A/N- Disclaimer: This story is a work of fanfiction. It is inspired by the members of Stray Kids but does not depict their real personalities, relationships, or personal lives. All characters and events portrayed here are fictionalized for creative storytelling purposes.
This chapter contains mature themes and/or intimate scenes intended for adult audiences. Reader discretion is advised.
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Evening had settled gently over the city, casting golden hues through the tall windows of the suite. The sky outside burned with the last light of the day—dusky pinks and gold fading into velvet blue. After hours of talking, laughing, and quietly healing old aches, the group had come to a simple, spontaneous decision:
Late-night room service. At your hotel.
Now, the suite felt completely transformed—less like a temporary stay and more like a home built in a single night. A mess of pillows spilled across the couch and floor, forming makeshift thrones and forts. Blankets trailed along the furniture like soft rivers. Room service containers covered every surface: fries still warm in their carton, half-eaten bowls of ramen, kimchi pancakes torn apart with chopsticks, an entire fruit plate that no one remembered ordering, and a pile of cookies Han had absolutely begged for at the last second.
The air was full—of food, of warmth, of comfort.
And laughter. Laughter that echoed off the walls like it belonged there.
Hyunjin, in the center of it all, broke into impromptu choreography to a toothpaste commercial, complete with dramatic facial expressions.
Felix sat behind Seungmin, slowly braiding his hair while narrating the act like a wildlife documentary. "Here we observe the elusive Seungmin in his natural grooming habitat..."
Lee Know lounged nearby, arms crossed but not leaving. His expression was neutral—but softer, like the weight he carried had loosened its grip for just one night.
You watched it all from your place on the floor, half-wrapped in a blanket, legs stretched across a pillow pile. The light had dimmed, the golden tones now fading to warm amber, casting shadows that flickered like candlelight across the walls.
You leaned your head against Chan's shoulder, your voice quiet but full. "This is perfect."
He didn't say anything right away—just kissed the top of your head. Then he tilted his head, that familiar spark returning to his eyes. "You haven't seen the best part yet," he murmured.
You turned slightly to look up at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
His lips curled into a grin—mischievous, a little smug. The kind of grin that said this moment had been planned in the back of his mind all night.
"I forgot to tell you something," he said, his voice barely above a breath. "I never got a separate room."
You blinked, heat blooming beneath your skin. Your lips parted to speak, but nothing came. He just smiled and leaned a little closer, as if to seal the moment between just the two of you.
The night continued around you, but the chaos had faded into something softer—leftover warmth, hushed voices, the sound of friends too full to move.
You were still on the floor, curled against Chan, the weight of his arm draped across you, when it happened.
At first, it was subtle—his hand shifting, resting just a little lower at your hip, his fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. Then came the whisper—his breath hot against the shell of your ear, voice low, intimate. Words only you could hear.
You barely had time to process before you felt it—a playful nip at the side of your neck, quick, sharp, and utterly electric. Your breath caught in your throat—a soft gasp, not from pain, but from the sudden thrill that shot down your spine. Your eyes fluttered closed, your fingers curled slightly against his arm.
Then silence.
Felix, mid-sip of water, froze with wide eyes. "Okay... alright." He stood slowly, smirking with amused surrender. "Time we leave them alone."
Hyunjin burst out laughing as he grabbed the last cookie. Seungmin rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Even Lee Know gave you a knowing look before shoving a pillow under his arm and heading for the door.
And just like that, the room emptied—leaving only you, him, and the quiet promise that tonight... wasn't over yet.
Just you and Chan
He stood slowly, his eyes locked on yours, dark with intent. Without a word, he crossed the room and turned the dimmer down, bathing the suite in a sultry amber glow. Shadows danced along the walls, the air thick with anticipation.
Then he turned back to you—deliberate, unhurried—each step echoing with purpose. He stopped in front of you, his gaze sweeping over your face like he was memorizing it. "Come here," he said, low and commanding, but full of heat.
You rose, heart pounding, and he took your hand—firm, grounding. He led you toward the bed like it was a shared secret. When you sat, he didn't waste a second.
He leaned in and kissed you.
Slower. Deeper. Hungrier.
His mouth moved over yours with a hunger barely restrained, lips parting to taste you like he'd been craving it for far too long. His hands cradled your face, then slid down—fingertips grazing your jaw, your neck, then trailing to your waist.
He guided you back onto the bed, following you down, his body hovering just inches above yours. His breath was hot against your cheek, his chest rising and falling harder now.
His hands gripped your hips with intention—thumbs slipping beneath your shirt, brushing heated skin as if testing how much of you he could take in before losing control.
His lips ghosted over your jaw, your ear, then your collarbone, as he whispered, "Is this okay?"
Your breath hitched, the answer already etched into every inch of your body. "Don't stop."
He exhaled hard, almost like a growl, forehead pressing to yours. "You sure?" he murmured, voice thick with restraint and raw need.
Your voice trembled, not with fear—but with desire. "I'm sure. Don't stop."
His mouth crashed into yours again—deeper, rougher—any hesitation gone.
And this time, he didn't stop.
His kiss deepened, fierce and consuming, his hands exploring with reverence and hunger. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies—only heat, skin, and the slow, deliberate grind of want.
He moved against you like he already knew your rhythm. Like he'd memorized your sighs, your tension, your surrender.
As his lips trailed down your neck, he lingered—nipping, then soothing the spot he'd bitten earlier. His tongue traced lazy circles, coaxing out another breathless moan from your lips. He smiled against your skin, hands now sliding beneath your shirt, lifting slowly—waiting for you to raise your arms.
You did.
He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it aside without breaking eye contact. His gaze roamed your body like it was the first time he'd truly seen you—raw, real, exposed. And wanted.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, not as a compliment, but as a confession.
You reached up, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt, pushing it up, feeling muscle tighten beneath your touch. He shed the layer quickly, lips returning to yours, more desperate now, as if the taste of your skin wasn't enough—like he needed more. All of you.
Clothes fell away piece by piece, each one a promise, each kiss a question answered.
His touch grew bolder, his hands mapping every inch of you—slow and teasing at first, then deeper, more urgent. He kissed your chest, your stomach, trailing down with open-mouthed hunger until you gasped his name.
"Chan..."
The sound of it—how you said it, like a plea—made him shudder. He came back up, hovering over you again, lips swollen, pupils blown wide with desire.
"Tell me what you want," he murmured.
You reached for him, pulling him closer, hips arching to meet his. "You. All of you."
He didn't speak. He just kissed you again—slow, then fast. Gentle, then rough. Every movement fueled by want, by the aching need to feel skin on skin, soul on soul. As your bodies aligned, he paused only once more, pressing his forehead to yours, breath hot and trembling.
"This isn't just tonight," he whispered.
You smiled, heart racing, body aching for more. "I know."
Then there were no more words.
Only breathless gasps, soft whimpers, and the rustle of sheets filled the space as your bodies tangled beneath the dim golden light. His skin slid against yours—hot, damp, alive—with every movement deepening the ache between you. The air was thick with heat and the rhythm you created together, a dance driven by instinct and desire.
His mouth found every sensitive place—your shoulder, the curve of your neck, the hollow between your ribs—each kiss searing a new memory into your skin. You arched into him, matching his pace, your fingers digging into his back, needing him closer, deeper, more.
Every thrust was unhurried but powerful, filled with something that went beyond lust. He looked into your eyes like he needed to see every flicker of pleasure written across your face, like each sound you made was sacred.
Your name left his lips in a strained whisper, and you answered with a moan that cracked into a gasp as he rolled his hips in a way that made stars explode behind your eyes. You clung to him—nails at his waist, legs wrapping tighter—grounding yourself in the feeling of him everywhere, inside and out.
"God... you feel—" he didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
Because it wasn't just physical. It was everything.
The way he held you when your breath stuttered. The way his forehead pressed to yours when you trembled. The way he slowed down just to savor the moment you clenched around him and whispered his name like it meant salvation.
It was intimate.
Bodies trembling, heartbeats frantic, your limbs stayed entwined, unwilling to let go. Your breathing synced again, slower now, heavy with the weight of what just passed between you.
It didn't feel like surrender.
It felt like finally being found.
It felt like home.
Tears slid down your cheeks—soft, unhurried, like the heart finally exhaling after holding too much for too long. They weren't born of pain. They didn't come from fear or even confusion.
They came from something deeper. A kind of release that only comes when your soul recognizes it's no longer alone.
Chan felt the shift in you before he saw it. He didn't ask questions. He didn't need to.
He simply wrapped his arms around you tighter, anchoring you to the warmth of his chest. His lips found your hair, pressing a gentle kiss there—a silent vow etched into your skin.
"I've got you," he whispered, voice thick with emotion, reverent like a prayer.
And somehow, those three simple words cracked something open inside you.
Because in that moment—wrapped in his arms, your body still humming with the remnants of love, of trust, of something more—you felt it for the first time in far too long:
Safe.
Seen.
Held.
You let the tears fall freely, not ashamed. Not hiding.
Because this time, you weren't crying alone.
And this time...
You believed him.
Every word.
Every touch.
Every breath.