Pookielicious

the chip lands on jisung’s desk with all the ceremony of a drug dealer flicking a business card.

“happy birthday, genius” felix teases, grinning like he’s just handed over the keys to a car instead of some bd chip. it clatters against a half-empty energy drink can and comes to rest beside a tangle of charging cables that haven't been untangled since purchase.

jisung looks up from his monitor, where three overlapping windows display code he's been staring at for the past two hours without actually reading. his neural hud flickers with half-formed notifications he keeps dismissing on reflex.

deadpan, jisung says "my birthday was two months ago."

"late birthday. early christmas. does it matter?" felix leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. jisung raises a brow, only slightly worried at how his roommate looks far too pleased with himself. "found it at some sketchy kiosk downtown. the guy had like, fifteen of these things in a shoebox under the counter. vintage trash, but i figured you'd get a kick out of it."

the chip itself is wrapped in neon packaging that hurts to look at. it’s garish pink, the likes of which clashes horribly with the electric blue lettering. theres a winking emoji sticker slapped across the front. and to make all matters better, the label reads premium experience in a font that screams nothing about this is premium.

jisung picks it up between two fingers like it might be contaminated.

"you got me porn."

"i got you artisanal porn," felix corrects. "there's a difference."

"there really isn't."

"just try it, you prude. you've been wound tighter than a fucking overclock chip for weeks. when's the last time you even jerked off?"

jisung's emotion filter gives a warning pulse under his jaw—a little electric hiccup that hints at a rising stress level. he rubs at it absently. "i'm working."

"you're spiraling," felix says flatly. "there's a difference." he pushes off the doorframe and heads back into the hallway, calling over his shoulder as he goes. "well, it's yours now. do with it what you will. or don't. i don't care…”

a pause.

“but if you do, i want a full review!"

"i'm not reviewing your back-alley porno."

"your loss!"

the chip sits on jisung's desk for three days.

he doesn't touch it. he hasn’t even looked directly at it. it just exists in his peripheral vision, a gaudy little reminder that felix thinks he needs to get laid. or at least needs to simulate getting laid.

and damn, if that isn’t somehow worse.

but the thing about jisung's brain is that it never shuts up. it catalogs everything. notices everything. and the chip, with its stupid winking emoji and neon packaging, has wormed its way into his subconscious like a splinter under his thumbnail—painful and very, very prominent.

by the third night, he's exhausted in that specific, jittery way that comes from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. his body feels like a live wire. his thoughts are racing, overlapping, doubling back on themselves in a feedback loop he can't break.

he's tried working. tried gaming. tried scrolling through feeds until his eyes burn.

nothing works.

he sits on the edge of his bed, surrounded by the ambient glow of his monitors and the faint whine of his overclock chip—barely audible but always there, like tinnitus made of electricity.

his hands are restless. his leg bounces. his jaw aches from clenching. his- oh, right…

he’s also horny.

not in a casual, ignorable way. in a way that makes his skin feel too tight, makes every nerve ending buzz with uncomfortable awareness.

his eyes drift to the desk. to the chip that looks back at him like a fucking taunt.

"fuck it.”

jisung swipes the chip into his palm, tears off that ridiculous packaging (seriously, they should totally rebrand), and slots it into the braindance port behind his left ear with a soft, satisfying click.

it takes barely a second before the world dissolves.

the first thing that hits him isn't visual, it's tactile. the sensation of cool sheets against his back, the weight of a body that isn't his own settling over his lap. his neural hud flickers, trying to process the sudden shift in sensory input, but it can't keep up.

the braindance doesn't care about his implants. it bypasses them entirely, feeding directly into the raw nerve endings of his brain.

when his vision stabilizes, he's in a bedroom. it’s quaint. for a back alley bd, that is. it’s minimalist with soft lighting that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. there’s clean lines, muted colors, the whole nine yards.

it feels intimate in a way that makes his chest tighten—like he's stepped into someone's private space without permission.

except he has permission. that's the whole point.

and that’s when you make your appearance.

you don't fade in or materialize gradually. no, you're just there, straddling his lap with a confidence that makes his breath catch.

your weight is solid, real, impossible to distinguish from flesh and bone. your hands rest on his shoulders, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie, and when you smile at him, it's not shy or tentative—it's knowing. like you've been waiting for him. like you've done this a thousand times before and you know exactly how it's going to end.

"hey there, babyboy" you purr, voice low, teasing. dripping with amusement. "took ya long enough."

jisung's mouth goes dry.

he tries to respond, but his brain is still catching up, still trying to reconcile the fact that none of this is real even though every nerve in his body is screaming otherwise. his emotion filter flickers erratically under his jaw, sending little electric pulses through his skin—overstimulation warnings that he doesn’t even have to think twice about ignoring.

"i-" he starts, but you cut him off by leaning in closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

"don't think too hard," you murmur. "you're not here to think, baby."

your hand slides down from his shoulder to his chest, fingers splaying over his sternum before dragging lower, slower, until they're resting on his stomach. his abdomen tenses under your touch. the laugh that runs through you is soft, cruel, right against the shell of his ear. it’s like you can feel the way his body is already betraying him.

"you're so tense," you say, pulling back just enough to look at him. your eyes are bright, playful, but there's something else there too, something that feels almost predatory. "relax. i'm not gonna bite. not unless you want me to, at least."

jisung’s not proud of the way his cock twitches in the confines of his pants.

he swallows hard, hands hovering uselessly at his sides like he’s unsure where to put them, unsure if he's allowed to touch you back.

you notice and you take one of his hands in yours, guiding it to your waist. your skin is warm so warm through the fabric of your shirt that it almost makes him feel feverish. the sensation is so vivid, so utterly overwhelming, that he nearly pulls away on instinct.

"there we go," you say softly, like you're coaxing a nervous animal. "see? not so scary."

your other hand drifts lower, and there’s no hesitation as your palm presses into the pathetically obvious tent in his pants. it’s firm. it’s deliberate . it’s just the right amount of pressure to send jisung's hips jerking up in search of more.

a broken sound escapes his throat, half gasp, half moan, and you look delighted.

"oh, you're sensitive," you chirp. it’s not a question, it’s a statement. something wicked creeps into your tone as you press a little harder "i like that."

you keep your hand there, rubbing slow circles over the growing bulge in his pants, and jisung feels like he's going to combust.

his overclock chip whines louder in the back of his skull, his neural hud flashing warnings he doesn't have the capacity to read.

jisung’s entire world narrows down to the heat of your body, the pressure of your hand, the way you're looking at him like he's the most fascinating thing you've ever seen.

"you gonna keep staring at me like that baby," you qustion with a tilt of your head. "or are you gonna do something about it?"

it’s at that moment jisung's brain finally catches up.

his grip on your waist tightens and he pulls you closer, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. you let him, encourage him, even, by leaning into his touch with a satisfied hum.

"there we go," the words are breathy, light, and you give jisung a few seconds to let them sink in before you’re leaning down to kiss him.

it's not soft. it's not tentative. it's messy and hungry and overwhelming, and jisung loses himself in it completely.

your tongue slides against his, teeth catch on his bottom lip. when you shift your hips up, letting them drag over his in a way do sultry in should be illegal, jisung groans into your mouth like a starved man.

you continue to work your hips over him in smooth circles, and the friction is maddening. it’s not enough and far too much all at once.

it send jisung spiraling.

he’s already half-delirious, already teetering on the edge of something he can't name but can feel so deep under his skin that it burns. and for fucks sake, haven't even gotten his pants off yet-

"god, you're easy," you murmur against his lips even though it holds no malice in it. there’s only pure, unfiltered satisfaction. "i’ve barely even touched you and you're already fallin’ apart..."

jisung opens his mouth to argue, to say something sharp and defensive, but of course it’s at that very moment that you decide to slip your hand fully under the elastic of his waistband. every coherent thought he has proceeds to evaporate.

your fingers wrap around him, warm and sure, and he bucks into your grip with a strangled noise that would be embarrassing if he had the capacity to care.

"that's it," you say, tone soft and encouraging. "just like that. let me take care of you."

and he does. because what else is he supposed to do?

you work him for like that for a good while, long enough that when you pull your hand away jisung makes a sound that's almost a whine, all needy and desperate in a way that should mortify him.

before he can voice much of a complaint besides a little whispered “no-“, before he can beg you to come back, you're shifting in his lap, rising up just enough to work his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. the cool air hits his overheated skin so hard his entire body jolts.

"look at you," you murmur, something there's something almost reverent in your voice as your fingers trace along his length feather light. jisung jerks beneath you again. "so pretty like this. so responsive."

jisung's head falls back against the headboard with a soft thunk. his hands are shaking where they grip your waist, his knuckles white with the effort of holding on.

his neural hud is going haywire, flashing warnings about elevated heart rate and spiking cortisol levels, but he doesn't care. he can't care. not when you're looking at him like that.

"hey," you coo, not oblivious to the way his chest rises and falls like he’s jumped a damn building instead of just sitting through attention. "need ya to stay with me, baby…”

"’m here," he manages, voice rough and damn near unrecognizable in his own ears. "i'm- fuck, ‘m here."

you offer him a smile, warm and genuine. jisung’s lips twitch to return the gesture, but they quickly part around a gasp as you guide him to your entrance.

the braindance flickers.

it's subtle at first, nothing more than a brief distortion in his vision, like a glitch in a holo-feed. but then the world stabilizes again and something's different.

you're still there, still straddling his lap, but the clothes you'd been wearing are gone. just… gone.

the transition is so seamless that jisung's brain struggles to process it, like the bd has simply edited out a few frames and skipped straight to the next scene.

your skin is bare now, warm and soft under his hands, and the sight of you—all of you—makes his breath catch in his throat. there's no awkward fumbling, no clumsy undressing. one moment you were clothed, and the next you weren't, and somehow that makes it feel even more surreal. even more perfect.

the first brush of contact is all slick heat against his tip, the warmth of it enough to make him moan. and when you sink down on him, slow and deliberate, taking him inch by excruciating fucking inch, jisung genuinely thinks he’s died. or dying. or something along those lines.

the sensation is catastrophic. it's too much. it's not enough.

it's everything.

jisung's hands tighten against your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise if you were real, if any of this were real.

but in this moment, you are real. the weight of you in his lap, the way you clench around him, the soft sigh that escapes your lips as you take him fully—it's all real. it has to be.

"oh god," he chokes out, voice cracking on the words. "oh god, oh fuck, you feel-"

he can’t keep the words flowing as you start to move, rolling your hips in a slow, languid rhythm.

jisung loses the ability to form coherent sentences.

his head spins, vision blurring at the edges as every nerve ending in his body screams with overstimulation. his overclock chip is whining so loudly now that it's almost painful, but he doesn't care. he doesn't care about anything except the feeling of you around him, tight and wet and so fucking perfect.

"you're so good," he babbles, the words spilling out before he can stop them. "so fucking good, i can't- i don't—"

all you do laugh, breathless yet pleased. the sound goes straight to his cock. "yeah? you like this pussy, baby?"

"yes. fuck, yes," his hips buck up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more contact, more of you. "i love it, i love…"

he cuts himself off, biting down hard on his bottom lip, but it's too late. the word is already out there, hanging in the air between you, and he can't take it back.

you pause, just for a second, your movements stilling. you look down at him with something that might be surprise, or curiosity. or maybe it’s just amusement. "you love it?"

jisung's brain is screaming at him to shut up, to play it cool, to remember that this isn't real. apparently though his mouth has other plans.

"i love you," he blurts out, and the words are raw and desperate and completely sincere. "i love you, i love you, i- fuck—!”

you start moving again, faster this time, and jisung's words dissolve into a broken moan.

"you're perfect," he rambleson, high and strained. "you're so perfect, i've never- no one's ever made me feel like this, i swear to god, i'd do anything for you, anything, just- just please don't stop, please don't, i need…"

he doesn’t finish that thought either, his brain only being able to process the single minded task of letting his hands roam. they smooth up your sides, slide over your stomach, cup your breasts with trembling fingers. every touch feels sacred, like he's worshipping at an altar he doesn't deserve access to.

his emotion filter has given up entirely, and he's crying now. actual tears stream down his face. not that he notice, though.

you lean down to capture his lips in a kiss that's messy and desperate, and jisung sobs into your mouth. his orgasm builds too fast, coiling tight in his gut, and he knows he's not going to last much longer. he's already too far gone, too overwhelmed.

"i love you," he whispers against your lips, over and over like a prayer. "i love you, i love you, i love you…"

you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes soft and warm, and you brush a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "i know," you mutter. "i know, baby. i've got you."

that's all it takes.

jisung comes with a broken cry, his body arching up off the bed as pleasure crashes over him in waves. his vision whites out, his hearing cuts to static, and for a few blissful seconds, he doesn't exist.

there's no jisung, no braindance, no reality. just the feeling of you around him, holding him, loving him.

when he finally comes back to himself, he's shaking.

his entire body feels like it's been wrung out and left to dry. his neural hud is flashing critical warnings now, but he dismisses them with a weak flick of his wrist.

you're still there, still straddling his lap, but you've gone still. you're watching him with an expression he can't quite read, something that’s tender and sad all at once.

"you okay?" you ask quietly.

jisung nods, even though he's not sure it's true. his throat feels raw, like he's been screaming, and his face is wet with tears he doesn't remember shedding.

"yeah," it comes out as a croak. "i'm- yeah."

the smile you offer him this time doesn’t quite reach your eyes. bot like it did before. you lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead, and jisung's chest aches with something that feels too big to name.

"good…" you whisper. "that's good."

and then the world starts to dissolve.

the edges of the room blur first, bleeding into static and pixels. your body becomes translucent, flickering like a broken holo-ad. jisung reaches for you, panic surging through him, but his hands pass through you like smoke.

"wait," he gasps. "wait, no, don't—"

but you're already gone.

jisung gasps as the braindance ejects him back into reality.

the transition is violent—always is when you don't taper out properly—and for a few disorienting seconds, he doesn't know where he is.

his vision swims, his neural hud flickering back online with a barrage of notifications he immediately dismisses. the dim glow of his apartment resolves around him: cluttered desk, half-dead neon strip on the ceiling, the faint hum of his overclock chip settling back into idle mode.

and then he feels it.

the mess.

"oh, fuck" he breathes, looking down at himself.

his pants are ruined. completely, utterly ruined. the fabric is soaked through, sticky and cooling against his thighs, and the realization hits him like a freight train.

he came.

he came hard, somewhere in the middle of that braindance, and he hadn't even noticed. hadn't felt the real-world version of it because he'd been so deep in the simulation, so lost in you, that his body had just… gone ahead without him.

"jesus christ," he mutters, peeling the headset off with shaking hands. his face is still wet—tears, he realizes with a fresh wave of humiliation. he'd been crying. actually crying over a braindance construct.

he sits there for a long moment, staring at the mess in his lap, and the weight of it all crashes down on him.

the high is gone. the warmth, the connection, the feeling of being loved—it's all gone, evaporated like it never existed in the first place. because it hadn't. none of it had been real.

you weren't real.

jisung's chest tightens and he has to force himself to breathe. his hands are still trembling as he fumbles for the tissue box tossed haphazardly on his bedside table, trying to clean himself up even though the damage has already been done.

his pants are unsalvageable. his dignity even more so.

"fucking idiot," he mutters to himself, scrubbing at his face. "you're such a fucking idiot."

but even as he says it, even as he tries to ground himself in the harsh reality of his apartment, he can still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin. still hear your voice in his ears, soft and warm and perfect.

he stares at the braindance chip for a long time.

it's just sitting there against his bedsheets, innocuous and unassuming, just a small rectangle of chrome and circuitry.

but jisung knows what's inside it. knows exactly what's waiting for him if he slots it back in. the warmth. the connection. the feeling of being wanted.

you.

his hand hovers over it, trembling slightly. his rational mind is screaming at him to stop, to walk away, to snap the damn thing and never look back.

this isn't healthy. this isn't real. he knows that. he knows that.

but his fingers close around the chip anyway.

"just one more time," he whispers to the empty room, and his voice cracks on the syllables. "just… just one more time."

the chip slides back into place with a click.

seo changbin

hwang hyunjin

------------

Permanent Taglist 1:

Best Fic Concept:

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Tragic Chronicles of a Hopeless Fanboy Banner by @emmiesoverthemoon

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@feelbokkie

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Thank you very much to very stay who made this possible by nominating, reblogging, voting, and reblogging again. Stays are the sweetest fandom and were very forgiving of my flubs and I really feel like we all came together and achieved something wholesome and fun. I hope everyone enjoyed the time we shared 🥹 and I hope we all enjoy these wonderful fics and writers together. 💖 Best wishes and a happy new year from the straykidsficawards! ✨️

Bang Chan

The notifications kept stacking—little red dots along the top of your phone screen that made your stomach twist each time one appeared. You stopped opening them entirely hours ago, though that didn’t stop your eyes from catching fragments whenever they flashed across the lock screen.

 Gold digging slut. You don’t deserve him. You will destroy Stray Kids. You’re ruining Stray Kids. You’re ruining Chan. Dating him for clout. Stupid bitch. Break up with him before you destroy his career.

Each message cut deeper than the last. You’d tried turning the phone face-down. You tried ignoring it. You tried pretending you weren’t flinching every time a vibration buzzed against the wooden coffee table. But Chan noticed everything. He came home late, hoodie half-zipped and hair pushed back like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. When he stepped inside the apartment and saw you sitting on the couch, shoulders curled inward, he froze mid-step.

“…Baby?” he asked softly. “You okay?”

You forced a smile. Too quick. Too thin. Too artificial. “Yeah, just tired. Long day at work.”

Chan’s brows pulled together. He set his bag down slowly, watching you the entire time, and when your phone buzzed again, you tried to reach for it casually—too casually. He got there first.

You reacted instantly, reaching out, eyes wide. “Chan—wait—!” 

But he’d already seen the preview glowing on the lock screen. The one that started with You should disappear— His expression didn’t change dramatically. Chan never exploded. Never shouted. Instead his face went unnervingly still, like someone had shut off all the noise inside him. “Since when,” he said carefully, “have you been getting these?”

You swallowed. “It’s not a big deal—” You knew he didn’t buy your words with the way your voice cracked.

“Since when.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm in a way that left no room to dodge.

You looked down. Shamed. “A couple of weeks.”

Chan inhaled through his nose, slow and shaky. He sat beside you, close but not touching yet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not your fault,” you whispered wetly tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “And you already work so much. I didn’t want to stress you out more.”

He looked at you then—really looked, like he’d just realized how carefully you were holding yourself together. His voice broke on the next words. “You’ve been dealing with this alone?”

“…I didn’t want to make things harder for you.”

Chan set your phone down gently on the table, then reached out and cupped your cheek with both hands. His thumbs brushed under your eyes, so tender it made your chest tighten.

“Hearing that you’ve been hurting,” he murmured, “is harder than anything anyone online could ever throw at me.”

You blinked rapidly, trying not to cry, but the tears welled anyway. His expression softened further when he saw them.

“Come here.” He pulled you into his chest, one arm around your shoulders, the other cradling the back of your head. You melted into him before you could think, breathing in the scent of his hoodie, the warmth of him, the quiet strength he always carried. “They don’t know you,” he said into your hair. “They don’t get to decide your worth. And they sure as hell don’t get to make you feel unsafe or unwanted.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt. “I’m scared it’s going to affect you. Your image. Your fans…”

Chan shook his head immediately, holding you tighter. “You’re not responsible for people choosing to be cruel. And I’m not hiding our relationship to please them.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering. “I love you. That doesn’t change just because some strangers can’t handle it.”

You let out a trembling breath. “They said awful things, Chan.”

“I know.” His jaw tightened against your forehead. “And I’m going to talk to management about this. We’re not just letting it slide.”

“Chan—” You could hear the panic in your voice, you didn’t want to make a tabloid drama out of your relationship.

“This isn’t about drama,” he said softly but with unmistakable resolve. “This is about them hurting someone I love. I won’t let that happen.” Your heart stuttered at the calm certainty in his voice. Protective, but not reckless. Fierce, but not angry at you—never at you. He eased back slightly so he could look into your eyes. “Next time something like this happens… you tell me. Even if it’s small. Even if you think it’s nothing. You don’t go through this alone. Okay?”

You nodded, voice catching. “Okay.”

Chan brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, then leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. “We’ll handle it together,” he whispered. “I promise.” And for the first time in days, the buzzing phone on the table didn’t feel like a threat anymore—because his arms around you felt stronger than anything written on a screen.

Lee Know

You didn’t hear him come home at first. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen but not quite touching it—because every time you so much as brushed it, another message popped up.

You’re dragging him down. How could he pick someone so UGLY. He could do so much better. You will ruin his career, you selfish bitch. You don’t belong next to him.

Your stomach twisted each time you saw the preview flash across the lock screen. You’d thought you were prepared for it when your relationship became public… but you hadn’t expected this many. This constant. This vitriolic. You clicked the phone off as soon as you heard footsteps in the hallway. You didn’t want him to see. Not when he’d just finished a long practice. Not when he was probably exhausted. 

But Minho always noticed the things you didn’t want him to. He leaned against the doorway, eyes narrowing slightly—not with annoyance, but with concern so sharp it made your throat tighten. “You didn’t hear me come in,” he said softly. “That’s not like you.”

You forced a smile. “Sorry. Just distracted by problems at work.”

He hummed, unconvinced. He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you. Each step was quiet but deliberate, like he was approaching a frightened animal he didn’t want to scare off. “Show me your phone,” he said gently.

Your breath hitched. “Minho, it’s nothing—”

He extended his hand—not demanding, just offering, but with a look that said he already knew you were hiding something. “Let me see.” You hesitated, and that was enough. His eyes softened with sadness rather than anger. “Baby,” he murmured, sitting beside you, “please don’t shut me out.”

Your chest ached. Slowly, reluctantly, you placed your phone in his palm. He didn’t unlock it immediately. He glanced at you first, silently asking for permission. When you nodded, he tapped the screen—and the latest message appeared instantly. His expression didn’t explode into rage. Minho didn’t do loud anger, didn’t do dramatic anger either. Instead his jaw tightened, just once. His shoulders went still. And his eyes—usually warm, teasing, or unreadably calm—darkened with something cold and sharp. He scrolled. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was cataloguing each awful message. You watched him breathe in, then out, like he was forcing the tension out of his body. “Since when?” he asked quietly.

“A few days,” you whispered, feeling embarrassed that you had even tried to hide it from him.

“And you didn’t tell me because…?” His eyes simmered with his held back fury but the softness and worry still stayed his concern for you still obvious.

You swallowed. “I didn’t want to worry you. You already deal with so much.” 

Minho closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself. When he opened them again, the darkness was still there, but it was aimed nowhere near you. “Listen,” he said, taking your hand and pulling it into his lap. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in slow circles. “I can handle anything that happens to me. But when something happens to you, and you don’t tell me…” His voice faltered, something rare. “It hurts more than anything those people could ever say.”

Your eyes stung. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

His head snapped up, eyes flashing—not angry at you, but at the idea. “You are never a burden. You’re the person I chose. The person I love.” He squeezed your hand. “None of this changes that.”

You inhaled sharply. “They say I’m ruining your image.”

Minho’s mouth curved—not into a smile, but into something more dangerous. Something protective. “My image?” he scoffed quietly. “Anyone who thinks loving someone ruins me never understood me.”

He set your phone on the bedside table, face-down like it no longer deserved your attention, then cupped your cheeks with both hands. “Look at me.” You did. “They don’t know you. They don’t get to hurt you. And they don’t get to dictate my life or my heart.” His thumbs brushed softly under your eyes. “I won’t tolerate anyone treating you like this. Not fans. Not strangers. No one.”

Your voice wavered. “What are you going to do?”

“Whatever I need to.” His tone was calm, controlled—far scarier than yelling. “Management will be informed. We’ll shut down the accounts. I’ll make a statement if I have to. I’m not letting this slide.”

“Minho—”

He shook his head, forehead gently touching yours. “If someone targets you, they’re targeting me too. And I won’t let anyone hurt the person I love.” The words settled into you, warm and steady. Safe.

He pulled you into his arms then—not tight, but firm enough that you felt anchored, held, protected. “You tell me next time,” he murmured against your hair. “No hiding. No dealing with it alone. Understand?”

You nodded into his chest. “Okay, I promise, Min.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Good.”

And for the first time in days, the messages didn’t feel like daggers—because his arms felt stronger. Safe. Like home.

Seo Changbin

The notification ding from your phone had become something you dreaded. What used to mean cute messages from friends or updates from apps now felt like a warning bell. Every time the screen lit up, your breath tightened.

He’s too good for you.Break up with him before you ruin his career.Stay away from him or you’ll regret it.He won’t want you if I make you uglier.He’s MINE not yours BITCH.

Some were worse—threatening in ways you didn’t even want to think about. They came faster than you could delete them. By the time Changbin came home, you were already curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around yourself as if you could physically hold the fear in place. The TV was on, but the sound was too low to hear. You didn’t remember turning it on.

The door opened. “Bunny, I’m home—” Changbin stopped mid-sentence the moment he saw you. “Hey? Bunny?… what’s wrong?”

You forced yourself upright, but your hands trembled. “Nothing. Nothing. I’m okay.”

He frowned deeply—Changbin never bought okay if you said it like that. He crossed the room in quick steps, dropping to a crouch in front of you. “You’re shaking.” His voice softened. “What happened?”

Your phone buzzed again on the cushion beside you. You flinched. His eyes darted to it, then back to you. “Show me.”

“Bin…” You swallowed, scared of his reaction, scared of everything. “It’s not your fault.”

“Show me,” he repeated—still gentle, but firmer now.

With a trembling breath, you handed him your phone. He unlocked it and the newest message flashed across the screen. His entire body went still. His jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle tick. He didn’t speak at first—just scrolled, reading more and more, shoulders tensing with every line of hate.

When he finally looked up, his expression was nothing you’d ever seen on him before. Not anger—something colder, more controlled, but terrifying in its intensity. “How long has this been happening?”

“Since the announcement,” you whispered. “Since your company posted the confirmation.”

Changbin inhaled slowly through his nose, like he was trying to keep from exploding. “And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“I didn’t want you to feel guilty,” you said, voice cracking. “And your fans—they hate me, Bin. They’re calling me names and saying I’m only with you for attention.” Tears burned behind your eyes. “Some of them said they’d find me. Hurt me.”

Changbin’s entire face softened instantly at your fear. He set the phone aside and took your hands, squeezing them firmly. “Hey. Look at me.”

You raised your eyes to his, and he moved closer, kneeling in front of you so he could rest his hands on your knees, grounding you.

“My fans don’t hate you,” he said gently. “Some people online are saying awful things, but that’s not all of them. The ones who care about me will care about you.” His voice dropped, low and steady. “And none of them—none—are going to hurt you. I won’t let that happen.”

“But what if—”

“There is no what if.” He shook his head, scooting closer until he was between your knees, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you down into a hug. “You’re safe. You will always be safe with me. You hear me? You’re safe, I will keep you safe.”

You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. “Bin, I’m scared.”

His hold tightened. “I know, baby. I know.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, arms strong around you. “And I’m so sorry you dealt with this alone. I wish you had told me earlier.”

You sniffed. “I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

“You’re not making anything worse.” He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears that finally escaped. “You’re my girlfriend. My future wife. You’re the person I love. Nothing about you is a burden.”

You trembled as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell management everything.” His voice had that determined edge you’d heard in the studio—the tone he used when he refused to give up on something. “They’ll tighten your security, block the accounts, maybe even release a statement. And I’ll speak about it too if I have to.”

“But won’t that make them angrier?” You mumbled softly.

“Then they can be angry,” Changbin said simply. “I’m not hiding you. I’m not letting them bully you. And I’m not going to let anyone—anyone—scare you.”

You let out a shaky exhale, relief and fear mixing in your chest. “I didn’t want them to ruin this for you.”

He kissed your forehead, lingering. “They don’t get to ruin anything.” Another kiss—this time to your cheek. “Not us.” Another, just beside your nose. “Not you.” And finally, soft and warm, to your lips. “Never.”

You melted into him, all the tension you’d been holding finally beginning to loosen.

He wrapped both arms around you again, pulling you fully into his lap this time, holding you like he never intended to let go. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m always here with you.”

And with Changbin’s arms around you—strong, warm, unwavering—you finally felt like maybe those messages couldn’t touch you after all.

Hwang Hyunjin

Hyunjin had been watching you for days—softly, quietly, with that deep, searching gaze he used when he could sense something wasn’t right. You weren’t avoiding him, not exactly. You still smiled when he kissed your cheek, still curled into him on the couch, still answered when he asked how your day was…

But something was missing. A spark. A warmth. A softness that had always been instinctive between you.

And every time your phone vibrated, you tensed. Just a flicker, a quick inhale—but Hyunjin saw it every time. Tonight it was worse. You sat at the kitchen island staring at your tea, hands wrapped around the mug like you were trying to keep them from shaking. The phone lay beside you, screen-down, as if hiding from it would make it less real.

Hyunjin approached slowly, leaning against the counter across from you. His voice was gentle, low, meant only for you. “Muse,” he murmured, “are you upset with me?”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “No. No—Hyune, of course not.”

But he didn’t look relieved. He looked even more worried. “Then why do you feel so far away?” His voice softened even more. “You don’t touch me as much… you don’t laugh the same… and you keep hiding your phone when I walk in.” He swallowed. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your heart cracked. “No. You didn’t do anything.”

He took a few careful steps around the island until he was standing in front of you. His hands reached out—but stopped short of touching your cheeks, hovering instead. “Please tell me what’s going on,” he whispered. “I don’t want you hurting alone.”

Your phone buzzed. And you jumped. Hyunjin’s eyes flicked to it immediately, confusion turning into suspicion—then something darker. He reached for it slowly, giving you time to stop him. You didn’t. He turned it over just enough for the notification preview to show. The message was vile. Cruel. The kind no one ever deserved to read.

Hyunjin didn’t speak. His chest rose and fell once—sharply. His fingers tightened around the phone, not hard enough to break it, but like he was seriously considering it. “Since when,” he asked, voice trembling with restrained emotion, “have people been sending you these?”

“Since the announcement.” You looked down at your tea. “Since everyone found out about us.”

He exhaled slowly, but it wasn’t calm—it was the kind of breath someone takes right before they cry or scream. He set your phone gently on the counter, then kneeled down so he was eye-level with you, hands resting on your thighs. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice broke on the last word.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you whispered. “You’ve already been dealing with so much. And I thought maybe… maybe you’d think I couldn’t handle being with someone like you.”

Hyunjin’s eyes filled instantly—soft, warm tears gathering along his lash line. “Someone like me?” He shook his head. “Muse… I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. And the fact that they made you doubt yourself—made you scared—” His voice cracked. “I hate that. I hate that so much.”

You swallowed, hands curling in your lap. “Some of them said they’d hurt me if I didn’t break up with you.” That did it.

Hyunjin closed his eyes tightly, jaw clenching as he tried to keep himself steady. When he opened them again, there was fire there—not anger toward you, but a fierce, protective fury. “They’re not touching you,” he said quietly, with absolute certainty. “No one is going to get near you. No one is going to hurt you. I won’t let that happen.”

“Hyunjin—”

“No.” He moved closer, kneeling right between your knees now, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. You felt his breath shakily leave his chest. “You’re the person I love. You’re the person who makes me feel safe, and happy, and grounded. And I’m not losing you to some anonymous cruelty on a screen.”

Your fingers slid into his hair as he held you. “I was scared to tell you.”

He looked up at you, eyes shining. “Never be scared to tell me when you’re hurting.” His hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing the corners of your eyes. “I want to protect you. You let me love you—let me take care of you too.”

You let out a trembling exhale, the fear slowly loosening its grip. “What are you going to do?” you asked softly.

“I’m talking to management first thing tomorrow,” he said without hesitation. “We’ll make sure you’re safe. We’ll get help monitoring everything. And if it doesn’t stop…” He shook his head. “Then I’ll speak up myself. I don’t care how anyone reacts.”

“You’d do that for me?” You breathe out softly.

“In a heartbeat.” He kissed your forehead, lingering there. “You matter to me more than my image. More than rumors. More than the loudest voices online.”

His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you into the safest place you knew—his chest, his warmth, his heartbeat steady against your ear.

Hyunjin held you like he never planned to let you go. “You’re not alone anymore,” he whispered. “You’ll never be alone in this. Not while I’m here.”

And finally, for the first time since the hate had started, you believed it.

a/n: Thank you for reading my lovelies as always your encouragement and support mean everything to me. You are the light in my day xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

Christopher

The door swings open exactly like it always does--without warning. Chan’s voice echoes down the hallway before he even crosses the threshold, casual and unaware.

“Hey, have you seen my--”

His words cut off like a wire snapped inside his throat.

Because you’re standing there, bare skin lit by warm afternoon light, shirt half pulled over your head, lace bra barely covering anything. Your back is to him, but when you whip around in shock, the shirt drops completely in a shock from your hands, hitting the floor like it’s announcing the end of the world.

For a second, nobody moves.

Chan freezes in place, eyes wide, mouth parted like he forgot how breathing works. His hand still grips the doorknob, knuckles white. His gaze flicks down--once--fast, instinctive, impossible to stop. His chest rises sharply, and he turns bright red, not from embarrassment… but something else.

“Shit--Y/N.”

His voice is rough, deeper than usual. He slams his eyes shut and spins around so fast the door nearly breaks off its hinges, but his voice cracks loud against the silence.

“I--I swear I didn’t mean to look. I just--God, I’m so sorry--”

You scramble, grabbing the nearest shirt, heart pounding so hard you think he can hear it from the hallway.

“Chan, it’s okay--just stop panicking--”

He groans softly, running a trembling hand through his hair. His mind is racing, words tumbling out uncontrollably.

“No, it’s not okay, I walked in without knocking--fuck, Y/N, I saw--”

You open the door, now wearing an oversized hoodie, and he stumbles to silence. His eyes flicker up to yours slowly, hesitantly. Cheeks flushed. Pupils blown wide. His breathing uneven.

For the first time since uni, Chan looks like he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“Chan,” you say softly, stepping closer. “It’s really fine.”

He swallows hard, voice low.

“You don’t understand.”

You tilt your head. “Then help me understand.”

His jaw flexes. His voice drops to that tone he gets only when he’s serious, when he’s close, when he’s late-night vulnerable.

“I’ve spent years trying not to think of you like that.”

The air thickens. You feel heat crawl up your spine.

“Like what?” you whisper.

Chan laughs once--breathy, helpless--eyes darkening.

“Like someone I want to hold more than my bestfriend.”

Your breath catches. Neither of you move, but tension snaps tight like an electric wire.

“And now,” he mutters, gaze flicking to your lips, “all I can think about is you… standing there… wearing almost nothing… and me just--wanting.”

A dangerous kind of silence follows.

You step closer, close enough for his breath to brush your cheek.

His chest rises sharply when your fingers graze his.

“Then why are you still standing so far away?” you whisper.

Chan’s control breaks with a soft, strangled sound.

His hands find your waist first, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him like gravity finally won. His forehead rests against yours, breath hot and uneven.

“Tell me to stop and to fuck off,” he murmurs.

“You don’t want me to say that chris,” you breathe.

His lips brush yours--barely, trembling, desperate.

“yeah,” he confesses.

“I really, really don’t.”

When he finally kisses you, it’s deep, slow, hungry--like he’s been waiting for years. His hands slide under your hoodie and his mouth trails along your jaw to your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees weaken.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispers against your skin.

You tangle your fingers in his fluffy curly hair, pulling him closer.

“Maybe,” you say, voice shaking, “I do.”

A low groan vibrates through his chest--raw, unfiltered.

chris has officially stopped thinking.

Outside, the forgotten group chat on his phone explodes:

Hyunjin: Where’s Chan? We’re supposed to leave for lunch. Changbin: Probably crying over protein powder again. Han: He’s been gone 30 minutes. Should we check on him? Lee Know: No. Let him suffer.

If only they knew.

Minho

The door opens without hesitation--of course it does. Minho never knocks.

He’s already talking, tone bored and casual.

“Did you take my black hoodie again? I swear if you--”

His words die instantly.

Because you’re there.

Standing in the middle of the room in nothing but a matching lingerie set, hooks undone halfway, hands behind your back struggling with the clasp.

For a full second, Minho doesn’t move.

He just… stares.

Not shocked.

Not panicked.

Just openly, shamelessly taking you in--eyes traveling head to toe slowly, appreciating every inch.

Your voice stumbles out, breathless, “Minho--!”

He meets your gaze, completely unfazed, lips curling into that dangerous smirk that always gets him whatever he wants.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

His tone is low, silky, deliberately slow.

You feel heat burn up your neck. “Get out!”

He leans against the doorframe instead, crossing his arms, like he’s settling in for a show.

“Why? You looked like you needed help.”

His eyes flick down again, bold and unapologetic.

“And trust me, I’m very good with my hands.”

Your breath catches. You hate how your body reacts to that voice.

“Minho, I’m serious.”

He finally steps forward--slowly, intentionally--like a cat closing in on its prey.

His fingers brush lightly against yours on the clasp, not touching skin yet, but close enough to send shivers racing up your spine.

“Relax.” He murmurs, voice brushing your ear. “If I wanted to ogle you, I wouldn’t be this polite about it.”

“Polite?” you choke out.

“You’re literally staring.”

His smirk deepens, eyes locking with yours, dark and amused.

“Yeah. Because you’re staring back.”

You freeze.

He’s right--you were watching him just as intensely, tracing the lines of his arms, the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders. You swallow hard.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Want help or should I keep enjoying the view?”

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

He steps closer, body nearly touching yours, fingers replacing yours at your back. His touch is practiced, effortless--one smooth motion and the clasp snaps into place.

But he doesn’t step away.

His voice is a whisper against your jaw.

“There. Fixed.”

Your heart is hammering. “T-thanks…”

His breath ghosts over your neck, hot and deliberate.

“You’re welcome.”

A pause.

“Though, if I knew you looked like this underneath, I would’ve walked in a long time ago.”

Your breath stutters.

“Minho--”

His hand trails from your lower back to your hip, slow enough to give you time to pull away… but you don’t.

His smirk shifts--less teasing, more hungry.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Your voice is barely there.

“What am I doing?”

He leans in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth--just close enough to break you.

“Making me wonder why we’ve wasted years pretending this wasn’t happening.”

His other hand lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to leave.”

You say nothing.

Silence speaks loudest.

He closes the distance, kissing you like he owns the air you’re breathing--slow, deep, claiming. The kind of kiss that steals strength from your knees.

Your hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans softly against your lips--raw, unfiltered desire.

He breaks away only long enough to whisper against your mouth:

“You taste better than I imagined.”

You gasp.

“So you’ve imagined it?”

His laugh is low and sinful.

“Oh sweetheart… you have no idea.”

His lips trail to your neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin, marking you deliberately. Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers slide under the thin straps of your bra, thumb stroking the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice dropping dangerously,

“I’m not stopping at a kiss.”

He steps back finally, eyes dark and satisfied.

“Dinner in 20 minutes. Wear something sweetheart.”

He leaves.

Door shuts behind him.

You’re left standing there, shaking, breath completely stolen.

Outside the door, you hear him chuckle:

“And lock your door if you don’t want viewers.”

Changbin

Changbin balances a tray in his hands--steaming pasta, your favorite wine, candles he absolutely did not steal from the shared cabinet.

He spent two hours cooking this because you’d had a rough week, and he wanted to surprise you.

He’s buzzing with nerves, smiling to himself as he climbs the stairs, whispering under his breath:

“She’s gonna love this… don’t screw it up, Seo Changbin.”

He presses his ear to your door, hears nothing, assumes you’re just lying in bed scrolling your phone.

So, like an idiot fueled by excitement and zero forethought--

he barges in.

“Y/N! I made you--”

The tray clatters to the floor.

Because you’re there.

Standing in front of the mirror, completely topless except for lace panties, towel falling from your hands as you freeze mid-movement.

Soft light hits your skin, curves framed perfectly--unforgivingly.

You gasp. He stops breathing entirely.

His eyes blow wide, face burning instantly scarlet.

He slaps a hand over his eyes, voice cracking so high you’d think he hit puberty again.

“HOLY-- I’M SORRY I DIDN’T KNOW-- I SWEAR I WAS JUST-- I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING-- well I did but not on purpose-- oh my GOD--”

He turns away so violently he nearly sprains something.

You scramble for a shirt, heart pounding, cheeks flaming.

“Changbin-- it’s okay-- just breathe--”

He’s not breathing.

He’s practically hyperventilating, hands over his face, rocking on his heels like he’s trying to disappear.

“I MADE YOU DINNER NOT FOR--NOT FOR-- whatever this is-- I just-- I didn’t mean to see-- I mean I did but NO I DIDN’T-- WHY AM I TALKING--”

You bite your lip, fighting a smile.

“You didn’t knock.”

His voice breaks again, strangled and helpless.

“Because I wanted to SURPRISE you!”

You step toward him quietly, your shirt barely pulled on, hanging loose.

He still refuses to turn around.

“bin… look at me.”

He shakes his head violently.

“If I look at you right now, I’ll die.”

You laugh softly. “It’s fine. Really.”

There’s silence.

Then, barely audible:

“You looked… really… really beautiful.”

His hands fall slightly from his face, revealing the deepest blush you’ve ever seen.

Your breath slows, something warm curling inside your chest.

“Changbin.”

You touch his arm lightly.

He jolts, muscles tense beneath your fingers like he’s made of stone.

He risks a glance… and his eyes dart down your collarbone, where the shirt hangs barely closed.

He snaps his gaze up immediately, guilt flooding his expression.

“I swear I’m not a pervert--”

You step closer, voice dropping.

“But you were thinking something perverted.”

His lips part.

He makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a confession.

“Yes.”

Barely a whisper.

“God yes.”

The honesty steals the air from the room.

“What did you think?” you push gently, leaning in, letting the loose shirt fall off one shoulder intentionally.

His breath stutters.

Eyes darken.

His voice is raw, trembling.

“That if I didn’t walk out right then… I’d end up touching you.”

Heat pools in your stomach.

You step forward until your body brushes his chest.

His hands hover in the air, shaking, not daring to touch you.

“Maybe…” you whisper, breath mixing with his, “I don’t want you to walk out.”

His restraint snaps like a weak thread.

A broken, needy sound slips from his throat as his hands finally grip your waist--gentle but desperate--pulling you against him.

He closes his eyes, forehead pressing to yours.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re not.”

His breath hits your lips.

He kisses you carefully at first--shy, trembling--but heat builds fast, lips sliding against yours deeper, hungrier.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer until he groans into your mouth, low and rough.

His lips trail down your neck, voice muffled against your skin, honesty spilling uncontrolled:

“I’ve wanted you for so long… I think about you when I shouldn’t… I can’t stop.”

You tug his hair gently, earning another broken groan.

“Then don’t stop.”

He presses you back against the wall, breath ragged, eyes dark and wrecked.

“I won’t.”

“Not anymore.”

The forgotten dinner cools on the floor.

And neither of you care.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin has been yelling your name for five minutes straight.

He’s pacing the hallway outside your room, hands covered in dark red paint up to his wrists, streaks across his forearms, a smudge on his cheek. He’s vibrating with excitement--he’s finally finished the painting he’s been working on for weeks, and the first thing he wants is your reaction.

He bangs on the door again.

“Y/N! Are you dead? Hello?”

Silence.

He groans, dramatic and frustrated.

“If you’re ignoring me on purpose, I swear--”

Still nothing.

His impatience snaps.

He slams the door open, ready to rant--

“I SAID--”

The words evaporate.

Because there you are in the middle of your room, headphones on, completely unaware, hair messy, skin glistening with sweat, wearing only loose grey sweats hanging low on your hips and a black sports bra that leaves very little to imagination. You’re in the middle of a plank-to-pushup set, body flexing, muscles tight, breath heavy.

And Hyunjin stops breathing entirely.

He goes still--like a painting himself--eyes widening, throat bobbing as he swallows so hard it almost hurts.

Holy. Fuck.

He shouldn’t stare.

He should turn around.

He should knock next time.

He does absolutely none of that.

His gaze drags down your back, following the line of your spine, the way your waist dips, the sweat beading and sliding slowly down your ribs. He realizes his mouth is slightly open and snaps it shut, but his eyes refuse to move.

You push up from the floor, exhaling loudly, headphones sliding off one ear. You finally notice him.

You jerk upright.

“HYUNJIN?! What the hell--learn to knock!”

He blinks rapidly, still frozen, fingers twitching--leaving streaks of red paint against his palm.

“You-- I--”

His voice cracks embarrassingly, and he coughs.

“I called you. Like, 10 times.”

You grab a water bottle, breath still heavy. “I was working out. Music loud. Obviously.”

He nods, eyes determined to stay above the shoulders.

He fails after two seconds.

You raise an eyebrow slowly.

“Are you staring at my chest?”

He chokes on air.

“NO-- Well I mean-- I wasn’t-- I looked but not like-- shit--”

His cheeks flush deep crimson, but the rest of him stays completely still. You notice his hands--paint dripping between his fingers, staining his wrists.

“What happened to your hands?”

He licks his lips, voice low, breath unsteady.

“I was painting. I came to show you. I didn’t think I’d walk into--”

His eyes flick to your stomach again without permission.

Your smirk grows.

“Into what, Hyunjin?”

His voice drops an octave, unintentional and raw:

“Into you looking like that.”

The air shifts instantly--thicker, hotter.

You step closer, chest rising and falling with each breath.

“And what exactly is ‘like that’?”

He exhales shakily, eyes tracking your movement like he’s starving.

Close enough now to smell the faint paint and bergamot clinging to him, to see the pulse racing in his throat.

His voice comes out wrecked.

“Like something I shouldn’t be fucking staring at.”

You lean in, breath brushing his jaw.

“Then why are you?”

His self-control shatters.

He drops the ruined paint cloth to the floor and grabs your waist with both hands--paint-covered fingers gripping tight, smearing streaks of red across your skin. The touch is desperate, hungry, like he’s been fighting it for years.

You gasp, back arching instinctively into him.

His forehead touches yours, breath ragged.

“Because I can’t look away.”

His thumb drags across your hipbone, leaving a hot, sticky trail of paint.

Your voice trembles.

“You’re getting paint all over me.”

He whispers, lips ghosting the corner of your mouth:

“Good.”

A beat.

“I want everyone to see exactly where my hands were.”

You suck in a breath, knees threatening to give out.

His lips crash into yours--messy, urgent, full of months of tension. Paint smears onto your jaw, your throat, his grip tightening as he backs you against the wall. His mouth trails down to your neck, teeth grazing, tongue catching droplets of sweat.

A broken moan slips from him.

“Fuck… you taste unreal.”

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans low in his chest--feral, undone.

His voice is barely a whisper against your skin:

“Tell me to stop… and I will.”

You pull him impossibly closer.

“Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

His smile is wicked and shaking.

“Good. Because I’m not letting go.”

Red paint stains the wall behind you.

And neither of you notice.

Jisung

Jisung stomps down the hallway like a man on a mission, waving his phone wildly in the air.

He’s been trying to show you a stupid cat meme for the last ten minutes, and it’s apparently the funniest thing he has ever seen. He’s yelling your name dramatically as he walks:

“Y/N, I SWEAR TO GOD, LOOK AT THIS CAT--HE LOOKS LIKE CHANGBIN WHEN HE CAN’T FIND HIS PROTEIN SHAKER--”

No answer.

He reaches your door, already laughing before he’s even inside.

He knocks once--barely a tap--and pushes the door open without waiting.

“YOU NEED TO SEE--”

Silence detonates around him.

The phone slips from his jisungd and lands face down on the floor.

Because right in front of him, you’re standing in front of the mirror, half in a dress, strapless and dangling at your waist, upper body completely exposed except for your arms trying to hold the fabric up. Your back bare, your skin glowing under the soft light, hair falling messily over your shoulders.

You freeze.

He freezes.

The universe freezes.

Then--jisung’s brain explodes.

“I--SHIT--HI--OH MY GOD--WHY AM I HERE--WHAT IS HAPPENING--”

He spins around so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, jisungds on his head like the world is ending. He whispers aggressively to himself:

“Okay okay okay don’t be a pervert, don’t think anything perverted, don’t imagine things--oh fuck I’m imagining things--STOP IMAGINING THINGS YOU IDIOT--”

You sigh, flustered but trying not to laugh.

“Jisung. Relax. It’s fine.”

He squeaks.

Actually squeaks.

“FINE??? I just saw--saw--saw--skin!”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s just my back, calm down. I was trying on a new dress but the zipper is stuck.”

His panic pauses for two seconds.

He peeks over his shoulder cautiously, just enough to see your back again.

His face turns beet red instantly.

“Do you, um… need help?”

You nod. “Please. I can’t reach it.”

He swallows. Hard.

His voice lowers to a whisper like he’s trying not to wake a ghost.

“Okay… but if I die, tell my parents I loved them.”

He approaches you slowly, jisungds shaking like he’s about to defuse a bomb. His fingertips brush your spine lightly as he grabs the zipper. The tiny contact makes both of you inhale sharply.

He freezes again.

“Why did that feel illegal--”

“Jisung. Zip. The. Dress.”

He lets out a strangled sound and begins pulling the zipper up, painfully slow, because his brain has completely short-circuited. He can smell your perfume, feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. He swears internally every half-second.

He finally gets it zipped.

The dress hugs your body perfectly.

You turn around to face him, smiling lightly.

“Opinions?”

His mouth opens but no words come out. His eyes drag over the dress, the way it fits, curves shaped perfectly. He is beyond gone. He looks like he’s witnessing a holy event.

“You look--uh--fuck--wow--um--hot. VERY hot. I mean elegant. I mean classy. I mean--PLEASE KILL ME.”

You laugh.

“Help me take some photos? I wanna see how it looks.”

He nods aggressively, grabbing his fallen phone.

He starts taking pictures like a paparazzi having a stroke, jisungds trembling, accidentally zooms in on your chest and panics, yanking the phone away from his face like it burned him.

“DELETE DELETE DELETE--OH GOD I DIDN’T MEAN--”

You step closer, teasing smile playing on your lips.

“Was it that distracting?”

He whispers, almost broken:

“You have no idea.”

You tilt your head. “So you were thinking something perverted?”

He looks directly into your eyes, something dark and reckless flashing through his expression. His voice drops low, raw.

“I’m trying really, really hard not to imagine pinning you to that mirror right now.”

Your breath stops.

His chest rises and falls fast--no more pretending.

He steps forward, inches from you, heat rolling off him, voice shaking:

“Tell me to leave right now… or I’m not walking out that door.”

You whisper back, heartbeat pounding:

“Don’t leave.”

In half a second he presses you back against the mirror, lips crashing into yours--messy, desperate, starving. His jisungds slide down your waist, grip firm, pulling you closer until there’s no space left. A broken moan escapes his throat as he kisses you like he’s been waiting years.

Paint-shaking trembling jisungds wrap into your hair and down your back.

He whispers into your mouth:

“You’re gonna kill me.”

And you whisper back:

“Good.”

Felix

Felix had always been gentle with you--your golden-retriever best friend since first year of university, the one who baked cookies when you cried over exams and who let you rant for hours about absolutely nothing. He was sunshine wrapped in freckles and warmth, but also an absolute disaster when flustered.

Today, he was excited--too excited.

He’d spent the entire morning perfecting a batch of brownies he made from scratch, trying to recreate the ones you once said tasted like heaven. He even shaped little stars on top because you liked them. And he wanted to surprise you.

So, with the container in hand, he climbed the stairs to your room, humming to himself.

“Y/N! Open up!” he called gently, using his foot to knock because his hands were full. No answer.

He tried again, louder. “Y/N? I brought something! It’s warm, so please hurry before it cools!”

Still silence.

Felix frowned, eyebrows pulling together. Maybe she’s asleep? Maybe she fainted? What if she fell?

His anxiety kicked in fast, and without thinking twice--because his brain was convinced something terrible had happened--he twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

The problem?

You weren’t dying.

You were changing--standing in front of the mirror in nothing but a tiny pair of shorts and a lacy bra, halfway through putting on a shirt.

Felix froze.

You froze.

Time froze.

His breath stopped in his throat, and the container slipped a little in his hands. His eyes widened impossibly big, freckles nearly disappearing with how red his cheeks turned.

“OH--OH MY GOD-- I-I-I-I’M SORRY!” Felix practically yelped, voice shooting up an octave.

You gasped and scrambled to cover yourself with the half-worn shirt. “FELIX?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

“I DIDN’T-- I MEAN I DID BUT I DIDN’T MEAN TO-- YOU WEREN’T ANSWERING-- I THOUGHT YOU DIED-- I’M SO SORRY-- SORRY-- SORRY--”

He spun around so fast he nearly hit the wall. His ears were red, his neck was red, everything was red.

You could almost see smoke coming out of his head.

“Felix, seriously, don’t you know how to knock?!” you hissed, tugging your shirt properly into place.

“I DID KNOCK! T-THREE TIMES! YOU DIDN’T ANSWER! I THOUGHT YOU FELL OR SOMETHING!” His voice cracked mid-sentence. He looked truly distressed, shoulders trembling slightly.

You sighed and stepped closer, now fully covered.

“Okay, relax. I’m fine. You just caught me off-guard.”

He hesitantly turned around, eyes glued to the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“I swear I barely saw anything. Like-- just maybe a glimpse? Like-- like a micro-second. Actually, I didn’t see anything at all. I don’t even know what skin is. I’m blind now. I’ll gouge my eyes out--”

“Felix. Stop.” you cut in, trying not to laugh.

“But I-- it-- you-- bra-- NO-- I MEAN-- NOT THAT I-- YOURE BEAUTIFUL-- NOT THAT I WAS LOOKING-- I’M NOT A PERV-- I SWEAR--”

You burst out laughing, and his heart nearly melted into a puddle.

Finally, you noticed the container in his shaking hands.

“What’s that?”

He blinked rapidly. “B-brownies?” he whispered, voice small like a scolded puppy.

You softened instantly. “Are they for me?”

He nodded shyly. “Y-yeah. I wanted to surprise you.”

You smiled and leaned forward, kissing his cheek gently.

“Thank you, Lix. And relax, it’s fine. I trust you.”

Felix froze again--but this time, he smiled, soft and timid, freckles brightening with the blush on his cheeks.

“S-so we’re okay?”

“We’re okay.” you chuckled.

He exhaled in pure relief, clutching the container like a lifeline.

“But next time,” you added teasingly, “knock until your knuckles bleed.”

“I WILL. I PROMISE.” He saluted dramatically.

“And Felix?”

“H-huh?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t look because you’re my best friend… just because I wasn’t ready.”

You winked, walking past him.

Felix short-circuited so hard he nearly dropped the brownies again.

“W-WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! Y/N-- WAIT--COME BACK-- I--I--”

Felix was still standing there, face bright red, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish trying to form words. You turned around halfway to the door, watching him panic adorably.

“Felix,” you called softly.

He looked up, eyes wide and glassy. “Y-yeah?”

You stepped closer until you were right in front of him, close enough that he could smell the faint vanilla lotion you always used. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing visibly.

“Stop freaking out. It’s just me.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

You blinked. “What?”

His eyes widened like he had said the one thing he shouldn’t have. “I-- I mean-- not a problem problem-- I just--”

You gently took the brownie container from his hands and set it on the dresser, your fingers brushing his. He flinched slightly at the contact, breath catching.

“Felix,” you said again, softer this time, “look at me.”

He did. Slowly. Hesitantly. His eyes were a storm--fear, affection, something deeper he had never dared to voice.

“Relax,” you whispered. “I’m not mad.”

“I just-- I never wanted you to think I’d look at you that way without permission,” he confessed quietly, voice trembling. “You’re my favorite person. I’d never want to disrespect you.”

Your chest tightened. “Lix… that’s exactly why I don’t mind.”

He froze.

Your hand lifted to the side of his neck, your thumb brushing his warm skin. Felix inhaled sharply like he couldn’t believe you were touching him.

“I know you weren’t trying to see anything,” you said gently. “But if you did… I wouldn’t be upset. Because it’s you.”

His lashes fluttered. “Y/N… don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

“I do mean them.”

Silence. Barely a breath between you.

And then--with the smallest tilt forward--Felix brushed his lips against yours.

Not a bold kiss.

Not rushed.

Just a soft, trembling press of warmth--like he was asking for permission instead of taking it.

You leaned in, returning the kiss gently, and his breath shuddered, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to place them. Finally, he settled them lightly on your waist, holding you like you might break.

When he pulled back, barely an inch, he whispered against your lips:

“I think I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

Your smile was soft, eyes warm.

“I know,” you whispered back. “I was waiting for you to say it.”

His eyes widened again, but this time with wonder--not panic.

“So… we’re really okay?” he asked, voice barely audible.

You laughed quietly and rested your forehead against his.

“We’re better than okay.”

Felix let out a small, breathy laugh of disbelief, cheeks glowing pink.

“Can I-- kiss you again?” he whispered shyly.

You cupped his cheek. “You never have to ask.”

And he did.

This time deeper, sweeter, soft lips learning yours like a secret he’d waited years to tell.

Seungmin

Seungmin wasn’t dramatic like the others. He didn’t scream, didn’t panic, didn’t short-circuit.

He was calm, brutally honest, unbothered, and always painfully composed.

Which is why what happened next left you more confused than anything.

You were in your room, trying to hook your bra behind your back and failing miserably for the fifth time. You cursed under your breath, twisting and struggling, hair sticking to your face from irritation.

That was when Seungmin barged in--not recklessly, but with purpose, his hand pushing open the door as he spoke mid-sentence:

“Y/N, have you seen my--”

He stopped. You froze, hands awkwardly tangled behind your back, wearing your jeans and only the bra you were failing to secure.

Silence.

He blinked once, face unreadable.

“--hoodie,” he finished flatly, tone so normal it felt illegal.

You panicked. “S-Seungmin?! Can you not knock?!”

“I did.” His voice was monotone. “4 times. You clearly didn’t hear.”

You stared at him, expecting embarrassment, panic, anything human, but he just… stood there. Completely unfazed. Hands in pockets. Eyes steady--not staring at your chest, not flustered--just looking at your face like this was a normal Thursday afternoon.

Your cheeks burned. “Can you-- I don’t know-- leave?!”

“No.”

His answer was instant.

“No?” you repeated, speechless.

“You’re clearly struggling. Turn around.”

He walked forward, calm like a surgeon, and before you could protest, his fingers brushed your back, hooking the clasp with practiced precision.

Click.

You swallowed, stunned by how effortless he made it seem.

“There,” he said simply, stepping back.

You turned around, arms crossing over yourself instinctively. “You… don’t even look embarrassed. Wow. Must be nice. Guess it didn’t affect you at all, huh?”

His brows lifted slightly. “Why would I be embarrassed?”

“Ouch.” The word slipped harshly. “Right. Because seeing me half-dressed is like seeing a wall. Nothing special to look at.”

His expression changed. Barely--but enough. His eyes sharpened, jaw flexing.

“That’s not what I said.” His voice dropped--lower, firmer.

You scoffed, brushing hair behind your ear. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m just your friend. No reason to be flustered.”

He stepped closer. Slowly. Only inches now.

“Y/N, look at me.”

You hesitated, but his tone left no room to argue. You looked up into his dark eyes--serious, focused, intense enough to make your pulse jump.

“If I looked embarrassed, you’d think I was uncomfortable.”

His voice was quiet, steady.

“If I stared or freaked out, you’d think I was just like every other guy who sees you as an object.”

You opened your mouth, but he continued:

“I don’t want to disrespect you like that. Not when you’re the single most important person in my life.”

Your breath stopped.

“That’s why I kept myself together. Because you deserve respect. Not drooling.”

He reached past you and picked up two tops from your bed--a white fitted tee and a black cropped tank--holding them up with clinical precision.

“The black one,” he said. “It suits your jeans better. And you look good in black.”

Your heart stuttered. “So you did look.”

He smirked, barely. “I’m cold, not blind.”

You swallowed again. “I thought maybe I wasn’t… special enough to get to you.”

Seungmin’s eyes softened--finally, the cold melted.

He set the shirts down and stepped forward, lifting your chin gently with two fingers.

“You’re the only person who gets to me.”

His thumb brushed your jaw, his voice barely a whisper.

“I was calm because I care. And I wasn’t embarrassed because…”

He looked into your eyes, expression wide-open for once.

“Because I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

Silence crackled--warm, heavy, electric.

You whispered, “Seungmin…”

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away--but you didn’t.

His lips touched yours softly, controlled but full of meaning, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you steady.

The kiss was slow, careful--a quiet confession in itself.

When he pulled back, foreheads resting together, he whispered:

“Don’t ever say you’re not special to me again.”

You smiled, breathless. “Okay… but maybe still knock next time?”

He rolled his eyes lightly, smirking for real now.

“No promises.”

And he kissed you again.

Jeongin

Jeongin had always been a little dramatic--not in a bad way, but in the I-will-write-my-will-over-a-slight-inconvenience kind of way.

The youngest of your friend group, always whining about being babyed but simultaneously acting like the most precious disaster.

Today was no different.

He burst into your apartment, calling out loudly, “Y/n-ah!! Have you seen my controller?! hyunjin hyung stole--”

And without thinking--because Jeongin never thinks before acting--he pushed your bedroom door open.

The sight hit him like a truck.

You stood in front of your mirror, hair tied up messily, wearing your jeans but only a red lace bra, halfway through deciding what top to wear. You turned right as he entered, eyes wide.

“JEONGIN--!”

He dropped to his knees like he had been shot.

“FORGIVE ME, LORD, I HAVE SINNED!”

You stared, frozen. “WHAT-- GET UP-- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

He slapped his hands over his eyes dramatically, body trembling like a wet chihuahua.

“I swear I did not mean to enter your holy temple of privacy I JUST CAME FOR MY CONTROLLER-- PLEASE TELL ME I CAN GO TO HEAVEN--”

“Why are you kneeling?! Stand up, idiot!”

“I CAN’T!” he wailed. “I’m already being punished! My eyes-- they have seen forbidden things--”

You grabbed a hoodie from the chair and threw it over yourself, groaning. “Jeongin, get up!”

Slowly, like his entire soul was bruised, he stood. Still covering his eyes. Still shaking.

“I swear I didn’t look-- well-- I mean I did look for like-- half a second-- BUT I DIDN’T WANT TO-- I HAVE NO EVIL INTENTIONS--”

You crossed your arms. “It’s not like I’m naked. Relax.”

“RELAX?!” he squeaked. “Y/N-AH I SAW YOUR-- YOUR--”

“Bra. Yes. You’ve seen one before, surely.”

He turned so red he looked sunburned. “NOT LIKE THAT! NOT ON YOU! It’s different! That’s-- that’s a sin.”

You blinked, thrown off. “Different? Why?”

He froze, realizing he had said too much.

His hands slowly dropped from his face, though his gaze stayed glued to the wall.

“I mean-- you’re-- it’s-- I-- YOU LOOK VERY-- UMM--”

He gulped violently.

“The bra is… pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you did see.”

“No-- I mean yes-- BUT LIKE ONLY THE BRA!!! NOT-- NOT THE CONTENTS-- I MEAN-- NOT THAT I WAS TRYING TO, I SWEAR-- I WAS JUST LOOKING FOR MY CONTROLLER--”

You finally laughed, shoulders relaxing. “Jeongin, breathe.”

He looked like breathing was the last thing he was physically capable of.

“Are you mad?” he whispered, voice tiny.

“No. Just surprised.”

He let out a sigh of relief so dramatic he literally sagged against the wall.

Then, quiet, still staring anywhere but you, he mumbled:

“For what it’s worth… you looked… really nice. Like-- really beautiful.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? Suddenly bold.”

He covered his face again. “DON’T MAKE FUN OF ME I’M TRYING TO BE HONEST.”

You stepped closer, gently pulling his hands down from his face. He startled, eyes flickering to yours for half a second before darting away again.

“I’m not mad,” you said softly. “But next time, please knock.”

He nodded fiercely. “I WILL KNOCK UNTIL MY FINGERS GIVE UP.”

You snorted. “That’s not necessary.”

He hesitated, then glanced quickly at you and away, cheeks flaming.

“Can I-- can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“Just to be clear… you don’t hate me, right? And you’re okay that I saw? Because-- I’d rather poke my eyes out than make you uncomfortable.”

Your heart softened instantly.

“I’m okay. I trust you. And honestly…” You smiled teasingly.

“You’re cute when you panic.”

He covered his mouth, muffling a noise that sounded like he was dying.

“STOP-- YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE--!”

You lifted his chin so he’d look at you, and whispered:

“You’re not a sinner, Jeongin. Just an idiot.”

And he grinned--a shy, red-faced, adorable grin.

“You still love me though, right?”

You rolled your eyes and flicked his forehead.

“Unfortunately.”

He clutched his heart dramatically. “My life is complete.”

“And your controller is under the pillow,” you added, pointing.

He gasped and grabbed it, backing out of the room like he was escaping a crime scene.

“And Jeongin?”

He paused at the door.

“The bra was red, right?”

He choked on air, nearly fell, and slammed the door shut behind him.

A week had passed since the incident, and Jeongin still couldn’t look you in the eyes for more than five seconds without combusting internally.

He’d turn into a red tomato any time the word red was mentioned.

Hyunjin joked once about laundry detergent and Jeongin nearly passed out.

You found it adorable… painfully so.

But something had shifted between you.

He was quieter, softer--like he was thinking too much and saying too little.

And you missed the dramatic chaos.

Tonight, everyone had gathered at your place for movie night, but they all left early, leaving just the two of you on the couch, lights dimmed, credits rolling. Jeongin sat stiffly beside you, knees bouncing nervously, fingers picking at his sleeves.

“You good?” you asked eventually.

He swallowed. “No.”

You blinked. “No?”

He shook his head, curls bouncing. “No. I have been suffering.”

You suppressed a smile. “What’s eating you?”

He groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

“Like what, Jeongin?”

“LIKE A SINNER!”

You laughed. “You’re still stuck on that?”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t even play games properly!”

He clutched his chest like he was performing a tragic scene in a drama.

“Every time I close my eyes, I remember the red-- and then I want to walk into traffic--”

“Please don’t do that.”

He sat up suddenly, turning to face you with an intensity you weren’t expecting.

His voice dropped, quieter and raw.

“I didn’t want to see you like that without permission. It wasn’t right. And you mean too much to me to disrespect like that.”

Your breath caught.

“And you keep pretending you don’t care, but I know I crossed a boundary, and I hate myself for it.”

You stared at him, heart softening.

“Jeongin--”

He cut you off, hands trembling slightly.

“I wasn’t embarrassed because I saw skin. I was embarrassed because it was you.”

His voice cracked.

“And it made me realize something I’ve been too scared to admit.”

Your pulse quickened. “Realize what?”

He inhaled shakily, finally meeting your eyes--really meeting them.

“That I like you. That I’ve liked you forever. And I didn’t know what to do with that until now. And if that moment changed anything between us in a bad way, then I-- I don’t think I could handle that.”

Silence fell, heavy and fragile.

You reached toward him slowly, fingers brushing his cheek. He froze, breath hitching.

“Jeongin,” you whispered, “it didn’t change anything. Except maybe… it made me realize something, too.”

His eyes went wide. “W-what?”

“That I like you back.”

The world seemed to stop. Jeongin’s lips parted, stunned.

“Seriously?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “Seriously.”

He stared for a long second, processing, then--

“Oh thank God,” he whispered and surged forward--

but stopped just inches away, face burning, voice tiny:

“Can I… kiss you? With permission this time?”

Your heart flipped. “Yes.”

He leaned in slowly, hands trembling as they cupped your cheeks.

His lips brushed yours gently at first--shy, soft, reverent--like you were something fragile he was afraid to break.

Then, as you kissed back, his hands tightened slightly, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss with a careful urgency that tasted like relief and a week of swallowed feelings.

He pulled away only when he needed air, resting his forehead against yours, breath unsteady.

“I really thought I was going to hell for seeing you in a bra,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You laughed softly, hands on his chest. “Guess you’re staying on Earth a little longer.”

He grinned--bright and real this time.

“So… I can call you mine now?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, sinner.”

He groaned dramatically, shoving his face into your shoulder.

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“But you still love me?”

You smiled, brushing his hair back.

“Unfortunately.”

He kissed you again--still shy, still sweet, but with a confidence growing behind it.

And for once, Jeongin wasn’t dramatic.

He was just yours.

“Jeju, here we come!” Han’s wife squealed, jumping slightly.

Hyunjin’s wife tightened her scarf with a grin. “Two days of rest, spa time, and absolutely zero husbands complaining.”

You laughed. “I honestly can’t wait to sleep without someone poking my cheek at 4 a.m. to ask me if I’m awake.”

The three dads looked… the opposite.

Han looked borderline emotional, holding his twins, Minsoo and Jisoo, each clinging to a leg. Hyunjin was hugging Rowoon so tight the poor child’s cheeks were squished. Minho stood stiffly with Mingi, trying to act unaffected, but his eyes followed your every move with deadly seriousness.

You crouched down. “Okay, handsome,” you said to your son, brushing his hair. “Be good for daddy, alright?”

“Mommy will be back soon?” he whispered.

You kissed his cheek. “Yes baby, only two days! I love you.”

“I love you too, mommy.” Mingi hugged you.

You stood up and slid your hands around your husband’s waist, pulling him close. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll call you when I land,” you whispered.

“You better,” he said, squinting his eyes.

You saw around to see the other families.

Han’s wife bent down to the twins. “Bye, babies! Behave for appa!”

Han grabbed her sleeve. “You can still stay.”

She kissed his forehead. “Absolutely not.”

Hyunjin hugged his wife like it was a life-or-death situation. “Text me every twenty minutes.”

“No.”

“Every hour?”

“No.”

“Every two hours?”

She pushed his face away. “Stop it, drama queen.”

When the final boarding call echoed through the airport, the three of you waved goodbye and walked toward the gate.

Minsoo yelled, “Eommaa! Buy us chocolates!”

Jisoo added, “Bring me pretty hair clips!”

Rowoon, confused, waved both hands and slapped Hyunjin in the face on accident. 

When the wives finally disappeared behind the security barrier, the three men stood in absolute silence.

Minho was the first to exhale. “She really left me.”

Han placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve all been left, bro.”

Hyunjin stared at the floor. “I miss my wife already. This feels wrong. I feel empty. I feel cold.”

Rowoon patted his cheek comfortingly. “Appa sad?”

“Yes,” Hyunjin whispered dramatically. “Very sad.”

The kids stared up at their fathers, waiting.

Han inhaled shakily. “Okay,” he said, voice trembling with false bravery. “This is fine. They’ll be back in… what, two days? Two nights?”

“Forty-eight hours,” Hyunjin murmured, the number sounding like a prison sentence.

Han swallowed hard. “I’m basically a single dad now.”

Mingi tugged on Minho’s sleeve. “Daddy, I have to pee.”

Minho blinked, coming back to reality, and waved goodbye to Han and Hyunjin before taking Mingi off to find the washroom.

Minsoo and Jisoo were already running toward the airport exit, screaming about who gets to the car first. Rowoon clutched Hyunjin’s pant leg, confused why adults were so emotional.

****************************************************

Minho kept glancing at his phone every few seconds, the screen still painfully empty. You hadn’t texted yet. With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself off the couch and headed to the kitchen.

“I hope she reaches there safely…” he muttered while assembling tiny snacks for Mingi.

The moment he sat down to feed him, Mingi launched the entire tray straight to the floor with shocking accuracy.

“I WANT MOMMY!” he wailed.

Minho blinked rapidly multiple times, then let out a tired sigh.

“Baby… mommy will be here soon, okay? It’s daddy and Mingi time right now.”

Mingi narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe a single syllable and then unleashed a louder scream.

Minho scooped him up, bouncing him gently. “Okay, okay—hey—look, look!” He grabbed a toy, pretended it was talking, and within a minute, Mingi was giggling instead of crying.

Minho collapsed back on the couch with a sigh. “It’s gonna be a long weekend…”

A few hours later, his phone buzzed. He checked his phone to see Han was calling, he answered, and immediately Han’s face filled the screen—hair messy, panic in his eyes, and two kids climbing him like he was playground equipment.

“Hyung,” Han cried, “how do I do this? TWO kids and ME? I want to cry but I also want to nap.”

Before Minho could respond, another window popped in—Hyunjin, holding Rowoon on his hip.

“Physically I’m fine,” Hyunjin said dramatically, “but emotionally I miss my wife. Rowoon even looks like her today, hyung…”

Minho stared at his screen. “Why are you both so dramatic?”

Han groaned, “Hyung please. Please. I’m one tantrum away from losing my mind.”

Minho rubbed his temple. “Do you guys want to come over? We can do a mini playdate for the kids.”

Han perked up instantly. “THIS SOUNDS SO GOOD.”

Hyunjin nodded aggressively. “Yes. Yes. Please.”

Then Han suddenly gasped. “WAIT. What if we THREE stay together this whole weekend? At my place because my place is bigger! We can have like—like a sleepover! We can take care of the kids together. Take turns napping. It’ll be like our old dorm days but with our mini-mes!”

Hyunjin immediately agreed and Minho paused. 

Minho scoffed. “You want us to live together… with four toddlers… for the entire weekend? Did you forget we’re literally the paborachas and these are our duplicates?”

“Hyung, think about it,” Han insisted. “We can rotate naps. Share chores. Watch them together. Strength in numbers.”

Han and Hyunjin stared at him through the screen like eagerly waiting for permission. Hyunjin even pouted.

“Fine,” Minho finally said, defeated.

Han squealed so loudly one of his twins shrieked in response. Hyunjin fist-pumped.

Minho hung up, grabbed a duffel bag, and began packing clothes and essentials for both him and Mingi.

Then he knelt down beside his son. “C’mon, buddy. We’re having a sleepover party at Minsoo and Jisoo’s place.”

Mingi’s eyes sparkled instantly. “FUN!”

Minho smiled helplessly. “Yeah… fun.”

****************************************************

Minho parked outside Han’s house, glancing at the driveway. He saw Hyunjin’s car pull up almost at the same moment, tires crunching over the gravel.

Han swung open the front door before they could even get out.

“My favourite nephews are here!” he shouted, throwing his arms wide.

Mingi and Rowoon ran towards Han, and then started giggling as Han pressed kisses in their faces.

From inside, Minsoo and Jisoo, bolted toward the entrance, squealing and laughing.

“Minsoo! Jisoo! Me and Rowoon are here!” Mingi shouted, waving his tiny hands wildly.

Minho smiled as he lifted the duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped inside. Hyunjin followed, carrying Rowoon’s toy bags in one hand and another bag in his other hand.

“Well,” Minho said softly, looking down at the four kids all huddled together, “they’ll be happy together too. Mingi was missing his mommy already”

Hyunjin dropped the bags in the foyer, sighing. “Honestly, I think I miss Rowoon’s mommy more than he does. At this point, he’s the one consoling me.”

Han snorted loudly, elbowing Minho. “You’re pathetic. Look at him, you’re getting parent advice from a three-year-old.”

Minho rolled his eyes, smirking. “Oh, come on. He’s got the best instincts in the house. Way better than yours.”

Han laughed, “Yeah, yeah. That’s what you get when your kid’s smarter than you.”

The kids all were excitedly jumping in the couch.

Minho watched them for a moment, smiling softly. “Alright, little ones. Let’s make this weekend fun.”

Hyunjin shook his head, half laughing, half exasperated. “I don’t know if I can manage myself this weekend, let alone all of them.”

Han chimed in, grinning. “That’s why it’s perfect! Teamwork and nostalgia of dorm days. We got this!”

The kids all giggled, chasing each other around the house.

****************************************************

The kids were huddled together on the living room floor, an animation movie was playing on the TV. Minsoo was sprawled on the rug, Mingi was sitting cross-legged clutching his Leebit plushie, Rowoon nestled against the couch, and Jisoo was calmly coloring with crayons beside them.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the house felt almost peaceful.

In the kitchen, the three dads sat at the small dining table, steaming mugs of tea in hand.

Han leaned back in his chair, smiling at the quiet chaos. “You know… this is nice. I mean, it’s insane, but… nice.”

Hyunjin chuckled, taking a sip. “Yeah. Feels like the old days, doesn’t it? Just… new addition of tiny humans.”

Minho shook his head, smiling faintly. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. Probably because it’s the only moment of sanity I’ve had all day.”

Han grinned. “Remember dorm nights? Instant noodles, late-night pranks, coming up with the craziest lyric writing sessions?”

Hyunjin laughed. “Oh, yes. And fighting over the TV remote like our lives depended on it.”

They laughed together, and for a few minutes, it felt like the old days, the chaos paused for nostalgia and tea.

But the pause didn’t last long.

Han stood up and stretched. “Alright, guys. Time to fix dinner for the kids.”

Hyunjin’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, yes! Minho hyung, make your special pasta, please!”

Minho shook his head. “Nah uh, I ain’t cooking tonight.”

Hyunjin leaned closer, practically pleading. “Pleaseee, it’s been ages. I’ll even do the dishes after!”

Han dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together, literally begging, “Please, hyung!”

At that exact moment, the kids perked up, their little eyes lighting up at the mention of food.

“Pleaseee!” Minsoo shouted, jumping in excitement. 

“Yes pasta!” Mingi clapped his hands.

“Can we help too?” Rowoon begged, joining Han and imitating his uncle’s clasped hands.

Jisoo tried to jump up on the counter but Hyunjin quickly caught her.

Minho blinked. Then blinked again.

“Oh. So I’m babysitting six kids now?” he muttered under his breath, shoulders sinking slightly.

Han laughed. “I mean you’re the oldest here, hyung.”

Hyunjin nodded. “Yep. You think you signed up for four kids… but apparently, the universe always wants you to deal with six.”

Minho sighed, shaking his head, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I should’ve known this wasn’t going to be peaceful. It’s never peaceful with these tiny humans.”

Han clapped him on the back. “Come on, hyung. I’ll show you where I keep the ingredients.”

Hyunjin grinned, bouncing Jisoo lightly on his hip. “I’ll help with the veggie chopping! I’m basically a sous-chef.”

Minho rolled his eyes, but warmth flickered in his expression. “Yeah, you better help. And just so we’re clear—I’m not doing the dishes.”

****************************************************

Dinner went surprisingly smooth, almost suspiciously so. The kids ate without complaints, there were no spilled cups, and not a single pasta noodle was thrown across the room. The three dads exchanged looks of disbelief but wisely chose not to question the miracle.

After cleaning up and getting all four children into pajamas, they decided the best plan was to sleep together in the spacious living room. It felt safer, easier, and slightly less exhausting than running back and forth to different rooms all night.

Han and Minho laid out thick floor mattresses, spreading out blankets until the entire room looked like a giant sleepover fort. Hyunjin fluffed the pillows dramatically, insisting on “perfect symmetry,” while Rowoon copied him excitedly and nearly hit Minho with a pillow.

Eventually, the setup was complete. The lights dimmed, and the kids arranged themselves on their beds—Mingi nestled between Minsoo and Rowoon, while Jisoo chose the corner with her small stuffed bunny.

For a few blissful seconds, the room fell quiet. Twenty seconds seconds, to be exact.

Then Minsoo suddenly sat up, nose scrunching in disgust. “Eww! Mingi, did you fart?”

Mingi gasped, deeply offended. “WHAT? No!!”

Rowoon wrinkled his tiny nose. “Smelly…”

Mingi sprung upright, pointing at himself dramatically. “Why are they blaming ME? I didn’t do anything!”

Minho sighed, already tired. “Everyone, breathe. Nobody is fighting about imaginary farts before bed.”

But the kids were already too invested.

Minsoo jabbed a finger toward Mingi. “It WAS you!”

“It wasn’t!” Mingi cried, voice wobbling.

Rowoon waved his hand. “Stinky air…”

Mingi turned to Minho with near tears in his eyes. “Daddy, this is NOT FAIR!”

Minho scooted closer, rubbing his back. “I know, baby. Just lie down. Let’s figure this out calmly.”

Amid the chaos, Han had gone suspiciously quiet. Too quiet.

Minho’s eyes narrowed. “Han?”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “Han…?”

Han pressed his lips together, clearly losing the battle with his conscience. Finally, he muttered, “Okay, fine. I passed gas.”

The room froze. Four children stared at him, betrayed. Minho and Hyunjin stared at him, horrified.

Minsoo clutched his blanket. “DADDY!”

Rowoon gasped.

Mingi threw both hands up. “SEE! It wasn’t me!”

Hyunjin doubled over in laughter, nearly collapsing onto the mattress.

Minho pointed at Han, shaking his head. “Control your gassy stomach!”

Han groaned, throwing his arms in the air. “I can’t! I ate too much pasta!”

Hyunjin wheezed. “Exactly why we shouldn’t feed you carbs! You’re getting old.”

Minsoo flopped onto his bed dramatically. “I’m not sleeping next to Daddy anymore!”

Mingi, vindicated, did a tiny celebratory wiggle on his blanket. Rowoon fanned the air in exaggerated disgust. Jisoo quietly slid two inches farther from Han.

Eventually, after much complaining and a lot of dramatic sighing, everyone settled back down.

The kids lay sprawled across their blankets, still mumbling things like “stinky” and “move” under their breaths.

Minho exhaled, lying back beside Mingi. “Go to sleep, baby.”

Hyunjin sighed, “I miss my wife.”

Han groaned into his pillow. “You have no idea.”

****************************************************

Despite the chaotic night, morning arrived gently. Soft sunlight slipped through the living room curtains, warming the blankets scattered everywhere. For the first time since the wives had left, the house felt… quiet. Peaceful, even.

Hyunjin was the first one awake, blinking sleepily before realizing he had two small legs sprawled across his stomach—Rowoon had migrated during the night. He noticed Han and Minho weren’t there, he figured they probably woke up long ago. Beside him, Minsoo was also already awake, yawning and stretching.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Hyunjin whispered.

“Good morning, Uncle Hyune,” she replied sweetly.

Slowly, the other kids stirred awake, one by one. Jisoo with a dramatic stretch, Mingi with a tiny sleepy whine, Rowoon with a soft yawn that made Hyunjin’s heart squeeze. They all looked so adorable.

“Alright, troops,” Hyunjin said, clapping his hands softly so he wouldn’t startle them. “Let’s get up and wash up.”

It turned out he had a special skill. Three years of parenting had trained Hyunjin into the Teeth-Brushing Commander.

He herded all four kids into the bathroom like a tiny marching band, setting up toothbrushes, squeezing toothpaste, and giving instructions like a gentle drill sergeant.

“Minsoo, brush in circles. Not like you’re scrubbing a pot.”

“Mingi, don’t eat the toothpaste.”

“Rowoon, open wide—no, wider—okay, maybe not that wide.”

“Good job, Jisoo. You’re the only one not trying to flood the sink.”

While Hyunjin handled hygiene duty, Han took charge of cleaning the living room.

He folded each mattress one by one, humming quietly as he worked. He worked quickly—folding blankets, stacking pillows, arranging toys into their baskets—until the living room looked almost recognizable again.

Meanwhile, Minho was in the kitchen, fully awake and already cooking.

He worked with quiet focus, moving with the ease of someone used to multitasking in chaos. The waffle maker hissed softly as batter sizzled. A pan of scrambled eggs sat warming on the stove, golden and fluffy. Hash browns crisped in another pan, their edges perfectly browned.

He sliced fruit into bright, colorful pieces—strawberries, bananas, apples—placing them neatly on plates for each child. He poured four small cups of milk and set out tiny forks and spoons.

And for the adults, he prepared steaming mugs of coffee.

Han finished tidying just as Minho set the plates on the table.

Hyunjin arrived next, carrying Rowoon on his hip and holding Jisoo’s hand, while Minsoo and Mingi raced ahead to their seats.

Minho looked up with a soft smile. “Well, look at that. Everyone survived the morning.”

Hyunjin laughed. “It was lowkey fun.”

Han groaned, leaning against the table. “Please tell me coffee is ready.”

Minho nudged a mug toward him. “Strong enough to wake the dead.”

The kids climbed into their chairs excitedly, eyes wide as they saw the waffles and fruit.

“Woahh!”

“I want waffle!”

“Me too!”

“Ohh strawberries.”

The dads finally sat down together, exhausted but smiling, sipping their coffee as four small hands reached for syrup.

Han stretched his arms over his head. “So… what’s the plan for today? We need to tire these tiny humans out before they destroy the apartment.”

Hyunjin nodded instantly. “Let’s take them to the park! They can run around, play, get some sun—”

“No.” Minho didn’t even let him finish.

Hyunjin blinked. “No?”

Minho took a slow sip of coffee. “Absolutely not. Do you think I’m mentally prepared to chase four kids around a public area? What if one runs? What if all four run in different directions? What if one climbs a tree and refuses to come down?”

Mingi gasped like that sounded like a great idea.

Han grinned. “Hyung, they’re small. How fast can they be?”

Minho pointed at Mingi. “That one runs like he’s being chased by the FBI.”

Mingi looked confused with a mouth full of waffles.

Hyunjin tried again. “Come on, it’ll be fun—”

“Nope,” Minho said, cutting him off once more. “I am not responsible enough to lose a child today.”

Han snorted. 

Minho ignored him. “We’re doing activities at home. Safe activities. Controlled activities. Zero percent chance of fatalities.”

The kids perked up. “Like what?!”

Minho opened his mouth and then froze. “Uh…”

Han leaned forward, too amused. “Yes, hyung. Like what?”

Minho thought for a painfully long moment before answering, “Drawing.”

Four tiny groans of disappointment filled the table immediately.

Hyunjin patted Minho’s shoulder in mock sympathy. “You sound like an old dad.”

“I am an old dad. Look at me,” Minho muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Han brightened suddenly. “We could do a dance battle!”

Minho nearly choked. “In the living room? Absolutely not. Last time you danced indoors you kicked a lamp.”

“It was ONE time,” Han protested.

Hyunjin raised a finger. “Twice.”

“Fine, twice!”

The kids, however, were already excited. “Dance battle! Dance battle!”

Minho sighed, defeated by sheer enthusiasm. “Okay, but no spinning, no jumping on furniture, no breaking bones, no—”

“Hyung, that’s literally the opposite of dancing,” Han laughed.

Minho just lifted his coffee mug like it was a coping mechanism. “I don’t care. I’m enforcing rules.”

The kids didn’t listen, not even a little.

They were already whipping out their most chaotic moves before breakfast was even over. And Minho knew, with a deep sense of dread, that this day was going to be louder than he had prepared for.

After the initial chaos died down, Han suddenly perked up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Okay, kids,” he announced, “dance time!”

He turned on the TV and hit play on the music video of Maniac by SKZ. The familiar beat filled the living room. Han started making simple, exaggerated dance steps, motioning for the kids to follow him.

“Step left! Step right! Hands up!” he shouted, bouncing around energetically.

Hyunjin, never one to miss a beat, jumped in beside him. He guided Rowoon and Jisoo, making sure they mimicked Han’s movements. Soon, Minsoo and Mingi were stomping and waving their arms, trying to keep up with their slightly chaotic, slightly impressive adult mentors.

The living room quickly turned into a whirlwind of laughter, little feet, and offbeat dancing.

Minho, leaning against the counter with a warm smile, watched them dance with fond eyes. He quietly pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures—capturing Mingi mid-spin, Minsoo giggling uncontrollably, Rowoon stomping proudly in his tiny heels, and Han laughing like a man.

“So damn cute,” Minho muttered under his breath, shaking his head and smiling. “Yep, this is exactly why I can’t stay mad.”

The music played on, the kids copying every step they could, and for a moment, the house felt full of pure, unfiltered joy.

Minho slipped away to the kitchen, pretending he needed to refill his coffee. Really, he just needed two minutes of quiet.

And if he was honest he missed you.

He didn’t even get to dial. His phone buzzed with your name lighting up the screen.

Minho bit back the smile threatening his face and answered with a nonchalant, “Yeah?”

Your voice came through warm and bubbly. “Hi jagiya.”

His shoulders instantly softened. “Hey. You having fun?”

“Mhm. We’re just getting ready to head out again. The girls say hi.” You paused, then teased lightly, “Do you miss me?”

Minho scoffed. “I literally saw you yesterday.”

“Okay, but that wasn’t an answer.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against the counter. “The kids are loud.”

“That’s not an answer either.”

You could hear the faint voices of Hyunjin and Han arguing over a dance step somewhere in the background. Minho pressed his lips together, stubborn for exactly two seconds before exhaling.

“Fine. Maybe.”

You laughed. “Aw, you miss me.”

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbled, which of course meant he absolutely did.

“Miss you too, jagi,” you said softly.

Minho closed his eyes for a moment. That was all it took to crumble his defenses.

He sighed. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

Your smile was audible. “What time do you want me home?”

“As soon as possible,” he said without hesitation, then corrected, “I mean—when are you getting here?”

“We’ll be in Seoul by evening,” you replied. “Flight lands around six-ish, and we’ll grab our bags fast.”

Minho already felt lighter. “Good. I’ll pick you up.”

“You better.”

There was a soft, comfortable pause.

“Alright,” you said gently, “I’ll let you get back to the chaos.”

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” he said.

You giggled. “You too. I’ll call again before bed.”

“Yeah. Do that.”

“I love you.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. “I love you too.”

And when the call ended, Minho stared at the screen for a lingering second before squaring his shoulders and marching back to the battlefield that was the living room.

****************************************************

After the dancing session, the kids all sat down and was chugging glasses of water as they babbled amongst them in broken sentences.

Minho turned around to look at Han and said, “Han, you watch the kids. Hyunjin and I will run to the store real quick and get groceries for lunch and dinner.”

Han blinked at him. “Me? Alone? With all four?”

“They’re your children and nephews,” Minho deadpanned.

“And you both as well!” Han protested.

Hyunjin patted his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. They love you.”

“They also drained my life force,” Han muttered, but Minho was already grabbing his keys.

“We’ll be thirty minutes. Keep them alive.”

Han groaned and Minho rolled his eyes as he followed Hyunjin to the front door.

They left to the sound of Han yelling, “Minsoo! Put that down! Jisoo—why do you have the spatula?!”

Thirty minutes turned into an hour because Hyunjin insisted on choosing the perfect ramen brand, and Minho nearly strangled a man blocking the aisle.

Finally, groceries in hand, they returned to Han’s house and immediately froze.

The house was dead silent.

Hyunjin slowly widened his eyes. “Minho hyung?”

“This isn’t good,” Minho whispered. “This isn’t good at all.”

They stepped inside and saw that Han was on the couch sleeping. He was spread out like a starfish and his entire face was coloured with a sharpie— mustache, unibrow, hearts on his cheeks and a very poorly drawn beard.

Hyunjin slapped a hand over his mouth, shaking with silent laughter before whisper-screaming, “Oh my god—HYUNG—LOOK—LOOK AT HIM—”

Minho bent over, hands on his knees, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “Why does he look like a rejected cartoon character?!”

Hyunjin already had his phone out. “I’m sending this to the group chat. Changbin is going to lose it.”

Minho straightened, wiping tears. “I cannot believe this man. So irresponsible. He had ONE job.”

Then he froze.

“Wait. Where are the kids?”

Instant panic flooded them. They dumped the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and sprinted down the hallway.

“Kids?!” Minho called.

“Please don’t be dead,” Hyunjin muttered.

A sound came from the master bedroom. They pushed the door open and their souls left their bodies.

The mirror was covered in lipstick. Like fully covered with spirals, flowers, scribbles, handprints—everything.

Minho blinked. “Oh. Oh no.”

The closet was destroyed with the clothes everywhere. Shoes dumped like a yard sale. And the children’s attire made their jaws drop. 

Mingi was wearing one of Han’s wife’s dresses—four sizes too big and dragging on the floor.

Rowoon was confidently stomping around in a pair of her heels, clacking like a tiny runway model.

Minsoo had lipstick smeared across her entire face.

Jisoo was wearing one of Han’s oversized t-shirts and was trying to tie his tie, her little hands fumbling with the knot.

Hyunjin’s mouth fell open. “Oh. My. God.”

Minho pointed at them, horrified. “YAH! Who told you to do this?!”

Minsoo shrugged. “Daddy fell asleep.”

Rowoon stomped again proudly. “I look pretty!”

Minho covered his face. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

Then he snapped. “YAH HAN JISUNG! LOOK WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

From the living room came Han’s confused, half-asleep voice:

“Wha’s happening… why are you yelling…”

Hyunjin muttered, “Oh, he’s dead.”

Minho stormed out of the bedroom like a man ready to commit a crime, and the kids happily followed, heels clacking, lipstick smears bright, wearing dresses like nothing was wrong at all.

Han slowly emerged from the living room, rubbing his eyes and yawning, still half-asleep. He stopped dead in his tracks.

The sight that greeted him made his soul leave his body entirely.

Mingi twirled in one of his wife’s dresses, Rowoon strutted in heels that were far too big, Minsoo’s face was streaked with lipstick, and Jisoo was wearing his clothes.

“Wha—what is this?!” Han’s voice cracked.

Minho appeared beside him, pointing frantically toward the bedroom. “Makeup products… destroyed. Lipsticks, palettes, brushes… all gone. The closet just—gone!”

Han’s eyes widened. “NO—NOOOO!”

He sprinted toward the bedroom, hair standing on end.

The moment he opened the door, a long, pitiful whine echoed through the house.

“NOOOO!”

Inside, the bedroom Han dropped to his knees in the middle of the chaos, hands clutching his head. “MY… MY… EVERYTHING! MY BELOVED’S MAKEUP, OUR CLOTHES… MY LIFE!”

Minho leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to punch Han. “I told you. They’re tiny humans with zero respect for property.”

Hyunjin crouched beside Minho, sighing. “Honestly, Han… you should have known better than to nap.”

“YAH! I just kept them unsupervised for like twenty minutes max!” Han screamed, voice cracking with a mix of horror and despair.

Minho muttered under his breath, shaking his head, “That’s all it takes. You might want to see your face in the mirror.”

Han froze. “Wait… they drew… some silly things, didn’t they?”

Hyunjin blinked, incredulous. “Han, seriously—how did you not feel it? Since when are you a deep sleeper?”

Han’s hands went to his face. “I… I don’t know! I just… closed my eyes for a second!”

Minho groaned, rubbing his temples. “A second? You slept through an entire art attack. They drew mustaches, hearts, flowers… on your face!”

Han’s jaw dropped. “For real?”

“Yes,” Hyunjin confirmed, smirking despite himself. “And apparently you looked very relaxed while it happened.”

Han buried his face in his hands. “I’ll… I’ll just go wash it now.”

And somewhere in the living room, Rowoon stomped again, proudly declaring, “I look pretty!”

****************************************************

Minho announced bath time for the kids, already dreading how to clean their face with lipsticks and makeup. 

He groaned, glancing at Hyunjin, who was grinning despite the chaos. “Why did we even agree to this?” he muttered.

Hyunjin smirked, grabbing a towel from the counter. “Because apparently, this is what they call ‘fun bonding time.’”

“I just hope,” Minho muttered under his breath, “Mingi doesn’t try to climb out of the tub mid-bath again…”

Of course, the kids had already realized they were about to be bathed. And to them, bath time was not a routine—it was a full-blown invitation for maximum chaos

“Water fight!” Minsoo shouted immediately, splashing a bit of water toward Mingi.

“Nooo! Rowoon, don’t throw the soap!” Mingi yelled, hurling a small toy boat at Rowoon in protest.

Rowoon, encouraged by the chaos, stomped in the puddle on the bathroom floor, sending water flying everywhere.

Minho and Hyunjin scrambled to wrestle the kids into the tub. Minho had Mingi tucked under one arm while trying to keep a slippery rubber duck from escaping with the other, while Hyunjin was tangled up with Minsoo and Rowoon like they were professional wrestlers.

“Stay still!” Minho barked, trying to rinse the shampoo out of Mingi’s hair.

“Daddy, it tickles!” Mingi squealed, splashing water in Minho’s face.

Hyunjin barely dodged a flying bar of soap and stumbled, sending droplets across the room. “I swear these kids are going to kill me!” he yelled.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Han was still on a panic call with Chan’s wife, frantically typing on his laptop. “Noona, I’m serious! The makeup—the palettes, the brushes, the lipsticks—they’re all destroyed! I don’t even know where to start!”

“Han… calm down,” Chan’s wife said gently. “You can order replacements online. Just… breathe first.”

“I CAN’T!” Han wailed. “I CAN’T BREATHE! It’s every color imaginable, and now it’s on the floor, the bed, the mirror, and—oh God—some of it even got on the wall” His voice cracked, bordering on hysteria.

Back in the bathroom, Minho finally managed to rinse the shampoo from Mingi’s hair, only for Minsoo to dump a full cup of water over Rowoon, soaking both children and sending another spray onto the already drenched dads.

“AHHHH!” Hyunjin shrieked as he slipped slightly on the wet floor, sending more water flying.

The kids erupted in delighted laughter, their high-pitched squeals echoing through the house.

“Stop moving!” Minho shouted, ducking under a flying rubber duck. “This is a bath, water park!”

Rowoon grinned innocently, completely unfazed. “Water park!”

Hyunjin, soaked from head to toe, raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. I officially give up. You four win.”

Minho wiped water from his eyes and glared at the four kids. “I… I cannot deal with all of you right now.”

Meanwhile, Han was still frantically juggling his laptop and the phone, trying to reorder replacement makeup supplies. “Yes, I need every color in the palette. No, I don’t care if it takes two days. And yes, the brushes—soft ones! No, wait I’ll send the code.”

By the time the kids were finally clean, towels were wrapped around their little bodies, and Minho and Hyunjin were dripping as though they had both taken full showers, the living room had partially flooded thanks to runaway bath water.

Minho collapsed on the couch with a groan. “I… I need a break.”

Hyunjin flopped down beside him, letting out a dramatic sigh. “We survived. That counts for something, right?”

Mingi poked Minho’s arm with a tiny hand. “Daddy… bath again tomorrow?”

Minho groaned, massaging his temples. “I’ll just clean you with baby wipes… no bath time with you anytime soon.”

The kids giggled gleefully, half understanding their dads. 

****************************************************

By the time lunch rolled around, the house was a disaster zone once more. Minho and Hyunjin were exhausted beyond reason, their energy nearly depleted from the morning chaos and the epic bath time battle.

“I cannot even think about cooking,” Minho muttered, rubbing his temples as he slumped into a chair.

“Agreed,” Hyunjin groaned. “We deserve a medal… or at least someone else making lunch.”

“Pizza?” Han suggested weakly as he dropped on the couch beside them.

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Perfect. Order it. I’m done.”

Within twenty minutes, steaming boxes of pizza arrived, and the four kids dove in with delighted shrieks. Minho and Hyunjin finally allowed themselves to sit back and just breathe, slices of pizza in hand, watching the chaos unfold in mild amusement.

After lunch, the sugar-high from both breakfast, the dance battle and pizza finally caught up with the kids. Minsoo, Jisoo, Mingi, and Rowoon began yawning mid-bite.

“Nap time,” Minho declared firmly, guiding the kids to their mattresses and blankets. “Everyone lay down. Quietly.”

To their relief, the kids actually complied, one by one drifting off into exhausted slumber. Minho and Hyunjin exchanged a look.

“Think we can take a quick nap too?” Hyunjin whispered.

Minho rubbed his eyes. “I need a quick nap or I will fall apart.”

They went to the guestroom and collapsed on the bed, letting themselves doze for a short but blissful time while Han, of course, was expressly forbidden from napping.

By the time the sun started to lower in the sky, everyone was awake. The rest of the evening passed much more peacefully. They settled into the living room, snacks in hand, and watched movies while the kids cuddled under blankets and finally calmed down.

Dinner and bedtime passed by smoothly too.

Morning came too quickly. Breakfast was simple—cereals with milk and fruit on the side. The kids ate happily, quiet for once, their energy finally catching up with them.

After breakfast, Minho and Hyunjin decided it was time to make their way home. They started packing, shoving clothes, toys, and other stuff into their bags. There was a gentle sense of accomplishment in the air—chaotic and tiring, but somehow complete.

“We’ll meet at the airport later this evening, yeah?” Hyunjin asked, checking that everyone had their bags.

“Yeah,” Han replied, smiling tiredly. “We should reach there by 7 p.m.”

Before anyone could move, the kids all turned to each other and wrapped themselves in a big, giggling hug. Mingi and Rowoon clung together, tiny arms squeezing tightly, while Minsoo and Jisoo laughed as they joined the cuddle pile.

Han bent down, pressing gentle kisses to Mingi and Rowoon’s foreheads. “Be good, my little rascals,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. Then he stood and gave Minho and Hyunjin a quick, firm hug, the kind that said both “thank you” and “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

After the heartfelt goodbyes, Minho scooped Mingi up and carried him to the car. He carefully secured his son into the car seat, making sure the straps were snug.

Once Mingi was settled, he gently reached out and grabbed Minho’s hand. “Daddy… I love Mingi and Daddy time,” he said softly, his little fingers holding on tightly.

Minho’s chest warmed instantly. He looked down at Mingi with a fond smile, leaned forward slightly, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. 

“I love Mingi and Daddy time too, buddy,” he murmured.

As Minho started driving, he glanced into the rearview mirror and watched Mingi slowly drift off to sleep, his tiny body relaxed and peaceful in the seat. Minho cooed quietly, a soft and tender smile on his face.

In that moment, after a weekend of chaos, laughter, and endless messes, Minho felt like every wild, exhausting and messy second had been completely worth it.

--------------

Permanent Taglist 1:

Felix saw a fun trend.

The others just couldn’t tell him how bad of an idea it was, not when he glowed with happiness and excitement.

Han - 5h

Han tried. He really did. He locked himself in his room right after midnight signaled the start of the challenge. He was so excited about the challenge and he truly thought he was going to win. Perhaps he was a bit too confident in his self restraint (despite many previous occasions not supporting his claim that he “would last the entire month without breaking a sweat”), as when you asked if he could come over for a movie marathon he did not hesitate for a second. In hindsight, that might have been a bad idea. All it took was seeing you in your comfy clothes and the domesticity of staying under a blanket together, for his resolve to crumble. He even tried to make a pillow wall between you two, but the moment you remarked how the male lead of the anime reminded you of him, he popped a boner. His brain threw out all the thoughts of NNN and just went begging you to help him out. You tried to make him reason (or did you not?) but how could you say no to those pretty pouty lips and those puppy eyes? Did he regret it? Yeah, for about five minutes after the first round, as he recharged. After all, how could he think anything at all when he was deep in your guts or with his mouth full?

Han was a slobbering mess, his hips frantically thrusting into you with brief sudden movements, an irregular rhythm alternated with his whining. Pleas left his lips rapidly, as if he was rapping a prayer for god knows what, His head was buried in your neck, lips chasing the perfect spot to leave his mark. “Shit baby” he whined, his body trembling in anticipation. Before he could warn you any further, he came with a loud moan, spilling his seed into you and spouting incoherent thanks as he rode out his high, still thrusting in you and revelling in the pleasant sting of overstimulation.

> Han.exe _ challenge: failed

Hyunjin - 1d 10h

It sounded like a cool idea, when Felix suggested it in the group chat on the first of November. He lasted the whole day, laughing at how easy it was, with him simply going about his routine. Then the day after, he really wanted to see you and make love to you, it was just how he woke up that morning. Mr Spontaneous didn’t even think about it twice, the moment you gave him the green light. The challenge? Completely forgotten in the frenzy. Afterwards? No regret, if anything he was happy he could at least shove his record in Han’s face. Sure, he lasted less than three days but like… still more than the rapper.

Hyunjin’s plump lips were covering your inner thigh in sweet kisses, making you moan softly. “Higher, please” you begged him, to no avail. He loved to take his time, after all. Worshipping your body, inch by inch, and listening to your voice were almost enough to make him cum, after all. As he pulled one last orgasm from you, reaching his climax right when you did, he whispered sweet words of love. Or at least he tried, with a foggy brain and an incredibly sexy raspy voice.

> Hyunjin.exe _ challenge: failed

Felix - 8d 8h

This sweet brownie boy was so excited for the challenge. He really went through the first week rather easily. Sure, he hadn’t stopped seeing you for it so there had been some…. challenging moments… but nothing tragic. Yet. Adrenaline got him in the end (more like at the beginning of the challenge). He had just finished 8 straight hours of gaming to rank up in League of Legends so when he met you, matching his excitement and happiness, how could a ceremony not be in order? The post nut clarity hit him rather quickly and he groaned into your neck, his competitiveness wallowing in the pain of the failed challenge. Looks like you had to comfort him and distract him from his frustration… since he was between your legs already… might as well sin to the end, right?

Felix was a relatively calm guy, nice and sweet. Then his competitive side came out. Eight hours of gaming should have left him drained yet somehow he found the energy to come to you, pulling down your pants with haste. Soon enough, his face was between your legs and Felix, with the drive of a starved man, seemed to never have enough, even as he pulled the second orgasm from you. His hips rutting in the sheets below you and his beautiful lips covered in cum, a sight to behold. Especially true when he came with a low moan, throat vibrating against you and body shivering.

> Felix.exe _ challenge: failed

Changbin - 13d 13h

Changbin was a man who could not multi-task at all. Luckily for him, this time it turned out to be rather useful. His plan was to focus on his work (and working out) to win the challenge and wipe that dog’s teasing smirk from his face. He was so going to win. The first half of the month was almost over and he was incredibly proud of it, boasting about it in the others’ faces. He managed to see you during those two weeks as well, simply cuddling and eating together. Thankfully he was not going to get a hard on while you two ate junk food in your pyjamas. Unfortunately, your gym date happened. It wasn’t anything new, you went to the gym together once a month and he saw no reason to cancel now. Then again, he understood he had lost the moment he saw you in gym clothes. Maybe it was seeing you in his element, or perhaps he was just needy. Whatever the reason, he was not about to complain while you gave him the best blowjob of his life.

Changbin barely remembered to lock the changing room’s door before locking his lips with yours, pushing you against the lockers, his hand cradling your head to protect you. “Fuck the challenge. I can’t… fuck…” as he struggled to voice the train of thoughts in his head, you kneeled between his legs, wrapping your lips around his cock. From the way his knees buckled and his groans filled the room, it was safe to say his brain had shut off.

> Changbin.exe _ challenge: failed

Bang Chan - 21d 2h

The man was a strong contender for the crown and not of his own will. Simply put, he was a workaholic, which meant his odds of seeing you in person were almost zero. An unfair advantage, whined the -losers- others. However, Chan was just a man and let’s face it… I.N didn’t get freaky on his own. After three weeks of working (far too much) with the excuse of the challenge, you had enough. Since he wasn’t going to see you on his own, it was time for drastic measures, with Lee Know and Seungmin’s assistance (which they refused to call it cheating. After all, it was simply sabotage). The brief moment he left the studio to go to the bathroom, you sneaked in. Bang Chan felt blessed. Was he dreaming? Because he could swear you were in lingerie on his chair.

“Fuck. baby. This… is the best… surprise visit…. ever” he asked, grunting as you rode him. One of his hands roughly grabbed your hip, the other one holding the chair still. His mouth lingered on your neck, marking your skin up as he suffocated his own moans (2 for 1 deal). When your rhythm started to show signs of slowing, he started moving his hips up, meeting you midway and making you jolt in pleasure. “Come on, baby. Let’s get some pretty moans for the track, huh?” he said, turning the recorder on just as you two came. Perfect timing, though he might just keep that take for himself. After all, he had no intention of letting you go now. “That was just take one, baby” he whispered, slightly breathless “Let’s take a few more, yeah?”.

> Bang_Chan.exe _ challenge: failed

🥉 Jeongin - 21d 7h

It was the wrong moment, that is all. I.N wanted to be sweet, check in on his roommate and see if he needed anything. Hell, he even brought ramen (non-spicy, of course). Why did he almost step into a porn set, then? What sins did he commit in a previous life to catch his fatherl-ish figure fucking in his workplace? As embarrassed and worried about the hygiene of the recording booth, the moans had his mind wondering. Did you two sound just like that? Not to mention that the idea of sneaking you two having sex in the background of a track was certainly enticing. He could already imagine the others being blushing messes upon hearing that. For that simple reason, he couldn’t help but run to you. Luckily, he met you in the kitchen right away and, without saying a word, he discarded the ramen in a corner. He had another kind of hunger to satisfy.

“Ayen… what?” you managed to say in between kisses. While not unwanted at all, you couldn’t help but be surprised, as I.N simply propped you up on the counter. “Want you” he just managed to answer, his devilish tongue already making his way down your body, as his long fingers worked you to your orgasm, the first of many, if he had his way. Without even bothering to fully unclothe you, he worked you open with his fingers, soon replaced by his tongue. As you were about to come, the little menace pulled away with a grin and you two shared a knowing glance. Quickly, his belt was soon unbuckled and he buried himself inside you, thrusting even after you came, chasing his high and relishing in your overstimulated moans. When he came with a long groan, post nut clarity hit him and his head snapped up, his cock still in you: “Fuck! The challenge!”

> I.N.exe _ challenge: failed

🥈 Lee Know - 28d 6h

Lee Know was sure he was going to win easily. He had the will and the incentive: teasing AND bragging rights felt like enough of a reward already. However, he might have underestimated your thirst for vengeance, especially after he pulled a rather heart stopping prank not too long ago. Hence why you simply made sure to do all he found sexy every single time. Bending over just to let him see how well the pants hugged your ass? Check. Licking your lips the way he liked it? Check. Cuddling his cats and baby talking to them? Check, though to be fair you’d have done that regardless. Out of sheer stubbornness, Lee Know resisted. Sure, he was sweating bullets every time he saw you, ears quickly getting red and legs already running away from you. Then came the peer pressure, both on him and Seungmin. Unfortunately, most of the members weren’t as eager to share their sex lives with Seungmin as they were with him (for some reason. One would think the threat of getting air fried would be a good deterrent). So he sneaked to you with a plan. Was he going to let Seungmin know that he had won? No way in hell. He was going to make the puppy suffer through his needy horniness until the end.

“You’re so… petty” he groaned in your ear, you bent over your desk with the biggest smile. “Big words for a man two thrusts away from coming” you teased him. At the words his dick simply throbbed. Maybe it was how mean you sounded when you told him that, or perhaps it was just how deprived he had been in the last weeks. Nevertheless, he hurried to undress, prepping you with one hand, knuckles deep in you. Usually he was more composed. Usually he’d have cruelly taken his time. Not now. Today it was going to be a rough day, in the best way possible.

> Lee_Know.exe _ challenge: failed

👑 Seungmin - Winner

Seungmin didn’t tell you. He thought it was going to be the safer option. No temptation, no bribes… just his sheer willpower. He was going to do it. Compared to others (like Han and Hyunjin, to name a few) he had always been good at keeping his cool. As the days went by, cold showers simply became his best friends. Everytime he saw you he had an excuse. He had a cold, so maybe it was better to stay away. The flu is going around and he has a comeback soon. Sorry, rehearsal lasted longer than he expected so he’s incredibly tired. Anything to avoid intimacy or even being close to you. Did it hurt him to see your pouting little expression whenever he denied you? Yes, but he thought of the thrill of winning. Neither of you was going to exit his bedroom for at least a night AND day. Perhaps more. Walking? A delusional wish for the both of you. Unfortunately, Lee Know seemed to be unable to fail and give up. And even worse, he snitched to you. You actually seemed not to mind the challenge, you even helped him and encouraged him. Not even one bit of nagging or cold shoulder for his little deception. Seungmin knew you had something up your sleeve. He had suffered far too many of your vengeful pranks to expect you to take it like a saint. No, you had a plan, of that he was sure. However, he simply had to see this to the end. And that is how you ended up staring at the clock, waiting for it to hit midnight and show the beginning of December. Somehow, though, he had a feeling his win wasn’t going to feel like one.

The moment the clock made that little tick, the boy was on you. Hands around you and his body between your legs. He reeked of needy desperation. Seungmin rutting his hips against you, cock between your thighs, had been on your bingo card for ages and to see it in real life… Divine. The man was hovering over you, arms around you as his lips marked up your neck, small needy pleas interrupting the wet sound of his kisses. “Puppy missed me?” You teased him. Seungmin merely nodded in acknowledgment, grinding even more against you as he tried to reach his high. Just before he could come and cover your thighs in his seed, you smiled deviously. “Oops, gotta go” you gleefully said, getting up to change your panties and pants, now stained with his precum. “Wait what?” He said, whipping up his head and huffing. He looked like a child who had just been told Santa Claus wasn’t real. His hard-on was still painfully straining against his pants. “Sorry, pup. It’s Deny Dick December” you teased him before leaving him. Perhaps he should have told you about the challenge, after all. You wouldn’t leave him untouched for another month though… right?