#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

Jeonghan - Jeonghan doesn't let go of your hand when he falls asleep. His fingers are interlocked with yours, holding you softly but firmly as you two face each other.

In the dark, he whispers sleepily, asking you to tell him about your day, your plans, to tell him everything he missed when he was away from you for work. His thumb caresses your knuckles while you talk, rubbing softly and other times, pulling your hand to him so he can place a kiss over your fingers.

Eventually, he'll get too tired, and he'll pull both your hands to his chest. He keeps both of your hands right over his heart, letting you feel his heart beat steadily as you speak, his eyes fluttering close as he listens.

Joshua - Joshua sleeps with his hand up your shirt.

His chest is pressed into your back, his arm slung over your waist as his hand cups your breast under the oversized t-shirt you wear to bed. It used to be his, but now you've claimed it as yours, finding comfort in the worn shirt like it's a security blanket. And if you can't wear it, laundry day takes your favorite shirt from you, you'll easily demand Joshua to take the one he wears right now off for you.

When he does what you've asked without hesitation, it never fails to make you grin, warmed by his shirt and his gesture. You're wrapped up in the scent of soft florals and something distinctly him. It makes him hold you closer, his head lowered onto the back of your shoulder as he curls around you, happy to go to sleep with you smiling sleepily because of him.

Jun - Jun falls asleep in whatever position you find comfortable. And that's even true regardless of whether he finds it comfortable too.

The moment you're cuddling into him, on top of him, behind him - he's not moving an inch. He would never dare disturb you the moment you melt into him, your cute face nuzzling into his arms, his chest, or his back until your breaths deepen and you're fast asleep.

He'll find a way to fall asleep, however you found him. Finding peace in your touch, even if it means his neck, his arm, his back, might be sore the following morning.

It's worth it, and he does it again each night you find your way to him.

Soonyoung - Soonyoung curves around your body when he sleeps. He's pulling you into his chest, your back against his front as he wraps around you.

His lips will barely brush the back of your neck, his nose nuzzling the curve of your neck as he sighs happily. With you in his arms, he can finally relax. Letting go of long days of work, muscles melting as his legs tangle with yours.

He sleepily tells you about his day like it's a bedtime story, words slurring towards the end, his lips imprinting the story against your skin before he finally exhales a long breath.

Then it's quiet, the even, deep breaths he huffs in his sleep lulling you to follow in his footsteps as he holds you close.

Wonwoo - Wonwoo sleeps on his side with his back facing you.

He doesn't mean to, it's just how it ends up going when he falls deeper asleep after you two cuddle. But it's okay, you actually prefer it because then it allows you to cuddle him from behind.

Your arms will wrap around his waist, and even in his sleep, his hand finds yours, interlocking your fingers as you press flush against him.

You can't explain it, but nothing feels better when you can hide behind Wonwoo's broad back, your face pressing into smooth skin after placing a quick kiss to his shoulder blade.

Woozi - Woozi sleeps on his stomach, preferably in between your legs.

His head rests on your stomach, moving up and down each time you take a breath. His arms wrap under your waist and back, hugging you to him or, better yet, him to you.

It's like he's hugging his favorite stuffed animal when he was a child. And it's the perfect position to feel your fingers card through his hair, your nails scratching his head just right to make him almost purr like a cat in your lap.

He loves that he can lay his weight onto you, grounding both you and him as he drifts off to sleep, your fingers threaded in his hair as his cheek smushes into your sternum.

Minghao - Somehow, you fell asleep on either side of your shared bed.

Maybe it has to do with it being too hot. You two have no issue cuddling, but then it's too much, and you're both throwing the blankets off to cool off. But then it's too cold, and his hands pull you close, and then the cycle repeats.

It's like when you have to stick one foot out of the blanket to be the perfect temperature, but then have to worry about the sleep monsters getting you.

So, you two stay apart, facing each other as you go to bed. But it's okay, because by the time morning comes, you're exactly where you started- in his arms with the blankets twisted at your feet.

Mingyu - Mingyu needs you practically on top of him for him to go to sleep.

He uses you like a weighted blanket, pulling you half on top of him or even fully on top of him as he lies on his back. Your head gets tucked under his chin, his large hand resting on the middle part of your back, keeping you flush against him.

You can actually feel his muscles relax, a deep, satisfied sigh slipping from his lips as he keeps you on him. Your leg hooks over his hip, your other leg spreads out, while your arm wraps around his. It's like you're a koala bear and he's the tree with the way he wraps you around him.

And you wouldn't be lying if you said it's one of the comfiest positions you get to fall asleep in. Your cheek smushed into his chest as he holds you.

Dokyeom - Dokyeom ends up following you into your side of the bed when you two fall asleep.

He starts on his side of the bed, like normal, cuddling you until you roll onto your back subconsciously. Then he follows you. It ends up with him lying on his stomach, his feet on his side of the bed, with his upper body on you. His head is on your stomach, his arm wrapped around your leg.

Dokyeom sleeps diagonally, taking up all the space so he can wrap his arm around you like you're his personal pillow. He holds you like that, his head rising up and down with each breath you take, his cheek smushed into your tummy, his other hand tucked under your back. He traps you between the bed and him, refusing to let you go.

You'll literally have to wake him up for him to free you from his grasp.

Seungkwan - Seungkwan sleeps with a leg hooked over yours.

His face rests right above your chest, both of you sleeping on your sides as you face each other. His leg tangles over yours to keep you close while his arm extends upwards to comb through your hair softly, listening as you tell him about your day. His other hand sneaks up your shirt, tracing shapes into your back as he slowly melts into you.

He needs to have you surround him, to let him get tangled up with you until he doesn't know where you start and he ends. The comfort of being in your arms after his long day of work never fails to bring a happy sigh from his lips.

And it ends with him falling asleep with his fingers resting on your head while his face presses between your breasts, keeping you flushed against him.

Vernon - Vernon falls asleep tangled with you.

Your face is pressed into his chest, his arms are wrapped around your back, and you're both lying on your sides. One of his hands is tangled in your hair, holding the back of your head softly, while his other hand rests on the lower part of your back.

He falls asleep knowing you're listening to his heartbeat, the steady rhythm mixed with his fingers drawing mindless circles across your skin, making you fall asleep before he does.

And it's while his legs are tangled with yours, his lips curve into a sleepy smile, happily falling asleep knowing you're in his arms.

Dino - Dino drapes half of his weight onto you like a weighted blanket.

It doesn't matter if you're lying on your back, your side, or on your stomach because soon enough, his arm is slung over your body, and so is half of his upper body.

It's the best, you get all of his warmth and the feeling of his body melting into yours as he tucks his face into your neck.

Sometimes, he will mumble slurred, sleepy words against your skin. He tells you his dreams, his day, his future that involves you. Other times, he is so exhausted he just presses one long kiss into the curve of your neck that shapes your shoulder, hoping you understand how he loves you deeply.

대박 - you made it to the end.

Tell me about it.

• forever is a feeling ( @haologram ) lee seokmin x reader

your 'stay-at-home' husband knows your job means a lot to you, but he knows he means twice as much.

— 1.5k wc, [f/s/baby angst], mature content ahead! dk the man you are.. the way he talks to mc gives me butterflies

• local lover boy ( @ddeonghwa-s ) kim mingyu x reader

after you've had a long week of work, mingyu decides to help you wind down for the night.

— 5.1k wc, [f/c], mature content ahead! so-so domestic and fluffy, he’s so downbad for her it’s sweet.

• no matter ( @rubywonu ) xu minghao x reader

in which your boyfriend assured you and comforted you after having a rough day.

— 1k wc, [f/c], so sweet and comforting, for my academic validation babies

• pinky promise ( @wheeboo ) boo seungkwan x reader

in which seungkwan reminds you that you are worthy of love.

— 1.7k wc, [f/c], so many of this author’s fic in this post but they’re just too good at writing comfort haha, this one had me smiling so hard

• untitled ( @nonranghaes ) chwe hansol x reader

— unavailable wc, [f/c], another rly rly short one i know i’m sorry but this one was too sweet not to include :c i reread this one a lot toooo

• bf! dino ( @purploozi ) lee chan x reader

— unavailable wc, [f/c], headcanons rather than an actual story just because the fics on tumblr for dino are a little too short for my liking, this is fluffy and comforting in it’s own way anyway tehe

• how they take care of you ( @waldau ) ot13 reactions

— 2.5k wc, [f/h/c], the absolute sweetest i’ve reread this one so many times

• when you disassociate ( @greenstares ) ot13 reactions

“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.