Summary:
Baldwin Montclair has his hands full with an international investment empire to manage, the de Clermont legacy to uphold, and a notorious family of vampires intent on driving him crazy. The last thing he needs is to begin lusting after one of his human employees, no matter how clever and charming she might be.
American expat Miranda Reynolds is a rising star at preeminent London investment firm Montclair Wealth Management. Driven to succeed, the only inconvenience is her growing attraction to her intimidating, enigmatic boss.
When events unfold that force Baldwin to reveal the truth of other species to Miranda, the invisible barriers separating them fall and 2000-year-old Baldwin decides to give 21st century dating a try.
But is undeniable chemistry enough to conquer workplace complications, interspecies challenges, the perils of creature society, and an ancient vampire’s lifetime worth of secrets?
Want more? Here's a sneak peek snippet of these two further along in their relationship: A Discovery for Baldwin
What was Baldwin doing in the late '70s? Hanging around Studio 54: Saturday Night Fever
the legally blonde mentality isnt just for law students. u can bring that attitude with you into every field of work. be the whimsical force of positive change. wear that neon outfit. snaps for us all.
this post was inspired by my boss telling me she couldnt "take me seriously" in a pair of dinosaur print overalls. sorry i have two degrees and a dope wardrobe. you dont need to take me seriously but You Will Take Me.
Summary: When your relationship with Chan gets leaked, suddenly the world comes crashing in and there's no where to hide.
Content: hurt/comfort, angst, icky stalker fans behavior, some pretty mean comments, insecurities, lowkey scared for your safety breakdown moment, distressed and angry Chan, company not being helpful as usual, tried to throw in some nice stays cuz I would hope not all of us suck, silly moment with the boys
A/N: So idk what it is with me and Bangchan and getting mobbed by fans. Or I guess all of SKZ for that matter. Idk guess I just like the feeling of being protected. Anywaaaay, if the boys ever do end up in relationships, please for the love of all that is good and holy, don't be terrible stalker people. Leave them alone and let them be happy. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.
As you grab your bag and head out the door, you send Chan your usual good morning text.
You: Morning! Off to work. Have a good day at the studio 😘
Channie: Have a good day at work, love ❤️
You look at his response with a contented smile. You’ve been dating for almost a year now and you couldn’t be happier. You were worried at first with all the sneaking around and hush-hush about it, but as you’ve settled into this lifestyle, you find it nice. It’s like you and Chan have your own little bubble, untouchable by the stressors of the world. As you walk out of your apartment, heels clicking on the floor, coffee in hand, you hear something odd. Something that sounds like a mob of people. You walk to the nearest window and almost drop your coffee. A crowd stands outside your apartment building. Photographers, fans, people yelling and holding signs that range from “Please tell Bangchan I love him!” to “Go to hell, gold digger!” You are impressed with their coordination. They stand out of the way of cars, along the sidewalk, keeping fairly quiet, so as to not cause too much trouble. That is, until the apartment building door opens. The crowd rushes forward with cameras at the ready. They push past each other, trying to see who it is. When they see it’s some random guy, there is a collective sigh and they move out of the way.
Your heart stops. Who are these people and how did they find where you live? Surely they aren’t here for you…
You audibly sigh, knowing that is a stupid thought. Unless there is some other girlfriend of some other famous Bangchan in this building, they could only be looking for you. You scan the crowd, looking for your car. Of course. They were directly between you and your car. Maybe they don’t know what you look like. Maybe you could smile and wave and they would move out of the way for you…
You pace back and forth, pinching the bridge of your nose. What are you going to do? You check your watch, “Shit.” You’re going to be late for work at this rate. Glancing between your apartment and the crowd, you make your decision.
—
As you climb down the fire escape, you start to regret your decision. You had to leave your coffee behind and take your heels off in order to shimmy down the ladder. Finally reaching the bottom, you land in a pile of trash. Some rats squeak and run away as if offended by your intrusion. You drag yourself up, slipping your shoes back on. “Great, now I’m late, uncaffinated, and smell like trash.” You brush yourself off and quickly but cautiously make your way to the bus stop.
Climbing into the packed bus, you reach for your phone to text Chan, but your hand hesitates. You aren’t sure who those people are or how they got your information, but now you feel on edge, like everyone is watching you. You decide it’s for the best to not text right now. You don’t want to get caught and accidentally cause him trouble, well more trouble than you probably already have. Plus, his company is on top of things, so they probably figured it out and have it handled. Chan is busy with work, trying to finish up for the holidays and you would hate to stress him unnecessarily. If you text him about this, you know he would drop everything to come see you at work, even if it’s just to ask how you are. You feel a small smile spread across your lips at the thought.
The bus screeches to a stop and you pile out with the rest of the passengers. You take a deep breath in, the cold winter air filling your lungs, and make your way towards work. Your boss is already going to be pissed at you for being late, let’s not add any unneeded stress right now. You can deal with this problem later.
—
Later has arrived and you aren’t sure you’re ready. You step off the bus and stare up at your apartment building looming over you. Curse being on the 4th floor. If you were on the first floor, you could just climb in the window. Alas, you have to find another way in. The fire escape is far too high for you to reach and you aren’t sure the rats will let you back over there again. You inhale deep, tuck your head down and walk towards the front of the building. Surely they haven’t been here all day. As you round the corner to see the mob (albeit slightly smaller) still there, you quickly hide behind the wall.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” You mutter to no one. That’s when you get hit with an idea. A risky one, but maybe your only option.
You pull your hat lower and pull your scarf to cover your mouth and nose. You’ve never been more glad for freezing weather. Hopefully, it won’t look too suspicious to walk in like this. You wait until someone comes out of your building. As the crowd surges forward, you join the lump and push to the front. While all their attention is focused on whoever is coming out the door, you slip inside and book it for the stairs. You make a note to give your elderly neighbor, Mr. Hintachi, some thank you cookies later, even if he doesn’t know what he did.
You quickly slam and lock your apartment door, your chest heaving from running up four flights of stairs with heels on. Your bag slips off your shoulder making a loud thud against your wooden floor. You kick off your shoes, not even caring about putting them away. Looking around your apartment, it suddenly feels too open, like there is no place to hide. The air feels heavy and static, like the calm before the storm. You heave a sigh, picking up your things to go to your room. You shower and change into some comfortable clothes, resigning yourself to the couch. You pull out your phone to call Chan to let him know what’s going on, but you get distracted. People are blowing up your phone. You open your social media to see hundreds of notifications. All over your feed is a blurry picture of two people laughing together over coffee. You remember that moment. That was a few days ago when you and Chan went to grab coffee while on lunch break. You have done so before and he always does his best to disguise himself. You are careful to not order together (although he ends up paying you back for it every time) and to not hold hands. But someone recognized him and shot a blurry picture that has broken the internet. You open the comments to see thousands of fans spiraling through theories, asking for your name, and bashing you without even knowing who you are. You open your notifications to see hundreds of people tagging you on these posts. Somehow they figured out who you are and found your username. Now every post has it pinned in the comments. Your inbox is filled with message requests. You know you shouldn’t look through them, but you can’t help yourself. Fans are messaging you. Some are very sweet, wishing you the best and asking how you are. But most of them are people bombarding you with hate.
“You’re just doing it for the clout.”
“Go back to wherever you came from whore.”
“Our Channie deserves better than you.”
And those are the mild ones.
As you spiral deeper into this hole, you find more pictures. People posting pictures of you just walking around, the comments flinging hate. Videos of people explaining why you are ugly or are ‘only in it for the fame’ and how Chan deserves better. There are even posts where people have edited you into them, making it look like you were places you never actually were. Your heart stops when you come across a recent post. It’s a picture of you, on the bus, today. You feel your breathing getting shallow, pulling your knees closer to your chest. Suddenly you feel like you’re being swallowed by your apartment. There is too much space. Too many eyes. Too many ways for people to see into your life.
As worried as you feel, it isn’t until you see comments about Chan that you finally break. People have started ruining his reputation too. Posts and comments keeping saying things like, “I never liked him anyways. Maybe this scandal will finally get rid of him,” or “Guess he isn’t good enough to get anyone better than a gold digger.” People hating on you may be hard, but you could handle it. But people trying to tear down Chan and Stray Kids is what gets you. You close social media, deciding you’ve had enough when a message from your friend pops up. She sends you a blog article asking if it’s you in the pictures. Against your better judgement you read the article. It is a post talking about you and your personal life. Where you work, where you’re from, and all the reasons you aren’t good enough for Chan. You practically slam your phone down, deciding turning it off completely is the only way to get yourself to stop reading everything. Tears are streaming down your face, your breath shallow. You feel like the world is pressing in on you. You frantically get up and close all your curtains, double checking that windows are locked. You double check the lock on your front door and balcony door. You shut off all the lights and retreat into your room, shutting the door behind you. It feels like there are a thousand eyes watching you, waiting for you to emerge, just so they can tear you down. You hear the faint sound of sirens. Likely the police finally coming to kick these people out, but you couldn’t care less. You hide under your blanket, pressing a pillow over your head as if that will drown out the noise of the world. Curled up into a ball, making yourself as small as you feel, you hide away in the dark. Maybe if you stay here long enough the noise will go away. Maybe they will all forget and leave you alone.
Or maybe Chan will realize how much trouble it is being with you. Maybe this will be the breaking point and he will decide he has had enough. The confidence you had this morning in your relationship is shattered by the crushing weight of the comments. You don’t doubt that Chan loves you nor do you think comments will suddenly change his mind. Rather, you spiral thinking about all the ways being in a relationship with you is going to ruin his career, ruin the group…ruin him. You can’t do that to him. You can’t be the reason his world falls apart. So maybe, just maybe, if you hide away long enough, he won’t have a choice but to forget about you and his world will stay intact.
—
Chan sits in the studio, staring at his laptop under the low lights. He runs a tired hand over his face. It feels like he has been in here forever. But he is determined to get everything done before the holiday break so that he can give you his undivided attention. He checks the time and sighs: 5:12pm. He wanted to be done at a reasonable time today so that he could go have dinner with you, but it seems like work has a different plan. He moves to pick up his phone to text you when Han, Felix, and Hyunjin burst through the door behind him. He whips around in his chair, confused. The three boys are bent over trying to catch their breath. They start talking over each other, their rambling hard to understand.
Chan cuts them off, “Oi, slow down. One of you at a time please.”
Han starts, “We were making videos for tiktok and stuff right and we went to go upload it when the feed it was filled with pictures and videos and all this stuff and it’s bad.” His rambling is cut off by Felix, “It’s not just tiktok. It’s everywhere. The internet, Instagram. Even Facebook!”
Hyunjin continues the ramble train, “We know you’ve been in here most of the day so you probably haven’t seen anything but you gotta do something!”
Chan stares at them confused, “What?”
That’s when the rest of the boys show up. Lee Know hits all three of them. “Pabos! You didn’t even say what was wrong.”
“Don’t hit us!”
“At least we cared enough to run.”
“Yeah, I didn’t see you rushing over to do anything.”
They start bickering, forgetting all about Chan who still has no idea what’s going on.
“Hey!” Chan raises his voice over the noise, “Will someone tell me what’s wrong?!”
“It’s Y/N!” They yell in unison.
Chan is immediately on his feet, “What? Where is she? Is she okay? What happened?” His mind starts running through all the possible answers. He grabs his phone to see a bunch of notifications. Social medias blowing up, blog articles, texts, but nothing from you. “What the hell is going on!” His voice is strained, desperate.
Seungmin finally explains everything to him. The pictures, the comments, how they know your apartment building and they are worried your unit number will be next. Chan goes white, his brain static. What picture? He’s been so careful. You rarely go out in public and when you do, you are so careful to not be obvious. He keeps himself from holding your hand or calling you nicknames. He doesn’t kiss you goodbye or say that he loves you in fear of this exact thing. When the boys finally show him the picture, his blood starts to boil, “That’s not even clear! That is a blurry picture. How the hell did they get information off of that?! We’re just getting coffee. What, I can’t get coffee now?!” He explodes, unable to fathom how people can be so cruel. The boys try to keep him from seeing more posts or reading comments, but he beats them to it.
“She’s such a whore.”
“She’s not even that pretty.”
“Why would he ever like someone like her. She’s a nobody.”
His grip tightens on Hans phone as he reads through all the heinous things people are saying about you.
“Hey, you’re gonna break my phone.” Han squeaks, trying to pry it out of Bangchan’s hands.
It’s when he see’s a picture of your apartment building that he finally cracks. His vision tunnels, all his anger suddenly laser focused. He shoves Hans phone back in his hands before moving to grab his stuff. He shoves everything into his bag, not even caring that it’s unable to zip up. He turns to leave, but the boys are blocking the doorway. “Move.” His voice is low, calm but angry. Felix, Han, and I.N. shrink back from his anger.
Seungmin steps forward, “Hyung, you can’t leave right now.”
“I have to go see her.”
“There are fans flooding the street. You can’t even get out of the building.”
“I’ll go out the back. Now get out of my way.”
Lee Know speaks up, “He’s right. I doubt the company will let you leave anyway.”
“To hell with the company!” His voice is laced with venom, “I need to see Y/N.”
“It’s not safe!” I.N. pipes up, gaining some courage back.
“What, so I’m supposed to stay safe, locked up in here while she is thrown to the wolves? That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard!” His tone is sharp with anger.
“I-I’m sorry.” I.N.’s voice is small, the little confidence he had shattered.
“Hey! Don’t talk to him like that.” Changbin steps forward, putting a hand on Chans shoulder, “Hyung, look. I know you are angry and scared, but you can’t lose your head right now. I know you want to help her. Trust me, we do too. She may be your girlfriend, but she is our friend too. You can go out there and storm past all the fans to her apartment, leading them all there and fan the flames. Or you can stop and gain some composure. Talk with the company and see how they plan to handle this.”
Something about Changbin’s steady presence breaks Chan. His eyes go glassy, “But what about Y/N? She’s all alone out there. I just want to help her.”
“I know you do, but right now that looks like damage control. We need to clear things up and get this under control before giving them more things to say about her.”
Chan looks into Changbin’s eyes and gives him a small, understanding nod. Tears start streaming down his face, “Can-can I try calling her?”
Changbin looks at the others for support. Lee Know nods, “Unless there is some genius hacker wiretapped into your phone, that should be fine.”
Chan sets his bag down and grabs his phone. He pulls up your contact: no messages, no calls, radio silence. He sighs, pressing the call button. It rings…and rings…no answer. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing now. He tries again, the boys watching him with desperation. No answer. Three times he calls you with no answer. He frantically starts texting you.
Baby?
Baby are you okay?
I’ve seen the posts. Don’t listen to them.
Please answer the phone.
I love you.
Baby please answer me.
I need to know you’re okay.
Love? Y/N?
Tears start pouring down his face with every text left unread. Felix hugs him.
Chan starts shaking with sobs, “What if she’s not okay? What if something happened? What-“
“Hey, listen. It’s gonna be okay.” Felix’s deep voice is calm and soothing, “Nothing is going to happen to her. This is Y/N we’re talking about. She can take on thousands of people alone.”
“But she shouldn’t have to. I should be taking them on. I’m supposed to protect her.”
“You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”
Chan is wracked with sobs, hardly able to breathe now when suddenly his phone rings. He immediately scrambles over to answer, almost knocking Felix over. He doesn’t even check the caller ID before answering. “Y/N?!”
“Um, no.” A male voice responds over the phone. Chans face drops as he looks at the caller ID and see’s that it’s their manager. “Look, I assume you’ve seen the posts by now. We need to have a meeting immediately.”
Chan wipes his face, trying to sound professional, “Yes sir. I’m at the company if you want to meet now.”
“That would be perfect.”
—
Chan walks out of the meeting around 8:30PM, his face unreadable. The boys stand up, awaiting the results.
“So?” Hyunjin carefully asks, nervously shifting his weight.
“They want us to not see each other for a few days until they can gain some control.” Chans voice is tight, barely keeping his composure.
“What?!”
“That’s stupid!”
“Let me talk to them!”
Several of them chime over each other.
“Guys, chill.” Lee Know turns to Chan, “What are you going to do about it?”
“They said we’ll talk more when they get it under control, but I kept saying I wasn’t gonna break-“
Lee Know cuts him off, “That’s not what I asked. I asked, what are you going to do about it?”
Chan blinks, confused, “What do you mean? I can’t do anything.”
“Oh really?” Lee Know cocks an eyebrow, “Because you were ready to tear down the whole city just a few hours ago.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Do you want to go see her?”
Chan pinches his nose, “You know I do, but I can’t. Fans are swarming the front and they are sending a car around to the back for us to leave.”
Seungmin smirks, “Do you trust us?”
“What did you do?”
The boys give each other a knowing look. Felix lowers his voice, “We may have come up with a plan while you were in there.”
This should be interesting.
—
This plan was…chaotic to say the least.
Step 1: block the road.
Their brilliant idea is to use the fans to block the drivers exit. How? Hyunjin and Felix “casually” walk around the side of the building while Han pretends to be a fan and yells, “Oh my gosh look over there! It’s Hyunjin and Felix!” Of course the fans go running after them, directly into the road that the driver needs to get out.
Step 2: switch cars.
Now that the road is blocked by fans and security, the car has no where to go. This is when Seungmin knocks on the car window.
“They’ve got another car. Quick, let’s go!” He pulls Chan out of the back and shoves him in a different company car. This car, however, is being driven by Lee Know with I.N. in the backseat.
Step 3: Get to Y/N’s apartment.
While the rest of the boys divert staffs attention, Lee Know, I.N. and Bangchan make their escape.
Han gives a salute as they drive off before being dragged back inside by concerned staff.
—
They pull up to your apartment, the streetlights making the snow on the ground glitter. It’s quiet outside your building, thank goodness. I.N. hands Chan a hat, glasses, coat, and mask.
“Thanks guys. I really appreciate the help.” Chan turns to I.N. “And I’m sorry for how I spoke earlier. You didn’t deserve that.”
I.N. gives him that signature dimple smile, “It’s okay, hyung. You were upset so I understand.”
“I know, but still-“
“Ya! Do you want to see Y/N or not?” Lee Know scolds through the rear view mirror.
“Right,” Chan steps out of the car giving one last thanks to the boys.
“It’ll be okay! You’ve got this.” I.N. encourages.
“Don’t screw it up.” Lee Know encourages in his own way.
Chan races up the stairs praying that you are okay.
He knocks once, twice. No answer. He pulls out the spare key you gave him and gently opens the door. “Baby?” His voice is soft as he peaks in. Silence. “Y/N? Are you here?” He calls, slipping off his shoes. No answer. Your keys are here so clearly you are here somewhere. He looks around at your apartment. A place that is usually welcoming and warm, lit with soft light feels cold and empty. All the curtains are closed and lights are off. Every possible entrance or window is blocked in some way. His heart breaks realizing that you were trying to shut out the world, get rid of the prying eyes. He should have been here. He should have come immediately. Before he can spiral, he see’s your phone sitting on the coffee table. He walks over and picks it up. You turned it off, understandably.
He sets it back down and wanders down the hallway, the silence feeling heavier as he goes. He notices your bedroom door is closed and gently knocks, “Baby?” His voice is tiny. After a second, he slowly opens the door and the sight before him is crushing.
Your room is completely dark while you sit curled up under your blanket, a pillow pressed over your head. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been like this, time blurring in the darkness. It’s been long enough that you can’t physically cry anymore. Once your body ran out of tears, it resigned to profusely shaking with shallow breathing. You are exhausted, your whole body aching, but you can’t even close your eyes. If you do, you fear all the prying eyes will finally break through. So you’ve kept them open, staring into blackness for hours. Your room is so quiet that you can hear your own rapid heartbeat.
Suddenly you hear soft footsteps in your room. You stiffen, terrified. Who got in? How did they get in? You should have locked that door. You don’t have your phone so you can’t call the police. You feel the weight of a hand on your shoulder and immediately shoot out of bed, falling on the floor. You quickly grab the nearest thing (it happened to be your heels from this morning) and scramble to turn around.
“Y/N?”
You look up with wild, bloodshot eyes. Your ears recognize the voice before your vision can catch up. “Chan?” Your voice is broken and hoarse, barely audible from the hours of crying. Bangchan’s heart shatters at the sound of his name. Your voice shaky, laced with fear and desperation. “Channie, is that you?” You feel like you are hallucinating. Did you finally fall asleep and now your mind is playing a cruel trick on you?
Chan carefully steps over to you, “Yes, baby, it’s me.” He kneels down in front of you and reaches for your hand. You flinch, making his heart break, the fear and exhaustion radiating off of you. He tries again for your hand, this time you don’t move away. As soon as you feel his warmth against your skin, you collapse. He swiftly catches you, scooping you into his arms. You start sobbing, your body somehow finding enough water to make tears. Your whole body shakes in his arms as heart wrenching cries fill the room. Chan holds you tight against him as if his hold is the only thing keeping you together. Tears start pouring down his face, “Shh, baby. I’ve got you. I’m here now.” His voice is soft and comforting, touching the inner most parts of you. One hand gently strokes your hair while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. Your face is pressed into his chest; your knuckles white from gripping his shirt.
“They know-they know where I-I live-“ You choke out through the tears, hyperventilating.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hold on you tightens as his tears soak into your hair.
“I-I’m scared.”
“Shhh, I’m here now. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m not going to let anyone touch you.” His voice is laced with tears and determination. You know he means it and that starts to shine a little bit of light into the darkness.
You sit there in the dark, holding each other on the bedroom floor. Time fades into the background as your tears mix together. Eventually your body gives out and your sobs turn into weak whimpers. You’re still shaking with exhaustion, but some of the tension has released.
Chan carefully speaks, his voice barely a whisper, “Baby?”
You just press against him tighter in response.
“Can we move onto the bed?”
You give a small nod and Chan very gently adjusts his hold on you. He lifts you up into his arms and carefully sits on the bed. Your grip never loosens on him. He slowly adjusts so that you are lying down with your head on his chest, pressed close to his body. He pulls the blanket up to cover you, wrapping you both in a small cocoon. His hand moves back to gently stroking your hair. Slowly your breathing syncs with his, your heartbeat slowing to a regular pace. You feel the exhaustion hit you like a truck and your eyes start to feel heavy. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep in Chans comforting hold.
—
You pry your swollen eyes open feeling the deep ache in your bones. You look over to see the spot next to you empty. You immediately start to panic, head shooting up to look around, “Chan? Chan?!” Your voice is desperate. Was it all a dream? Is your mind really that cruel to you?
Chan quickly runs in, his eyes wide with concern, “Hey, it’s okay! I’m still here.” He climbs onto the bed, pulling you into his lap. You immediately latch onto him, your heartbeat slowly relaxing against him. “You’re okay baby. I’ve got you.” He kisses the top of your head, lightly rocking you back and forth.
You press your face into his chest, “I’m sorry.”
Chan immediately pulls back to look at you in the eyes, “Hey, no. You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
“I just woke up and you weren’t there and I thought,” You feel the tears prick at your eyes, “I thought it was all a dream and you weren’t actually here.”
He gently wipes the tears from your eyes, “I’m sorry, love. I was just going to get you some food and water. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He pulls you back into his chest. “You’ve used up a lot of energy, so you need some nutrients. Is it okay if I go grab you some food and water?”
You know you should say yes, but you can’t bring yourself to let go of him. The thought of letting him go even for a second makes the anxiety grip your chest. “I-I really don’t want you to let go.”
Chan feels his heart squeeze at the sound of your small voice, “Okay, then can I take you with me? Is that okay?”
You give a small nod expecting him to set you down. Instead he picks you up, so that you are straddling his waist. Your face is pressed into his shoulder while your hands wrap around his neck. He carries you effortlessly to the kitchen and grabs a plate of food and glass of water without ever setting you down. He walks back into your room and, setting the food and water on your bedside table, he settles back onto your bed. He gently moves your head to look at him. His heart breaks as the effects of yesterday are written all over your face. Your swollen, bloodshot eyes sag with exhaustion. Your face is pale and tear stained. He gently presses a kiss to your lips, the taste of salt lingering from your tears. “You’re dehydrated from crying. I need you to drink some water for me, yeah?” His Aussie accent thickens with care. You nod, not having much strength to speak. He gently brings the cup to your lips and helps you drink some water. “There you go. Good job.”
He helps you drink more water and eat a little bit of food, although you can’t stomach much. His attentiveness and gentle touch slowly puts you back together. You spend most of the day sleeping in his arms. It isn’t until later that night that you finally have enough strength to talk.
“Channie.” Your voice is hoarse, but Chan smiles nonetheless. He’s just glad you have enough strength to talk.
“Yes, baby?”
“I’m sorry.”
His smile drops. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I caused all these problems and you had to spend all night with me.”
He gently tilts your face to look at him, “Don’t say that. This is not your fault. And I can’t imagine being anywhere else than by your side.” His voice is firm, but gentle.
“But now everyone hates you…because of me.”
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks. As long as you love me, that’s all that matters.”
“But your career. Everything you’ve worked for. The boys…” your voice breaks at the thought of hurting them with all of this.
“Hey, listen.” He leans his forehead on yours, “This has nothing to do with you. This entire thing is because of stupid people being horrible and jealous. They are rude and hide behind anonymity to hide their insecurities. It’s not your fault. You are my whole world. My career, the fans, it all means nothing without you. You didn’t ruin anything or hurt anyone.”
“You shouldn’t call STAY stupid.”
“Anyone who hurts you is not a STAY because to hurt you is to hurt me and if they were truly STAY’s, they wouldn’t do that.”
Your chest tightens at his confession. You lean in to kiss him, all your fears and worries releasing. He pulls you closer deepening the kiss. You breathe each other in, all of the hurt and fear melting away. You pull back, looking him in the eyes, “What are we going to do?”
He tries to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the slight shake of fear. Yet his eyes hold a sort of determination, a protectiveness that lets you know he won’t go down without a fight. “I’ll figure that out. But first you need to rest and recoup. I’m not doing anything else until you are better.”
“But-“
“But nothing. You are my top priority. Everyone else can wait.”
You melt into him, your confidence from yesterday morning coming back. Because you were right. He did drop everything to make sure you are okay and you know he will every time.
—
It takes a few days for you to finally recuperate. Chan never leaves your apartment. Unless one of you is in the bathroom, you are always connected. Whether holding his hand while he cooks or sleeping next to him in the bed, you are practically glued together.
Chan informs the boys about everything and they promise to cover for him at the studio, although the constant messages from his manager shows they aren’t doing a great job.
You’re sitting on your couch, your head resting on Chans chest when his phone starts ringing for the fifth time today. “Channie.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“You should answer that.” You hand him his phone.
“They can wait.”
“They’ve been waiting for days. At this point, they’re going to send security to come and get you.” You scold him, but he just smiles, glad that your energy is back.
“I dare them to try and take me away from you. Over my dead body.” He tightens his hold on you, causing you to giggle. The sound of you laughing makes his whole soul happy.
“Well, I don’t want you to die, so could you please answer it. For me?” You give him the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster.
He rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face gives him away, “Fine.”
He calls his manager back and ends up in a very long phone conversation. You don’t want to eavesdrop, but it’s hard not to when he’s sitting right next to you. They go back and forth about meetings and how he needs to come back to the company to figure this out. As stubborn as he is, he doesn’t want to totally disrespect his manager. He ends up settling on going back to the company to figure things out and promises to be back by dinner.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He asks for the umpteenth time.
“Yes, I promise.”
“And you will keep the door locked?”
You can’t help laughing at his protectiveness, “Yes.”
“And you will text me if you need anything?”
“Oh my goodness, yes. Now go before they get even more upset with you.” You lightly shove him towards the door. He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. He peppers kisses up your arm until you are in a fit of laughter. “Baby, you need to go.”
He pulls you in for a proper kiss, not silly or playful, but deep and intentional. He pours all his love into it as if it might give you some protective shield. It is a reassurance that he is here and will protect you, no matter what. He pulls back a little to look you in the eyes. “Hey, I’m serious. If you need anything, just call.”
“I will.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He leaves the apartment, pulling on his disguise, even though he’s just walking down stairs to a company car waiting for him. He wants to be extra cautious and that makes your heart flutter. His sincerity and determination to protect you is the reason you can feel okay without him there. You know that he means every word of what he says. He will fight for you, no matter what.
—
Later that day a notification pops up on your phone. You’ve been hesitant to check any social media since this whole thing began, but the notification says ‘Bangchan has started a live.’ You click on the notification, brows knit with confusion. Chan pops up on your screen. You didn’t realize how exhausted he looked until now. In the light of the studio, over the phone, you can see the toll that all of this has taken. You feel a slight ache in your chest knowing that you had something to do with that, but it quickly goes away as his voice comes out of your phone.
“So, as I’m sure you have all noticed, there has been a photo going around.” The comments start going crazy. “I am here to put all of your questions to rest.”
You feel your heart twist a little, that insecurity popping back up, telling you that he is about to say you don’t exist. Which is fine. That’s what you want right? To keep your little bubble intact.
“That picture was of me. I was in that coffee shop that day. As for the person sitting across from me, that is my girlfriend.” Your eyes go wide, not actually expecting him to say it. The comments explode. “She is very important to me and if you are truly a STAY you will treat her as such. Anything harmful you say about her, you are saying about me. I will not tolerate any sort of rude behavior or harassment. I will not hesitate to bring in my lawyers if I need to. So, treat her with the respect she deserves. Because she is beautiful, smart, funny, kind, and my entire world. If you care about me or Stray Kids at all, you will treat her with the respect and kindness she deserves. You understand? Good.” He ends the live without another word.
Your jaw is dropped to the floor. You aren’t sure what you were expecting, but that was not it. You decide to wait for him to come back before saying anything.
—
The door creaks open and Chan is almost knocked over by you hugging him. “Woah, hey there.”
“Christopher Bahng. What is wrong with you?!” You scold him, lightly hitting his chest.
“I’m getting mixed signals.” He jokes.
“You went live to all of STAY to tell them you have a girlfriend!?”
“Did you want me to do something different?”
“Yes! I mean, no. I mean—I don’t really know what I expected, but that was not it. Does the company know?”
“Yes, they know. They will release an official statement soon with rules about defamation and what not.”
You are taken aback by that, “Wait really?”
“I told you I’d protect you, didn’t I?” He kisses your forehead.
“So, does this mean we get to go out together and like not have to worry about people seeing us?” You sound a little too excited.
“We can even hold hands.” His big dimpled smile breaks across his face.
You launch into his arms, peppering kisses all over his face. Tears start forming in your eyes, but this time they are from happiness, “I love you so much.”
He spins you around before giving you a long kiss, “I love you more.”
CHRISTOPHER BAHNG ﾒ૦ all the places reader and bangchan have 'done it'. ˙⋆✮
˙⋆✮ boyfriend!bangchan , fem!reader , smut , unprotected sex , mentions of oral sex , mentions of jealousy and possessiveness , kind of public sex , use of pet names ──── not requested , wc 621 !
YOU'VE GOT 𝓜AIL! 💌 kinda wanna make this into a sort of series for all the members, please let me know if that's something you'd want! if so leave a request who i should do next && give me some ideas as to where their 'places' would be ;) hope you enjoy this! liking && reblogging would be much appreciated! requests are open.
THE STUDIO –
you’re convinced this is chan’s personal favourite, that text he sends when he’s in the studio alone “come down to the studio baby, need your help”. but he’s not talking about producer help, well in a way, but at the end of it he’ll have you moaning into the microphone for his next solo song. and the shit eating smirk on his face when he says that “stay will never know this is you.”
since you’ve been with chan since very early on, fans noticed in the background of some unreleased 3RACHA songs that you could hear a woman moaning, little did they know that he’s been making you moan into the microphone since debut.
BACKSTAGE –
this one just sends thrill through chan’s spine, he’s into the idea of someone walking in on him making his girl feel so good. where as you always remind him someone could walk in at any moment. but sometimes you’re also the one initiating it, especially after he performs railway. who can blame you?
“shit- chris. someone could walk in.” you try to say through your moans, watching the smile on his face grow from excitement.
“you want that? huh? want someone to see how good i make you feel, baby.” he grunts, picking up his pace. “need you to cum f’me, i need to be on stage soon.”
he talks you through your orgasm, before quickly getting changed for the next part of the concert, kissing your lips and saying “see you later.”
but a few moments before he stepped on stage, the members noticed how flushed his face looked and the fact he was adjusting his pants every few seconds.
“you okay, channie-hyung?” he hears felix ask from next to him, making him nod quicker than he needed to.
“mhm, ‘m perfect.”
IN THE CAR –
i can see chan being a very impatient man, especially when it comes to you. you’re at an event and you just look too good for him to wait until you’re home. no matter if you tell him to wait, he’s begging in your ear, and how could you say no to his whines?
“please, let me have you right here, right now. i need you so bad.” he begs, trailing kissing down your neck to your collarbone.
“chris, can’t you wait? it’s a bit public.” you bite your lips to muffle your moans from his lips latched onto you.
“no, can’t wait baby. please.”
you love it when he gets whiny, he just has the prettiest voice when he begs. and he’s rarely the one begging so when he does, you can’t help but let it play out a little longer.
“i need you, reader. please.”
BONUS –
when it comes to oral sex with chan, i can see him preferring to give, he’s not opposed to receiving but he puts your pleasure before his. and to be honest, he could spend hours upon hours between your legs. it’s his favourite place to be.
i can see chan being more on the gentle side when it comes to sex, he likes to take care of you and he hates the thought of hurting you in any way. but he won’t say no if you ask for it a little rougher.
although, the jealous sex. whewwww. that’s when he gets rough without you having to tell him. he gets possessive, even though he doesn’t admit it, he does. if he sees a man staring at you for too long for his liking, he’s whispering in your ear, “someone staring at you baby, what do you say i show him you’re mine right here?”
summary; Jake finds out you have nowhere to go for the holidays and becomes quietly, stubbornly determined to take you home with him.
word count; 11.7k
warnings; a little bit of a slowburn, frenemies to lovers, mentions of parents passing away
a/n; the holidays aren't over for me so here's a christmas fic for y'all, feliz día de reyes!! :) i thought about this right on the 24th so it took me a bit to write down haha, let me know what you think! happy reading <3
masterlist
The Hard Deck smelled like salt and citrus cleaner and something fried that had soaked into the wood years ago. Late afternoon light poured in through the open doors, slanting low and warm, catching on dust motes and the rims of half-empty glasses. It wasn’t loud yet — not the night crowd — just busy enough to feel alive.
You stood behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, methodically wiping down the counter while Penny flipped through the schedule beside you. Outside, waves rolled in steady and patient, their sound threading through the room like a quiet heartbeat.
“I’m still figuring out Christmas week,” Penny said, casual, but her eyes flicked to you with intention. “You sure you don’t mind picking up the shift?”
You didn’t stop what you were doing. Didn’t look up. Just shrugged, like it was nothing.
“I don’t have any plans anyway,” you said lightly. “Might as well stay busy.”
The words were easy. Practiced. You’d said them before.
Penny’s pen hovered above the paper for a fraction of a second too long. She knew the difference between fine and fine. But she also knew when not to press. She nodded once, a quiet agreement, and wrote your name in.
“Alright,” she said gently. “I appreciate it.” You smiled, bright and polite, and reached for another glass.
Behind you, the door creaked open.
Jake hadn’t meant to stop walking.
He’d come in laughing, jacket half off his shoulders, the day’s ease still clinging to him. The Hard Deck was familiar territory — noise, beer, you behind the bar rolling your eyes at him. Comfort in routine.
But your voice cut through it all.
I don’t have any plans anyway.
He slowed, boots scraping softly against the floor, his grin faltering before he could catch it. He stayed near the entrance, just long enough to hear Penny confirm the shift. Just long enough for the meaning to settle heavy in his chest.
Christmas. No plans. Alone.
Jake exhaled through his nose and forced himself to keep moving. Took a seat farther back instead of his usual place at the bar, fingers drumming absently against the tabletop. He told himself it wasn’t his business. That he didn’t care.
That was a lie.
Phoenix slid into the chair across from him, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. She set her beer down and studied him with narrowed eyes, already suspicious.
“You look like you just lost a dogfight,” she said.
He scoffed, gaze still fixed on the bar. “Hardly.”
“Mhm.”
Silence stretched, filled with the clink of glass and low conversation. Then, like he was testing the ground beneath his feet, Jake spoke again.
“She got family around here?”
Phoenix didn’t answer right away. She leaned back instead, arms crossing, watching him like a scientist observing a long-predicted reaction. A slow smile tugged at her mouth.
“Oh,” she said. “So that’s where we are now.”
Jake grimaced. “Don’t.”
“I knew it,” she continued, clearly enjoying herself. “Months of denial, and all it takes is one holiday schedule.”
He finally looked at her, jaw tight. “Nat.”
That got her attention.
Phoenix followed his gaze to where you moved behind the bar, laughter soft and unguarded as you handed someone a drink. When she spoke again, her tone was quieter.
“She doesn’t really have anyone,” she said carefully. “No family close. That’s all you get.”
Something shifted in him — a dull ache blooming beneath his ribs.
Jake nodded once, stiff. He didn’t ask follow-up questions. Didn’t need to. The picture was already forming in his mind, uninvited and vivid.
His mom’s house in Texas, too warm and too loud. The smell of cinnamon and roasting meat. His dad’s voice carrying from the living room, his sisters already complaining about the playlist, his nieces running around. Familiar chaos. Annoying. Comforting.
Unavoidable.
He couldn’t imagine Christmas without it, couldn’t imagine choosing not to have somewhere to be.
Phoenix watched the realization settle into his expression. “You gonna do something about it,” she asked, “or just sit there brooding like a sad country song?”
A faint smile tugged at his lips — gone as quickly as it came. “She’s not gonna be alone.”
Phoenix arched an eyebrow. “That wasn’t the question.”
He stood, decision already made. “It’s the answer.”
Later, when the crowd thinned and the sun dipped lower, Jake approached the bar — not you, but Penny.
She looked up the moment she saw him, recognition flickering across her face. Penny noticed things. Always had.
“She won’t be working Christmas,” Jake said quietly.
Penny studied him for a long moment, then glanced toward you — laughing, unaware, completely unprepared for the way your world was about to shift.
“I wondered when you’d say something,” Penny replied softly. “Alright. I’ll cover it.”
Relief loosened something in his shoulders.
“She deserves better than another shift,” Penny added. “I’m glad someone agrees.”
Jake watched you for a beat longer than necessary.
You didn’t know it yet.
But you weren’t spending Christmas alone.
Not this year.
—
The bar was caught in that quiet in-between hour, when the sunlight poured in low and honeyed through the open doors and the ocean breeze slipped lazily across the floor. The bar smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and salt, the wood warm beneath your palms as you stepped behind it, already reaching for the schedule board without really thinking about it.
Routine was comfort. Knowing where you were supposed to be, when, had a way of grounding you.
Your eyes skimmed the list once, then again, slower this time. Monday. Tuesday. Christmas Eve. The space where your name should have been on Christmas Day stared back at you, blank and wrong, and a small frown tugged at your mouth as you leaned closer, as if proximity alone might make it reappear. You traced the line with your finger, checked above it, below it, then stepped back, confusion settling in your chest.
“That’s… odd,” you muttered.
You were just about to turn and call for Penny, already forming a casual explanation in your head — something light, something easy, like it didn’t matter — when the familiar weight of someone else’s presence registered behind you.
“Studying the wall now?” Jake’s voice drawled, warm with amusement. “Careful, it might flirt back.”
You closed your eyes briefly before turning, already bracing yourself. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the bar like he owned the place, confidence worn as effortlessly as his dog tags. The sight of him sparked the usual mix of annoyance and reluctant fondness, the kind you’d never admit out loud.
“Don’t you have literally anyone else to bother?” you asked, gesturing vaguely around the bar. “I’m busy.”
He tilted his head, eyes flicking from your face back to the schedule, then back again. “Looks like you’re not, actually. What’s got you so worked up?”
You sighed and pointed at the board, irritation slipping into your voice despite yourself. “I was supposed to work Christmas. Guess Penny forgot to write me in.”
Jake followed your finger, his expression unreadable for a moment as he took it in. Then his mouth curved into something like satisfaction. “That’s a win,” he said easily.
“Not really,” you shot back. “I had a plan. Now I don’t.”
“Well,” he said, pushing off the bar and closing the distance by a step, hands sliding into his pockets like he was trying very hard to look casual, “since you’re free, what are you doing instead?”
You shrugged, feeling strangely defensive all of a sudden. “Nothing. That was the point.”
Something flickered behind his eyes, but he smoothed it over quickly. “Perfect,” he said, far too confidently. “You’re coming to Texas with me.”
You stared at him, disbelief blooming into a short, incredulous laugh. “You cannot be serious.”
He smiled, broad and unapologetic. “Dead serious.”
“No,” you said immediately. “Absolutely not. I am not crashing your family’s Christmas like some stray you picked up at a bar.”
He waved the comment away like it was nothing. “You wouldn’t be crashing anything.”
“Hangman.”
“You’d be invited.”
“You didn’t even ask me,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “You just decided.”
“Yeah,” he said lightly. “I do that sometimes.”
You shook your head, already backing away. “Plane tickets alone would be insane this close to Christmas. I’m not letting you spend that kind of money on me.”
“I already checked,” he replied, far too quickly. “I’ve got miles.”
You blinked. “You what?”
He shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”
You pressed on, stubbornness flaring. “I have responsibilities.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“I—” You hesitated, then said, “I have to feed my cat.”
His grin turned knowing. “You don’t have a cat.”
You narrowed your eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’ve never talked about a cat,” he said, voice softer now, less teasing. “And because I pay attention.”
That gave you pause, something warm and uncomfortable settling beneath your ribs, but you pushed past it. “Even if I didn’t, it’s still a terrible idea.”
Jake’s smile faded just enough to matter. He straightened, hands dropping from his pockets, presence suddenly heavier, more grounded. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, steadier.
“I’m not letting you spend Christmas alone.”
The words hit harder than you expected, your breath catching before you could stop it. You stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes, by the absence of his usual bravado. This wasn’t flirting. This wasn’t teasing.
“You don’t get to decide that,” you said quietly.
“No,” he agreed. “But I get to offer you somewhere to be.”
Silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft clink of glasses and the distant rush of the ocean. You searched his face for the joke, the punchline, and found none.
“I don’t want you alone,” he said again, gentler this time. “Not when you don’t have to be.”
Your defenses wavered, the weight of the season pressing in all at once — the empty apartment, the quiet nights, the way you’d already resigned yourself to pretending it didn’t hurt.
You exhaled slowly. “You’re impossible.”
His mouth curved into a small, victorious smile. “I’ve been told.”
“…Fine,” you said after a moment, voice softening despite yourself. “But if your family hates me, this is on you.”
His grin returned, bright and genuine. “They won’t.”
You weren’t sure you believed him.
But as he stepped back, satisfaction radiating from him, one thing was suddenly, undeniably clear.
You weren’t going to be alone this Christmas.
—
Jake showed up on the twenty-third like the decision had been settled for weeks, not days. You spotted his car from your apartment window first, parked crookedly at the curb like it didn’t quite fit the narrow street, and the sight alone made your stomach flutter with nerves you hadn’t fully acknowledged yet.
By the time you made it downstairs with your bag slung over your shoulder, he was already out of the vehicle, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, posture relaxed in that infuriatingly confident way of his.
“You know,” you said as you locked your door behind you, “I told you I could meet you at the airport.”
Jake didn’t even pretend to consider it. He reached for your bag without asking, fingers closing around the strap before you could protest, and lifted it easily. “Yeah,” he replied, already walking toward the car. “But then I wouldn’t know you actually showed up.”
You huffed, trailing after him. “I said I was going.”
“Mmm,” he murmured, popping the trunk. “You also said this was a terrible idea about fifteen times.”
He slid your bag in beside his — like it belonged there, like it had always been part of the plan — and shut the trunk with a decisive thud before opening the passenger door for you. The gesture caught you off guard enough that you paused, then climbed in without comment. He grinned like he knew he’d won a small victory and went around to the driver’s side, starting the engine and pulling away from the curb with easy confidence.
The drive to the airport passed in a strange, suspended quiet. Jake filled the space with low music and occasional commentary about traffic or the weather, and you answered when necessary, but your thoughts were already miles ahead. Four hours in the air. Four hours trapped with your own nerves. Flying had never been something you enjoyed — too much time to think, too little control — and you hadn’t done it often enough to pretend otherwise.
You kept that part to yourself.
The last thing you needed was Jake Seresin clocking your anxiety and turning it into ammunition.
By the time you reached the airport, the tightness in your chest had settled into something familiar, a low hum of anticipation and unease. Jake grabbed both bags this time, slinging his over one shoulder and tugging yours along beside him as if this, too, was just how things were done. You followed him through the automatic doors, the air inside cooler and smelling faintly of coffee and disinfectant, voices echoing overhead in a constant stream of arrivals and departures.
You lingered near the gate once you’d checked in, fingers twisting together as you stared out at the planes taxiing along the runway. The reality of it all — Texas, his family, the holidays — pressed in on you again, and you turned toward him with a sigh.
“This is still a bad idea,” you said quietly. “We can turn around. It’s not too late.”
Jake glanced up from his phone, unimpressed. “You’ve already said that.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he replied, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “You’ll survive.”
You frowned. “Have you even told your family?”
That earned you a shrug, casual and infuriating. “I always bring friends home.”
“Friends,” you repeated, incredulous. “Jake, we barely tolerate each other.”
“That’s your version,” he said lightly. “Mine’s different.”
You opened your mouth to argue — to point out that this wasn’t normal, that families asked questions, that holidays came with expectations — but the overhead announcement cut you off, boarding call echoing through the gate. Jake stood immediately, grabbing both carry-ons without hesitation, then paused when he noticed you still rooted in place.
He turned back to you, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face, eyes warm and steady in a way that made your pulse skip.
“Well,” he said, holding out a hand, “ready for a Texan Christmas, darling?”
You stared at him for a beat longer than necessary, nerves and doubt and something dangerously close to excitement tangling together in your chest.
Then you sighed and took his hand.
“God help me,” you muttered.
His grin widened as he led you toward the gate.
The plane smelled faintly of recycled air and coffee as you stepped into the narrow aisle, Jake moving ahead of you with easy confidence. He glanced down at the boarding passes in his hand, then lifted his chin toward the row on the right.
“Here we are,” he said, already reaching up to shove his bag into the overhead bin. “Looks like we lucked out.”
You followed his gaze to the seats and felt your stomach dip when you realized what he meant. The window seat waited at the far end, the curved wall of the plane already pressing in on the space like a quiet warning. Jake motioned toward it without thinking, stepping aside to let you pass.
You shook your head immediately. “Nope. You take it.”
He paused, frowning slightly. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Suspicion flickered across his face, but he didn’t push it — not yet. He slid into the window seat, long legs stretching out as he settled in, and you took the middle seat beside him, already focused on grounding yourself. The familiar click of the seatbelt felt louder than it should have as you fastened it tight, pulling the strap snug across your lap like it might anchor you.
You inhaled slowly through your nose, then exhaled, intertwining your fingers together in your lap to keep them from fidgeting. The cabin filled around you with quiet movement — bags shifting, seats creaking, voices murmuring — and you fixed your eyes straight ahead, determined not to let the nerves show.
You became aware of his stare before you saw it.
Jake wasn’t subtle when he was curious. His attention had weight to it, and you felt it settle on you like a spotlight. You turned your head, meeting his gaze.
“Can I help you?” you asked dryly.
He blinked, like he’d been caught mid-thought, then a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re afraid of flying.”
You scoffed. “Absolutely not.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I fly all the time.”
He tilted his head, eyes flicking briefly to your still-clasped hands, the tight line of your shoulders. “Sure you do.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but it was already too late. Recognition softened his expression in a way that caught you off guard, the teasing dialed down just a notch.
“Hey,” he said quietly, leaning back in his seat. “Planes are basically just buses with wings. Statistically safer than driving.”
“That’s not helping,” you muttered.
He smiled anyway. “I could explain how lift works, if you want.”
You rolled your eyes. “Please don’t.”
“Suit yourself,” he said lightly. “I could always take you flying sometime. Show you how it’s done.”
You shot him a look. “There is no universe where I get into a tiny plane with you in charge.”
He laughed at that, real and unguarded, shaking his head. “Your loss.”
The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the doors closed, and the shift in atmosphere sent another wave of unease through you. As the plane began to taxi, your leg started bouncing on its own, nerves leaking out in restless energy. You rubbed your palms against your thighs, trying to will yourself into calm.
Jake noticed immediately.
Without a word, he reached over and took your hand in his, fingers warm and steady as they curled around yours. The gesture was so unexpected it stole your breath, and before you could react, he squeezed twice — firm, reassuring — then kept his hand there like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Tell me something,” he said softly, like this was just another distraction. “What’s the worst drink you’ve ever served at the Hard Deck?”
Despite yourself, a laugh slipped out. “You, ordering anything with umbrellas.”
“Ouch,” he said, mock-offended. “That hurts.”
The engines roared louder, vibration humming through the cabin as the plane picked up speed. When it finally lifted off the ground, your fingers tightened reflexively around his hand, eyes squeezing shut as your stomach lurched.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, leaning closer, his voice low and sure. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
The words anchored you more than you wanted to admit.
When the ascent leveled out and the seatbelt sign blinked off, you slowly opened your eyes. Jake loosened his grip and let go, the contact ending as gently as it began. When you looked at him again, the softness was already fading, replaced by that familiar glint of mischief that lived permanently in his eyes.
“Well,” he said, smirking, “for someone who’s definitely not afraid of flying…”
You groaned. “Don’t even, Seresin.”
He grinned wider, clearly pleased.
Once the initial tension of takeoff faded into the steady hum of cruising altitude, your body slowly followed suit. You kept your seatbelt fastened out of habit more than necessity, the strap a quiet reassurance across your lap, but the restless energy that had been buzzing under your skin finally eased. Your leg stilled, your hands resting calmly now instead of gripping at nothing, and the tight knot in your chest loosened just enough for you to breathe normally again.
Jake noticed, of course. He always did.
He leaned back in his seat, stretching slightly, a satisfied look crossing his face as he glanced sideways at you. “You want me to put on a movie for you?” he asked, tone deliberately teasing. “Something animated, maybe?”
You shot him a look. “I am not an iPad kid.”
He laughed, head tipping back against the seat, the sound easy and genuine. “Could’ve fooled me. You were gripping that armrest like it owed you money.”
“Very funny,” you muttered, though the edge was gone now, replaced by something lighter. Familiar. Comfortable in a way that surprised you.
The plane settled into its rhythm, the cabin lights dimmed slightly, and the world outside the window stretched into an endless canvas of clouds. For a while, you sat in companionable quiet, the kind that didn’t demand filling. Then, almost without thinking about it, you turned your head toward him.
“So,” you said softly, hesitant in a way you hadn’t been before. “What’s your family like?”
The effect was immediate.
Jake’s expression shifted, the perpetual smirk softening into something real as a genuine smile spread across his face. Not cocky, not practiced — just warm. He looked forward as he spoke, like he was picturing them as he went.
“My mom’s… a force,” he said fondly. “Loud, opinionated, will feed you until you physically can’t move. My dad’s quieter, but he’s the kind of guy who fixes everything with his hands. Always has some project going.”
You listened intently, surprised by how easily the words flowed from him now.
“I’ve got two sisters,” he continued. “Older. Both of them think it’s their life’s mission to keep me humble. Didn’t work.” He smirked briefly, then softened again. “And three nieces. They run the house now. I’m basically just their personal jungle gym when I visit.”
Despite yourself, a smile tugged at your lips, growing wider the more he talked. You could picture it so clearly — Jake in a loud kitchen, a child clinging to each arm, someone scolding him for tracking mud through the house. It felt… impossible. And yet, it fit in a way you hadn’t expected.
You’d always known him as infuriating, endlessly confident, ego first and feelings somewhere far behind. The man who flirted shamelessly, who never seemed to take anything seriously. You’d never once imagined him in a domestic setting, surrounded by family, soft around the edges.
Yet here he was, eyes warm as he talked about them, voice carrying an affection that felt deeply ingrained.
“They’re… everything,” he finished quietly. “Holidays especially.”
Your smile lingered, unguarded now, and you realized that there was so much more to Jake Seresin than the version he showed the world.
—
Two hours into the flight, the cabin had settled into a steady, subdued rhythm, the low hum of the engines blending with the occasional rustle of movement and muted voices. You pulled the book from your bag and opened it on your lap, fingers resting against the worn edges of the pages as you tried to focus on the words in front of you. The letters blurred together more often than they should have, your eyes skimming lines without absorbing their meaning.
Beside you, Jake had put on a movie — something loud and action-heavy, punctuated by explosions and dramatic music that filtered faintly through his headphones. You glanced at the screen briefly, a corner of your mouth lifting despite yourself.
Of course he’s into that.
You turned back to your book, but your thoughts refused to cooperate. They drifted, unmoored, pulled away from the page and toward everything waiting for you on the other side of the flight.
Your nerves had changed shape.
It wasn’t the plane anymore — the metal shell carrying you thousands of feet above the ground — that made your chest feel tight. It was Texas. Jake’s family. The weight of walking into something you hadn’t belonged to in a long time.
You hadn’t spent Christmas with other people since you were twenty.
After your parents passed, there hadn’t been anyone else to fill the space they left behind. No crowded living rooms or overlapping conversations, no shared meals or traditions carried forward. Holidays and birthdays had slowly become quieter things, marked by routine instead of celebration. You’d learned to make peace with it — or at least something close enough.
Most years, Christmas meant sitting alone in your apartment, the city outside your window moving on as usual. Sometimes you lit a candle, the soft flame flickering in the dim, and let yourself think about them for a while. About how it used to be. About how quickly it had all slipped away.
Family, to you, had become an abstract idea.
Something that existed in memories, and in movies you avoided because they hurt more than they healed. Scenes of people decorating trees together, of kitchens filled with warmth and noise, of gifts wrapped and unwrapped with laughter — all of it felt foreign, like a language you used to speak fluently but had forgotten over time.
You wondered what the next few days would look like. What Jake’s family would say when they met you, how they’d greet you, whether they’d ask questions you didn’t know how to answer. You wondered how they celebrated, what traditions they held onto, what expectations you might accidentally step into without realizing it.
You swallowed, eyes drifting from the book to the clouds passing slowly beyond the window.
More than anything, you hoped it would be kind. That it would be gentle. That it would feel less like an intrusion and more like… something you were allowed to be part of, even just for a little while.
Beside you, Jake shifted slightly in his seat, still absorbed in his movie, unaware of the quiet storm unfolding in your thoughts.
And for the first time since you’d agreed to come, you let yourself hope — cautiously, carefully — that this Christmas might be different.
Two more hours passed in a blur of cloud cover and steady descent, the captain’s voice crackling softly over the speakers as the plane began its approach. The shift in pressure made your ears pop, your stomach dipping slightly as the ground drew closer, and without thinking about it, you tensed again.
Jake noticed.
He didn’t say anything this time. He just reached over and took your hand in his, fingers closing around yours with the same quiet certainty as before, offering it without comment or expectation. You accepted it just as silently, squeezing his hand when the turbulence bumped the cabin, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his grip.
The wheels touched down with a jolt, followed by the familiar rush of deceleration, and relief washed through you so quickly it left you lightheaded. You laughed softly under your breath as you finally unbuckled your seatbelt, tension draining from your shoulders in one long exhale.
Jake squeezed your hand once more before letting go. “Told you,” he said lightly.
You shot him a look. “Don’t.”
The cabin filled with movement as passengers stood and reached for their belongings. Jake grabbed both of your carry-ons without hesitation, slinging them easily over his shoulder, and waited for you to step into the aisle before falling into place beside you. He guided you down the narrow walkway and off the plane, one hand hovering at your back as if to steady you through the press of people.
The moment you stepped into the terminal, the air felt different — warmer, heavier, carrying a faint hum of familiarity you couldn’t quite place. You slowed your pace, eyes drifting around as you took it all in: the wider corridors, the drawl in overheard conversations, the subtle shift in atmosphere that made it unmistakably Texas.
Jake disappeared briefly to grab the rental car, leaving you to linger near the exit, your arms wrapped loosely around yourself as you watched families reunite and travelers hurry past. When he returned, keys in hand, he led you through the parking structure and to a car waiting beneath the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. He popped the trunk, stowed the bags in the back, then rounded the car and opened the passenger door for you.
You paused, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” you said carefully, “you can drop me off at a hotel. I’ll meet you at your parents’ later.”
He straightened slowly and looked at you like you’d just suggested something wildly unreasonable.
“A hotel?” he repeated.
“I don’t want to impose,” you said quickly. “And what if your parents get the wrong idea? What if they think we’re… a thing?”
Jake chuckled, shaking his head as he closed the door behind you once you finally sat. He leaned against the roof of the car, arms crossed, completely unbothered.
“I’ve told you,” he said easily. “I always bring friends home.”
“That doesn’t make this normal.”
“It makes it fine,” he replied, already moving around to the driver’s side. “Relax.”
You watched him settle behind the wheel, the confidence in his movements both comforting and unsettling. As the engine started and the car pulled out of the lot, you glanced out the window, the unfamiliar roads stretching ahead.
Whatever waited for you at the end of the drive, it was happening now.
And there was no turning back.
The road stretched on longer than you expected, the airport fading far behind as open land took over. The drive to his parents’ ranch was quiet in the best way — the kind of silence that didn’t ask anything of you. The radio played softly, a steady stream of Christmas music filling the car without demanding attention. Jake hummed along under his breath, fingers drumming against the steering wheel in time with the song, relaxed in a way you rarely got to see.
You pulled your phone out briefly, more out of habit than necessity. A single unread message from Phoenix waited on the screen.
Have fun with Hangman 😏 Try not to fall in love or whatever.
You scoffed quietly, rolling your eyes as you typed back something dismissive and vague before turning the screen dark again. You set the phone aside and looked out the window, watching the land open up around you. Wide fields, fences stretching into the distance, ranches spaced comfortably apart like they needed room to breathe. Your chest tightened slightly as you realized you were probably close now.
You inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly, willing your nerves to settle. You didn’t want to be awkward. You didn’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons. These people were opening their home to you for the weekend — for Christmas — and the thought carried a weight you weren’t sure how to hold anymore.
Jake turned off the main road, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and suddenly his family’s ranch came into view. The house sat wide and warm against the land, lights strung along the roofline and wrapped around the porch railings, glowing softly against the early evening sky. A few cars were parked out front, and people moved easily in and out of the house, laughter drifting faintly through the air.
Jake parked the car and glanced over at you, something gentle settling into his expression. “You’re gonna love them,” he said quietly.
You managed a small smile, your stomach fluttering as he stepped out of the car. He walked around to your side and opened the door for you, offering his hand as you climbed out. Before you could even fully straighten up, movement caught your eye.
A woman came hurrying across the yard toward you both, her pace quick and purposeful, arms already lifting. Jake barely had time to laugh before she reached him and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. It was almost comical — how small she was next to him — but Jake bent down instinctively, folding himself around her and returning the hug without hesitation.
When she finally let him go, she didn’t miss a beat.
Her attention snapped to you, and before you could brace yourself, she was pulling you into her arms too. “Oh, you must be,” she said your name warmly, squeezing you tight. “You’re even prettier in person. I’m so glad you’re here.”
The suddenness of it caught you completely off guard. You tensed for half a second, breath hitching in your chest — and then something in you gave way. You softened into the hug, resting your chin lightly against her shoulder and closing your eyes for just a moment longer than necessary.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” you said quietly. “Thank you for letting me crash your Christmas.”
Jake watched silently from beside you, noticing the way your shoulders had stiffened before relaxing, the way you seemed to melt into his mother’s embrace like it was something you hadn’t felt in a very long time.
She brushed your words off just as easily as Jake had earlier, pulling back only to keep her hands firmly on your arms. “Oh, honey, nonsense. You’re more than welcome here,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m just glad Jake finally brought someone home.”
Jake huffed a laugh under his breath, but you barely noticed.
All you could feel was the warmth of the lights behind you, the steady presence beside you, and the unfamiliar — almost overwhelming — realization that for the first time in years, you weren’t arriving somewhere alone.
Jake’s mom barely gave you time to take another breath before ushering you inside, one hand warm and firm at your back. The house greeted you all at once — overlapping voices drifting from the living room, laughter echoing down the hallway, the hum of something baking in the kitchen. It felt lived in, full in a way that made your chest ache just a little.
You had just stepped fully into the entryway when the sound of small, hurried footsteps came thundering down the hall.
“Uncle Jake!”
Three little bodies barreled into him with zero hesitation, crashing into his legs and wrapping around his waist as if they’d been launched. They chanted his name between giggles and excited shrieks, climbing him like little monkeys determined to reach the top. Jake laughed, loud and unguarded, arms coming up automatically as he accepted his fate as a human jungle gym.
You didn’t realize you were staring until a voice behind you pulled you back.
“Alright, girls, give your uncle a break,” a woman laughed, amusement clear in her tone.
You turned to find Jake’s oldest sister watching the scene with a fond smile, clearly used to this chaos. She met your eyes and stepped forward, greeting you warmly, and you returned it — your smile softer, a little shier, but genuine.
Before you could say much more, another woman appeared at your side. Jake’s middle sister wasted no time before wrapping you in a hug, squeezing you like you were already part of the family. You laughed softly, returning it as best you could.
Once the girls were finally coaxed off Jake, they turned their attention to you instead. Three pairs of curious eyes studied you carefully, whispering among themselves before one of them asked, blunt and unapologetic, “Who are you?”
You crouched down slightly to meet them at eye level, introducing yourself with a small smile. Whatever answer you gave must’ve passed their internal test, because within seconds they decided they liked you — and promptly attempted to climb you next.
You laughed, surprised, hands hovering awkwardly as you tried to keep your balance. The tension crept back into your shoulders before Jake stepped in.
“Alright, alright,” he said gently, peeling one of them off with practiced ease. “Let her breathe, monsters.”
He guided you farther into the house, his hand resting briefly at your back as if grounding you. The walls were lined with framed photos — childhood snapshots of Jake and his sisters, crayon drawings proudly signed by the girls, old concert tickets preserved like treasures. It felt like a timeline of love, memories layered on top of each other.
The living room opened up around you, anchored by a tall Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner. Perfectly wrapped gifts sat beneath it, neat and patient, waiting their turn.
The back door opened then, letting in a rush of cooler air along with Jake’s dad, followed by two men you assumed were his brothers-in-law. Another round of greetings followed, easy and warm. Jake’s dad hugged you too — not as tightly as the Seresin women, but steady and sincere all the same.
Before you could get overwhelmed again, Jake’s mom swept you toward the kitchen, eager to show you what she’d been working on. Trays of cookies covered the counters — Christmas trees, gingerbread men, stars, every festive shape imaginable. The smell alone was enough to make your mouth water.
“Want to help decorate?” she asked.
You nodded without hesitation, and she guided you to one of the tall stools at the kitchen island, calling for Jake over her shoulder. When he appeared in the doorway, she immediately pointed upstairs.
“Sweetheart, take the bags out of the car and put them upstairs.”
You stood up instinctively. “I can help—”
She waved you off without even looking at you. “Sit.”
Jake smirked. “Yes, ma’am,” he said easily, sending you a quick wink before disappearing back outside.
You rolled your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself.
Soon his sisters joined you around the island, each grabbing a cookie and a handful of frosting. The conversation stayed light — where you were from, what you did, little things that felt safe. When one of them asked if you had a boyfriend, heat rushed to your cheeks and you shook your head.
“No,” you said softly.
You told them about your master’s program, about working as a bartender at a local Navy bar to support yourself — and how that was how you’d met Jake.
They exchanged knowing looks, smiling to themselves, while you focused very hard on piping frosting onto a cookie, hoping it would distract from the way your heart was suddenly beating just a little too fast.
One of his sisters looked at you thoughtfully as she smoothed frosting over the edge of her cookie, then smiled like she’d just connected a few dots.
“So,” she said lightly, “you must be a pretty special friend for Jake to bring you home for Christmas.”
You paused, piping bag hovering midair. Your brows knitted together as you tilted your head, genuinely confused. “What do you mean?” you asked. “Doesn’t he bring friends home all the time?”
The question hung there, soft but heavy. The sisters exchanged looks — subtle, quick, loaded with meaning — eyebrows lifting, smiles turning knowing in a way that made your stomach flip. One of them finally spoke, her tone gentle but certain.
“Actually,” she said, “you’re the first person. The first woman he’s ever brought home.”
Your mouth parted, words lining up that never quite made it out. The thought hit you all at once, disorienting and strange, and before you could ask anything — before you could even process it — footsteps sounded behind you.
Jake appeared in the kitchen doorway, tall and relaxed, leaning casually against the island as if he hadn’t just walked into the middle of something important. He reached for a cookie, fingers already stretching toward the tray.
“Don’t even think about it,” his mom said, slapping his hand away with practiced precision. “Those are for Santa.”
You laughed softly with the others, the moment dissolving into easy chatter as Jake joined in, stealing a cookie anyway the second his mother turned her back. The conversation shifted, flowing around you, and you nodded and smiled where appropriate, trying to stay present.
But the words lingered at the back of your mind.
The first woman.
Why would he tell you he brought friends home all the time if that wasn’t true? The thought felt strange, almost unsettling, and you didn’t know what to do with it yet. You pushed it aside, focusing instead on the warmth of the kitchen, the laughter, the way you didn’t feel quite so out of place anymore.
Once the last of the cookies were set aside to cool and the kitchen settled into a quieter rhythm, you wiped your hands on a towel and excused yourself, asking where the restroom was. Jake’s mom pointed you down the hall with a warm smile, and as soon as you disappeared around the corner, the atmosphere shifted.
His sisters wasted no time.
“Well,” one of them said, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed, “she’s gorgeous.”
“And completely your type,” the other added, grinning. “Sweet, too. We like her.”
Jake scoffed, reaching for a glass of water like he hadn’t heard them. “You’re reading into it. We’re just friends.”
His sisters laughed in unison, clearly unconvinced. One of them nudged him with her elbow. “Then why have you been glued to her side all afternoon like a lost puppy? You usually disappear outside with Dad and the guys by now.”
He rolled his eyes, irritation creeping into his voice. “Oh my god, will you both fuck off.”
“Jacob Seresin,” his mother snapped immediately, shooting him a look that could stop him in his tracks. “Language.”
He raised his hands in surrender, muttering an apology under his breath while his sisters smirked, entirely pleased with themselves.
By the time you returned, the interrogation had dissolved into casual conversation again. You paused near Jake, suddenly aware of how tired you felt, the long day finally catching up to you.
“Hey,” you said quietly, tugging at the strap of your bag. “Can you show me where you put my things? I just want to change out of my airport clothes.”
Before he could answer, his mom clapped her hands together softly. “Of course. Take her upstairs, honey. Go freshen up.”
Jake nodded and motioned for you to follow him. The stairs creaked faintly underfoot as you climbed, the house growing quieter with every step. He led you down a short hallway and stopped at a door on the right, pushing it open to reveal a neatly made guest room, soft light filtering through the curtains.
“That one’s the bathroom,” he said, pointing across the hall. “Take your time.”
You thanked him, and he hesitated for half a second before closing the door gently behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet space. You stood there for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of the house below, your heart still doing that strange, unfamiliar flutter.
Whatever this weekend was turning into, it already felt different.
You changed into something softer, slower, letting yourself linger as you folded your clothes with care and set them neatly over the back of a chair near the door. In the bathroom, you washed your face and lifted your eyes to the mirror, pausing when you noticed the expression looking back at you. You looked… calm. Peaceful in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time, the kind of quiet ease that usually only showed up in fleeting moments before disappearing again. You held that version of yourself for a second longer, then turned off the light and headed downstairs.
Laughter drifted up from the living room, light and bright. When you stepped into the space, you found Jake’s three nieces sprawled on the rug, dolls scattered around them in colorful disarray. Emma, the oldest, looked up first and immediately pointed at an empty spot on the floor beside her.
“Sit,” she said, not so much asking as deciding.
Lily and Nora echoed her demand, patting the carpet enthusiastically. You laughed and obliged, lowering yourself cross-legged onto the floor and picking up one of the dolls. You smoothed its hair between your fingers, easily slipping into their game as if you’d always belonged there.
Emma watched you carefully for a moment, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Are you Uncle Jake’s girlfriend?” she asked, barely holding back a giggle.
You smiled softly and shook your head. “No,” you said. “We’re just friends.”
“Too bad,” Lily muttered, still focused on fixing her doll’s dress.
Nora nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Anyway,” she added casually, glancing up at you, “would you like to be?”
You laughed, startled and entirely unprepared for the interrogation. “You’re very direct,” you told them, earning a chorus of proud grins.
A moment later, a familiar voice sounded from behind you. “Well,” Jake said, stopping just inside the living room, “looks like you made some friends.”
You glanced up at him with a small spark of mischief in your smile. “I like them better than I like you.”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Wow. That hurts.”
Still smiling, he dropped onto the couch nearby, stretching his arms along the backrest as if settling in for the long haul. Not long after, the rest of his family filtered into the living room, conversation blooming easily around you. One of his sisters handed you a mug of hot chocolate piled high with marshmallows, and you thanked her before taking a careful sip, warmth spreading through you instantly.
The room filled with overlapping voices and laughter, the kind that felt lived-in and real. Jake leaned forward, lowering himself closer to your level on the floor.
“You doing okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, smiling up at him. “Yeah. I’m great,” you said, then gestured toward the dolls. “I’ve been promoted to Barbie hairstylist.”
He chuckled softly and leaned back into the couch, but neither his mom nor his sisters missed the way his gaze lingered on you, steady and unguarded, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away.
Dinner passed in a blur of shared dishes and easy conversation, the kind that lingered long after plates were empty. You insisted on helping with the dishes despite being waved off more than once, rolling up your sleeves and working alongside his mom and sisters while laughter echoed through the kitchen. By the time everything was clean and put away, the girls were already rubbing their eyes, yawns slipping through their excitement.
Jake’s sisters gathered their things, promising they’d be back first thing in the morning. The girls hugged Jake tightly, then you, their arms warm and sticky-sweet from dessert, before they were ushered out the door amid soft goodbyes.
And just like that, the house grew quieter.
It was only you, Jake, and his parents now, the hum of the heater and the faint crackle of the fire filling the space between words. Jake glanced at you from across the living room.
“Movie?” he offered. “Or something?”
You shook your head, exhaustion finally settling into your bones. “I think I’m going to head to bed, if that’s okay.”
He nodded immediately, no teasing this time. You stood and said goodnight to his parents, thanking them again for welcoming you into their home. His mom squeezed your hands warmly, telling you how happy she was that you were there, while his dad smiled and wished you goodnight.
Jake led you upstairs, one step behind you, ignoring the pointed look his mom sent his way from the bottom of the stairs. When you reached the guest room door, you turned to face him.
“Hey,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not as bad as I thought, Seresin.”
His face lit up instantly, pride and something softer flickering across his features. “I’ll take that as a win.”
“I’m glad you came with me,” he added after a beat.
You huffed quietly. “It’s not like you gave me much of a choice,” you teased. “You practically dragged me to Texas.”
Then, more sincerely, “But… I’m glad you did.”
The moment stretched, comfortable and charged all at once. You held each other’s gaze for a second longer than necessary before you finally looked away, reaching for the door handle.
“Goodnight, Jake.”
“Night,” he said, watching as you slipped into the room and closed the door gently behind you, leaving him standing in the quiet hallway, a small, satisfied smile lingering on his face.
—
You woke to the low murmur of voices and the steady rhythm of movement downstairs, the house already alive in a way you weren’t used to this early. For a moment, you stayed still beneath the covers, listening, letting the sound of it all settle around you. Then you sat up, changed out of your pajamas, and pulled on something soft and comfortable, still unsure what the unspoken rules were for Christmas Eve. You paused, wondering if today was meant for dressing up or if that waited until tomorrow, then brushed your teeth and splashed cool water on your face before heading down.
The smell of coffee and something warm filled the air as you reached the dining room. Everyone was already gathered around the table, plates half full, conversation flowing easily. You hovered in the doorway for a second before offering a quiet, slightly shy, “Good morning.”
Jake looked up immediately. “Hey,” he said, smiling as he slid a chair out beside him. “Sit.”
You did, settling into the seat next to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Breakfast passed slowly and comfortably, the kind where no one was in a rush to finish. You listened more than you spoke, absorbing the way his family talked over one another while planning the day ahead — grocery runs, food prep, wrapping the last of the presents, small traditions mentioned so casually you could tell they’d been part of this routine for years.
Jake leaned back in his chair at one point and glanced at you. “Tonight we’ll have a bonfire out back,” he said. “We do it every year.”
You nodded, picturing it already — firelight, bundled layers, voices carried into the cold night. It sounded simple and warm and impossibly far from the way you usually spent Christmas Eve.
The morning slipped easily into afternoon as you helped wrap gifts at the dining table, folding paper carefully and smoothing down edges with more focus than strictly necessary. When the last ribbon was tied, you offered to help in the kitchen, and without much discussion you were handed a peeler and a cutting board, stationed at the counter with a small mountain of vegetables in front of you.
You worked quietly at first, listening to the low hum of conversation around you, chiming in now and then when something caught your attention. It felt comfortable, natural, the kind of shared space where no one expected you to fill every silence. Jake drifted in and out of the kitchen throughout it all, grabbing water, leaning against the counter for a moment, then disappearing again — only to return minutes later.
One of his sisters noticed first.
“You know,” she said, glancing between the two of you, “this is the most time Jake’s ever spent in the kitchen during the holidays.”
The other laughed. “It’s like he can’t leave you alone.”
You shook your head, smiling as you kept working. “He’s just making sure I don’t burn the house down or slice my hand off,” you said lightly.
Right on cue, Jake walked in.
“Oh, no, that part’s actually accurate,” he said, grinning. “You should’ve seen her at the bar. Cut her finger on a lime and nearly passed out at the sight of blood.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks instantly. “Jake, shut up,” you groaned, mortified.
He only winked at you, entirely pleased with himself, as his sisters laughed and you tried very hard to focus on chopping vegetables instead of the way your heart had started racing for no good reason at all.
The rest of the afternoon drifted by in that unhurried way that only holidays seem capable of. As dusk settled in, the men took over the backyard, stacking logs and coaxing the fire to life while laughter and the scrape of boots against gravel filled the air. You claimed one of the chairs closest to the growing bonfire, watching the flames begin to dance as the sky darkened above you.
Jake appeared behind you without a word, draping a blanket over your shoulders before disappearing back into the house as quietly as he’d come. You pulled it closer around yourself, the simple gesture warming you more than the fire ever could.
Before long, Lily, Nora, and Emma joined you, armed with sticks and a determined seriousness about their marshmallow roasting. You helped them hold their sticks just right, laughing as one caught fire and another slid straight into the embers. Around you, stories flowed freely — tales from past Christmases, inside jokes, memories so well-worn they’d clearly been told a hundred times before.
Emma turned to you suddenly, eyes bright in the firelight. “What do you usually do for Christmas?”
You hesitated, the question landing heavier than you expected. There was no way you could tell her the truth — about the quiet, the half-decorated tree, the way the day usually passed in silence. So you smiled instead, offering something vague and gentle, steering the conversation toward something lighter, something easier.
She accepted it without question and went back to her marshmallow, satisfied.
Jake, however, didn’t miss it.
From where he stood across the fire, he watched the way your shoulders dropped, how your gaze lingered on the flames a beat too long. His expression shifted, the teasing ease falling away as he studied you with quiet attention, the firelight catching in his eyes as if he were committing the moment to memory.
You lingered outside long after the others had gone in, the cold night air slowly driving them back toward the warmth of the house. One by one, goodnights were said, promises made to be back early in the morning to open gifts. Eventually, it was just you and the dying fire, embers glowing softly as the flames settled into something quieter.
You stared into it, lost somewhere between the present and memories you hadn’t meant to revisit. You didn’t hear the back door open, didn’t notice Jake until he took a seat beside you, close enough that his presence registered as warmth at your side. He didn’t speak. He didn’t rush you. He just stayed.
You weren’t sure what prompted it, but after a moment you broke the silence, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
“Your family is really nice,” you said softly. “It’s… been a long time since I’ve been around this many people during the holidays.”
Jake stayed quiet, afraid that if he interrupted, you might stop. He turned slightly toward you, listening.
You swallowed and glanced at the fire. “My mom used to do this,” you continued. “Roast marshmallows with me until my dad came outside and told us we were going to freeze.”
You let out a quiet, almost breathless laugh. “He was always the one who put the tree up too. Super particular about it. Colors had to be balanced, ornaments placed just right. None of us were allowed to touch it once he started.”
You shook your head gently. “But it didn’t matter. It always looked perfect.”
Jake’s chest tightened as he listened, the past tense impossible to miss. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “They sound like great people.”
You turned to him, a sad smile on your lips. “They were.”
He scooted closer, slow and careful, and reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours the same way he had on the plane. “I’m really sorry,” he said quietly.
You shook your head. “It was a long time ago,” you replied. “But… this time of year still hurts. It opens the wound.”
He nodded, squeezing your hand gently. “I understand. And I’m glad you’re here — even if it brings stuff up.”
You looked down at your joined hands. “I am too. If you hadn’t insisted, I’d be working my shift at the Hard Deck tonight. Then I’d just go home and be alone, lighting up the same candle and thinking of them.”
He hesitated for half a second before teasing crept back into his voice, softer than usual. “What? I thought you had a cat to feed?”
That did it. You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, Seresin.”
The heaviness eased just a little. Jake didn’t let go of your hand, his gaze lingering on you as you turned back toward the fire, his feelings still sitting there between you — unspoken, waiting.
That night, Jake lay awake in his childhood bedroom, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling he’d memorized years ago. The house was quiet now, the kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones. Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked softly as it shifted with the cold, and outside the wind moved through the trees like a hush.
His mind, however, was anything but quiet.
It kept circling back to you.
To the way you’d looked sitting by the fire, the glow catching in your eyes. To the way your voice had softened when you spoke about your parents, like the words themselves were fragile things you hadn’t meant to take out into the open. His chest ached at the thought of you spending so many years alone, of holidays reduced to survival instead of celebration. He’d always known you as strong — fierce, sharp-tongued, unafraid to call anyone out on their bullshit, especially him. Seeing the tenderness beneath that armor hadn’t made him think less of you. If anything, it made the feeling settle deeper.
He’d been drawn to you from the moment he first saw you behind the bar at the Hard Deck. You’d slid a beer across the counter without even looking at him while he leaned there, cocky grin in place, fully expecting you to melt like everyone else did. Instead, you’d rolled your eyes and muttered something about Penny warning you that pilots couldn’t keep it in their pants, then turned away to help the next customer.
He’d been hooked immediately.
At first it was a game — flirting, teasing, trying to get a reaction. But somewhere along the way, months in and completely against his will, it stopped being a joke. He stopped noticing other women at the bar. Stopped taking anyone home. The only person he ever tried to flirt with was you, and even then, it felt different. Less like a performance. More like hope.
You never gave him much back. A sarcastic smile here, an eye roll there. And still, he stayed.
Jake Seresin was a lot of things — arrogant, stubborn, infuriating — but he was also patient. And tonight, lying in the room where he’d grown up, listening to the quiet hum of a house full of people he loved, he made himself a quiet promise.
He would wait.
After tonight, after seeing you here, wrapped in his family’s warmth even while carrying so much of your own hurt, he knew one thing for certain: he’d make sure you were never alone again. No matter how long it took. No matter what it cost.
He turned onto his side, a small, determined smile pulling at his lips as sleep finally claimed him — your face the last thing on his mind.
—
The morning came sooner than you expected, sunlight spilling into the living room as Jake’s entire family gathered around the tree. Wrapping paper crinkled and ribbons flew as Emma, Nora, and Lily tore through the pile of gifts with unfiltered excitement, their laughter filling every corner of the house. Jake’s dad hovered nearby with a camera, capturing everything — the chaos, the smiles, the inevitable mess.
You sat beside Jake on the couch, knees almost touching, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you watched the girls. Every now and then, you felt his gaze on you, quick glances he thought you didn’t notice, his smile soft in a way you’d never seen before.
Nora reached for another present, this one smaller than the rest, wrapped neatly in navy blue paper with a little note taped to the top. She held it up proudly. “Uncle Jake,” she announced, “this one’s for you.”
Jake leaned forward and took the box from her hands, pausing the moment he saw the handwriting on the tag. His eyes flicked up to you instantly. You were already looking at him, your hand lifted to your mouth as you tried — and failed — to hide your smile.
“Sneaky,” he murmured, shaking his head as he started to unwrap it.
Inside the box was a polished brass aircraft compass, small enough to fit in his palm, the glass catching the morning light. The kind pilots used to keep close — a reminder of direction, of home. He turned it over slowly, clearly taking it in before lifting his gaze back to you.
“Thank you,” he said, voice sincere.
You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I just found it online and thought it fit your… never-ending obsession with planes.”
The blush creeping into your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed, especially not by the Seresin women, who exchanged knowing looks from across the room. Jake smiled and shifted closer to you on the couch, his knee brushing yours as he kept the compass in his hand.
He stayed there until the last gift was opened and the excitement faded into contented exhaustion. Soon enough, his mom and sisters headed into the kitchen, leaving you and Jake behind to gather torn wrapping paper and empty boxes.
While you were distracted, Jake disappeared briefly and returned with a small, rectangular box of his own. He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous as he held it out to you.
“For you,” he said.
Your brows lifted in surprise as you took it from him, carefully opening it. Inside lay a delicate gold necklace, simple and elegant, catching the light in a way that made your breath hitch.
“Jake, this is too much,” you started, but he waved you off immediately.
“It’s nothing,” he insisted.
Before you could argue further, he took the necklace from the box and stepped closer, fastening it around your neck as you lifted your hair out of the way. His fingers brushed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the closeness heavy and unmistakable.
He said your name softly, eyes flicking between yours and your lips, leaning in just a little closer.
You opened your mouth to speak—
“Uncle Jake!”
Emma, Nora, and Lily burst into the room, calling out for him to come play. You both pulled back at once, the moment breaking as quickly as it had formed, leaving something warm and unresolved hanging in the air between you.
At some point in the afternoon, once the kitchen had been cleaned again and the house settled into a quieter rhythm, you slipped upstairs to shower and get ready for dinner. The door to your room closed softly behind you, and almost immediately, Jake found himself surrounded.
His mom and sisters wasted no time.
“That compass,” one of them said, crossing her arms. “Don’t pretend it didn’t mean something.”
“And the necklace,” another added, nodding toward the staircase. “You think we didn’t notice that?”
Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s Christmas. People exchange gifts.”
They laughed, entirely unconvinced.
“You two looked adorable on the couch,” his oldest sister said, smiling. “All cozy. Like you belonged there.”
His mom sighed dreamily. “Just imagine how cute your babies would be.”
“Mom,” Jake muttered, horrified. “Please stop.”
She only waved him off, unfazed. “I’m just saying.”
His oldest sister leaned closer. “It’s obvious, Jake. You’ve been glued to her side since you walked in the door. You’ve had heart eyes the entire time.”
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re all reading into it. She’s just a friend.”
His middle sister raised an eyebrow. “Sure she is.”
Then she grinned. “Honestly, what better time to confess undying love than Christmas? It’s practically a Hallmark movie.”
Jake groaned again, but his silence said more than his words ever could.
Later on, Jake stepped out of his childhood bedroom, fingers busy with the last button of his dress shirt, his attention fixed on getting it just right. At the same time, you opened the door to your room across the hall, towel-damp hair falling loose around your shoulders, dress soft and carefully chosen. You nearly collided with him.
“Oh—sorry,” you murmured instinctively, already stepping back.
When you looked up, he was staring.
Jake’s hands stilled at his chest. His breath caught so quietly you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t been so close. His gaze dragged over you, slow and reverent, taking in the dress, the way it hugged you, the faint glint of the necklace at your throat. Heat crept into your cheeks before you could stop it. He’d flirted with you a hundred times before—lazy smirks, teasing remarks—but this was different. There was nothing playful in his eyes now. Just softness. Fondness. Something that made your chest tighten.
“You look… beautiful,” he said, voice lower than usual.
You smiled, shy despite yourself. “You clean up okay too.”
That earned you a grin, smaller than his usual one but warmer. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You slipped your hand around it, your fingers resting against his sleeve, and together you made your way down the stairs. The house was already full of voices and laughter. Jake pulled your chair out for you at the table, waited until you were settled before taking the seat beside you, close enough that your knees brushed.
Dinner passed easily—plates piled high, glasses refilled, stories traded back and forth. You laughed more than you expected to. Jake leaned in now and then, murmuring context when his sisters launched into stories from his childhood, his shoulder warm against yours. Every so often, you caught him looking at you, and when you did, he didn’t look away.
Somewhere between bites and laughter, something shifted. You realized you hadn’t rolled your eyes at him once. Instead, your pulse jumped every time he leaned closer, every time his knee nudged yours beneath the table, every time his voice dropped just for you.
After dinner, you wandered outside, ignoring the way the cold immediately sank into your skin. The air was sharp enough to sting, but you welcomed it. You leaned back against the wall, tilting your head up, letting your gaze drift across the sky. The stars looked impossibly bright out here, scattered like someone had been careless with glitter.
You heard the backdoor open behind you.
You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.
Jake stepped outside and closed the door quietly, the sound soft and deliberate. You felt him stop beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned back against the wall the same way you were. When you finally looked over, you noticed the candle and lighter in his hands, the small glass catching what little light there was.
He didn’t say a word. He just flicked the lighter, shielding the flame with his hand until the wick caught. Then he turned and held the candle out to you.
Your breath hitched. Your chest tightened, eyes burning before you could stop it. You took the candle carefully, fingers trembling just a little.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick as you fought the tears.
Jake leaned closer, his voice low, meant only for you. “I don’t ever want you to forget them,” he said gently. “But I never want you to be alone again.”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you rested your head against his shoulder, your cheek warm against him as you stared at the small, steady flame in your hands. It danced softly, stubborn and bright.
After a moment, you breathed out a quiet, “I have a feeling you’ll have something to do with that.”
He smiled, the kind that you felt more than saw. “I’ve been trying, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You just make it very hard for me.”
Something shifted then. The air felt heavier, charged. You lifted your head, slowly, until you were only millimeters apart. His breath mingled with yours, warm against the cold night. You smiled, understanding blooming between you.
“Someone has to, Hangman,” you teased softly.
He chuckled under his breath and leaned closer, noses brushing. “Do you believe in Christmas miracles?”
“Depends what you’re wishing for,” you whispered back.
He bumped your nose gently, once, twice, like a secret. “Baby,” he said, voice barely there, “there’s only one thing I’ve been wishing for.”
“And what’s that?” you asked, eyes locked on his.
“For you to let me kiss you.”
Your lips curved into a small, knowing smile. His pupils were blown wide, the green in his eyes almost swallowed whole. He looked at you like you were everything — like you’d hung the moon and the stars and somehow convinced the universe to follow suit.
You didn’t overthink it. You closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a soft, careful kiss that carried everything neither of you had said. He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it, like it was something he’d imagined and never quite believed would happen. His body relaxed into yours, warm and sure.
You lifted a hand instinctively, then laughed softly as you remembered the candle still between you.
Pulling back just enough, you giggled. Jake laughed too, leaning in to blow the flame out gently before smiling down at you. “Don’t want you burning down the house,” he said lightly. “Or worse — my hair.”
You rolled your eyes, setting the candle aside before wrapping your arms around his neck. “Now that,” you said, tugging him down toward you, “would be a tragedy.”
You kissed him again, surer this time.
And somewhere deep in your chest, you realized something warm and steady had finally taken root— you’d never be alone for the holidays again.
summary: you found yourself in the midst of a world of crime. you should have run, should have trusted your instinct. but it's ever so hard to deny such an adoring, beautiful man.
wc: 4.8K
cw: blood, assault, torture, emotional manipulation, manipulation, stalking, reader is kinda fucked ngl
a/n: hehe so here it is! thank you again to everyone who helped get me to 3K! and thank you to everyone else whose joined after!
masterlist ... event masterlist
In your defense, Christopher Bahng never gave any indication that he was who he was.
You had met him by accident, an incident that you lovingly donned your meet-cute.
You were no stranger to shitty men, especially those you'd found on dating apps. But to their credit, they always showed up.
That's why this one enraged you. He had invited you to the most expensive restaurant in town, asked you to meet him there, and then proceeded not to show up.
The waiter was giving you sympathetic looks, ones that gave him away. He knew, they all did. Every single person in this restaurant right now could tell you'd been stood up.
You focused your eyes on the menu in front of you, nothing had a price, or list of ingredients. That's how you knew this place was fancy.
As you tried to determine which item was the least expensive, a shadow appeared over your light. You briefly look up to find a man in a suit. Strong jaw, full lips, bleach blonde short hair.
He reaches out to take your hand, pulling it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it.
"Sorry I'm late darling," he speaks, loud enough for the restaurant to hear. His accent, even in the few words you'd heard him say, was strong. Australian, you determine. Then he leans down, and in a volume only you can hear he whispers, "just play along love," and presses a kiss to your cheek.
He eventually settles in the seat in front of you and retrieves the menu.
You're stunned. Too stunned to speak, or ask questions or do anything, really. Nevertheless, you continue looking over the menu.
"Buy whatever you want darling," he speaks, eyes never leaving the menu, "you know I don't care how much you spend."
He leans back and looks over to the waiter, who very nervously rushes over.
You see it for the first time then; the way people act around him. Nervous, scared, unprepared. The way everyone does what he asks, hastily too.
But here, you don't see it for what it is. Instead, you just watch who you assume to be a very powerful man sitting across from you and taking pity on you.
When the cheque came, he didn't even let you see it. He threw in his card like it was trash, something to throw away because it no longer served you.
After that he took your hand again and walked you outside.
"Chris," he introduced.
"Y/N," you quiet back.
And then he smiles, like the name itself bought him joy. Like it was familiar. He looks around at the street, finding it packed full of people. He looks back nervously at you, "would you like a lift home?"
The hairs on your neck stand straight up. You shouldn't get in a car with a man you don't know, you shouldn't even consider riding in his car. But he flashes you a shy smile, one that brings out his dimples and makes his eyes smaller. It's intoxicating and hard to resist.
To your credit, nothing else happened that night. Unless you count leaving him your number.
So then came the texts. Mornings, evenings. One's to check in, to see if you've eaten, if you've slept well.
He very quickly invaded your life. Passing it off as wanting to know you better, to masquerade as someone to call if you get stood up yet again.
But you let him. An attractive man texting you constantly? Showing up to your apartment with expensive food? Of course he was going to be on your mind 24/7.
But eventually, he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't be just the guy that texts you. He needed to be yours. So then came the dates. Fancy and luxurious always. Expensive and public and enough to make you feel guilty. He always assured you that he wanted to treat you, he wanted you to feel special. He kept telling you that it was to make up for whichever asshole thought about leaving you in that restaurant.
He always danced around questions about his work. He earned a lot, he said that's all you needed to know. That is was best if you didn't know. That should have set off some kind of warning bell in your head.
But in truth, you ignored it. Because you've never felt so wanted, so cared for, so loved.
You assumed he was some kind of small celebrity, a high-ranking business man, hell even a really fucking good lawyer.
He was always in suits, always well-presented, always taking calls that sounded important.
But he always kept you separate from it. And you never really noticed how separate it was. Not that you cared too much. When you were with him, he never gave you enough time to think about it.
But you were bound to find out. Because his work wasn't conventional. He wasn't a lawyer, he didn't sell anything.
Chris had hoped to be the one to tell you, but he could never be sure about these things. He could never know if you'd run or stay. And part of him knew you'd find out anyway.
But with you tucked into his side, some stupid drama playing on the tv, he thought you were far away from it. That he could tuck you away and keep you hidden from his world. He knew it was unrealistic, but he tried nonetheless.
His lips were attached to your neck, sucking small marks into your skin. Your head rested on the back of the couch, unbothered by the man. You knew he didn't want anything in return, he would scold you if you tried. He just wanted to taste you, to feel you.
He was always focused on your neck, where your heart beat fast on his lips. It was intoxicating, and you often found him there, moaning and humming against your skin.
A chime from Chris' phone alerts him enough to detach.
You frown slightly at the sudden lack of contact, and turn to him.
He's looking down at his phone, face unreadable and stoic. It irks you. He's always calm around you, he smiles and laughs, but at the very least he's always calm.
But now, as you look to him, you actively watch him build walls around him.
"Come with me," he sterns. His voice is steady, a slight tinge of panic in his voice.
He doesn't wait for your response. Instead, he stands and pulls you up with him. He doesn't pause the tv, doesn't bother about the blankets now strewn on the floor.
He's dragging you through his apartment towards his bedroom.
You laugh, "Channie... if you needed something more you could have just said!"
When you're inside his room he drops your hand and you instinctively flop onto his bed. You make yourself comfortable, centering yourself in the middle in preparation.
But he doesn't join you.
Inside, he's by his closet. He's pushing aside suit jackets on hangers and moves inside. You nervously laugh from the bed, because you can't tell what he's doing.
You assume he has some sort of surprise for you. A new toy, a new set.
But when he turns and walks back to you, he kneels on the side of the bed, eyes pleading up to you.
You look behind him and find the closet empty. It goes further back than you remember. It's brighter than you remember. It looks different.
You turn back to him and before you can speak, he pipes up, "babygirl, I need you to trust me."
"What's going on?"
"Do you trust me Princess?"
It's never a good sign when he lays all the nicknames on you. He only does that when he's done something wrong. But this time feels different.
Still wary, you nod your head and he sighs in relief.
Before you can do anything, he's scooping you off the bed and walking you to the closet. He moves inside and places you in.. a room?
Now that you're here, you know what this is. A safe room. Why on earth did you not know about this? And why on earth are you here now? And why is he moving away from you?
"Chris," you plead, "you're scaring me. What's going on?"
He squeezes his eyes shut like you've burned him. And maybe you have. Because the last thing he wants is for you to be scared.
"I know baby," he moves back to you, hands on your knees, "I know darling but listen okay? You trust me yeah?" He leaves space for you to nod, "I need you to stay in here. I need you to trust me and stay in here okay?"
"Chris," you feel the sting of tears welling in your eyes.
"I will explain everything soon love okay? Just stay in here... I just need you to stay in here."
You nod and instinctively reach out for him as he moves away.
The door is shut and an eerie silence falls over the room. It's soundproof, padded and bright white. There's no handle on this side. Not one you can see. And that fact alone has your heart dropping into your stomach.
You try to rationalise.
It's roleplay. He'd mentioned it before. Wanting to try new things with you.
It's a test. To see how much you trust him; how much you love him.
You waited for what felt like hours. There wasn't enough space for you to pace, so your body chose to rock itself back and forth.
The walls felt like they were closing in, the air growing thinner by the minute.
After an agonising wait, the door finally slides open.
Your heart leaps out of your chest at the sight of a man in a suit. Not yours. Chris nowhere in the room behind him.
He's looming over you, eyes focusing on your small figure.
"Come with me," he speaks, stepping back to let you stand by yourself.
You shake your head and crawl further into yourself.
"Do you want to see him again?" The voice asks. He doesn't need to say names, you both know to who he's referring to.
You nod.
"Then come with me," he says, sterner this time. He steps fully out of the closet this time.
In the light of the bedroom you can see him more clearly. His features were akin to that of a rabbit. Bunny-like teeth stuck out as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, bending down to pick up something from the ground.
Its then that you realise the state of Chris' room. Torn apart, furniture upturned and broken.
Another set of footsteps enters the room. Another man in a suit, bright red with gold accents. Round face, longer curly hair. He scans the room and his eyes land on you.
"You're her?" He asks.
The man beside you speaks up, "she was in the room."
He looks over to the man, screwing his face up a little, "she doesn't look all that important."
A weird feeling settles in your gut. Because on one hand, you're offended. On the other, if you don't look important, does that make you more or less a target?
The first man turns to you, "no. But she is."
Your instinct telling you to run kicks in finally, and you book it for the door.
The man in the red suit catches you easily, "woah there," he chuckles, "so you do have some fight in you huh?"
He holds you tightly in his arms, not letting you get any further, "let me go!"
"No can do darling," he speaks, flashing you a gentle smile, "under strict instructions from my boss. We have to take you in."
"Stop making it sound as bad as it is," the other man scoffs. He's taken to walking around the room, picking up various things from the ground.
The man holding you laughs again, "awe, but it's fun. Look at her, she's scared to death."
"You want me to tell the boss you're scaring his girl?"
The sentence makes your stomach drop.
"His girl?" You ask, "what do you mean? I thought.. what... who are you?"
The man walks up to you, "I'm Minho. That's Jisung. We work for Chris."
He tries his best to hold in his grunts as he lays another punch into the barely recognisable face of Kwan.
Chris shakes out his hand, blood spraying off it as he moves to point his finger at him.
"You know what Kwan, I was going to forgive you," Chris shakes his head, "yeah, I would have forgiven you." He moves around the room, eyeing off the table of trinkets in the corner. He picks one up and holds it out.
He twists and turns it to inspect it. He shows it off to the muscular man by the door, "what do you think of this one?" He asks. The man nods.
A wicked smile grows on his face, turning back to the man tied up in his chair.
"You can't imagine the fun I've had imagining you tied to my chair, breaking and crying as I tear you down." He moves forward, running the sharp end of his knife along the mans face. "And you're going to tell me everything. You're going to tell me who you work for, you're going to tell me why on earth you've been fucking with my men..." he bends down, "but most importantly, you're going to give me every agonising detail on her. How did you find out about her? What information do you have? And who have you fucking told?"
"So she does mean something to you?" The man smirks with blood covered teeth. One of his eyes is swollen beyond sight, unable to stare fully down at the intimidating man.
"Did I not make that clear?" Chris stills. "I'm going to assume this isn't your first day on the job and that you know me. So you'll know that I do unspeakable things to the men that hurt my associates. So imagine what I do to people who hurt my men. Imagine..." he stills, rising to his feet. He places his hands on the arms rests of the chair and leans in close, "what I do to people who even think about touching my girl?"
The man very quickly shuts up. His smile dies quickly.
"Now," Chris runs the knife along his cheek again, "I'm going for a piss. When I get back, I want answers okay?"
Chris turns to leave, walking passed the man by the door. He tosses the knife to him, "have some fun for me Bin."
The place is hazy and dim, enough to cover up all the shit that's happening.
In one corner you find people polishing weapons, dismantling guns, sharpening knives. Next to them, wads of cash are spread across the table, being fed into machines to count for them.
There's a gentle whisper of words travelling through the place, eyes occasionally turning to you. But they don't stay long, like your presence doesn't surprise them.
"Minho-" Someone approaches the man in front of you, halting and turning his head down after his mistake, "boss. I mean boss."
"What is it?" Minho spits.
"Big boss wanted you to blindfold her," he meeks. His head is still turned down, but his eyes flicker up to you anyway.
"Why?"
"He doesn't want her seeing anything."
Minho turns around to look at you and lets out a big sigh. He turns back to him, "it's a little late for that isn't it? Where were you when we pulled up? Is it not you in charge of the cameras?"
The man opens his mouth to speak, but Minho's hand reaches out to grasp his neck, fingers curling tight enough for the man to choke.
"The next words you speak better be an answer," Minho spits.
"Come on," Jisung whispers to you, ushering you passed the man and further into the establishment. "You don't need to see that."
"What is this place?" You ask, turning back to look at Minho who pins the poor boy against the wall.
Jisung keeps ushering you, "Boss'll tell you in no time."
You stop before a darkwood door. It's tall and grand and cracked open enough to see the gentle glow of the fireplace. It's sputtering echoing through the room and meeting your ears.
Jisung knocks and a familiar voice from inside calls him in.
He pushes open the door for you and gestures inside.
It's smaller than you imagined, homey and dark. Reds and browns covered the walls and furniture, only broken by the orange hue of the fire.
Sat behind a massive desk was a figure you thought would give you pause, after finding out just enough to be concerned. But when he rose, white shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, a wave of relief washed over you.
"Princess," he breathed, moving towards you quickly. Before he touches you, he turns his eyes to the doorway, "that'll be all," he dismisses and soon the chatter from outside seizes and you're left with Chris in front of you.
His hair is disheveled, his lip and eyebrow are cut, likely cause but the same blade. A bruise forms under his eye, but they twinkle all the same when he looks at you.
"Babygirl," he moves the extra step to you, "let me explain-"
You stop his words by reaching up and gently wiping over his cut. Your eyes focus on his injuries, but his watch your face intently.
"Who did this to you?"
"I'm taking care of it," he winces. His response was on instinct, but he should have eased you into this world.
"Taking care?" You ask, "as in..."
"Come sit," he takes your arms gently and pulls you towards the velvet couch. From here, the heat of the fire warms your exposed skin. "Let me look at you," he whispers, eyes and hands crawling over your body, "did they hurt you?"
"Who?"
He sighs out, "it's good that you don't know..." he breathes again and shuts his eyes, "I don't know how to tell you this."
"Just tell me," you scoot closer to him, "Chris listen to me... I love you okay? I love you and nothing is going to stop me from feeling that."
He opens his eyes and looks deep into yours, "I'm not a good person Princess. This... this is my life... my work... I lie, I steal, I... I hurt people baby..."
There's a sheen in his eyes, bordering on crying. The vulnerability of it makes your heart explode. How can your Chris do such horrible things?
"Would you ever hurt me?" You ask.
The response is instant, like he was waiting for you to ask, "No! God no baby," he moves closer to you, "that room... the one I asked you to stay in... that was for you baby, no one else. I knew... they would find me eventually... they would find you... so I had to make sure you were safe."
"Who is after you baby?"
He drops his head to your shoulder, "there was and incident. Like a year ago, one of my men's weddings." He picks his head up, "you have to understand this baby. Everyone here is family okay? My brothers... they're everything to me okay? And there are others... other families... they feel the same about their own." He breathes heavy, "and they think we killed one of them."
Your breath hitches. You had both been dancing around the words. Crime, assault, mob, murder.
Your body should react differently. You should be running for the hills. There were so many times your body tried to tell you to run, and each time you ignored it.
But now that you're here, it's almost too easy to lock up that part of yourself and give the rest of you to him.
"Did you?" You ask out on instinct.
"I wanted to," he admits, "he was a fucking asshole. He... he messed with my family one too many times but... I didn't kill him baby. We had a pact," he moves his hand to cup your jaw, "you should know this about me Princess. I keep my word. Always. I never go back on it. And I promise you now, no one is ever going to touch you," he drops his forehead to yours, "and if they try, I'm going to skin them... hang them up to dry... I'll cut out their tongue and burn your name into their skin to remind them that's as close as they'll get."
It shouldn't make your stomach flip. His words are far from romantic. But somehow they feel like it. To glimpse at his possessiveness, to feel as safe as you do now should feel wrong. But it doesn't.
It should have been concerning how easily you slot into this life. Chris had managed to convince you to quit your job and let him take care of you. You were almost too happy to oblige.
Now, you follow him everywhere. Not because you have to, but because you know it eases his heart when you do.
He trusts you with everything from now on. You even know more than his second-hand, Minho half the time. It pisses him off, but he can't fault his boss.
If you weren't perched up on his lap in meetings, his hand would be sitting low on your back.
Between meetings, he had you on the couch, pressing slow intimate kisses into whichever part of your skin you would allow.
Your life slowly became his, intertwining in every definition. You had never been so consumed by another, so wanting and impatient. You can never have enough of him.
But you felt safe. Because he had followed through on his promises. He rarely let you see what he did to the men who even considered touching you.
Yet you always had him in the end, perched on his velvet couch as you clean and tend to his wounds. He was soft with you. He never raised his voice, never shot you a bad look. You were his whole world.
Or you thought you were.
Now, you're perched on his lap in a meeting room. Minho to his right, a taller man in a suit across the long mahogany table.
"Princess," he whispers, looking up to you, "can you please go retrieve the note from my desk? It's in the top drawer."
You nod sweetly, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips.
You knew his office inside and out. You'd spent enough time in here to know every nook and cranny. It was no trouble for you to find the note. It was right where he said it was.
You lift the envelope and move the drawer back in place. But your mind takes a moment to catch up. You did see something. A file. A name. Your name.
You peels the drawer back to find a file laid neatly inside. It's black. Your name embossed and painted gold.
Your eyes flick to the entrance. The door is shut. You're alone.
You swipe it up and place it on the desk. You move back until your knees hit his chair and sit down, rolling it closer to the desk.
Your fingers tremble as you peel it back, and the first thing your eyes meet are photos of you. Ones taken from security cameras.
You run your hand along them, trying to decipher when they were taken. Your hair was shorter than, those outfits long abandoned.
The next page is full of your information. Credit card details, all previous home addresses, medical records, passwords, the names of past pets.
But the rest of the booklet was what made your heart jump.
Logs.
What time you woke up, what time you made your bed and brushed your teeth. Which route would you take to get to work, how much money you spent on fuel. The conversations you have with co-workers, the cashier at the corner store, the stray cat outside your apartment.
It's taken week by week, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.
But there is a particular week that's taken minute by minute. You don't recognise the dates until you start reading.
Make her wait? Your eyebrows screw up, flipping frantically until you find Fridays page.
6:57pm - she arrives. long black dress, short black heels. hair up. beautiful.
6:58pm - she waits outside.
6:59pm - she goes inside. she probably doesn't want to lose the table.
You flick your eyes further down.
7:33pm - she looks around to find him. she has no idea he doesn't exist. but i will save her.
7:34pm - i've made her wait long enough. she looks like she's about to cry.
7:35pm - i enter the restaurant.
7:36pm - i approach her table. i kiss her hand. her skin is soft, silky and smells like her perfume.
7:37pm - she tries to figure me out. i won't let her. not now. not until i know she's safe. not until i know she's mine.
Your heart drops once more, trying to take in the information. He knew you. He set you up on a date to be stood up on purpose so he could swoop in. He knew.
9:47pm - i get back in my car. she enters her apartment.
9:48pm - she strips. she changes. her scent is still filling my car.
9:49pm - outgoing message: "just met the nicest guy. i gave him my number. is that crazy?"
9:50pm - incoming message: "hey, i had the best time tonight. sorry about your date. let me make it up to you."
9:51pm - outgoing message: "hi, i had a great time too. thanks for saving me. you don't need to make up for anything. it wasn't your fault."
"Babygirl," his voice causes your head to snap up. Chris is standing in the doorway, slowly closing the door behind him. His figure appears more menacing than it has before.
"Chris!" You slam the file shut, rising quickly from the table. You lean over, covering the file with your hands. But it's too big.
He crosses the room in three intimidating strides, round the table with ease. He looks down to the file and back up to you.
You expect an apology. You think he's going to drop to his knees and start begging for forgiveness.
Instead, he slides around you and seats himself on his chair. He spreads his legs slightly, beckoning you to him. "Sit," he commands, and your instinct kicks in. You sit.
He rolls you both over to the table. One palm burns a heavy heat into your lower back. The other smooths over the file.
"How much did you read?" He whispers gently.
You can't tell if he's angry or aroused. You're not fully sure what's going on in his head.
"Not much." You lie. He can tell.
"Don't lie to me jagi," his voice is still soft, "please don't lie to me."
You swallow loud, "until we met. I read until we met."
He lets out a sigh and lifts his hand to brush the stray hairs from your face.
"Would you like to read the rest?"
He's not ashamed. You can tell that now. He's almost proud of his work.
You shake your head.
"No?" He asks. "Are you scared of me now?" His voice cracks, but he forces out the quesiton because he needs to know.
He couldn't bare it. If you of all people were scared of him.
"No," you manage. "The rest is not my business."
He inhales, eyes searching your features. "It's all about you baby."
"I figured," you turned to be more in his lap. "Why did you start it?"
He's taken aback by your question. He thought you'd be running by now. But instead, you're settling further into his lap like a pet.
"I saw you at that store." He admits, wrapping his arms fully around you, "the one you buy your energy drinks from. You had that cute scrunch on your face as you saw they were out of the flavour you loved."
"They started stocking it again," you smile softly, enjoying the story.
"I know baby," he brings his hand to cup your face, "we made a deal with them. They stock it, I won't kill them."
A fire ignites in your stomach. You know he'd kill for you. To torture those who looked at you. But to know the lengths of his admiration. The depths of his love. The heights of his obsession. It set a firework alight in you.
"I knew it then," he whispers.
"Knew what?"
"That you were mine." He speaks, forehead resting against yours, "mine to chase, mine to touch, mine to have. Mine."
You hum into him.
"Say it jagi."
"I'm yours Chris," you lean up to engulf him in a kiss. "I'm all yours."
You're sat on his lap again, waiting for Chris to say something.
You're fiddling with the letter opener on the table, watching Minho as he stands in shock.
"You told me a year." Minho huffs.
"We need this alliance Min," Christ starts, stroking a hand over your back, "I'm sorry but no." Chris pats you to signal for you to stand up.
As soon as he's out from under you, you take your seat in his chair and watch the scene unfold.
"You're my brother Min," Chris' voice is sweet and endearing, "I chose you for this a year ago because I knew you could handle it. I knew you could do it."
"Chris-"
"Minho. You want to prove your loyalty to me? Stay married to her."
"She hates me." He admits.
"Does she?" Chris asks.
It gives Minho pause. He hadn't considered it.
a/n: oh a little sneak peak for lee knows part at the end?? oh?? i spoil you guys too much
authors note: crocheting a skz concert outfit for a concert that may not even happen this year :p (also that wolf chan in the pic is my own i got him for my birthday last year :3)
summary: req
story warnings: small kiss scene, fluff, jokey mention of cheating
wc: 874
A bitter resentment settled heavy in Chan’s chest as he stopped just inside the doorway.
For a moment, he simply watched.
You were curled in on yourself atop the bed, limbs tangled in sheets, your face relaxed in sleep. Nestled against your chest was another, clutched close like something precious. Too close. Too familiar. Your arm was draped over him the way it usually rested over Chan, hand tucked in, fingers curled protectively.
Something sharp twisted anyway.
His heart, once so full, so sure, ached with something ugly and irrational. Long hours, exhaustion, the quiet fear that crept in when he came home late and the world had clearly kept spinning without him. Seeing you like this, peaceful, holding something else…it made the doubts whisper louder than they should have.
Those arms had held him after bad days. Those arms had anchored him when everything felt too much.
Now they were wrapped around another.
Before he could stop himself, Chan scoffed loudly enough to wake you. You groaned, blinking blearily as you surfaced from your nap, eyes finding your boyfriend standing there with his arms crossed and a very offended pout on his face.
“Christopher, I swear to god,” you muttered sleepily, tightening your hold on the innocent Wolf Chan, “he is literally you in plush form. He might as well be our son—”
Chan gasped, hand flying to his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. So I come home to the love of my life embracing another man and I’m the insane one? Yeah, okay. Sure.”
His tone was jokey, but there was something just a little too sharp beneath it. You sat up properly now, eyes bright with amusement as you looked him over.
“Are you jealous?”
Chan didn’t answer. He just turned his head away, jaw tight, ears burning red.
You grinned. “Aww, baby,” you cooed, voice softening immediately. “You are jealous.”
“No, I am not,” he shot back, far too quickly. “That is an inanimate object. A plushie. It could never live up to you getting cuddles from me.”
You slid out of bed, careful to tuck Wolf Chan back under the covers like you were putting a child down for a nap. You even smoothed the blanket over him before turning back to Chan.
“Look at his face, kangaroo,” you teased. “You can’t stay mad at that face.”
Chan responded with an unimpressed grunt, arms still crossed, lips pushed out in a sulk that made your heart ache a little because god—he was cute when he was jealous.
You stepped closer and gently cupped his cheeks in your hands. “Chan,” you began dramatically, “my love. My beloved darling. Light of my life—”
He huffed fondly and reached up to cover your mouth with his hand. “Okay, okay. Cut to the chase.”
You immediately licked his palm.
Chan yelped, recoiling with an unserious yet dramatic, “Ew! Oh my god?! why would you do that?”
You laughed, completely unrepentant. “Anyways,” you continued, unfazed, “as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am not cheating on you with a plushie that cost me an unspeakable amount of money. No matter how cute, adorable, and soft Wolfie is.”
Chan searched your face, the pout still there but wavering now. His shoulders relaxed just a little.
You tilted your head, humming thoughtfully. “No? Still not enough?” you teased. “Hmm…”
There was a split second where his brain tried to catch up—
And then your lips were on his.
Chan froze for half a second, then melted completely. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, grounding himself in the warmth of you like he’d been craving it all day. He kissed you back slowly, deeply, like he was trying to pour every ounce of love in his body into you.
You lingered there, lips brushing again and again, soft and unhurried. Chan chased each small retreat, forehead resting against yours between kisses, breath warm and uneven.
When you finally pulled back, his eyes were still closed.
You whispered into the small pocket of air between you, voice sweet and smug. “Apology?”
Chan sighed, defeated, cheeks warm. “…Accepted,” he muttered.
You both climbed back into bed not long after, Chan pulling you flush against his chest the moment the covers were over you. His arm wrapped around your waist, hand splayed securely at your back, heartbeat steady beneath your ear as it hummed a melody just for you.
The room settled into a comfortable silence.
Then you ruined it.
“…I can’t believe you kissed me in front of our son like that.”
Chan groaned loudly, burying his face into your hair. “For the love of god, shut up.”
You laughed into his neck, fingers curling into his shirt, and Chan couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face no matter how hard he tried.
Later, when your breathing evened out and sleep claimed you, Chan cracked one eye open and glanced toward the plushie now tucked neatly with the SKZOO’s.
He stuck his tongue out at it.
Then he pulled you a little closer, nose pressed into your hair, eyes closing again as the last of his jealousy finally melted away.
Summary: It’s not at all unusual for you and your best friend Chan to stay up far later than either of you should. He has a busy idol life, you have a busy regular life, and sometimes when you’re together, neither of you wants to sleep and miss out on precious hang out time. You were pretty sure that’s what happened this time. But if that were the case, why would you feel so sore when you woke up?
Pairing: Chan x fem!reader
Warnings: fluff, a little lack of communication and awkwardness, thinking something happened when it didn’t, work bestie OC, panic attack and aftercare of it
WC: 2.7k
A/N: Firstly, the title comes from the phrase 'penny in the air... penny drops' basically meaning someone realized something belatedly. Second, this whole fic was born of the very first line. I meshed two sentences together of someone else’s fic while reading, wrote down what I thought I read, stared at it for… a while, and now here we are. @mxnniemouse, here it is.
Masterlist
Chan rolled over and tossed the sun. Hearing the crash, his eyes flicked open. Laying on the ground were the broken parts of something electrical. He heard a groan from near his chest and looked down to see you stirring. You rolled so your back was to him and blearily said, “Did you break my alarm?”
“Shit. Yeah, I think so.” Now that he was more awake, he realized the light he’d seen that he’d then tossed was your alarm that was designed to wake you gently by steadily lighting up. “Sorry, I’ll get you a new one today.”
“Appreciate it,” you hummed softly, scooting back a little and snuggling in his embrace. His arm tightened around your middle and he settled deeper into your bed.
It seemed to hit both of you at once – why your alarm had been lighting up – because you both stiffened and sat bolt upright. “What time is it?” he scrambled for his phone, checking the time. “Okay, good. Not late yet. Want breakfast?”
“Mm, yeah, if you’re cooking it.” He snorted a laugh, but the two of you clambered out of bed. “Gonna take a shower while you do that.” You stretched with a groan, the movement pulling at sore muscles and causing your breath to hitch just a little.
In the shower, while washing yourself, you paid close attention to the places you were sore – your low back, hips, ass – and tried to remember what had happened the night before. Chan had taken the opportunity to take a couple days off while some other members had solo schedules and had come over to your apartment for some much needed best friend time. The night before last the two of you had stayed up the whole night gaming, then had stayed up until sometime last night. You just didn’t remember much after dinner. There was cuddling on the floor in front of the couch, a movie that you couldn’t recall any details of, and then nothing. You didn’t even remember changing into the night shirt you’d been wearing when you woke up.
You worked to keep your breathing even, fighting the urge to panic. Just because you couldn’t remember doesn’t mean you did something stupid like sleep with your best friend. Just because you were sore didn’t mean that either. There were plenty of reasons for the soreness and you wouldn’t wreck a perfect friendship while sleep deprived. Neither would Chan, you knew that.
Still, the thought of the possibility wouldn’t leave your mind. You were distracted through getting ready for work and breakfast and he could tell. When he asked, you brushed it off by claiming you were already thinking of your work day ahead, something he couldn’t blame you for as he did it all the time.
The possibility of having slept with Chan twirled around in your mind, infecting every thought like a poisonous vine. So much so, that one of your work friends noticed.
Your friend Iseul cornered you in the break room during your lunch break.
You explained about the last two days spent with Chan. “And then this morning we woke up in bed together and Iseul, I think we might’ve had sex last night. I’m sore and I was so tired I don’t remember part of the night. So I mean, I could’ve slept with him and I’d have no idea.”
“Would that be so bad though?”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, so admittedly you’ve never shown me a picture of this guy and you together, but like, the way you talk about him – would it really be so bad if things moved to that level? Like, I know you’d want to remember the first time together and all that, but you’re acting like it would be the end of the world if you did sleep with him.”
“I don’t understand, Iseul.”
She stared blankly at you for a few seconds. “Are you really going to tell me you don’t know that you’re in love with your best friend?”
“I am not!”
“You are! I’m the one listening to the way you talk about him, constantly by the way. I’m the one looking at you and seeing the little hearts in your eyes every time you say his name. Hearing the little broken hearted sigh when he’s traveling for work. Hearing you compare failed dates to this perfect guy. You have actually called him perfect by the way. Four times so far this month that I’m aware of. I reset every month otherwise the count would be too high for me to keep track of.”
“I don’t…,” you trailed off, mind blanking.
Iseul leaned close, a hand on each shoulder and stared into your eyes as she softly said, “It’s okay to be in love with your best friend. A lot of really excellent marriages start out as friends.”
“There’s no…. Marriage isn’t….”
“Yeah, that was probably too much. Sorry, got ahead of myself. The point is that it’s okay to be in love with him. And I’m not saying you have to tell him that you are. But I am going to point out that he takes you out or has you over for dinner like all the time. That one really long work trip he had last year, he sent you flowers every single week he was gone. The, what’s it called? Oh, build-a-bear plushy he sent for your birthday! The one he customized for you in America? The necklace you’re wearing? The distinctly couple-like necklace that he bought you that’s just his birthstone and yours? Come on, Y/N. I’ve never met him, but from here it looks like he’d be thrilled if you told him you love him.”
Your fingers flew to your necklace, tracing the delicate opal that rested beside your birthstone. You’d forgotten it was October’s birthstone until someone else had pointed it out to you. He’d told you he’d chosen opal because it was the national gemstone of Australia. Which, still proved Iseul’s point, didn’t it?
She watched you quietly for a moment while all this information twirled around in your mind. “I’ll cover for you, say I saw you get sick. Go home, go think. Then call your man, yeah?”
You nodded, still distracted, and did as she suggested, heading home while she went to your manager for you.
At home, you paced around your living room, into the kitchen, down the hall to your bedroom, then back to your living room. After the first several laps in which your brain ran a similar circuit of *I’m not in love with Chan – even if I was, he’s not in love with me – which doesn’t even matter because he’s an idol and doesn’t date – besides, I’m not in love with Chan;* you started noticing things around your living room.
The little Eiffel Tower souvenir from two years ago, the framed photo of the two of you in New York with him still in his music video outfit when they’d been shooting the Chk Chk Boom video, various other little things he’d gotten for you or sent to you while touring. The teddy bear Iseul mentioned was perched on your bed when you opened your bedroom door. You kept a supply of Chan’s coconut water in your fridge, he had a drawer of spare clothes for the times he spent the night, he frequently came to your home when he said he needed quiet or space but never made you feel like you were intruding on that space or quiet time.
You sank down onto your couch. Was Iseul right? Were you in love with your best friend?
You jolted at the knock on your door. Checking the time, you saw it was a little after 6pm. When did it get to be that late and you hadn’t noticed?
You answered the door to find a delivery person you recognized. She was employed by JYPE to make deliveries to idols’ homes or their loved one’s homes to help prevent sasaengs finding anyone’s addresses. Chan once explained to you that they worked sort of like a grocery delivery person, going out to buy and deliver things for the idols. You accepted her delivery on autopilot, still lost in thought.
The package contained the promised alarm replacement as well as a box of your preferred snacks and a note in Chan’s handwriting.
I’d planned to bring this to you myself, but there’s no way I’m getting out of here before midnight tonight. Consider the snacks my tax for breaking the alarm in the first place. <3 Chan
Your eyes fixed on that little drawn heart on his note. He’d signed his name that way to you for ages. You had a box full of postcards, notes, and even letters he’d sent and every single one had that little heart next to his name. You hurried to your bedroom, pulling the box of notes from the drawer it was kept in and just stared at the pile of papers. You’d kept every single one he’d ever written, even the little ones that came with deliveries. Did it say more about you that you kept them? Or more about him that he wrote them because he knew you liked when he wrote to you?
Your thoughts spiraled again, this time focused on the notes. Then, unbidden, the thought of him writing little notes like this to another person rose in your mind. The idea of him signing his name with a little heart for anyone else made you feel sick – stomach roiling, heart sinking, tears pricking your eyes kind of sick.
“I’m in love with Chan,” you said to the empty room. “Oh god! I’m in love with Chan and we might’ve had sex last night and I can’t remember anything! Fuck!” You dropped back onto your bed, box falling to the floor beside your bed. You covered your face with your hands trying to decide what to do. Then Iseul’s advice before you left work rose to your mind. Go home, go think. Then call your man, yeah?
Your phone wasn’t in your pocket so you stood to find it, cleaning up and putting away Chan’s notes before you did. You paced the length of your living room while your phone rang.
“Hey Y/N. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I know you said you’re busy tonight, but there’s a thing and it’s kinda important. And… actually, never mind. We can talk tomorrow or whenever you’re free, okay?”
“Is this about last night?”
“Sort of?”
“We didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re worried about. You fell asleep against me in the living room but woke up enough to shoo me out of your room so you could change when I carried you back. That’s all.”
“Oh. That’s good.” There was something in the tone of his voice – some kind of distance you didn’t recognize. “That’s not…. Um, I’m glad to know that, but it wasn’t what I…,” then, without really deciding to and even though you’d wanted to tell him to his face or at least do it better, it spilled out anyway. “I love you. Like, am in love with you. That’s what I wanted to… yeah. Anyway, bye.” You hung up and threw your phone onto your couch. Then sank to the floor, starting to hyperventilate and panic.
The sound of your blood rushing in your ears blocked out the sound of your phone ringing. Your heart pounded so hard in your chest it felt like it was trying to beat out of you. Your chest hurt with each rapid breath, making it feel like you were trying to breath with a vise wrapped around your chest. You could feel tears on your cheeks and, when you tried to bring your hands up, they were shaking so hard you could barely control them to wipe your face.
You had no idea how much time had passed when suddenly, Chan was on his knees in front of you. He grasped your shaking hands tightly in his, holding them against his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Try to match my breathing okay?”
You felt him exaggerate his breathing, taking deep inhales and long, slow exhales. “Can’t,” you shook your head. “Hurts.”
“I know, but I need you to. It’ll help, I promise. Just try for me.” Distantly, you watched your fingers curl into his shirt as you struggled to get a deep breath. “That’s it, just like that.” He smiled, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. It took a couple more tries before you were able to get a true deep breath.
“How… fast?” you asked, hoping he understood without the rest of your question.
“Ran out before you hung up. One more deep breath for me, yeah? Breath in nice and slow. Good, now hold it. Perfect. And let it out real slow.” You noticed his thumb tapping against your hand as he led you through the deep breathing exercise. “That’s it. One more, now. Deep breath in… hold it… let it out.”
Steadily, your shaking subsided, your breathing and heart rate evened out, your chest loosened, and you started feeling like an idiot. “I’m sorry, that was –”
“Have you eaten?”
“No. Chan I –”
He cut you off again. “Come on, come sit in the kitchen and I’ll make you a bowl of gyeran bap, okay?” He tugged you up, keeping you against his side as he led you into your own kitchen. Quietly, you sat at your kitchen table and watched as he worked, pouring the rice in your cooker, moving to your stove to fry a couple eggs, chopping the green onion. You didn’t understand why he kept cutting you off, but decided to wait and see.
He set the bowl in front of you, then pulled your other kitchen chair close to you, sitting down with his own bowl close enough that your knees were pressed together. The two of you ate silently, a highly unusual occurrence for you. The food helped settle your stomach, stopping the last bits of internal shaky feelings.
“Thank you.”
He hummed. “Food always helps Han after an anxiety attack. Figured it’d help you too.” After you finished, he set both sets of dishes in the sink then tugged you back up and into the living. “Feeling more like yourself now?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he nodded and sat down on your couch, surprising you when he tugged you onto his lap facing him. You settled with a leg on either side of his and just stared, too surprised to say anything. “Can I ask for a favor? Can you say it again? The thing you called me to tell me? Please.”
You flushed, but there was a thread of joy in it. He wouldn’t ask – not like this – just to let you down easy or whatever. You smoothed your hands over his shoulders. “I love you,” you said softly. “Like, I’m in love with you.”
You watched his eyes light up, watched his grin take over his face. “That’s good. I’m in love with you too.” You grinned, fingers curling into his shirt again as he cupped your cheek and guided you closer to himself so he could lean in and press his lips to yours. You relaxed into him, letting him deepen the kiss as he wanted.
When you finally broke away, you didn’t go far, resting your forehead against his. “I need a favor,” you said.
“Anything.”
You snorted. “Can I bring my friend from work to meet you? She’s the one who helped me figure everything out.”
“Iseul?”
“Mm-hm.” You nodded.
“Sure, I’d love to meet her.”
~~~~
The next day, Iseul stopped at your desk to admire the large bouquet that had been delivered to you a short while earlier. “And what are these?”
“They’re from my boyfriend,” you grinned. “And you’re invited to dinner tomorrow night. I want you to meet him.”
Summary: After Stray Kids finished filming their latest episode of SKZCODE, they asked the staff if the set could stay up a little longer so they could play with their partners. And boy, was it an adventure...
Warnings: Fluff, fun, mentions of shooting (laser tag only, no real guns), predatory behavior (in-game), light cursing, and mentions of murder.
Felix X Fem! Reader
Wc: 3.6k
“Okay, the rules are simple!” Bang Chan announced, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “It’s just like laser tag, but with a twist. There used to be a five-minute timer for SKZCODE, but since there are double the players now, we bumped it up to fifteen!”
All sixteen of you stood in a line, fully geared with helmets, vests, and laser guns. Each helmet had a baby SKZOO attached to the side. Yours was BbokAri, matching perfectly with your boyfriend’s.
Bang Chan paced in front of the line as he explained the rest of the rules. Everyone had five lives, and there were eight bases scattered across the field that needed to be claimed. Each team had one king. Kings could not be eliminated, and they were allowed to revive one life for each teammate only once per match via hug.
To claim a base, the kings have to duel for placeholders. In your case, they were bananas and drumsticks. The armed teammates would take these onto the field to officially claim a base.
There were two ways to win. A team could eliminate everyone on the opposing side, or they could claim all eight bases. If neither condition was met before the time ran out, the team with the highest score would win. Points were earned through eliminations and placeholders.
Boxes were scattered throughout the field, each one holding small trinkets that could help eliminate other players.
The teams were split up by a staff member.
On your team were Bang Chan’s fiancée, you, Lee Know’s girlfriend, Changbin’s girlfriend, Felix, Seungmin, Han, and Changbin.
The rest of the group was placed on the opposing team.
“All right,” a staff member announced, clapping loudly. “Since there is a mix of carnivores and herbivores on both teams, the placeholders will be decided by a round of cham cham cham!”
Chan nodded. “Sounds fair. Who’s your first king going to be?”
Felix lifted his hand at the same moment everyone else pointed at him. “I’ll be the king.”
“A chick?!” Hyunjin shouted, clearly teasing.
“Yah! A chick can be a king!” Changbin shot back immediately.
Felix turned to you with a pout. Laughing, you reached up and poked his cheek with your finger.
“Smile,” you said, giggling.
He responded by pulling you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin as he rocked side to side on his feet. “Arhhh,” he rumbled playfully, giving you a gentle shake. “I love you.”
Your face was completely squished against him, so you settled for kissing his collarbone instead.
“Okay!” Chan announced loudly. “We’ve chosen our king. Ayena will be our king.”
Felix and I.N both stepped into the king’s zone. Felix gestured toward him with a small nod, his expression suddenly serious. “You go first, maknae.”
I.N placed his palm out, ready to flick it in a direction. “Cham cham cham!” he called, snapping his hand to the left.
Felix moved his head in the opposite direction.
"Yes!" You whispered, clenching your fists. You knew Felix always won against I.N when they played this game.
Next was Felix’s turn. He called out the chant and whipped his hand in the same direction I.N moved his head.
Your team cheered as the other side groaned dramatically.
“All right,” the staff member announced. “Felix’s team wins! You get first pick of which placeholder you want.”
“Bananas,” Felix said easily.
“Yah!” Changbin whined. “Yongbok-ah! The meat has more protein. Pick that one! I don’t want to be a herbivore!”
Felix glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “Changbin-hyung, the banana looks cuter.” He lifted the banana proudly. “And I’m pretty sure the girls would rather be a cute banana than a chunky piece of meat.”
All of you immediately agreed.
“Yah!” Changbin yelled. “The meat is cute too!”
“We pick the banana,” Felix told the staff before turning back to his team. He motioned everyone closer, huddling up to start whispering strategies.
Felix crouched slightly, hands on his knees as everyone gathered around him. His expression was focused, brows knit together as he scanned the field ahead. The barriers were scattered unevenly across the open space, leaving plenty of room to run, hide, or get caught out in the open.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Since I’ll be in the king zone for the first round, Chan’s fiancée will take lead out here.”
She nodded immediately. “We’ll split into pairs.”
Felix pointed toward the bases. “You want to focus on the closest ones first. Don’t chase kills unless you have to. The bases matter more.”
Changbin cracked his knuckles. “Say less.”
“Changbin and Seungmin, you take that side,” Chan’s fiancée added, gesturing left. “Use the barriers and push forward.”
Han reached for his girlfriend’s hand. “We’ll go center.”
“Good,” Felix said. His eyes flicked to you for half a second longer than anyone else. “You stick with Chan’s fiancée and Lee Know’s girlfriend. Stay mobile.”
You nodded, even though part of you already hated the fact that he would be stuck behind the boundary line.
Felix straightened up. “I’ll do my best to get us placeholders fast.”
Felix turned and jogged toward the king zone, throwing you one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing behind the marked boundary.
The second the match started, chaos erupted.
You, Bang Chan’s fiancée Amelia, and Lee Know’s girlfriend Jee Yun crouched behind a barrier, huddled close as you quickly mapped out your plan.
“We don’t have much time,” Jee Yun whispered. “If we stay here too long, they’ll spot us. What’s the move?”
“Well,” you started quietly, peeking over the barrier, “the king zone can still be used for cover. And there’s a box on top of the shed. We should grab it.”
Amelia nodded slightly, eyes scanning the field.
“We should form a triangle,” you continued. “There’s three of us, so it’ll be easier to cover each other and pick people off.”
“If I know Chris,” Amelia added with a small smirk, “he’s probably thinking the same thing. I’ll stay closest to the shed. If he shows up, I can sneak around and take him out.”
“And we’ll cover you,” you whispered back.
“As for the bananas,” Jee Yun said, “we wait until Felix collects a few, assuming the other team hasn’t already. Then we split up and place them on the bases one by one.”
“Alright,” you agreed.
The three of you moved together, crouching low as you ran. Amelia led the way while you and Jee Yun followed slightly behind, firing shots whenever someone came into view.
“Yah! Where’s that coming from?!” Lee Know shouted, scrambling for cover as he reached for his back.
When you reached the king's zone, you tipped a nearby table onto its side and used it as a shield. You and Jee Yun ducked behind it, firing shots whenever someone passed through your line of sight.
Meanwhile, Amelia slipped away toward the king zone fence. She pressed herself against the shed, peeking around the corner as she searched for Bang Chan. He was heading in her direction, but he got distracted when Lee Know opened fire at Han, who was sprinting wildly from barrier to barrier.
Amelia took her chance.
She circled around to the other side of the shed, where the kings and their teammates passed through, and glanced up at the box sitting on the roof. Instead of grabbing it right away, she tossed her gun up onto the roof.
“What’s she doing?” Jee Yun whispered urgently. “Chris is on his way.”
Amelia jumped, gripping the edge of the shed and struggling for a moment before pulling herself up. Just as Bang Chan rounded the back of the shed, she hoisted herself onto the roof quietly and reached for her gun.
“Ah! That feels weird!” you yelled as you ducked behind the table.
Bang Chan fired at you a few times, the hits sending a sharp tingle through your vest. Jee Yun returned fire, the two of them sniping at each other from opposite sides. You stayed low, covering Jee Yun while firing at anyone while laying down on the floor.
Above them, Amelia propped herself up and fired down at Bang Chan.
He froze for a second, confused.
“What… how am I taking more damage?” he muttered.
He lost two lives before finally looking up.
Amelia winked at him from the roof.
“Babe!” he shouted, shocked and laughing.
Before he could lift his gun, she rolled out of sight, grabbed the box, and jumped down. She fired at him as she sprinted back toward the table, giggling under her breath. With the odds now three against one, Bang Chan decided to retreat.
“Banana!” Felix yelled from the king zone, placing a banana plushie on the table beside him.
“We’ll pick it up later! Keep winning, Lix!” you shouted, firing at Changbin’s girlfriend until she lost a life.
“AHHH! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT STINGS! LEE KNOW HYUNG!” Han screamed somewhere nearby.
You reloaded quickly and aimed for Lee Know, covering Han as he sprinted toward the king zone. You tagged him until he lost a life, forcing him back.
Han reached Felix and immediately wrapped his arms around him.
“Yah! Yongbok, save me! I’m down to two hearts!”
Felix laughed as he continued playing against I.N, who was starting to gain the upper hand.
“Ah, no! He can’t win! Yongbok, beat him!” Han wailed, clinging to Felix and shaking him side to side.
“Han! Come help cover for us!” Jee Yun yelled.
Han ducked down behind the table, and the moment he did, you grabbed the box and bolted for a barrier across the field.
Changbin was losing miserably against Lee Know while Hyunjin closed in on him from the side. They were too distracted to notice you slipping past the trees until you were already within sight.
Hyunjin fired at you.
"Banana!" Felix yelled in the distance.
Great. Two bananas.
You fired back at Lee Know while running, even as Lee Know shot at Changbin and Changbin returned fire at Hyunjin. The field was a mess of movement and shouting.
You dove and rolled behind the barrier just before losing your second life.
Heart pounding, you ripped open the box and pulled out a small rubber ball.
A moonball?
Your mouth twitched into a smirk as you read the instructions in the box.
It was a grenade.
“What the hell is that?” Changbin yelled as he fired at Lee Know and ducked back into cover.
Lee Know and Hyunjin edged closer together as you pressed the button. The grenade began vibrating lightly in your hand.
You threw it.
“What the hell?” Hyunjin asked, stepping closer to inspect it.
Then he screamed as the tingling sensation hit him.
“Yah! Where did that come from?!” he shouted, spinning around.
“It was the grenade, you pabo!” Lee Know snapped.
Hyunjin was down to three lives. Lee Know had four left.
While they bickered, you kept firing precise shots at Lee Know. Changbin seized the opening and sprinted toward the king zone to try for an extra life.
Seungmin’s girlfriend caught him mid-run, narrowing him down to his last life.
On the other side of the field, Amelia continued sniping carefully while Jee Yun stayed close, covering her every move.
Bang Chan had broken from cover, sprinting straight toward the king zone, clearly aiming for the meat placeholder. Your heart dropped.
“Changbin!” you shouted. “Toss it! The banana, now!”
Changbin didn’t hesitate.
He whipped his arm back and threw.
You caught the banana mid-run, fingers closing around the plush just as Bang Chan swore and changed direction to chase you instead.
“GO!” Seungmin yelled.
You bolted.
The base was close. Just a few trees ahead, one marked with a taped number and a hook dangling from a low branch. Close enough that you could almost taste it.
Seungmin and Han’s girlfriend flanked you immediately, firing behind them to slow pursuit. Behind you, Seungmin’s girlfriend and I.N’s girlfriend sprinted after you, shouting as they returned fire.
You reached the tree, jumped, and hooked the banana onto the base. Once it was secured, you stumbled back, stopping for a brief second to catch your breath as you raised your gun and aimed toward Bang Chan.
He was the only one not currently under fire.
Ducking behind a nearby barrier, you noticed your team still stationed at the table, sniping at Lee Know and Hyunjin as they tried to close in.
After reloading, you glanced down at your gun.
Three lives.
Dammit.
I can do this.
You pushed off the barrier and sprinted again, aiming for the nearest unclaimed base.
“Throw it!” you shouted.
Changbin caught up just in time and hurled a banana ahead of you. I.N’s girlfriend was chasing close behind, but she was still a few steps back.
You jumped and caught the banana midair, then stopped abruptly.
I.N’s girlfriend ran straight into you and tumbled backward, landing flat on the ground with a startled yelp.
Right in front of you sat a cardboard box.
You grabbed it and ran for cover, tearing it open behind a barrier.
A blanket.
You stared at it for half a second before grabbing the instruction card inside.
Just as I.N’s girlfriend fired at you, you yelped and threw the blanket over yourself.
Nothing happened.
“The blanket gives you a thirty-second advantage where you can’t be shot!” a staff member announced.
You laughed, adrenaline flooding your system, and sprinted with the blanket draped over you, gun in one hand and banana in the other. You jumped and hooked it onto base eight.
Territory claimed.
Twenty seconds left.
You sucked in a breath.
Thank god for flag football in high school.
You turned and sprinted straight for your weakest target.
Changbin’s girlfriend.
She was already down to one life.
You fired relentlessly, tagging her until she died.
“Eliminated!”
Next was Hyunjin, also down to his last life. He was already running toward I.N for a desperate hug, so you left him to your teammates at the table.
Instead, you charged Lee Know.
He saw you coming and panicked.
You fired until his vest lit up, costing him a life.
“This is murder!” he yelled as he dropped to the ground.
Five seconds.
You ran for the king zone, lungs burning, using every ounce of breath you had left.
Bang Chan was charging after you, ready to shoot the second the blanket came off.
“Time!” the staff member shouted.
You whipped the blanket off and flung it straight at Bang Chan’s face.
He froze, covered in fabric, looking like a ghost.
You skidded to a stop at the table, gasping for air as everyone immediately opened fire on Bang Chan.
He bolted toward I.N, grabbed him in a hug, and regained his last life. Without hesitation, he snatched one of the meat plushies and sprinted for the nearest base as his team covered for him.
“Yah! He can’t get away!” Changbin yelled.
You looked at the scores on the mini TV.
We were tied. We had more bases, but they had more kills. Changbin's dead, and hyunjin took nine lives!
Your gun's screen flashed.
You were down to a few health bars. If you got shot even once more, you'd die.
It's worth a shot.
You darted forward, hugging Felix for your last life. Quickly pecking his cheek, you grabbed the banana and ran.
Bang Chan was almost there, taking fire from Seungmin as you chased him with Hyunjin hot on your heels.
You fired at him as you ran.
“Yah!” Bang Chan complained. “At least let me put one plushie on a base!”
“Nope! We're winning this!" You yelled back.
Just as Bang Chan reached the tree, his helmet lit up.
Eliminated.
He still reached for the hook anyway. But before he could hook the plushie, Amelia tackled him to the ground.
“Amelia! We could’ve won!” he whined.
“No,” she laughed. “You were cheating.”
You jumped, hooked the banana onto the base, and turned just in time to hear the victory announcement.
You cheered, collapsing into laughter as your team swarmed together.
Felix didn't even wait.
Once you put the plushie on the hook, he bolted.
You barely had time to turn and look for him before he picked you up and spun you around twice.
"Lix! Your back!" You yelped, laughing.
He put you down and hugged you tight, kissing your cheek.
"I forgot how good you were at running. And Football." He muttered.
"You begged the coach to be our mascot so you could watch closer!" You laughed at the memory from highschool.
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
“I’m really proud of you,” he said. “You were… amazing. I kept thinking, that’s my girl.”
Your heart absolutely combusted.
You tipped your head back and kissed his jaw, just under his ear. “I only ran that hard because I knew you were watching.”
He sucked in a breath.
“…I’m never letting you play against me,” he said weakly.
Behind you, Han groaned. “PLEASE. THIS IS A PUBLIC SPACE.”
Felix didn’t care.
He tucked your head under his chin again, rocking slightly on his heels, smiling to himself.
“We won,” he murmured.
You stayed there, wrapped up in him, while the rest of the world yelled, laughed, and complained. Because for Felix, the game was over the second he reached you.
A/N: Thank you for reading my first work! I hope you liked it!
Minho returns home from a long practice to a house that is uncharacteristically quiet. No meows, no weaving tails, just the hum of the fridge. But as he wanders into the living room, he finds the reason for the silence—and a sight that makes his heart ache with a warmth he can't quite name
Minho fumbled with his keys, his fingers clumsy as he jabbed at the lock. The door swung open, hinges whispering in the quiet night. Shuffling through the doorway, The practice bag slid from his shoulder, hitting the ground with a heavy, muffled thud that seemed to echo through the quiet peace of the hallway. He waited for the familiar weight of Soonie weaving through his ankles, but the hallway remained still. Only the hum of the fridge answered the silence where the usual greeting of meows should have been.
Thirsty, Minho made his way down the corridor and to the right. His hand moved on autopilot, wrapping around the cabinet handle and pulling it open. He didn't even have to look to find his favorite glass. As he turned, the familiar etching of the glass felt cold against his palm, but his eyes trailed along the floor. The cat bowls were empty—a quiet reminder of the recipe she’d been so excited about.
Minho turned back towards the fridge, the steady stream of water grounding him in the quiet space. He padded out of the kitchen, his pace a quiet, familiar rhythm against the hardwood. He was headed toward the living room, the glass of water a cool weight in his hand, when his gaze finally lifted—
He froze. The water rimmed the glass, droplets threatening to spill over. Minho's breath hitched, caught in his throat as his eyes scanned the domestic scene unfolding.
There she was, fast asleep on the armchair, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight itself made his heart flutter with warm, cozy feelings he couldn't name. The four cats —his three boys and her kitten—were all draped over her as she slept. It was as if they had claimed her as their own, and watching them, Minho felt his heart ache, an unknown warmth spreading through his chest.
Doongie was splayed across her torso, head tucked into her chest. He was mesmerized by the way Dori was tucked into her neck while Soonie anchored her legs. He’d always known she was special, but seeing his cats—his stubborn, wary boys—surrender to her so completely made his thoughts run wild.
Somehow, through all the beautiful chaos, his mind was focused on one thing:
Her.
a/n: This is my very first time posting my writing! I’ve revised this drabble quite a few times to get the soft, domestic vibes just right. I’d love to hear what you think! ♡
pairing: I.N x fem!stylist!reader
wc: 5 ss
tags/warnings: fluff, very minor angst, coworkers-to-lovers, cursing, slightly suggestive in this one if you squint
part one // part two // part three // part four // part five
masterlist
Summary: Chan finds out.
The End
a/n: thank you for reading my first actual planned series! it has honestly been overwhelmingly delightful hearing from people following along, recognizing usernames, enjoying everyone's commentary, and having something to post regularly. I have entertained the idea of doing a prequel series of sorts, about Chan getting together with his staff member girlfriend (do I feel like I owe it to him after making him the villain-of-sorts of this piece? mayyyybe), but the ideas are still very vague so it might be a while before that happens, if ever, and it will be a new series, in effect. I have some other stuff in the works in the meantime, and I'm thinking about doing a small request event when I hit 250 followers. thanks for reading!
perm. taglist: @virgopotterhead @sue-reads @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @velvetmoonlght @ch3rry15pin @my-neurodivergent-world @danielle143 @girlblogger-04 @kpopdiva89 (to join the permanent taglist fill out this form)
SUMMARY — Desperate hitman looking for a petsitter. Enter: you—the woman who will slowly turn into Braxton's greatest headache.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — Merry Christmas! It's a holiday I absolutely despise so wanted to make myself feel better with a quick fanfic. Thank you all who comment on my stories to let me know you like them. You have no idea how happy it makes me to see those comments.
WORD COUNT — 5,548
Masterlist
Taglist
Finding someone to watch the damn thing had been a problem the scale of which Braxton hadn’t anticipated. Pet hotels were out, for obvious reasons. Too many questions, too much paperwork, not to mention that orange thing was a semi-feral maniac.
Asking someone he trusted? Laughable. He barely trusted himself, and that was on a good day. Most of the people he knew would either eat it, sell it, or forget to feed it.
Then, like a fairy godmother lurking in his cookies (probably), Christian of all people decided to help.
In his own way, of course.
Just as Braxton was running out of time and losing his sanity, frantically googling which damn shots a cat might need in Istanbul—an encrypted file appeared in his inbox.
A portfolio of reliable pet sitters in his direct area, complete with background checks and client testimonials. It was so clinical, so perfectly compiled that for a moment Braxton forgot to be relieved. He would’ve deleted it on principle, but he was running out of time.
So he made inquiries. It turned out, these people might have been reliable, but by God were they also utterly nuts.
The first woman on the list had a house that smelled like patchouli and talked to him in a baby voice as if he was the damn cat. The next, a guy, kept winking and asking if Braxton “needed any other services taken care of.” Had it been up to Braxton, he would’ve taken care of the man then and there, he even had the silencer on him. But, as it was, he was also in a hurry.
The third lady had seventeen cats of her own and tried to lecture Braxton on holistic nutrition, which… Let’s be honest, he barely fed himself on a regular basis and most of it was processed sugar anyway.
You were the lucky number four and his last resort.
Braxton googled you, just to be sure, but to his surprise he found very little. A social media profile that looked abandoned, some old playlist on an ancient YouTube account, and a blurry photo to wrap it all up. Safe to say, he was intrigued.
At the end of the day, the information in Christian’s portfolio was straightforward and your rate seemed very reasonable. Not that it mattered. You were his last chance. His ass had to be planted in that plane seat in exactly four hours.
He called first—suddenly he felt like not being that much of an asshole. But after that initial phone call, he did show up on your doorstep with the orange menace in a plastic carrier. Braxton was fully aware he was forcing your hand, and he was prepared to deal with you like with any other problem—throw cash at you and hope for the best.
When you saw him, the cat, then let him introduce himself (with a fake name and that easy charm), you just let him. And, for the longest moment, you didn’t speak. Unnerving, that.
But, regarding your sanity, you seemed clean, quiet, and smelled like nothing in particular.
Finally, just as Braxton was about to lose it, you looked at Braxton, then at the hissing, spitting creature, and simply asked: “Not neutered?”
Braxton winced. But there was no baby talk, no winks, no judgment. Small mercies.
That was when he pulled a thick, plain envelope from inside his jacket and placed it on the side table—not tossed. The gesture was oddly careful for him.
“Rate’s in there. Plus extra.”
You looked at it, then at him with the same blank expression.
“I don’t need extra,” you said and he snorted, giving you that exasperated look like you’d just told him gravity was optional.
“Consider it hazard pay. That thing’s insane.”
“Right. He got a name?” you asked.
Braxton smirked. “Nah. Just call him whatever he’ll respond to.”
Then you deadpanned: “So… ‘Asshole’ works?”
He actually laughed. “Yeah. That’ll do. And listen, thanks.”
“Never said I’d take him.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “What’s the rush?”
“A job.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Listen, lady,” he scrubbed a hand across his face and put down the carrier, “I gotta be at the airport in an hour.”
“Not my problem, is it?”
But then you picked up the carrier and the cat stopped hissing.
Braxton’s eyes widened slightly. Goddamn. Now he was a little intrigued. First of all, you seemed largely unaffected by him showing up with the cat, which… Frankly, you should have shut the door in his face. It’s what he would’ve done. But now you turned out to be some sort of cat whisperer too, which wasn’t exactly unexpected—judging by your standoffish, cat-like demeanor. Practically half-feline yourself.
“Alright, listen,” he conceded. “You want details? Here’s the thing.”
Then he spun the tale, every sentence of which carried the polish of a well-practiced lie. You believed none of it, but judging by your eyes you were also too tired to argue.
“So, you in? Or do I need to find another solution?” Braxton’s dark eyes studied you intently, searching. “Come on, what’s it gonna be?”
Now, Braxton was many things, but not patient. He wasn’t used to relying on others, especially not for something personal. Matter of fact, he wasn’t used to having anything remotely classified as “personal” either.
He glanced at his watch, the tension in him growing because you were still silent. Finally, he scoffed and moved to take the carrier back, but that was when you reached for the envelope.
Braxton smirked.
“Ah, so you are human.” He straightened up, tilting his head. “Listen, don’t even worry ‘bout it. Take the cash, if anyone asks you never saw me, if I end up dead in a ditch somewhere, congrats, free cat.”
He said it like it was a joke. It wasn’t.
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s weirdly specific.”
“Yeah, well.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks, tops.”
You smiled, but he failed to see anything funny about it. Finally, you nodded then stuck your finger inside that carrier and didn’t immediately lose it.
Braxton took it as a sign.
“What food does he like?”
“I don’t know, uh… That canned stuff.”
“Canned… stuff.”
Braxton had never seen that orange monster look at him with more disgust.
“Look—”
“What type of litter?”
Braxton was the picture of exasperation. You chuckled, he assumed it was probably because his and the cat’s expressions now matched.
“Look, just… Buy whatever you think is best.”
He wasn’t used to being interrogated. But he had to admit, he liked your direct approach—even if your stern looks made him feel like he was failing math again.
“Fine, fine,” he muttered, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. “He likes chicken. And for the litter... just get the cheap stuff. He’s not picky.”
You sighed. “You mean you’re not picky. But fine.”
Braxton couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.
“Anything else?” he asked. “Need his measurements for a little cat suit or something?”
“No, I should have a spare.”
He sincerely hoped you were kidding, but then again the past week had been a quick and painful education on just how crazy the crazy cat people could really be.
“Ha. Funny.” Braxton paused, then added reluctantly, “And maybe get some of those... what do you call ‘em? Those little toys. He likes to bat at ‘em.”
Braxton cleared his throat, trying to cover the moment of vulnerability. He glanced at his watch again. He really needed to get moving. The cat let out an undignified yowl, not too happy with his imprisonment.
“Alright, that’s my cue,” Braxton said, taking another step back toward the door. The cat was still glaring at him like Braxton had somehow wronged him, which to be honest he probably had.
“Yeah, and,” Braxton paused as he took another step towards the stairs, “don’t let him near that fire escape. Little psycho thinks he’s Spider-Man.”
You muttered something under your breath that sounded suspiciously like: “Wonder where he learned that from.”
Braxton pretended not to hear. He pointed at you, then the cat. “Two weeks. Don’t kill my cat.”
Now, according to Braxton, this whole petsitting thing… It was supposed to be a clean, one-time, borderline-desperate arrangement. But it wasn’t, not really. It soon turned out you weren’t a freak and the cat was well-taken care of. Frankly, much better than whatever freestyle parenting Braxton had been experimenting with. Besides, you still didn’t ask any weird questions and Braxton liked that about you as well.
Which was why, some weeks later, he found himself back at your door—again. He had an expensive duffel bag slung over one shoulder and the same orange menace in the upgraded, non-rattling carrier under his arm.
Braxton didn’t bother with knocking politely this time. He just rapped his knuckles hard against the wood. “Open up. Package delivery.”
There was some rattling and some swearing, then a crash like something fell. You opened the door, hair wild and a glare so fierce it almost rivaled the cat’s. Braxton cracked a grin at your expense.
“You know,” you snarked, “normal people call ahead.”
Braxton pushed past you into the apartment, setting the carrier down on the floor. “Normal people don’t have a cat who screams like a banshee if you leave him in the car for two minutes. I was sparing you.”
“My hero,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms. Braxton’s smirk only widened.
“Alright, ma’am,” he drawled, handing over the familiar envelope. “Three weeks.”
“Three?!”
Braxton shrugged, his expression back to guarded. “Business trip. It’s… complicated.”
He glanced around your apartment, cataloging the new cat tree in the corner and the collection of feather toys. “Someone’s been shopping.”
“Someone’s been paying well.”
You opened the carrier first and the cat bumped its head against your shin, purring loudly.
“Yeah, yeah, no whining,” Braxton muttered.
“I wasn’t going to whine,” you said. “But I will start an emotional support surcharge for dealing with his absentee father.”
Braxton actually laughed—a sharp, surprised type of sound. He dropped his duffel by the door with a heavy thud. He was already fishing out his phone, typing one-handed, but the smile was still there. “Send me the bill.”
“I wasn’t—” You rolled your eyes. “Nevermind. He got a name yet?”
“No.” Braxton put the phone down and nodded toward the cat, who was now attempting to scale your bookshelf. “But had to get him… You know. He kept getting into fights. Got some sort of a death wish.”
“All orange cats do,” you sighed.
Braxton grunted, levelling you with a look. He had no idea what the hell that meant. Sometimes he wondered about you.
Not that often, though.
“Alright.” He hesitated in the doorway. “You, uh… you got everything you need this time?”
You stared at him. “Are you being thoughtful?”
“No.”
You smirked, clearly not buying it. He needed to exit. Fast.
“Whatever. Three weeks. Don’t teach him any new swear words.” He pointed a finger at you. “I mean it.”
Then, his usual guarded mask was back on and Braxton was out the door.
Three weeks later, the snow was falling in thick, silent clumps. The city airport was strangely festive and it only clicked for Braxton at customs that it must have been Christmas. Usually, and especially when on assignments, Braxton blocked out any type of family-adjacent events. Holidays weren’t really a thing for him, not since he was a boy. And even then it was a very touchy subject.
He took off his gloves, then knocked on your door—same two sharp raps—and waited, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets.
When you opened the door, the usual sharp retort was absent and your apartment was oddly quiet. Usually, your place had some kind of life to it—a book open on the table, music playing low. Now it just felt hollow.
You nodded at him and stepped aside. A wordless invitation. As soon as he saw Braxton, the cat let out a loud, indignant meow and trotted towards him.
“All good?” Braxton asked, his tone a tad less sharp than usual.
You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “It’s fine. He was good.”
Braxton stood there for a moment. Usually, you’d give him some smartass comment by now and he’d be out the door. He didn’t like this. The quiet. The way your shoulders were slumped. He’d seen that look on people before. It was the look of someone who was missing something. Or someone.
He much preferred you giving him hell about the cheap litter again.
“Okay,” he started, the words feeling awkward already. “It’s, uh… Look, I’ll get him. You don’t gotta…”
But he was still standing just inside your threshold, shedding snow onto the floor. Something tight and unpleasant clenched in Braxton’s chest. It wasn’t necessarily about the silent treatment, it was the whole damn picture. The bad news was, he wasn’t good at this at all. His usual problem-solving method for any sort of life-related issue involved a well-placed bullet. Maybe a little threatening conversation. He was not good at dealing with… whatever this was.
Braxton hovered, uncharacteristically unsure.
He could just grab the cat and go.
That was the arrangement, after all.
“Alright, ma’am,” he said. He jerked his head toward the cat, who was now back to weaving between his legs, purring like a small motor. “Let’s make a deal. You get that psycho some dinner—”
“He’ll puke in the car if he eats now.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Braxton took his coat off and threw it on the closest surface. “You can argue with me later. Right now, we’re gonna do something else.”
You wanted to argue, he could see it in your face. But he was already stepping further into the apartment.
“You got any more of that disgusting vegetarian stuff you eat?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just started walking toward your kitchen. The cat trotted after him, chirping at the prospect of the early dinner. He got his can of wet food first, otherwise nothing would get done. The orange idiot would probably run circles around Braxton’s feet until he tripped and broke his neck.
“Make yourself at home,” you said flatly, but that first real spark of life was back in your tone. Tinged with annoyance, but there.
You watched Braxton rummage through your cabinets with an alarming lack of ceremony. “Where the hell do you keep your liquor? Never mind, found it.”
He pulled out a bottle, inspected it, shrugged, then finally grabbed two glasses.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing a finger at your couch. “You’re gonna tell me who I need to have a chat with about ruining your night. Or,” he paused, pouring generously into each glass, “you’re gonna just drink this and we’ll talk about somethin’ else.”
You smirked. “Like what do you do for work?”
Braxton shot you a look over his shoulder, the kind that said: “Don’t start with me.”
“Like,” he handed you a glass, “why the hell I’m spending my first night back babysitting you and not a nice bottle of bourbon that doesn’t talk back.”
“This is bourbon.” You took a sip and gestured between the two of you. “You sitting here with me? Completely optional, by the way.”
Braxton groaned and sank into the armchair opposite you, sprawling in the way that seemed to occupy the whole room. “Start talkin’,” he said, his eyes never leaving you.
There was something about the way he let you talk back now. Some sort of reluctant, gruff permission that developed sometime after the petsitting number five. You weren’t sure where this whole thing came from, but you didn’t exactly mind either.
So you told him the sob story—bits and pieces anyway. There was no one you cared to spend Christmas with, not particularly, and you knew there wasn’t anyone missing you at their table either. A complicated mess that didn’t affect you—much—except times like this. Birthdays, Christmas, New Year’s. All of them a shit day to be alone on.
Braxton listened in a way you weren’t sure he could. Silent, still. Most importantly, he didn’t interrupt with platitudes or meaningless comfort. You told him about the call you got this morning. The expected, obligatory guilt-trip from your mother. The way she could always make you feel ten years old and utterly alone.
When you finished, Braxton set the glass down.
“Families,” he said, the word sounding like a curse. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He was quiet for another moment, as if weighing his next words. You shuffled in your seat and the cat got startled by the sudden movement. He flattened his ears before resettling next to you with a grumpy huff.
“Yeah, see, my mother, she…” Braxton said finally and he met your eyes, his dark gaze more intense than you’ve ever seen it. “Didn’t really care about us. That’s what I think. Used to be it ate me up inside, but then… Decided to stop carryin’ that around. And guess what? The world didn’t end.”
You frowned and downed the rest of your drink. “You think I should… What? Cut them all off?”
He gave a short, sharp shrug. “Hell if I know. But sometimes the best thing you can do is stop pickin’ up the damn phone. ‘Cause trust me, they only call if they need something.”
You looked at him for a long time. “You sure this is still about me?”
A slow, wry smile spread across his face. “Smart girl,” he said, his voice gaining the weary, bitter honesty that usually happened after a good drink and an honest conversation. “No. Guess not.” Braxton stared into his empty glass, turning it slowly in his hands. “Guess it’s about a dad. And a brother who…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I’m sure it matters,” you said, and you meant it.
He looked at you, that unguarded look amplified by drink and an almost-confession. “Yeah, alright. Maybe it ain’t about you. But the advice is the same.”
He pushed himself up, the moment of vulnerability over. He came back with the bottle, pouring you both another stiff drink. You were still chewing on the emotional mess he’d just laid bare. You couldn’t quite believe you got to hear it.
“Alright, Oprah,” you said, leaning back against the couch cushions, “so what’s your professional opinion? Do I just block their numbers and pretend I don’t exist? Get a cat and a gun and learn to live in the woods?”
You gestured with your glass at the cat, who was now asleep next to you, curled up in a near ball. “Guess cats already like me. Just need the weapons training.”
Braxton chuckled. It was a low, genuine sound that rumbled deep in his chest. “Nah. You’re not the woods type.” He gestured with his glass towards your small, tidy bedroom. “You’ve got… Things.”
“Things?”
“Books, I don’t know. Curtains.” He shook his head like he disapproved and took another sip. “What? What you’re laughin’ for now?”
You still grinned. “You said it like it was some foreign species.”
“Yeah, well.” Braxton sat back down. “Might as well be.”
You snorted into your glass. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
The anger you had been nursing all day was starting to feel distant, replaced by this foreign sense of warmth. It was the alcohol, sure, that’s what you told yourself. But it was also him. The strange man who paid you ridiculous sums for watching his crazy cat. He sat in that armchair, looking completely out of place with his dangerous energy, and yet you didn’t want him to leave. The snow outside had softened the city and the low light in your apartment did the same to him. He looked less like a mysterious eccentric, more like… Just a guy. A messed-up, probably highly dangerous guy who most likely had seen too much.
“So which one are you?” you asked, just to keep the conversation going. “The quiet one, or the loud one?”
He froze, the glass halfway to his lips. For a moment, he just looked confused.
“You said you have a brother,” you explained. “So I was wondering.”
He stared at you, the mask of easy charm cracking for a second. “What, you makin’ a file on me now?”
You shrugged. The cat, disturbed by the sudden movement, lifted his head and blinked sleepily. Then he yawned, stretching a paw towards you, before settling back down. Braxton watched it, his face revealing nothing once more.
“Guess I’m the loud one,” he said finally.
You tilted your head, the alcohol and the strange intimacy of the moment slowly getting to your head. “Funny. You don’t seem that loud right now.”
Braxton scoffed, draining the rest of his glass in one go. “Yeah, well. Even I run out of things to talk about.”
He stood up and put his coat back on, back to efficient, already putting the walls back up. The dangerous, charming stranger was returning, and the guy who talked about broken families was disappearing.
“Time to go.” He nudged the cat gently. “C’mon, you little shit. We’re out of here.”
You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t have to. He read the disappointment in your face and didn’t like how it made him feel.
Braxton sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, about what I said.” He awkwardly gestured between you and himself. “Don’t… Just, don’t think about it too hard.”
“No promises.”
“You…” He paused and shook his head. “Is that a thing we do now? I pay you and you talk back?”
He didn’t like people looking too closely, seeing the cracks in the armor. And tonight he had shown you plenty. You somehow made him do it, without even trying, just by sitting there and breathing. The thought should terrify him.
Finally, he grabbed the plastic carrier with one hand, then scooped up the now-awake cat, who protested loudly, and tucked him inside. Braxton was already halfway to the door when you said:
“Thanks.”
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
“Don’t mention it.”
And he meant it literally.
Then he gave you a short, sharp nod, not even fully turning around. This was getting too dramatic for his liking. Except, of course, the cat chose that moment for his disgruntled yowls re: sudden imprisonment.
You were right, Braxton decided. All orange cats really did share a single brain cell.
The job in Bogotá went sideways. Fast. What was supposed to be a straightforward extraction turned into a firefight, and now Braxton had another bullet wound for his fucked up collection.
He told you he’d be gone for ten days, but almost three weeks passed before he was good enough to fly. He didn’t call ahead. Could barely think straight. He appeared at your doorstep just after midnight, pale and crumpled. He looked like he’d been wrung out and left to dry, and felt like it too.
When you opened the door, his gaze swept over you, then the apartment behind you. A quick, automatic assessment. He didn’t offer a greeting. You yawned in his face, then said:
“You look like shit.”
Braxton managed a tired smirk then stepped inside. The cat trotted towards him, chirping in an agitated manner. Braxton wanted to think the orange menace missed him, but the truth was he could probably smell the antiseptics a mile away. Braxton’s side throbbed, the wound still angry and fresh.
“He’s fine,” you said quickly. “Just trying to get a second dinner out of you.”
“That’s on you.”
“Me?”
“You’re spoiling him rotten.” Braxton shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over a chair. He immediately regretted it when the movement pulled at the bandage under his shirt.
“Hey. You okay?” you asked. “Where the hell have you been?”
Much like the cat, you could probably smell it on him—that something was undeniably, definitely wrong.
“Just need five minutes,” he muttered to the ceiling as he sank onto your couch, head tipped back. “Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
He didn’t move for a long moment, his eyes closed, breathing shallow. All he could hear was the cat’s persistent purring as he rubbed against his leg. You stayed where you were, watching him.
“You’re bleeding,” you said after a moment and Braxton had never heard you sound so worried. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did.
Braxton cracked one eye open. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like fucking nothing.” You walked up to him and flicked his ear.
Braxton tried to sit up straighter, hissing through his teeth. The things he let you do to himself…
His face went pale for a second. “Fine,” he ground out. “It’s—”
He nearly jumped when the cat climbed into his lap, purring like a tractor. Braxton rested a hand on the animal’s back.
You watched it all for a second, really taking in the damage. The way Braxton held himself, the pallor. It wasn’t just exhaustion. He was trying to play it off, but it was a bad performance.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” you muttered. “Take your shirt off.”
He cracked one eye open, looking at you with a mere flicker of his usual cocky defiance. “Buy me dinner first.”
You didn’t even dignify that with a response, just picked up the phone. “I’m calling you an ambulance.”
“No,” he snarled, his voice low and sharp. The sudden intensity made the cat flinch. “No hospitals. No cops. No paper trail. Got it?”
You froze with the phone in your hand. “Then what?” you shot back, frustrated. “You gonna bleed out on my couch? That’s a lot of paperwork too. Mostly for my landlord, he’ll have to buy me another couch.”
A grim, humorless smile touched his lips. “Ain’t you sweet.”
He shifted, trying to sit up, and the effort left him breathless, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Just… get me the first aid kit. Whatever you’ve got.”
For just a moment, you stared at him. The sensible part of you screamed to call 911 and let the professionals deal with this.
“I don’t want you to die,” you said finally, deciding the direct approach was always best with cats so there was no reason why it shouldn’t work on him too.
He managed a weak, triumphant smirk. “I’m not gonna die.”
“Maybe.” You shook your head. “That’s a big maybe. So be glad I’m a hypochondriac.”
Having said that, you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of cabinets opening and closing echoing all the way back to the living room. Braxton leaned his head back against the cushions again.
True to your word, you came back with what could only be described as an industrial-sized first-aid kit. “Alright, tough guy,” you said, dropping the supplies on the coffee table with a clatter. “Let’s see the damage.”
Braxton let out a ragged sigh, the fight draining out of him. “You’ve done this before?”
“Changed bandages? Yes. Saved someone’s life? Absolutely the fuck not.”
“Alright. Fair,” he grunted. “Just… don’t freak out.”
With a grimace of effort, he gripped the hem of his blood-soaked t-shirt and peeled it away from the wound. The fabric stuck, pulling at the torn flesh. With your help, he finally managed to get it over his head.
His entire torso was a map of old scars—faint silvery lines and thick, jagged pink ones. And weird tattoos. Lots of them. This new wound, though… It was angry and immediate, surrounded by deep purple bruising that spread across the hard muscles of his abdomen and side. The full extent of the damage was a brutal, messy thing. You absolutely wanted to freak out. Braxton noticed.
“Yeah,” he said, his tone a tad gentler than before. He took the gauze from your hands and the antiseptic, fully prepared to do everything himself. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Or the last.
The cat, now perched on the armrest, watched your every move with wide, unblinking eyes.
“What the fuck,” you sighed and finally felt strong enough to move. You sprayed antiseptic on the surrounding area, ignoring Braxton’s grunts. “There’s…” You gestured to five boxes of pills on the coffee table. “Pick any.”
Braxton looked at the arrangement, desperate for a distraction. You put on rubber gloves and got to work.
“Where does a girl like you get fucking Tramal?”
“Same way you do, I presume,” you muttered.
He shot you an incredulous look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You swept the gauze against the jagged edges of the wound. Fortunately, the bleeding had long stopped. It must have been superficial. Or at least that’s what all your years of experience watching “Grey’s Anatomy” told you.
He hissed sharply through his teeth, the muscles in his abdomen tensing when the antiseptic touched him closer. He didn’t pull away, though. He just took it. You looked at him critically but said nothing. Either he was used to this kind of pain or he trusted you, and both scenarios made something in your chest ache.
Finally, Braxton cracked one eye open as you worked.
“Okay. Tramal’s an overkill,” he grunted. “Give me the ibuprofen. Or nothing. Don’t matter.” He shifted slightly and the cat bumped his head against Braxton’s forearm.
“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Braxton muttered to the cat, his voice strained but softer than you had ever heard him. “You do this often?” he asked, the question casual, but just on the surface.
You sighed and sprayed some more antiseptic on his side. Then you passed him the pills.
“Patch up strange men?” You smirked. “Sure. Lots.”
A low, humorless chuckle rumbled in his chest, turning into a grimace as it jostled his ribs. He dry-swallowed the pills. “Careful,” he rasped. “You get all affectionate like that, I might never leave.”
He let his eyes drift shut for another second. You were quiet, but only because you were so focused on taping fresh bandage just tight enough to his skin—but not so tight so as to serve as a Victorian corset.
Braxton, for all his quirks, apparently read too much into your silence.
“Hey. You won’t see me ‘til the next… Uh, business trip.” He paused. “Long as I can walk, I’m not your problem.”
You cut some more medical tape and then deemed your masterpiece complete. “Not the worst patient I’ve had,” you muttered, “and I’m mostly enjoying my apartment not becoming a crime scene.”
Braxton let out a weak laugh. He looked around your living room—cluttered, quiet… With cushions and curtains and even a carpet. Your world was miles away from his.
“Yeah,” he said, starting to feel heavy as the adrenaline left his body. “Good to know.”
He watched you pack away the supplies.
“Listen. If you want me to leave now—”
But you wouldn’t let him finish that sentence. You leveled him with a stern look, which for a moment made Braxton think he was about to get scolded.
You leaned in and kissed him instead.
Braxton froze. Completely. His brain, usually working ten steps ahead, went quiet. One moment he was assessing his pain levels and the next your lips were on his. It wasn’t a tentative peck either, even if he could feel your hesitation every step of the way.
Yeah, fuck that. There was no way he was going to push you away. He let out a deep grunt and then, like a switch flip, he kissed you back. It was hungry and desperate, his whole body starved for contact.
The cat, startled by the sudden motion, leaped off the couch with an offended chirp, but Braxton didn’t pay him any mind. He was entirely focused on you.
His free hand came up to your face, fingers tangling in your hair. He pulled back just an inch, his breath ghosting over your mouth. “That’s not gonna keep your place clean much longer, just sayin’.”
Braxton’s usual smirk was back and you felt better seeing it. But this time, you definitely didn’t want to talk it out. Didn’t want to analyze the disaster zone that was your personal life, or his for that matter. He seemed to have read that look in your eyes exactly right.
Again.
He leaned in, but this time it wasn’t desperate. It was a deliberate, consuming kiss. His hand slid from your hair down to your back, pulling you closer. “You sure about this?” he asked. “Because I’m not exactly in prime condition here.”
You laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure,” you said. “Just keep it PG. Don’t want to traumatize your crazy son.”
“He’ll get over it. He’s got a strong stomach.” Braxton dipped his head, trailing kisses down your neck, rendering your brain entirely useless. “And so do you, apparently.”
His hand slid under your shirt, palm hot and rough against your skin. “But just so we’re clear,” he murmured against your skin, “I don’t do fuckin’ ‘PG’.”
And with that, he kissed you again, swallowing any smartass response you might have had.
