Private not secret
Fandom: NetJJ, Boyslove, Net Siraphop Manithikhun, JJ Radchapon Phornpinit
Created: 9/24/2026
Tags
Fifty Thousand Votes for Mutual Annoyance
[CLIP: GMMTV & DMD Press Gala – December 2023]
Length: 0:14
Views: 1.4M
@netjj_daily: “Net literally adjusted JJ’s collar on the carpet just so he could flick JJ’s ear, and JJ looked like he was plotting a homicide right there in a tailored Saint Laurent suit 😭💀”
↳ @solarsoul: “The way JJ swatted his hand away with the rolled-up cue card SKDKSK.”
↳ @phornpinit_files: “JJ’s jaw clenched so hard the mic caught the audio.”
↳ @matchalover99: “Episode 412 of Net Siraphop testing Radchapon’s blood pressure for sport.”
↳ @boba_tea_ph: “Ang kulit nilang dalawa talaga 😭 friends lang kayo? Sure. Sabi niyo eh.”
[X (Twitter) Trending Worldwide – June 2024]
- #DMDStayHouseS3
- #NetSiraphop
- #WhoIsTheWildcard
- JJ Radchapon
@DomundiTV (Official):
“DMD STAY HOUSE returns for Season 3! Ten days. One isolated villa in Kanchanaburi. Daily live broadcasts from 7:00 AM to 11:00 PM, recorded challenges, and unfiltered moments.
Meet your official resident lineup: Net, Tommy, Tutor, Yim, NuNew, Zee, James, Max, and Nat.
Wait… did you count nine?
That’s because the 10th spot belongs to YOU.
Submit your write-in vote below. Anyone from the industry. Anyone you want to see locked in a house with our boys for ten days. Voting closes Friday at midnight.”
@troll_net_club:
“Y’all know what we have to do.”
@jjswife_real:
“If we don’t vote JJ Radchapon into that house, we fail as a society. Net Siraphop needs to be humbled for ten straight days on a 16-hour daily livestream.”
@bl_enthusiast:
“Wait but JJ is a screenwriter/author, does he even do reality TV?? He hates cameras lmao.”
@troll_net_club:
“Which is EXACTLY why we must force him in. Drop the link, spam the forms.”
The glare of Net’s phone screen illuminated the kitchen island, casting a faint blue halo across a bowl of freshly peeled persimmons.
JJ reached around him from behind, plucking a fruit slice without looking up from his iPad. He chewed thoughtfully, one hand resting habitually against the small of Net’s back, fingers curling lightly into the hem of Net’s oversized sleep shirt.
"Stop scrolling," JJ murmured, eyes skimming a script treatment for an upcoming thriller miniseries. "Your screen time is disgusting."
"I am conducting vital sociological research," Net replied smoothly. He didn't move away; in fact, he leaned back into JJ's chest, comfortably sinking his weight against his partner of five years. "The public is organizing a coup, baby."
JJ gave a dry huff of laughter, his thumb casually rubbing an idle circle against Net’s hip through the cotton fabric.
"What did you do this time? Did you tell an interviewer that I cried during the Paddington 2 premiere again?"
"No, that was three months ago, and you did cry," Net said, turning his head just enough to plant a swift, unceremonious kiss to the underside of JJ’s jaw. "They’re voting on the tenth houseguest for Stay House."
JJ froze. The slice of persimmon paused halfway to his mouth.
"And?" JJ asked slowly, narrowing his eyes.
Net flipped the phone around, shoving the trending page into JJ's face.
The screen displayed a screenshot of an unofficial tally generated by a fan forum. JJ’s name occupied the top slot by a terrifying thirty-four thousand votes. Second place was an actual pop idol, trailing behind by an embarrassing margin.
JJ stared at the numbers.
"Are they insane?" JJ muttered, appalled. "I am a writer. I sit in dark rooms and complain about plot holes. I do not do reality shows."
"They don’t want you because you’re a reality star," Net said with an insufferable grin, turning in JJ's embrace until he was facing him, his hands sliding naturally around JJ’s waist. "They want you because they think we despise each other. They think throwing you into a villa with me will produce prime-time psychological warfare."
JJ looked at Net’s smug, impeccably handsome face—the very face that millions of people swooned over daily, and the exact face JJ had woken up next to for half a decade.
"I do despise you," JJ deadpanned, though his hands stayed firmly on Net’s waist. "Especially when you make that expression."
"You love me," Net corrected easily, bumping his forehead against JJ’s. "You made me soup yesterday when my throat was sore."
"I made soup because you sounded like a dying frog and I couldn't concentrate on my dialogue draft."
"You made chicken broth from scratch, JJ."
"It was an act of personal survival."
Net laughed, low and warm against JJ’s lips, before leaning in to brush a soft, lingering kiss across his mouth. There were no cameras here, no microphones, no PR managers waving frantic hands from the sidelines. Just the hum of the refrigerator, the lingering scent of fabric softener, and the effortless, bone-deep certainty of five years shared under one roof.
JJ kissed him back without hesitation, deepening it for a sweet, quiet second before pulling away with a sharp sigh.
"I’m declining," JJ said firmly, grabbing his iPad again. "When P'Aof calls, I’m saying no."
Net only smiled, eyes gleaming with sheer amusement. "Good luck with that."
[X (Twitter) – Friday, 11:59 PM]
@DomundiTV (Official):
“The votes are tallied. Over 180,000 unique submissions were recorded.
We didn’t expect this. Our producers didn’t expect this.
He didn’t expect this either.
Welcome our 10th resident for DMD STAY HOUSE S3:
Author & Screenwriter, JJ Radchapon.”
@net_siraphop:
“Who did this. Reveal yourselves.”
↳ @jj_radchapon: “I am bringing a notebook specifically to document your flaws.”
↳ @net_siraphop: “You already have three notebooks full of them in your drawer, do you really need a fourth?”
↳ @jj_radchapon: “Don’t test me on main.”
↳ @tutor_koraphat: “Here we go again 🍿”
↳ @yimkeyy: “P'JJ please don’t kill P'Net before day 3, we have team games scheduled.”
@thaienthu_99:
“WAIT DID NET JUST ADMIT JJ KEEPS NOTEBOOKS ABOUT HIM??? HELP????”
↳ @dmd_detective: “He probably meant JJ writes character studies or something, but the way JJ told him not to test him on main is sending me to the astral plane 😭”
↳ @bb_gulf: “They have such violent best friends energy I can’t breathe.”
↳ @marryme_jj: “JJ looks like he wants to bite Net every time they’re in the same 5-mile radius. This season is going to be unhinged.”
The morning of the departure, the production van pulled up to Net’s condo building at 6:00 AM.
Because the public believed they lived entirely separate lives—Net in his sleek high-rise, JJ in his supposed quiet suburban house—they had been forced to pull off an absurd logistical maneuver at dawn. JJ had slipped out of their shared master bedroom at 4:30 AM, taken a twenty-minute cab ride to his parents' house on the pretext of "collecting old bags," and let the Domundi crew pick him up from there.
When the massive wooden doors of the Kanchanaburi villa swung open later that afternoon, the cameras were already rolling.
The setup was simple: an open-plan living room surrounded by full-length glass windows, an enormous kitchen island, and a dormitory-style sleeping arrangement upstairs with two communal bedrooms.
Net was already lounging on the sectional sofa, looking infuriatingly rested in a cream knit cardigan and vintage denim. He held an iced americano, chatting lazily with Tommy and Nat.
The door clicked open.
JJ walked in, hauling a minimalist matte-black suitcase, wearing a dark olive button-down and thin wire-rimmed glasses that immediately made the live chat spike by thirty thousand comments.
Net’s head snapped up.
For a fraction of a second, his gaze softened into something tender, instinctive, and utterly possessive. Then, before the high-definition lenses perched on the walls could catch the slip, the habitual smirk curled over Net’s mouth.
"Look what the democratic process dragged in," Net announced to the room.
JJ didn't miss a beat. He dropped his suitcase handle with a loud clack.
"I was having a perfectly peaceful Thursday until fifty thousand unemployed people decided my suffering was entertainment," JJ said, his voice dry as sandpaper.
The room erupted into laughter. Tommy came over immediately to give JJ a welcoming hug, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Glad you made it, JJ," Tommy laughed. "We were worried you’d boycott."
"I tried," JJ said, adjusting his glasses and deliberately avoiding Net’s eyes. "My manager looked me in the eye and said, 'It’s good publicity for your new novel, Radchapon, go suffer for ten days.' So here I am."
"You look thrilled," Net chimed in from the couch, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Almost as thrilled as when you got dragged to the gym last month."
JJ’s sharp gaze snapped toward him. "Keep talking, Siraphop. There are nine other people in this house, which means I can legally vote to kick you out of the master suite."
"There is no voting out," Net pointed out, leaning back and propping his feet onto the coffee table with practiced nonchalance. "We share everything here. Including breathing space."
"Then I’m sleeping outside."
"The bugs will eat you alive," Net said softly, a genuine teasing lilt slipping through his polished cadence. "You get swollen from a single mosquito bite. Remember the shoot in Chiang Mai?"
The chat, streaming live on the DMD portal, began scrolling at dizzying speed.
[LIVE CHAT RECORDING]
user4401: “Why does Net know JJ’s mosquito allergy off the top of his head??”
k-pop_stan88: “CHIANG MAI??? Did they travel together???”
fanfan_th: “JJ worked as script consultant for Net’s drama last year, guys, they were on the same set for months lol.”
beef_collector: “The way JJ’s ears turn pink when Net starts teasing him is crazyyy 😭 JJ is so easily baited.”
p_jj_protection_squad: “NET LEAVE HIM ALONE HE JUST ARRIVED LMFAO.”
JJ’s jaw tightened. "I have bug spray."
"The lavender one?" Net asked, tilting his head with an innocent blink. "The one you left on the—"
Net abruptly caught himself.
The sentence hung in the air for a terrifying half-second. On the bathroom counter at home.
JJ shot him a look so laced with suppressed panic and lethal intent that Net cleared his throat, gracefully pivoting with the agility of a trained actor.
"—on the production bus last year," Net finished smoothly, taking a slow sip of his iced coffee. "You always leave things behind."
JJ let out an exhale through his teeth, picking up his suitcase.
"I am going upstairs," JJ announced loudly to the ceiling, "to choose a bed as far away from that corner of the sofa as architecturally possible."
"Room assignments are random, P'JJ!" Nat called out cheerfully, bouncing on his heels. "P'Aof put colored sticks in a jar!"
JJ froze on the bottom step of the staircase, slowly turning his head back around.
"Colored sticks?" JJ echoed.
Net stood up, dusting off his jeans. He walked over to the wooden dining table where a ceramic jar rested, his eyes glinting with pure, unadulterated mischief.
"Red sticks get Bedroom A. Blue sticks get Bedroom B," Net said, reaching in and pulling out a wooden rod with a scarlet-painted tip. He twirled it between his long fingers, looking directly at JJ. "I drew first. Red."
JJ stared at the remaining sticks in the jar.
"If I pull red," JJ said through gritted teeth, "I am sleeping in the bathtub."
"Come on, JJ," Net coaxed, his voice dropping into that low, melodic tone he only ever used when he wanted to get under JJ’s skin—or when he was whispering into the nape of JJ’s neck at three in the morning. "Don’t be scared. It’s just fate."
JJ marched over, his shoulders stiff with theatrical annoyance. He plunged his hand into the jar, selected a stick with aggressive certainty, and yanked it free.
The tip was painted a vibrant, unapologetic red.
Silence fell over the living room for two heartbeats before Tommy and Yim burst into howling laughter.
"No," JJ said flatly, staring at the stick.
"Yes," Net beamed, his smile wide, dazzling, and completely genuine.
"I am requesting a recount."
"It’s wood and paint, Radchapon, there are no recounts," Net said, stepping into JJ's personal space until there were barely two inches between their chests.
To the eight cameras tracking their movement, it looked like an assertive, comedic standoff between two longtime industry rivals who knew how to put on a show. The tension was palpable, electric, and endlessly entertaining.
Only JJ could feel the subtle brush of Net’s shoe against his own, the secret, familiar pressure of Net’s instep hooking lightly behind his ankle—an intimate habit formed over years of standing in grocery lines and crowded elevators together.
"You're an idiot," JJ whispered, his voice too quiet for the overhead shotgun mics to catch clearly.
"And you're stuck with me for ten days," Net murmured back, his eyes dancing with dark amusement. "Live on air. Try not to miss me when the cameras turn off."
JJ rolled his eyes with all the venom he could muster for the audience, shoving Net's shoulder lightly as he pushed past him toward the stairs.
"Don't snore," JJ snapped loudly for the benefit of the room. "Or I'm smothering you with a pillow on day one."
Behind him, Net watched him ascend the stairs, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking like a man who had just won the lottery and had no intention of keeping the prize a secret for long.