gogobebe

“Eat something, baby girl,” he says gently, setting a plate of your favorite toast and fruit in front of you. His voice is soft, the same tone he uses when he knows you’re overwhelmed.

You nod, but don’t touch it.

Minho notices immediately. Of course he does.

Without a word, he quietly switches your plate with his own, sliding the warmer portion toward you like maybe if it comes from him, you’ll feel safe enough to eat. His eyes linger on your bruised cheek for a second too long before he looks away, jaw tight.

You don’t eat much, but the small gesture makes your chest ache with warmth.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The company building feels colder than usual.

Or maybe it’s just you.

Or maybe it’s the way all eight of them walk around you—not in front, not behind, but around, like some unspoken human shield.

Changbin stays on your left, shoulders squared. Hyunjin hovers on your right, one hand lightly brushing your sleeve every few steps as if to remind you he’s there. Felix walks just behind you, close enough that you can feel his comforting presence, while Jisung and Seungmin flank the back, scanning every hallway like they expect danger at any corner. Jeongin stays glued to your side, his usual playful energy replaced by quiet determination.

You’re not walking in alone.

Not anymore.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The meeting room is already full when you enter.

Executives. Managers. Staff.

And them.

The ones responsible.

You drop your gaze immediately, heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.

Chan notices right away.

His hand brushes against your arm—not obvious to anyone else, just enough pressure to ground you.

You’re here. I’ve got you, baby girl.

You sit between him and Minho.

You don’t miss how the others position themselves—close, tense, eyes scanning the room like they’re already expecting something to go wrong. Changbin sits directly across from the manager, glaring openly. Felix keeps one hand resting near yours on the table, ready to hold it the second you need it.

The door shuts.

The meeting starts.

At first, it’s all corporate.

Carefully worded sentences. Neutral tones. “Concerns.” “Clarifications.” “Internal review.”

It makes you feel sick.

Like what happened to you is being reduced to bullet points on a slide.

Until Chan speaks.

“We’re not here for a discussion,” he says, voice calm—but there’s steel underneath it that makes the entire room go still. “We’re here because one of our members was physically harmed. Repeatedly.”

No sugarcoating.

No softening.

The shift is immediate.

Some of the staff shift uncomfortably in their seats. Others glance at each other nervously.

And then,

“It seems there may have been some misunderstandings—”

“Misunderstanding?” Changbin cuts in, a bitter laugh escaping him, but there’s no humor in it at all. “You call hitting our maknae in the face a misunderstanding?”

Seungmin leans forward, eyes sharp and cold. “Would you like us to define it more clearly? Or should we show you the photos we took last night? Or some CCTV footage?”

The tension spikes so fast the air feels thick.

You shrink slightly in your seat, shoulders curling inward.

Chan notices again.

He always does.

His hand finds yours under the table, squeezing once—warm, steady, protective.

You’re safe. We’re right here.

Questions start coming your way.

Gentle at first from the executives who seem genuinely concerned.

Then more direct.

“How often did this occur?”

“Who was involved?”

“Were there witnesses?”

Your throat feels tight, the cut on your lip pulling painfully as you speak.

You answer anyway.

Quietly.

Carefully.

Every word feels like stepping on broken glass.

But you don’t stop.

Because every time your voice wavers, someone shifts closer.

Because every time you hesitate, someone’s hand tightens somewhere around you, grounding you.

Because you’re not alone anymore.

Then the names come out.

And everything changes.

The manager.

The specific staff members who had slapped, shoved, and grabbed you when the boys weren’t around.

You don’t look at them.

But you feel the way the room turns icy.

The way your eight members go dangerously still.

The manager scoffs.

Actually scoffs.

“This is being blown out of proportion,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he’s bored. “Discipline is part of training. She’s just being sensitive.”

The word hits harder than any slap.

Sensitive.

Like the pain didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

Before you can even react—

“What?”

Minho’s voice is low.

Too low.

The kind that makes people freeze in place.

The manager shrugs. “I said—”

“I heard you,” Minho cuts in, slowly standing up. Controlled. “I just want to make sure everyone else in this room heard it too.”

“Sit down,” one of the executive side interjects quickly.

But it’s too late.

Because now Changbin is standing too, fists clenched at his sides.

And Jisung.

And Hyunjin.

“Discipline?” Changbin repeats, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps. “You think hitting her in the face is discipline?”

The room erupts.

Voices overlapping.

Tension snapping like a live wire.

You flinch hard—

And instantly, Chan is there.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, turning his body slightly toward you, blocking part of your view with his broad shoulders. One hand comes up to gently cup the side of your uninjured cheek. “It’s okay. Don’t look at him. Look at me. You’re safe.”

You nod, even though your chest is tight and your breathing is shallow.

Seungmin leans in from your other side, voice soft and trembling with restrained anger. “We’re right here, baby. He can’t touch you.”

The meeting spirals after that.

No more careful wording.

No more politeness.

Evidence gets brought up—your statements, the photos of your injuries, CCTV footages, even quiet testimonies from a couple of junior staff who had seen things but were too scared to speak before.

The company representatives start shifting sides fast when it becomes clear this isn’t something that can be buried.

You barely process most of it.

Until…

“It would be best if you step out,” one of the higher-ups tells the manager coldly.

Silence falls.

Then the scrape of a chair.

He stands.

You feel it before you see it.

That shift in the air.

Your stomach drops.

Because something about the way he moves…it’s wrong. Too angry. Too familiar.

He starts toward the door.

Then stops.

Turns.

And looks straight at you with pure venom.

Your breath catches.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head. “All this drama because you couldn’t handle a little pressure, you weak little—”

And then he steps toward you.

Fast.

Too fast.

Your body reacts before your brain does—you freeze completely, heart slamming against your ribs.

But you don’t even get a second to process it.

Because eight people move at once.

“Don’t—!”

Chairs scrape loudly as they shove back from the table.

Chan is in front of you immediately, his body a solid wall between you and the manager.

Minho grabs your arm gently but firmly, pulling you behind him while stepping forward.

Changbin moves like lightning, stepping directly into the man’s path, chest puffed out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Seungmin snaps, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t you dare take another step toward her.”

The manager doesn’t stop.

“Move,” he snarls, reaching forward as if to grab you past the barrier of bodies.

And that’s it.

“Don’t touch her!”

Chan’s voice cracks through the room, loud and furious in a way you’ve never heard before—raw, protective, almost broken with rage.

He shoves the man back hard with both hands.

The room explodes into chaos.

Staff rushing in from the hallway.

People shouting.

But the boys don’t back down.

Not even a single step.

Hyunjin is instantly at your side, one arm hovering protectively in front of you while his other hand rests lightly on your shoulder, thumb stroking soothing circles. “It’s okay, love. Breathe. We’ve got you.”

Felix’s hand finds yours, gripping it so tight it almost hurts, but his voice is heartbreakingly soft. “hey, you’re safe. I promise.”

Jisung is yelling something fierce you can’t even fully hear over the noise, but his free hand is gently rubbing your back, trying to ground you.

Jeongin stands close on your other side, his usually bright eyes dark with anger as he shields you. “Stay behind us, baby.”

Minho doesn’t move an inch from his position in front of you.

He just stares the manager down like if the man takes one more step, it’s over.

“You’re done,” Minho says coldly, voice dripping with ice. “You’re not going anywhere near our maknae ever again.”

Security finally bursts in, grabbing the manager, pulling him back as he struggles and keeps shouting insults.

But his voice fades down the hallway.

The door shuts behind him.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The room falls silent again.

But it’s not the same silence as before.

This one feels… final. Like something heavy has been lifted.

You’re shaking.

You don’t even realize it until Chan turns around fully and cups your face with both hands—careful, so careful not to press on the bruise.

“Hey, baby girl,” he says, softer now, forehead almost resting against yours. “You’re okay. He’s gone. He’ll never come near you again. I swear.”

You nod, tears slipping down despite yourself.

Felix pulls you into a careful, warm hug from the side, burying his face in your hair. “We’ve got you,” he whispers, voice thick. “Always. No one hurts you and gets away with it.”

“Never again,” Jisung adds, voice still unsteady as he gently wipes your tears with his sleeve.

Changbin exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before stepping over to ruffle your hair softly. “He shouldn’t have even gotten that close. I’m sorry we let it go this far.”

“He won’t again,” Seungmin says firmly, but his eyes are gentle when they meet yours. “We’ll make sure of it.”

Minho finally turns back to you, his hard expression melting the moment he sees your face. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, unusually tender. “Next time,” he mutters, quieter, “you don’t wait this long to tell us. Okay? We’re your family. Protecting you is our job.”

You manage a small, shaky nod.

Chan squeezes your shoulder, pulling you gently against his side. “There won’t be a next time. From now on, we’re watching every single person who comes near you. You’re safe with us. Always.”

And for the first time since all of this started, you believe him completely.

The boys stay glued to you for the rest of the day—soft touches, quiet reassurances, and fierce promises whispered whenever you look even a little scared. They cancel the rest of the schedule without hesitation.

You come first.

Always.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

⤷ ゛ TAGLIST ˎˊ˗

chris | abs

loves it when he feels your hands wrapping around his midsection, digging your fingers into the crevices between his abs. 

his skin erupts into goosebumps when he feels you drag your fingers around his skin, either on top or beneath his shirt. 

you could be idly chatting, laying in bed, sitting next to each other, but there’s more of a chance your hand will have found his abdomen sometime between conversation. 

you can’t get enough of the sight of your fingers rippling as you pass over his abs, the bumps and ridges you can memorize like your own skin. 

“having fun?” chris hums, one eyebrow raised.

“i am, thank you for your astute observation,” you give him a cheeky smile, digging your thumb into his navel. he jumps at the pressure, nostrils flaring as he pushes your hand away, “hey wait-!” you slap both hands onto his muscle, pushing yourself up and over, straddling his thighs. “i was not done here.” 

chris’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water. what the hell is wrong with you, he wants to say. 

as if you can read his mind you smile a devious thing, “nothing is wrong with me, can i not simply admire the effort my lovely boyfriend has put into sculpting his body?” his brows crease together, probably concerned for you. 

“well- i didn’t- i don’t-” chris stutters, unsure of how to counter you. 

so he doesn’t, he allows your assault of his abdomen, for all things considered, it’s really not that big of a deal. and he likes knowing you appreciate his hard work.

minho | thighs

he let you lay between his thighs once, count that, once (1), bigggg mistake. 

you asked him to squish your head between his thighs one day, he asked if you were okay in the head. you replied, no. 

there’s hardly a time where your hand isn’t rested on the skin of his thigh, feeling the warmth and solid muscle beneath your fingers. 

if you’re lucky, minho will let you sit between his legs on the ground, while he sits on the couch, if there’s people over or not enough space where he is, and rest your head on his thigh. 

the apartment fills with the chatter of over eight people, a night where finally everyone is off. you reemerge from the kitchen, four drinks expertly split between your fingers. as you set them on the coffee table between everyone, you scan the living room, looking for a good place to stay. minho notices and gestures you over, as if he was going to let you sit between jisung and felix, you may never come back alive. 

you assume he wants you to sit on his lap or something, which you’d happily oblige, but he shuffles his feet apart slightly. your eyes widen, finally. 

you turn, sit and scoot backwards until your back touches the front of the couch between minho’s legs. your head immediately falls to the side, feeling the solid muscle beneath your head. you’d probably be content to die here, you figure. 

changbin | biceps

loooooooves when you wrap your hands around one of his biceps, touching, feeling, memorizing. 

he’ll subtly flex, (not so subtle when your arms are the size of his), letting you feel the fruit of hours of work. you press the pads of your fingers into his skin, pushing, poking, prodding. 

changbin’s happy to be dragged around, or have you walk by his side with your hand grasping his arm, a type of searing possessive brand attached to his side. 

don’t get me started on when he lets you use his bicep as a pillow, you could 100% die happy. 

it wasn’t even ten minutes ago that you’d gotten ready for bed, slipping in silently, next to changbin, who, you assumed, was sleeping. when you settled, he rolled over, wrapping an arm around you, leaving the other bent under his own head. in his sleep, he began to feel uncomfortable. changbin’s eyes cracked open, trying to figure where he could puzzle his arm, he figured that you wouldn’t mind if he slid it underneath your head, under your pillow. 

being still awake, you felt him shifting around, and your pillow being jostled left and right. you push yourself onto your palms and changbin freezes. you toss your pillow aside, laying his arm straight. you turned to face him, his hand now on your back, and rested your head on his arm, nose pressed dangerously close to his beating heart. 

you slept like a baby.

changbin could not feel his arm come morning time. 

hyunjin | fingers

hyunjin’s nimble fingers cannot escape your grasp

laying in bed? playing with his fingers. sitting on the couch? playing with his fingers. shopping? playing with the fingers of the hand that isn’t holding a bag for you. 

you like to watch while he paints or draws, how he’s able to spin paint brushes and pencils around his fingers like they’re lighter than air. 

you’re unsure of where your obsession stemmed from, but hyunjin doesn’t mind when you take his hand into your own and spin the rings around his fingers or bend and unbend them.

you’re both on the couch, coexisting together as you do separate tasks. he’s working on something on his laptop and you’re trying to reply to emails. since when did they pile up. why is there so many of them. can people learn to not hit reply all, god that annoys you. sometime as you were caught in your mind, you started wringing your fingers together, bending them slightly unnaturally. hyunjin notices and places his hand between your own. 

you immediately take to spinning his rings around, subconsciously. it was a small gesture but you zoned back in sometime after, realizing you weren’t holding your hand, but the hand of your lover. you raise his fingers to your mouth and give them a small kiss as a thank you. hyunjin understands and rests his hand in your own, you think the emails can wait until tomorrow. 

jisung | hands

much like hyunjin, jisung’s hands are never far from yours

it’s a mutual thing, really. he likes yours as much as you like his. 

you’ll trace little shapes and letters into his palm, keeping your touch light as he occupies himself with work or whatever else. 

in bed? hands held. in public? hands swinging together like school children. lounging around? someone’s getting their hands played with. 

often times, when jisung is nervous, he’ll wring his hands together, or pick at his nails. in an attempt to cease his habit, you’ve taken to just holding his hands in your own:

“let me see your hands,” you hold out your own for jisung to place his palms in. he complies, laying his hands in yours. nothing happens for a minute, he gives you a confused look. “they’re heavier than mine.”

“were you…” he scans your face, “weighing my hands?” his head tilts to the side with a ridiculous smile on his face. 

you weren’t. you were getting him to stop subconsciously picking at his cuticles, and wanted an excuse to have his hands in yours. 

felix | ass 

he absolutely loves it for one reason or another when he can feel your hand slither its way into the back pocket of his jeans, laying on his ass. 

he’s not sure if it’s the surefire possessive touch or just that out of all places, you chose his back pocket to rest your hand. 

you could be at home, in public, or just standing around somewhere, it’s like there’s a magnet attracting your hand to his ass.

if you’re feeling adventurously brave, you’ll ask felix to lay face down and lay your head on him, content to scroll your phone or read. 

felix feels the hand on his waist slowly lower to the back pocket of his jeans. before you can wriggle your fingers into the jean, his eyes snap to yours. “we’re in public.” 

“i’m aware.” you smile, not looking away from the board in front of you. “what are you gonna get?” you gesture to the station. felix huffs, turning back to the kiosk. he flicks through a few pages before settling on something he always gets. 

somewhere between him trying to sound intimidating and picking his order, your hand slid into his back pocket. “someone could see…” he tries but you’re having none of it. 

“if they see my hand then they’re looking at your ass,” you finally look at him, his cheeks are bright red, flushing out the sight of his freckles. 

seungmin | neck 

seungmin feels utterly helpless when your fingers rest on the skin of his neck. whether they’re on his nape, near the pulse points or around the front, he simply adores it. 

he feels like he’s being publicly claimed as yours when your fingers drum against his neck. blood rushes to his cheeks, warming them significantly. 

when you’re in the privacy of your home, he allows himself to be guided around by the hand on his nape, pulling and pushing.

sometimes, he’ll take your hand and bring it to his shoulder, silently asking for you to rest your fingers around his neck. it’s never in a mean way, he really just likes having the weight of your hand nearby. 

you come home to seungmin on the phone, chatting away to whomever is on the other end. he doesn’t hang up when you come to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and pressing a kiss to the back of his head. seungmin takes a hold of your fingers mid conversation, you raise a brow, unsure if he’s doing it absentmindedly or if he’s just feeling particularly like he doesn’t care. he places your hand on the junction where his shoulder meets his neck and pushes your fingers in. 

he continues to talk into the phone, you figure bangchan is on the other end when you hear his hearty laughter through the microphone, they must be talking about something with scheduling, or so. whatever it is, it’s got seungmin tense. 

you push and pull as his skin, massaging the place he put your hand. you can slowly feel his shoulders giving up as his head rolls to the side, giving you better access. 

with the phone still pressed to his other ear, you lean down and press another kiss to his head, keeping your hand comfortably on his neck as he finishes with chan.

jeongin | collarbones

despite the sensitive skin over his collarbones, jeongin loves when you trace lines and shapes over the bone. you keep your touches light, knowing that further pressure can actually really hurt. 

you’ll be laying with your head on his shoulder, and suddenly he’s asking you to switch positions so that you can drag your nail across his skin. 

it started when you were absentmindedly drawing shapes into the skin of his chest, your hand wandered up and ghosted across his collarbones

since then, it’s been his favourite source of comfort

the bedroom door creaks open, you should really get that fixed, revealing jeongin. his sleep shorts don’t reach far but his sweater basically swallows him whole. you immediately open your arms up, inviting him in. “long day?” he hums as he falls into your hold. 

as soon as he’s comfortable, he grabs your closest hand, playing with your fingers. you know what he’s too shy to ask, so you free your hand from him and brush your them across his collarbones, distracting him from whatever is plaguing his mind. he doesn’t usually get needy enough to simply fall into you, but everyone has their off days. you’re just glad you have a surefire way to comfort him when he does. 

you feel jeongin press closer into you, at this point, you’re sure that if he was a cat his whole body would be reverberating with purrs.