chan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t lower his gun. “You lay another fucking hand on her, and I swear to god—”

“I’ll handle this,” you cut in.

Both men turn to you, Chan’s brows furrowing in concern. “Baby, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do.”

Chan studies you for a moment, then gives the smallest nod. Slowly, reluctantly, he steps back. But the warning in his eyes is clear—if Jake makes the wrong move, Chan will end this himself.

You exhale, steadying yourself. Turning back to Jake, you grip your knife tighter. “This is your last chance,” you say. “Walk away. Leave this life behind. It’s over, Jake. You don’t have to die here.”

For a second—just a second—you think he might listen.

Then his eyes darken, and he charges again.

You react on instinct.

The blade in your hand flashes.

And then—it’s over.

Jake stumbles back, his hands flying to his side, where your knife is buried deep. His breath hitches, shock flashing across his face as he looks at you.

You don’t move. Your own breath is shaky, your hands trembling as you pull the knife free.

He drops to his knees.

For the first time, the fire in his eyes dims.

He coughs, blood staining his lips. “You really did it,” he murmurs. His voice isn’t angry anymore. It’s just… tired.

You swallow hard. “I didn’t want to.”

He huffs a weak laugh. “Yeah. Well. You always were stronger than me.”

The words hit you harder than any punch he’s thrown tonight.

Jake wobbles, his body swaying. You move without thinking, catching him before he can fall completely. His blood seeps into your hands, warm and slick.

Chan steps forward, but you shake your head. This is between you and Jake.

His breathing is shallow, his eyes fluttering. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he mutters. “I thought…”

His voice trails off. His head grows heavier against your shoulder.

“Jake,” you whisper, your throat tight.

But he doesn’t respond.

And this time, you don’t know if you feel victorious.

The Stray Kids HQ feels different now. The tension that once loomed over every hallway, every meeting, has shifted. It’s not gone—there’s still rebuilding to do, loose ends to tie up—but the weight of Victor’s empire no longer suffocates you.

It’s over.

Victor is dead. His reign, his power, his control—it all ended the moment you pulled the trigger. And though his shadow will linger, though the scars he left behind won’t fade overnight, you know one thing for certain: you’re free.

The war is over. Now comes the part no one ever prepares you for.

The rebuilding.

You stand on the rooftop of the HQ, the city stretching out before you, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The skyline feels different tonight—less like a battlefield, more like something that belongs to you now. Not to Victor. Not to the past. But to the future.

Footsteps sound behind you, steady and familiar. You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

Chan steps beside you, his presence warm even in the cool evening air. His hands rest on the edge of the railing, his fingers brushing yours in a way that feels deliberate. Grounding.

“Long day,” he murmurs.

You huff a soft laugh. “Long week.”

A beat of silence. The kind that used to feel heavy between you two. Now, it feels natural.

“I spoke to Changbin,” Chan says after a moment. “The others, too.”

You glance at him. “And?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “They’re stubborn bastards, but they know what’s good for them.” His eyes flicker to you, something warm settling there. “You’re one of us now.”

The words hit deeper than you expect. It’s not like you needed the validation—you knew where you stood. But hearing it, knowing you’d earned it after everything, makes something inside you loosen.

“About damn time,” you mutter, earning a chuckle from him.

The laughter fades, but the warmth between you remains. He shifts closer, his fingers brushing yours again—this time with intent. “You okay?”

You exhale slowly. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t press. He just waits.

You turn fully toward him, searching his face, the familiar sharp lines and steady gaze that have somehow become your anchor. “I thought I’d feel… more,” you admit. “After everything. After Victor. After Jake.” You shake your head. “But it just feels quiet.”

Chan studies you, his expression unreadable. Then, he nods. “That’s because it’s over.”

The simplicity of it makes your throat tighten.

Over.

After everything, after all the blood and fire, after standing in the wreckage of the only life you ever knew… you made it.

And you weren’t alone.

You swallow hard, looking away. “I don’t know what comes next.”

Chan’s hand lifts, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His touch is light, but there’s a quiet certainty in it, in the way his thumb brushes your cheek.

“Then we figure it out,” he says softly. “Together.”

The word settles deep inside you, a promise more powerful than anything spoken in blood or war.

Together.

His gaze flickers to your lips, and for once, there’s no hesitation between you. You lean in first, closing the last bit of space between you, and Chan meets you halfway.

The kiss isn’t desperate like the first time. It isn’t rushed, fueled by adrenaline or anger or the need to claim something before it’s lost.

It’s steady. Certain. The kind of kiss that says this is real. That whatever comes next—whatever rebuilding, whatever choices, whatever chaos still lingers—you’ll face it side by side.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing the same air, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you.

Chan smirks slightly. “So… does this make you the queen of the underworld now?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “God, no.” You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, something sharper creeping into your smile. “I’m not ruling anything, baby.” Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer. “But we are.”

His smirk fades into something softer, something reverent. “Damn right we are.”

The city stretches out before you, a world that once felt like a prison now open with possibility. You’ve lost, you’ve won, you’ve burned everything down to build something new.

And as you stand there with Chan, with the future finally in your hands, you know one thing for certain.

This is only the beginning of something far bigger than you ever imagined. It all started with a kidnapping, you becoming a prisoner, falling in love, and watching everything you knew burn to the ground… and now, you’re staring at a future that feels promising. Comforting. Because that’s what he always said… “Together.”

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part VI)

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V, FINAL PART

Plot Overview:

In this chapter, the aftermath of the mission weighs heavily on Y/N and the team. While they’ve secured victory, the haunting threat from Jake and Victor looms large. Jake delivers a chilling message to Y/N, giving her an ultimatum: return to the family or watch everything she cares about burn. With the stakes higher than ever, Y/N is forced to confront the painful reality of her fractured family and the loyalty she feels toward Stray Kids. Chan offers his unwavering support, and together, they devise a risky plan to outmaneuver Jake and Victor, using their own trap against them. But the cost of betrayal and the risk of losing everything is never far from their minds. The tension mounts as they prepare for the final confrontation, knowing this won’t be easy—but they’re in it together.

Warnings: BangChan!Mafia, StrayKids!Mafia, Mafia!AU, Violence, Betrayal, Family conflict, Emotional intensity, Manipulation, High Stakes, Strong Language

Author Note:

Wow, what a journey this has been! Writing this story has been such an incredible ride—thank you all for sticking with me through every twist and turn. We’re finally nearing the end, and let me tell you, the next chapter will be the final part of this crazy adventure. I can’t wait to share it with you all! You’ve all been so amazing with your support, and I appreciate every single comment and reblog. I promise the finale will be worth the wait! Stay tuned for the epic conclusion! 💥

And as always, feel free to send me your thoughts, theories, and reactions—I love hearing from you all!

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The Stray Kids-controlled safehouse feels like a fortress. Tucked into a maze of industrial warehouses, it’s surrounded by high walls, security cameras, and patrolling guards. Inside, the atmosphere is tense but focused—Chan’s team is reviewing supply routes, double-checking weapons inventories, and securing intel. It’s methodical, strategic. You can feel the rhythm of their operations, the careful balance of preparation and war.

You stand near the back of the room, observing as Felix inputs data into a terminal and Changbin cross-checks reports on a tablet. Jisung leans casually against a wall, but his sharp eyes scan the space like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Chan moves through the room with the ease of someone in complete control. His presence is magnetic, pulling everyone into his orbit without needing to raise his voice. But even as he checks in with Felix and exchanges quick words with Changbin, his gaze keeps flickering to you—brief, assessing, protective.

You’ve been here for nearly an hour, your nerves on edge. Something feels off. It’s not just the tension in the room; it’s the way the air seems to hum with an unspoken threat.

“Everything’s clear on the perimeter,” Changbin announces, his tone clipped. “Guards are in position, and no movement on the cameras.”

“Good,” Chan replies, his voice steady. “But keep the alert level high. I don’t trust how quiet it’s been.”

Neither do you.

You step closer to Chan, lowering your voice so only he can hear. “This feels wrong. Too still.”

He glances at you, his brow furrowing. “You think Victor’s planning something?”

“I know he is,” you reply, your tone sharper than intended. “And if Jake’s involved, they won’t come at us head-on. They’ll use misdirection. Ambush tactics.”

Before Chan can respond, a deafening boom reverberates through the building. The lights flicker, and the room plunges into chaos.

“Explosion at the south entrance!” Felix shouts, his hands flying over the terminal to pull up the security feed. The screen flickers to life, showing a plume of smoke and fire near the gate. Figures move through the haze—armed men in tactical gear, their movements precise and coordinated.

“They’re here,” you say, your voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline. “It’s Jake. This is his style—hit hard, fast, and create confusion.”

Chan’s jaw tightens, his hand moving to the radio at his shoulder. “Everyone, get to your positions. Secure the safehouse and hold the line. Y/N, stay close to me.”

But you’re already moving, grabbing a weapon from the nearby rack. “I’m not sitting this one out.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t argue,” you snap, loading the gun with practiced efficiency. “You need me out there, not hiding in here.”

Chan’s eyes flash with something unreadable, but he doesn’t stop you. Instead, he turns to the others. “Changbin, take point on the east side. Felix, keep the cameras running and update us on their movements. Jisung, you’re with me and Y/N.”

The team scatters, moving with the precision of a unit that’s faced worse odds before.

The next few minutes are a blur of gunfire and chaos. Jake’s men are relentless, their assault well-coordinated. You duck behind a stack of crates as bullets ricochet off the metal, the air thick with smoke and adrenaline.

“They’re flanking left!” you shout, spotting the subtle shift in their formation. “They’re trying to cut us off!”

“Copy that,” Changbin’s voice crackles over the radio. “Redirecting fire to cover the left side.”

You dart forward, keeping low, and Chan follows close behind. His focus is razor-sharp, his movements precise as he takes out two attackers with clean shots.

“You good?” he asks, glancing at you briefly.

“I’m fine,” you reply, firing at an advancing enemy and dropping him.

“Stay close,” he orders, his voice tight with urgency.

But staying close isn’t an option when you spot something that makes your blood run cold—a group of Jake’s men planting explosives near the north wall. If they detonate them, the entire safehouse will collapse.

“I see explosives!” you call out, pointing toward the group.

Chan curses under his breath. “We need to stop them now.”

“I’ll handle it,” you say, already moving.

“No, wait—”

But you don’t stop. You weave through the chaos, your heart pounding as you close the distance. One of the men notices you and raises his weapon, but you’re faster, taking him down with a well-placed shot. The others turn toward you, but their hesitation gives you just enough time to disable the explosives, pulling the wires free with shaking hands.

Before you can catch your breath, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Nice work, big sis.”

You spin around, your weapon raised, and come face-to-face with Jake. He’s standing a few feet away, his own gun trained on you, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You’ve gotten better,” he says, his tone mocking. “Guess hanging out with Chan’s little gang has its perks.”

“Jake,” you say, your voice cold. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” he replies, taking a step closer. “Dad wanted me to send a message. Thought I’d deliver it personally.”

Before you can respond, Chan appears behind you, his gun aimed at Jake. “Drop the weapon,” he commands, his voice icy.

Jake doesn’t flinch. “Relax, Chan. I’m not here to kill her. Yet.” He pauses, his smirk widening. “This was just a warm-up. Dad’s saving the real fun for later.”

Jake backs away slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “See you soon, Y/N. Oh, and tell Chan to keep you close. It makes things more interesting.”

He disappears into the chaos, leaving you and Chan standing there, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Chan steps closer, his hand brushing your arm as he searches your face. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but your mind is racing. Jake’s message wasn’t just a threat—it was a declaration of war. And now, more than ever, you know there’s no turning back.

“We need to regroup,” Chan says, his voice steady but tense. “This isn’t over.”

“No,” you agree, your grip tightening on your weapon. “It’s just beginning.”

The Stray Kids HQ feels heavier than usual as the team regroups after the ambush. The lights seem dimmer, the air thick with the weight of tension and unspoken words. Weapons are set aside, reports are hastily gathered, and the faint scent of smoke still clings to your clothes, a reminder of how close things came to disaster.

Felix is the first to speak as he scrolls through surveillance footage on a nearby monitor. “We’re lucky we didn’t lose more,” he mutters, his voice tight. “They knew exactly where to hit us.”

Changbin, standing with his arms crossed near the table, doesn’t look up. His jaw is clenched, his knuckles white against the surface of the map he’s been studying. “Lucky?” he says, his tone sharp. “We were blindsided. They were two steps ahead, and now Jake’s out there, planning God knows what.”

His words hang in the air like a challenge, and though he doesn’t say it outright, you can feel his focus shift to you.

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, your voice steady despite the knot tightening in your chest.

Changbin turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. “I’m saying it’s convenient, isn’t it? Jake knew our exact movements. He knew where we’d be, how we’d respond. You can’t tell me that’s just a coincidence.”

You take a step forward, squaring your shoulders. “Are you seriously accusing me of giving him that information?”

“I’m saying we can’t afford to overlook anything,” Changbin replies, his tone calm but pointed. “Victor’s already been using you against us, and now your brother shows up, practically taunting us with insider knowledge. Forgive me if I’m not jumping to trust you.”

The room goes quiet. All eyes are on you now—some hesitant, others openly questioning. You feel the weight of their doubt pressing down, but you refuse to let it crush you.

“I get it,” you say, your voice cutting through the silence. “You don’t trust me. Maybe you never will. But let me make one thing clear: Jake didn’t know about that safehouse because of me. He knew because Victor’s been watching you—watching us—long before I was ever part of this.”

You take another step forward, meeting Changbin’s gaze head-on. “You think I’m the problem? Fine. But you need to understand something—I’m not just here for Chan, or for this fight. I’m here because Victor made me his enemy the moment he decided I wasn’t his pawn anymore. So don’t stand there and act like I’m some weak link in your operation. I’ve risked everything to be here.”

Changbin’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might fire back. But then Chan steps in, his presence commanding as always.

“That’s enough,” Chan says, his voice calm but firm. His gaze flicks to Changbin. “Y/N’s right. Jake knew because Victor’s been tracking us, not because of her. And if you’ve got a problem with her being here, you take it up with me. Understand?”

Changbin holds Chan’s gaze for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Understood.”

The tension in the room doesn’t completely dissipate, but it lessens enough for the others to return to their tasks. You stand there, your heart still racing, until Chan places a hand on your arm.

“Come with me,” he says softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You follow him out of the main room and into a quieter space—a small office tucked away from the buzz of the HQ. He closes the door behind you, the sound muffled but final.

Chan leans against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed as he studies you. “You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, the hard edge gone.

You hesitate, your arms wrapping around yourself as the adrenaline begins to wear off. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I keep thinking about Jake, about how he used to be. He wasn’t always like this, Chan. He wasn’t…” Your voice falters, and you take a shaky breath. “He wasn’t a monster.”

Chan’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hands resting gently on your arms. “He’s not the Jake you remember,” he says quietly. “And that’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“I know,” you say, your voice trembling. “But it doesn’t make it any easier. He’s my brother, Chan. I don’t want to fight him. I don’t want to…” You trail off, unable to finish the thought.

Chan’s hands tighten slightly, his touch grounding you. “You’re not alone in this,” he says firmly. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together. I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “You can’t promise that, Chan. Not with everything that’s happening.”

“I can,” he replies, his voice unwavering. “Because I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means putting myself in the line of fire.”

His words make your chest tighten, a mix of fear and something deeper, something raw. “You can’t keep sacrificing yourself for me,” you whisper. “I don’t want to lose you, Chan.”

“You won’t,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you. We’re in this together, remember?”

The room feels smaller now, the space between you charged with an intensity that’s impossible to ignore. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Together.”

Chan leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “We’ll get through this, baby,” he murmurs. “No matter what it takes.”

And for the first time since the ambush, you feel a glimmer of hope. The road ahead may be dangerous, but with Chan by your side, you know you can face whatever comes next.

The van’s interior is dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of the tactical map Chan holds in his lap. The hum of the engine is a steady undercurrent, but it does nothing to mask the tension in the air. You sit beside Chan, his shoulder brushing yours, a grounding presence even as your mind races.

You tell yourself it’s just another mission. Another operation to outmaneuver Victor’s forces and keep Stray Kids one step ahead. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. This isn’t just about hitting Victor’s supply chain. It’s also a test.

You’ve felt it since the fallout from the ambush. The doubt lingering in Changbin’s sharp eyes, the sideways glances from Felix and Jisung. They may respect your skills, but they still don’t fully trust you. Not yet. And after Jake’s ambush, the stakes have never been higher.

The van slows to a halt just outside the target—a sprawling warehouse on the edge of Victor’s territory. Chan studies the map, his expression unreadable, but you can sense the gears turning in his head. He’s calculating every move, every risk.

“This is a critical strike,” he says, his voice low but commanding. “Victor’s using this warehouse to funnel supplies into his remaining strongholds. If we take this out, we cripple his next move.”

Beside him, Changbin leans forward, his sharp gaze landing on you. “And if we walk into another trap?” he asks, his tone cutting. “Jake knows how we move now. He’s not just playing Victor’s game—he’s playing hers.”

The accusation stings, but you don’t flinch. You meet his gaze head-on, keeping your voice steady. “Jake’s not playing my game,” you say firmly. “And if he’s using what he knows against you, then I’m the best chance you have to counter him. I know how he thinks—better than anyone here.”

Changbin narrows his eyes, but before he can respond, Chan cuts in. “She’s right.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of finality to it. “Y/N’s intel got us this far. If anyone can anticipate Jake’s next move, it’s her.”

The tension in the van is palpable, but Chan’s word carries weight. Slowly, Changbin leans back, his silence a grudging acceptance.

Felix breaks the tension with a quiet murmur. “We should move. If Jake knows we’re coming, we don’t have time to sit here arguing.”

Chan nods, his eyes flicking to you. “You’re with me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Stay close.”

As the team moves toward the warehouse, the plan unfolds with precision. You slip through the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest. The others follow Chan’s lead, their movements fluid and coordinated. But even as you focus on the task at hand, the weight of the unspoken test presses down on you.

Every step feels like a judgment, every glance a reminder that you still have something to prove.

Inside, the warehouse is dark and sprawling, the air thick with the scent of oil and metal. You scan the shadows, every sense heightened. This isn’t just a mission—it’s a gauntlet, one you’re determined to get through unscathed.

The team moves deeper into the building, clearing rooms and disabling security systems with practiced efficiency. But something feels off. The silence is too perfect, the space too empty.

You tug at Chan’s sleeve, leaning in to whisper. “This isn’t right. It’s too quiet.”

Chan’s eyes narrow, and you see the flicker of concern cross his face. “What are you thinking?”

You hesitate, but only for a moment. “It’s Jake,” you say. “He knows how you operate. He’s not guarding the warehouse—he’s setting us up to think we’ve already won.”

Before Chan can respond, the first shot rings out, shattering the quiet. Chaos erupts as Victor’s men pour in from hidden entrances, their weapons trained on your team.

The firefight is immediate and intense. Chan barks orders, his voice cutting through the noise, but the ambush is calculated and brutal. You duck behind a stack of crates, your weapon drawn, your mind racing as you try to piece together Jake’s plan.

This isn’t just about taking out the team. It’s about you.

As the battle rages, you catch a glimpse of Jake through the chaos, his figure unmistakable. He’s watching, waiting, his presence a reminder of the stakes.

Your pulse quickens, but you don’t let yourself falter. You take a deep breath, your fingers tightening around your weapon. If this is a test, you’re going to pass.

And you’re going to make sure Jake knows exactly where your loyalties lie.

The firefight feels endless, the echo of gunfire and shouted orders ricocheting off the walls of the warehouse. The team moves like a machine, each member covering the other, but even with their precision, the ambush threatens to overwhelm them. You duck behind a steel support beam, your chest heaving as you reload your weapon.

A shadow moves in the corner of your eye, and before you can react, a figure steps into view. Your breath catches when you recognize him—Jake.

He looks different now, harder, colder, but those sharp eyes of his haven’t changed. They lock onto you, and the corner of his mouth twists into a mocking smile. “Big sis,” he drawls, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to get your hands dirty.”

You level your weapon at him, your grip steady despite the adrenaline surging through you. “You shouldn’t be here, Jake.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, his movements unhurried, like he knows you won’t shoot. “Neither should you. But here we are, huh? Playing for opposite teams. Funny how life works.”

You don’t lower your gun, but something about his tone sets your teeth on edge. “This isn’t a game,” you say, your voice hard. “You don’t have to do this.”

Jake’s smile fades, and for a moment, something flickers in his eyes—regret? Doubt? But it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Don’t I? You betrayed us, Y/N. You betrayed Dad, the family, everything we built. And for what? Him?” He jerks his chin in the direction of Chan, who’s still in the thick of the fight, his voice cutting through the chaos as he shouts orders.

Your grip tightens on your weapon. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Victor’s empire is rotten. You’re smart enough to see that.”

Jake snorts, shaking his head. “I see everything, sis. Including you playing house with the enemy. Tell me, do they even trust you? Or are you just another pawn in their little game?”

His words hit like a knife, but you don’t let it show. You can’t. “I made my choice,” you say firmly. “And I’m not going back.”

Jake’s eyes narrow, his hand moving to the weapon holstered at his side. “Shame,” he says quietly. “I was hoping you’d see reason.”

Before he can make a move, the sound of a shout cuts through the air. You whip around to see Felix pinned down by one of Victor’s men, the muzzle of a rifle aimed directly at his head. Time slows, the chaos of the battle fading as your instincts kick in.

Without a second thought, you dart toward them, your weapon raised. “Felix, down!” you shout, and the instant he ducks, you fire, the shot hitting Victor’s man square in the chest.

Felix scrambles back, his wide eyes meeting yours as you haul him to his feet. “Thanks,” he breathes, his voice shaky.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you say, your gaze darting back to Jake, who’s already moving toward the exit.

For a split second, your resolve wavers. This is your brother—the kid you used to protect, the one who used to look up to you. But then you think of everything Victor’s done, everything Jake is willing to do to keep him in power.

Your grip tightens on your weapon as you make your choice.

“Jake!” you shout, your voice cutting through the noise. He stops, turning to look at you over his shoulder, that smirk still playing on his lips.

“This isn’t over, Y/N,” he says, his tone almost taunting. “You’ll see.”

Then he’s gone, disappearing into the shadows, and you feel a pang of regret even as your resolve hardens.

The rest of the mission blurs into a haze of gunfire and shouts, but when the dust settles, the team emerges victorious. The warehouse is secured, the remaining assets destroyed, and Victor’s forces scattered—for now.

As the team regroups outside, the tension lingers. You can feel the weight of their gazes on you, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

It’s Changbin who breaks the silence. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice low but steady.

You meet his gaze, your expression unreadable. “Yes, I did.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods, a grudging respect in his eyes.

Chan steps forward, his hand brushing yours briefly—a silent gesture of support. “You did good,” he says quietly, his voice meant only for you.

But the victory feels hollow. The cost of it—the choices you’ve made, the ties you’ve severed—presses heavy on your chest.

As the team loads into the van, you glance back at the warehouse, the flames from the destroyed assets casting a glow against the night sky. You know this isn’t the end. Victor is still out there. Jake is still out there. And the fight is far from over.

But as you look at Chan, his steady gaze meeting yours, you know one thing for certain. You’re not facing it alone.

The secure meeting room within the HQ feels colder than usual, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of the mission’s aftermath. The team is gathered, their faces etched with exhaustion and tension. The only sound is the faint hum of the monitors lining the walls, casting flickering light across the room. You’re seated near the head of the table, Chan at your side, his presence a steadying force even as your mind races.

Changbin paces in the corner, muttering under his breath as Felix quietly types away at a console. Everyone is on edge, the victory from the mission overshadowed by the lingering threat of what’s still to come.

A sharp beep pierces the silence, drawing all attention to the central monitor. The screen flickers, and a new message appears, accompanied by a video feed.

Chan moves to the console immediately, his jaw tightening as he hits a button to play the file. The image that fills the screen makes your stomach drop.

Jake.

He’s seated in what looks like Victor’s war room, the background opulent and menacing, a twisted mirror of the environment you’ve grown accustomed to at Stray Kids HQ. He’s leaning back in his chair, his posture casual but his expression anything but.

“Big sis,” he begins, his voice smooth, almost amused. “You’re making this far too easy.”

You tense in your seat, your fingers gripping the edge of the table as you watch him. His eyes are sharper now, colder, and they lock onto the camera as if he’s speaking directly to you.

“I have to admit,” Jake continues, his tone laced with mockery, “I didn’t think you had it in you. Running off to play mafia princess with Chan and his merry band of misfits? Bold move.”

Felix mutters something under his breath, but no one responds. All eyes are glued to the screen.

Jake’s smile fades slightly, his expression hardening. “But you’ve always been reckless, haven’t you? Always wanting something more, something bigger. And now look where it’s gotten you.”

The screen cuts briefly to footage of the recent mission—the warehouse ablaze, Stray Kids moving through the wreckage. Your stomach twists as you realize they’ve been watching, tracking your every move.

Jake leans forward, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. “Dad’s not happy, Y/N. You’ve made this personal. And he doesn’t like loose ends.”

Chan steps closer to the monitor, his fists clenched at his sides. “Get to the point,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

Jake’s eyes flicker toward the sound of Chan’s voice, and he smirks. “Ah, Chan. Always the protector. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His smirk widens, a sharp edge to it. “You think you can save her? Keep her safe from us? From him?”

Your pulse quickens, the words cutting deeper than you’d like to admit.

Jake’s gaze shifts back to the camera, his tone dropping. “Here’s the deal, Y/N. You come home. You come back to where you belong, and we settle this. Just you and me. No Stray Kids, no Chan. Just family.”

The room feels impossibly still as the weight of his words sinks in.

“And if I don’t?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

Jake’s smile vanishes entirely, replaced by something cold and deadly. “Then we burn everything.”

The screen cuts again, this time to footage of another Stray Kids safehouse, this one already engulfed in flames. The timestamp in the corner shows it’s live.

“You really think you’ve won anything?” Jake’s voice continues, even as the footage plays. “Victor’s already planning his next move. And trust me, big sis, it’s going to make today look like child’s play.”

He pauses, leaning back in his chair once more. “But hey, if you’re so sure about your new life, your new family, then prove it. Stay. Fight. Watch as everything crumbles around you.”

The feed cuts abruptly, leaving the room in silence.

For a moment, no one speaks. Then Changbin slams his fist onto the table, breaking the tension. “That bastard,” he mutters, his voice low and angry. “We should’ve taken him out when we had the chance.”

Chan turns to you, his expression unreadable but his eyes burning with intensity. “Y/N,” he says, his voice steady but firm. “Talk to me. What’s going through your head?”

You take a shaky breath, your mind racing. The memories Jake referenced, the fire, the ultimatum—it’s all too much. But one thought cuts through the chaos.

“He’s not bluffing,” you say finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “Victor will do it. He’ll destroy everything just to prove a point.”

Felix shifts uneasily. “So what do we do?”

Chan’s gaze never leaves you, and for the first time, you feel the full weight of his trust. “That’s up to Y/N,” he says simply.

You meet his eyes, your resolve hardening. “We fight,” you say, the words leaving no room for doubt. “We don’t let him win.”

But even as you say it, you can feel the weight of the choice Jake has forced on you. The line between family and loyalty has never felt thinner, and the consequences of your decision have never been clearer.

The room feels heavy as you pace back and forth in Chan’s private quarters, the weight of Jake’s ultimatum bearing down on you like a stormcloud. The memory of his voice, his taunts, and that live footage of the burning safehouse keep replaying in your mind, twisting your thoughts into knots. You stop, staring out the window into the darkness outside, searching for clarity in the stillness of the night.

But clarity doesn’t come.

“Y/N.”

Chan’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. He’s seated on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together as his dark eyes track your every move. There’s a calm to him—a steadiness that should soothe you, but the turmoil inside you refuses to quiet.

You shake your head, letting out a frustrated breath. “He’s going to burn everything down, Chan. Every safehouse, every ally, every connection. He’ll stop at nothing.”

“I know,” Chan says softly, his voice gentle but firm. “But you’re not carrying this alone.”

You let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Aren’t I? He’s my brother, Chan. My family. And he’s using everything I know, everything I taught him, to try to destroy the people I chose over him.” You glance over your shoulder at him, your voice trembling. “If I don’t stop him, he’ll kill everyone I care about.”

Chan rises slowly, his presence commanding yet comforting as he moves toward you. “You’re not stopping him alone, baby. We’re stopping him. Together.”

You swallow hard, torn between the part of you that wants to believe him and the part that knows the risk. “But Jake’s smart. He knows how to use people, how to manipulate situations. If I go back to him, maybe—”

“No,” Chan interrupts sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He closes the distance between you, his hands settling on your shoulders, grounding you. “You’re not walking into that snake pit alone. I’m not letting you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his for something—an answer, a sign, anything to make this easier. “Then what do we do?” you whisper.

Chan’s jaw tightens, his grip on your shoulders firm but reassuring. “We take the fight to Victor. We don’t wait for them to pick us apart piece by piece. We hit his next stronghold, and we hit it hard.”

You hesitate, your mind racing. “And Jake? He’ll see it coming. He’ll know what we’re planning. He’s too smart to be caught off guard.”

Chan smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Then we make him think we’re playing his game.”

The words spark something in you, a flicker of hope cutting through the chaos. “You mean… we use his own trap against him?”

“Exactly.” Chan steps closer, his hands moving to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks. His voice drops, filled with quiet intensity. “You let him think you’re doing what he wants. You go back, make it seem like you’re following his ultimatum. He’ll drop his guard, and when he does—”

“Stray Kids will already be there,” you finish, the plan forming in your mind. “We’ll catch him off balance.”

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I need you to trust me, baby. Trust us. We’ll be right behind you. The moment Jake realizes he’s been played, we’ll be there to finish it.”

You close your eyes for a moment, drawing in a shaky breath. The plan makes sense—it’s dangerous, yes, but it could work. It’s the only way to get close enough to Jake and Victor without giving them the upper hand.

When you open your eyes, your decision is made. “I’ll do it,” you say firmly. “I’ll go back. But only as a distraction. The moment I’ve got Jake’s attention, you hit them with everything you’ve got.”

Chan’s hands drop to your waist, pulling you closer until your foreheads rest together. His voice is softer now, but no less intense. “You’re fucking brave, you know that?”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “Or stupid.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “No. You’re brave. And you’re mine. Don’t ever forget that.”

The conviction in his voice steadies you in a way nothing else can. “I won’t.”

The moment stretches between you, filled with unspoken promises and the weight of what’s to come. Finally, Chan steps back, his hands lingering at your waist.

“We’ll gear up,” he says, his voice regaining its commanding edge. “We’ll pick our best team, map out every possible scenario. When you walk in there, you won’t be alone for long.”

You nod, your resolve hardening. “Let’s do this.”

As you begin to prepare, the weight of what’s coming doesn’t feel as crushing as it did before. You’re not walking into this blindly, not anymore. You’re walking into the storm with Chan and Stray Kids by your side.

But in the back of your mind, a shadow lingers—the knowledge that Jake won’t let this go easily. And when he realizes he’s been played, the fallout could be more dangerous than you’re ready for.

The silence between you stretches for a moment as Chan’s plan takes root in your mind, the sheer weight of what you’re about to do settling deep in your chest. But when you glance up at him, his eyes are already on you, filled with a quiet determination that steadies your shaking resolve.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice low but commanding in a way that sends a ripple of warmth through you.

You hesitate for only a second before stepping closer. His hands return to your waist, firm and grounding, while yours find their way to his chest, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. You feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, strong and steady, and it anchors you in the storm of your thoughts.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone softer now, like it’s just the two of you and the rest of the world has faded away. “I need you to hear me when I say this—this isn’t just a mission. You’re not just a distraction or a piece of some strategy. You’re it for me. You’re everything.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his words settle deep inside you, leaving no room for doubt. “Chan…”

He doesn’t let you finish. His hand moves up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his eyes search yours. “You’re mine, baby. And no matter what happens out there, I’m coming for you. Every single time.”

The intensity of his gaze pulls you under, the raw emotion in his voice leaving you breathless. You don’t think—there’s no time to overanalyze, no room for hesitation. You tilt your head up, your fingers tightening on his shirt as you press your lips to his.

The kiss is electric, charged with everything you’ve been holding back—fear, desire, determination. His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you closer, his other hand threading through your hair, keeping you anchored to him. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a promise, a reminder of everything you’re fighting for.

You lose yourself in the moment, your heart pounding in time with his as his lips move against yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and you let out a soft gasp, giving him just enough of an opening to deepen the kiss.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, you’re both breathing hard, the air between you charged with unspoken emotions.

“I’ve got you, babygirl,” he whispers, his voice rough but steady. “Always.”

You nod, swallowing hard as you try to find your voice. “And I’ve got you.”

His lips brush against your forehead in a tender, lingering kiss before he steps back, his hands still on your waist. “Then let’s make sure Jake and Victor know exactly who they’re up against.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you straighten your shoulders, ready to face whatever comes next. “Let’s make them regret ever thinking they could win.”

Chan smirks, his confidence infectious. “That’s my girl.”

And as the two of you step out of his quarters, the plan solidified between you, you can’t help but feel a spark of hope. Because no matter how dangerous the storm ahead may be, you know you’re walking into it together.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part V)

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART VI, FINAL PART

Plot Overview:

In this part of the story, Y/N continues to stand firm in her decision to betray her father, Victor, and align herself with Chan and Stray Kids. After successfully helping dismantle Victor’s forces, Y/N faces an intense and personal confrontation with one of her father’s top enforcers. But the danger doesn’t end there. The war between Victor and Chan’s organization intensifies, and Y/N’s estranged brother, Jake, is revealed to be Victor’s secret weapon, sent to hunt her down. With the stakes rising, Y/N must navigate family betrayal, shifting alliances, and a growing bond with Chan that could be both her strength and her vulnerability. As the battle rages on, Y/N is forced to confront her past and take action in a way that will change everything.

Warnings: BangChan!Mafia, StrayKids!Mafia, Mafia!AU, Graphic violence and physical confrontation, Betrayal and manipulation, Family conflict (including strained relationship with a parent and sibling), Themes of power struggles, loyalty, and revenge, Strong language and mature themes, Trauma-related moments (past and present)

Author Note:

Hey, lovely readers! 💜

Thank you for sticking with me on this wild ride. Chapter 5 has a lot of twists, turns, and emotional moments (don’t worry, I’m not going to spoil anything 😏). As always, you all have been so amazing with your feedback, and I truly appreciate every comment, like, and share. Seriously, you guys are the real MVPs! I hope you’re loving the tension between Y/N and Chan (because who wouldn’t?), and get ready for even more family drama—because, yes, it’s about to get even messier. 🤭

Keep reading, keep commenting, and I promise there’s so much more chaos and love coming your way. Stay tuned, and don’t forget to hydrate—you’re going to need it for what’s next. Much love, and I’ll see you in the next chapter! 💜

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The air in the war room feels thick, the tension palpable as you step inside. The room is dimly lit, the glow of multiple screens casting flickering shadows across the faces of Chan’s inner circle. All the members of Stray Kids are present, their sharp eyes focused on the shifting maps and streams of data displayed before them. It’s clear this isn’t just any emergency—it’s something calculated, something dangerous.

Chan walks in beside you, his presence commanding the room without a single word. But there’s a subtle shift in the way the others look at you now. Their eyes flicker between you and him, some filled with curiosity, others with concern. The weight of what just happened in his study clings to you, and you can’t help but wonder if they know. If they sense the change.

Changbin clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to the largest screen. “Victor’s men hit us hard,” he says, his voice clipped and precise. “They took out one of our safehouses in the northern sector, but that’s not the worst of it.”

He taps the keyboard, and a new screen comes into view—a message scrawled in Victor’s familiar style. The words are taunting, dripping with menace.

You think you’ve won, little girl? You’ve only just begun to lose.

The room goes silent. You feel the blood drain from your face as the weight of the message settles over you like a leaden cloak. It’s directed at you—there’s no mistaking it. Victor isn’t just retaliating against Stray Kids. He’s making it personal.

Chan’s jaw tightens, his hand flexing at his side. “What else?” he asks, his tone sharp but calm.

Changbin glances at you briefly before continuing. “The northern supply line is compromised. They knew exactly where to hit. We’re still assessing the damage, but it’s bad. If we don’t move quickly, we’ll lose more ground.”

Felix steps forward, his voice quieter but no less urgent. “It’s not just the supply line. Victor’s men left a trail—we think they’re setting up a secondary strike, targeting our allies in the eastern sector. If they succeed, it could destabilize our entire network.”

The implications are clear. This isn’t just a counterattack—it’s a calculated move, one designed to dismantle everything Chan has built.

You swallow hard, your mind racing. The message, the timing—it’s all too precise. Guilt starts to creep in, clawing at the edges of your resolve. Was this your fault? Did your distraction, your indulgence, give Victor the opening he needed to strike?

Before you can spiral further, Chan’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “We don’t have time to waste. Felix, start reinforcing the eastern sector. I want every safehouse secured within the hour. Minho, take a team and lock down the remaining northern routes. We can’t afford another breach.”

The members nod, moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine. But even as Chan issues orders, his eyes keep darting toward you. There’s a protectiveness in his gaze, something unspoken but undeniable.

Finally, he turns to you, his voice softer but no less commanding. “Y/N. Talk to me. What do you see?”

For a moment, you hesitate. The guilt, the weight of everything, feels like it might crush you. But then you remind yourself—you’re not just here because of him. You’re here because you chose this. Because you’re more than just a bystander in this war.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward, your eyes scanning the map on the screen. “Victor’s not just reacting,” you say, your voice steadier than you expected. “This is part of a larger play. The northern strike wasn’t just about hitting us—it was a distraction. He wanted you focused there so you wouldn’t see the eastern move coming.”

Changbin frowns. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I know him,” you reply, your tone firm. “Victor doesn’t just want to hurt you. He wants to divide you, make you doubt your own strength. The eastern sector isn’t just a target—it’s bait. He’s trying to lure you into a trap.”

The room falls silent as your words sink in. All eyes are on you now, and for the first time, you feel the weight of their scrutiny. But instead of shrinking under it, you stand taller, meeting each gaze head-on.

“Then what do we do?” Felix asks, his tone cautious but respectful.

You turn to Chan, your eyes locking with his. “We outthink him. Let him think we’re taking the bait, but use it to our advantage. If we can anticipate where he’s setting the trap, we can turn it against him. Hit him where he doesn’t expect it.”

A slow smile spreads across Chan’s face, a mixture of pride and something deeper. “You heard her,” he says, his voice firm. “Changbin, start mapping out potential locations for the trap. Jisung, I want a list of our resources in the eastern sector. Everyone else, prepare for deployment.”

As the room bursts into activity, you feel Chan’s hand brush against yours—a fleeting touch, but one that grounds you. When the others are occupied, he leans in, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“This isn’t your fault,” he says, his tone gentle but unwavering. “Victor’s playing his game, but so are we. And now, we have the upper hand.”

You nod, his words sinking in, though the guilt still lingers at the edges of your mind. But as you look around the room, at the way the others move with purpose, at the way Chan trusts you without hesitation, you realize something important.

You’re not just a pawn in this game. You’re a player. And you’re ready to prove it.

Chan’s private quarters feel different tonight. The room, though spacious, carries a sense of intimacy—dark wood accents, muted light from a desk lamp, and the faint scent of him lingering in the air. It’s a space that feels distinctly his, a contrast to the calculated efficiency of the compound. But right now, it feels heavier, as if the tension from the war room has followed you both here, refusing to let go.

You’re sitting on the edge of the couch, your elbows resting on your knees, hands clasped tightly. The guilt is a steady drumbeat in your chest, a reminder of Victor’s message, of the safehouse lost, and of the chaos that seems to follow you wherever you go.

Chan closes the door behind him quietly, his footsteps soft but deliberate as he crosses the room. He doesn’t speak right away, instead leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he watches you. The weight of his gaze makes your pulse quicken, but you don’t look up. You can feel the questions radiating from him, the unspoken worry he’s trying to hide.

“You’re quiet,” he says at last, his voice low and careful.

You shrug, forcing a tight smile. “Lot to think about.”

He doesn’t accept the answer, his brows furrowing as he steps closer. “Talk to me.”

The softness in his tone is your undoing. You glance up at him, meeting his steady gaze, and for a moment, you’re not sure where to start. The words catch in your throat, a tangled mess of guilt, doubt, and something else you’re not ready to name.

“I… I keep wondering,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “If all of this is my fault. If I hadn’t—”

“No,” Chan cuts you off sharply, his voice firm but not unkind. He kneels in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees, grounding you. “Don’t even go there, Y/N. This isn’t on you. Victor’s been planning his moves for a long time. This is his war, not yours.”

“But I gave him an opening,” you insist, your hands gripping the edge of the couch. “If I hadn’t been distracted, if I’d been paying more attention—”

“Stop.” His voice softens, but there’s an edge of command in it that silences you. He shifts closer, his hands sliding up to gently hold yours, prying your fingers from their tight grip. “You’re not responsible for Victor’s actions. And you’re not a distraction, Y/N. You’re the reason we’ve gotten this far.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes your chest tighten. You shake your head, looking away as doubt creeps in. “Am I, though? Or am I just another problem you have to deal with? Another complication in an already impossible fight?”

Chan’s grip tightens just enough to bring your gaze back to his. “You’re not a problem,” he says firmly. “You’re my partner. My equal in this.”

The words hit harder than you expect, the weight of them sinking into your chest. “How can you be so sure?” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing anymore. Helping you destroy Victor—it feels right, but it’s still my father’s empire. It’s everything I’ve ever known.”

Chan exhales slowly, his thumbs brushing over the backs of your hands. “I can’t tell you what’s right or wrong, Y/N. That’s something only you can decide. But I can tell you this—Victor’s empire isn’t just falling apart because of me. It’s collapsing because it was built on fear, on control, on broken foundations. You see that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly, the truth of his words undeniable. “I do. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, his voice quieter now. “But you’re not in this alone. You never have been. And whatever comes next, we face it together.”

His words linger in the air, heavy with meaning. The way he looks at you now—open, unguarded—feels like a revelation. This isn’t just about strategy or loyalty anymore. It’s about you and him, about the connection that’s grown between you despite everything trying to tear it apart.

“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting unfamiliar but right on your tongue.

Chan leans back slightly, his hands still holding yours as he shifts to sit beside you on the couch. The space between you feels smaller now, the silence more comfortable. “You’ve changed me, you know,” he says after a moment, his voice low but steady.

You glance at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. “What do you mean?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Before you, it was all about the mission. The plan. Winning at any cost. I didn’t let myself think about anything else, didn’t let anyone in. But you…” He trails off, his gaze meeting yours again. “You’ve made me see things differently. Feel things differently.”

The honesty in his words makes your breath catch. “Chan…”

He shakes his head, his smile fading as his expression grows serious. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks, babygirl. What we have—it’s worth fighting for. And I’ll burn the world down to protect it, to protect you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

The intensity in his voice, the conviction in his words, leaves you speechless. You feel the heat of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, leaning into him instead.

“I don’t deserve that,” you murmur, your voice trembling.

“Yes, you do,” he says without hesitation, his arms wrapping around you. “And I’m going to prove it to you every damn day.”

You sit there together, the weight of the world pressing in from all sides, but for this moment, it doesn’t matter. Chan holds you close, his touch steady and grounding, and you feel a sense of safety you haven’t known in years.

Whatever comes next, you know you won’t face it alone. The storm may be raging, but with Chan by your side, you’re ready for it. Together, you’ll face whatever the world throws at you—and you’ll burn it all down if you have to.

The hum of engines fills the armored van as it speeds through the darkened streets. The air inside is tense, charged with unspoken concerns and the weight of the mission ahead. You sit across from Chan, his gaze fixed on the tactical map displayed on the tablet in his hand. Changbin and a few other Stray Kids members flank him, their faces drawn with focus and anticipation.

But it’s the way Changbin’s eyes flicker to you, skeptical and sharp, that sets your nerves on edge. His disapproval is unspoken, but it’s palpable, hanging in the air between you.

“You sure about this?” Changbin finally asks, his voice low but carrying enough bite to cut through the tension. His eyes don’t leave you as he speaks.

Chan doesn’t look up, his tone firm. “She’s coming. End of discussion.”

“Yeah, but does she know what she’s walking into? This isn’t strategy on a screen. It’s real. And one wrong move—”

“—could cost us everything,” you finish for him, meeting his gaze head-on. Your voice is steady, sharper than you intended, but you’re done with being underestimated. “I know exactly what’s at stake, Changbin. I’m here because I can help. Or would you rather I sit back and watch while you all fumble through Victor’s traps?”

Changbin’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

Chan finally looks up, his dark eyes locking on his second-in-command. “She’s proven herself before. She’s not just sitting this one out.” His voice is calm but unyielding, carrying the weight of his authority. “If anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but no one challenges him.

You glance at Chan, catching the flicker of something in his expression—an unspoken reassurance, a silent promise that he’s got your back. It steadies you more than you care to admit.

The van jerks to a halt, the sound of gravel crunching beneath its tires. Chan’s voice snaps through the tension as he shifts into command mode. “All right. We’re five minutes out. Everyone knows their roles—stick to the plan, and this will be clean.”

You move to follow as the team begins to disembark, but Chan steps in front of you, his hand brushing your arm to stop you. His voice lowers, meant only for you. “Stay close to me.”

You nod, your throat tight. “I will.”

The operation unfolds with precision, at least at first. The team moves in coordinated silence, sweeping through the abandoned warehouse that Victor’s forces have turned into a makeshift hub. You stick close to Chan, your eyes scanning the shadows for movement, every sense heightened.

It’s not long before the calm shatters. The first shots echo through the cavernous space, ricocheting off metal beams and concrete walls. Chaos erupts as Victor’s men emerge, armed and prepared.

You duck behind a stack of crates as gunfire sprays the area, adrenaline spiking in your veins. Across from you, Chan barks orders into his comms, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos.

“They’re flanking left!” you call out, your eyes catching the subtle shift in Victor’s men. “They’re trying to cut off the exit.”

Chan glances at you, his gaze sharp. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you reply, already moving to counter.

Your insider knowledge proves invaluable as you help the team navigate the battlefield, anticipating Victor’s tactics with precision. You call out positions, warn of traps, and even lead a small group to secure a critical chokepoint.

But the moment of triumph is short-lived.

You round a corner, your weapon drawn, only to come face-to-face with a figure you recognize instantly—one of Victor’s top enforcers, a man whose reputation for brutality is matched only by his loyalty to your father.

His eyes narrow as they land on you, recognition flaring in his expression. “Well, well,” he sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. “The prodigal daughter. Guess daddy didn’t keep you on a tight enough leash.”

Your grip on your weapon tightens, but you don’t flinch. “Guess he didn’t teach you how to stay out of my way,” you shoot back, your voice steadier than you feel.

The enforcer lunges before you can react, disarming you with a brutal twist of your wrist. Pain shoots up your arm, but you don’t have time to dwell on it as he slams you against the wall, his forearm pressing against your throat.

“You think you can betray Victor and walk away unscathed?” he growls, his breath hot against your face.

The panic rises, but you push it down, grappling for anything you can use. Your free hand finds the knife strapped to your thigh, and with a sharp, desperate motion, you drive it into his side.

He staggers back with a grunt, giving you just enough room to break free. You barely have time to catch your breath before a familiar voice cuts through the chaos.

“Y/N!”

Chan’s voice is like a lifeline, and within seconds, he’s there, his weapon trained on the enforcer. The look in his eyes is deadly, and for a moment, you see the full force of the man who commands one of the most feared organizations in the underworld.

“Touch her again,” Chan growls, his voice low and cold, “and I’ll make sure you don’t live long enough to regret it.”

The enforcer doesn’t get a chance to respond. Chan’s shot is clean, precise, and final.

He’s at your side in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, his gaze sweeping over you. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, still catching your breath. “I’m fine.”

His eyes narrow, scanning you more thoroughly. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“We’re getting you out of here,” he says firmly, his hand moving to your back as he guides you toward the exit.

“I can still fight,” you protest, but he cuts you off.

“You’ve already done enough,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let me take care of the rest.”

By the time the team regroups, the operation is a success. Victor’s forces are scattered, the hub dismantled, and critical intel secured.

Back at the compound, the atmosphere is tense but victorious. Changbin approaches as you step out of the van, his expression unreadable.

“You did good,” he admits grudgingly, his tone begrudging but sincere.

You glance at him, surprised. “Thanks.”

Chan’s arm brushes yours as he steps forward, his presence commanding as ever. “She’s not just good,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “She’s one of us now.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you feel the eyes of the team on you. For the first time, it’s not skepticism or judgment you see—it’s respect.

And for the first time, you feel like you belong.

The atmosphere in Victor’s stronghold is suffocating, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The sprawling estate, normally a display of his wealth and power, feels like the lair of a predator—every shadow and every corner holding the weight of his fury.

Victor stands at the head of a massive table in the dimly lit room, his face a mask of cold, seething anger. Maps, photographs, and red-marked plans are strewn across the surface, but his focus isn’t on the strategy. It’s on the betrayal—the face staring back at him from one of the pictures. Your face.

“She’s turned against us,” he says, his voice low but laced with venom. He picks up the photograph, holding it between two fingers as if it disgusts him. “My own blood. My own daughter.”

Around the room, his most loyal men stand silent, their heads bowed in deference—or perhaps fear. Victor’s rage is dangerous, and no one dares to interrupt him.

“Y/N was supposed to be my legacy,” he continues, tossing the photograph onto the table. “Now she’s nothing but a liability. And she thinks aligning herself with Stray Kids will save her? With Chan?” He spits the name like it’s poison.

One of his top enforcers, a man with a scar running down the side of his face, clears his throat cautiously. “Sir, we’ve already taken measures to destabilize Chan’s organization. The counterattack at the safehouse sent a message. We can keep applying pressure.”

Victor turns his piercing gaze on the man, and the enforcer flinches. “A message?” Victor repeats, his voice icy. “Do you think that was enough? Do you think I want her inconvenienced, or do you think I want her destroyed?”

The enforcer stammers, but before he can respond, Victor raises a hand to silence him.

“No,” Victor says, his tone softening in a way that’s far more dangerous than his rage. “This isn’t just about her anymore. It’s about everyone who stands with her. Chan thinks he’s untouchable, that his precious little mafia can outmaneuver me. Let’s show him what happens when you cross me.”

He gestures to one of the men at his side, a figure who steps forward with an unsettling calmness. The man is younger than most of Victor’s inner circle, his face eerily familiar.

Jake. Your brother.

The sight of him would be a shock to anyone who hasn’t seen him in years. Taller now, his features sharper, but there’s a darkness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Victor places a hand on Jake’s shoulder, the gesture almost paternal. “My son,” he says, his voice carrying a note of pride. “You’ve been waiting for your moment, haven’t you?”

Jake nods, his expression cold, calculating. “I’m ready.”

Victor smiles, the curve of his lips chilling. “Good. Because I have a special task for you. You know Y/N better than anyone. You know how she thinks, how she operates. You’ll use that knowledge to bring her to me—and when you do, I want you to deliver a message to her precious Chan.”

Jake tilts his head slightly. “And what message is that?”

Victor’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with malice. “That no matter where they run, no matter what alliances they forge, they’ll never be safe. Because I’ll always be one step ahead.”

The room falls silent again as Victor turns his attention to one of the large screens on the wall. It flickers to life, displaying surveillance footage from one of his compromised hubs. The footage shows you and Chan, working alongside his team, your face determined as you give orders, your movements confident and precise.

Victor’s gaze sharpens as he watches you, a flicker of something almost unreadable crossing his features. “She’s forgotten who she is,” he murmurs. “But I’ll remind her. She thinks she can build a new empire with Chan? Let’s see how well they handle losing everything they care about.”

He leans forward, his hands pressing flat against the table. “Escalate the attacks. Hit his supply routes, his safehouses, his alliances. No mercy. And as for Y/N…” He pauses, his expression darkening. “Make sure she knows this isn’t just a war. It’s personal.”

The room buzzes with activity as his orders are carried out. Victor watches, his satisfaction evident as he turns to Jake.

“And you,” he says, his tone quiet but firm. “You will be my weapon. I’ve given you everything you need to succeed. Don’t disappoint me.”

Jake nods, his jaw set. “I won’t.”

As the men begin to disperse, Victor picks up the photograph of you again, studying it for a long moment. Then he flips it over and scrawls something on the back before handing it to one of his men.

“Deliver this to her,” he orders. “Make sure she knows it came from me.”

The camera zooms in on the back of the photograph as it’s handed off. In bold, angry letters, it reads:

You’ll never escape. And neither will he.

The quiet hum of the HQ wraps around you both as you step into Chan’s private quarters. The chaos of the day has settled, leaving the compound calm on the surface, but beneath it all, you know the storm is still brewing.

Chan stands by the window, the faint glow of the moonlight highlighting the tension in his posture. His arms are crossed over his chest, the weight of the day’s events bearing down on him. You can see the way his shoulders are set, rigid and unyielding, but there’s something softer in his expression when he glances over at you.

You shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you try to find your breath. The adrenaline from the operation has long since faded, leaving only the lingering echoes of the decisions you’ve made and the battles yet to come.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is heavy, but not uncomfortable. It feels like the calm before something monumental, the kind of quiet that demands to be broken but holds its own kind of peace.

Finally, you step forward, crossing the room until you’re standing beside him. You don’t look at him right away, instead letting your gaze drift out the window to the distant city lights.

"Today,” you start, your voice quieter than you expect, “felt like everything was balanced on the edge of a knife.”

Chan doesn’t respond immediately. He exhales softly, his jaw tightening before he speaks. “It was.”

His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the weariness beneath it. You turn to face him fully, your arms wrapping around yourself as you search his expression. “I thought I’d feel relief,” you admit. “We made it through, we outmaneuvered Victor’s forces, and yet…”

“And yet it’s not enough,” he finishes for you, his eyes meeting yours. There’s something in his gaze—determination, but also a vulnerability he rarely lets show. “It won’t be enough until we take everything from him. Until there’s nothing left for him to come back to.”

You nod, the weight of his words sinking in. But it’s not the thought of Victor that holds your focus—it’s Chan. The man who’s risked everything to fight this war, who’s drawn you into his orbit and made you see the world in shades you’d never imagined.

“I’m not conflicted anymore,” you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them. “About where I stand. About us.”

Chan blinks, his posture shifting as he turns to face you fully. His expression is unreadable at first, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes softens into something warmer, something deeper.

“I’ve chosen you, Chan,” you continue, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions in your chest. “Not just as an ally. Not just as a partner in this war. I’ve chosen you. All of you. Whatever that means, whatever comes next—I’m with you.”

His jaw tightens, the weight of your words settling over him. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, but you can see the way his eyes search yours, as if trying to find the cracks, the hesitation. But there’s none.

“Y/N…” His voice is quieter now, rough with emotion. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. “You don’t know what that means to me. What you mean to me.”

You lean into his touch, your eyes never leaving his. “Then show me, Chan. Show me what this means. Show me we’re not just fighting a war—we’re building something better.”

His thumb brushes over your cheek, his gaze holding yours like a promise. “You’re not just with me,” he says, his voice steady now, filled with a certainty that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re everything, Y/N. Everything I’m fighting for. I’d tear the world apart, piece by piece, if it meant keeping you safe.”

The intensity of his words leaves you breathless, but there’s no room for doubt anymore. You know he means every word.

“We’re going to end this,” he continues, his hand slipping to your waist, pulling you closer. “We’ll take the fight to Victor. We’ll tear his empire apart piece by piece, and when it’s over, we’ll build something new. Together.”

The resolve in his voice steadies something inside you. You nod, your hands resting against his chest as you take a deep breath. “Then we start now. No more waiting, no more second-guessing. We take everything from him.”

Chan’s lips curve into a small, dangerous smile. “That’s my girl.”

Before you can respond, there’s a knock at the door. The sound is sharp, cutting through the intimacy of the moment. Chan’s expression hardens instantly, and you step back slightly as he moves to open the door.

It’s Changbin, holding a small envelope in his hand. He glances between you and Chan, his usual stoicism faltering for a moment before he holds the envelope out. “This just came in. It’s from Victor.”

Chan takes the envelope, his jaw tightening as he glances at the seal. He breaks it open, unfolding the paper inside, his eyes scanning the contents quickly.

“What is it?” you ask, stepping closer, your pulse quickening.

Chan doesn’t answer right away. He hands you the paper instead, his expression unreadable.

You take it, your eyes scanning the bold, scrawled handwriting:

Hey, big sis. Dad says to tell you'll never escape. Neither will your new boyfriend. Game on.

Your stomach twists at the familiar handwriting—Jake’s. The words are taunting, a clear declaration of war, and yet there’s something chilling about how personal it feels.

You lower the paper slowly, your grip tightening as you glance back at Chan. His expression is stone cold, his jaw set in a way that tells you he’s already calculating his next move.

But you don’t need time to think. The anger, the determination, burns hot in your chest as you crumple the paper in your hand.

“You fucking little brat,” you mutter under your breath, your eyes narrowing. Then you lift your chin, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “Game on.”

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[patrixjia]

please put your fics under a ‘keep reading’. you’re clogging up the tags

i should def learn how to do that 😭 i'll look it up and do it, i promise! thank you! i wasn't so active here as a writer, still learning how to use it properly 😅

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part IV)

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART V, PART VI, FINAL PART

Plot Overview:

Y/N feels betrayed by Chan after discovering something that deepens her distrust of him. This leads to a heated encounter that forces them to confront their emotions and the powerful, unspoken connection between them. Through this, they form an unbreakable bond, ready to face whatever challenges come their way together.

Warnings: BangChan!Mafia, StrayKids!Mafia, Mafia!AU, Mature content, Explicit language, Graphic sexual content, Intense Emotional Themes, Power Dynamics, Consent and Control Issues, SMUT.

Author Note:

Well, here we are—another chapter in the books! I can’t believe how much fun (and chaos) this story has brought me so far. Honestly, it’s been a rollercoaster writing this, and I hope you all are hanging on for the ride. Your support has been amazing, and I’m so grateful for every comment, like, and message. You’re all the best! 💖

And yes, you read that right—the spice chapter is finally here! 🔥 Things are getting intense, and trust me, we’re just getting started! I hope you’re enjoying the story as much as I am. So please, keep the feedback coming—good, bad, or somewhere in between, I’m here for all of it. Can’t wait to see what you think of what’s coming next. Buckle up, it’s going to be a wild ride! ✨

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You’ve already made the promise. You’ve already given your word. You pledged to Chan—no more pretending. No more playing the part of the obedient daughter, standing by your father’s side, pretending that his empire was your future. That future is over. You made your decision when you chose to ally with the Stray Kids Mafia. You chose to help bring down your father’s empire, to help Chan dismantle everything Victor had built so you could rebuild it in your own image. You’ve been living that promise, day by day.

But now—now things feel different.

The report on the screen hits hard. Victor’s empire has taken another critical blow. A key territory lost, and your father’s most trusted allies, those you thought were immovable, have betrayed him. They’ve joined Chan, thrown their loyalty behind him, and now the cracks are wider than ever. Your father’s grip is slipping. You should feel satisfaction, but instead, a cold knot of anger tightens in your stomach.

You knew the war was coming. You knew things would break. You’d always known this was going to end in flames. You signed up for that. But now… now it feels like the fire is burning too fast. And you weren’t ready for the sharp sting of betrayal.

Because hidden in the middle of this intel report is something you didn’t expect—something Chan had kept from you. A secret plan. A major offensive, one so brutal it’s designed not just to weaken your father, but to completely destroy him.

You feel the blood drain from your face as the details flash across the screen. Chan’s plan isn’t just about seizing power—it’s about annihilating your father’s last remaining strongholds, leaving him with nothing but ruin. And Chan kept this from you.

You trusted him. You told yourself that you were in this together. You promised him that you would help him tear your father’s empire apart, brick by brick. You promised him loyalty, but this—this was something else.

You lean forward, hands shaking as you dig deeper into the files, hoping this is a mistake. But it’s not. The timeline matches. This attack is scheduled for the day after tomorrow—when your father will still be reeling from the betrayal, when he won’t be able to mount any meaningful defense. And all the while, you had no idea.

The reality sinks in slowly. Chan has been working on this behind your back. Even after everything you agreed to, he made this decision alone, without consulting you, without bringing you into the fold. There was no partnership here, no shared vision. This was his plan, and you were just a tool he used to get what he wanted.

You can feel the anger swelling in you—sharp, bitter, furious. But beneath that anger is something else. There’s a pang of something you’re reluctant to name, something that cuts deeper than any betrayal. It’s the realization that despite your promises, despite everything you’ve done so far, you are still playing a part in someone else’s game. Chan’s game.

For a moment, the weight of it all presses down on you. You told yourself this was the way forward. This was the future you could shape. But now, standing here with this knowledge, it feels like the last remnants of control you thought you had are slipping away.

You’ve given up everything—your allegiance, your family, your past—for this. And now Chan has taken that trust and turned it into a strategy, a move to consolidate his power, without ever bringing you into the process.

And yet… you still can’t deny it. There’s something about his ambition, his vision, that calls to you. There’s something magnetic about the way he operates, how he always seems to be five steps ahead. You wanted this, didn’t you? To be part of something bigger. To rise above your father’s shadow.

But you didn’t want this. Not like this. Not with him keeping secrets from you.

You grab the file, slamming it closed in frustration, your thoughts racing. You can’t just turn back now. You’ve already made your choice, even if it feels like you’ve lost yourself somewhere in the process. You promised Chan you’d help him tear down Victor’s empire. You promised him that you would walk beside him as an ally, not a pawn.

But now, with this hidden plan, with this secret attack, you’re not sure where you stand anymore. How much of your control has been an illusion all along?

You have a choice to make. Stay loyal to Chan and see this through, even if it means continuing to help him destroy everything you once held dear… or walk away, trying to salvage whatever is left of your family’s legacy, even if that means betraying the promise you made.

But in your heart, you know. There’s no turning back. You’ve already crossed the line.

You stand in front of the computer, your fingers hovering over the keys as the weight of your decision crashes over you. Chan’s plan, the one he kept hidden from you, is more than just strategic—it’s personal. You promised him you’d help him take down Victor’s empire, but what you didn’t know was that Chan had been preparing for a move that would change everything, and he didn’t share it with you.

It feels like betrayal. You’re not just another player in his game, but that’s how he’s treated you. And it pisses you off. You wanted to make your own choices, to decide how far you’d go. Not be caught in the middle of a game you didn’t agree to.

So you act. You start working to warn your father’s allies, to slow Chan’s plan down. This isn’t just about strategy anymore; it’s about you taking control of the narrative, about reclaiming your autonomy in this twisted situation.

But as the message is ready to send, you hear the door creak open behind you. The soft, familiar sound of his presence fills the room, and your stomach flips, caught between anger and something far more dangerous.

Chan’s footsteps are silent as he approaches, his gaze locking onto you the moment you turn. “What are you doing?” His voice is calm, but the undercurrent of something darker flows just beneath it.

You stand your ground, refusing to show any sign of hesitation. “Trying to stop you,” you say, your voice clipped. “You kept this from me, Chan. This move of yours, it’s reckless. It’s personal. You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t care?”

He steps closer, his gaze flickering over your face. “I never wanted you to be part of this from the start,” he says, his voice softening just enough to show the sincerity behind his words. “You’re not supposed to feel anything. You’re supposed to help me bring this empire down. Help me take control of what’s left.”

You scoff, the anger rising again. “You think I can just throw away everything I know, everything I’ve worked for, and help you destroy my own father’s empire without a damn word about it? Without even telling me what you’re planning? You lied to me, Chan. You hid things from me.”

His eyes darken, but there’s no defensiveness in his expression. Instead, there’s something else—something almost regretful, and a flicker of vulnerability that catches you off guard. “I didn’t hide it because I don’t trust you. I hid it because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to make a choice. This is more than just strategy, Y/N. It’s survival. It’s about taking down what’s broken. But I never wanted to put that weight on you. Not like this.”

You turn away, frustration bubbling inside you. The way he says it—like he’s trying to protect you from the mess he’s made. You hate it. You don’t need his protection. But still, that trace of vulnerability in his voice sticks with you.

“I don’t need your protection,” you murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I never asked for it.”

Chan moves behind you then, his presence engulfing the space between you. He leans close, the warmth of his body radiating against your back as he places a hand on the desk, trapping you between it and him. “I know you didn’t ask for it. But you’re still here,” he says, his voice low and dangerously close to your ear. “You’re still a part of this. You always have been. And the moment you decided to side with me, you stepped into something bigger than either of us.”

You shiver, your body instinctively reacting to his proximity. The tension between you both crackles, not just from the unspoken words but from something much deeper, much more dangerous. This isn’t just about power or control anymore. It’s about everything that’s simmered between you both, everything that’s been building up.

“You never gave me a choice,” you bite out, but even as you say it, you can feel the heat pooling low in your stomach. His voice, the way he touches you without touching you, makes it hard to focus on the anger.

“I never wanted to give you a choice,” he murmurs, his breath warm on the side of your neck. “I wanted you with me. Because of you, not just your help. You’re not just part of this plan, Y/N. You’re my plan.” His lips brush against your skin as he speaks, sending a rush of heat through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

The words, the closeness, it’s all too much. It makes the space between you feel impossibly small, and you find yourself leaning back into him instinctively. You’re still angry, still frustrated, but something else is rising too. Something that’s impossible to ignore.

“I’m not just yours to control, Chan,” you breathe, your voice trembling with the weight of your words.

“No,” he agrees softly, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. “But you will be. You’ve already made that choice, Y/N. The moment you decided to work with me, you were part of this. Whether you like it or not.”

You meet his gaze, fire and frustration burning behind your eyes, but the undeniable chemistry, the magnetic pull between you, is more than you can handle. His fingers slide up your back, teasing the edge of your shirt, and you shiver at the sensation. You want to push him away, to tell him to stop, but you can’t. Not when his touch makes every nerve in your body hum with need.

“I’m still angry,” you say, your voice low, but there’s something else beneath the words—something raw. “I’m still pissed off that you kept this from me.”

“I know,” he replies, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw. “But you’re also here, Y/N. And I can’t ignore the way you’re looking at me.”

Before you can respond, he captures your lips in a kiss that’s softer than the fury of your words, but no less intense. The kiss deepens as he pulls you closer, and you lose yourself in the heat of it—the way he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters.

Your mind still rebels against the way he’s controlled so much of this, but your body? Your body is telling you something else. Something deeper, something more primal.

And as his hands slide under your shirt, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is the only way forward for you both—surrendering not just to what he’s offering, but to the fire that’s been building between you from the moment you met.

You break the kiss, your breath ragged, chest rising and falling in quick succession. The taste of him lingers on your lips, but your mind is screaming at you to pull away—to regain control before you lose yourself completely. You shove him back, though the force feels half-hearted, your hands trembling as you push against his chest.

“Stop,” you rasp, your voice sharp as you take a step back, putting a little distance between you both. Your pulse is still racing, the tension between you palpable, but there’s something else now. Something heavier.

Chan doesn’t immediately pull away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes, those dark eyes, burn through you. His jaw is clenched, and for a moment, he looks like he’s considering something dangerous. But he doesn’t give in to the silence.

“So that’s it?” His voice is low, almost taunting. “You’re just going to walk away now? After everything?”

You shake your head, trying to steady your breath, to reclaim some semblance of the control you need. You didn’t come here to let him break you—not like this, not when you still haven’t made a damn decision.

“No,” you say, your voice firmer, but your words feel hollow in the thick air. “I’m not walking away. But I won’t just let you manipulate me, Chan.”

He steps closer again, the space between you shrinking until you’re forced to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. You’re standing on the edge, the pull of him undeniable, but this time, you don’t feel like you can trust yourself around him.

“I’m not manipulating you,” he replies, his voice smooth, almost soothing—but you can hear the edge beneath it. “But I am challenging you. You think this is just about your father’s empire, but it’s not. This is about us. About what we really want.”

You feel your throat tighten, and for a moment, you hate that he’s right. You told yourself you could keep pretending, keep being the cold, calculating player in this game. But here you are, letting yourself be swept away by him, caught between your promise and something much more dangerous.

“Don’t,” you murmur, even as your body betrays you, the heat between you both still crackling in the air. “Don’t pretend this is about anything but power, Chan. You want control. You’ve wanted it from the moment you walked into my life.”

Chan doesn’t flinch at your accusation, his lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. “I’ve always been about control. You should know that by now. But you, Y/N… You think you’re just playing the game. You think you’re in control. But deep down, I think you’re afraid of what will happen when you finally admit you’re not.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. Instead, something inside you shifts. The way he’s looking at you, the way he sees right through your defenses—it’s unsettling. But it’s also… freeing. The truth of it makes your chest tighten, the sharp pang of desire mixing with something else you can’t quite name.

“I’m not afraid,” you say, but the uncertainty in your voice makes it clear you’re lying.

He steps even closer now, until his chest is barely a breath away from yours, and you have to fight the urge to close the gap yourself. The heat between you both is suffocating, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you stand your ground, your eyes meeting his.

“You are afraid,” he says softly, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch is gentle, but it holds an undeniable possessiveness. “You’re afraid of what’s between us. Of how much you want this, even when you try to convince yourself you don’t.”

The proximity, the way he moves so effortlessly around your defenses, makes your head spin. It’s no longer just about power, about control—it’s about something raw and visceral, something that both repels and pulls you in. You try to fight it, but his words make your pulse race in a way you can’t ignore.

And then, before you can stop yourself, your hand reaches up, gripping the front of his shirt. The motion feels like a betrayal of your own resistance, but it’s also a challenge. You’re testing him. Testing yourself.

“Is this what you want, Chan?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of everything unspoken between you. “To control me? To make me want you, even when I hate myself for it?”

He doesn’t hesitate, his hands cupping your face gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “No. I don’t want to make you hate yourself. I want you to choose this, Y/N. I want you to stop pretending like you’re above it all. Like you’re not as deep in this as I am.”

Your breath hitches as his thumbs brush against your lips, his touch somehow both comforting and igniting the spark of something far more dangerous. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” you whisper, your voice cracking with the intensity of your emotions.

“I know,” he murmurs, leaning in until his breath mingles with yours. “But I think you’re ready for it.”

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, but this kiss is different. It’s not just about power anymore, not just about strategy. It’s about surrender—and about what happens when two forces collide and can’t pull away.

You kiss him back, your hands grabbing at his shirt, your body responding before your mind can catch up. The last of your resistance falters as his hands slide around your waist, pulling you against him. You can feel his heart beating in time with yours, and for a moment, nothing else matters. The rest of the world disappears, leaving only the two of you tangled in this chaotic, electric moment.

And then, just as quickly as it started, you pull away again. The air between you both is charged, but the space feels like it’s closing in. You can’t keep pretending you’re in control of this. The game, the rules, the power—it’s all slipping through your fingers. And for the first time, you realize you don’t want to stop.

“Don’t fight it, Y/N,” Chan says, his voice low and commanding. “You don’t have to. Not anymore.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the shift between you both. It’s no longer just about winning. It’s about something more. And as the last remnants of your resistance crumble away, you know there’s no going back.

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. You’ve fought him, resisted, told yourself you wouldn’t fall into this. But standing here, under the heat of his stare, you realize the truth. You’ve been fighting the wrong battle.

The power dynamic has always been tangled between you two, each of you playing the game in your own way. But now, as he stands so close to you, his hand lightly grazing your arm, you feel the last of your defenses crumble. It’s not a defeat. It’s a choice.

You glance away, as if avoiding the full force of what you’re about to let happen, but Chan is already stepping into your space. His fingers find the back of your neck, tilting your head up to meet his gaze once more. There’s no more cold calculation in his eyes, no more power plays. There’s something softer now. Something dangerous, but intimate.

“You think you can keep pretending?” His voice is quieter now, but it cuts through you like a knife. “You don’t have to fight anymore, babygirl. I know what you want.”

His words hit like a spark to tinder. Something inside you flares up, but it’s not anger. It’s not defiance. It’s something darker, more vulnerable. The heat in your chest blooms into something fiercer, more immediate. He sees through you—sees all of it—and in some way, it’s both terrifying and thrilling.

You try to look away, to push him back, but his grip tightens slightly, pulling you closer. Your bodies press together, the heat of his chest against yours. Your hands, trembling, move to his shoulders, but it’s not to push him away anymore. It’s to feel him, to steady yourself against the flood of emotion that’s rising.

“I don’t need this to be easy, Y/N,” he says, his voice low, but filled with something you can’t quite name. The words are a challenge, a dare, but you don’t know if you have the strength to refuse.

But you try, because that’s what you’ve always done. You push against his chest, just enough to create a sliver of space between you. “I’m not some plaything, Chan,” you manage, but your voice cracks, the lie obvious to both of you.

A dark smile curves his lips, and you feel a shiver race down your spine. “I never said you were,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “But you sure like to make things difficult. Don’t you?”

The space between you narrows, his lips brushing against yours, a whisper of a kiss that makes your pulse race. You feel yourself leaning into it before you can stop. There’s no going back now.

You suck in a breath, hands still gripping his shirt, your fingers trembling as you try to steady yourself. The room feels small now, the air thick with the tension that’s been building between you two. And for the first time, you realize how close you are to surrendering completely.

“I won’t be one of your pawns, Chan,” you whisper, but the challenge in your words is fading. You don’t have the strength to keep it up.

His lips press against yours in a kiss that’s deeper, harder, as if he’s taking all the answers you won’t say aloud. One of his hands slides down to your waist, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt, pulling you closer, pressing you against him as if he wants to erase any remaining distance.

The kiss deepens, and something inside you snaps. The fight, the need for control—it slips away like sand between your fingers. You know you’re giving in, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel like losing. It feels like choosing.

Chan pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his lips hovering over yours. “You’re mine now,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. There’s no doubt in his words, no question. He’s claiming you, but it’s not in the way you expected. It’s not forceful. It’s simply… inevitable.

Your breath catches as you meet his gaze. “I’m not some thing to own,” you reply, but it’s not a challenge anymore. It’s a question. You’re asking if this is real, if this is something that could be more than just this moment. But you already know the answer. He’s pulling you under, and you’re allowing it.

Chan’s hand moves to the back of your neck again, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. “You’re mine in every way,” he says softly, the words sending a ripple of heat through you. “But you’re also free, Y/N. You’ve always had the power.”

His lips find yours again, and this time, you don’t resist. The kiss is softer now, almost tender, but still charged with that wild energy that neither of you can deny. His hands roam over your body, the touch possessive but gentle, a silent reminder that you’re not just a victim in this game. You’re a willing participant.

“You don’t have to fight it,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your back. “Let go. Let me take care of you.”

The words sink deep into your chest, and you feel something inside you loosen. The last of your resistance falls away, and for the first time, you let yourself truly feel everything—the heat, the hunger, the tension between you both. It’s not just about desire anymore. It’s about something more complex, something more intimate. It’s about connection.

“I’m not afraid,” you breathe, meeting his gaze once more. “But I’m not in control anymore, am I?”

His lips curve into a smile, dark and knowing. “No. But that doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

You feel the shift now, the power dynamic changing, ebbing and flowing between you both. But in this moment, it’s not about who has the power—it’s about giving into it, about allowing yourself to be taken by him and by this thing between you.

And when he kisses you again, this time, you don’t just yield. You give him everything, because you know you can. The tension between you two shifts, and as his lips claim yours with a hunger that mirrors your own, you realize this is the moment—the moment where you stop pretending you don’t feel this.

His hands move over your body with deliberate slowness, tracing the lines of your form as if savoring each curve. There’s an intensity to his touch, an ownership, but it’s not cold. It’s heated, possessive, like he’s learning the feel of you for the first time, yet somehow, he already knows exactly where to touch. His fingers are light but firm, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed flush together.

“Don’t act like you’re in control,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The playful teasing in his voice isn’t lost on you, and you know—he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. But there’s an undeniable dominance to his tone, a reminder of the power he holds. “You wanted this all along.”

You hate that he’s right, but at the same time, you feel a rush of exhilaration. You wanted this. The subtle push and pull of control, the friction between his dominance and your independence. It’s more than a battle of wills—it’s a dance.

With a sharp tug, he pulls you even closer, his lips brushing against your neck, and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. The heat between you intensifies, and with every brush of his lips, you feel your own self-control begin to slip further. He hasn’t stopped moving, hasn’t stopped claiming space—his hands sliding over the smooth skin of your back, pushing you to lean into him more, as if your bodies belong together.

For a moment, you lose yourself in the sensation. You’re not thinking, not strategizing. There’s no longer a game being played between you two. But then you catch your breath, regaining some clarity, and you pull back just enough to look into his eyes.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to play, Chan,” you say, your voice low, but there’s a steel to it—an edge you’re not quite ready to give up. You push at his chest, just enough to create some space. “You think you can control me, but I’m not some toy for you to bend to your will.”

Chan smirks, his expression dark and unreadable, but there’s an intensity there that speaks volumes. He leans in again, his lips brushing against yours with a quiet force. “I never said you were a toy, Y/N. But you’ve always liked the game, haven’t you?” His words are a challenge, an invitation. “Tell me, babygirl, how far will you let me push you?”

A surge of something sharp rushes through you—defiance, desire, frustration. You tilt your chin up, a slight smile curving your lips as you meet his gaze. “I’ll let you push me as far as I want, Chan. But remember this—I’m still in charge of my own choices.”

His hand moves to your waist, the pressure increasing as he pulls you back into him, the proximity so close you can feel the rapid thrum of his pulse against your skin. “You can say that, but your body’s already betraying you.” His lips graze your throat again, sending a rush of heat through you. “You want me just as much as I want you.”

You feel your resolve begin to crack, but you refuse to let him see it fully. You want this fight to be mutual, even if the lines between control and surrender are starting to blur. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him into another kiss, this time more urgent, more desperate.

“Don’t mistake my resistance for weakness, Chan,” you murmur against his lips, though the words are as much for yourself as they are for him. “I know exactly what I want.”

His grip on you tightens, the sound of your breath mingling as you struggle to keep control of the moment, but it slips through your fingers, piece by piece. His hands wander lower, and you can’t help but arch into him, the heat of his touch making every part of your body ache for more. He senses your response, his smirk growing even more dangerous.

“You’re right,” he whispers, his voice dropping an octave as he presses his lips against your ear. “You know exactly what you want. And right now, you want me.”

You shiver, your body reacting to his words before your mind can catch up. But even as your body surrenders, you refuse to let him think he’s completely won. Not yet. Not entirely.

“You’ve underestimated me,” you whisper back, your voice laced with defiance, but even you can hear the cracks forming. “You’ve only seen one side of me, Chan.”

His gaze sharpens, as if he’s intrigued, his lips curling into a dangerous grin. “Then show me, babygirl. Show me everything.”

With that, the moment shifts again, like a spark igniting the last piece of resistance in you both. Chan’s hands are everywhere now—caressing, exploring, tracing the fire burning beneath your skin. The air is thick with need, the space between you electric as your body finally gives in to the demands you’ve been ignoring for too long.

But just as quickly, he pulls back slightly, his lips hovering over yours, his breath ragged. His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them possessively, pulling you against him once more. “You think you’re still in control?” he murmurs, his voice barely a breath. “You’re not, Y/N. You’re already mine.”

The words send a thrill through you, and for the first time in a long while, you let go completely, leaning into him, giving yourself over to the rush of desire, of power slipping away and surrender taking its place.

"I’m my own person, Chan,” you say, your hands slipping under his shirt, exploring the firm muscles of his abdomen, the heat of his skin only intensifying your desire.

His lips graze your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as he murmurs, “But look at you, babygirl. So eager, so beautiful, so fucking mine.”

You couldn’t help but let a soft gasp escape as his words hit you. It was as if he could control your very pulse with just a few utterances. His touch, deliberate and slow, was a force that made you feel things you’d never let yourself before.

With a purposeful ease, he slipped your shirt off, the fabric falling away like a whisper, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, lifting you effortlessly and placing you onto the desk. The movement was fluid, intimate, and powerful—his body positioning himself between your legs with an unspoken dominance that made your heart race.

He cupped your face gently, his fingers tender against your skin, pulling you into his gaze. “Let me in, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Stop fighting it. Let me take care of you. Let me show you what it feels like to be cared for, to be wanted. Let me in… let us be something more than the chaos around us. Don’t fight what’s been between us from the start. Let yourself fall with me. Give us a chance.”

"I’m scared,” you admit, the truth slipping from your lips, a vulnerability you hadn’t allowed yourself to voice before. “Knives and guns are easy, but feelings… feelings aren’t.”

His gaze softens at your confession, a tenderness in his eyes as he leans in, pressing soft kisses along your neck, each one igniting a spark of warmth against your skin. His hands move with purpose, gently unhooking your bra, his touch slow, deliberate.

“I know,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “But I’ll catch you. Trust me.”

In that moment, all the fear, all the uncertainty, melts away. You trust him, even if it feels like a leap into something you can’t fully comprehend. You lean back onto the desk, pulling him closer, and as you toss your bra aside, you kiss him deeply, feeling the heat between you grow with each passing second. The closeness, the skin-to-skin contact, sends a shiver through your body, and you can’t help but want more.

He trails soft kisses down your neck, his lips brushing lower over your collarbone, while his hands find your breasts, teasing your nipples with skilled precision. The sensation has your back arching instinctively, a gasp escaping your lips as your eyes flutter shut. You feel the curve of his smirk against your skin, smug and irresistible.

“So responsive, baby,” he murmurs, his voice laced with that signature arrogance. If you weren’t already undone by him, you might have had a clever retort to put him in his place. But right now, you let it slide, too lost in the way he’s unraveling you piece by piece.

His mouth travels lower, lips grazing over the swell of your breast before capturing your nipple, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. His hands don’t stay idle, exploring every curve of your body until his fingers hook onto the waistband of your pants. As his mouth continues its torturous focus on your left nipple, he starts to slowly unzip your pants, the sound sharp and tantalizing in the quiet room.

As he slowly slides your pants down your legs, his lips follow the path of exposed skin, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses down your abdomen. Each touch of his mouth draws quiet moans from you, and your breath comes quicker, chest rising and falling as he takes his time savoring you.

When his lips finally reach your thighs, you bite down on your bottom lip, the sensation overwhelming. It feels like he’s worshiping every inch of your body, a reverence you’ve never known before. The tenderness of it is intoxicating, and yet it’s paired with an intensity that makes your heart race.

He hooks his fingers under your panties, sliding them down in one deliberate motion, leaving you bare. His hands grip your thighs, firm and commanding as he parts your legs, presenting you fully to him. You feel your cheeks flush at the way his eyes darken, hunger and desire flashing across his face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice a low growl, every word heavy with possession. “So goddamn mine. You hear me? Mine.”

The finality in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, and your stomach twists in a way that leaves your mind hazy. But you’re not one to surrender without a fight. You meet his gaze with defiance, biting your lip without realizing it, and manage to say, though your voice trembles, “You wish I was yours.”

His smirk is devastating. That cocky, arrogant, infuriatingly attractive bastard. He leans down between your thighs, his breath warm against your core, and you tremble beneath him. His voice drops, the rasp sending shivers over your skin.

“The fact that you’re dripping all over my desk, but still trying to deny it? That’s a contradiction, babygirl.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is on your pussy, hot and relentless. He licks and sucks at your clit with precision, his tongue drawing circles that send you reeling. Your back arches off the desk, a moan escaping your lips as your hands fly to his hair, tangling in the strands as you gasp his name. The sensation is too much and yet not enough, and all you can do is give in to the fire he’s ignited.

As if the relentless attention of his mouth wasn’t enough, his fingers glide into you, two of them slipping in with an ease that makes your breath hitch. He moves them slowly, deliberately teasing, curling them just enough to drive you mad. The rhythm is torturous, every stroke lighting a fire in your core but never letting it burn fully. You mewl in frustration, your hips bucking instinctively against his hand.

“Chan, please—” The plea escapes before you can stop it, raw and breathy, and he chuckles against your thigh, the sound dripping with amusement.

“Are you begging, baby?” His voice is a mix of mockery and arrogance, so maddeningly confident that it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

It’s then that you notice he’s still fully dressed. Not a single button of his shirt undone, his belt still firmly in place. The realization strikes you like lightning—this is a power play. He’s in control, and he wants you to know it. He wants you to beg, to surrender entirely to him.

And as much as you hate to admit it, you’re ready to give in. You feel it in every trembling inch of your body. You need him, need him inside you, need this unbearable tension to snap. Your skin is alive with sensation, tingling with a desperate, aching need.

But defiance dies hard. You bite your lip, forcing your voice steady despite the heat pooling in your belly. “If I beg,” you say, a challenge in your tone, “will you finally skip the foreplay and actually fuck me like the man you claim to be? Or is all this just for an ego boost?”

Your words earn you a sharp slap to your core, the sting sending shockwaves through you. You gasp, whining as your back arches off the desk, the delicious mix of pain and pleasure robbing you of air.

“Language, babygirl,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. His fingers don’t stop their torturous pace, keeping you right on the edge. “Now, be a good girl and tell me what you want. Maybe—just maybe—I’ll give it to you, but only if you ask nicely.”

The smugness in his tone should make you furious, but instead, it unravels you. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him, for release, for everything. You know you’ve lost the upper hand, but in this moment, you don’t care.

In that moment, you did something you’d never done with anyone before—you swallowed your pride. The words tumbled from your lips, raw and unfiltered, so desperate they almost startled you. “Please, I—please, fuck me. I need to feel you inside me. I need you, baby. Please.”

The vulnerability in your voice ignited something primal in him. His control snapped. His hands flew to his belt, unbuckling it with a speed that made your breath hitch. His pants and boxers slid down his legs in one smooth motion, and as he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you mercilessly, his other hand moved to unbutton his shirt.

Finally, you saw him—completely bare—and the sight stole what little breath you had left. Broad shoulders, a sculpted chest, abs defined like carved stone, and then your eyes dropped lower. The sight of his cock—long, thick, the tip flushed and glistening—made your mouth water.

“You’re staring, love,” he teased, his tone dripping with cocky arrogance.

And for once, you didn’t care. Let him gloat, let him know. You couldn’t tear your eyes away even if you tried. When you finally looked back up at him, your voice came out soft, almost pleading. “Kiss me, please.”

Something shifted in his gaze—softened. He saw it, the emotions swirling inside you. Overwhelmed, conflicted, yet undeniably drawn to him. He understood. This wasn’t just physical—it was everything.

He leaned down slowly, his face inches from yours, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then to the bridge of your nose. Finally, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll kiss you, baby. As many times as you want, as many times as it takes for you to understand you’re mine. And whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere.”

Then he kissed you. Not with urgency, but with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. The world faded, leaving just the two of you.

As his lips moved against yours, his hips followed suit. You felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, sliding in slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was intense, your body adjusting to accommodate him. You moaned into his mouth, your hands searching for something to hold onto, but before you could, his fingers found yours. He intertwined them, holding your hands down gently on either side of your head, grounding you.

He broke the kiss but stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as he stilled, giving you time to adjust. His first thrust was slow, deliberate, and so deep it left you gasping.

The sensation was overwhelming. “S-so big,” you whimpered, your voice trembling, trying to convey how full you felt.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and gravelly. “Relax for me, baby. You’re squeezing me so tight I might not last. Let me know when you’re ready, yeah?”

His voice, gentle yet commanding, sent a shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, focusing on the way his body felt against yours, how perfectly he fit, and the quiet reassurance of his presence.

After a few moments, you nodded, giving him the silent permission he needed. He kissed you again, deeply and tenderly, as his hips began to move. The first few thrusts were slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second. Your moans were swallowed into the kiss, his lips soft yet insistent against yours, his hands still intertwined with yours, grounding you to the moment.

It felt too good—your body responding to his every move, your walls fluttering around him with every inch he gave you. The sensation pulled a low, guttural groan from him, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you. He broke the kiss just enough to nip at your lower lip, his thrusts becoming deeper, harder.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, babygirl,” he rasped, his eyes falling shut, overwhelmed by the way you clenched around him. “So fucking good for me.”

His words sent a shiver racing down your spine. Something in the way he said them, the way he claimed you with every breath, made you want to give him more. You wanted to be good for him—you needed to. The rough, primal groans that escaped his throat were intoxicating, and in your haze, the only thought that came to you escaped your lips in a breathless moan:

“Harder.”

His eyes snapped open at your plea, dark and hungry. A smirk curved his lips, but there was something raw behind it. “You want harder, baby?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, even as his grip on your hands tightened.

You nodded, too lost to care how desperate you sounded. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “Harder, Chan.”

His smirk faded, replaced by something darker, more serious. “Hold on to me, then,” he murmured, leaning in close until his forehead pressed to yours again. And then he gave you exactly what you asked for.

And he gave it to you good. Harder. Rougher. Each powerful thrust left you gasping, your moans growing louder and more desperate. Words became impossible to form—every coherent thought shattered by the way he moved, the way he claimed you completely. But you didn’t need words; the sound of your cries, your trembling body, said everything.

The effect you had on him was evident. His darkened eyes, his jaw tight with control, and the guttural groans slipping from his throat spoke volumes. Still, he wanted to give you more.

His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit effortlessly. His fingers moved in slow, firm circles, the sensation so overwhelming you arched your back off the desk. A ragged gasp tore from your throat as he smirked down at you, the arrogance on his face only fueling your desire.

His other hand moved to your neck, his grip firm but careful—not enough to leave you breathless, but enough to remind you who was in control. The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, your head falling back, eyes rolling as the growing coil in your stomach threatened to snap.

“So. Fucking. Beautiful,” he growled, each word punctuated by a deep, brutal thrust that hit every sensitive spot inside you. His voice was rough, raw, and filled with a reverence that made you tremble. You could feel your body teetering on the edge, his touch and words stripping you of everything but the overwhelming need to fall apart for him.

When he hit that devastatingly sweet spot deep inside you, it was as though the world tilted. Your vision blurred, your breathing hitched, and every nerve in your body threatened to snap. “I’m gonna—” you tried to warn him, but the words dissolved into a cry, a moan that seemed to echo through the room. He didn’t need you to finish—he could feel it in the way your body tensed, the way your thighs shook uncontrollably.

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with raw desire, and as if on command, your body gave in. The coil inside you unraveled violently, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense your thighs trembled, your toes curled, and his name spilled from your lips like a mantra.

But he didn’t stop.

His relentless thrusts didn’t falter, prolonging your orgasm as he kept applying just the right amount of pressure to your clit. The sensation teetered between euphoria and overstimulation, leaving you trembling beneath him. Your breaths turned ragged, your voice breaking into a pleading whimper. “Chan— t-too much—”

He ignored your protests, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. His dark eyes burned with hunger, his focus entirely on you.

“You can take it, sweet girl,” he rasped, leaning in to kiss you hard, his lips swallowing your cries. His pace stayed steady but sloppy now, his thrusts deeper, harder, as though chasing his own release.

“One more,” he murmured against your lips, his voice both commanding and tender. “Give me one more, baby. You’re so beautiful when you fall apart on my cock—just one more.”

His words wrecked you, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body. Your head spun, tears slipping from your eyes as the intensity pushed you toward another peak. And when he angled his hips just right, thrusting deeply, your body betrayed you again.

This orgasm hit like a tidal wave, blinding and all-consuming. You gasped, your body arching off the desk, thighs locking around him as your walls clenched tight, gripping him like a vice. Your vision blurred white, your mind going blank except for the feeling of him filling every part of you.

“Fuck—look at you,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he felt you squeeze him tighter, harder. His rhythm faltered, and when you tugged him into a kiss—fierce, desperate, full of everything you couldn’t say—it shattered what little control he had left.

With a guttural moan, he buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew you’d wear his marks for days. His release hit, warm and overwhelming, as he filled you completely. His forehead pressed against yours, breaths mingling, both of you trembling and wrecked, caught in the aftermath of something far more than just physical.

He didn’t pull away right away. Instead, he stayed close, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw and neck, grounding you as your breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps. His touch, once so commanding, now moved gently across your skin, fingertips tracing soothing patterns along your sides.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, filled with a care that made your chest ache. “Ride it out, baby. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

His words wrapped around you like a cocoon, and you found yourself melting further into his hold. He kissed your temple, his thumb brushing across your cheek to catch the tears you didn’t realize were still there.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his gaze searching yours, full of concern despite the haze of his own release.

You nodded, still catching your breath, your voice too shaky to form words yet. He stayed where he was, his forehead resting gently against yours, his hands never leaving your skin as he let you come down from the intensity of it all.

When your breathing evened out, he eased back slightly, only to cup your face in his hands, studying you like he wanted to memorize every detail. “You’re incredible,” he said softly, his tone so sincere it made your stomach flutter.

He pressed a final kiss to your forehead before gently lifting you off the desk and carrying you to the couch nearby. Settling you down carefully, he grabbed his discarded shirt and draped it over your shoulders to cover you, his hands tucking it around you like a blanket.

“You just sit here for a minute, okay?” he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “I’ll get you some water.”

As he moved, you watched him, still processing the shift between you. His touch, his care—it wasn’t just about power anymore. There was something more in his actions, something that left you feeling exposed but safe at the same time. When he returned with a glass of water, he crouched down in front of you, offering it as he met your gaze.

“You did so good, baby,” he said, his voice steady, soothing. “Take a sip, then tell me how you’re feeling.”

You took the glass from him, your hands still trembling slightly, and drank. The coolness steadied you, and you looked back at him with a small smile. “I feel… better,” you said softly, and his lips curved into a satisfied smile.

“Good,” he said, reaching up to stroke your cheek. “Because I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. You’re stuck with me now.”

The stillness in the room is thick, but it’s not the same kind of quiet that lingered before. There’s a weight to it now, a softness that wasn’t there before. Your breath still comes in slow, measured pants, your body still humming with the aftermath of everything that just happened. And when you finally meet Chan’s gaze, it’s different. The cold, calculating eyes that used to watch you like a pawn are gone. In their place is something deeper, something raw, as if he’s seeing you for the first time—not the daughter of his enemy, not the reluctant ally, but the woman who’s now standing beside him.

He doesn’t speak immediately. He watches you, his expression unreadable for a moment, before his lips curl into a slight, barely there smile. It’s a smile you’ve never seen before—tender and full of meaning, and for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re walking on a knife’s edge. You’re standing with him. Together.

“You know,” he finally says, his voice rough from the tension that still lingers between you, “this was never supposed to happen.”

Your heart skips at the admission. It’s the truth, in a way, but something about it sounds different now. This isn’t about power, about taking down your father’s empire. It’s about him, about both of you, and where this path will lead.

You don’t say anything right away, just allowing the moment to settle between you. But you feel it—the pull between you two is no longer one of distrust or forced obligation. It’s deeper, rawer, like a shared breath, an unspoken vow.

“I didn’t think I’d ever want something like this,” he continues, stepping closer to you. The space between you is no longer an obstacle, but a mere formality. “But now that I do…”

His words trail off, but you don’t need him to finish. You can feel it. The shift is clear. It’s in the way his fingers brush against your skin when he reaches for you again, in the way his hand lingers on the back of your neck, his touch grounding you in this new reality. His eyes lock on yours, and you see it: the commitment, the understanding that this isn’t just about a partnership in the mafia anymore.

This is something more.

“I’ll burn the world down for you,” he says, his voice a low promise, the words more than just an empty vow. You see it in his eyes—something ferocious, something dangerous, but also something fiercely protective. “And I’ll build something better from the ashes. Together.”

You feel the weight of his promise settle in your chest, and you know, without a doubt, that this isn’t just about power or loyalty. This is about you and him—two people who’ve been through hell and come out the other side, now bound by something deeper than either of you had expected. He’s not the man who kidnapped you anymore. He’s the man who’s willing to sacrifice it all to protect you, and you feel the same stir inside you.

“I’m with you,” you say, your voice steady, the words solid and final. “No matter what comes next.”

Chan’s gaze softens, just a fraction. He leans in, and for the first time, you don’t hesitate. You meet him halfway, your lips pressing together in a kiss that feels like both a beginning and an end—an affirmation of what you’re both willing to sacrifice, of what you’re willing to burn to the ground to create something new.

The moment stretches, pulling you both in. There’s no going back now. The line between enemies and allies, between loyalty and love, has blurred completely.

But just as you feel the full weight of that, the door to the study bursts open, and Changbin steps in. His eyes dart between you both, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he clears his throat.

Chan doesn’t pull away. His arm remains around you, pulling you closer as though marking you as his own in front of anyone who dares to challenge it.

“We’ve got a problem,” Changbin says, his voice low. The urgency in his tone cuts through the charged air in the room.

You and Chan both turn your attention to him, the shift between you more than obvious now. The world may still be watching, may still be demanding your attention, but for the first time, neither of you cares. You’re in this together now. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it side by side.

“Tell me,” Chan says, his voice firm, the weight of leadership back in it, but this time, it’s different. There’s a certainty in him now, a man who knows exactly who he’s doing this for.

Changbin hesitates, but only for a second. The message is clear. Whatever consequences are coming, they’re coming fast. But whatever it is, you know that with Chan by your side, you’re ready.

“Get ready. We’re about to make a bigger move. And this time, it’s not just about us. It’s about everything.”

You glance up at Chan, the unspoken understanding passing between you. You’re no longer two people caught in a world of shifting alliances. You’re partners, bound by blood and fire. And the world better be ready for what’s coming.

The door closes behind Changbin, and for a moment, you and Chan just stand there. The tension in the room isn’t gone, but it’s different now. It’s no longer just about survival. It’s about what you’ll burn for each other.

The future is uncertain, but for the first time, it feels like you both have a hold on it.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chain part IV Update

Hey lovelies! 🩷

I couldn’t finish Part IV today, but I’ll be back tomorrow with it as soon as I’m done writing and editing 😭🫶🏻

Thank you so much for all the support so far—it really means the world to me! This story is planned to have 7 parts, and yes, the spice is in this chapter that I’ll be posting tomorrow 👀

This has been such a wild ride for me. I’ve never written something so detailed or complex before—usually, I stick to one-shots—but this has so much depth, planning, and research behind it 😭. It’s definitely a piece I’m super proud of!

As always, I hope you enjoy it as much as I love creating it, and your feedback is always deeply appreciated. Thank you so much 🫶🏻

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part III)

Plot Overview:

Y/N is caught between her father’s crumbling empire and Chan’s rebellion. As she help Chan track down missing operatives, their bond grows, leading to a deadly confrontation that forces Y/N to question her loyalty. Chan offers a chance to dismantle her father’s empire, and though torn, Y/N chooses to join him, starting a dangerous journey to reshape their future.

Warnings: BangChan!Mafia, Mafia!AU, mature themes, emotional distress, angst, violence, dangerous situations, strong language, mental health struggles, (the smut will be in the next chapter🤭)

PART I, PART II, PART IV, PART V, PART VI, FINAL PART

Author note:

Well, well, well, look at us—third chapter in, and I’m still alive to tell the tale! 😂 This chapter? Yeah, it’s a beast. I’ve never written anything this long or complex, and honestly, I’m half-wondering if I’ve accidentally started writing an entire novel instead of just a chapter. But here we are, diving into some serious emotional roller coasters, plot twists, and the kind of chaos that makes me question my sanity.

I really hope you all enjoy this wild ride as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it (even if it has given me a few grey hairs along the way). Your support means the world to me! So buckle up, we’re just getting started. And, as always, drop me a comment if you’re loving or hating something—I’m here for all of it. Let’s keep this adventure going! ✨ Also, just a little heads up… the next chapter is going to get a little smuttier 😉.

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The first rays of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, the muted warmth doing little to soften the chill that lingered in the room. You stretched, pushing off the weight of sleep with a growing restlessness. The space was luxurious but sterile, the kind of calculated opulence that screamed control rather than comfort.

When the door creaked open, breakfast was placed on a table near the window, and the figure delivering it slipped out as quickly as they’d come. You ignored it, slipping through the door before it could click shut. You weren’t going to spend the morning caged.

The hallways were quiet, the air filled with a faint hum of electricity. The mansion was sprawling but not ostentatious, its corridors lined with muted artwork and design choices that reeked of deliberation. It wasn’t your father’s world of obvious power and intimidation. It was colder. Subtler.

You found yourself wandering into a study. Unlike the other rooms, this one felt alive. A faint coffee scent lingered, mixing with the tang of paper and leather. A massive map dominated one wall, scattered with colored pins and strings. You moved closer, scanning the markings.

It didn’t take long to piece together what you were looking at. It was a blueprint of Victor’s empire—supply chains, strongholds, key distribution hubs. The red pins marked locations already compromised, while others, still green, pulsed with potential. A web of alliances and pressure points sprawled before you like an open wound.

You leaned forward, your eyes narrowing as they landed on a cluster of yellow-marked routes near the northern sector. The shipping lines there were irregular, crisscrossing in ways that screamed inefficiency. You could see where Chan’s strategy was stuck—his carefully laid plans bottlenecked by gaps he hadn’t yet closed.

Your fingers brushed across the documents scattered on the desk—financials, coded logs, surveillance notes. Victor’s empire wasn’t just cracking; it was being dismantled piece by piece.

“You’re full of surprises.”

The sound of Chan’s voice cut through the stillness, low and smooth. You straightened but didn’t turn. “And you’re full of shadows. How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to wonder if I should be worried.” His tone carried its usual casual confidence, but his eyes flicked toward the papers you’d been studying. “Finding everything to your liking?”

You turned, leaning back against the desk with deliberate nonchalance. “Interesting work. Though I can’t tell if the overcomplication is intentional or just your style.”

Chan stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sharp as it swept over you and the map. “Overcomplication?”

You tilted your head toward the yellow routes. “You’re clogging your own lanes. The northern supply chain is built for redundancy, but instead of reinforcing efficiency, you’re creating a choke point. It’s obvious Victor did it to keep people guessing, but now you’re tripping over it.”

Chan’s eyes flicked to the map, and for the first time, he hesitated. “Interesting observation.”

“Observation? No. Solution,” you corrected, stepping toward the map. “You’re trying to seize control of both eastern and northern routes simultaneously. That’s why it’s falling apart. Drop the secondary lines from the north—they’re dead weight. Consolidate the flow into two hubs instead of four, and you’ll cut transit time by half.”

He stared at the map, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “You’re welcome.”

His gaze returned to you, sharper now, as if trying to read the thoughts you hadn’t spoken aloud. “Why are you helping me?”

You held his stare, refusing to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

His smirk grew, slow and deliberate. “That’s not an answer.”

“No,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “It’s not.”

The room seemed to shrink under the tension, the air thick with unspoken questions. Finally, Chan broke the silence. “You know, if you keep showing off, I might start thinking you want a seat at the table.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his smirk with a wry one of your own. “Maybe I just like proving you wrong. You’re not as untouchable as you think, Chan. Your plans aren’t perfect.”

“And yet,” he countered, “here you are, improving them.”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the map. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you could keep up.”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “And?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your smirk sharp as a blade. “Jury’s still out.”

Chan stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his presence but not enough to invade your space. “You’re still dodging my question, Y/N. Why help me? Are you so confident Victor can withstand it?”

Your jaw tightened at the mention of your father. “Maybe I’m not as confident in Victor as you think.”

That seemed to catch him off guard, though he quickly masked it. “Careful. That almost sounded like an admission.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you shot back, your tone lighter but no less firm. “I haven’t picked a side. Yet.”

The faintest flicker of something crossed his face—respect, intrigue, or perhaps a mix of both. “Fair enough,” he said finally. “But when you do, make sure it’s the right one.”

You laughed, the sound short and humorless. “And which side is that? Yours?”

“I’m not the one clinging to a crumbling empire,” he said smoothly. “I’m building something new. Something better.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you found was unshakable confidence. It annoyed you as much as it intrigued you.

“Better is subjective,” you said finally.

“Then help me define it.” His voice dropped, soft but unyielding. “You’re smart enough to know the cracks in Victor’s empire can’t be patched. The question is, what do you want to see rise from the ashes?”

For the first time, you didn’t have an immediate answer.

Chan’s smirk returned, lighter now but no less self-assured. “Think about it,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll see if your suggestion works. But if it doesn’t…”

“It will,” you interrupted.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back with a grin that was equal parts challenging and amused. “We’ll see.”

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone with the map, the documents, and the weight of his words.

What do you want to see rise from the ashes?

The question lingered, unsettling and persistent.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure of the answer.

The days since the confrontation with Chan had been strange, to say the least. The mansion’s rhythm ebbed and flowed with calculated precision, as though every movement, every conversation, had been planned days in advance.

You spent your time exploring its sprawling halls, learning its rhythms, and testing your boundaries. The guards rarely spoke to you beyond clipped warnings when you wandered too close to restricted areas. You couldn’t tell if they were following Chan’s orders or acting out of their own wariness.

Chan, however, was different. He appeared only when he wanted to, catching you off guard with sly remarks and a confidence that made it clear he was always one step ahead. His teasing came with a sharp edge, but there was no denying the undercurrent of mutual curiosity between you.

You didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust you. Yet, in those fleeting conversations, there was a spark—an understanding that neither of you were playing at full strength yet.

Then, one morning, the mansion’s calm shattered.

You’d been in the study, feigning interest in a book, when the sound of hurried footsteps caught your ear. The low hum of conversation from the hall was sharper today, clipped and urgent.

Moments later, Chan strode into the room, his usual composure marred by a tightness in his jaw. He moved with purpose, his focus so sharp that he didn’t acknowledge your presence.

“You’re upset,” you noted, setting the book aside.

He ignored you, striding to his desk and pulling up a screen.

Before you could push further, another figure entered the room: Changbin. His pace matched Chan’s intensity, his voice low and urgent as he spoke.

“Victor’s people hit the northern base,” Changbin reported. “They’ve taken out the comms tower. Felix and Hyunjin went dark an hour ago.”

Chan froze for a split second before his mask of control slid back into place. “Casualties?”

“None confirmed yet,” Changbin said. “But it’s not looking good. We have partial intel—they’ve shut down our local network, and the safe houses are at risk. If they’ve got Felix or Hyunjin…”

Chan exhaled through his nose, his focus razor-sharp. “Start evacuation protocols for the northern sector. Clear out the Graham location and put everyone in safe houses on standby. If they’ve been compromised, I want them out of there before Victor’s people can move.”

Your ears perked at the name, a chill running through you. “Wait—Graham and Sons?” you interrupted, stepping forward.

Both men turned to you, Chan’s eyes narrowing. “What about it?”

You frowned, your mind racing. “That’s not just a random location. It’s one of Victor’s decoy transport hubs. If you’ve got people stationed there, they’re already compromised.”

Changbin looked to Chan, his expression unreadable but tinged with suspicion. “You trust her?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you, his gaze intense. “How do you know that?”

“Because I grew up in this,” you shot back, folding your arms. “You think I don’t know the names he hides behind? Graham and Sons isn’t just a front. It’s bait. Victor uses it to lure out threats to his network—and he won’t hesitate to cut down anyone who gets too close.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Changbin crossed his arms. “And we’re just supposed to take her word for it?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Fine, don’t listen to me. But if you wait too long, Felix and Hyunjin won’t be unaccounted for—they’ll be dead.”

Chan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then he turned to Changbin. “Pull everyone from Graham and cross-check her intel with what we’ve got. Double it with our sources on the ground. If it matches, we move.”

Changbin hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but nodded. “On it.”

He left the room, and Chan turned back to you. His gaze was sharp, calculating. “Why help me?”

You didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. “Maybe I don’t want to see Felix and Hyunjin killed. Or maybe I’d rather not see my father win.”

Chan smirked faintly, though his eyes were still hard. “Still haven’t picked a side, have you?”

“Would you prefer I did?”

His silence spoke volumes.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you said, your voice dry.

He leaned back against the desk, his posture deceptively casual. “If your information is right, you’ll have saved lives today. If it’s not…”

"You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’ve got more cards to play,” he replied smoothly. “And I don’t trust people who keep their hands hidden.”

You stepped closer, your voice calm but firm. “Then maybe you should play smarter.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked on yours. Then his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I aim to keep things interesting,” you replied, your tone light but with an undercurrent of steel.

Chan pushed off the desk, brushing past you toward the door. “Keep proving yourself useful, and maybe I’ll start believing you’re not working an angle.”

You watched him go, the tension in the room thick and charged. Somewhere out there, Felix and Hyunjin were waiting—caught in the web of a game far larger than either of them could control.

And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, you hoped you’d been right.

Later that evening the tension in the mansion was palpable, an undercurrent of urgency threading through every hallway. Chan had been holed up in his office since the crisis broke, and though you were technically “off-limits” to the ongoing operation, you’d found a way to keep yourself within earshot of every critical update.

The news wasn’t promising. Felix and Hyunjin were still unaccounted for, and the evacuation of Graham and Sons had only confirmed what you’d already suspected: your father’s people had the upper hand.

When Chan’s voice called your name from the hall, you half-expected him to demand that you stay out of his way. Instead, his tone was calm, measured. Too calm.

You pushed the door open to find him standing at his desk, surrounded by screens displaying live feeds, maps, and rows of encrypted data. Changbin hovered nearby, arms crossed, tension radiating off him in waves.

Chan gestured to you without preamble. “You’ve been watching long enough. Sit.”

You raised a brow, keeping your voice steady. “I didn’t realize you were taking suggestions.”

“I’m not,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you. “I’m testing you. You know your father’s network better than anyone in this room. Prove it.”

You stepped into the room, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes on you. Taking the chair across from Chan, you crossed your legs and leaned back, affecting a confidence you weren’t entirely sure you felt.

“Where’s the hole?” you asked, nodding toward the map on the central monitor.

Chan exchanged a brief glance with Changbin before turning the screen toward you. “Here,” he said, pointing to a blinking red marker. “Safe house near Monroe. Felix and Hyunjin were scheduled to meet there, but they never checked in. No comms, no movement.”

You studied the map, your mind working quickly. Your father’s security protocols weren’t just strict—they were obsessive. If his people had cut communication lines, it wasn’t just to block intel. They were setting a trap.

“They’ll have a fallback,” you said. “Felix and Hyunjin. If they know the area’s compromised, they’ll move to the secondary site.”

“We don’t have a secondary site near Monroe,” Changbin said flatly.

“Not yours. Victor’s,” you clarified.

Chan’s brow furrowed, interest flickering in his eyes. “Explain.”

You leaned forward, pointing at the map. “Victor doesn’t trust his own men, let alone outsiders. Every base, every safe house—he sets up redundancies, but not for the reasons you think. It’s not to protect his people. It’s to catch them if they run.”

“And you think Felix and Hyunjin would know about this?” Chan asked, his tone skeptical but curious.

“They wouldn’t have to,” you said. “Victor’s patterns are predictable once you know them. He keeps fallback locations close but hidden, somewhere his own men wouldn’t think to look unless they were desperate.”

Changbin’s frown deepened. “That’s a lot of guesswork.”

You shot him a look. “Do you have a better idea?”

Chan held up a hand, silencing the argument before it could escalate. His gaze stayed on you, sharp and probing. “What kind of fallback location are we talking about?”

You tapped your fingers on the edge of the desk, recalling the layouts you’d studied for years. “Something off-grid. An abandoned structure, maybe a warehouse. He’d want it close enough to monitor, but isolated enough that no one would stumble on it by accident.”

Chan nodded slowly, his mind already working through possibilities. “Changbin, pull up the satellite maps for the area. Focus on industrial zones or decommissioned sites within a five-mile radius of the Monroe house.”

As Changbin worked, Chan turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “Why help them?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You could have given him a dozen answers—some practical, some calculated—but the truth was simpler.

“Because I can,” you said quietly. “And because I don’t know yet what side I’m on.”

He studied you for a long moment, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Suspicion? Respect? Maybe both.

Changbin’s voice broke the silence. “Got something. Old manufacturing plant, shut down five years ago. It’s less than three miles from the safe house, just outside the patrol radius.”

Chan nodded sharply, already moving toward the door. “Prep the team. We’ll leave in five.”

To your surprise, he turned back to you, his gaze steady. “You’re coming.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know Victor’s traps better than anyone. If this is one of them, I want you there.”

“And if I’m wrong?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Chan smirked, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken. “Then I guess we’ll both find out.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. Going with him meant stepping further into his world, further away from your father’s. It meant testing your loyalties in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But it also meant a chance to prove you weren’t just a pawn in someone else’s game.

“Fine,” you said, rising to your feet. “But if this goes south, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chan’s smirk widened, and for the first time, you saw something close to genuine amusement in his eyes. “Noted.”

As the team prepared to move, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment—this decision—was another crack in the foundation you’d spent your entire life standing on.

And you weren’t sure whether you were ready to see it fall.

The night had been long and tense. The team, guided by the plan you had proposed, moved quickly through the industrial zone. The dilapidated manufacturing plant you’d pinpointed turned out to be the fallback location Felix and Hyunjin had made for themselves. The security measures were minimal—just enough to keep outsiders at bay, but not enough to fool someone familiar with Victor’s tactics.

It was exactly as you’d predicted. Felix and Hyunjin had been trapped, but they hadn’t been caught. They’d already set up an escape route of their own, using an old underground access tunnel leading out of the compound.

As the operatives infiltrated the plant, you couldn’t help but feel a small rush of satisfaction. Felix and Hyunjin were safe—finally. The team worked in smooth coordination, securing them without any further casualties. You had been right all along.

“You were right,” Chan muttered as he surveyed the area with his usual stoic expression. It wasn’t much, but you caught the subtle shift in his eyes as he acknowledged your insight.

Felix gave you a tired but grateful smile. “Guess we owe you one.”

“Just don’t get caught next time,” you replied with a smirk, though the satisfaction of the mission’s success warmed something inside you.

But the victory was short-lived.

The atmosphere at the mansion had barely settled before the next wave of danger hit. As the operatives and the team returned, expecting a brief respite, a wave of alarms shattered the uneasy silence.

Chan’s hand flew to his earpiece, his voice hard as he barked orders to the team. “They’ve found us. Victor’s men are here.”

Your heart dropped as you turned to Chan, his eyes narrowing. “Get to the safe room. Now.”

Before you could even respond, the mansion was plunged into chaos. You moved quickly, following Chan and the team as they scrambled to reinforce key exits and prepare for a full-on assault. But even with the heightened security, the feeling of being hunted—of being trapped—was suffocating.

You had no time to think before the first round of gunfire hit, sharp and deafening, echoing through the halls. The mansion wasn’t just under siege; they were inside.

“Stay behind me!” Chan growled as he pulled you into a nearby hallway. You barely had time to register the sheer danger of the moment before you were crouched low, moving quickly as his operatives returned fire.

But then, in the chaos, everything seemed to happen at once. You ducked behind a pillar, narrowly avoiding a burst of gunfire. In the process, you twisted your ankle, collapsing to the ground with a painful grunt. Before you could recover, another round exploded too close to your position, a stray bullet grazing your arm.

You hissed in pain, clutching at your bleeding arm. You couldn’t focus on it; the only thing you could focus on was the sheer force of the attack. You barely heard Chan’s voice over the clamor of the assault.

“Stay down,” he barked, moving toward you with a fierce protectiveness that was uncharacteristic of his usual cold exterior.

But you didn’t have time to argue as he swept you into his arms, pulling you behind the nearest barricade. The calculated focus in his eyes never faltered. He was in command, but there was something else—an urgency to keep you safe that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his voice tense as he checked your injury. You could feel his hands on you, pulling your arm gently to assess the wound. Despite the high-stakes situation, there was a tenderness in the way he moved, as though he wasn’t just trying to save you from harm—but from something deeper.

His fingers brushed your skin, an almost imperceptible gentleness in the midst of chaos. For a moment, it was just the two of you—the madness of the world outside and the calculated storm of gunfire drowned out by the shared connection.

“This won’t be the last time,” he said, his voice low as he wrapped your arm carefully, making sure the pressure was right. You could feel his fingers, light but deliberate, as he treated the wound. There was no rush, no panic.

For a brief second, you noticed something about him—something that wasn’t calculated or cold. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though he cared more than he was willing to show.

“You’re fine,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his gaze steady, but his expression softened for just a moment. “You’re not dying on me.”

You blinked, the rawness of the moment catching you off guard. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, it was as if the world paused—if only briefly. The sounds of gunfire were a muffled background to the intensity of his focus. Then, without breaking eye contact, he tightened the bandage and stood, pulling you to your feet.

His voice was hard again as he guided you toward the nearest exit. “We don’t have time to talk. Let’s go.”

But even as you moved through the corridors, escaping the immediate danger, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet moment shared between the two of you wasn’t one of simple survival. Something had shifted. Something unspoken.

And in the aftermath of the chaos, with the scent of blood and danger in the air, you realized you’d seen a side of Chan no one else had—one that made you question where your loyalties truly lay.

The hours following the attack passed in a blur. The mansion, once a fortress of impenetrable walls, now felt like a fragile shell that could crack at any moment. Chan and his team had neutralized the threat swiftly, using the knowledge you’d helped provide about Victor’s network and the strategic positions of his men. With a few tactical moves, the assailants were driven back, and though some minor damage had been done, the mansion stood strong. Felix and Hyunjin were safe. The team was intact. The immediate danger was over.

But the weight of the night hung in the air, heavy with the unsaid. The adrenaline that had coursed through your veins in the heat of battle had given way to something quieter, more complex. The echoes of gunfire were gone, but the tension between you and Chan lingered, thick and undeniable.

You were in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of water, trying to clear your mind. The events of the day had left you exhausted—physically, yes, but more so mentally. You had done your part, had proven your worth, but there was no escaping the pull that Chan seemed to have on you, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. The attraction was there, undeniable. But it was dangerous.

You felt his presence before you saw him, the subtle shift in the air when Chan entered the room. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was there—his energy filled the space. His sharp eyes on you, the silent weight of his presence, made your pulse quicken despite yourself.

“You should be resting,” he said casually, as though the tension that had laced his commands earlier had never existed. His voice, however, carried a hint of something else—an edge, a challenge.

You didn’t look up as you replied, keeping your voice steady. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he teased, stepping closer, just enough to be in your line of sight. His gaze flickered to your arm, now bandaged and well on the way to healing. “You’re tough. I’ll give you that.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck at his words. The way he was looking at you now—almost amused—felt like a game, but one you weren’t sure you knew the rules to. You took a small sip of water, needing to put some space between you and the emotions threatening to spill over.

Chan didn’t let up, though. “I’m surprised. Thought you’d be more upset about the whole ‘almost being shot’ thing.”

The teasing edge to his tone didn’t make it any easier to ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. You were keenly aware of how close he stood, of the heat radiating from his body despite the cool air. You could feel his presence pressing against you, and your mind refused to focus on anything but him.

“Well, I wasn’t shot,” you retorted, meeting his gaze at last. The challenge in your voice was as much for yourself as it was for him. “So I guess that’s something.”

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes darkening with a glint of mischief. “You know, I’m starting to think you enjoy the danger.”

Your throat went dry, and despite yourself, you laughed—short and sharp. “I don’t enjoy it. But I’m not exactly afraid of it either.”

“You should be,” he said softly, his tone turning serious for a brief moment. He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, and for a heartbeat, there was no room between you—just the quiet hum of tension that surged between you both. You could smell the faint trace of gunpowder on his skin, mixed with the ever-present scent of cologne. The proximity felt dangerous, yet the magnetic pull of him was impossible to ignore.

He was so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and it made your body react in ways you couldn’t control. Every inch of you screamed to pull away, to maintain the distance that was keeping everything in check. But something about Chan—about the way he looked at you, about the small glint of vulnerability you saw beneath the hard exterior—made you question everything.

“What’s the point of being afraid?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Fear doesn’t keep anyone safe. It just holds you back.”

Chan’s gaze flickered to your lips, and the air between you thickened, charged with an unspoken understanding. His mouth was dry, and you could see the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a hunger, a tension that was as magnetic as it was dangerous.

Then, as if aware of how close you’d both come to crossing a line, he leaned back, the space between you widening, though the tension didn’t dissipate.

“Fair enough,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than it had been before. He cleared his throat. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not risky.”

You swallowed hard, looking away, trying to regain some semblance of control. But his presence, his words, had shaken you. And deep down, you knew something had shifted. You couldn’t tell if it was the aftermath of the crisis, the adrenaline, or the way he seemed to see right through you—but the boundary had shifted. The walls you’d carefully built were beginning to crumble.

Chan took a step back, his eyes lingering on you just a little too long. “You’re not who you seem to be,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re more than just a pawn in all this.”

You felt a pang of something you didn’t quite recognize, but it wasn’t anger. It was… something else. A quiet understanding. It made your chest tighten, and for the first time, you realized how little control you had over what was happening between the two of you.

And as he turned and walked away, leaving you with the storm of your own thoughts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this—whatever it was—wasn’t over. It hadn’t even begun.

The news kept coming—each report more damning than the last. Your father’s empire was crumbling in real-time. Chan’s plans were progressing faster than anyone had expected. Supply lines were breaking, alliances were splintering, and the internal resistance within Victor’s ranks was growing stronger. It was all coming apart, just like Chan had predicted.

Victor, however, was far from giving up. His fight wasn’t over. He was tightening his grip, bringing in every last resource to hold onto the empire he’d built, despite the cracks beginning to show. You could almost hear his rage echo through the chaotic reports flooding in. He would not go down without a fight.

Chan leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on the screen showing a live map of Victor’s remaining strongholds. “We’ve hit a critical point. The network’s destabilized, but he’s not finished yet. He’ll try to regroup. It’s only a matter of time before he pushes back.”

You stood by the window, looking out at the darkening sky. You could feel the weight of your father’s empire bearing down on you, like a dying beast desperate to survive. It was hard to shake the feeling that you were witnessing the end of everything you knew—everything you had once thought was untouchable.

“I thought… I thought this would be easier,” you muttered, your fingers brushing the edge of the window frame.

Chan’s voice was calm but firm as he spoke, his presence cutting through the tension. “It never is. But we’ve only just started, Y/N. The hardest part is coming.”

You turned toward him, meeting his gaze. There was no doubt in his eyes, no hesitation. He was certain—he always had been. But you felt the weight of your own doubts pressing in on you, as if you were standing at the edge of something vast and unknown.

“The hardest part,” you repeated, almost to yourself, “and you still want me to help you finish it?”

Chan stepped closer, his expression softening just a touch. “I’m not asking you to destroy everything you’ve known. I’m asking you to help me end what’s already falling apart. Help me tear down the structures that are keeping Victor in power.”

You took a deep breath. “And then what?”

His eyes darkened slightly, and for the briefest moment, something almost vulnerable flickered across his face. “Then we rebuild. But that’s for later. For now, we focus on making sure he doesn’t have the chance to come back. Once he’s gone, the pieces will be there for the taking.”

You felt a pang in your chest. “And I’m supposed to just… step into that? To take everything my father built and use it for your vision?”

“You’ve seen the cracks in Victor’s empire long before I came along,” Chan said, his voice quiet but unwavering. “You know it can’t survive in its current form. His obsession with control—his refusal to trust anyone—has already weakened it from the inside out. All I’m doing is speeding up the inevitable.”

You hesitated, the reality of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. “And when it’s all over? What happens then?”

Chan’s gaze was steady, a mix of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Then you take control. You become the one to rebuild. But only after we’ve brought him down. After we’ve made sure he can never hurt anyone again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The idea—your idea—of taking control felt like a distant possibility, something you weren’t quite ready to admit. But even now, the pieces were falling into place. You weren’t just helping him destroy your father’s empire. You were preparing for something bigger, something that made your stomach twist in both fear and anticipation.

“You’re asking me to step into my father’s shoes,” you said, the weight of the truth sinking in. “You want me to take everything he built—and do what with it?”

“I’m not asking you to become him,” Chan said, his voice gentle now. “I’m asking you to become someone better. Someone who can rebuild it all into something that actually works.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of your choice. You wanted to resist him, wanted to reject the path he was offering. But deep down, you knew he was right. You’d already seen the cracks in your father’s empire—the cracks that were now yawning wide.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can watch it all burn and not feel like I’m betraying everything I’ve ever known.”

Chan’s expression softened just enough to show the faintest trace of understanding. “It won’t be easy. But it’s the only way forward. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

You let out a slow breath, the truth of it settling deep in your chest. The path ahead was unclear, but for the first time, you weren’t just fighting for survival. You were fighting for something more—something bigger. Maybe even something better.

“You’re asking me to betray my father,” you said, the words heavier than they had ever felt.

Chan nodded. “I’m asking you to save what’s left of him—and make sure no one else falls into the same traps he set.”

A deep silence filled the room, the weight of the decision hanging between you. You had made your choice. It wasn’t about loyalty anymore. It was about the future. And for the first time, you could see that future—not just as a shadow of destruction, but as something you could shape.

“I’ll help you,” you said, your voice firm, though a part of you still felt the tremor of doubt. “I’ll help you bring him down.”

Chan’s eyes flashed with something you hadn’t expected: approval. “We’re getting closer, Y/N. This is only the beginning.”

You looked up at him, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension. The future you had once fought so hard to hold on to was slipping away, and with it, everything you had known. But now, you saw something else in its place—a chance to shape something new.

You couldn’t help but wonder if, in the end, you’d be able to rebuild it all with him. But for now, there was no turning back. You were already too far in.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part II)

Plot Overview:

In this chapter, the battle of wills between Y/N and Chan takes a new turn as Chan reveals more of his calculated strategy to bring down her father’s empire. Rather than seeing her as an enemy, Chan tries to convince Y/N that their futures are intertwined—he’s not just after power, but after a partnership. As the tension builds and Chan continues to plant seeds of doubt in her mind, Y/N must confront her own growing uncertainty about her father’s reign. With stakes higher than ever, both are engaged in a high-stakes game of manipulation, trust, and dangerous alliances. But as the cracks in Victor’s empire begin to show, it’s unclear whether Y/N will stay loyal to her father or consider Chan’s offer to rewrite the rules together.

Warnings: BangChan!Mafia, StrayKids!Mafia, Mafia Themes, Mentions of: power play, manipulation, and betrayal, Mild Violence, Dangerous situations, Emotional manipulation, Strong language, Romantic tension (with a very slow burn), Mature themes related to family dynamics and control, Kidnapping. (IT WILL ALSO BE SMUT AT SOME POINT I PROMISE)

PART I, PART III, PART IV, PART V, PART VI, FINAL PART

Author Note: Hey lovely readers! 💫

First off, thank you for sticking with me through the twists and turns of this story—it really means a lot! 🙌 I hope you’re enjoying this battle of wits between Y/N and Chan, because I sure am! 😈

This chapter was a little extra intense, and trust me, things are only going to heat up from here. Y/N is facing some tough decisions, and I love how her complex feelings are really coming to the surface.

If you’re on the edge of your seat now, buckle up—there’s so much more coming! I can’t wait to hear your thoughts—drop a comment, and let’s chat! 💬 I love hearing from you all, whether it’s your theories, your reactions, or your favorite moments. Stay tuned for more, and thank you for your endless support. 🖤

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Part II

The tension crackled like electricity, but you didn’t flinch. This was a battle of wills, and you weren’t about to lose.

Chan’s eyes held yours, dark and unreadable, a glint of amusement flickering just beneath the surface. He smirked as if he could see every thought racing through your head. “I’ll admit, you’re living up to the reputation,” he said, his voice smooth, dangerously calm. “Victor must be proud.”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair, every movement calculated to seem unfazed, even bored. “If this is the part where you try to intimidate me, spare yourself the effort. I’ve been dealing with men like you my entire life.”

He laughed, a short, quiet sound that somehow made the room feel smaller. “Men like me? That’s cute. Tell me, Y/N, what exactly do you think you know about men like me?”

You didn’t miss the way he emphasized your name, as if testing how it felt in his mouth. It irritated you more than you cared to admit. “I know you’re predictable. Power-hungry, arrogant, desperate to prove something. Let me guess—this is the part where you tell me you’re different?”

His grin widened, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the challenge. “No, this is the part where I tell you that you’re wrong. There are no men like me.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as if to shield yourself from the weight of his words. “Oh, please. Let me guess: you think you’re special because you’ve found some clever way to play this little game?”

Chan stepped closer, his movements unhurried but purposeful. The shift in his presence made the air heavier, like the room itself was leaning toward him. “I’m not playing a game.” He stopped just short of your space, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. “I’m changing the rules.”

You raised an eyebrow, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. And kidnapping me was step one in your grand master plan? How original.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, like you’d said something amusing. “Kidnapping you wasn’t the plan. It’s leverage. A means to an end.” He paused, letting his gaze trail over your face like he was searching for something. “Step one has already started. You just don’t know it yet.”

Despite yourself, curiosity flickered to life. You hated that he’d piqued your interest, hated the way his confidence made you second-guess. “Enlighten me, then,” you said, tilting your head. “What’s your genius plan, Chan? Because from where I’m sitting, this feels like a cheap power play dressed up in theatrics.”

His demeanor shifted then. The playful, taunting edge in his voice sharpened, giving way to something colder, more calculated. He crossed the room, leaning casually against the armrest of the couch. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze remained locked on yours, unyielding.

“Your father built his empire on fear and control,” he began, his tone steady, each word deliberately chosen. “That’s his weakness. It’s static, brittle—one wrong move, and the whole thing collapses.”

You leaned forward slightly, your arms still crossed. “And you think you can collapse it?” The skepticism in your voice was clear.

“I don’t think,” he said, his smile returning, but this time it was colder, sharper. “I know.”

There was an air of finality to his words, an unshakable confidence that irritated you as much as it intrigued you.

“Bold of you,” you said, leaning back against the couch with an almost lazy defiance, though your mind was already working. “And yet here you are, leaning on theatrics like everyone else who’s tried and failed to take my father down.”

Chan’s smirk didn’t falter, but his tone dipped lower, more serious. “This isn’t theatrics, Y/N. This is strategy. Your father’s empire looks invincible from the outside, I’ll give him that. But he’s been building on sand, and the foundation’s starting to crack.”

You tilted your head, skepticism dripping from your voice. “And you think you’re the genius who can wash it all away? Hate to break it to you, but smarter men have tried.”

“Smarter men didn’t know where to hit,” he countered, his gaze steady, unflinching.

Your lips twitched, but you fought the smile threatening to break free. “Alright, mastermind. Enlighten me. What’s the plan that’s supposed to send my father’s empire crumbling into the sea?”

Chan pushed off the armrest, closing the space between you in a few measured steps. The shift in his presence sent a chill down your spine, though you refused to show it.

“It’s already begun,” he said, the weight of his words sinking into the room. “The first cracks are there, even if Victor hasn’t noticed. He’s so focused on locking everything down, controlling every move, that he doesn’t see what’s slipping through his fingers.”

“Nice speech,” you said dryly. “But you’re still talking in circles. What cracks, exactly? Be specific, or I’ll start thinking you’re bluffing.”

He let out a low chuckle, clearly unfazed by your skepticism. “Fine. Let’s start with the basics, shall we? Your father’s supply chains? Compromised. I’ve already turned key players within his network—men he trusts, men he thinks are loyal.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re assuming everyone has a price. They don’t.”

“No,” he agreed, “but they all have ambition. Fear keeps them in line, but fear can be replaced with hope, with opportunity. I’m not asking them to betray Victor outright. Not yet. I’m giving them better options and watching the cracks widen on their own.”

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to let his confidence faze you. “And when my father finds out? Because he will. You can’t keep something like that under wraps forever.”

“He won’t find out,” Chan said smoothly. “Not until it’s too late. He’s blinded by his own paranoia—always looking for threats from the outside, never considering that the real danger is already inside his walls.”

You couldn’t stop your mind from running through the possibilities, even as you shot back, “Paranoia isn’t always a weakness. It’s also why no one’s taken him down yet. Victor’s always ten steps ahead.”

Chan’s smile widened, sharp and predatory. “Ten steps ahead doesn’t matter when I’m playing a different game. Your father’s methods are predictable—rely on fear, shut down dissent, crush anyone who steps out of line. But what happens when his own people start second-guessing? When the fear he built his empire on starts working against him?”

You hated that his logic made sense, hated the way his words burrowed into your thoughts like a seed. Still, you didn’t back down.

“Even if you destabilize him,” you said, your voice firm, “that doesn’t mean the whole empire falls. Victor has redundancies. Contingency plans. What’s your next move when those kick in?”

Chan leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken. “That’s the beauty of it. His redundancies are only as strong as the people running them. Once I’ve sown enough distrust, destabilized his supply chains, I’ll go after the rest—his accounts, his safe houses, his alliances. It’s all connected, Y/N. Once one piece falls, the rest follow.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “And you think chaos is enough to win? Even if you burn everything to the ground, someone else will step in and take control. Probably someone worse than Victor.”

Chan’s expression shifted, a flicker of something almost genuine in his eyes. “That’s where you come in.”

The words hung between you, heavy and electric.

You let out a sharp laugh, the sound louder than you intended. “Oh, no. Don’t even start with that. You’re seriously suggesting I betray my father and… what? Rule in his place?”

His gaze didn’t waver, his calm intensity infuriating. “Why not?”

“Because it’s insane,” you snapped. “I’d never—”

“You would,” he interrupted, his voice soft but unyielding. “Because you already know Victor’s empire can’t survive the way it is. You’ve seen the cracks, Y/N. You’ve watched him suffocate everything he’s built with his obsession for control. You know it’s not sustainable.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He wasn’t wrong, and that fact made your stomach churn.

“You can fight me all you want,” Chan continued, his tone laced with quiet confidence. “But you know I’m right. You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to trust me. But deep down, you know this is the only way.”

“You’re asking me to betray my family,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less firm.

“No,” he said, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. “I’m asking you to save what’s left of it.”

The room felt suffocating, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You hated how much they made sense, how much they resonated with the doubts you’d buried for years.

“You’re dangerous,” you muttered, half to yourself.

Chan smirked, the playful edge creeping back into his expression. “I told you, Y/N. I’m not playing a game. I’m rewriting the rules.”

You crossed your arms, an instinctive move to shield yourself from the pull of his words. “Rewriting them in your favor, I’m sure.”

“In our favor,” he corrected smoothly.

That made you laugh—a sharp, humorless sound. “Let me get this straight. You want me to help you destroy my father’s empire so you can hand me the ruins?”

His chuckle was low, almost teasing, as if the answer were obvious. “Not ruins, Y/N. A foundation.”

He stepped closer, the confidence in his every movement setting your teeth on edge. “Together, we could build something stronger, something better. Victor’s world is dying. You can either sink with it… or rise with me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You stared at him, searching for a crack in his armor, something to indicate this was just another power play. But there was nothing but unflinching resolve in his eyes.

“You have an incredible talent for making treason sound poetic,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

His grin widened, a flicker of amusement breaking through his intensity. “I prefer to think of it as evolution.”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re asking me to betray everything I’ve ever known. My father, my family—”

“I’m asking you to decide for yourself what you believe in,” he interrupted, his tone hardening just enough to make your stomach twist. “Do you really think Victor sees you as anything more than a pawn in his game? I’m offering you the chance to be more than that.”

You hated the way his words dug into the cracks of your own doubts, the truths you’d been too proud—or too afraid—to admit. Victor’s leadership had always been suffocating, his empire built on control so absolute it left no room for anyone else to truly rise.

But that didn’t mean you trusted Chan.

“And what happens if I say no?” you asked, forcing your voice to stay steady despite the storm raging inside you.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Then you’ll stay here as my guest until I convince you otherwise.”

You swallowed hard, refusing to back down despite the sudden tightness in your chest. “Guest. That’s a nice word for prisoner.”

“Call it what you like,” he said, his voice soft, almost coaxing. “But I think you’ll find that your time here will be… enlightening.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” you shot back, your tone laced with defiance. “That you’re doing me a favor by keeping me here, playing these little mind games?”

Chan tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment before returning to your eyes. “You can call it a game if it makes you feel better, Y/N. But we both know the truth. You’re as intrigued by this as I am.”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly masked it with a scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “The way you’re fighting this? It only makes it more obvious.”

You hated the way he read you so easily, the way his words seemed to peel back every layer of resistance you’d built. But you refused to let him win, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

“You’re arrogant,” you said, your smirk sharp as a blade. “That’s going to get you killed one day.”

“And you’re stubborn,” he countered, his smile slow, deliberate. “That’s what’s going to make you dangerous when you finally decide to stop fighting me.”

The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken challenge. You could feel the battlelines being drawn—not just between you and him, but within yourself. Every instinct screamed at you to push him away, to cling to the defiance that had always been your armor.

But there was something else, something quieter, harder to ignore. A spark of curiosity, of doubt, of something you didn’t want to name.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Good luck with that, Chan. I don’t break easily.”

His answering smile sent a shiver down your spine. “Neither do I.”

He took a single step back, just enough to break the tension but not enough to loosen its hold on you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence crackling with unspoken challenges and dangerous possibilities.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure which side you wanted to win.

[patrixjia]

Velvet Chains (Part I)

Plot Overview:

Y/N Y/L/N is the heir to a powerful mafia empire, but she’s always preferred playing by her own rules. When tensions between her father’s Y/L/N family and the Stray Kids mafia escalate, she finds herself kidnapped by Bang Chan, the unpredictable leader of the rival gang. What starts as a strategic move to shake things up quickly turns into a high-stakes game of power, wit, and dangerous chemistry. Will Y/N outsmart Chan and reclaim control, or will she get swept up in his chaotic world?

Warnings: Mafia!BangChan, Mafia!AU, Violence, Kidnapping, Strong Language, Power Dynamics, Dark Themes, Flirting, Banter, High Tension, Smut(eventually)

PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V, PART VI, FINAL PART

Author Note:

Hey everyone! So, after posting a poll on Tumblr, the results are in and… Chan won! 🎉 I guess y���all are as intrigued by his unpredictable charm as I am! 😏 So here we are, diving into the world of mafia intrigue with none other than Bang Chan. This story is going to be a wild ride, and I just couldn’t stop writing once I started (you know how it goes, right?). So, get ready for a few parts—yep, this one is going to be a series! 🤩

I hope you enjoy this story as much as I’m enjoying writing it. Expect plenty of tension, power plays, and some spicy moments to come. 😉

As always, please read the tags carefully and make sure this is your cup of tea before continuing!

Hope you all enjoy this as much as I loved writing it. Please feel free to leave your thoughts, comments, and feedback—I’d love to hear from you! 💖

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Part I

The jazz bar wasn’t exactly your style, but you appreciated the quiet. As the only daughter of Victor Y/L/N, the man who controlled the northern sector with an iron fist, finding moments of peace was a rare commodity. Your father had built the Y/L/N empire on a foundation of precision, discipline, and cold, calculated power. For three generations, the Y/L/N mafia had ruled this part of the city, their influence expanding through smuggling, money laundering, and intricate political ties. Everything had been meticulously planned. Every move, every person, every resource—it was all part of the machine.

Victor Y/L/N wasn’t just feared—he was respected. A master strategist who never played by anyone else’s rules. His empire was a fortress, and you’d been raised to understand that you were part of it. You knew the stakes of the game, the cost of failure. You had a front-row seat to everything that happened in the world of organized crime, but instead of becoming the dutiful heir your father expected, you’d learned how to operate outside of his rigid control. You weren’t just another piece in his game of chess—you were the queen, always calculating your next move, never just following orders.

You were his greatest asset—and his greatest frustration.

Victor had raised you to understand power, to see the world in black and white. He taught you how to read people, how to dismantle an opponent without ever lifting a weapon. From the time you could walk, you’d been groomed for leadership. But you weren’t like him.

Victor saw the world as a chessboard, and every person was a piece to be moved or sacrificed. You, however, refused to stay on the board. You wanted freedom, independence. You wanted to be more than a pawn in his endless games of control.

“Emotion is a weakness,” he’d told you countless times. “Empathy will get you killed.”

But you didn’t believe him. You knew that in the right hands, emotion could be a weapon. And while Victor wanted you to be cold and calculating, you had something he didn’t: charisma. People followed your father out of fear. They followed you because they wanted to.

This difference had always been a point of contention between you.

Victor expected blind loyalty and obedience, but you questioned everything. When he ordered you to marry the son of an allied family to strengthen his position, you refused. When he tried to involve you in his dealings with corrupt politicians, you went behind his back to broker your own alliances.

You weren’t defiant for the sake of it—you were strategic. You understood the rules of the game, but you played by your own.

The silence of the bar was unsettling, though, as it contrasted with the world you’d known your entire life. The thrum of power, the constant buzz of danger—it had always been there, but tonight something felt different. The shadows seemed deeper than usual, and even the bartender’s hands shook as he poured your wine.

You glanced at the open notebook on the table in front of you, filled with coded notes about your father’s rivals, including one name that had come up more than any other recently—Bang Chan. You knew the Stray Kids mafia had been a thorn in your father’s side for years, but the tension had reached a boiling point lately. The southern sector had grown too powerful, too unpredictable. And now, it seemed they were coming for you.

The Y/L/N and Stray Kids mafias had been in conflict for years. At first, it was subtle: small skirmishes, intercepted shipments, whispers of betrayal. But as Bang Chan rose to power, the tension escalated into an all-out turf war.

Chan’s rise was meteoric. Where your father relied on tradition and loyalty, Chan built his empire with innovation and ambition. He recruited the best hackers, the most skilled fighters, and the most loyal men, creating a network that outpaced even the most established families. His crew—Stray Kids—was infamous for their unpredictability and efficiency.

Your father hated him, not just because of the territory disputes, but because Chan represented everything Victor despised: a new, disruptive power that didn’t play by the old rules.

You’d never met Bang Chan before, but you’d heard plenty about him. He was ruthless, charismatic, and maddeningly clever. If your father was a chess master, Chan was a wild card, someone who could flip the table and still win.

While the Y/L/N family’s strength lay in its calculated, methodical approach, the Stray Kids mafia relied on innovation and unpredictability.

Your notebook sat open on the table. You didn’t need to be here, but the idea of slipping away from under your father’s watchful eye always gave you a thrill. You lived for moments like this.

Until tonight.

The first thing you noticed was the bartender’s shaky hands as he poured your second glass of wine. Then came the eerie silence—the background chatter fading as patrons disappeared one by one. You leaned back, crossing your legs under the table, and glanced toward the shadowed corners of the room.

“Alright,” you murmured under your breath, reaching for the knife strapped to your thigh. “Let’s play.”

Two figures stepped into the dim light. Han Jisung and Lee Know. You recognized them immediately—not just from reputation, but from the detailed dossiers your father kept on the Stray Kids mafia.

The Stray Kids were brutal, unpredictable, and far more cunning than anyone gave them credit for.

Where your father’s mafia was cold and calculated, theirs was wild and ambitious. It was no wonder your father hated them.

Han and Lee Know approached with an air of casual confidence, but you could tell they weren’t taking any chances. You smiled, a sharp, mocking twist of your lips.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Chan’s errand boys. Did you get lost on the way to the kiddie pool?”

Han snorted, clearly amused. “She’s got jokes. I like her already.”

Lee Know’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and measured. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Y/N.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Oh, honey. You’re adorable if you think either of those options work for me.”

Without warning, you lunged. The knife was in your hand in an instant, its blade glinting in the dim light. Lee Know blocked your strike, his movements quick and calculated, while Han stepped in to restrain your other arm.

“Cute,” Lee Know said, his grip like steel around your wrist. “But not smart.”

You twisted in his grasp, your knee coming up to narrowly miss Han’s side. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just getting started.”

Han laughed, despite himself. “She’s got fire. No wonder Chan’s so interested.”

That gave you pause. “Interested? Let me guess—he couldn’t find anyone else to stroke his ego, so he sent you two?”

Lee Know’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

You laughed, though the sound was more to cover your growing irritation than anything else. “How cute. You think this is going to be easy?”

The two men didn’t answer. They moved quickly, forcefully, but you fought back with every ounce of your strength. You managed to strike one of them in the ribs before they overpowered you and pulled your hands behind your back. It was the usual dance—the struggle, the resistance. But you knew this wasn’t just about you. This was about your father’s empire, and if they were here for you, then it was time to face the consequences of your father’s years of making enemies.

As Lee Know tightened his grip on your wrist, you resisted the urge to lash out. This wasn’t about you—it was about your father. Victor Y/L/N had a way of making enemies, and it seemed Bang Chan had finally grown tired of playing nice. Not that you cared. You’d spent years trying to step out of Victor’s shadow, but his decisions had a way of dragging you back in.

"You do realize this is going to piss off my father,” you said, looking at Han. “Is that the plan, or is Chan just bored?”

Han didn’t seem fazed. “Bored? Nah. This is business, Y/N. Chan’s got a point to prove.”

You scoffed. “And you think kidnapping me will prove it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Han said, his grin widening. “But it’ll get his message across.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Well, don’t take it personally, boys. I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

Lee Know’s grip on your wrist tightened, but you barely noticed. It was the truth, after all. The moment your father found out, all hell would break loose.

The ride to the Stray Kids estate felt like hours, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d face Bang Chan. The southern sector and the northern sector had been in a delicate balance for years. Your father kept his enemies close, but Chan had always been an anomaly. He didn’t play by the same rules, and that made him dangerous.

You sat between Han and Lee Know, your hands loosely bound—just tight enough to make a statement but loose enough to mock.

“You know,” you said after a few minutes, breaking the silence, “this is a sloppy move for Chan. Kidnapping me? What’s the play? Ransom? Leverage? Or is he just looking for a date?”

Han snickered. “She’s quick.”

Lee Know didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “We’re not here to answer your questions, Y/N.”

“Of course not,” you replied smoothly. “That would require actual intelligence.”

Han turned to you, grinning. “You’re awfully bold for someone in your position.”

“Bold is just another word for better,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Speaking of bold, is Chan still pretending he’s running the southern sector with brains, or has he admitted it’s all brawn and luck?”

Lee Know’s hand tightened on his knee, but Han seemed genuinely entertained. “I can’t wait for him to meet you.”

When you arrived at the mansion, Chan was waiting.

The estate was grand, modern, and cold—a stark contrast to the warmth of your father’s domain. The walls seemed to pulse with the quiet hum of power, and you could feel it as you were led inside. Chan was the type of man who demanded respect without saying a word. It was a quiet confidence that bordered on arrogance.

When he turned to face you, you couldn’t help but appreciate the way he commanded the room without a single movement. His gaze locked onto yours, and you stood your ground.

“Well, well,” you said, crossing your arms. “Let me guess. This is about my father. What, did he steal one of your shipments? Break one of your toys? Seems like a petty reason to kidnap me.”

Chan smirked, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Petty? No. Let’s call it… strategic. Your father’s been playing the same tired game for years. He doesn’t realize the board has changed.”

“And you think you’re the one changing it?” you shot back.

“I know I am,” he replied, his tone casual but sharp. “And you, Y/N, are far too smart to pretend otherwise.”

He smiled—a dangerous, predatory curve of his lips—as he walked toward you. “You’ve built quite the reputation for yourself. Smart, strategic, ruthless when you need to be. You’re not your father, though, are you?”

You bristled, stepping forward to meet his gaze head-on. “No, I’m not. I’m better.”

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Chan tilted his head, his smirk widening. “I see.” He gestured for Lee Know and Han to leave, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can drop the act, Y/N. I didn’t bring you here for ransom.”

“Then what?” you shot back. “You looking for a chess partner? Because I don’t play games I can’t win.”

Chan chuckled, low and dangerous. “Oh, I think you’ll find this game… worth playing.”

You crossed your arms, leaning closer to him. “And what makes you think I won’t burn your whole empire to the ground?”

He leaned in, his voice a soft whisper. “Because you’re too smart to destroy something you’ll want to rule.”

The tension crackled like electricity, but you didn’t flinch. This was a battle of wills, and you weren’t about to lose.

[patrixjia]

Title: Unspoken Words

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospital/Accident, Emotional Overload, Miscommunication, Hurt/Comfort, Crying Chan

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Summary:

Bang Chan has always been the type to pour everything into his work, his friends, and his music—leaving little for the one person who needs him the most. On your anniversary, you find yourself sitting alone, waiting for him to notice the cracks in your relationship. But when the worst happens, Chan realizes too late how much he’s taken you for granted, and how far he’ll go to make it right.

Author’s Note:

Hey everyone, I hope you'll enjoy this! 💕 This one’s been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I’m so glad I finally finished it. It’s a bit angsty (okay, a lot angsty), but it has a happy ending. Just wanted to share my love for Chan and this idea I had about miscommunication and making up after a tough moment. I hope it hits right in the feels!

As always, feedback is welcome! Reblogs and comments are appreciated. 💖

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

Bang Chan had always been the kind of person who gave all of himself to others—his friends, his family, his music. It was one of the things you loved most about him. But lately, it felt like there was nothing left for you.

You sat in his studio, a place that once felt like your second home, the faint hum of his unfinished track filling the silence. He was in his chair, facing the monitors, hunched over his laptop as if you weren’t even there.

It was your anniversary. You’d been looking forward to this day for weeks, hoping it would be a chance to reconnect with him, to remind him that there was still a you and him beneath all the chaos of his life. But as you watched him work, barely acknowledging your presence, something inside you broke.

“Chan,” you called softly, your voice strained.

“Hmm?” he replied, not turning around.

You swallowed hard, fingers clenching the fabric of your sweater. “Did you forget what today is?”

He paused, his hands hovering over the keyboard. Slowly, he turned to face you, and the guilt in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

“I—” he started, but you didn’t let him finish.

“You forgot,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can’t believe you actually forgot.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, standing up. “I’ve just been so busy with this project, and I lost track of time. You know how much pressure I’m under right now.”

“Pressure?” you echoed, your voice rising. “Do you think I don’t know that? I’ve watched you work yourself into the ground for everyone else, Chan. But what about me? What about us?”

He frowned, running a hand through his hair. “You know how important this is. I don’t have the luxury to stop and—”

“To stop and what?” you interrupted, your voice cracking. “To stop and care about me? To stop and make me feel like I even matter to you anymore?”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his tone sharper now. “You do matter to me.”

“Then why don’t you show it?” you shot back, tears stinging your eyes. “Why do I always feel like an afterthought?”

The silence that followed was deafening. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. And that was worse than anything he could’ve said.

You grabbed your bag, standing up. “You know what? Forget it. I can’t do this right now.”

“Wait—” he started, but you were already walking out the door.

The sound of it slamming shut echoed in your chest like a gunshot.

You didn’t hear from him after that. Days turned into a week, and with each passing moment, the ache in your chest grew heavier. You kept hoping he’d call, that he’d apologize, that he’d say something. But he didn’t.

And so you told yourself it was over.

Chan, on the other hand, was falling apart. He’d thrown himself even deeper into his work, hoping it would distract him from the gaping hole you’d left behind. But it didn’t work. Every note he wrote sounded wrong, every lyric felt empty.

Your voice haunted him, the way it cracked when you said, Why don’t you show it? He wanted to call you, to tell you he was sorry, to promise he’d do better. But every time he picked up his phone, he froze. What if you didn’t want to hear from him? What if it was too late?

It was the day of a major performance, one of the biggest stages of his career. The members were buzzing with excitement, but Chan felt nothing. His mind was somewhere else—on you.

He sat backstage, scrolling through old photos on his phone. There was one of you from months ago, sitting in his studio, laughing at something stupid he’d said. You looked so happy then. He stared at the photo, his chest tightening.

He should’ve called you. He should’ve done something, anything, to fix what he’d broken.

His phone buzzed, pulling him out of his thoughts. It was a call from a mutual friend. Frowning, he answered.

“Hello?”

“Chan.” The voice on the other end was frantic. “It’s Y/N. They—they were in an accident.”

The world stopped.

“What?” he breathed, his heart pounding.

“They were hit by a car. They’re at the hospital. I thought you should know.”

Chan didn’t hear the rest. He was already on his feet, ignoring the confused looks from the members as he grabbed his things and bolted out the door.

When Chan arrived at the hospital, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. The smell of antiseptic, the fluorescent lights, the sterile white walls—it all felt wrong.

A nurse directed him to your room, and when he saw you lying there, bruised and unconscious, he broke.

He sank into the chair beside your bed, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “Y/N…” His voice cracked.

The guilt was suffocating. This was his fault. If he hadn’t pushed you away, if he had just been there for you, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “I should’ve called you. I should’ve told you how much you mean to me. I’m such an idiot,” Chan choked out, gripping your hand as if letting go would make you disappear. “I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I forgot the one thing that matters most—you.”

His voice wavered as he kept talking, even though you couldn’t hear him. “I thought I was doing the right thing, working so hard for our future. But what’s the point of any of it if I’m not there for you? If I can’t even make you feel loved?”

The room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. It was the only reassurance he had that you were still here, still fighting.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I need you to wake up,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Please, Y/N. I need to make this right. I need to tell you how much I love you, how sorry I am for everything. Just… just give me one more chance.”

His tears fell freely now, and he pressed your hand to his forehead, his body shaking with quiet sobs.

Hours passed. Chan refused to leave your side, ignoring the nurses who told him to take a break. He stayed there, holding your hand, whispering apologies and promises into the quiet.

When you finally stirred, it was so faint he almost missed it. Your fingers twitched against his, and his head shot up, eyes wide with hope.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyelids fluttered open, your gaze unfocused at first before it landed on him. “Chan…?”

Relief washed over him so intensely it felt like he might collapse. “You’re awake,” he breathed, his hand tightening around yours. “Oh my God, you’re awake.”

You winced, the pain from your injuries making it hard to move. “What… happened?”

“You were in an accident,” he said quickly, his voice thick with emotion. “But you’re okay now. You’re going to be okay.”

You frowned slightly, confusion mixing with the lingering hurt from the fight. “Why are you here?”

Chan’s heart broke all over again at your words. He leaned closer, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with regret. “Because I love you,” he said, his voice trembling. “And I’m so, so sorry for everything. For making you feel like you didn’t matter. For not being there when you needed me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you remembered the fight, the pain of walking away from him that night. “I thought you didn’t care anymore,” you whispered, your voice raw.

“I care more than anything,” he said, his hand gently cupping your face. “I was just too stupid to show it. I let my work consume me, and I took you for granted. But I swear to you, Y/N, I’ll never make that mistake again. You’re the most important person in my life, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you.”

Your tears spilled over, and you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding you. “I just wanted to feel like I mattered to you,” you said softly.

“You do,” he said, his voice breaking. “You always have. I’m so sorry I made you feel otherwise.”

Chan stayed by your side for the rest of the night, refusing to leave even when the nurses tried to insist. He helped you drink water, adjusted your blanket when you shivered, and whispered soft reassurances whenever you seemed restless.

As the hours passed, the weight of the fight began to lift. There were still things that needed to be said, wounds that needed time to heal, but for now, you were together. And that was enough.

The next morning, as the sunlight filtered through the hospital curtains, you woke to find Chan still sitting beside you, his head resting on the edge of your bed. His hand was still wrapped around yours, his grip firm even in sleep.

“Chan,” you whispered, gently brushing his hair out of his face.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. When he saw you looking at him, a tired but relieved smile spread across his face. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice still weak but steady.

He sat up, his expression serious. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Water? The nurse?”

You shook your head. “I just need you.”

His eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were tears of gratitude. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Not now, not ever.”

You squeezed his hand, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the pain. “Good. Because I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

He chuckled, wiping his eyes. “Fair enough. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

And you believed him.

True to his word, Chan made changes. He started setting boundaries at work, learning to say no when things became too overwhelming. He made sure to carve out time for you, even if it was just an hour at the end of a long day to sit and talk.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still moments of stress, arguments, and the occasional doubt. But the difference was that he never let the silence linger. He made it a point to tell you how much he loved you, how grateful he was for your patience, and how sorry he was for ever making you feel unimportant.

And every time he did, you reminded him that love wasn’t about being perfect—it was about showing up, even when things were messy and hard.

Together, you rebuilt what had been broken, one word, one moment, and one promise at a time.

[patrixjia]

Heat of The Moment

Plot Overview

You’re an independent songwriter tasked with writing a collaborative track for Stray Kids. What should have been your dream gig turns into a nightmare thanks to last-minute deadlines and your strained creative energy. You clash immediately with Bang Chan—too confident for his own good and infuriatingly talented. He insists on late-night studio sessions, constantly pushes back on your ideas, and doesn’t seem to know how to take no for an answer.

One night, when tension reaches its peak, an explosive argument in the recording studio leads to unexpected sparks. With tempers flaring and boundaries slipping, the heat between you boils over into something far more primal. The lines between frustration and desire blur, leaving you both vulnerable to feelings that neither of you wanted—or planned for.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction created for entertainment purposes only. I do not own or claim any affiliation with Bang Chan, Stray Kids, or their management. The events and characters depicted in this story are entirely fictional and do not reflect real-life personalities, actions, or relationships.

This story contains mature themes and is intended for audiences 18 and older. Reader discretion is advised.

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The studio air was thick with frustration. It wasn't the equipment, the hours, or even the looming deadline - it was him.

Bang Chan sat sprawled in his chair like a king, his dark eyes fixed on you with infuriating calmness. You could practically feel the smugness radiating off him as he leaned back, one arm lazily draped over the chair's edge, his lips twitching upward in what could only be described as a challenge.

"Again", he said, his voice low and maddeningly smooth.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling with restrained fury. "We've already gone over this again five times! The hook works, the track flows, and it's done. You just want me to sit here all night because you've decided sleep is optional."

He didn't even flinch. If anything, that smirk grew sharper. "It's not about sleep. It's about getting it right. This?" He gesture at the speakers like he was dismissing a bad meal. "This isn't right."

You turned, fully intending to argue, but the look on his face stopped you. It wasn't disdain or boredom - it was focus. Relentless, unshakable focus.

You hated that he looked good while being such a pain. His hair was a little messy, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that you were doing your best not to notice, and he had that maddening way of looking at you like he was already one step ahead.

But this wasn't about how good he looked. It was about the fact that he was driving you insane.

"Why don't you just write it yourself?" you snapped.

Chan shrugged, the movement deliberate. "Because i want to see what you've got. You're suppose to be the best, right? Prove it."

The arrogance in his voice set something off in you. Your hands slammed against the desk, the sound echoing in the studio. "You don't think I'm good enough?!"

"I think," he said, standing and crossing the room toward you, his footsteps slow and deliberate, "you're holding back. And I'm not interested in 'good enough'. I want something that hits harder."

By the time he stopped in front of you, the air felt charged. He wasn't touching you, but he didn't need to. His presence was overwhelming, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that send your pulse racing.

"Well," you said, refusing to back down, "maybe you should stop breathing down my neck and let me work."

Chan tilted his head, his smirk turning into something more dangerous. "Maybe you like it."

Your breath hitched, but you didn't flinch. "Don't flatter yourself."

The hours stretched on, the tension between you crackling like static. You were at the piano, furiously reworking the melody, while Chan sat behind you, watching. Always watching.

"Play the last part again," he said, his voice softer now but no less insistent.

You obeyed - if only to avoid another argument. Your fingers stumbled lightly, the fatigue of the night finally catching up with you.

"That's not it," he murmured, standing and moving to your side. "Here, let me."

You bristled but scooted over just enough for him to sit. His hands brushed against yours as he reached for the keys, and the warmth of his skin sent a jolt up your arm.

"That's not-"

"Relax," he said, his voice so close that you felt it more than heard it. His hands moved confidently over the keys, the melody shifting under his touch, morphing into something richer, heavier. "See?"

You hated that it sounded better. You hated him. And yet, you couldn't pull your eyes away.

"Show-off," you muttered, hoping to break the spell.

Chan laughed softly, his voice low and teasing. "You're cute when you're mad."

Your head whipped toward him. "What did you just said?"

He turned to face you fully, his face so close that your noses almost brushed. His smile was infuriatingly calm. "I said, you're cute when you're mad. What are you gonna do about it?"

Your jaw tightened, but before you could retort, his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering just enough to set your skin on fire.

It happened all at once. One second, you were glaring at him, and the next, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was fire and frustration, a tangle of heat and tension that exploded in the small studio. Your back hit the piano as he leaned into you, his hands framing your face, tilting it up to deepen the kiss.

You gasped, and his tongue slid against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“This,” you managed to gasp between kisses, “is a terrible idea.”

“Probably,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with want. “But you started it.”

You shoved at his chest, though your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “You kissed me!”

His laugh was low and wicked as he nipped at your jawline, his hands slipping under your shirt to skim along your sides. “And you didn’t stop me.”

Chan’s mouth was on yours again, hot and demanding, as he pressed you back against the piano. The weight of him, the way his hands gripped your waist, sent your pulse skyrocketing.

“You’re infuriating,” you gasped, your fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer.

“And you’re impossible,” he shot back, his voice rough, lips brushing against your jaw before moving lower.

His mouth left a scorching trail along your neck, and you felt yourself arch into him as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, fingers tracing along the ridges of his muscles, eliciting a low sound from him that made heat pool in your stomach.

“Touchy,” you teased, though your voice was breathless.

His response was a low chuckle, muffled as his mouth moved lower, his hands now sliding under your shirt to rest on your bare skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and rough, though his fingers lingered teasingly along the edge of your waistband.

You didn’t answer—didn’t want him to stop—so instead, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head.

The sight of him—flushed skin, wild hair, and that insufferable grin—shouldn’t have made your knees weak, but it did.

“You’re staring,” he said, voice teasing, though his eyes were anything but playful.

“You’re in my way,” you shot back, pulling him to you again, crashing your mouth against his.

This time, it was frantic, all pretense stripped away as hands wandered and clothes were pulled at—shirts discarded onto the studio floor, his jeans pressing into your thighs as he lifted you onto the piano bench.

The sound of the piano keys clanging beneath you should have been comical, but it only fueled the tension as his mouth found yours again, his hands sliding to grip your hips and pull you closer—until there was nothing between you but thin fabric and the weight of all the things you couldn’t say aloud.

With a swift motion, Chan flipped you back, his body now hovering over you, the heat radiating off him almost overwhelming. “You think you can just take charge?” he challenged, his voice low and teasing.

You smirked, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Maybe I can show you how it’s done.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, really?”

You leaned in, capturing his mouth again, your bodies pressed together, the warmth between you palpable. His hands slid up your thighs, fingers brushing the edge of your shorts, teasing but not crossing the line.

“Is this what you wanted?” you breathed against his lips, your own pulse racing with the thrill of being in control. “Something that hits harder?”

He chuckled, the sound low and inviting, “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

With a swift motion, he flipped you back again, his body now solidly over yours, the weight of him deliciously grounding. “But I’m going to show you.”

His mouth found yours again, but this time, it was urgent, a claim that sent shivers down your spine. You gasped as his hands explored further, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shorts, teasingly inching toward the waistband.

"Chan,” you breathed, the thrill of anticipation mixing with the heat of his touch. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you love it,” he replied, voice thick with desire, as he pressed his body against yours, the piano creaking beneath the weight of your shared urgency.

“Maybe,” you admitted, a grin breaking through as he captured your mouth again, the world around you fading into a blur.

His hands slipped under your shorts, fingers brushing against your skin, and you moaned softly, arching into his touch. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, igniting a fire deep within you.

“I want you,” you gasped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I want all of you.”

His eyes darkened with desire, and in that moment, you knew there was no turning back. He kissed you fiercely, and as the world around you faded, you surrendered to the overwhelming need that had built between you.

Chan's lips were relentless against yours, each kiss igniting a fire that spread through your entire body. His hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you as if memorizing your shape. The world outside the studio faded into nothingness; it was just you and him, lost in the heat of the moment.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and searching. “I don’t want to rush you.”

You felt your heart race at the sincerity in his voice, but the urgency of the moment drowned out any hesitation. “I’m sure,” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. “I want this.”

His smirk returned, a mixture of satisfaction and wickedness, and he leaned in again, capturing your mouth as if sealing the promise of what was to come. You could feel the muscles in his arms flex as he held you against the piano, the heat radiating from his body enveloping you.

With a swift motion, he pulled you closer, his hands gripping your thighs as he shifted, positioning you to straddle him fully. The sensation sent another wave of heat through you, the feel of him beneath you amplifying the tension that had been building all night.

"Chan,” you gasped, feeling the rush of exhilaration mixed with a hint of nervousness. “Please...”

“Just wait,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m just getting started.”

As if to prove his point, his hands moved back to your waist, guiding you as you began to grind against him. The friction was intoxicating, and you let out a soft moan, the sound echoing in the dimly lit studio.

“Like that?” he teased, watching you with an intensity that made your cheeks burn.

“More,” you urged, craving the connection, the way he made you feel alive and desired.

He obliged, his grip tightening as he helped you find a rhythm, the two of you moving together in a way that felt both primal and electrifying. You lost yourself in the sensation, every touch, every kiss igniting something deeper within you.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. The praise sent a thrill through you, pushing you to go faster, to feel more.

You leaned forward, locking eyes with him as you whispered, “Show me how incredible I can be.”

His response was a low growl, and in an instant, he flipped you back, pinning you beneath him once more. The shift was exhilarating, and you reveled in the feeling of being completely at his mercy. He leaned down, capturing your mouth again, and the kiss was fierce and demanding, filled with all the pent-up frustration and heat that had been building between you.

His hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of your body, his fingers igniting fire wherever they touched. You gasped as he slipped a hand beneath your shorts again, teasingly brushing against your most sensitive spots, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Chan, please,” you pleaded, the urgency in your voice echoing the frantic beating of your heart.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he responded, his voice low and gravelly, the promise laced within it making your breath hitch.

You could hardly think straight, the need for him overwhelming. “I want you inside me,” you confessed, the words spilling out with a desperation you couldn’t hide.

His eyes darkened with desire at your admission, and he nodded, his expression turning serious. “Okay. But we’re doing this right.”

He took a moment to rummage through his bag, pulling out a small packet. You watched, breathless and eager, as he prepared, the anticipation building to a fever pitch.

"Strip for me, sweet girl," he said as he returned to you, helping you take off your clothes, taking a second to admire you. "Even more beautiful than i imagined."

You looked at him, with big, vulnerable eyes. "You imagine this?"

His gaze soften for a moment, "From the day you walked in this studio from the first time."

His hands found your waist again, fingers digging in as he positioned himself at your entrance. “Ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“More than ready,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, and with that, he pushed inside you.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and fullness that made you arch against him, gasping at the intensity of it all. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that left you breathless.

“Just like that,” he urged, his voice thick with desire as he began to move, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you. You felt every inch of him, the way he filled you up, and it was almost too much to bear.

“Chan,” you moaned, your body responding instinctively to his rhythm, the heat between you growing with every movement.

He leaned down, capturing your lips again, the kiss deepening as he lost himself in you. You could feel the way he filled you, the way your bodies moved together, and it felt absolutely electric.

“Faster,” you urged, urging him on, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer.

He obliged, his pace quickening, the sounds of your bodies moving together filling the studio as you both succumbed to the pleasure building between you. Each thrust sent you spiraling closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until you thought you might burst.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with need. “I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Neither am I,” you gasped, the pleasure reaching a crescendo. “Just a little more.”

With a few more powerful thrusts, the tension snapped, and you came undone, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you as your body quaked beneath him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he breathed, his own release following closely behind, the feeling of him filling you driving you to new heights as you clung to each other, lost in the moment.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, you both collapsed against each other, breaths mingling in the stillness of the studio. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared passion.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your uneven breathing and the faint hum of the studio equipment. You sat slumped against Chan, your heart still pounding as you tried to collect yourself.

“Well,” he finally said, his voice a low rasp, “that was… productive.”

You swatted weakly at his chest, though you couldn’t stop the small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Shut up.”

He tilted his head back with a quiet laugh, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your skin. “You’re not gonna fight me on the hook anymore, are you?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you muttered, though the bite in your voice was gone.

Chan looked down at you, his expression softer now. “Guess I finally got your best work out of you, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but when his hand slid back to your waist, tugging you closer, you didn’t resist.

“Maybe you’re not entirely useless after all,” you teased, brushing your lips against his again.

His laugh rumbled against your mouth as he kissed you back, slow and unhurried this time—like you had all the time in the world.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re starting to like me.”

You pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t let it go to your head, Bang Chan.”

But the smirk on his face told you it was already too late.