#jun x reader

THE HOUSE RULES: 1. The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to - SEUNGCHEOL 2. If she falls asleep on you, carry her to bed. No exceptions - MINGYU 3. Nobody leaves for long amounts of time without scenting her goodbye - JEONGHAN 4. Her nest is neutral territory. Arguments end at the door - JOSHUA 5. If the omega asks anything during heat, the answer is always yes - THE PACK 6. No one is allowed to make her cry and leave the room afterward - WONWOO 7. If she steals your clothes, they belong to her now - MINGYU 8. The omega is not permitted to carry heavy things while alphas are present - MINGHAO 9. Whoever wakes her up is responsible for dealing with the consequences - VERNON 10. Use the omega as you please, but respect is mandatory - THE PACK 11. The omega is not allowed to beg and then act surprised when someone gives in - SEUNGKWAN 12. If she wanders into an alpha’s room after midnight, she knows exactly what she’s doing - SEOKMIN 13. The omega is not allowed to start things in shared spaces and then complain about being watched - JUNHUI 14. If she’s whining, someone should probably handle it - CHAN 15. The omega is not allowed to say “I’m fine” without at least one person investigating immediately - JIHOON 16. Arguments about whose turn it is to use her next must be resolved by rock paper scissors - SOONYOUNG

MEET THE ALPHAS: Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Junhui, Soonyoung, Seokmin, Minghao MEET THE BETAS: Joshua, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, Chan

Seungcheol asks this while hugging you from behind, his palms sliding under your round stomach, and automatically picking up the extra weight without a second thought.

Your dull ache minimizes, and so do your negative feelings, your body naturally relaxing into your husband's. "It'd be better if you order dessert to our house in the next twenty minutes."

Your husband laughs, his kiss sweet against your shoulder as he nods his head in agreement.

Whatever you want, he's happy to provide, but he's going to hold you the whole time.

JEONGHAN - Jeonghan is staring at you, but that's pretty normal.

He always seemed to stare at you even back when you two were just dating, but now that you're pregnant with his kid?

"You could take a picture, y'know?" You teased. You had just stepped out of the shower, still naked, as you met Jeonghan's eyes through the mirror.

He was looking at you with soft eyes, a little smile playing on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe that led to your shared bedroom.

"And who said I haven't?" Jeonghan mused, earning an affectionate eyeroll from you. You felt normal, just bigger, rounder - especially in the stomach and breasts, but that was a given. Your body was changing, growing, and it made sense why your husband would stare lovingly.

He always told you that you were glowing, but you're pretty sure it's just him developing dad-brain. So, you shake your head, continuing your after-shower routine as your husband watched.

But it wasn't long before his self-control waned and he came up closer, grabbing your full hips as you combed your hair. His hands rubbed, massaging your hips, your waist, up to your breasts - giving them a squeeze. "So pretty," he praised, and your cheeks flushed as he dipped lower towards your round stomach.

When he lifted your belly softly, his arms flexed, holding the weight you carried daily now as his kid grew and his eyes softened even more.

"I love you."

JOSHUA - Ever since you got pregnant, you couldn't get your husband's hands off of you. He had become glued to you like your own personal bodyguard who had to have his hand on you somewhere, anywhere, at all times.

You wanted to go grocery shopping? Joshua had his large hand on your lower back, slowing his steps to your adorable waddle as you insisted on pushing the cart yourself.

You were washing dishes after a lovely dinner for the two of you? He's drying the clean dishes right next to you, his biceps brushing your shoulder every few seconds like your personal bubble was his.

He'd always accompany each touch with a compliment, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you. It had seemed your pregnancy had only made him more smitten as time went on, and you were definitely not complaining. Especially when he'd twirl you around in his arms, his hands coming down to your stomach to caress as he pointed his next compliments to his child with soft eyes.

He'd tease your kid that they needed to be nice to you while you carried them, and like your kid could hear their dad, you felt your baby stretch into your ribs. "Oh, already doing the complete opposite, they must be yours." You teased, and Joshua rolled his eyes with a happy grin.

"More like they're like their mama, stubborn." He bantered, and his hands lowered, lifting your growing stomach with ease. His forearms flexed, and the weight on your hips eased, letting you melt back into your husband's chest with a happy noise.

"If I recall correctly, I'm pretty sure you told me you liked my stubbornness." You mused, and Joshua's little scoff of laughter tickled your neck before he gave the curve of your ear a soft peck.

"Yeah, and I will be lucky if my kid inherits anything of yours. Whether it's stubbornness or just your love, I'll love you both with all my heart."

JUN - Jun's love language had always been acts of service.

It didn't matter if he came home from a long, exhausting day at work; the moment he saw you, he'd drag you onto the couch with him, your feet pulled onto his lap, and ask you to tell him about your day as he started to massage the curve in your foot.

That was just who your husband was. Caring to a default, and he'd become even more doting when you two had found out you were pregnant.

Suddenly, it went from foot massages to him insisting he could take care of the chores. He'd already taken out the trash, you had deemed that a "boy job", and as you moved into your third trimester, he had become more stubborn in taking on your chores too.

It was like you were some delicate flower when you only felt like an elephant with how much your body changed as your baby grew, and Jun was nothing but loving every step of the way.

He never complained when you stole his pillow to use under your back when you two slept; he never said anything when you woke him up at three am, craving something that brought you out of your sleep and close to tears until he gave you a soft kiss, letting you know he'd get it for you, no matter what time it was and how much sleep he had.

He'd do anything for you, so when he notices that you hold your stomach every now and then, a little discomfort displaying on your face, he turns to the internet to figure out what's going on.

He finds his answer in the first link he's shown, and his eyes soften as he realizes just how much you had to deal with, even when he tried to make everything easier for you.

So, he does his best to help more.

It becomes routine for him to seek you out whenever you two are home, or even when you two are out and about - he'd simply bring you close, kissing your shoulder briefly before he picked up the extra weight in your stomach with his two hands.

It never failed to make him grin as you melted in his arms, sighing in relief as he held you, and he would stay like that for as long as you'd let him before you two continued with whatever you had been doing prior, but not before you gave him another kiss as a thank you.

HOSHI - "Just five more minutes," you sighed. Your eyes were closed as you spoke the words, your body tilting more into Hoshi's as you held onto his forearms. You could feel the veins that ran down to his wrists, and the way his forearms flexed along with his biceps as he held you close.

You could probably fall asleep just like this, standing up, with Hoshi holding your stomach. It's a relief you didn't know you needed during your pregnancy until your husband was telling you he wanted to try something out.

Supposedly, one of his friends mentioned this trend for pregnant women, and Hoshi all but perked up like a dog hearing their favorite words.

If there was anything, anything at all, to help you during your pregnancy, he was going to do it. He'd scoured the internet for tips for new parents, he read baby books in between work, and when he was home, he cornered you like you were going to run from him as he gave you a look that made you raise your eyebrows sceptically.

But as soon as his strong arms wrapped around you, holding your stomach, and letting the dull ache from your lower back disappear? You were putty in his hands.

"We could do more than five minutes, my love," Hoshi said softly, right by your ear, and a shiver ran up your spine as you felt his fingers flex, squeezing you affectionately. "I can do this all night, I mean- you've been doing this every day for the last six months. Let me take over for you."

WONWOO - When you approach your husband, Wonwoo's entire attention reverts to you. His eyes soften, taking in your lovely smile, the glow that he liked to claim was there way before you ever got pregnant, and then finally to your growing stomach.

His heart skips a beat, fluttering in his chest with a warmth that leaves him lost for words, before his eyes flicker back up to yours. "Hello, my love," He hums, and you get a kiss before you can greet him back. "What can I do for you?"

Ever since you got pregnant, Wonwoo had been adamant about providing for your needs even more than he already did. He was the one to go out at any time of the day for whatever your pregnancy craved. He was the one to bring your legs up to his lap, massaging your muscles until you were putty in his hands. He was the one he wanted you to turn to for anything, regardless of whether you were pregnant or not.

So, when you ask him to hold you with flushed cheeks, he can't help but smirk at such an easy request.

"Of course, my love." But before he gets the chance to reach for you, you're shaking your head, a giggle escaping as you move his hands lower.

"No, hold me here, my love."

And then it clicked, and his smile grew as he stepped closer to you.

"Oh?" He hummed, and his hands caressed your growing stomach with soft rubs, lowering until he could lift the extra weight with ease, and the relief was immediate for you. Your lips parted with a cute little "oh!" and your gasp came out before you could stop it.

His large hands barely had to flex to hold your stomach, and he watched with an amused grin as your shoulders sagged in happiness, your hands resting on his chest as you shuffled closer to your husband.

"Just for a few minutes, please." You were so cute asking him with wide blinks, and he couldn't help but lean down, kissing you with a slow kiss that had you melting even further into him.

"Anything for you, my love. I can do this all day."

WOOZI - Woozi was hovering. He was always hovering around you ever since the two of you found out you were expecting. It was like he was in fight or flight mode, trying to be there for you as a partner, but not sure how he could help you the best.

He seemed to have a permanent furrowed brow, his lips set in determination for something you weren’t entirely sure of. It was like he waiting for something, anything, with a tense body that actually distracted you from the way the baby inside your stomach was stretching its little limbs against your rib cage.

Motherhood, how magical.

Seven months along, and you felt like a whale. Your breasts were fuller, your stomach was rounder, your hips ached with your lower back - and there was your husband, hovering like you might let out a warrior cry before running away to leave him dazed and confused. It made you snort, rolling your eyes affectionately as you folded the clean laundry.

“If you’re going to be a helpful baby daddy, at least make yourself useful.” You teased, and your lover blinked, staring at you, dumbfounded for a moment.

“Huh?”

“Come here, make your hands useful for me.” You nodded your head in one direction, beckoning him closer as you folded a towel. You figured he’d either help you fold or help you put away the folded laundry. What you didn’t expect was for him to stand behind you and easily lift your stomach, instantly relieving you of the weight you carried every day now. “Oh!”

“Does this help? I saw it somewhere.”

Your head tilted back, your body naturally leaning back towards him. “Oh my god, never let me go.”

“Never dreamt of it.”

MINGHAO - You were grumpy, and you honestly didn't even mean to be. It was just everything.

You felt bloated, a little hot, a little overstimulated, a little tired, and a lot hungry. Pregnancy had been smooth sailing until you reached your third trimester, but after that, you felt a little crazy. You were ready to get a full night's sleep without a mountain of pillows to assist. Or better yet, if you didn't have to waddle everywhere. You felt like a penguin about to go exploring just to make it to your kitchen.

And you had decided no one could ever complain about back pain other than you. Your child was something you truly felt was testing your body as its own personal martial arts studio, or gymnasium, and you were ready for it all to be done.

The little app you had for your pregnancy said it was the size of a large cantaloupe, and you could feel it. Your hips and lower back ached, and that was just from standing still. So, yeah, you were grumpy, and your husband seemed to be getting the brunt of your sassiness as he greeted you with a smile.

"How are my beautiful loves?" He hummed, stepping into the kitchen to get closer to you.

Normally, you'd match his grin, give him a kiss, but all you could do was pout, stopping him in his tracks as you gave him a pointed look. "Don't even play with me right now."

Your husband was lucky you had missed the way he bit his lip to hold in his laugh, or you'd surely explode in your feelings.

Pregnancy, in his eyes, had made you even cuter than before, but he might be biased since it was his kid you were carrying. "Tell me what you need, let me take care of you." Hao mused, and you couldn't help but melt a little at his words, even if your pout remained the same.

"If you could carry your kid the rest of the way, I'd appreciate it." You didn't mean to be sarcastic, but your emotions had been a whirlwind since you woke up, and it came out before you could stop it.

Luckily for you, Minghao was your husband, and his smile only grew fonder as he moved closer. He took your words literally, and his hands wrapped under your stomach, easily lifting it, and relieving your little aches as he gave a little laugh. "Always. You just need to ask, my love, and I'll do anything for you."

Only your husband could turn your mood around in less than three minutes.

MINGYU - It has become somewhat of a routine between you and Mingyu when it was time for you to get up from wherever you may have been sitting previously.

Whether you were relaxing on the couch in the living room or simply getting out of the car, it had become increasingly more difficult now that you were pregnant. You felt bloated more towards your third trimester, and it took a lot of energy to move if you didn't get some kind of assistance.

It wasn't that you were unable to do things on your own; it was more that your face would pinch into a little wince whenever you did. The weight of your kid pressing into your ribs or back is enough to make you suck in a sharp breath and for your husband to almost insist you spend the rest of your pregnancy bedridden.

Which, if anyone knew you, that would be ridiculous - so you came up with a compromise.

Your husband, Mingyu, would become your anchor. He was always hovering around you anyway, mumbling about "need to protect both my loves." So, it became instinctive to reach for your husband's hand when getting around.

You still waddled and still insisted you could do it yourself, but nevertheless, your hand would go to his, and you were rewarded with kisses to your temple once you were standing on your own two feet.

"I know you can, but let me take care of you anyway," Mingyu murmured, and before you could rebut, his warm hands slid around your waist and underneath your stomach, lifting the weight from your hips and giving you further relief.

All sass left your body as you sighed, relaxing into your man's strong arms with a dreamy smile that matched his. "Fine, but don't let me go then."

"I wasn't planning to."

DK - Computer? How do I get my very pregnant wife out of the bathtub? She won't leave.

DK was kneeling on the right side of the bathtub, eyebrows furrowed with slight worry as he watched you. You had been in this tub of water for an hour, and you were pruning. "C'mon, Baby, get out, and I'll dry you off. Any longer, our baby is going to turn into a mermaid."

This made you snort, your lips curving up as your eyes flickered to the swell of your stomach poking out of the water. You were eight months pregnant and bath time was the only time the small ache of carrying his kid was relieved off your back and hips.

You waddled, you slept with eight pillows, and you were tired. You honestly weren't sure if you could lift yourself up, which made another round of sleepy giggles erupt from you as you stared at your husband with love. "Baby, I might just sleep here."

You watched with amusement as Seokmin brought his phone out, typing into the little screen with another furrow of his eyebrows, and you snorted at his search.

"Help me?" You asked with a grin, and Dokyeom was already snaking his hands around your hips, using a firm but gentle touch to help you. He didn't care if his clothes got wet; he was always happy to be your anchor as you leaned on him.

When you stood up, his hands naturally caressed your tummy, still in awe at how strong you were to carry his kid. And when he lifted your tummy a little, carrying the extra weight, your lips parted.

"Oh!" Dokyeom found a new favorite pastime for you, other than bath time, and he was perfectly happy with it - he wanted the extra practice before he carried his kid everywhere anyway.

SEUNGKWAN - It was no surprise that the moment your husband came home and saw you, he'd launch into a rant about his day like he'd been dying to since the moment he had to leave your side. You and he were truly best friends and lovers all wrapped up in one. You were the first person he wanted to tell anything to, and you felt the same.

It was a routine at this point that if one of you came home, you'd drag the other onto the sofa, giving a play-by-play of the day with the utmost seriousness. You got the gossip, the missed funny moments, everything - and when you became pregnant? Well, now it was a party of three.

But instead of your husband leading you to the couch like normal, he'd simply drop everything as soon as he crossed through the door and dropped to his knees before you. It had progressed to you barely getting a kiss in greeting before your baby, who snuggled into your ribs with a little annoyance for your comfort.

Seungkwan would simply kiss your growing stomach, his eyes sparkling as he flickered from your tummy to you, then back to your fuller stomach. "Have you been being nice to your mom while I was away?" He would hum, and your eyes rolled affectionately as you fought to keep your smile at bay.

"No, your little tangerine actually has been tiresome since you left - I think they know you're gone, they get restless." You teased, and Seungkwan's eyes sparkled brighter, his lips pressing another kiss to your tummy as he shook his head.

"Well, we can't have any of that." His hands move under your stomach, lifting the extra weight and relieving your hips of the little ache you got from carrying his child throughout the day. You sighed happily, and Seungkwan grinned up at you. He was still on his knees, carrying your stomach gently, and his hum was soft as he launched into his day.

He told his growing family all about his workday right in the middle of the entrance way, never once letting go of your stomach as he talked more to your belly than to you.

Eventually, you three would make it to the sofa, but for now, if he could hold you both, he didn't mind the bite in his knees as he kneeled on the wooden floors, his heart full and warmed with love.

VERNON - You don't even realize Vernon is watching you until he's suddenly right behind you.

You're seven months pregnant with his child, and it's beginning to take a toll. Mornings have become more difficult to roll out of bed. You've got at least six pillows tucked into you to try and ease the discomfort your lower back pings to you, but it's still there. It's become this little ache that accompanies you even when you waddle throughout the house.

Yes, waddle. Vernon says you don't waddle, but his opinion is now irrelevant while you carry his kid.

That's why you don't even notice him step behind you as you clean off the table. Dinner was done, and Vernon had insisted you rest while he cleaned up everything, but old habits die hard, and you're a little winded after a few swipes of the table.

"I told you to rest," Vernon murmurs softly and gently, and you're about to retort back before his hands slide around your round stomach, lifting the weight and immediately rendering you speechless.

"Oh!" You're mouth drops, and the back ache is momentarily gone as your husband holds you up.

It makes Vernon grin to see you like this, and he kisses your shoulder as you melt back into his body. "That's it, let me take care of you, Mamas."

DINO - Ever since you got pregnant, your husband has been online more than usual.

It's usually accompanied by a furrowed brow and multiple looks in your direction, but you figured he was trying to learn as much as he could about being a first-time parent. All you cared about were the actual doctor visits and the little app on your phone that told you your baby was the size of a mango today.

The thought was hard to process, but it made you motivated to eat fruit when you saw the message, so you found yourself pacing through your kitchen. You brought out fruit, the cutting board, your favorite knife, which you believed could probably cut through anything, and got to work making two bowls.

And it wasn't because you were eating for two. You rolled your eyes at the silly thought, your lips curving into a grin before you flickered your eyes to your left, where your husband had followed you.

That was the other thing: if your husband wasn't at work, he seemed to be your personal shadow, following you into each room, regardless of whether he had been in the middle of doing something.

You could feel him approach quietly, and you hummed as you put the same fruit equally between the two bowls. "I'm making you one, too."

You can hear him set his phone on the counter, his body coming closer from behind, before you feel his lips brush the back of your neck. "I saw something online-" and just as you go to ask him for more details, his large hands slide under your stomach, lifting the extra weight with ease.

The relief to your lower back is instant, and the knife falls onto the cutting board as you gasp. You can feel yourself melt in relief, leaning more into your husband as Dino grins against your shoulder.

"Does that feel good?"

Your little happy noise you make with an eager nod makes him hold you closer, his smile growing fonder by each second that passes.

대박 - you made it to the end!

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“I didn’t mean what I said,” he blurted. “Not like that. I was…tired. And scared. And then you hung up and…”

“You hung up first,” you said, but there was no venom in it. Just the fact of it.

His mouth twisted. “Right. I did. I panicked. I hate when you’re not here.”

“I turned my location off because I needed a minute,” you said. “Not because I was disappearing.”

He nodded too fast. “I know. I know now. I just…God, I spiralled. I kept thinking you were out there upset, and I put you there and…”

A stagehand waved from the wings, two minutes.

You put your palm flat on his chest. Felt his heart kick. “Cheol.”

He stilled.

“We’re not perfect,” you said. “But I’m here. I came.”

He swallowed. “Can we talk after? Really talk? Not…across a battlefield.”

“Yes,” you said. “After. No phones. No dramatic exits.”

A breath of a laugh broke out of him, surprised and grateful. “Deal.”

Another wave, one minute.

He leaned in, forehead touching yours. “I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter, like the apology belonged right between you and nowhere else.

“I know,” you repeated, and this time you let your hand find his jaw, thumb warm against the edge of his in-ear wire. “I’m mad, and I love you. Both can be true.”

His eyes softened. “I love you. I never doubt that part. I just…sometimes I don’t know how to hold it without squeezing too hard.”

“Then don’t squeeze,” you said. “Just hold.”

He let out a breath. The noise of the crowd swelled, a wave rolling toward shore.

“Go,” you said, giving his chest a gentle push. “Go do what you do. I’ll be right here when you come off.”

2️⃣ Jeonghan:

Ah, yes, petty fights if you’ve ever seen one. Not the door-slamming, plate-shattering kind with this one. Worse. The kind where he goes quiet. He doesn’t raise his voice, he just withdraws, face smooth as glass, and starves you of words until your own start curdling in your throat. And the worst part? He’s not blameless. He knows it. You know it. You’d spent the afternoon chasing him from room to room like a shadow begging its owner to turn around. Five hours ago, you finally gave up, snatched your keys, and walked out before you said something you couldn’t unsay.

Now, backstage, Jeonghan realizes he may have engineered his own undoing.

He’s a man of ritual and superstition. Every show, the same three things, exactly three sips of warm water; shoulder rolls, two forward, four back, and a text from you that reads, without fail, “I love you, you are the best.” Four years of concerts, and not one has started without that message.

Tonight, the cup is there. The shoulders roll. But his phone stays silent.

“Jeonghan, I’m telling you again,” his manager says, palm flat to his chest, stopping him mid-step. “You can’t go off now. You’re on in five.”

“Please,” Jeonghan says, trying to keep his voice even and failing. “I know she’s here. Just two minutes. I need to find her.”

“She’s not,” the manager replies, already glancing at the clock. “I checked the guest list twice. She didn’t check in. Shoes on. Now.”

Jeonghan exhales, the sound short and sharp. He swallows his third sip of water like it’s a dare, shoves his feet into his shoes, and snatches a mic from a staff member with a muttered “Thanks.”

On the lift, lights humming underneath, the arena thundering above like weather, he stares at the metal grate as if it might blink first.

“Stage face.” Joshua says lightly, squeezing the space between Jeonghan’s shoulder blades. “Whatever it is, park it for three hours.”

“I am really not in the mood for motivational speeches, man…,” Jeonghan mutters, not looking up.

The lift rises. The roar swells. The first note hits, and habit takes the wheel. Jeonghan smiles on cue, sings on pitch, moves cleanly through the choreography, but he’s moving through fog. The crowd is a blur of lightsticks and glittered signs. He hits mark after mark like the floor is telling him where to go.

Three songs in, “Rock with You” crackles in his ear, and the left catwalk calls him like it always does. He goes, feet finding the rhythm his heart can’t. He makes himself look, really look, into the crowd, scanning faces and posters and hands.

And there you are.

You’re pressed against the barrier with your best friend clinging to your elbow, hair a little messy like you ran here, eyes bright and stubborn. You’re jumping to be seen, a poster rattling in your grip. The letters are crooked, the marker is too light in places as if the ink gave up halfway through, and the message is ridiculous and perfect: “I love you, you are the best.”

His mouth opens on a silent laugh. His shoulders, rigid for hours, loosen like a knot finally working free. He stops dead on the catwalk, and for a split second, the world funnels down to you and a sign that was clearly made ten minutes ago on a piece of poster board stolen from someone’s convenience store.

Your eyes catch his, and the annoyance you’ve been feeding all evening dies without ceremony. He doesn’t need the text. He’s reading it twelve feet away.

He mouths, slow enough for you to catch it, ‘I love you more.’

3️⃣ Joshua:

Joshua wasn’t the kind of guy who yelled. Even when you were wrong, and he knew you knew it, he didn’t raise his voice. He just… left. Not with his feet. With his eyes. The room would still hold his body, but he’d be gone, somewhere colder, somewhere you couldn’t reach. That was the worst part of fighting with Joshua, the way his quiet could make you feel like the smallest person on the planet. And he knew it.

Two days since the stupid argument, two days of clipped texts and swallowed words, and the scene kept looping in his head as he sat under the bright bulbs of the makeup mirror. The artist dabbed eyeshadow along his lids, he barely blinked.

“With or without?” someone asked behind him.

“Huh?” Joshua snapped back to the room, blinking at his reflection.

“With or without the glasses,” Hoshi said louder, pointing at the sunglasses perched on Joshua’s head like a second thought.

“It’s pitch black outside,” Joshua muttered, twisting in his chair. “Why on earth would I wear sunglasses?”

“Goddamn, you still got your panties in a bunch?” Cheol drawled from the next chair, eyes never leaving his own mirror. He adjusted his in-ear monitors like they’d personally offended him.

“I’m fine,” Joshua said, too quickly.

“Mhm.” Cheol went back to smoothing a flyaway strand, the unimpressed kind of “mhm” that meant he didn’t believe a word.

The room kept moving without Joshua. Stylists darted past with lint rollers and garment bags, a stagehand counted down minutes in a steady, rising voice. Someone laughed too loud by the door. He tried to care about the set list, the timing, the blocking, but his mind kept snagging on the last thing he’d said to you, and the way your face had fallen right before you shut the door.

Forty minutes later, the real countdown started echoing through the hallways. Joshua stood, suddenly all fingers and panic. His shirt, for reasons known only to the shirt, refused to cooperate.

“I swear to God, if this…” He yanked the hem, careful and not careful all at once. The collar snagged his mic wire. “…stupid shirt…”

He wrestled it over his head and felt his carefully shellacked hairstyle protest. A warm hand landed lightly on his bicep.

“Stop,” you said.

He froze. When he lowered the shirt, you were right there. No mascara tracks, no storm left in your eyes, just a soft focus he hadn’t earned yet. You didn’t meet his gaze. You adjusted the mic pack, unfastened the top button with steady fingers, then slid the shirt over his shoulders so it didn’t disturb a single gelled strand.

“There,” you murmured, smoothing the fabric over his chest with a tight-lipped smile “, See you after the show.”

You turned on your heel, already leaving, already taking air with you. Two days of radio silence clawed at Joshua’s throat. He moved before his brain could talk him out of it, slipping into step beside you as staff scrambled around, calling cues and carrying headsets like life preservers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breath catching as someone clipped his transmitter in place.

You didn’t slow. “I’m sorry too.”

“I was dumb.” Hands swept over him, powder here, tape there, and still he kept his eyes on you. “I hate it when I get like that. I know I… leave.”

“You don’t leave,” you said, finally glancing at him. “You vanish while standing right in front of me. It hurts.”

“I know.” He swallowed.

A stage manager hustled by, counting down, “Three minutes! Three!”, and then someone tugged at Joshua’s waistband to hide a wire. He caught your hand before it fell back to your side and held it, quick and secret.

He exhaled, the closest thing to relief he’d felt in forty-eight hours. “I love you,” he whispered, the words almost lost under the thud of bass through the floor.

“I love you too.” You gave him a tiny, conspiratorial wink, as if it were a shared joke that love could be this loud and this delicate at once.

“Final checks!” someone called. A makeup artist floated in with a sponge, reaching for his mouth.

“Wait,” Joshua said, catching the artist’s wrist with a gentle apology in his eyes. He turned back to you, cupped your face like he could anchor himself to something softer than adrenaline, and kissed you. Not a timid hallway peck, something sure and grounding.

He let you go, just far enough. He nodded to the makeup artist. “Okay. Now I’m ready.”

4️⃣ Jun:

“I need to take your phone, Jun.” His manager’s hand was already outstretched, steady and impatient, waiting for him to drop it before stepping onto the stage.

Jun stared at the screen a second longer than he should have. Letting go felt harder than it usually did, harder than it ever had, especially when he still hadn’t heard from you. In a few seconds, he’d be logged off from the world for over four hours, cut off completely, and the silence scared him more than the crowd ever could.

You were usually backstage by now. A quick kiss for luck, a quiet smile just for him, a few painfully unfunny jokes shared with the others. Familiar things. Comforting things. But tonight, you weren’t there. And worse, he didn’t even know when he’d see you next, not with the way the coming weeks were packed.

He knew how this looked. He knew he messed up.

It wasn’t intentional, not really. He’d landed hours earlier than planned and thought, stupidly, that he could surprise you. One good moment carved out of a chaotic schedule. But idol life didn’t leave room for nice plans. What was supposed to be an early return to Seoul for a last-minute podcast recording turned into you discovering, through the internet, of all things, that your boyfriend had lied about when he was coming home.

That was the part that hurt the most. Not the lie itself, but the way you found out. And Jun knew better than anyone how much you hated that.

“I am so screwed,” he muttered as the stage elevator doors slid shut behind them.

“Could’ve been worse,” Minghao replied calmly.

Jun let out a helpless breath and leaned back against the metal rail. “She’s not even gonna talk to me after this,” he said. “It’s so fucking stupid.” His eyes fell shut like that might make it disappear.

“All you’re doing right now is making it worse,” Minghao said, eyes still on the script in his hands. “Your mood isn’t gonna magically fix itself like this. And you’ve still got a whole concert to get through.”

“I know, but it feels like I made her think I don’t care,” Jun said quietly, fingers fidgeting with the mic. “Do you know how much it hurt when I called her after filming and it went straight to voicemail?” His voice wavered despite himself. “Or when I got here and the driver told me she refused the pickup and told them to leave without her?”

For the first time, Minghao glanced up at him. “Apologize later,” he said simply. “Focus now.”

The elevator jolted, began its ascent, and suddenly the arena exploded, screams, light, sound crashing over him all at once. The world demanded everything from him, whether he was ready or not.

Time stretched painfully thin. Each song dragged, each transition felt heavier than the last. It was like the universe knew exactly what he was waiting for and decided to be cruel about it.

When the concert finally ended, Jun had never moved faster in his life.

He grabbed his phone the second he was allowed to, heart pounding as he unlocked it. Part of him expected the notification bar to be empty, just like when he’d left it hours ago. No messages. No calls. Nothing.

The other part of him, stupidly hopeful, prayed for anything.

His breath caught when he saw it.

A video. From you.

It was a short clip of him onstage earlier, lights blazing behind him, a small pink heart added in the corner. His chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. He didn’t think, he just called you immediately.

It rang twice.

“Hello?” Your voice cut through the backstage noise, soft and familiar, and it nearly broke him.

“I’m so sorry,” Jun rushed out. “Y/n, I swear I’m the stupidest person on the planet, I’m so sorry, I can’t even…”

“Hey. Hey,” you interrupted gently, firm in that way you always were. “Breathe. You’re tripping over your own words.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” he said, resting his forehead against the cold, damp wall. “I thought I could surprise you, pick you up after filming. Everything ran over schedule, and I couldn’t get to you. I should’ve told you.”

“It was stupid,” you said quietly.

The silence that followed pressed down on him, heavy and unmistakable.

“I know,” he whispered, fingers tightening around his phone. “I’m really sorry. I wish I’d told you. Thank you for coming. I really wanted to see you.”

“I left early,” you said. He could hear the TV murmuring in the background. “Didn’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

“I really thought you wouldn’t,” he admitted.

There was a pause, then your voice softened.

“Come home, Jun.”

The tension in his chest finally loosened, warmth flooding in like relief he hadn’t dared to expect.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said with a deep, shaky sigh.

5️⃣ Hoshi:

“If it’s so freaking stupid, then why did you even come?” Hoshi’s voice slices through the waiting room, sharp enough to make the air stand still.

You’re sitting on one of those stiff wooden chairs, laptop open on your knees, the click-clack of backstage chaos muted now that the room has gone quiet. Hoshi stands by the door, already half in his sound-check outfit, hand gripping the handle like he’s holding himself back from saying more.

“Babe…” you whisper, pushing yourself up from the chair.

“No. Don’t ‘babe’ me.” His jaw tightens as he pulls the thin door halfway open. “I have a concert to finish. This is my job, Y/N.”

“I know,” you say, softer than intended, but he’s already put three long strides and a wall between you.

“No, you clearly don’t.” He lets out a dry laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing my head in about how annoying it is that you have to sit in ‘stupid random rooms’ while I’m freezing my ass off on stage.”

He doesn’t wait for your reply. He slips out, letting the door close behind him, taking every bit of warmth with him.

You blink, and suddenly the argument feels like it had exploded out of nowhere. Twenty minutes ago you were just venting, complaining about how your degree is eating every spare second and how you’re stuck studying anywhere you can. You weren’t attacking him. You were tired and overwhelmed, and he was the one person you thought you could unload on.

But you hadn’t read the room. You knew he was stressed today, that’s why you’d come early, laptop and textbooks in tow. What you didn’t account for was how sensitive Soonyoung becomes when he’s anxious about a performance. One stray spark, and everything went up in flames.

Three hours pass before you admit he isn’t coming back. Not between rehearsals. Not between sets. Not even just to peek in. So you gather your things and slip out quietly to find a better spot before the concert starts.

Meanwhile, thirty minutes later, Hoshi finally comes back to his senses. He returns expecting you there, hunched over your laptop, hair falling in your face, looking up at him with that soft smile you always give him, even when you’re exhausted.

Instead, he finds an empty room. An empty chair. An empty space where you should be.

His stomach drops straight to the floor.

He realizes, fully and painfully, that he snapped at you for nothing. The epiphany had already hit halfway through sound check, but now the guilt settles in like ice. And if performing a four-hour show is hard while stressed, try doing it with a knot of shame sitting permanently in your throat.

Hoshi scans the crowd at least fifteen times during the concert. He double-checks the VIP box so often the cameras probably think he’s doing a bit. Each time he doesn’t find even the tiniest glimpse of you, another crack forms in his chest.

By the time the final encore ends and he steps off the backstage elevator, he’s running on autopilot. Sweat clings to him, clothes sticking to chilled skin. His heart is hammering, not from the choreography, but from dread.

The moment he pushes through the rolling door into the main hallway, his thoughts are racing at a hundred kilometers per hour, until his eyes land on you.

You’re standing there with his mother, laughing over something on your phone, face lit up with the kind of smile he’d convinced himself he’d ruined for the night.

“Thank God,” he breathes, barely audible, before he breaks into a full jog.

You don’t even have time to look up. Suddenly, you’re wrapped in a tight, sweaty embrace, pulled flush against him as he buries his face on top of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, voice cracking, kissing your hair again and again, quick, frantic, apologetic. “I was so rude. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Babe, we’re okay,” you mumble into his chest, voice muffled by his damp shirt.

“Where were you?” he asks, loosening the hug just enough to see you but not enough to actually let go.

“I was in the box with your parents.” You cup his freezing cheeks with your warm hands. “God, Soonyoung, you’re ice cold.”

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” he says dramatically, lower lip jutting out. “I thought I’d died of a broken heart.”

“Actually,” you start, reaching for your phone, “my resident doctor said that’s…”

“Just shut up, idiot,” he laughs, lifting your chin with one cold hand and kissing you before you can finish.

6️⃣ Wonwoo:

You and Wonwoo had always fought the same way, your temper flaring fast and loud, his patience trying to match your pace, always half a step behind. It usually ended with you going quiet, a self-imposed silence you stretched for as long as you could manage. You knew it was childish. You knew it bordered on unfair. Sometimes it even left you wondering if you asked too much of his patience, if taking up that much emotional space made you difficult to love.

But this time, this time, it really was his fault. And you were allowed to be mad.

It was 7 p.m., halfway through their Seoul concert, and you were seated in the VIP box with family members and a few partners of the other members. The bass thumped through the stadium, the cheers rising and falling like waves, but you barely registered any of it. You stayed rooted to your chair, jaw tight, tongue pressing firmly into the inside of your cheek as if holding everything back physically might keep you from unravelling emotionally.

Two hours earlier, Wonwoo had said it, that he found it a bit pathetic that you still got so nervous. After all these years together, after countless shared meals and backstage hellos with the other girlfriends, you still hovered near him, still needed his presence as an anchor. You knew his words hadn’t come from malice. His intentions were clumsy, not cruel. But stress turned him blunt to the point of carelessness, and you had taken the full impact of that, again.

Across the stadium, Wonwoo stood under blinding lights, smiling wide as he moved in sync with the rest of the members. To anyone watching, he looked carefree, electric, fully in his element. But even as he laughed into the mic, he knew what waited for him once the music stopped. An apology. One he owed you badly.

“Why are you looking like that?” Cheol murmured through a smile, leaning in close enough that the audience wouldn’t notice.

“Not the moment,” Wonwoo muttered back, careful with his lips. He was painfully aware of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of eyes on them.

“Then stop acting like something’s wrong,” Cheol replied, patting his back before dancing off to the other side of the stage like nothing had happened.

By the time they reached their final goodbye, you weren’t in the VIP box anymore. You were backstage now, standing beside his dad and brother, bouquet in hand as tradition dictated. Your chest felt tight, like anticipation and frustration were tangled together somewhere beneath your ribs.

Less than five minutes later, he appeared.

Sweat clung to him, his hair falling messily onto his forehead, glasses slightly fogged from the sudden shift in temperature. He looked exactly like he always did after a show, exhausted, glowing, adrenaline still humming under his skin.

You expected the routine. A hug for his dad. Mingyu bursting in with a loud joke. A long, solid embrace with his brother. And then you, a quick kiss, familiar and grounding.

But he changed direction at the last second.

Before you could even process it, his arms were around your torso, still moving forward, making you stumble back a step or two with him. He looked down at you, eyes soft, almost apologetic, the kind of look you knew too well.

“I was rude,” he said quietly.

You scoffed under your breath. “Oh. So now you’re self-aware?”

“Stress got the best of me,” he replied, calm, steady. No defensiveness this time.

“Not an excuse,” you shot back, arms still hanging stiffly at your sides.

“I know.” His voice softened further. “But you know I love having you around. I call you when I’m at the grocery store, even when you’re literally waiting for me in bed.” He laughed shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Y/N. That was really dumb of me to say.”

He reached up, gently brushing your bangs behind your ear, his touch tentative, as if he was giving you room to pull away.

“I’ll have to think about it,” you said, even as you felt the walls you’d built starting to crumble, piece by piece.

“Come on,” he murmured, dipping his head slightly until his nose brushed yours. “I missed you.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, a lazy smile betraying you as his breath warmed your lips. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Mmm,” was all he answered before his lips finally met yours, slow, apologetic, and familiar. You tasted salt from his sweat, warmth from his skin, and the last traces of the pettiness that had filled the space between you just hours ago, dissolving completely.

7️⃣ Woozi:

Two stubborn people with matching egos and a tendency to misfire in communication are a recipe for unnecessary tension. Anyone who’s seen you and Woozi argue would say the same: it starts small, escalates fast, and somehow lasts way longer than it ever needed to.

Woozi has always been the type who can feel an argument brewing before you even open your mouth, someone who already knows the solution before the problem fully forms. He loves you with a kind of quiet certainty that threads through every part of his life.

But the past two weeks had stretched both of you thin. Him on tour across three time zones, you flying out for a conference, barely catching each other awake. Silence settled where the comfort used to be. And then that Dispatch article, him at dinner with a female co-star, which he had mentioned in passing, but you hadn’t truly heard because you were both exhausted. You blocked him in a moment of pride and irritation, and by the time he tried reaching out, he didn’t have the energy to push harder. Not then. Not while performing, traveling, barely sleeping.

Now it was the night of their encore show in Seoul. He knew you’d flown home last night, he saw the ring camera notification light up, and it gnawed at him that you still hadn’t unblocked him. He’d tried twice today to stop by your apartment, but both times, you weren’t home. The not knowing was eating him alive.

“If it makes you feel better…” Dino says around a mouthful of egg sandwich, “my girlfriend tried calling her too. Went straight to voicemail.”

“Yeah, she turned her phone off,” Woozi mutters, exhaling hard as he scrolls through Instagram without really seeing anything.

“I think this is the longest I’ve seen you two go without talking,” Joshua adds, sliding behind him and squeezing his shoulders in sympathy.

“Petty ass fight,” Woozi mumbles, eyes glued to his screen as if he stared long enough, you’d appear.

“Petty ass fight?”

Your voice cuts clean through the room. The whole group freezes, and Jihoon’s head snaps around so fast it looks painful.

There you stand, cold from the outside, warmer from anger, looking directly at him. And he can’t decide if he wants to run to you or brace for an explosion.

“That’s what you tell them?” you continue, stepping inside the threshold of the dressing room. “That we’re fighting because of some petty argument? Not because you went to dinner with another woman while I was out of town?”

Silence folds over the room like a blanket no one asked for.

Jihoon swallows. Hard. “Let’s not do this here,” he says quietly, quiet but firm, and heads toward the hallway. You follow, footsteps sharp against the concrete.

The makeshift corridor beneath the stage is freezing, and every breath you take comes out visible. Jihoon stands a few feet away, hands balled in his pockets, eyes never leaving you.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“Why did you stop by my place?” Your voice wavers, but your stare doesn’t. “My neighbours saw you there. Twice.”

“You’re my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake, Y/N.” He lets out a humourless laugh. “You blocked me like we’re in high school.”

“You went out to dinner with another woman, and I had to learn about it through Dispatch.” You step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest once, sharp, accusing. “That makes me feel like you’re treating us like some high school fling.”

Jihoon inhales, eyes flicking down for a moment. He knows this is the worst possible moment, right before a concert, right after weeks apart. He also knows he loves you more than he loves being right.

So he does the one thing guaranteed to break the spiral.

“You’re embarrassing yourself right now,” he murmurs, not cruel, just honest, and he gently removes his hands from his pockets, reaching for your wrists. One by one, he lifts your hands and places them around his waist, holding them there. Holding you there.

The closeness steals the fight right out of the air. His eyes roam your face like he’s relearning it, and suddenly you feel both exposed and wrapped up in something warm.

“You know I’m in love with you,” he says, forehead dipping toward yours, voice barely more than breath. “So don’t second-guess it again.”

He presses a soft kiss onto your cold lips, lingering.

Joshua : classic hug-cuddle. Face to face, holding you close hy tht waist, tucking your head on his warm chest. Generally the big spoon. Does corny ahh shit that gets you crazy like saying goodnight softly and kissing your forehead like just butterflies in stomach things. Always tucks you on all sides on the blanket.

Jun : LITTLE SPOON ™. needs to be babied. He's a baby. He needs to get tucked warmly his face in your cleavage warming up as you hold him close. Headpet is a must. Man will not sleep if you don't pet his head nicely and kiss him good night.

hoshi : somewhere between little spoon and big spoon. Anything that has him cuddled up. And by cuddle up I mean not a inch of skin to remain out of contact from you. Literally presses himself into you. Remember nana tour? Yeah that typa shit

Wonwoo : prefers light to no cuddle. isn’t the type to initiate cuddling, but he also doesn’t let go of you get comfortable. He prefers sleeping face-to-face, with your foreheads almost touching, or lying side by side with your hands intertwined. He doesn’t demand closeness, but if you move away, he unconsciously pulls you back.

Jihoon : prefers to sleep on his back with you on top of him. Will hold you loosely yet firmly however you turn and twist thru the night. His pecs = your pillow. On rare nights he's tired or work-frustrated he likes getting cuddled and babied, positions switched. He won't openly admit he's a cuddler but he also cannot sleep so well now if you're not cuddling him.

Seokmin : human heater LITERALLY. is warm physically and emotionally. He loves cuddling and doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. He enjoys spooning, but he also likes facing you, occasionally kissing your forehead or rubbing your back. He mumbles sweet things as he drifts off and gets adorably pouty if you try to move away.

Mingyu : this one is tricky. At the beginning of the relationship he pretends tu be the big spoon and holds you like that but as time passes and you two get more familiar he leans more to little spoon size. Just a big puppy that needs to be loved and taken care of. Gets so giddy whenever you little spoon him.

Minghao : not wholly a cuddler but prefers sleeping vaguely intertwined. Hand holding in sleep or just your legs intertwined or loosely drapes arm over each other. He often falls asleep with his head resting on your shoulder or his arm draped over your waist. If you’re having trouble sleeping, he’ll whisper soothing words until you relax.

Seungkwan : he acts like he’s fine sleeping separately, but in reality, he loves being cuddled. He enjoys resting his head on your chest while you play with his hair, or he’ll hold you tight, burying his face in your neck. If he’s feeling extra vulnerable, he’ll ask you to hold him, and he will get pouty if you try to roll away. Likes his tummy getting rubbed comfortingly to sleep.

Vernon : doesn't cuddle. Mutual agreement that you don't need to cuddle to sleep comfortably or peacefully and warmly. Tucks you in bkanket and often sleeps face to face but with a breathable comfortable distance without being too far. Holds your hands at times.