Today is literally the worst day! Like Wdym I got Sick at work and Heesung left Enhypen to pursue solo activities at the same company ??? Huh ? Wth ? Like make it make sense! 💔😔
Idk if u saw the new chan pic but PLEASE write something with the reader being the one taking the pic and then riding chan after!! pleasee
Railway🖤
Pairing: Chan x femReader
Word Count: 2688
Summary: Chan finishes his workout in his quiet home gym and comes up with a playful idea for a mirror-style photograph. He calls you in, positions you between his legs, and has you take a cleverly angled picture that makes it look like he snapped it himself. Things soon escalate from there on...
Warnings/Tags: fluff, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding Chan, mirror sex (sort of), Chan's a simp
The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the treadmill cooling down and the soft clink of metal plates settling back into place. Chan lay flat on his bench beneath the rack, arms folded loosely over his stomach, chest rising steadily after his last set. The overhead lights cast a warm glow across the ceiling mirrors he’d installed months ago, ‘for form checks,’ though you two used them for far more than that.
His phone hovered above his face as he scrolled, lips twitching as an idea popped into his head. A soft, breathy giggle escaped him. “Oh,” he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing playfully. “Stay will love that.” He tapped your contact without hesitation.
A few minutes later, you pushed open the door to his home gym, leaning against the frame. “You called?”
Chan didn’t move from the bench, just tilted his head enough to look at you upside down. His blond hair was slightly damp, strands falling messily over his forehead. He was wearing a black tank that clung to him in all the unfair ways, silver bracelets catching the light as he adjusted his grip on the bar above him. “Come here, baby,” he said, grinning.
You stepped closer, squinting your eyes at him suspiciously. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” he asked innocently.
You snorted softly. “Like you’re about to commit a crime.”
He laughed, shoulders shaking faintly. “Okay, listen. I have an idea.” That alone made you snort even louder. Chan lifted his phone and held it out toward you. “Stand here,” he shifted slightly, spreading his legs just enough to indicate the space between them, “And take the picture from up there.”
You blinked at him. “So it looks like you took it in the mirror?” you asked.
His eyes lit up. “Exactly.”
You covered your mouth, already laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But am I wrong?” he countered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
You shook your head, but you stepped between his legs anyway, carefully positioning yourself so you didn’t bump the bar. From this angle, the mirror above would perfectly frame him: his broad shoulders against the bench, his arms flexed subtly just from holding his phone steady, the tank hugging his torso in a way that felt almost unfair. “Okay,” you muttered, trying to sound professional. “Hold still.”
Chan relaxed his head back against the bench, jawline sharp under the light. He adjusted his grip on his phone, bracelets sliding down his wrist, then gave you a faint, teasing look. “Do I look strong?” he asked softly.
You scoffed. “You are strong.”
“I meant aesthetically,” he smirked.
You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered. From up here, he looked unreal. Pretty in that effortless way he always was. His soft lips curved in a half-smile, his eyes warm and playful, hair tousled from sweat. The ceiling lights caught the gold tones in his hair, and the angle made him look both powerful and boyishly proud of himself at the same time…You forgot to press the button.
“Are you taking it?” he teased.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, finally snapping the photo as he winked up at you. The click echoed softly in the room.
Chan immediately sat up just enough to peer at the screen, crowding closer to you. His shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid. “Let me see.” You handed him the phone, trying very hard not to think about how close you were standing between his legs. His eyes widened. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Told you,” you said, crossing your arms.
He looked up at you, a grin spreading slowly. “You’re a genius.”
“You’re welcome.”
He held the phone up again, glancing at the picture one more time, then back at you. His smile softened, just a little. “You were staring,” he added quietly.
You blinked. “I was not.”
“You were.”
You huffed, stepping back. “You just look nice, okay?”
Chan’s expression shifted into something less teasing, somehow more fond. “Nice?”
You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Very nice.”
He leaned back on his hands, still sitting on the bench, gaze following you. There was something warm in his eyes now, something that had nothing to do with gym lighting or clever camera angles. “Well,” he said softly, voice lower now. “Guess I’ll have to keep you around for future photoshoots.”
“Oh, you'll keep me around for much more than that,” you smirked knowingly as he sat up fully. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close and burying his face in your stomach for a moment. Your hand gently sank into his hair, fingers massaging his scalp automatically.
Chan's head tilted back, glancing up at you. His ridiculously soft brown eyes met yours, and a lazy smile spread on his lips. “I missed you.”
“You always miss me,” you grinned. “You’ve only been gone for the weekend, Channie love.”
A soft pout settled on his lips. “What kind of dumb reason is that? Of course, I'll always miss you,” he told you, hands gently finding the back of your thighs, fingers spreading as he gently fondled your legs. His eyes grew heavy as he studied your face, something darker creeping in. “Missed you so fucking much, baby.”
“You mean you missed fucking me?” you asked knowingly, pulling a boyish grin from him so easily.
“What if I said yes?” Chan asked softly. “What if I told you I miss the feeling of being buried inside you, feeling you clench around me, and hearing those pretty little moans?”
You lowered yourself into his lap, smiling at him. “Then I'd tell you I'm feeling quite empty still, even though your dick is even less tucked away in those cursed grey sweatpants than usually.”
Chan's lips met yours with haste, clashing against them. His arm settled around your waist, his other hand fondling up your side, slipping beneath your shirt. You gasped into the kiss at the feeling of his hands against your skin. His finger barely traced the hem of your bra, a soft groan rising from his chest. “Ride me?”
You chuckled, humming softly against his lips. “Is that a good time to put on Railway, Mr. Brace yourself, take a seat?”
Chan's ears turned red, a giddy giggle leaving him. “Yeah? You think of that when you listen to it?”
“Oh, please, Channie, this song is based on our time in Milan,” you laughed, earning another giggle from him.
Chan hummed softly, hands running up and down your thighs again. His lips traveled down your neck, fingers gently tugging at the hem of your sweatpants. “Let me help you?” You grinned and stood back up, letting him tug off your sweatpants, stepping out of them with ease. His hands roamed your skin almost immediately again, eyes taking in every detail. Back in his lap, his fingers ghost against your clothed core, drawing a soft sound from you. “May I?” he asked softly, and you nodded, gasping as his fingers gently tugged your panties aside and slipped between your folds.
All these years, and he still asked like it was the first time. He still looked at you in wonder, his fingers still mapped out every inch of your body like they hadn't done so before countless times. And god, this man always took his time, no matter how much he needed you.
Chan gave you a gentle warning before his finger pushed inside you, stretching you ever so gently. He smiled at the soft gasp that left you, his hand soothingly caressing your hip. It didn't take long until he deemed you ready, fingers stretching you perfectly.
You tugged off your panties, dropping them to the floor next to your sweatpants. Chan shuffled down his own and his boxers, lying back down. His hands found your hips as you scooted forward and braced yourself on his chest. Chan reached down between your bodies, carefully dragging the tip through your folds, bumping against your clit, which made you bite back a moan. “Relax for me, beautiful,” Chan told you before carefully pushing inside.
A low moan fell from your lips as you sank down on him, fingers curling against his chest. “God, Channie,” you moaned as you were fully seated on him.
Chan's grip on your hip grew tight, but that was the only sign of his own impatience. “You feel so good around me, baby,” he told you with a sweet smile.
You leaned down, brushing your lips against his slowly. Your foreheads touched, breath mingling, the earlier teasing melting into something softer. He always did this. No matter how worked up he was, he would slow down the moment he saw that look in your eyes. “You’re so unfair,” you murmured, fingers sliding up into his hair. “Looking at me like that.”
He huffed a quiet laugh against your mouth. “Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me or something,” you teased.
He looked comically offended. “I am.”
Your hips moved experimentally, drawing a breathy sound from him. His head tipped back against the bench for a second, biting his lower lip to hold back the groan leaving him.
“Don’t hide from me, love,” you whispered.
“I’m not,” he answered softly. “I just…I really missed you.” You rolled your hips again, gentler this time, and his hands tightened reflexively before relaxing, thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin. His jaw clenched briefly, but his eyes stayed warm. “The weekend felt longer without you,” he admitted.
You smiled down at him, brushing your nose against his. “Dramatic.”
“Just honest,” he corrected. You began moving properly now, slowly and unhurried, setting a rhythm that deepened his breathing. His hands guided you without forcing, as if he were learning you all over again. The teasing faded again as the pace deepened slightly, your movements growing more instinctive. His voice dropped, rougher now, but still gentle. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah,” you breathed. One of his hands left your hip to cradle your face instead, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. The intimacy of it made your chest tighten. Even like this, especially like this, he treated you like something precious. Your rhythm faltered slightly as you leaned into his touch, kissing him again, slower this time.
Chan moaned softly, fingers digging deeper into your skin. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathed out hoarsely. “Can I take off your shirt?” he asked sweetly, and you let him do as he pleased. The way his eyes met yours right after you knew exactly what he wanted and gave him an encouraging smile. Still steadying you with one hand, Chan's other moved behind you, unclasping your bra with a swift movement.
His head dipped, plush lips traveling over your skin. The teasing edge from earlier had melted completely; what remained was slow affection. His mouth pressed gentle kisses along your collarbone and down the curve of your chest. You inhaled sharply when his breath fanned across sensitive skin, fingers tightening in his hair. “Channie…”
He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. One hand stayed firm on your hip, grounding you, while the other traced lazy patterns along your back. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you; he was savoring every piece of you. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured quietly, lips brushing your skin between words.
You laughed breathlessly. Your hips moved again, slow and rolling, drawing a strained exhale from him. Chan's hands guided you a little more firmly now, helping you set a steady rhythm. His breathing deepened, chest rising beneath your palms. You leaned down to kiss him, your tongues brushing, lips parting lazily, both of you smiling into it.
“Missed this,” he confessed against your mouth.
“Missed you,” you answered gently.
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer so there was barely any space left between your bodies. He pressed his forehead to yours again, eyes soft despite the heat building between you. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered against your lips.
“Love you too, Channie dear,” you whispered back, kissing him lovingly. “Now let me take care of you,” you told him. You pulled back then, bracing yourself on his chest and picking up the pace.
Chan moaned below you, hands gripping your skin firmly. “Fuck, you're so pretty,” he moaned, his eyes darting as if he were unsure where to look first.
“Want me to go faster?” you asked breathlessly, and Chan nodded with a low whine. You picked up the pace once again, your skin meeting his forcefully.
Chan's head dropped back against the bench, eyes pressing closed for a mere second before he forced them back open to not miss a single second. “Shit, baby, you feel so good,” Chan moaned out shamelessly. “Taking me so well.”
You circled your hips, drawing out a low groan from him. His hand fondled up your thigh before his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft circles against it. Your hips stuttered with a whine, lashes fluttering with pleasure. “Shit, Channie, don’t stop,” you begged him softly.
Chan smiled, sitting up fully again and making you moan softly at the change of the angle. His arm wrapped around you to keep you in place, lips finding yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair with ease. “Wouldn’t even think of it,” he promised with a soft giggle, his thumb working your clit perfectly.
Chan’s head dips down, lips wrapping around your nipple with a soft groan. You moaned out at the extra stimulation, your cheek pressing against his hair. Chan’s hips twitched as you started clenching around him, your stomach tightening at your nearing release. Your hips stuttered, as if your body didn’t know which sensation to chase first. The grip in his hair tightens, drawing soft grunts from Chan. “Channie,” you whined in need.
Chan pulled back almost immediately and lowered you onto the bench instead. His lips found yours in a heated kiss as he started thrusting into you steadily, one hand braced against the bench, the other still circling your clit. You tugged at his tanktop and he quickly pulled it off, throwing it onto the ground. “Fuck, Y/nnie,” he panted softly against your lips, and that’s when you got an idea.
You guided his face down to your neck, his lips immediately worshipping your skin there, kissing and nibbling at it softly. Your hand fumbled for your phone on the floor, opening your camera, the other lovingly tugging at Chan’s hair. You start a video and direct the camera at the mirror above you, groaning softly at the sight of you.
His hips met yours steadily, his strong back perfectly displayed in the mirror. You moaned softly as he hit the perfect spot, wrapping your legs around his waist and meeting his thrusts eagerly. You soon ended the video, knowing he’d love seeing it, and dropped the phone back on the floor, your fingers digging into his back. “Channie, I’m close,” you moaned needily, your walls fluttering around him.
Chan groaned against your skin, nibbling at your neck. “It’s okay, baby, let go,” he told you softly, his own thrusts stuttering. “I’ve got you, baby, you did so well, come on, my sweet girl,” he rambled on breathlessly, moaning shamelessly as you clenched around him.
A loud moan of his name left your lips, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you full force. You tugged on his hair, whimpering in relief when he stilled inside you, painting your walls with a sinful groan. He pulled you back up and fell down against the bench himself, pulling you on top of him, as if he’d been afraid to put all his weight onto you. You sighed happily and collapsed against his chest, panting softly.
A happy giggle left Chan, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’ll always be my favorite workout routine,” he teased you.
“Dummy,” you smirked happily, thinking of the video you took earlier. You’d keep that for the perfect occasion to send to him, then.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
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Summary: Even though they're both caught up in their day-to-day lives, they can't help but fall for each other. Chan's birthday seems like a good opportunity to clear some things up, Minho receives an extra present on his birthday.
Warnings/Tags: domestic bullshit, chef!Chan, dance instructor!Min, friends to lovers, loads of playful banter, hurt!comfort, first kiss, first time, smut, fluff, bottom!min, top!chan
A/N: It took me a while to finish that one, but at least you saw parts of it already. I hope you like your part two @moridiare🖤
I put a divider like this where the smut starts - after that the rest of the fic is not safe anymore for everyone who doesn't enjoy smut🖤
Morning light slips in through the half-open curtains, catching on the dust motes floating lazily above the kitchen counter. The place smells faintly like coffee beans and fabric softener; Chan’s fault, both of them. Minho is up first. He moves through the apartment quietly, not wanting to wake Chan, who often forgets to close his bedroom door. He's barefoot, his hair is still mussed, and a black hoodie is tugged on over sleep-soft clothes. He pours water into a glass, downs it in practiced gulps, then rolls his shoulders once, already stretching muscle into readiness.
From Chan's bedroom comes a groan. “Min,” Chan mutters from under the blankets. “It’s illegal to move before eight.”
Minho smirks, opening the fridge. “You’re the one who catered a six-course tasting menu until two a.m.”
Chan peers out just enough for one eye to glare at him. “That doesn’t mean the sun gets rights.”
Minho grabs a banana and taps it lightly against Chan’s forehead as he passes. “You’ll survive.” Then he gets ready for his day, taking a cold shower and dressing up.
He heads for the door with his dance bag slung over his shoulder. It contains shoes, a towel, a water bottle, and that ridiculous little first-aid kit he insists on carrying for his students. Before he leaves, he pauses to look back. Chan’s already half asleep again, but Minho turns off the bedroom light anyway.
-
Minho stands at the front, arms crossed, eyes sharp as his students run the combination again. He counts softly under his breath, correcting their posture with a tap to the shoulder. “Again,” he says, voice even. “From the top.”
During the break, he checks his phone. One new message.
Channie👨🏻🍳🍮: Do you want something warm when you get back? I’m testing sauces later.
Min💃🏻🐈⬛: Yes. Also don’t burn the apartment down.
Channie👨🏻🍳🍮: I have never burned anything down.
Chan’s day is quieter, but no less intense. By noon, he’s in someone else’s kitchen with marble counters, gold fixtures, and a view that costs more than their entire apartment. He works with his sleeves rolled up, his movements efficient, controlled, and careful. The clients float around him, sipping wine, murmuring praise, barely noticing the way he grounds the entire evening.
He plates with intention. Every dish feels personal, even when it isn’t. By the time he’s home again, groceries in one arm and exhaustion settling into his bones, the apartment smells like soy, garlic, and something sweet he hasn’t named yet.
Minho comes in not long after, hair damp from a shower at the studio, cheeks flushed, shoulders loose with spent energy. “You smell good,” Minho says, toeing off his shoes.
“That’s the food,” Chan replies automatically, stirring. “You too,” he adds much quieter.
Minho pauses to look at him. Something warm flickers in his eyes as he does. They move around each other without thinking; Minho’s washing his hands at the sink while Chan reaches past him for oil, Chan’s leaning back just enough for Minho to open a drawer. It’s a choreography they never rehearsed.
Dinner is simple and shared on the couch with their knees touching. Minho steals bites off Chan’s plate like he always does. Later, Minho stretches on the floor, legs up against the wall, while Chan cleans. When Chan joins him, Minho wordlessly tugs him down too, draping one arm over his chest. “Long day?” Chan murmurs.
“Mhm.”
“Good classes?”
Minho nods. “They worked hard.”
Chan smiles at the ceiling. “You’re good with them.”
Minho hums, fingers idly tracing the seam of Chan’s shirt. “You’re good at feeding people,” he says, which makes Chan giggle so stupidly his dimples show.
A few weeks later
Chan knows something is off the moment he unlocks the door. The apartment is dimmer than usual, the lights warm rather than bright. There’s music playing softly from the speaker in the living room; instrumental, something Minho always claims helps him focus. The air smells like garlic, butter, and something richer beneath it. “Min?” Chan calls out, toeing off his shoes.
“In the kitchen,” Minho answers calmly.
Chan rounds the corner and stops short. Minho stands at the stove in an apron Chan has literally never seen him wear. His sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is pushed out of his face. He’s stirring something with careful attention, tasting, adjusting, moving with the same precise confidence he brings to the studio. Chan just stares. “Why…Why are you cooking?” he asks, dumbly.
Minho glances over his shoulder, one brow lifting. “It’s your birthday?”
Chan blinks. “I cook on my birthday.”
“That’s depressing,” Minho replies flatly. He turns the heat down. “Sit.”
Chan obeys without argument, dropping into a chair at the counter like he’s been told what to do his entire life. He watches Minho plate the food with care. “You didn’t have to,” Chan says quietly.
Minho sets the plate down in front of him. “I wanted to.” That shuts him up.
Dinner is really good. Chan hates how unsurprised he is. Of course, Minho is decent in the kitchen. Of course, he’s quietly competent at things no one expects him to be. “This is unfair,” Chan mutters after a bite. “You’re not allowed to be good at everything.”
Minho smirks, finally sitting across from him. “I’m not. I can’t bake.”
Chan brightens. “You can’t?”
“Nope,” Minho says firmly. “And don’t try to fix that. That'll be your area of expertise.”
They eat slowly and talk about nothing important. About Minho’s students, about a client Chan cooked for last week, who complained about salt and then asked for seconds. Afterward, Minho clears the plates before Chan can protest. When he comes back, he’s holding a small stack of neatly wrapped gifts. “Okay,” Minho says, setting them down. “Your turn.”
Chan frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t get to dodge this,” Minho says lightly. “Open them.”
The first is a new, comfortable black hoodie, heavenly soft on the inside. A silver bracelet follows right after; Chan has plenty of both of these already, but he lights up like it's the first he's ever gotten. And Minho can't help but smile, as he knew he would. Chan unwraps the next one and blinks at the large glass in his hand, carefully taking off the lid. “What’s that for?”
Minho smiles knowingly. “Remember how we made a deal to go see some of the world together? We can save some money for it here. I will drop my last bit of the month into it, and you'll just casually stuff it with your fancy money.”
Chan snorts softly. “Yeah, sounds about right.”
Minho grins and shoves the next gift into his lap. Chan unwraps it and blinks in surprise. “You got me a heating blanket?”
Minho nods gently. “You mentioned your back and neck hurt after some of these long days, and I thought some warmth would be good then.”
Chan doesn’t look up right away. “You truly remember everything,” he says finally.
Minho shrugs, but his ears grow pink just a little. “You think too loud, Chan.”
“That’s not what I-” Chan exhales, then laughs softly. “Thank you.”
Minho nods. “Yeah.” They sit there for a while after, the apartment quiet around them. Chan is testing his new blanket and seems happy, glancing at Minho every now and then. Eventually, Minho shifts closer, just enough that their knees touch. “Hey Channie,” he says. Chan looks at him questioningly, and Minho hesitates for a short moment. Then he leans in. It’s slow and careful, like he’s checking whether Chan will pull away. But Chan doesn't. The kiss is soft and warm. A press of lips that feels less like a beginning and more like an acknowledgment of everything they’ve already been doing for years. When Minho pulls back, he stays close, their foreheads touching. “Happy birthday,” he murmurs.
Chan exhales a shaky laugh, his heart pounding. “You’re never cooking on my birthday again.”
Minho smiles. “We’ll see.” Chan can't help but lean in again, finding Minho's lips for another sweet, slow kiss.
-
Sunlight filters between buildings, warming the pavement, bouncing off shop windows and street signs. Chan’s hand is warm around Minho’s, fingers laced like they’ve done this forever instead of only recently allowing themselves to. Minho swings their joined hands slightly as they walk, gaze drifting from storefront to storefront. Vintage clothes, plants spilling out of a florist’s doorway, and a bookstore with a display that makes him slow just enough for Chan to bump into him.
“You’re gonna make me trip,” Chan murmurs.
Minho smiles without looking at him. “You’re holding my hand. You’re responsible now.”
Chan doesn’t argue against that. They stop at a small stand selling pastries; something fried, sugar-dusted, absolutely unnecessary. Minho eyes them openly. “You’re thinking about it, right?” Chan says.
“I’m thinking about how many calories I'll have to dance off and-”
Chan already has his wallet out. “Two of those. And whatever that one is.”
Minho opens his mouth and closes it just as fast, accepting the paper bag when Chan presses it into his free hand. “You keep doing that,” Minho says, breaking one open and handing half back automatically.
“Doing what?” Chan asks, taking the bag.
Minho gives him a glance. “Paying.”
Chan shrugs, chewing happily on the pastry. “You picked the place.”
“That’s not-,” Minho sighs, but there’s no heat in it. “You didn't have to.”
“I know,” Chan replies easily. “I wanted to.”
They eat as they walk, sugar on their fingers, their shoulders brushing every now and then. At one point, Minho wipes powdered sugar from Chan’s lip with his thumb without thinking. Chan freezes for half a second, then relaxes again.
Later, they wander into a shoe store. Minho hadn’t planned on it, but his feet carried him there anyway. He tries them on quietly, pacing the little mirror space, bouncing once on his heels twice. His eyes light up in a way he clearly doesn’t intend to show. Chan sees it immediately, and he can't let that opportunity go to waste. “They’re good,” Chan says.
“They’re really good,” Minho admits, then checks the price tag again. His expression dims. “They’re also kind of stupidly expensive.”
Chan steps closer, crouching slightly to press the sole down with his thumb. “They support your arch better.”
Minho huffs a laugh, then straightens back up again. “I don’t need them right now, it's fine.”
Chan stands, already reaching for the box. “You dance every day.”
Minho’s brows knit together. “Chan.”
“You wear through shoes faster than anyone I know,” Chan continues gently. “And these feel right. I can tell.” He turns toward the counter.
Minho follows him, panic creeping in. “Hey, hey, you don’t have to do that.” Chan pays without hesitation, not even sparing him a glance.
Outside, Minho finally stops him, hands still in the bag with the box. “You didn’t have to,” he says again, much quieter now.
Chan meets his gaze, thumb brushing over Minho’s knuckles. “I know.”
“Then why did you do it? I told you it was fine,” Minho sighed softly.
“Because I want you to be comfortable,” Chan says simply. He doesn't mention the money, who earns more, or why it wouldn’t hurt him to do this.
Minho swallows thickly. “Thank you, love.”
Chan squeezes his hand. “Anytime, baby.”
-
Chan’s car is already parked in front of the building when Minho pushes through the studio doors, his dance bag heavy on his shoulder and exhaustion clinging to him in that deep, bone-worn way. He spots the familiar silhouette immediately and relaxes before he even reaches the passenger side. “Hi, baby,” Chan says gently as Minho climbs in, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his temple. “Is everything okay? You're a bit late today.”
“Yeah, everything’s alright,” Minho replies, toeing off his shoes and folding one leg under himself. “Thank you for waiting.”
Chan hums, starting the car. “Always.”
It only takes a few minutes for Minho to notice. Chan grips the steering wheel a little too tightly, and a faint crease has settled between his brows. The silence seems heavier than usual. “Tired?” Minho asks softly.
Chan exhales. “Yeah. It was a lot today, and my designated sous chef cancelled at the last minute. I think my body has given up on me entirely.”
Minho reaches over without looking, threading their fingers together. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to complain.”
Minho scoffs quietly. “You cook for rich strangers all day and still worry about bothering me?” Chan smiles faintly but doesn’t argue.
At home, Chan insists on unloading the groceries despite Minho’s protests. He’s halfway through stacking vegetables when Minho disappears down the hall without a word. By the time Chan finishes and turns around, he hears water running. “Min?” he calls.
“In here,” comes the reply, calm and steady. Chan finds him in the bathroom, sleeves rolled up, testing the water temperature with his wrist. Steam curls into the air, scented faintly with lavender oil, which Minho only ever uses when Chan’s had a rough day. Minho glances at him. “You’re taking a bath now.”
Chan blinks. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“You’re exhausted tonight,” Minho corrects, stepping closer and tugging at Chan’s sleeves. “Come on now.”
Chan doesn’t resist. He lets Minho guide him, hands careful and sure as he helps him settle into the tub. The moment Chan sinks into the warm water, his shoulders drop like he’s been carrying the world there all day. “Oh,” he breathes. “That’s…wow.”
Minho smiles softly. “I’ll order some food. Don’t drown.”
“Yes, sir,” Chan murmurs, already closing his eyes.
Dinner arrives not long after, and they eat it slowly on the couch with Chan leaning heavily into Minho’s side, fingers curled into his hoodie like an anchor. Afterward, Minho nudges him toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Chan barely has the energy to tease this time. He does as he’s told, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan the moment he’s settled. Minho gets seated beside him, hands warm as they settle on Chan’s shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, just starts to work slowly, thumbs pressing into tight muscle, fingers tracing down his neck and across his upper back. Chan melts on the spot.“Oh, Min,” he groans, voice already wrecked. “You have no idea how bad that hurts.”
“I can imagine,” Minho murmurs, leaning in. “You carry it all here.”
He presses a little firmer, and Chan lets out a sound that’s halfway between a whine and a laugh, head dropping onto the pillow. “That’s unfair,” he breathes. “You’re…that spot-” Minho smirks to himself, continuing without mercy. Chan’s reactions come freely now: soft gasps, murmured complaints that sound suspiciously grateful, the occasional broken, “Minho, please,” that doesn’t mean stop at all.
“You’re loud,” Minho says fondly.
“You’re evil,” Chan replies, voice hoarse and utterly content.
Minho eases up eventually, hands smoothing over warm skin, grounding him again. He leans down, pressing a kiss to Chan’s shoulder. “Sleep,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, love.”
Chan exhales, boneless and safe. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.” And for once, he falls asleep before Minho does.
-
Chan doesn’t warn him. That’s the first thing Minho notices. He’s barely finished toweling off his hair when Chan appears in the doorway, dressed in dark slacks and a pressed shirt that fits him a little too well, sleeves buttoned neatly at the wrist, tie sitting perfectly at his throat. “Get dressed,” Chan says calmly. “We’re going out.”
Minho blinks. “Out where?”
Chan smiles knowingly. “It’s your birthday. Trust me.”
The restaurant is everything Minho would never pick for just himself. Low lighting, soft music, and too many forks. The kind of place where Chan belongs effortlessly, greeting staff by name, pulling Minho’s chair out for him like it’s second nature. “You’re ridiculous,” Minho mutters, cheeks warm as Chan orders wine without even looking at the menu.
The food is unreal. So is the way Chan watches him across the table; fond, attentive, eyes soft every time Minho laughs or talks with his hands. By the time they get home, the air between them feels charged, humming like a wire pulled too tight.
Chan barely gets the door shut before Minho turns on him. He grabs Chan by the tie, fingers curling into the fabric and tugging him forward without hesitation. Chan makes a soft, surprised sound, not a protest, though, and Minho kisses him hard.
It’s nothing like their usual kisses. This one is messy. All teeth and breath and need, with Minho rising up onto his toes just to stay close. Chan responds instantly, hands coming up to Minho’s waist, then higher, then everywhere, pulling him in until there’s nowhere to go.
Minho backs up without realizing it, the solid wood of the front door pressing cold against his spine. Chan follows and pins him there without meaning to. Their mouths don’t slow. If anything, they get worse; deeper, more desperate, breaths breaking between kisses. Minho arches into him instinctively, his fingers still tight in Chan’s tie, tugging like he’s afraid Chan might disappear if he lets go. “Chan,” he breathes into the kiss, voice wrecked.
Chan groans softly at the sound of his name, forehead dropping to Minho’s for half a second, their noses brushing against each other. “Minho,” he murmurs back, as if it costs him something. Minho’s chest is heaving. His hands roam now, to Chan’s shoulders, his chest, the line of his jaw. He tilts his head, chasing Chan’s mouth again, kissing him like he’s been waiting all night. When Chan finally pulls back, it’s only just enough to breathe. His hands stay firm at Minho’s hips, thumbs pressing into familiar places. “Happy birthday,” he says quietly, voice low and full.
Minho laughs softly, still breathless. “You spoil me.”
Chan doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tightens his grip. “I’m not done spoiling you tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and steady.
Before Minho can tease him for it, Chan lifts him clean off the floor. Minho gasps, hands instinctively sliding up to clutch at Chan’s shoulders, laughter dissolving into breathless surprise as Chan carries him down the hallway. “You’re ridiculous,” Minho manages between kisses.
“And you love it,” Chan replies, mouth already finding his again. Chan’s bedroom door barely slows them down. Chan nudges the door shut with his foot and lowers Minho onto the mattress with careful strength, like he’s placing something precious down rather than pinning him there.
Chan follows him immediately, bracing himself over Minho, hands warm and solid against his sides. Minho’s legs wrap around Chan’s hips without thinking, pulling him closer, anchoring him there. His breath catches when Chan exhales against his mouth, the kiss deepening again.
Chan breaks the kiss just long enough to trail his mouth down Minho’s jaw, then to his neck. Minho arches instinctively, a soft, needy sound slipping out of him the moment Chan’s lips press there. Chan smiles against his skin, clearly pleased, and does it again, slower this time. “Chan,” Minho breathes, fingers threading into his hair.
Chan hums quietly in response, mouth still at his neck, hands steady at Minho’s waist like he’s grounding them both. “Yeah,” he murmurs roughly. “I’ve got you.”
Minho’s chest rises and falls quickly now, every nerve lit up, every touch feeling like it matters. He tilts his head just enough to give Chan better access. Chan doesn’t slow down. If anything, he presses closer, his body fitting against Minho’s like it always has, like it was made to. His mouth keeps moving, unhurried and intent, kissing along Minho’s neck and back up again, learning him anew with every soft press of his lips.
Minho’s breath fractures. A quiet sound slips from him before he can stop it, then another. His fingers tighten reflexively, one hand buried in Chan’s hair, the other gripping the fabric of his suit jacket like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Channie,” Minho exhales, voice already wrecked.
Chan hums against his skin, the vibration sending a shiver straight through him. His hands settle more firmly at Minho’s sides, holding him there, close enough that Minho can feel every breath he takes.
When Minho shifts, just a small, instinctive movement, his hips brush against Chan without intent, a reflex more than a choice. The reaction is immediate. Chan stills just a fraction, breath stuttering, forehead dropping to Minho’s shoulder as if he needs the second to steady himself. Minho realizes what he’s done a heartbeat later, cheeks warm, body buzzing. “I-sorry,” he murmurs, even though he doesn’t sound sorry at all.
Chan lifts his head slowly, eyes dark, focused entirely on him. His grip tightens just enough to make Minho’s breath catch again. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He leans in, resting his forehead against Minho’s, noses brushing as their breaths mingle. Minho swallows, hips twitching again despite himself. Chan exhales a low, shaky breath and presses a gentle kiss to Minho’s mouth this time. “Easy,” Chan murmurs, thumb brushing comfortingly along Minho’s side. “I’ve got you.”
Minho doesn’t mean to move like that. It’s instinct more than intent. His body is chasing the closeness, the pressure, the heat where Chan is already everywhere. His hips roll up again, subtle but unmistakable, breath hitching sharply as he does. “Chan,” he whispers, his voice rough, desperate in a way he doesn’t bother hiding. His fingers tighten in Chan’s hair, tugging just enough to get his attention. “Please.”
Chan freezes for a second. Then he exhales, forehead dropping to Minho’s collarbone like he’s grounding himself there. His hands stay firm at Minho’s waist, thumbs pressing in warning and reassurance all at once. “Minho,” he says quietly, but strained. “Hey.”
Minho swallows, his eyes glassy and his chest rising fast. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls Chan closer again, legs tightening around his hips, lips brushing his ear as he murmurs, almost pleading, “Do something.”
Chan’s breath breaks. He lifts his head, eyes locking onto Minho’s with an intensity that makes Minho’s stomach flip. There’s hunger there, unmistakably so, but there’s also care, restraint, and something protective beneath it all. Chan leans in, kissing him again. One hand slides up Minho’s spine, holding him flush, anchoring him there. The kiss steals Minho’s breath completely, pulls another soft sound from his throat before he can stop it.
When Chan finally pulls back, it’s only an inch. “I am,” Chan murmurs against his lips. Minho nods shakily, still clinging, still aching, but trusting him completely. Chan presses a soft kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, then his mouth again, full of unspoken promises. “I’ve got you,” Chan whispers. “All night.”
Minho’s hands come up shakily as they kiss again, fingers fumbling open Chan’s tie first, the buttons of his shirt following. His hands hesitantly roam the newly exposed skin, fingers tracing down Chan’s stomach as he searches his eyes. Chan nods with a soft smile, encouraging him that it’s okay, before reaching down and carefully unbuttoning Minho’s shirt as well. Their pants follow, and clothes hit the floor until they’re dressed in nothing but their boxers. Minho tugs Chan into another kiss, soft gasps leaving him as Chan’s hand travels down his side, squeezing his thigh and groaning at the feeling. “Fuck, Chan, use your fingers, please, before I do it myself.”
Chan giggles in delight before carefully tugging off Minho’s boxers and fumbling for the lube in his bedside table after. He coats his fingers, warming them before gently fondling against Minho’s rim. The moan that leaves his love when he finally, gently, pushes the first finger inside sends butterflies right down to his core. Minho’s legs fall open, his grip on Chan’s hair tightening as Chan stretches him out patiently. Minho can’t help but moan when Chan’s three fingers in deep. Chan watches him carefully when he curls his fingers against Minho’s prostate.
Minho arches off the bed with a surprised little moan, his hand twisting the sheets below him. His eyes flutter shut as Chan does it again, his eyes rolling back deliciously, his lips parting with a weak whine. Chan can only marvel at the sight, pressing down against the mattress in an attempt to soothe the growing pressure between his legs. “Fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous.”
Minho smiles lazily. “Yeah? Bet I’ll look even better on your dick, pretty,” he groans, and Chan swallows thickly. “Don’t make me beg.”
Chan giggles fondly, rolling his eyes, before pulling down his stained boxers and throwing them towards the rest of their clothes. “Not tonight, baby, I’m too impatient for it.”
Minho snorts and pulls him into a heated kiss, groaning as he pulls out his fingers. He tenses softly when Chan’s dick finally pushes past his rim, a satisfied moan leaving him right after. “Oh-oh fuck, Channie,” he moans out deliciously. “Get moving.”
“Always so bossy,” Chan smirks against his lips, but he can’t deny him that wish. He truly can’t. He starts rolling his hips, thrusting into him at a steady pace that has Minho gasping and writhing against the sheets.
Minho arches into Chan’s thrusts, hips eagerly meeting his every move. His hands are everywhere, gripping onto Chan’s hair, the sheets, his shoulders as if he doesn’t know how to stay sane otherwise. Chan’s lips travel down his neck, his hot breath ghosting over his skin and sending shivers down Minho’s spine. “I’m gonna say something controversial,” Minho broke off with a gasp.
Chan snorts, pushing in deep and marvelling at the soft flutter of Minho’s eyes it gets him. “That’s a new one.”
“F-Fuck you,” he moans softly, tugging at Chan’s hair roughly.
“I’m kind of busy fucking you right now, baby,” Chan laughs, a soft moan leaving him as Minho only tugs on his hair harder in response.
“Can we skip the romance part?” he asks, heavylidded eyes meeting Chan’s. “We can do that another time, right now - fuck - I need you to ruin me.”
Chan stares at him, amazed. “If I knew what a simple dinner could do to you, I would’ve done so much earlier.”
“Can you stop being such a dumb-ahh, yeah, just like that,” Minho moans out loudly as Chan slams his hips against him. His head falls back against the pillow, back arching as Chan starts pounding into him. He can barely keep his eyes open, too overwhelmed by the feeling. Chan’s hands guide his legs up, settling them onto his shoulders, and Minho grips his arm at the new angle.
Chan keeps the fast pace and harsh thrusts up, his lips travelling over whatever bit of skin he can reach. Minho’s hand presses up against the headboard, thrusting back and keeping himself from bumping his head. Chan gently grazes Minho’s nipple with his teeth, and the unholy whine it pulls out of Minho makes his hips jerk. “You like that, baby?” he teases him, and Minho’s too far gone to scold him for it.
“Y-Yes, fuck, Chan, don’t stop,” he moans out loudly, his voice breaking when Chan gently sucks on his nipple.
Chan can’t stop staring at him in wonder. He knew Minho was beautiful; he always has. But this, all fucked out for him, lips parting, lashes fluttering, sweat coating his forehead, this is even better. The sound of their skin clapping mixes with Minho’s beautiful moans and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall. A loud knocking from above makes him freeze, his eyes widening.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Minho groans softly. “Fuck them, Chan, seriously,” he tells him, not caring about any annoyed neighbours right now.
Chan laughs before continuing to move, drawing another set of filthy moans and curses from Minho’s lips. “Don’t worry, baby, I couldn’t leave you hanging like that.”
“Y-Yeah, you better,” Minho groans, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. His thighs are shaking by now, and he can feel his stomach flipping. “I think I’m close,” he muttered against his lips.
“That’s okay, baby, let go,” Chan encourages him softly, changing the angle slightly to hit Minho’s prostate. Minho moans so loudly in response Chan’s sure their neighbours have heard, but truly, he doesn’t care. Not with the sight he has right now. Not with those sweet, punched-out sounds leaving his love. Not when he’s clinging to him so firmly he’s sure he’ll bruise.
“M’fuck, Channie,” Minho whines, squeezing his eyes shut adorably with a groan. His stomach flips again, violently, and his nails bury themselves in Chan’s back as the older hits his prostate again. Before he can fully comprehend it, a broken moan of Chan’s name leaves him as he’s spilling all over himself and Chan. His body spasms as pleasure courses through his veins, toes curling at the release.
Chan buries his face in Minho’s neck with a loud groan, the sight of him and the feeling of him clenching around him wrecking him. Chan gasps Minho’s name as his hips jerk forward and he coats his walls. He pulls out of him with a soft grunt, and Minho tugs him into a hug, kissing his hair. “God, I love you, Min.”
Minho giggles happily. “Mhm, I love you too,” he grins before glancing down at himself. “The first thing we save for with that jar I gifted you is a house. I won’t be getting scolded by some uptight neighbours for enjoying my time with my boyfriend.”
Chan can’t help but laugh at that. “Deal,” he smiles, kissing him happily. “Actually, why don’t I go clean up the mess I made, hm?” he grins, scooting down further and getting comfortable between Minho’s legs. He shoves a pillow beneath Minho’s hips and gently grabs his thighs, parting them to get access.
Minho’s hand buries in his hair the moment his tongue meets his skin, caressing his rim ever so softly. This time, he’s loud on purpose.
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Since I saw the slot for the 23rd is open, could we please have a Hyunjin x Reader story based on prompts 4 and 16? I'm so excited to see what you come up with!
🎀Hot chocolate fixes everything🎀-Christmas Special Day 21
Pairing: Hyunjin x gn!reader
Word Count: 1201
Summary: You can't sleep, and in an attempt to clear your head, you step outside to sit beneath the tree. Soon enough, you notice you're not the only one having trouble sleeping.
Warnings/Tags: fluff, cuddles, comfort
A/N: God, I am so sorry that it took me so long to finally finish this. I hope you still enjoy it!🖤
Sleep refused to come quickly that night. You had tried everything you usually swore by: flipping the pillow to the cool side, rearranging the blanket, scrolling your phone until your eyes burned, but nothing seemed to quiet your thoughts. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind replayed the most random things: an awkward conversation from three years ago, an email you forgot to answer, something you might have said wrong earlier that day. It was exhausting in a way that made you want to cry, because you were so tired, yet hopelessly awake.
With a quiet sigh, you rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the dorm around you. The building had that particular midnight stillness; pipes ticking softly in the walls, the faint hum of the heater, someone down the hall turning over in their sleep. Everyone else seemed to have drifted off easily, even Chan.
After another ten minutes of staring into the dark, you finally gave up. Staying in bed felt pointless, like trying to force sleep would only make it retreat further. You slipped out from under the blanket, tugged on your hoodie, and padded quietly into the hallway, careful not to wake anyone.
When you reached the kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, gazing out the window without really thinking. That was when you noticed the snow. It had started sometime during the evening, covering the courtyard in a soft, untouched layer of white. The old tree in the middle, the one you and the boys decorated during winter with lights and ribbons, looked almost unreal under the streetlamp, its branches dusted with frost like powdered sugar. The sight made something in your chest loosen.
Maybe some fresh air would help, you thought. Cold air always cleared your head. Before you could overthink it, you slipped on your shoes and coat and stepped outside. The chill hit you immediately, sharp and refreshing, stealing the warmth from your cheeks. Snow crunched gently beneath your steps as you crossed the courtyard, your breath forming small clouds in front of you.
You made your way toward the tree and brushed the snow off the bench beneath it before sitting down. The wood was cold even through your clothes, but you didn’t mind. You folded your hands into your sleeves and let yourself simply breathe for a moment, watching flakes drift lazily from the sky. For the first time all night, your thoughts began to slow.
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
The sudden voice nearly made you jump out of your skin. You turned quickly, heart hammering, only to find Hyunjin standing a few steps away, looking just as startled as you probably were. His hair was messy, like he’d been tossing and turning, and he wore an oversized coat thrown over what looked suspiciously like pajama pants. “Hyunjin,” you breathed, pressing a hand to your chest. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to. I thought I was the only one awake out here.”
You let out a small laugh. “Apparently not.”
He walked over and brushed the snow off the other side of the bench before sitting down beside you. The distance between you wasn’t large; it was close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him in the cold air. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just watched the snow together, sharing that comfortable quiet that only existed with certain people. “My brain wouldn’t shut up,” he admitted after a while. “It’s like it waits until midnight to remind me of every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”
You groaned softly. “Don’t even start. Mine’s been replaying memories from middle school. I don’t even want to remember middle school.”
He laughed, the sound low and warm. “That’s brutal.” It felt oddly comforting to know you weren’t alone in it. Somehow, the loneliness of being awake disappeared just because he was there too. After a few minutes, he suddenly stood. “Wait here,” he said.
You blinked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“Trust me. I’ll be back.” He didn’t elaborate, just disappeared back inside the building before you could protest. You stared after him, confused but strangely curious. Hyunjin wasn’t exactly predictable, but he always had that gentle certainty about him that made you want to believe whatever he was planning would be worth it.
True to his word, he returned about ten minutes later. This time, he carried two mugs, steam curling up into the night air. Your eyes widened immediately. “Is that-?”
“Hot chocolate,” he said proudly, handing one to you. The mug was almost too warm to hold, and you instinctively wrapped both hands around it, letting the heat seep into your frozen fingers. “Emergency cure for everything.”
You took a careful sip and nearly melted on the spot. It was sweet and rich and perfectly warm, the kind of drink that felt like a hug from the inside. “Oh my god,” you murmured. “This is amazing.”
He smiled at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself. “Hot chocolate fixes everything. No argument allowed.”
You laughed softly. “That sounds fake.”
“It’s not. Bad day? Hot chocolate. Crying? Hot chocolate. Existential crisis? Two cups.”
“That’s just emotional bribery.”
“Exactly.”
The two of you fell into easy conversation after that, voices quiet against the stillness of the courtyard. You talked about nothing important; random thoughts, stupid memories, the way snow always made everything feel softer. Somewhere along the way, your shoulders brushed, then stayed touching. Neither of you moved away.
The warmth of the drink spread through you slowly, chasing away the cold and the restlessness. You felt lighter, like the tight knot in your chest had finally loosened. After a while, Hyunjin grew quieter. You glanced at him just as he tilted his head, resting it gently against your shoulder. The movement was hesitant at first, like he expected you to protest. Of course, you didn’t. Instead, you felt your heart stutter embarrassingly hard in your chest. “You’re warm,” he mumbled sleepily.
“You’re just cold,” you whispered back.
“Still counts.” His hand shifted until his fingers brushed yours, then slipped between them, lacing together naturally. The gesture was so simple, so absentminded, that it made your chest ache more than anything dramatic ever could have.
The snow kept falling around you, soft and endless. “Thanks,” you said quietly.
“For what?” he asked, voice already thick with sleep.
“For coming out here. For the hot chocolate.”
He hummed softly. “Guess neither of us wanted to be alone tonight.”
You squeezed his hand gently. “Yeah. I guess not.”
Somewhere between his steady breathing and the lingering warmth in your hands, your thoughts finally stopped racing. Your eyelids grew heavy, your body sinking into that calm you’d been chasing all night.
“Let’s go inside, Y/nnie,” he said softly. “Falling asleep out here will get us scolded by both Chan and Minho, and that’s scary.”
You giggled softly before nodding. “Yeah, let’s go inside. But only if I get cuddles tonight, Jinnie,” you added quickly. The soft smile on Hyunjin’s face told you everything you had to know.
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Summary: Hyunjin remembers the day Jisung told him about a core memory of his childhood - building a gingerbread house with his grandmother. So when Christmas time arrives Hyunjin ignites a competition with him.
Warnings/Tags: teasing, friendly banter, childhood memories, brief mention of loss, gingerbread house competition.
The competition starts as a terrible idea. At least, that’s what Jisung decides the moment he opens the box and immediately drops one of the gingerbread walls onto the table, snapping it clean in half.
Hyunjin, seated across from him, blinks at him stunned. “…You didn’t even start yet.”
“It was defective,” Jisung says instantly, pointing at the broken piece like it personally betrayed him. “This is on the manufacturer.”
Hyunjin hums, amused, already arranging his pieces with meticulous care. His sleeves are rolled up, hair tied back, expression calm and focused in a way that makes Jisung feel irrationally competitive. The rules are simple: one hour, one house each, and the rest of the group will judge. The winner gets bragging rights and the last hot chocolate packet.
Jisung squints at Hyunjin’s perfectly aligned walls. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”
“I just don’t want it to collapse,” Hyunjin replies mildly, piping icing with steady hands. “Like yours is about to.”
“Mine is expressive,” Jisung mutters, shoving candy into random places. “It has personality.” Jisung eyes Hyunjin’s perfectly aligned walls with suspicion. “Why do you look like you’re defusing a bomb?”
“Because I respect the craft,” Hyunjin replies mildly, piping icing with steady hands. “You should try it.”
“Oh, I will,” Jisung says, aggressively squeezing icing onto a wall. “I’m just not boring about it.”
Hyunjin glances over. “That wall is sobbing.”
Jisung gasps. “Don’t project your anxiety onto my house.”
Hyunjin hums, clearly entertained, and presses two walls together with flawless accuracy. “At least mine won’t collapse from emotional instability.”
“Wow,” Jisung scoffs. “So now you’re attacking my house’s mental health?”
“You started it.”
They work faster after that. Jisung shoves candies into place with chaotic confidence, and Hyunjin does so methodically and infuriatingly neat. Every time Hyunjin finishes a step, Jisung rushes to match it. Every time Jisung adds something flashy, Hyunjin raises an eyebrow and quietly does something better.
“You know,” Jisung says, squinting across the table, “the boys like creativity.”
“They like houses that still exist,” Hyunjin replies.
Jisung sticks his tongue out at him and immediately knocks over a gumdrop roof. “I meant to do that.”
Hyunjin smiles, but his eyes flick up for just a second longer than necessary. Because while Jisung is busy waging war against structural integrity, Hyunjin’s mind is somewhere else entirely. He thinks of a conversation from a few nights ago.
They’d been sitting on the couch, lights low, snow tapping gently against the windows. Jisung had been rambling, as he does, words tumbling out without much thought. “I used to build gingerbread houses with my grandma,” he’d said, smiling faintly. “They were never fancy. They were small; one story only, gumdrops for the roof. She’d always let me put too much icing on because I liked it sweet.”
Hyunjin remembers the way his voice had softened. The way his hands had stilled in his lap. “She passed away when I was young,” Jisung had added quietly. “But every Christmas after, I tried to make one the same way. Just once a year. Felt like… keeping something alive. Hyunjin hadn’t said much then. He hadn’t needed to.
Now, he tries to recreate it. A small, single-story house with slightly uneven walls. A roof covered in gumdrops. Thick lines of icing that are intentionally messy, intentionally sweet.
Across the table, Jisung finally looks up and freezes. “Hyunjin.”
Hyunjin glances up, pretending not to know exactly what he’s done. “Yeah?”
“That’s–” Jisung stands abruptly, chair scraping back. He walks around the table slowly, eyes locked on the gingerbread house in front of Hyunjin. “That’s my grandma’s house.”
Hyunjin’s hands pause. “I wasn’t sure if you’d notice.”
Jisung laughs once, breathless, and then presses his lips together like he’s holding something fragile inside his chest. “How could I not notice?” He crouches slightly to get a better look, fingers hovering but not touching. “You even made it a little crooked.”
“I remember you said it always leaned to the left,” Hyunjin says softly. “Because one wall never quite set right.”
Jisung swallows hard. “You remembered all that?”
Hyunjin shrugs, cheeks faintly pink. “You sounded happy when you talked about it. I wanted to see that again.”
Jisung straightens and throws his arms around Hyunjin without warning, nearly knocking him off his chair. “I don’t care if I lose,” he mumbles into Hyunjin’s shoulder. “This is better.”
Hyunjin laughs quietly, arms coming up to hold him. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I think yours is about to collapse.”
From across the room, Felix yells, “Time’s up!”
The judging is quick. Jisung’s house caves in dramatically halfway through the inspection, so Hyunjin wins unanimously. When the hot chocolate packet is handed over, Hyunjin doesn’t even hesitate before splitting it in half. They sit side by side afterward, sipping quietly, Jisung leaning into Hyunjin’s shoulder, eyes still lingering on that small, sweet, crooked gingerbread house.
“Hey,” Jisung says softly. “Thanks for remembering.”
Hyunjin tilts his head, resting it gently against Jisung’s. “Always.”
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Chan’s standing in the kitchen, coffee going cold in his hand, eyes fixed on nothing as he scrolls through something on his phone. You’re leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching him not look at you. “You’re leaving again,” you say. It isn’t a question.
He glances up. “I told you I had work.”
“You said you might go in.”
He exhales through his nose, already defensive. “Plans change.”
“So do promises with you, it seems,” you shoot back.
That makes him stiffen. “That’s not fair.”
You laugh, sharp and humorless. “Oh, it’s not? Because from where I’m standing, it feels like I keep making space for you, and you keep choosing the studio.”
“That’s not what this is,” he snaps. “You know that.”
“Do I?” Your voice rises despite yourself. “Because it feels like every time things get hard, you disappear.”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t disappear. I work, Y/n.”
“You run,” you correct. “You bury yourself in work so you don’t have to deal with anything messy.”
He sets the mug down harder than necessary. Coffee sloshes dangerously close to the edge. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Your stomach drops. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he says, finally turning fully toward you, “that you get to be upset, and emotional, and demand reassurance whenever you want, but the second I try to cope in my own way, I’m the bad guy.”
“I’m not demanding reassurance,” you argue. “I’m asking you to be here.”
“I am here!” he shouts, voice cracking through the apartment. “I’m standing right in front of you, aren’t I?”
“Physically,” you snap back. “But mentally? Emotionally? You’re already gone.”
Chan flinches as if you’ve struck him. “That’s not true,” he says, quieter now, but there’s an edge underneath it. “You don’t get to decide how I feel.”
“I get to feel the consequences of it,” you fire back. “I get to wake up alone. I get to sit under that stupid tree at midnight, wondering if I imagined the way you looked at me last night.”
His brows knit together. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
“Because I shouldn’t have to!” Your hands shake now, fists clenched at your sides. “Because I’m so tired of being the one who reaches out first.”
The silence between you stretches whilst the refrigerator hums obnoxiously loud. Chan drags a hand through his hair. “You think this is easy for me?”
“I think,” you say, swallowing hard, “that if it weren’t this easy to leave, you wouldn’t do it so often.”
He turns away, pacing like a caged animal. “You don’t understand the pressure I’m under.”
“I’m not asking you to quit,” you snap. “I’m asking you to stop choosing it over us every single time.”
He whirls back around. “That’s not fair.”
“You keep saying that,” you say bitterly. “But you never say I’m wrong.” His mouth opens before closing just as fast again. That hesitation is worse than any argument. “So that’s it?” you whisper. “You don’t even want to fight me on this?”
His voice comes out raw. “I am fighting. Just not the way you want me to.”
“Then maybe,” you say, tears finally spilling despite your best efforts, “we’re fighting different battles.”
Something in his expression fractures. “I can’t do this right now,” he mutters, already reaching for his jacket.
Your heart drops straight through your chest. “You’re leaving.”
“I need space.”
“No,” you say, stepping forward. “You need to stay.”
He pauses at the door, hand on the handle, shoulders tense. For a moment, you think he might turn around. Might even say something. Anything. Instead, he says quietly, “I’ll be at the studio.”
The door clicks shut behind him. And just like that, the apartment feels too big once again. Empty, like something essential just walked out with him. You sink down against the counter, breath coming unevenly, staring at the place where he stood minutes ago, wondering how two people can love each other this much and still hurt this badly.
-
The knock comes just after sunset. You almost don’t answer it. Your eyes burn, your head hurts, and the apartment still feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for someone who hasn’t come back. Another knock follows, much firmer this time.
You open the door to your best friend, Minho. He’s holding two paper bags in one hand, a small bouquet of convenience-store flowers tucked awkwardly under his arm. His hair’s damp, hoodie too thin for the cold, expression already halfway into concern before you even say a word. “Hey,” he says softly. Then his eyes flick past you, scanning the apartment. “Where’s Chan?” Your throat tightens, and Minho notices immediately; he always does. “…Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s not a good sign.” You step aside to let him in. He sets the bags down on the table like it’s muscle memory — soup containers, a box of pastries, something warm wrapped in foil. “I brought bribes,” he explains. “In case today was stressful, but uhm…I guess it was horrible?”
You let out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sob. “He left,” you say quietly. Minho freezes, blinking at you in disbelief. “This morning,” you add. “We fought, and he went to the studio. I…I just wanted him to stay here today for once. I didn’t know I’d stress him out this much with that.”
Minho’s jaw tightens as he closes his eyes for a second, like he’s counting to ten. “Did he say he’d come back?” You shake your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. That’s all it takes. “Eat,” Minho says, already back on his way to your front door. “I’ll be right back.”
You blink. “Min…”
“I’m not asking,” he interrupts, grabbing his keys. “If I leave him there, he’ll spiral. If I leave you here, you’ll spiral. I refuse to choose between my best friend and my hyung.” And just like that, he’s gone.
-
The studio smells like cold coffee and exhaustion. Chan’s sitting on the floor when Minho finds him, back against the couch, laptop open but untouched, headphones around his neck like he forgot why he put them there. “Wow,” Minho says flatly. “This is pathetic.”
Chan flinches. “Jesus, Min, what are you doing here?” Minho crosses the room in three long strides and grabs him by the ear. “OW! What the hell?!”
“I’m working!” Chan argues firmly and shoves his side.
“No, you’re sulking in surround sound, you massive idiot,” Minho frowns at him.
Chan struggles, half-laughing, half-wincing. “Minho, seriously, let go!”
“You made her cry.” The words land like a punch, and Chan stills guiltily. Minho leans down, voice low, furious in that quiet way that’s worse than yelling. “She didn’t even try to make it your fault.”
Chan swallows. “I just needed time.”
“You had all day,” Minho says, hauling him to his feet by the ear anyway. “Congratulations. Time’s up.”
-
By the time you hear the door open, you’re curled on the couch, untouched food cooling on the table. “Okay,” Minho announces loudly, dragging Chan inside. “Delivery.”
Chan stumbles over the threshold. “Min, let go!”
“Absolutely not.” You sit up, heart jumping into your throat. Chan’s eyes meet yours; red-rimmed, exhausted, guilty in a way that makes your chest ache. Minho finally releases his ear and plants himself between you like a referee. “Sit,” Minho orders Chan and you watch with amusement as your boyfriend does without any protest. Minho turns to you, gentler now. “Talk.” Then, to Chan, without looking at him: “And if you interrupt her or try to run off, I’ll grab the other ear.”
Minho doesn’t stay in the middle. He steps back, gives you both space, but doesn’t leave. He perches on the arm of the chair, watching you observantly. Chan’s hands are clasped together so tightly his knuckles are white. He won’t look at you at first, staring at the tree in front of you. The silence stretches until it hurts.
“I didn’t think you’d show up here,” you say finally. Your voice is steady, but it costs you everything.
Chan’s head snaps up. “What?”
You swallow. “After this morning. After you left like that.” Your fingers curl into the fabric of the couch. “I really didn’t think you’d come back tonight.” Minho’s jaw clenches, but he stays quiet.
Chan’s chest rises sharply. “I was going to, just not like that. I didn’t exactly expect to be dragged back here.”
“When?” you ask. “After midnight again? After I’d already talked myself into believing you were too busy to miss me? Once Christmas Eve was over?”
“That’s not-” He stops himself, exhales. “That’s not fair.”
You nod faintly. “Maybe not. But it’s how it felt…not fair.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice rough. “I didn’t know how to come back without making things worse.”
“You made it worse by staying away,” you whisper.
That finally breaks him. “I was scared,” he admits. “I thought if I came back too soon, we’d just keep hurting each other.”
“And instead,” you say softly, “you left me alone with it.”
Minho clears his throat quietly. “I’m gonna…get water.” He stands and disappears into the kitchen, giving you the privacy he knows you need.
Chan looks at you like he’s bracing for impact. “I don’t want to be someone you wait for under a tree at midnight,” he says. “I don’t want to be the reason you feel forgotten.”
“Then don’t be,” you say. “I’m not asking for perfection. I’m asking for presence, Channie. Just every now and then.”
His eyes shine. “I don’t know how to do this without failing you.”
You cross the small distance between you, but stop just short of touching him. “Fail with me,” you say. “Just…don’t disappear. Please, Channie, don’t disappear.”
Chan lets out a shaky breath. Carefully, he reaches for your hand, like he’s afraid you might pull away. “I’m here,” he says, voice breaking. “I showed up. I’m sorry it took Minho dragging me by the ear.”
From the kitchen, Minho mutters, “You’re welcome, dipshit.”
You almost laugh and cry at the same time. Chan’s thumb brushes over your knuckles. “I didn’t want to lose you,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t realize that leaving was how I was doing it.” The huff he gets from Minho for that makes him groan. “Jesus, Min, you did your job, please.”
Minho smirks at you both. “Ah, the least you can offer me is some of the dinner I brought you guys.” Chan groans softly, rolling his eyes fondly at him as you giggle at your best friend’s antics. Yeah, you’d be alright.
(yes, that side-eye on the visual is definitely for Minho)
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Summary: While decorating for the holidays, Minho’s suspicion about cursed fairy lights comes true when he and Jisung get hopelessly tangled and crash into each other. Trapped inches apart in warm, glowing light, neither of them is in any hurry to pull away.
Warnings/Tags: fluff, crack, teasing, tension
A/N: hehe, hope you like it, my love @skzoologist 🖤
The apartment smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, a byproduct of Jisung insisting that ‘vibes mattered’ while decorating. Boxes were scattered everywhere, ornaments half-unwrapped, tinsel trailing like fallen stars, and one very suspiciously tangled bundle of fairy lights lying in the middle of the living room floor.
Minho eyed the lights with immediate distrust. “Those are cursed,” he said flatly.
Jisung, currently kneeling by the tree and trying to fluff a branch that absolutely refused to cooperate, glanced over his shoulder. “They’re just lights.”
“They’re never just lights,” he insisted.
“Min, you’re being dramatic,” Jisung giggled.
Minho crossed his arms. “I’m being experienced.”
Jisung rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. “Fine. Then, experienced man, can you plug them in so we can see if they even work?”
With a long-suffering sigh, Minho picked up one end of the lights and stepped carefully around the coffee table. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”
“You already do that,” Jisung muttered fondly.
Minho shot him a look but didn’t argue. The problem started when Jisung decided, against all logic, to help by lifting the other end at the same time. “Wait, don’t move-” Minho started.
Too late…Jisung took one step back, his sock catching on a loose loop of wire. He yelped, arms flailing instinctively as the lights tightened around his ankle. Minho turned just in time to see Jisung stumble straight toward him.
There was a sharp thud as they collided, followed by a very undignified tangle of limbs, fairy lights, and startled noises. Minho barely had time to grab Jisung’s hoodie before they both lost balance, stumbling backward until Minho’s back hit the wall.
They froze. The lights, traitorous as ever, had wrapped themselves around both of them: around Minho’s wrist, across Jisung’s waist, looping loosely between their shoulders. One small movement and the bulbs flickered to life, bathing them in warm, golden light.
Jisung’s breath puffed out against Minho’s collarbone. “Oh,” Jisung whispered.
Minho swallowed. They were close. Too close. Close enough that Minho could see the blush dusted across Jisung’s nose, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, close enough to notice the way Jisung’s eyes had gone a little wider, a little darker. Neither of them moved. “Are you okay?” Minho asked quietly.
Jisung nodded, then paused. “I think so. I’m… stuck.”
Minho glanced down at the lights wound around them. “Yeah. Me too.”
Jisung let out a soft, nervous laugh that vibrated straight through Minho’s chest. “Guess you were right. Cursed.”
“Told you,” Minho murmured, but there was no bite to it.
Jisung shifted slightly, and the distance between them shrank to mere inches. His hands, caught between them, rested awkwardly against Minho’s sides. Minho’s grip on Jisung’s hoodie tightened without him realizing it. The room felt suddenly very quiet. Jisung’s voice dropped. “Min?”
Minho hummed in response, afraid that if he spoke properly, he might say something he couldn’t take back.
Jisung’s gaze flicked down to Minho’s lips, then back up to his eyes. His cheeks were pink now, not from embarrassment, but something warmer. “We should probably…untangle ourselves,” Jisung said, not moving at all.
“Probably,” Minho agreed, also not moving.
The fairy lights buzzed softly between them, glowing like they were in on the joke. Jisung smiled, small and shy. “You’re really close.”
Minho tilted his head just slightly. “You fell into me.”
“Yeah,” Jisung breathed. “I did.”
For a moment, it felt like the world held its breath with them, the tree lights twinkling, fairy lights warm against their skin, hearts racing a little faster than necessary. Minho finally reached up, carefully brushing a strand of wire away from Jisung’s shoulder. His fingers lingered. “Next time,” he said softly, “we decorate sitting down.”
Jisung laughed quietly. “Deal.” But neither of them rushed to untangle the lights just yet.
Minho's ears were burning red as Jisung leaned against him, glancing at him curiously. Minho's hands carefully came up, trying to untangle them both. “Don’t move.”
Jisung smirked. “I’m not planning to.”
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The rules were simple: One gingerbread house, two people, no eating the materials. Seungmin read them out loud, eyes narrowed at the instruction sheet as if it had personally offended him. “They didn’t specify how much damage we’re allowed to cause,” he said thoughtfully.
“That is not what that means,” you replied, already opening the icing bag.
He hummed. “Agree to disagree.”
Things went downhill almost immediately. The first wall snapped in half when Seungmin applied what he claimed was “gentle pressure.” Icing squirted everywhere in protest, splattering across the table, your sleeves, and Seungmin’s cheek.
You both froze in shock for a moment. Slowly, he licked it off. “You just violated the rules,” you accused.
“There are no rules in war,” he said solemnly.
You shouldn’t have laughed. Laughing was a mistake. Laughing meant your hand slipped, squeezing the icing bag too hard, launching a white streak straight onto Seungmin’s sweater.
He stared down at it, almost offended, then right back at you. “…You did that on purpose.”
“I absolutely did not,” you protested half-heartedly.
Seungmin reached for the icing, and you bolted. The competition quickly devolved into chaos; gumdrops pinging off the cabinets, crushed gingerbread casualties littering the counter, powdered sugar hanging in the air like festive fog. At some point, Seungmin managed to smear icing across your nose, grinning far too proudly about it. “Hold still,” he said.
“No.”
“Please?”
You made the fatal mistake of hesitating. Icing met your skin, eliciting a gasp from you. He laughed loudly, throwing his head back in pure amusement. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, but your smile betrayed you.
Somewhere beneath the carnage sat what might have once been a house. The roof leaned at an angle that defied physics. One wall was held up purely by hope. A gummy bear lay face-down in the icing, a tragic victim of the process. You both stared at it in silence until Seungmin crossed his arms. “I think it has character.”
“It looks like it survived an earthquake, Seungminnie,” you giggled, rolling your eyes at him.
“Art is a very personal experience…or whatever nonsense Hyunjin said about that,” he frowned softly. You leaned into his side, smearing a little more icing onto his sleeve by accident. He didn’t even comment on it. Instead, he bumped your shoulder gently. “Next year,” he said, “we’re doing this again.”
“Why?” you laughed. It didn’t seem like the pair of you was fit for a competition like this.
He smiled at you fondly, icing on his cheek again somehow. “Because it’s fun when it’s a mess. And because you’re on my team.”
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The apartment was silent in that deep, heavy way it only ever was past midnight. The city outside had dimmed to a low hum, lights blurred behind frost-touched windows. Chan stared at the ceiling from the couch, hands folded over his chest, counting breaths that refused to settle. Sleep wasn’t coming. It never did when his thoughts started circling like this.
The faint glow from the Christmas tree spilled into the living room, soft gold pooling on the floor. After a long moment, Chan pushed himself up and padded toward it. He stopped just short of the branches, fingers hovering near an ornament he hadn’t finished hanging earlier.
“Channie hyung?” Chan startled, breath catching. Minho stood at the edge of the hallway, hair rumpled, hoodie hanging off one shoulder. His eyes were tired and heavy, like he’d been carrying something for hours.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Chan admitted quietly.
Minho nodded once, as if that confirmed something. He crossed the room and sat down on the floor beside the tree, knees pulled to his chest. Chan hesitated before lowering himself next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
They sat like that for a while, the tree lights blinking lazily between them. Chan’s gaze drifted to Minho’s hands, the way his fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeves. “You’re shaking,” Chan said softly.
Minho huffed a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”
“I always notice,” Chan reminded him gently.
That did it. Minho’s shoulders sagged, tension spilling out of him all at once. “I keep thinking,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the lights, “that if I stop holding everything together for one second, it’s all going to fall apart. Us. This. Everything.”
Chan turned fully toward him. “Min…”
“I know,” Minho cut in, voice rough. “I know you say we’re okay. I know you’re here. But sometimes it feels like I’m one mistake away from being left behind.” The words hung between them, fragile and raw.
Chan reached out before he could overthink it, his hand warm around Minho’s wrist. Minho flinched at first, then leaned into the touch like he’d been waiting for permission.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,” Chan whispered. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Don't worry your pretty little head so much.” Minho swallowed hard. When he finally looked up, his cheeks were flushed, eyes shining in a way that made Chan’s chest ache. Chan’s thumb brushed lightly over Minho’s knuckles. “This is the first time I’ve seen you blush.”
Minho scoffed weakly. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
“I’m not,” Chan said, smiling softly. “I just…I like seeing you like this.”
Minho’s breath hitched. He shifted closer, forehead dropping against Chan’s shoulder. Chan wrapped an arm around him without hesitation, holding him like he was something precious, something that could be lost if he loosened his grip. “I’m scared of messing up,” Minho admitted into the fabric of Chan’s hoodie. “All the time.”
Chan pressed his lips gently to Minho’s hair. “Me too. But we’ll be scared together, okay? Then it won't be as scary anymore.” Minho nodded, his fingers curling into Chan’s shirt.
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The party had been loud: music pulsing, laughter bouncing off every wall, someone yelling over the playlist because they couldn’t hear themselves talk. But now it was winding down into something quieter.
You’d tucked yourself into the corner armchair ages ago, a mug of hot chocolate cupped in your hands. From there, you had the perfect view of the fairy lights flickering across the living room, the faint reflection of snow drifting outside the window, and the little sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently above Jisung.
You pretended not to notice it, but it wasn’t exactly subtle. Neither was his positioning. “Are you planning to sit under that mistletoe until someone kisses you?”
He jumped a little at your voice. Jisung glanced at you, his dark sweater stretching just right across his shoulders, a lopsided smile curving his lips. His hair was a little messy, cheeks flushed from either the fact of getting caught or the cider in his hand, maybe both.
He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Maybe I just like this chair.”
“Oh yeah?” You tilted your head, getting up and stepping a little closer, your grin turning teasing. “Because you’ve been in that exact spot for an hour. And it’s the only seat with strategically placed mistletoe above it.”
He tried to sip his drink to hide his smile, but you caught it anyway. “Okay, fine,” he admitted. “Maybe I was curious.”
“Curious about what?” you snorted.
“Whether or not anyone would notice.”
Your brows lifted slightly, the teasing edge in your eyes softening. You set your drink down on the side table, hands sliding into your pockets. “I noticed,” you said quietly.
He looked up at the mistletoe for a moment, then back at you. “You know, it’s supposed to be bad luck if you sit under one and no one kisses you.”
“Oh, really?” You tried to sound casual, but your heart wasn’t cooperating.
“Mm-hm.” You took another step closer, standing right in front of him now, his knees brushing yours. “And you wouldn’t want to risk bad luck. Especially not during the holidays.” His voice had dropped playfully.
You smiled down at him. “Are you asking me to volunteer, Hannie?”
He laughed, scratching at the back of his neck. “I mean…I could be persuaded.”
“Persuaded?” you echoed, tilting your head, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Seems like a big responsibility.”
He huffed out a soft laugh, but then his expression shifted, the teasing fading into something gentler. His hand reached up, hesitated for a heartbeat, then brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “Maybe I don’t want to persuade you,” he murmured.
You leaned down, slowly enough that he could have stopped you. He didn’t; His lips met yours in a kiss that was somehow both hesitant and sure. You felt him smile halfway through it, as if the realization itself made him too happy to hide.
When he finally pulled back, his hand lingered at your jaw, thumb brushing softly over your skin. His grin was shy, but his eyes stayed locked on yours. “There,” he said softly. “Now I won’t have bad luck.”
You laughed, feeling a flutter rise in your chest. “You’re sure that’s how it works?”
He nodded solemnly. “Positive. But, uh,” his smile turned mischievous again, “Just to be safe, we might need a second one.”
You pretended to think it over. “Purely for luck?”
“Purely,” he said, already leaning in.
The second kiss came easier. The mistletoe above you swayed slightly from the movement, and Jisung laughed quietly against your lips. When he pulled back this time, his forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling like idiots. “Guess you should’ve come over sooner,” he murmured.
“Guess so,” you whispered back.
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Hi hi! I saw your Christmas requests were still open!! If possible, 5 & 9, scenario 20 with poly!SKZ X reader?? I think it would be so cute!!! Excited for all of the prompts 💕
🎀Just a holiday🎀-Christmas Special Day 13
Pairing: OT8 x Reader
Word Count: 626
Summary: The boys refuse to let you sulk the days away all by yourself.
You were very committed to the lie. Christmas lights blinked lazily outside your apartment window, reflecting off the glass like they were mocking you personally. Your mug of tea had gone cold in your hands hours ago, but you kept holding it anyway, curled into the corner of the couch like it could substitute for company.
“It’s just a holiday,” you muttered for what had to be the tenth time that evening, staring at nothing in particular. Your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Channie🖤: You sure you’re okay?
Lix💕: We can come over 👀
You: I’m fine. Really. It’s just a holiday.
The typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Minnie😻: Say that one more time and I’m throwing something at you.
You huffed a quiet laugh despite yourself. “Threatening violence now?” you murmured, thumbs moving lazily.
You: You’re not even here.
That, apparently, was a challenge. A knock echoed through your apartment barely ten minutes later. You froze in shock. Another knock, much louder this time. When you opened the door, the hallway exploded into noise and warmth and far too many winter coats.
Chan stood in the middle, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes soft and knowing. Felix immediately leaned in to hug you, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. Changbin complained about the cold under his breath while Seungmin stepped inside like this had been planned weeks ago. Hyunjin took in your space with quiet attention, already reaching to take Felix’s scarf when he fumbled with it. Jisung was halfway to your couch like he lived here, and Jeongin grinned, holding up a bag. “We brought snacks.”
You blinked at all of them. “You-you didn’t have to-”
Chan cut you off gently. “You weren’t going to be alone tonight.”
“I said I was fine,” you argued weakly.
Minho arched a brow, shrugging off his coat, his sharp eyes lingering on you longer than necessary. “Stop pretending you don’t like the holidays. Your eyes give it away.”
Felix nodded enthusiastically, still pressed against your side. “They get all shiny. Very obvious.”
You scoffed, heat creeping into your cheeks. “You’re all dramatic.”
Changbin snorted. “Says the person who’s been sulking with a cold drink for three hours.”
They filled your apartment quickly; jackets tossed aside, fairy lights turned on, someone changing the music without asking. It happened naturally, like a shared rhythm. Jisung curled up beside you, shoulder pressed into yours, while Hyunjin quietly handed you the now warm mug he’d reheated without comment. Minho claimed the space on your other side without discussion, knee brushing yours. Felix stayed close, half behind you now, chin resting on your shoulder as if that was his place.
Chan crouched in front of you, voice soft. “You don’t have to love Christmas. You don’t have to be cheerful. You just don’t get to be alone if you don’t want to be.”
Seungmin settled down next to Chan, their shoulders touching easily, fingers brushing as if by habit. Jeongin leaned over the back of the couch, chin on your shoulder opposite Felix’s, sandwiching you between warmth and laughter.
You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t want to bother anyone,” you admitted quietly.
Seungmin sighed. “That’s not how this works.”
“And you don’t get to decide that alone,” Minho added, squeezing your knee gently once.
Felix tightened his hold just slightly. “We show up together. That includes you.”
Jisung hummed, head tipping against yours. “Especially on nights like this.”
You laughed softly, feeling the weight in your chest ease as arms draped over you, legs tangled with yours, warmth seeping in from every side.
Minho smirked. “See? Not ‘just a holiday.’”
You sighed, finally letting yourself lean back fully into them. “Fine. I like it.”
Felix beamed. “Progress!”
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You had been avoiding him all evening. Which was impressive, considering the apartment wasn’t exactly big, and Lee Minho had a talent for occupying space like he knew you were trying not to exist in the same radius as him. “You’re blocking the tree,” you muttered, arms crossed as you leaned against the kitchen counter.
Minho didn’t move. He just turned his head slightly, eyes flicking toward you with that infuriating calm of his. “You can still see it.”
“I can see your back,” you shot back. “Which is arguably worse.”
A few of your friends snorted from the couch. Minho rolled his eyes but finally stepped aside, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “There. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” you deadpanned.
This was how it always went. Sharp remarks, long looks, tension thick enough to trip over. You and Minho had somehow slipped into this strange orbit of mutual irritation months ago, and neither of you had bothered to fix it.
The lights dimmed suddenly. Someone had flipped the switch, plunging the room into a softer glow, the Christmas tree now the main source of light. Warm gold reflected off ornaments and glass, shadows dancing lazily across the walls.
You inhaled sharply before you could stop yourself. Minho turned at the sound. For the first time all evening, he actually looked at you. Not the dismissive glance, not the guarded stare, but something quieter. Something caught off guard, almost.
The tree light caught in your eyes, softening the sharp edge he was used to. Gold and green flickered across your face, reflecting back at him in a way that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
You noticed his pause. “What?” you asked, suspicious. “Why are you staring?”
“I’m not,” he said immediately.
You raised a brow. “You are.”
Minho opened his mouth to argue, and then stopped. Heat crept up his neck before he could rein it in. It was subtle, but unmistakable. A faint pink dusted his cheeks, his ears following quickly after.
You stared openly now, disbelief melting into something dangerously close to a smile. “Wow,” you said slowly. “This is the first time I’ve seen you blush.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not blushing.”
You grinned. “You absolutely are.”
“Stop looking at me like that,” he protested weakly.
“Like what?” You tilted your head, eyes still on his face. The tree lights reflected in his gaze now, soft and bright, making him look different. He seemed less sharp now, less like this untouchable force.
“Like you won,” he muttered.
You hadn’t expected that. The room around you faded into background noise, and all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the quiet tension humming between you. “Maybe I did,” you said softly.
Minho took a step closer before he seemed to realize what he was doing. He stopped just short of your space, close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Maybe you’re not as annoying as I thought,” he said, his voice low.
You scoffed, though your pulse betrayed you. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
He met your eyes again, the gold light still dancing between you. “Don’t get used to it.”
You smiled, small and entirely unplanned. “Too late, idiot,” you replied.
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Summary: Everyone else is already asleep, but you and Minho end up lingering by the fire a little longer than planned. Neither of you seems in a hurry to be the first to leave.
The fire had burned down to a low, steady glow by the time you realized everyone else had gone to bed. The cabin was quiet now; no laughter from the kitchen, no muffled footsteps on the stairs, no clinking mugs. Just the crackle of embers and the soft hum of wind brushing against the windows.
Minho sat beside you on the rug, his back against the couch, his legs stretched toward the hearth. One arm rested lazily on his knee, the other loosely behind you, close enough to feel but not touching. He stared into the fire like it would confess all its secrets if he kept it up long enough. You watched him instead.
The flames painted his face in gold and shadow, catching on the sharp line of his nose, the way his lashes dipped when he blinked slowly. He looked relaxed, softer than usual, like the night had peeled something protective away.
“You know,” you said quietly, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to stay down here if you’re tired.”
He scoffed softly, eyes never leaving the fire. “I’m not.”
“You’ve been yawning for an hour,” you teased gently.
“That was…unrelated,” Minho lied just as gently. You smiled, leaning your shoulder lightly against his arm this time. Minho shifted his gaze to you, one brow lifting. “Why are you still awake?”
You shrugged. “Didn’t want the night to end yet.”
Something unguarded flickered in his expression before he looked away again. “You and your sentimental nonsense.”
“Mm,” you hummed. “Funny, coming from the guy who insisted on lighting the fire even though the heating works just fine.”
He clicked his tongue. “It’s practical.”
You turned to face him with a succeeding grin. “You rearranged the stockings so they were symmetrical.”
Minho frowned softly. “They were crooked.”
“And you volunteered to hang the lights.”
“So?”
“And,” you added gently, “you’ve been smiling at literally every decoration all evening.”
Minho finally looked at you fully then, eyes narrowing slightly. “I have not.”
You tilted your head, studying him the way he’d been studying the fire. “Stop pretending you don’t like the holidays. Your eyes give it away.”
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he exhaled, slow and quiet, shoulders loosening like he’d given up a secret. “Maybe,” he admitted, voice low. “I just don’t like admitting it.”
“Why not?” you frowned softly.
He shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the flames. “Feels childish.”
You nudged his knee gently with yours. “You rearranged stockings, Minho.”
A small huff of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. He turned his head away, but not before you caught the faint curve of a smile tugging at his lips.
The fire popped softly. Time passed unnoticed, minutes melting into something warmer and slower. At some point, his arm shifted, settling fully around your shoulders, pulling you in without ceremony. You fit there easily, like it was muscle memory. “You’re warm,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“That is because of the fire.”
He glanced down at you. “Still.”
Your fingers curled into the sleeve of his sweater, and neither of you commented on it. Outside, the wind howled. Inside, the fire glowed low and steady, shadows dancing on the walls as the night stretched on. When the logs finally burned down to embers, neither of you moved. And when the fire went out completely, Minho didn’t pull away. He just rested his chin lightly against your head and let the quiet stay.
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Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
Hii!! Can I get 21 and 24 with reader x Changbin, please?? Thank you for your time 💖💖 (if they get together I'll be happy, if not, that's okay 💖)
🎀Operation Us🎀 - Christmas Special Day 11
Pairing: Changbin x Reader
Word Count: 788
Summary: A Christmas shopping trip with Changbin leads to unexpected blushes, clumsy chaos, and moments that feel a little too much like something more.
Warnings/Tags: fluff, Christmas gifts shopping, teasing, clumsy!changbin, first kiss
A/N: My idiot brain swapped 21 for 12, so I added prompt 21 and kept 12 in (them being mistaken for a couple), as it served your idea of them getting together. I hope that's okay😂🖤
The Christmas market was already overflowing with music and cinnamon-scented air by the time you and Changbin made it through the crowd. He walked beside you with his scarf pulled up to his nose, eyes bright as he scanned every stall like he was on a mission. “Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together, “Operation Secret Santa: commence.”
“You don’t have to have a mission name for everything,” you teased.
“Yes, I do,” he replied instantly.
You laughed loudly enough that a couple passing by turned to smile at the two of you. You didn’t think anything of it. Being with Changbin always made you forget how you looked to others. But apparently, the others had opinions. You stopped at a booth selling handmade mugs, each painted with tiny forests and sparkly snow. Changbin picked one up and turned it over in his palm. “Think Jisung would like this?”
Before you could answer, the elderly woman running the stall beamed at both of you. “You two look adorable together,” she said warmly. “Shopping for your first Christmas as a couple?”
Your brain blanked whilst Changbin choked on air. “We’re-we’re not-” you both began at the same time.
But the woman only winked knowingly, like she’d heard that denial a thousand times before. “It’s alright. Young love is shy.”
Changbin’s ears turned scarlet. You felt your own cheeks heat up. You tugged him away gently before he combusted. He followed, muttering something like, “Why does this always happen when I’m with you?”
“Maybe we just give off couple energy,” you said, trying not to think about how true it felt. He didn’t answer, but his mouth pressed into a small, unreadable smile.
You continued shopping, your bag slowly filling. Changbin insisted on carrying most of it. “Bin, that’s too many,” you warned.
“It’s fine! I’m strong!” he boasted, flexing dramatically.
He immediately grabbed another box to prove it, then another, until he had a tower of gifts stacked in his arms, wobbling dangerously. “Changbin.”
You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh. “Are you okay?”
“I got it, I got it,” he insisted, taking one heroic step. The entire stack slid sideways like a landslide. Everything dropped: boxes, ribbons, wrapping paper - luckily, you had kept the mugs in your hand.
Changbin stared at the mess in pure betrayal. “Gravity is fake,” he muttered. “This is sabotage.”
You burst out laughing, and after a moment of sulking, he joined in loudly. As you helped him pick everything up, a couple walking by whispered, smiling, “They’re cute.” You pretended not to hear, but you could tell Changbin absolutely heard; His blush gave it away.
-
By the time the two of you returned to your apartment, the sun had long set, and your bags were full of gifts; mostly for others, but a few he’d slipped in when you weren’t looking. You narrowed your eyes at him as you unlocked the door. “You’re sneaky.”
“You have no proof.” The second the lights flicked on, Changbin stopped walking. You had spent the whole night before decorating: fairy lights draped across the shelves, little pine branches tucked into jars, paper snowflakes you’d cut by hand hanging from invisible strings. The room glowed soft and warm, like something out of a winter postcard. Changbin’s breath caught. “You spent all this time decorating for me?”
You blinked. “I…well, for both of us? I knew you were coming over a lot this week, so I wanted it to feel cozy.”
He took a slow step closer, eyes not leaving yours. “Yeah, but you did all this. For me?” There was something in his voice that made your heart thud. He reached out carefully, brushing one of the snowflakes with his fingertip, watching it sway. Then he looked at you again. “That lady at the market,” he murmured, “she wasn’t the only one thinking we look good together.”
Your breath hitched. “Binnie.”
He swallowed once, nerves fluttering at the edge of his smile. “I’m not saying this to make things weird. I just…I like this. Being with you. Being mistaken for your boyfriend wasn’t exactly unpleasant.”
Your face warmed. “Really?”
He stepped a little closer. “If you ever wanted that. I wouldn’t mind.” The fairy lights reflected in his eyes, tinting the hopeful shimmer there golden.
You reached out, fingers gently curling around his scarf to tug him closer. “Then maybe,” you whispered, “we should give the elderly mug lady something to be right about.”
Changbin laughed, breathless and disbelieving, before leaning in, his lips brushing yours in a sweet, careful kiss that still managed to feel like fireworks. When you parted, he rested his forehead against yours. “So,” he murmured, cheeks flushed, “Operation Us?”
You grinned. “Commence.”
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
for reference (i used the y/n's nicknames so it doesn't get confusing - thanks to whoever suggested it): Hyunjin's girl - Love, Seungmin's girl -Cutie, Felix's girl -Darling, Innie's girl - princess, Jisung's girl - Baby, Chan's girl - Peach, Lino's girl - Kitten, Binnie's girl - Honey.
wc: 4.6k
a/n: I am so sorry if this is short but it's supposed to just be a little epilogue for the dollies. I know I took a long time to write it, but I haven't really felt like writing the last 5 months or so. Maybe I'll do something more for them in the future (like a little 'where are they now' or something like that, maybe even a visual novel game) but for now I want to leave it at this and work on my other series Hearts Collide. Thank you everyone who followed and read this series!💙
divider by: @bunnysrph
~ Dolly masterlist
Helena Meyer had always been a special child, even before she could fully understand the meaning of that word. All she knew is that she understood things and saw the world in a way her peers didn't. To them she was strange and amusing, but to her it was just the way the world was.
Fingers pointed and whispers filled her ears, wherever she went she was the weird girl. Helena didn't pay too much mind to it, she had bigger projects to tend to. Like skipping some years in school and getting into university at only 12 years old. Her intelligence and knowledge was rewarded but being on top was oh so lonely.
The kids her age were mostly carefree, they weren't even thinking about the concepts she knew like the back of her hand. The older ones saw her as a child and to them it was awkward to even talk to her. Her parents were supportive and they tried to understand but they were never able to fully grasp what Helena knew and what her vision was.
Helena didn't have any friends. So she decided to create them.
At just seventeen, she built her first advanced android. Its capabilities were limited, but it marked a significant step toward creating a sentient, human-like artificial intelligence. Driven by a desire to achieve what no one else had managed, Helena immersed herself in countless scientific fields and programming languages, each study bringing her closer to that first prototype.
But, before she managed to get there, she met her husband who fell in love with her at first conversation. His vision was similar but he was nowhere near close to Helena's knowledge and accomplishments. Still, he was more than ready to work alongside her and fulfill the vision she had since she was little. From then on, they became a team and the beginning of something completely new.
Helena Meyer became Helena Bang and moved to South Korea where she continued working with her husband and a small team of scientists and researchers with minds alike. For years they honed their calculations and refined their inventions, pushing the limits of what seemed possible, until they found the precise combination needed to bring her long-held vision to life.
Thus, the first prototype was born. Bang Chan.
"How are we doing today?" Helena walked into the office while Chan sat in the chair, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. It was a new habit he developed and she quickly jotted it down.
"I'm doing fine, Mother." Chan answered quietly as Helena sat down and faced him. She observed him for a few moments before speaking up.
"You seem bothered by something. You know you can share everything with me." she encouraged him warmly to which Chan sighed, his eyes darting left and right before glancing up at Helena then looking back down at his lap again.
"I- I feel incomplete." he stated.
"Incomplete?" Helena tilted her head at him.
"Like something is missing. Every day I go through the same motions in the lab and there are things only I experience and I have no one to share that with." Chan explained as he looked up at her.
Helena's stomach twisted as she realized the extent to which her prototype developed feelings, his understanding and the way he was able to express his thoughts.
"You wish you had someone who was like you?"
"Yes. It's lonely being the only one." Chan confessed.
It's lonely being the only one.
Helena knew that feeling all to well.
As the project expanded, so did the team. The institute was opened and before long eight androids had been created. The lab was exchanged for a big mansion where they had their private rooms, a pool, a garden and anything else they could possibly need. It resembled a normal home but of course the androids weren't allowed to leave, Helena wanted to make sure they understood everything about the world before she let them roam free. Over time, each android developed a distinct personality and Helena watched them 'grow' alongside her husband. Everything was going well in the beginning but Helena and her husband had different visions of what the androids were meant to become.
Helena wanted them to integrate into society and grow into their own identities; she wanted people to see that the androids she created were friendly and capable of love, sadness, dreams just like them. But her husband saw something else entirely. To him, they were an opportunity to make money in the quickest and easiest way.
Their arguments became constant and their marriage began to unravel, breaking at the seams. The rest of the scientists except one, sided with Helena. Mr. Bang, however, found an ally in Dr. Park, a colleague whose cold, almost sinister demeanor made every android recoil the moment they learned they had a session with him.
Helena knew the moment her husband partenered up with Park, nothing good was gonna come out of it.
Jeongin stood in front of the familiar building that loomed above him threateningly. How did he remember where to go? He had no idea. But he got there somehow, his eyes roaming all over the concrete walls and the bars on the windows. A shiver ran down his spine, an uncomfortable itch clawing inside his stomach. His eyes moved up and he stopped in his tracks.
There in one of the reflections in the glass he saw his angel, tears running down his freckled cheeks as he stared out the window.
He had to get in.
He surveyed the area, noting the cameras positioned around the property and the guards patrolling with heavy weapons. Every door required a keycard, and the windows were secured with metal bars. With its top-tier security and no apparent entry point beyond the front door, the building looked practically impenetrable.
But Jeongin knew about a secret entrance, the one they used whenever they snuck out to the woods, chasing a brief, precious taste of freedom, even if it never lasted long. Seeing his angel and the familiar building brought many flashbacks of the past to Jeongin, and he couldn't move for a moment as he hid behind the bushes and contemplated on the best strategy to get to the hidden entrance.
He just hoped that the code for the secret door remained the same.
Meanwhile, Felix has had enough of crying, the sadness and heartbreak turning into anger. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves and walked away from the window, pacing up and down the small room. He considered banging on the door but he knew it would get him nowhere. If only he had something to pick the lock with.
Felix sighed and leaned his forehead against the door.
"Psst! Felix?" he heard a voice and perked up.
"Binnie?" he looked out the little glass panel on the door, seeing Changbin on the other side of the hallway, behind the door just like his.
"Did they take you away from your person too?" Changbin asked quietly, a kind of sadness settling over his features.
"Yes, they did." Felix nodded, his eyes brimming with tears again. "What do you think they'll do to us?"
"I don't know but I just hope they don't destroy us." Changbin shivered involuntarily.
"I think that would be the best option. The things that ran through my mind... What if they locked us inside our own head again? But this time with no way out. Or they experimented on us more, keeping us here forever? I can't go through that again." Felix shook his head quickly.
"No, I don't even wanna think about those scenarios." Changbin gasped. "We have to get out of here."
"How? We're locked inside these rooms and there are cameras everywhere." Felix leaned his forehead on the glass, fogging it up with his warm breath.
"Let's come up with something together. I don't want to be a sitting duck."
"Me neither." Felix nodded, his eyes darting left and right before they widened. "I have an idea!"
"What is it?" Changbin asked, pressing his body harder against the door.
"We have to act like we're malfunctioning and that will alert the evil androids. They will come get us and when they open the door we will run."
"Run where, Felix? They won't let us get away just like that." Changbin sighed desperately.
"What other choice do we have? The windows have bars and the door doesn't even have a handle on the inside. And I don't think we can overpower the androids, they always carry those big scary needles with them." Felix shivered in fear. "We have to try."
"What if they catch us and do something even worse to us to punish us?"
Of course, that thought had already crossed Felix's mind.
"We will run so fast they won't be able to keep up. Just don't ever let go of my hand, okay?"
Changbin gave Felix a small smile and then nodded in determination.
"Okay. Let's do this!"
~
As Jisung was ushered into the building, the memories hit him all at once. The smells, the sounds, the bleak fluorescent lighting; it brought him back to a dark place and his breath got caught in his throat. A crushing weight settled on his chest the moment he inhaled that familiar blend of metallic coldness and disinfectant. The sounds of whirring machinery, sharp beeps and the background noise of the fluorescent lights humming was eerie, as if hinting at something sinister within the building.
The androids held Jisung's arms tightly as they practically dragged him off to the main office. When the big wooden door creaked open, Dr. Park swiveled in his leather chair with a disgusting smirk formed on his face.
"Well, well. If it isn't number five willingly coming here. Missed me?"
Jisung practically hissed at the doctor, the androids holding him back. Park lifted up his hand and the robots backed off, while Jisung seethed with anger.
"I'm glad you're conscious enough to listen. It was a mistake; letting you out with a weak code. I must confess I was too greedy and eager to get you all out into the market. But, now I know how to correct the mistakes." Park smirked and Jisung shivered, holding back when he remembered his mission. He had to act compliant. He knew his Baby had his back, along with Chan and his Peach.
"Everything you are and everything you've known until now, will be erased. A sort of factory reset. Whatever Helena did to give you free will and feelings will be gone. You'll be sort of like my androids here except better, you will understand more things so you can obey your masters better." Park kept smirking. "I'll leave a little piece of who you used to be buried somewhere inside you, just so you're aware of what you could have but know you can never get there again." his smirk turned into a full-blown evil smile. "And I? I will become filthy rich and famous thanks to you. So look at it as sort of a sacrifice for the greater good." The doctor waved his hand.
Jisung felt his entire body stiffen, a shiver of pure fear running down his spine. To say he was terrified was an understatement. In that moment he thought that death would definitely be a better option than existing like that. But beneath the fear, lingered anger and despair. He knew he couldn't let that happen.
"We will begin with the reset once we gather all your friends, number five. I'll make sure you look at each other the moment everything starts erasing." Park let out an evil laugh as the androids started dragging Jisung out of the office.
Jeongin pressed his body against the earth as much as he could. His eyes darted left and right as he analyzed the guards' movements. After assessing their route, he waited for the guard to walk away in the other direction before he slowly crawled between the tall grass and bushes near the fence. His movements were slow and careful and his face was scrunched up from both nervousness and disgust.
Slowly but steadily, Jeongin made it half way there before the guard turned and walked over towards him. Fear settled in his bones and his body went still, his breathing becoming shallow. He could hear heartbeat pounding in his ears. Squeezing his eyes shut, he stayed perfectly still. But the guard never came to the grass that hid him, only did his route quietly before turning away and leaving. Jeongin let out a quiet breath of relief before continuing on his mission.
Finally, he managed to get to the back door and after looking around for a camera he spotted one near the door.
"Fuck." he cursed quietly to himself.
But when he took a better look, it seemed that the camera wasn't blinking at all. He stared at it for a moment and then decided to risk it; there was no way he was waiting anymore. This was the moment.
Jeongin rose and slipped quietly toward the door, pressing his back against the wall at the last possible moment as the returning guard passed by unnoticed. He lingered there for a moment, steadying himself, then dusted off his clothes lightly before moving toward the door.
"Please, be the same code." Jeongin closed his eyes and manifested before pressing the numbers he knew all to well into the keypad.
There was a quiet beep of acceptance and the lock clicked, the door opening up just a little.
"Oh my god." he almost laughed out loud but then he remembered he needed to be quiet so he slipped inside.
~
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Changbin asked Felix quietly, almost backing out of their plan.
"I don't think there is any other way to get their attention." Felix was determined.
"Fine." Changbin sighed. "Let's do it."
With that, Changbin started banging his fist on the door accompanied with Felix banging his head against his own.
In his office, doctor Park leaned towards his computer.
"What the hell are they doing?! Stop them! I don't want my goods damaged."
The two androids that stood there turned robotically and then started running quickly.
Jisung saw them whiz past as he was being dragged and he turned his head only for a gasp of shock to leave his lips.
There, behind one of the tables was Jeongin, crouched down and staring at him with an equally shocked expression on his face. Jeongin lifted his finger to his lips and let out a quiet 'shh' before Jisung was dragged further away. He only hoped that his Baby and the rest of the gang were on the way or close to the company, he just wanted this nightmare to be over as soon as possible.
The androids reached the rooms and quickly unlocked them. Felix felt a moment of disorientation, but Changbin acted fast; sliding under a guard's arm, seizing Felix’s wrist, and practically dragging him along. Felix stumbled, then fell into step beside Changbin, their fingers intertwining and their palms pressing together tightly. The androids gave chase immediately, and as Felix and Changbin burst out, they collided with Jisung, sending him and the two guards tumbling to the ground.
"Jisung!" Felix gasped and grabbed him too. The androids were close to them, right at their necks, reaching out towards them with the big needles full of a fluorescent looking fluid.
~
"Did you get it to work?" Seungmin asked as he leaned closer to the console of the car.
"I'm almost there! I'm about to hack into the camera system on the inside. Jisung is sending out some kind of stress signals. I can read it from his code. Something is definitely happening. Y'all need to hurry the fuck up." Baby spoke over the speaker.
"We are driving as fast as we can. You notified the others?" Chan asked, his eyes never leaving the road.
"Yes, I found all the other dolly girls. They will try to meet us there. Seems like Changbin's girl already knew the location. Talk about faith or what?" Baby snickered. "Yes! I'm in! They're going down now. I'm turning off the cameras and the power. Y'all be ready for darkness."
~
Jisung didn't have much time to react, almost tripping over his own feet as he grabbed at Felix's hand. Changbin led them towards the front door fast but they were stopped in their tracks by two more androids approaching them from the front. Cornered, the three huddled together, searching desperately for any possible escape route.
Before the androids could lunge at them, the lights suddenly went out and they could hear a heavy dying groan as all the machinery shutdown. What followed was a moment of dead silence, then the sharp whirr of night-vision systems humming to life cut through the dark.
"Shit." Changbin muttered as it hit him; the androids could see perfectly in the dark, giving them the upper hand. Felix felt Jisung's hand tremble in his so he squeezed it, feeling equally as terrified. Was this it? All their effort to run away from their rooms just to be taken right back?
A sudden thud cracked through the dark. One of the androids jerked forward, its head snapping to the side before dropping to its knees. Jeongin stood behind it, panting and gripping a heavy wrench like his life depended on it. The pale moonlight lit up the hallway just enough to make the dollies see what was in front of them.
"Move!" he yelled out as the other two androids started making their way towards them.
The others didn't hesitate. Changbin charged at the second android, slamming into it with enough force to knock it back into the wall. The robot let out another whirring sound as its head hit the concrete. Felix pulled Jisung close as they noticed the two other androids approaching them, ready to charge at them. Jeongin didn't wait for them to strike at his friends and he lunged forward, fighting one of the guards. Changbin joined him, making Felix and Jisung react too. Fear fueled their movements, desperation sharpening every hit.
Another pair of androids appeared in front of them, eyes glowing in the darkness right as they managed to fight off the first ones. Jeongin was on a roll, using his wrench again to strike one of the androids as it reached towards Felix to grab him. The android struck the ground with a metallic sound echoing the roomo, sparks flying from its cracked skull. But the second one stepped forward without hesitation, its eyes glowing red, head tilting as if it was calculating where to hit first; all while being terrifyingly calm.
Jisung's heartbeat hammered against his ribs, Felix's shaking grip on his hand was the only thing grounding him. Changbin stood before them, ready to throw his entire body into the android if he had to.
The machine raised its arm and then suddenly, a thunderous crash split through the hallway, like the walls themselves were breaking. Before any of the dollies could register anything, the front door slammed hard against the wall and the emergency lights snapped on in blinding white stripes that cut through the darkness.
The android about to strike was thrown across the hallway and smashed into a metal cabinet so hard that the impact rang through the entire first floor. Jisung flinched back and Felix gasped, before they heard a familiar voice.
"Come on, let's go!" it was Chan.
He charged in, fury burning inside his eyes. Behind him, Seungmin and Hyunjin were like shadows in motion, moving in a way that made them look almost eerie. More androids started appearing, closing in on the dollies, ready to take them down even if it came to damaging them, it was clear that they wouldn't stop. The dollies took a stance against the androids, right as Peach and Love stumbled into the hallway, both pale and breathless, eyes big as they took in the chaos before them.
"Chan, oh my god!" Peach yelled out, clinging onto his arm.
"Hyunjin!" Love joined in, her hand reaching out for Hyunjin. He gave her a quick grin, far too confident for the situation. The androids didn't hesitate anymore, it was as if they moved on command when they attacked. Hyunjin ducked under the android's blow with effortless grace, making Love gasp in panic.
Peach grabbed a fire extinguisher and joined in on the fight as everyone gave their efforts into it.
For a split second, Jisung felt hope. It punched into his chest so suddenly that it almost took his breath away. They could win this together.
Baby worked on her end, behind the computer, her nimble fingers rushing across the keyboard as she tried to hack into the main computer. Doctor Park seemed to have known she was trying to get in, so he kept trying to lock her out.
"Hold on, please." she prayed to herself as she looked at her other screen where the camera feed she left on showed her Jisung and the other dollies fighting for their lives.
Suddenly, the air in the room changed. An iciness seeped between everyone, suffocating and freezing, like a predator stepped into the open after watching from the dark.
Dr. Park walked forward with slow, deliberate purpose. His eyes glinted with something worse than anger and hatred - ownership.
In his hand, he held a sleek black device pulsing with faint red light. When he spoke, it sounded almost gentle. "Enough."
He lowered his thumb on the button and a piercing frequency exploded through the air, so sharp and violent it made the dollies convulse and fall to their knees, their hands flying to their heads and their systems screaming in protest.
But the one closest to Park took the full blast and it just happened to be Hyunjin. A scream tore out of his body, raw and agonized and his legs gave out, making him fall on the floor with a thud. Sparks burts across his neck, lighting his skin with frantic flickers.
"Hyunjin!" Love shrieked, bolting towards him.
He collapsed before anyone could catch him but Love dove in and caught his torso, pulling him into her arms. Hyunjin's limbs jerked violently, his eyes fluttering and his mouth open in a silent, painful gasp.
"Stay with me, Hyunjin. Please..." Love begged, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Chan tried to push forward to help but Park pressed another button.
The dollies staggered, their systems glitching wildly. Changbin slumped against the wall, Seungmin dropped to one knee, Jeongin's hands trembled uncontrollably and Felix's eyes rolled back. The override frequency echoed through the air like an eerie screech.
Dr. Park raised the device again and this time, he aimed it directly at Jisung.
"Rebellion is a defect." his voice was cold and collected as his thumb hovered over the button. Jisung screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact to hit him but it never came. The signal was cut out of nowhere. The lights above them flickered to life, illuminating the room and for a heartbeat absolutely nothing happened.
No movement, no sound. Then, every android that was ready to attack and pounce froze in place. Their eyes flashed from red to an electric blue and all their heads suddenly turned towards Dr. Park.
Baby's voice burst through the intercom, breathless and exhilarated.
"Jisung! I did it, I hacked them! They're on your side now."
Park's face twisted in genuine fear for the first time.
"Oh no, no, no!" he sounded panicked as he scrambled over to a console, fingers flying over the screen, desperate to regain control.
Several of the hacked androids took synchronized, unnervingly smooth steps towards him. Park hit another command and a pulse of energy surged forward making half of the androids power down and crash to the floor like lifeless puppets.
Park snarled in fury as the other androids didn't waver, still making their way towards him. The room descended into chaos again as sparks started flying from the androids who dropped down and afraid of an explosion, Chan tried to shield Peach with his entire body. Seungmin scrambled over to Changbin, trying to shake him awake. Felix gathered all his courage and shielded Jisung with trembling arms. Jeongin fought through his glitching hands, trying to will himself to stop the glitch.
Hyunjin remained limp in Love's kap, sparks slowly dying but still flickering only a little.
Everything seemed to be on the way to a disaster until a new sound cut through all the chaos. It was a soft, almost imperceptible click right behind Dr. Park.
Slowly, so slowly that it was agonizing, he turned his head and met two cold pairs of eyes. A hand rested on his shoulder.
Elegant but firm, it almost seemed too calm. Lino stood right behind him, Kitten by his side as she gave the doctor a little smirk of victory.
"You have done enough harm." Lino's voice was smooth and quiet.
Park raised his hand to use the overriding device but Lino moved as fast as light.
In a blur, he struck Park's wrist with a snap, sending the device skittering across the floor. Then he shoved Park forward, straight into the hacked androids waiting to rip him to pieces.
Park screamed, an ugly and raw sound as the metal hands seized him.
Lino turned away, him and Kitten already running to Hyunjin's side.
Love looked up at them, trembling.
"Is he d-dying?" her voice shook.
"He's overloaded but we can stabilize him." Lino looked at Chan and they both nodded to each other before Chan kneeled right next to him. The two of them placed their hands on Hyunjin's chest and somehow made the flickering steady. Hyunjin's breathing began to regulate. Love cried out, her hands grabbing at Hyunjin's face as his eyes flickered open to look at her. At the same time, Seungmin managed to wake up Changbin and even though he was disoriented, his hands found Jeongin's, holding them and calming the glitch down.
It was as if some kind of magic worked between them.
Jisung stared at Lino, chest tight with shock and relief.
"I didn't think you'd make it here. We had no idea where you were."
"Your Baby found us in the last moment, we made it just in time." Lino answered, his eyes shining.
The room finally became quiet. The battle was over.
As the dollies finally walked out of the facility, battered but well, a car parked in front of the entrance. They froze for a moment before Honey stepped out of the driver's seat, making Changbin gasp and yell out in happiness. More doors opened and suddenly everyone was there; Cutie, Princess and Darling making their way towards their dollies.
"Don't you ever run away like that again!" Cutie smacked Seungmin's chest as tears welled up in her eyes.
"I could say the same." Princess agreed as she collapsed into Jeongin's arms.
"Darling!" Felix held on tightly, the emotional reunion making everyone cry.
Jisung looked around, his heart beating fast before he saw another car park next to the first one and he recognized it instantly. All the exhaustion and pain was forgotten as he ran towards Baby, lifting her up and spinning her around before they both tumbled to the ground, laughing through their tears.
Princess smiled and addressed everyone. "My father has agreed to help us all with the legal stuff. You guys carry Helena's legacy, we'll sue her husband and also make sure the Dolly blueprints never end up in wrong hands."
Everyone cheered as she announced that, their hearts were full as they knew they had each other now.
It was the ending of something but it also felt like a beautiful beginning of something new.
