Chapter Text
Minghao stood barefoot against the railing, content yet reminiscing on well, everything. He looked back behind him to see Mingyu sprawled across the outdoor couch behind him deep in thought, scribbling on something with a permanent marker.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Minghao murmured, “Plotting something?”
Mingyu didn’t respond right away. Minghao narrowed his eyes. He already had a bad feeling.
“I had an idea,” he said finally. “For the groups anniversary…ritual.”
“Okay, don’t put it like that, you make it sound like we’re some kind of cult.” Minghao scoffed, glancing over his shoulder, “Tradition is a better word.”
“Yeah,” Mingyu said. “But the thing is we haven’t did something this intense since Chan volunteered, and that was like– a whole two years ago.”
Minghao huffed, “What’s the idea?”
At that, Mingyu held up a handful of popsicle sticks. A dozen of them, each with something scribbled in his looping handwriting.
“I write a kink on each one,” he explained, “Twelve sticks, one for each member. You don’t get to know what they say. When it’s their turn, they pick one. That’s their challenge. Whatever they pull, they do to you.”
Minghao blinked.
“You’re insane.”
“I’m romantic ,” Mingyu corrected, “And organized.”
“Romantic would be, you know, everyone taking me out somewhere meaningful, thoughtful… like what we did with Joshua?”
Mingyu had the audacity to roll his eyes and wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll do it after if that makes you feel better.”
Minghao stared at him with a blank look. No. It did not make him feel better. Then he furrowed his eyebrows in thought.
“You want me to let them do anything they pick? Without knowing in advance?”
“There’s always a safeword,” Mingyu said quickly, “If it’s too much, we stop. No questions asked. But you can’t know the kinks ahead of time; it ruins the fun, it’s gotta be a surprise.”
Minghao stared. Said nothing. At least he was thoughtful about the whole thing. But he still wanted to shove a damn pillow in his face despite it all.
Mingyu grinned.
“You don’t have to do all twelve in one day,” he added, “We can space it out. It’ll be a… commemorative experience.”
“You make it sound like an art exhibit now.”
“Isn’t it?”
Minghao sighed, drained the last of his tea, and turned toward the door. “Good luck,” he said, walking off, “Convincing the other members to take turns violating me with whatever you pulled out of your horny ass.”
Mingyu stuck his tongue out at his back even though he was already gone, “You’re gonna love it,” he muttered under his breath, turning back to the final stick in hand.
He paused. Thought a moment. Then wrote carefully with a giggle on the last one:
Prostate Milking.
He stared at the full set of twelve, lined neatly in a jar, their labels hidden. The possibilities. The trust. The tension. The filth.
The van rolled smoothly down the highway, soft lofi playing from the speakers as the world outside whizzed past in a blurry whir. Mingyu was seated in the middle row, flanked by Jeonghan and Joshua on either side, on their way to their trio photoshoot.
Jeonghan was thumbing through his phone lazily. Joshua, as always, sat like he belonged in a perfume ad— legs crossed, watching the scenery like it bored him. Mingyu tapped his backpack, grinning.
“I have a proposition,” he said.
“Please not another sex bet,” Jeonghan replied without looking up, “‘cheol told me about it already.”
“Even better,” Mingyu unzipped the bag and carefully pulled out the twelve wooden sticks. Mingyu couldn’t help but giggle in anticipation.
Jeonghan did look up this time, “...oh, you weren’t joking.”
Joshua leaned in a little, “What is that.”
“Our anniversary…tradition,” Mingyu said proudly, like he’d won an award, "Minghao’s turn. A kink challenge. All twelve of us.”
Jeonghan’s eyes lit up with amusement, “He agreed to this?”
“Yeah,” Mingyu smirked, “Well first he said I was insane, told me good luck convincing any of you. Walked off like he wasn’t secretly dying to know what I wrote.”
Joshua raised a brow, “And he doesn't know what’s on the sticks?”
“Nope. He’s flying blind,” Mingyu grinned, holding the sticks like they were his prized possession, “But he trusts us. And he knows he can safeword out. I just think… it’ll be fun to surprise him. See how he handles each one.”
“You say that like he’s not going to handle it like he wont like every single one,” Jeonghan said, now fully engaged, grinning as he reached for a stick, “God, I hope I get a good one.”
Joshua still looked suspicious, “And you want us to pick one now?”
“Well, yeah. The order’s gonna be flexible,” Mingyu said, “But once you pick a stick, that’s your assigned kink. It’s final. No givesies backsies. No trades. ‘hao doesn’t get to know what it is until it’s happening.”
Jeonghan snorted and plucked one from Mingyu’s hand, twirling it like a wand between his fingers. He didn’t look at it right away, he waited for Joshua first before looking. Joshua hesitated then drew one too. His expression stayed perfectly neutral as he flipped it over. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Silence. Then, at the exact same time:
“Can I show him mine?”
“Can we see each other’s?” Joshua echoed, already tilting his hand slightly toward Jeonghan.
Mingyu leaned over immediately, eyes wide, “Wait, wait, no spoilers .”
“Okay,” Jeonghan grinned, slipping the stick into his back pocket like a magician hiding a card. “You’ll just have to wait until after.”
Joshua grimaced at first then tucked his away as well. “This is going to be… interesting.”
Mingyu giggled as he put all the sticks away into his backpack. “This is already the best idea I’ve ever had.”
The common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday. Most of the group was scattered; some prepping for schedules, some napping; but Junhui, Wonwoo, and Chan were all lounging comfortably on the floor, half watching a documentary none of them was paying attention to.
Mingyu appeared from the hallway like a man with a purpose. Loudly. He held the sticks up.
Jun raised an eyebrow, “Oh, it’s that time?”
Wonwoo looked over the rim of his mug, “Already?”
Chan perked up, “Wait— this the sticks thing? With ‘hao?”
Mingyu grinned, “Yes, thank you for reading the group chat.”
Chan practically vaulted off the couch, scrambling to his feet like he was lining up for a prize, “Me first.”
Jun chuckled and scooted over, and Wonwoo stood as well, tilting his head as Mingyu offered the sticks like candy.
“One each,” Mingyu said solemnly, “Choose wisely. And once you see it, it’s yours. No takebacksies.”
Chan reached in without hesitation, fingers fishing around with exaggerated drama, “Please let it be something insane.”
He pulled the stick, amd flipped it.
“Wait. I think this is fate. I think the gods are listening to my calling.” Chan blinked with a serious amount of intensity, glancing back at his stick and Mingyu.
Mingyu cracked up,“Do not tell me. I want to be surprised when he talks about it.”
“He’s going to have the show of his lifetime,” Chan declared gleefully, tucking the stick into his back pocket, “I need my spotify playlist right now.”
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at him, nodding his head in disbelief, then went next; slow, casual, like he was just doing it to humor them. He plucked one, read it, and made a thoughtful sound.
“Oh.”
Mingyu squinted, “Oh?”
Wonwoo smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth curving just enough to be dangerous. “Nothing. Just... this is gonna be fun.”
Mingyu had a feeling Minghao should be terrified of Wonwoo’s. He said a quick prayer in his head for his best friend.
Jun was next. His fingers hovered over the sticks before finally selecting one and slipping it out. He flipped it in his hand, read it.
Blinked. He didn’t react for a long moment. Just stared at the word.
Mingyu leaned forward, “Junnie? You good?”
Jun looked up slowly, face calm as ever. “How am I even going to…?”
Mingyu burst into laughter, clutching his side, “I love this already.”
Jun just shook his head, setting the stick aside next to his phone. “No wonder he reacted like that. Cause what the actual hell Mingyu.”
Chan was still bouncing in place, already pulling up his Spotify. Wonwoo just continued staring at the documentary on the screen with a slight smug look. Mingyu was ecstatic they easily complied.
Jun rested his chin on his hand and smirked faintly, “You’re really making him the center of another experiment.”
“It's not an experiment,” Mingyu said dreamily, “It’s a reward. A celebration. For lasting this long in the group.”
The thud of a barbell dropping back into the rack echoed through the small private gym. Seungcheol was wiping sweat from his forehead, shirt clinging to his back, when he caught movement in the mirror behind him.
Mingyu.
In joggers and a smirk, holding brown sticks like they were his newborn.
“Go away,” Seungcheol muttered immediately.
Mingyu bounced closer instead, “Hyung~”
“No.”
“Just pick one.”
“No.”
“You’re not getting out of this,” Mingyu said, moving the sticks closer to Seungcheol, “Minghao approved it. So now you have to.”
Seungcheol scoffed, grabbing his water bottle, “Minghao needs rest. Not twelve people testing his limits. He's gonna be a puddle by the end of this.”
Mingyu rolled his eyes, sitting down on the bench beside him, “Hyung, he’s built for this. Mentally and physically. You know he gets bratty if he doesn’t get enough attention.”
“He gets bratty with attention too,” Seungcheol muttered, but his hand was already reaching for the sticks. Mingyu grinned like the devil. Seungcheol pulled a stick.
Read it.
Blinked once.
Then shoved the stick back into Mingyu’s hand, face impassive, “No. Give me a new one.”
“Hyung,” Mingyu drawled, “It said in the message theres no givesies backsies.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“You have to. It’s the rules!”
“I don’t care about your stupid sex game rules,” Seungcheol snapped, “I am not doing this .”
Mingyu narrowed his eyes, already suspicious, “What did you get?”
“No.”
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“C’mon.”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexed. His ears were definitely red now. He sighed through his nose, clearly regretting everything, and turned the stick around just enough for Mingyu to read it. Mingyu was the creator of it, who cares if he got a little peek at someone else's stick.
Mingyu stared.
Then burst into laughter so loud it echoed off the gym walls.
“Oh my God. Seungcheol. Holy shit. I kinda thought about you when I was writing this. This is gonna be so good.”
Seungcheol yanked the stick back, cramming it into his pocket like it might vanish. “You are a sick man, Mingyu. Don’t say you were thinking about me while you were writing— this ! He’ll never let me live this down.”
“That’s the point !” Mingyu wheezed, wiping a tear, “You’re gonna be the MVP of this whole thing.”
“I hate you,” Seungcheol said weakly, cheeks already pink (definitely not from working out), already imagining Minghao’s evil little grin when the time came.
“And I love you,” Mingyu beamed, “Happy anniversary, hyung.”
Seungcheol groaned and grabbed a heavier dumbbell, “I’m working out until I forget this ever happened.”
“Good luck. He’s not forgetting anything. And I’m going to ask him about a detailed report afterwards.”
The kitchen smelled good, Seokmin was stir-frying something while belting a song playing in the back like it was breathing. Soonyoung was hunched over his phone on the counter, watching fan edits with dramatic gasps and commentary, and Jihoon sat at the table, acting like he wasn’t enjoying watching Soonyoung’s reactions of it all.
Enter Mingyu.
“Absolutely not,” Jihoon said before Mingyu even opened his mouth.
“Oh my god, he’s holding the sex sticks,” Soonyoung cackled, “This is it. It’s my time.”
“You’re all insufferable,” Jihoon muttered, not moving.
“I come bearing filth and friendship,” Mingyu announced, setting the sticks right in the center of the table, “Come on, before Minghao comes home.”
Jihoon didn't budge. Seokmin stirred his pan once, then reached back and picked a stick with his other hand like he was pulling a lucky fortune cookie. He read it silently. His eyes lit up.
He turned slowly and grinned over his shoulder at Mingyu, a little too calm. “This ones crazy dude.”
Soonyoung swiftly grabbed a middle stick, “I hope you wrote good ones ‘gyu.”
He flipped his stick and let out a sharp wheeze, slapping a hand over his mouth, “Oh my god . Wait. Are you serious.”
Jihoon finally looked up, irritated, “What the hell are on these things?”
Mingyu just grinned, “Go on. Pick your destiny.”
“Destiny,” Jihoon scoffed, yanking one out and flicking his eyes over it.
His expression didn’t change. But Mingyu could only hold in his laughter as he saw his ears slowly turn red. Soonyoung couldn’t help but flicker his eyes over to Jihoon’s stick, “Kim Mingyu! How do you even come up with these things?”
“What can I say, I’m the group’s mastermind of it all.”
Jihoon shoved the stick into his pocket. “No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are,” Mingyu said, smug. “No takebacks. Sacred contract.”
“Sacred my ass,” Jihoon muttered, already standing like he was going to walk this off, “You’re lucky Minghao agreed to this in the first place.”
Seokmin was still smiling, leaning against the stove like he’d just been given a secret mission, “I need to research. Do you think Wonwoo would let me use his camera?”
“No,” Jihoon snapped.
“Maybe,” Soonyoung offered.
The dorm was dimly lit air settled with that quiet stillness that came after a long day. Mingyu found Seungkwan and Vernon in the living room—Vernon lying on the bean bag, Seungkwan curled on the couch with a face mask half dried and a vitamin c shot on his lap, both scrolling mindlessly on their phones.
They were halfway through a movie neither of them was paying attention to when Mingyu stepped in and lifted the last two sticks like he was unveiling treasure.
“Final two.”
Seungkwan raised a brow, “Is this that kinky little lottery you’ve been running all week?”
Vernon shifted just slightly, “Minghao anniversary thing?”
“Exactly,” Mingyu said, setting the sticks down on the coffee table with a soft clink , “Only two sticks left. One for each of you. Fate decides.”
Seungkwan looked deeply unamused, “So I get assigned a kink? I don't even get a choice? Like I’m on a perverted mission?”
“Yes,” Mingyu said without missing a beat, “It’s romantic.”
Vernon hummed under his breath, gaze drifting to the table.
Mingyu nodded toward it, “Only you two left.”
Seungkwan sighed dramatically, slapped his thighs once like it pained him to move, and then reached forward. He drew one, and flipped one over.
“What is this even?”
Mingyu doubled over laughing, “What is it?”
“I’m not telling you , you menace,” Seungkwan snapped, “Does Minghao even like this? I don’t even know what this is!”
“He doesn’t know yet,” Mingyu said, fighting off the urge to peek over at the stick, “That’s the point.”
Vernon reached in next, more curious than anything. He picked up the last stick quietly and read it in the low light, no reaction on his face.
“...Huh.”
Mingyu narrowed his eyes, “Huh?”
“I think he’s going to like it,” Vernon said coolly, slipping the stick into his shirt pocket, “He might pretend he doesn’t.”
Seungkwan was still glaring, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”
“I really am,” Mingyu beamed, “Twelve members. Twelve kinks. One beautifully destroyed Minghao.”
Vernon hummed again, settling back into the bean bag, “When do we start?”
Mingyu thought about it for a second. There was an order somewhere, the others had made a group chat (after Mingyu told them no sharing) but after they assured it was just for coordination, he agreed. “Soon. Chan’s up first.”
Seungkwan groaned, “Oh god. He’s gonna wear the poor boy out before any of us get a turn.”
“That’s the idea.”
Mingyu slipped into his room and shut the door behind him. He didn’t turn the light on. He just crossed to his desk, opened the drawer he always kept locked, and pulled it out.
The stick.
The one he didn’t pull from the jar like the others. The one he wrote before anyone arrived— before he had even pitched the challenge to Minghao. Before he saw the reactions, the teasing, the laughter.
This one never went in the jar.
Mingyu had scoured the list of kinks he wrote, considered them all, weighed the chaos and filth and playfulness of it all, and still, this one stuck in his head.
He fiddled with it now, thumb running over the ink like the words might smudge. He hadn’t shown anyone. No one had asked. They were too distracted by their own choices. Maybe they assumed he’d draw last.
He was glad they didn’t question it.
Because his was not for a reaction. His was something else entirely. The words felt heavier than they had when he’d first written them.
It was supposed to be indulgent. Something filthy and soft and possessive. It was the one thing he always thought about when he let himself fall too deep with Minghao, when the sex got too heavy, close to emotion. When their teasing blurred, and the possessiveness didn’t feel like play anymore.
And now, he’d written it on a stick.
And claimed it for himself. Cheated, if you would. But Mingyu said to himself it wasn’t cheating if he was the original founder of the idea in the first place.
Mingyu leaned back against his bedpost, staring at the ceiling, still holding the damn thing.
He was waiting.
And maybe, hoping just a little too much.