#styablr

Y/n's POV

The afternoon light streams through the windows of my room, bright and unforgiving, casting everything in sharp relief. Chris hasn’t left yet. His presence fills the small space like he's taking up all the air, all the oxygen, leaving me breathless in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.

We're sitting on the edge of the bed, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. The silence between us is charged, heavy with everything we just said and did, everything we just admitted. His shirt is still on, but his hair is disheveled from my fingers, and there's a faint mark on his neck from where my lips were moments ago.

I can't quite look at him directly. The daylight is too honest, too revealing. It strips away the darkness that usually shields us, makes everything feel less real, less exposed. In the brightness, I can see the conflict written across his features...the war between what he wants and what he thinks he should do.

"I shouldn't be here," he says quietly, but he doesn't move. Doesn't make any effort to leave.

"But you are," I reply, my voice barely audible.

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration or maybe just trying to ground himself. "The crew—"

"Is downstairs. Doing whatever it is they do." I shift slightly closer, and I see him tense. "We have time."

The word time hangs between us like a promise and a threat. Time is something we don't have. Time is something that's running out. But right now, in this moment, with the sun painting everything gold and the rest of the world feeling very far away, it feels like we might have just enough.

Chris's stomach growls, loud and sudden in the quiet room, and I can't help the small laugh that escapes me. It's such a human sound, so at odds with the intensity of everything else.

He looks almost embarrassed, which is somehow endearing on someone so dangerous. "When's the last time you ate?" he asks, deflecting.

"I don't know. Early this morning?" I realize I'm not actually sure. Time has become strange and slippery since he came to my room…since he stole me away to this place. "You?"

"Longer." He stands abruptly, like he needs to put distance between us before he does something he can't take back. But his hand finds mine, pulling me up with him. "Come on. We should eat something."

It's an excuse to leave this room, to break the spell that's been cast over us. But it's also practical, necessary. And maybe it's safer to be around other people right now, to have witnesses to the fact that we're not tearing each other apart.

He doesn't let go of my hand as we move toward the door.

The kitchen is brighter than I expect, all white marble and stainless steel catching the morning sun. It smells like coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon? When we walk in, I freeze. Changbin, Seungmin, and Felix are already there, sitting around the island with plates of food and mugs of coffee. The conversation dies instantly.

The silence is suffocating. Heavy. I can feel their eyes on me...assessing, judging, remembering everything I've done. Changbin's expression is carefully neutral. Seungmin looks away, focusing intently on his coffee. And Felix... Felix is watching me with kind eyes.

Chris's hand finds the small of my back, a subtle gesture of protection that doesn't go unnoticed. "Sit," he says quietly, guiding me toward a stool at the island.

I sit because I don't know what else to do. Because my legs feel weak and my heart is pounding too hard and I'm acutely aware that I'm surrounded by men who have every reason to want me dead.

Chris moves to the counter, pulling out bread and deli meat with practiced efficiency. The domesticity of it is jarring. Christopher Bahng, crime lord and killer, making me a sandwich in his kitchen while his crew watches in uncomfortable silence.

"So," Felix says suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Sleep well?"

I look up sharply, expecting cruelty or sarcasm. But his expression is... kind. Almost teasing. Like he's talking to the girl he met five years ago at that bar, not the traitor who destroyed everything.

"I—" My voice catches. "Yeah. I did."

Felix grins, that familiar boyish smile that used to make me smile right back. "Good. You look less like a ghost today. More like an actual person."

Changbin snorts softly into his coffee, and I see the corner of Seungmin's mouth twitch. The tension doesn't disappear, but it... shifts. Becomes something slightly more bearable.

"Felix," Chris warns, but there's no real heat in it.

"What? I'm being nice." Felix takes a bite of toast, still grinning. "Remember nice, Chris? That thing you used to be before you became a brooding asshole?"

"Fuck off," Chris mutters, but I catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he sets a plate in front of me. Turkey and cheese on wheat, cut diagonally. Exactly how I used to like it.

My smile widens at the fact that he didn’t forget. "Thank you." I said softly.

He nods, his hand lingering on my shoulder for just a second too long before he moves to make his own sandwich. I take a bite, and it tastes like something close to normal. Like maybe, there's a version of this where I'm not just a prisoner, a tool, or a ghost haunting their lives.

Changbin clears his throat. "You know anything about the new security system Ruiz installed at the estate?"

It's a test, I know it is. But it's also an olive branch, an acknowledgment that I could maybe become one of them, that I might be more than just the girl who betrayed them.

"He upgraded to biometric scanners last year," I say carefully. "Fingerprint and retinal. But he kept the old keypad system as a backup. He doesn't trust technology completely."

Seungmin looks up, interest flickering in his eyes. "Backup codes?"

"Changed weekly. But he uses a pattern. Birth dates, anniversaries. He's sentimental in the worst ways."

They exchange glances, and I can see the gears turning. They're warming up to me, slowly, cautiously. But it's happening and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me excited.

Chris sits beside me, close enough that our thighs were touching; the guys instantly noticed. I see Felix's knowing smirk, Changbin's subtle nod, Seungmin's quick glance between us. They're seeing something different in Chris—something softer, more human. And they're not saying anything, but the silence speaks volumes.

We eat in a silence that's no longer quite so suffocating. For the first time since I was taken, I feel something that might almost be hope.

After breakfast, Chris takes my hand, fingers lacing through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world...and leads me outside for privacy from the many prying eyes lurking about the house. The beach stretches out before us, endless and grey under the overcast sky. The wind is cold, biting, but I don't care. I'm outside, I'm walking freely, with Chris beside me, not behind me, or in front, not guarding me either, just... with me.

We walk in silence for a while, our footsteps sinking in the sand. The waves crash rhythmically, filling the space between us with white noise that somehow makes it easier to think..to breathe.

"I'm sorry," I say finally, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me. "For everything. For what I did. For—"

"Don't." His voice is rough. "Not right now."

"But I need you to know—" I begin but he cuts me off.

"I know." He stops walking, turning to face me. The wind whips his hair across his forehead, his eyes are dark and intense and full. "I know you were trapped. I know he used you. I know you didn't have a choice. I remember everything you told me. You don’t have to repeat it."

"I did have a choice," I whisper. "I could have told you. I could have—", the words died in my throat as I looked away.

"And he would have killed you." Chris's jaw clenches as his dark eyes lift to look into mine. The light peaking through random breaks in the clouds makes them look almost chocolate brown. "Or worse. I know how your father operates, Y/n. I know what he's capable of."

The way he says it, with such certainty, such understanding, breaks something inside me. Tears burn my eyes, and I refuse to look at him, turning my entire body away from him to focus on the grey horizon.

"I loved you," I say, my voice barely audible over the wind. "I still—" I can't finish. Can't say it out loud because it feels too dangerous, too raw.

But Chris hears it anyway. I feel him walk up behind me, tugging me back to face him again. His hand comes up to cup my face, forcing me to look at him. "I know," he says again, and this time there's something almost like forgiveness in his voice. "I know."

We stand there, the wind howling around us, the ocean raging behind us, and for the first time in five years, I let myself believe that maybe we can survive this.

"What happens now?" I ask, wanting to know what we are doing with us…or is this it?

Chris's thumb traces my cheekbone, I see the conflict, the pain, the love hiding in the depths of his eyes. That same constant war waging in his mind. I can tell it was wearing him down. "I don't know," he admits. "But we'll figure it out."

After a moment we kept walking, then gradually, we began to talk. About the past, about the things we lost, about the people we've become. The fear, regret, and the impossible weight of loving someone you're supposed to hate. It's not easy. Some of it hurts so much I can barely breathe.

As we walked I could see this quiet vulnerability in the depths of his eyes whenever I looked over at him. Whatever was running through his mind was making his body tense again, that easiness was gone. “What’s going on in that mind mind of yours?” I asked softly, my fingers moving to lace through his. Chris didn't answer right away so I pressed on, “You forget..we still know one another really well. I can see it—that thing eating you alive. I can see it.”

Chris’s voice drops like he’s scared the ocean might overhear. “I’m… I’m trying not to show it,” he admits, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the grey water like it’s the only thing keeping him steady. “But inside I’m losing my mind, Y/n. With you—” he swallows, and the sound is rough, almost embarrassed by how much he feels. “I want you safe, I want you mine, and I hate that those two things don’t always look the same. And with the guys… I keep waiting for the moment they decide I’ve finally gone too far. Like they’ll look at me and see I’m choosing you and they’ll walk. Even after everything I’ve done for them, even after everything we’ve bled through together.”

He finally turns to me then, and there’s something raw in his face, like the truth is scraping him open. “But I realized something today,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “Even if they did leave… it still wouldn’t be enough to make me give you up. I can’t. I won’t.” My throat tightens, and I step closer until my shoulder brushes his arm, grounding him.

“They’re not leaving you,” I tell him, steady as I can be, because I can feel how hard he’s shaking under his skin. “They love you too much to do that—even Hyunjin. They might be pissed, yeah, they might say shit they don’t mean, but they’re not going to abandon the one person who dragged them out of the mud when nobody else would. You’ve all survived too much together for them to turn their backs on you now.”

This seemed to settle the chaos under his skin just a little, but I could still see it in his eyes. We kept talking as we circle back toward the house. By then something had shifted between us. Something fundamental and irreversible. We're not the same people we were five years ago. But just maybe we can be something new.

Not wanting to go back to my cage of a room end up in the gym with Chris. He mentions needing to grab something, and I follow him without thinking. The space is all dark wood and mirrors, weights and punching bags and mats covering the floor. It smells like sweat, leather, and something distinctly masculine.

But then I notice it—a literal armory on the other side of the gym. A gun case full of black weapons. A wall full of sharp, glinting knives, and a few other things that look dangerous but I have no clue what they are.

My feet move before my brain catches up. One step, then another, drawn toward the weapons like a moth to flame. The curiosity is almost magnetic, pulling me across the gym floor. My footsteps echo softly against the mats, and I'm very aware of Chris's presence somewhere behind me. I can feel his attention shift, tracking my movement.

The gun case is cold under my fingertips when I reach it. The glass is smooth and pristine. Through it, I can see the weapons arranged with military precision. Black metal, sleek, deadly, and something about it was a bit sexy to me. I've never held a gun before. Never really wanted to, but standing here, looking at them, something stirs in my chest. Power. Control. The ability to protect myself instead of always being protected…or imprisoned.

I move along the wall of knives next, my eyes tracing the different blades. Some are small and delicate, others are massive and brutal. I reach out, my hand hovering over one of the larger ones, imagining the weight of it in my palm. The balance. The potential.

Behind me, I hear Chris moving, gathering his things from the gym. His presence is palpable even from across the room, and I can feel his gaze tracking my every movement. He's watching me intently, cataloging my interest in the weapons with that sharp, analytical focus that never quite turns off. I can feel it, his gaze burning against my back.

I turn slowly, and our eyes meet across the gym. The air between us crackles with something electric. His expression is unreadable, but there's a question in his eyes. A challenge, maybe. Or a warning.

"You know," I say, trying to sound casual as I step away from the weapons, "you could teach me."

He pauses mid-movement. "Teach you what?"

"To fight." I step closer, a playful smile tugging at my lips. "You said I could learn to defend myself. Might as well start now."

Amusement flickers across his face, before he lets out a soft chuckle. That little laugh he use to do indicating he thought I was joking. "You want to learn to fight?"

"I want to be ready." I meet his eyes, and the playfulness fades into something more serious. "For when I go back."

The temperature in the room drops. Chris turns fully to face me, the bright smile on his face fading almost instantly. "You're not going back."

"Yes, I am." I cross my arms, feeling my spine straighten with defiance. "I need to help take him down, Chris. Not just for you. For me. For everything he's done—"

"No." His voice is flat, absolute. "You're not going anywhere near him."

"You don't get to decide that. Not anymore." Anger flares hot in my chest. "This is my fight too. He's my father. He used me, manipulated me, destroyed everything I—"

"And you think I'm going to let you walk back into that?" Chris takes a step toward me, his eyes blazing. "You think I'm going to send you back to him so he can use you again? So he can hurt you?"

"I'm not asking for your permission!" My voice rises, echoing off the walls. "I'm telling you. I'm going back. I'm going to help you destroy him, and you can't stop me."

"The fuck I can't." He's in front of me now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Chris’s face is growing red with annoyance. "You're not going back, Y/n. You forget I run things around here. Just because you’re by my side now doesn't change that. End of discussion."

"This isn't your decision to make!" I shove at his chest, and it's like pushing against a wall. "You don't own me, Chris. As much as you’d like to, you don—"

"I'm trying to protect you!" His voice raises louder than I’ve ever heard it before. It cracks, raw with a desperation he has kept to himself. "Don't you understand that? I can't lose you again. I can't send you back there knowing what he'll do if he finds out you've been helping us."

"Then don't send me back as a spy." I'm breathing hard now, my heart pounding. "Send me back as a weapon. Teach me to fight. Teach me to be dangerous. Let me be part of this instead of just a tool you use and discard."

"You're not a tool." Chris looks at me, his dark eyes turning soft at those words.

"Then stop treating me like one!" The words explode out of me, years of frustration, pain, and helplessness pouring out all at once. "Stop deciding what's best for me without asking what I want. I want to take him down, Chris. I want to make him pay for everything he's done. To you. To us. To me."

Chris stares at me, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. I can see the war raging behind his eyes, the need to protect me battling against the understanding that I'm right. That this is my fight too.

"You don't know what you're asking," he says, his voice low and dangerous.

"Yes, I do. I want to be your equal, the queen next to you" I step closer, closing the distance between us until we're almost touching. "I know exactly what I'm asking. And I'm not afraid.”

"You should be." His hand comes up, fingers wrapping around my throat—not squeezing, just holding, possessive and threatening and intimate all at once. "You should be fucking terrified."

I look up at him, "I want to be your equal, not the little girl standing behind you."

Something snaps. I see it in his eyes, the moment his control breaks, the moment the anger and fear and desperate need collide into something explosive. Chris pulls me or him by my throat and his mouth crashes against mine, brutal and claiming, and I kiss him back just as fiercely. My hands fist in his hair, pulling hard, and he groans against my lips.

He walks me backward until my back hits the wall, the impact stealing my breath. His hands are everywhere, gripping my hips, sliding under my shirt, rough and demanding. I arch into him, needing more, needing everything.

"You're so fucking stubborn," he growls against my neck, his teeth scraping over my pulse point.

"And you're so fucking controlling," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and wild. "Tell me to stop."

"Never." I say it back breathlessly.

His hands move to my pants, yanking at the waist band with rough urgency. I do the same to his, our movements frantic and desperate. We don't bother fully undressing, there's no time, no patience. He shoves my sweatpants and underwear down just enough, and I kick them off one leg, my hands already working his zipper.

When he lifts me, my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. The wall is cold against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against mine. He positions himself right where he needs to be, and then he's pushing inside me, slow and deep and devastating.

I gasp loudly, my head falling back against the wall, my mouth open. He's so deep like this, filling me completely, stretching me in a way that's almost too much. His forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel so god damn good, Y/n"

He doesn't finish. Just starts to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, hard and deliberate. The angle is perfect, hitting something inside me that makes my vision blur. I tighten my legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he groans.

"Chris—" His name is a curse on my lips. Something dirty I would only say in the dark, beneath my sheets.

His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my moans as he sets a rhythm that's both agonizingly slow and brutally intense. Each thrust is deep, purposeful, claiming. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, holding me in place as he fucks me against the wall.

I can feel everything…the stretch and burn of him inside me, the rough fabric of his pants against my inner thighs, the cool wall at my back, the heat of his breath on my neck. The sounds we're making fill the room, skin against skin, harsh breathing, broken moans and whispered curses.

"You drive me fucking insane," he growls against my ear, his hips snapping forward harder. "You know that?"

"Good," I gasp, my nails raking down his back. "You deserve it."

He laughs…actually laughs…dark and breathless, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing over my collarbone, tongue soothing the sting. Every touch is possessive, claiming, like he's trying to mark me as his in every way possible.

The tension coils tighter in my core, building with each deep thrust. I'm close and he knows it. He can feel it in the way I'm clenching around him, in the way my breathing has gone ragged and desperate.

"That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice rough and strained. "Cum for me, baby.” I clench my walls as tight as I can around him just to torture him a little. Chris lets out a deep moan that echo’s off the empty walls of the gym, “Fucking hell."

His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit. His callused fingers begin to rub smooth circles over my most sensitive area. “I love how wet you are for me. Only me.” and that's all it takes. I shatter, crying out his name as the orgasm crashes through me in waves. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps fucking me through it, prolonging the pleasure until I'm trembling and gasping.

"Chris, please..” I whimper against his swollen lips.

"Be my good girl,” His voice is commanding, absolute. "Give me another one."

And impossibly, I do. The second orgasm hits even harder, stealing my breath, making my vision go white. I feel him tense, his rhythm faltering, and then he's coming too, burying himself deep as he groans my name against my neck and then the words I never thought I would hear him say slips out of his mouth, "I love you."

I can barely hear it, but it's there…

We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, trembling, holding onto each other like we're afraid to let go. Slowly, he lowers me back to the ground, but his hands stay on my waist, steadying me. My legs are shaky, barely able to support my weight.

Chris's forehead rests against mine, his eyes closed, his breathing still uneven. One hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

"You're killing me," he whispers, and there's so much in those three words. Frustration, affection, fear and resignation all tangled together.

I look up at him, my own breathing still ragged, and I see the conflict written all over his face. The war between wanting to protect me and understanding that I need this. That I need to be part of taking down my father, not just for Chris, but for myself.

"I will be going back to help," I say quietly, firmly. "I don't care how, but I want to help take him down."

For a long moment, he just stares at me. I can see him fighting it, see him wanting to argue, to refuse, to lock me away somewhere safe where I can't get hurt. But he also sees the determination in my eyes. The resolve.

Finally, he nods.

It's barely a movement, just a slight dip of his chin, but it's enough. It's acknowledgment. It's him letting me have agency in my own life, even though it terrifies him.

He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me, holding me against his chest like he's trying to absorb me into his skin. His lips press against my temple, and I feel him exhale shakily.

"You're killing me," he says again, softer this time. Almost broken.

I wrap my arms around him, holding him just as tightly. "I know."

And in that moment, pressed against each other in the aftermath of anger, passion, and desperate need, I understand something fundamental…this is what love looks like when it's been shattered and its being slowly pieced back together. It's messy, complicated,and painful. But it's real.

We're still tangled together against the wall, as we both try to catch our breath. The gym smells like sweat and sex. My sweatpants are somewhere on the floor to the side of us, my shirt pushed up over my breasts, Chris's hands still gripping my thighs like he can't quite let go yet.

His breathing is slower yet, still a bit ragged against my neck, warm puffs of air that make my skin tingle. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. We're suspended in this moment, this fragile bubble of intimacy that feels too raw, too exposed…

The gym door swings open.

"Hey, Chris, I was thinking we could—oh fuck—"

Jisung's voice cuts off abruptly, strangled and high-pitched. My entire body goes rigid. Chris's grip on me tightens reflexively, and I feel him tense, his muscles turning to stone beneath my hands.

Time seems to freeze. I can't see Jisung from this angle, Chris's body is blocking my view…but I can hear him. The sharp intake of breath. The shuffle of feet as he presumably stops dead in his tracks. The mortified silence that follows.

"Shit," Jisung stammers, his voice cracking. "I…fuck…I'm sorry, I didn't…I'll just…"

I hear him spin around so fast he probably gave himself whiplash, his footsteps stumbling toward the door. My face is absolutely burning with humiliation. I bury my face against Chris's shoulder, wishing I could disappear into the wall behind me.

Chris moves immediately, his protective instincts overriding everything else. He shifts his body to shield me completely from view, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, pressing my face firmly against his neck. His other arm wraps around my waist as he moves carefully keeping himself between me and the door where Jisung disappeared behind.

My legs are shaking as I immediately drop into a crouch, frantically reaching for my sweatpants. My hands are trembling as I grab them from where they're crumpled near the weight bench. I can hear Jisung in the hallway, hopefully still facing away, and the sound of him clearing his throat awkwardly makes me want to die.

I yank my sweatpants on as quickly as possible, nearly falling over in my haste. Chris is adjusting himself, zipping his pants back up, tucking his shirt back in, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His jaw is clenched tight, but I catch the faintest flicker of embarrassment, though he'd never admit it.

When I'm finally decent, Chris takes my hand, his grip firm and possessive. We move toward the door together, and I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, unable to look at Jisung even though I can see him in my peripheral vision as we draw near.

We begin to pass by but Chris stops. Jisung is standing there, his back still turned, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. His neck is flushed bright red, the color creeping up to his ears. He's staring intently at the wall like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

Chris doesn't let go of my hand. Instead, he turns to face Jisung fully, and I feel the shift in his energy, from protective to predatory in an instant.

Jisung must sense it too, because he immediately blurts out, "I saw nothing." He clears his throat again, the sound strangled and uncomfortable. His eyes dart to the side, to the ceiling, to literally anywhere that isn't us. "Absolutely nothing. I wasn't even here. I don't even know what a gym is."

The corner of Chris's mouth twitches…not quite a smile, but close. His voice, when he speaks, is dark and smooth, laced with threat but somehow edged with dry humor. "Good." He pauses, letting the word hang in the air. "I would hate to have to gouge your eyes out."

Jisung's eyes widen, and he nods frantically, still refusing to look at us. "Yep. Understood. Crystal clear. Eyes? What eyes? I'm basically blind."

Chris tugs me forward, and we start walking down the hallway. I can feel Jisung's mortification radiating behind us like a physical force. As we turn the corner, I glance back just once and see him still standing there, one hand covering his face, his entire body rigid with embarrassment.

Despite everything…despite the humiliation still burning in my cheeks…I feel the tiniest smile tug at my lips.

Chris catches it and squeezes my hand. "Not a word," he mutters, but there's no real heat in it.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I whisper back.

Behind us, I hear Jisung finally move, his footsteps retreating rapidly in the opposite direction, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Copyright: do not copy, translate, repost, or edit my work in any way. If you do, I will publicly call out the violation and pursue legal action, including a DMCA takedown and cease and desist letter.

Please keep in mind that…

All pictures used belong to their rightful owners (e.g., Pinterest and RealStrayKids).

I do not condone any inappropriate attractions, actions, or thoughts towards Stray Kids in real life. This is purely fiction and is not true.

Anything written about these men is entirely fictional. It does not reflect how they act, react, or talk in real life, nor is it meant to portray them that way. Nothing written here suggests they do, say, or act these ways.

Any necessary warnings will be labeled accordingly. If anything is missed, please let me know.