Summary: Choi Beomgyu is the resident loser of your school. With ripped jeans, smudged eyeliner, faded band t-shirts and an ego that makes you wonder where he could’ve possibly pulled it from. You, however, are the resident barbie doll with looks to kill for and a status to live up to. So how the Hell did Beomgyu weasel his way into your life?
╰┈➤ a/n: inspired by the rodrick x regina shipping on tiktok! will contain swearing, talk of alcohol usage, bullying lowk. usual regina and rodrick behaviour
“Wouldn’t want anyone to find out about us, huh?” Beomgyu mumbles between sloppy kisses. A breathy gasp escapes your mouth as his fingers grab onto your jaw, cool rings digging into the thin skin around your jawline.
You hold back a whimper because it’s pathetic. You’re the [y/n] [l/n] and Choi Beomgyu of all people has you folded up against someone’s bathroom sink in the middle of the hottest party on campus. You should be downing shots with your friends and taking the cutest photos in your sluttiest outfit yet but instead you’re under campuses biggest loser with glossy eyes and plump, blushed lips laced with his spit.
Beomgyu’s fingers keep your lips parted for the glob of spit he fires into your mouth. You barely blink as it lands against your tongue, automatically swallowing the intrusion. He grins deviously as he pulls back, moving his hand so that his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, dipping into your mouth so that he can press down of your twitching tongue.
He lets out an airy chuckle, eyes darkening as he mumbles something that causes your mind to blank almost pitifully.
“I’ll keep you my dirty little secret.”
let me know if you want to added to the taglist! will be released end of October/start of november!
synopsis: first officer, choi beomgyu just got promoted to captain. you're on his inaugural flight as pilot in command, and the chemistry between the flight deck and the cabin has never been this volatile. when a forced overnight in tokyo strands the crew together, tension increases.
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the pre-flight briefing room at incheon smells like burnt coffee and industrial carpet that hasn't been replaced since the early 2000s. you're adjusting your scarf in the reflection of your phone screen when minseo drops into the seat next to yours, already bolting with the energy of someone who's been gossiping in the crew lounge for twenty minutes straight.
"new captain on the flight deck," she says, like she's announcing a zombie apocalypse. "and y/n, i need you to mentally prepare yourself."
"for what?" you don't look up from your phone. "another divorced fifty-year-old who calls me 'sweetheart' while i pour his coffee and pretends i don't have a nametag?"
"better." minseo leans in close. "young. korean transfer from cargo division. apparently he has more flight hours than some of the senior captains, and he looks like he just stepped out of a drama casting call. the kind where he's the mysterious lead who has a tragic backstory about his first love dying in a plane crash or something. you know?"
you finally look up from your phone. "how young?"
"twenties. twenty-five, i heard." she pauses for dramatic effect, her eyes wide and serious. "and he has dimples.”
"focus," you mutter. you've been a flight attendant for three years. you've learned not to get distracted by pilots. they're either married, insufferable, or both. sometimes all three, somehow.
the briefing room door opens.
you've seen plenty of captains walk through that door. they usually look like variations of the same expression: exhausted, entitled, or desperately clinging to authority they don't actually have. they carry flight bags with pictures of children taped inside. they have coffee stains on their ties. they look at you like you're part of the furniture.
choi beomgyu looks like he was born to wear the uniform.
he's tall—taller than most of the cockpit crew you deal with and the navy blue pilot's jacket fits across his shoulders perfectly. he moves like he knows exactly where his body is in space at all times, like every gesture is calculated for true efficiency.
"good morning," he says. his voice is deeper than you expected, smooth with a slight rasp. "i'm captain choi. first day officially in the left seat, so i appreciate you all being patient with me while i figure out where they hide the good coffee and which of you won't judge me for drinking three cups before takeoff."
there's a ripple of laughter. you don't join in. you're too busy watching the way his hands move as he reviews the weather charts—long fingers, precise gestures, a pilot's watch heavy on his left wrist. his nails are short, clean, professional. you wonder what they'd feel like against your skin, and then immediately hate yourself for wondering.
"tokyo today," he continues, looking up. his gaze moves across the room and stops when it hits you. you feel it like a touch, like someone's actually reached out and pressed a thumb against your sternum. "fourteen hours roundtrip, but we're overnighting due to weather. narita. let's try not to kill each other, and if anyone knows a good ramen place, i’ll buy."
he holds your eyes for one second too long. then two. then three, and you realize you're holding your breath.
you look down at your notepad, heart hammering against your ribs, and pretend you didn't just get completely checked out by your new captain in front of your entire crew.
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the first four hours of the flight are mechanical. you do your rounds—meals, drinks, the businessman in 14c who keeps asking for whiskey he doesn't need, the mother in 23a traveling with a toddler who won't stop screaming. you avoid the flight deck on purpose, sending minseo up with the pilots' meals instead, telling yourself it's not avoidance, it's professionalism.
you're lying.
at hour six, turbulence hits over the east china sea. the seatbelt sign dings on with a sharp chime, and you're securing the galley when the cockpit door opens.
"need you for a second," beomgyu says. he's shed his jacket, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and you can see the veins in his forearms, the lean muscle there. his shirt is slightly untucked on one side, and it's so human, so normal, that it makes your chest tight. "co-pilot's taking a break. i could use the company."
"it's policy that—"
"i know the policy." he doesn't smile, but his eyes do, crinkling at the corners in a way that makes your stomach flip. "two crew members in the flight deck during single-pilot operation. that's why i'm asking you, and not your colleague."
"minseo's available," you say, even as your feet are already moving toward him.
"minseo talks too much," he says. "i want someone who knows when to be quiet."
"rude."
"accurate." he steps back to let you pass, and you have to squeeze through the narrow doorway, close enough to smell him—something clean, sandalwood and soap and the faint metallic scent of the aircraft. your shoulder brushes his as you settle into the jump seat behind him, and you feel him go still for just a fraction of a second, his breath catching almost imperceptibly.
"you're nervous," he says, not looking at you. his hands move over the controls with practiced ease, adjusting for the turbulence.
"of what?"
"me." he turns his head, and those dark eyes find yours in the reflection of the glass. the sky outside is endless blue, cloudless, stretching forever. "you've been avoiding the flight deck all flight, y/n. i noticed."
your name in his mouth sounds like a secret. you didn't tell him your name. you didn't wear your nametag in the briefing.
"i read the manifest," he says, like he can hear your thoughts. his voice is soft, intimate, completely inappropriate for a cockpit. "i like knowing who i'm flying with. especially when they've been looking at me like they want to know more."
"professional courtesy," you manage, but your voice cracks.
"is that what we're calling it?" he adjusts something on the panel, and the aircraft banks slightly, tilting toward the sun. the light catches his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his nose, the curve of his mouth. "you were looking at me in the briefing. before i saw you. i felt it."
the turbulence bumps the aircraft, a rough jolt that makes the seatbelt dig into your hips. beomgyu doesn't flinch. his hands stay steady on the controls, and you realize with a dizzying clarity that you're attracted to his competence as much as his face. there's something devastating about watching someone be good at their job, especially when their job is keeping hundreds of people alive at forty thousand feet.
"i don't—" you start.
"you're going to tell me it's inappropriate," he cuts in. "that i'm your captain. that there are rules. that this is my first day and you're supposed to be professional and i'm supposed to be setting an example."
"aren't there rules?" you ask, but your voice is barely above a whisper.
"plenty." he finally turns to face you fully, and the cockpit feels smaller still, like the walls are closing in, like the air is getting thinner. "but we're at forty thousand feet. somewhere over international waters. and i'm tired of pretending i didn't notice you the second i walked into that room. i'm tired of pretending i haven't been thinking about what your mouth tastes like for the past six hours."
your mouth goes dry. "this is—"
"a bad idea?" he laughs, low and rough, sending shivers down your spine. "obviously. i'm not stupid, y/n. i also don't care. not right now. not with you sitting there looking at me like that."
the radio crackles. air traffic control, distant and staticky, asking for an altitude confirmation. beomgyu answers with practiced ease, his voice shifting into professional mode so smoothly it gives you whiplash. when he finishes, he reaches back—not touching you, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his palm, hovering over your knee.
"thirty minutes," he says softly. "until my co-pilot comes back. thirty minutes where it's just us, and this conversation never happened if you don't want it to."
"and if i do want it to?"
his eyes darken, his pupils blown wide. "then maybe you stay a little longer. maybe we find out what happens when the seatbelt sign goes off."
────୨ৎ────
you don't stay. you can't. the co-pilot comes back, some senior guy named lee who gives you a nod as you squeeze past beomgyu… closer than necessary, his hand brushing your lower back to steady you as the turbulence hits again, his fingers pressing into your spine with a familiarity that makes you dizzy.
"see you on the descent," beomgyu says, like a promise, that sounds like a threat.
you spend the next six hours in a haze. minseo keeps giving you looks, like she knows something happened, but you shake your head and focus on your work: dinner service, the drunk guy in 22f, the mother traveling alone with twins who looks like she might cry if you don't bring her another glass of wine. you walk the aisles on autopilot, smiling, but your mind is in the cockpit. on his hands. on the way he said your name.
when the seatbelt sign comes on for final descent into narita, you're already strapped into your jump seat in the back galley, counting down the minutes until you can escape to the hotel and take the longest shower of your life. cold water. very cold water. maybe ice even.
the aircraft touches down smooth as silk. professional. beomgyu is good at his job, you have to give him that. the landing is flawless, barely a bump as the wheels kiss the tarmac.
deplaning takes forever. you stand at the door, smiling, thanking passengers who don't look at you, watching the sunset paint the narita tarmac in shades of gold and pink. you're almost done, almost free, when the last passenger clears and you turn to find beomgyu standing in the galley doorway.
he changed. he's in dark jeans now, a black sweater that clings to his shoulders, his pilot's jacket slung over one arm casually. he looks like someone you could see in a bar and take home without knowing he's your boss.
"crew bus leaves in twenty," he says. "same hotel as you. i checked."
"of course you did."
"there's a bar. rooftop. i'm going to be there in an hour." he steps closer, close enough that you can see the way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. "you don't have to come. but if you do, y/n, i'm not going to pretend this is just a drink. i'm not going to pretend i haven't been hard since you walked into that briefing room this morning."
"and if someone sees us?"
he smiles then, and minseo was right—the dimples are criminal, deep and sharp and unfair. "then i guess i'm done flying for korean air. worth it."
he walks away before you can answer, and you stand there with your heart beating loudly, knowing you're going to show up.
────୨ৎ────
the hotel is one of the standard crew accommodations—clean, impersonal, twenty floors of airline staff rotating through on different routes. your room is on twelve. you shower, you change into the only nice thing you packed, which is a black dress that hits mid-thigh, simple but effective, with a neckline that dips lower than your uniform allows. you tell yourself you're going to the bar because you're hungry, because you want to see the view, because you're an adult who can have a drink with a colleague.
you're lying.
the rooftop bar is half-empty, the tokyo skyline glittering like a jewel box in the distance. you spot him immediately—he's at a corner table, two drinks already in front of him, and when he sees you. something in his expression shifts from anticipation to hunger so fast it steals your breath. he stands, and you see he's rolled his sleeves up again, showing those forearms, and of course, you want to bite them.
"you came," he says when you reach the table.
"i was thirsty."
"liar." but he's smiling. he gestures to the seat across from him, and you slide in, accepting the glass he pushes toward you. "how was your first flight with me, y/n?"
"professional."
"and now?"
you take a long sip, letting the alcohol burn before you answer. "less so."
"good." he leans forward, elbows on the table, and the distance between you feels like nothing. "i've been thinking about you all day. in the cockpit. during approach. when i was supposed to be checking weather reports. when i was supposed to be sleeping in the crew rest area. i couldn't sleep. i kept thinking about your mouth."
"that's dangerous," you say, but your voice is breathless.
"you're dangerous." he reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours where they rest on your glass. "i don't do this… i don't risk my career for—"
"for what?"
his jaw tightens, a muscle jumping there. "for something i can't stop thinking about. for someone i met six hours ago and already know i want to ruin myself for."
the city lights blur behind him. you should go. you know you should go. instead, you turn your hand over, letting your palm press against his, and watch his eyes go dark.
"your room or mine?" you ask.
he stands so fast his chair scrapes against the floor, loud enough to draw attention from the other tables. he doesn't care. "mine. now. before i change my mind or come to my senses."
────୨ৎ────
the elevator ride is torture. he's standing close enough that you can feel the heat of him. when the doors close on the twelfth floor, he doesn't hit the button for his own.
"beomgyu—"
he turns, and then his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding, and you gasp against his lips as he backs you into the corner of the elevator. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel how hard he is already, the length of him pressing against your hip, insistent and thick.
"couldn't wait," he mutters against your jaw, trailing kisses down your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "fuck, y/n, i've been hard since. since i saw your legs in that uniform. since i heard your voice."
the elevator dings. he pulls back, breathing hard, his hair messy from where your fingers tangled in it. "my floor," he says, and his voice is rough. "unless you've changed your mind."
you step out first.
his room is identical to yours. he closes the door and locks it, and then you're in his arms again, his mouth finding yours with a desperation that makes your knees weak.
"wait," you breathe, pulling back just enough to see his face. "you're sure about this?"
"i don't care." he cups your face, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones with a tenderness that contradicts the hunger in his eyes. "tell me to stop and i will. but if you don't—" he presses his forehead to yours. "if you don't, i'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. until the only thing you know is mine. until you feel me inside you every time you walk down the aisle tomorrow."
"beomgyu—"
"say it again."
"beomgyu." you reach for his sweater, pulling it up and over his head, revealing the lean muscle underneath. "i want you inside me… now. please."
he groans, and then he's lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bed. he lays you down like you're something precious, and then he's kissing you again—deep, filthy kisses that make you arch against him, desperate for more, for everything.
his hands move to your dress, sliding up your thighs, and you lift your hips to help him as he pulls it up and over your head. he pauses, looking down at you in your bra and underwear, and the way his breath catches makes you feel beautiful, makes you feel seen.
"fuck," he whispers, reverent. "look at you."
"you too," you manage, reaching for his belt. "i want to see you."
he lets you undo the buckle, the button, and the zipper. you push his jeans down, and he kicks them off, and then he's in nothing but black boxers. the outline of his cock straining against the fabric, and your mouth waters at the sight, at the thought of taking him, tasting him completely.
"later," he promises, reading your expression. "i'll let you taste me later. but right now—" he kneels between your legs, spreading you open, and hooks his fingers in your underwear. "right now i need to feel you. i need to know if you're as wet as i've been imagining. if you taste as good as you look."
he drags your underwear down your legs, slow, torturous, and then he's looking at you. his gaze fixed between your thighs with an intensity that makes you want to close your legs and hide but to be seen all at once as well.
"don't," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your inner knee. "let me see you. let me—"
he leans down, and then his mouth is on you, hot and wet and so fucking good you cry out, your back arching off the bed. he licks into you like he's been starving, like this is all he's wanted since the moment he saw you, and his tongue finds your clit with precision, circling and flicking and sucking until you're panting. your fingers tangled in the sheets.
"beomgyu—" you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him there, and he hums against you, the vibration making you gasp. "fuck, don't stop, please—"
he doesn't. he works you with his mouth and his fingers. one sliding inside you, curling to find that spot that makes you see stars, then two, stretching you open while his tongue circles your clit with relentless and perfect pressure. you're panting, the pleasure building so fast it's almost frightening.
"i'm going to—i'm close—"
"come for me," he murmurs against you. "let me taste you, y/n. let me feel you fall apart. i've been dreaming about this."
you break. the orgasm crashes through unexpectedly and violent, and you cry out his name as your hips buck against his mouth. he doesn't stop until you're trembling, oversensitive, pushing at his shoulders. only then does he pull back, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
"beautiful," he says, climbing up your body to kiss you. you can taste yourself on his lips, and it sends a jolt of arousal through you.
"need you," you whisper against his mouth. "please, beomgyu. i need you inside me."
he reaches for his wallet on the nightstand, pulling out a condom with shaking hands. you watch him roll it on—his cock thick and hard, flushed dark, and your mouth waters at the sight, at the thought of taking him. he guides himself to your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your folds, and you moan at the contact, at the stretch as he begins to push inside.
"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to yours. "you're so tight. so fucking perfect and wet for me."
he sinks in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the fullness. by the time he's fully in, you're panting, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"move," you beg. "please, beomgyu, move—"
he pulls back and thrusts in, hard, and you cry out at the sensation. he sets a rhythm, deep and steady, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision spark with light.
"look at me," he demands, his hand cupping your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. "stay with me, y/n. i want to see you. i want to watch you come apart on my cock."
you hold his gaze, and it's intimate. too intimate. the connection between you sparking as he fucks you with urgency, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of sex filling the room.
"you're so good," he pants, his voice breaking. "so perfect, taking me so well. i've wanted this since the moment i saw you. wanted to know what you'd feel like wrapped around me."
"beomgyu—"
"say my name again. let me hear it."
"beomgyu!" you arch against him as he hits that spot again. "beomgyu, i'm going to—"
"come with me," he begs, his thrusts losing their rhythm, becoming desperate and chasing his own release. "please, y/n, i need to feel you."
you shatter. the orgasm is deeper this time. you clench around him, and he groans, a broken sound, and then he's coming too—thrusting deep and holding there, pulsing inside you as he buries his face in your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.
for a long moment, neither of you move. the only sound is your breathing, ragged and synchronizing slowly. he presses kisses to your shoulder, and to your collarbone softly.
"stay," he whispers against your skin. "don't go back to your room. stay here."
you should. you know you should. this is already too much.
"okay," you hear yourself say.
he pulls out carefully, dealing with the condom before crawling back into bed and pulling you against his chest.
"this doesn't mean anything," you say quietly, even though you don't believe it.
he tilts your chin up, making you meet his eyes. "liar," he says again, but he's smiling. "get some sleep, y/n. we have a return flight tomorrow.
he kisses your forehead and the tip of your nose. you fall asleep with his arms around you, knowing that tomorrow you'll have to face him across the galley, pretending this never happened.
knowing, too, that you'll be back in his bed the moment you land in seoul.
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a/n: i apologize for how long this took to upload. i originally promised it would be up on the 14th, but some family matters came up and took priority. this also isn’t as thoroughly proofread as i’d like because i haven’t had much time, but i hope this is okay and written somewhat well still!
⤷ word count — 8.6k
⤷ kinktober 2025 taglist — open !
⤷ permanent taglist — open !
⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), rough sex, mean dom!beomgyu, bratty!reader, possessive!beomgyu, red flag!beomgyu (he’s a dick), markings (biting and hickies), idol!au, idol!beomgyu, non-idol!reader, established relationship, power imbalance, dirty talk, manhandling, fluff
.‧₊࿐ summary — choi beomgyu was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for—patient, affectionate, attentive in all the ways that mattered. to everyone else, you were the perfect couple. but perfection cracks. until one night—raised voices echoing through the kitchen, tension burning between you—beomgyu reminds you exactly why you fell in love with him in the first place.
When people imagined dating Choi Beomgyu, they always painted it in sunshine and soft laughter—rainbows strung between inside jokes, a boy who smiled too easily and laughed even easier.
And they weren’t wrong. Not really.
Beomgyu was warmth in human form. A walking spark of chaos who somehow managed to charm everyone he crossed paths with—members, staff, camera operators, even other idols unlucky enough to share a hallway with him during music show promotions.
He had a habit of popping into frames he didn’t belong in, pointing fingers dramatically, talking absolute nonsense until someone snapped and chased him away.
He lived for it. The reactions, the eye rolls, the screaming of his name echoing behind him as he sprinted off laughing like he’d just won something.
That no-nonsense, ‘I’ll-do-what-I-want’ attitude was what made him so endearing.
And as a boyfriend—he was sweet in ways that felt unfair.
Remembering the little things. Leaving notes where you’d find them hours later. Pulling you into hugs when he thought no one was looking—then doing it anyway even when they were.
Choi Beomgyu loved loudly. Easily. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And that was exactly why people imagined him as all sunshine and rainbows. They imagined laughter-filled apartments, soft kisses in passing, warmth that never dimmed.
Until it wasn’t.
Until the clock crept past midnight and the apartment felt too quiet for a place meant to be lived in by two people.
You sat on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath you, arms crossed tightly over your chest—not because you were cold, but because you were annoyed. Irritated. Stewing.
The couch stretched wide between you and the empty space beside you, almost mockingly so. Something you and Beomgyu had splurged on years ago when you first moved in together, laughing about how dramatic it looked, how it would be perfect for lazy days and movie nights.
The TV in front of you played your shared favorite show, characters animated and expressive, mouths moving in silent laughter. You vaguely remembered muting it hours ago—at some point between checking your phone for the fifth time and realizing you were too irritated to care what was happening on screen.
Your gaze flicked upward.
12:26 AM.
You clicked your tongue, jaw tightening as your head tipped back against the couch.
“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath.
Another car passed by outside, headlights briefly flooding the living room with white light before disappearing down the street. You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into the cushions, arms hugging yourself tighter.
Every sound had your attention snapping up. Every engine. Every shift of light through the window.
And every time, it wasn’t him.
You stared at the clock like it had personally betrayed you, counting each passing minute as if it owed you an explanation. Your phone lay face-down on the coffee table—untouched, because checking it again would only make things worse.
You exhaled slowly, eyes squeezing shut.
“You said you wouldn’t be late,” you whispered to the empty room, voice barely louder than the hum of the apartment.
The looming hour of the night only made the pressure behind your eyes worse. It had started as a dull throb sometime around eleven, but now it sat heavy at your temples, tightening with every passing minute.
The silence didn’t help either—too loud in its own way—broken only by the steady ticking of the oven timer you’d nearly forgotten about.
Your eyes snapped open.
“Oh—shit,” you muttered, pushing yourself off the couch.
You’d left the test batch in there.
The thought hit you all at once—the half-scrolled recipe pulled up on your phone, Beomgyu’s excited voice earlier that evening saying We should try this, it looks easy, the way he’d promised to help. Meaning he’d hover around the kitchen, steal pieces when he thought you weren’t looking, and proudly declare himself the taste tester.
The memory made your frown deepen.
You padded down the hallway connecting the living room to the kitchen, bare feet brushing softly against the wooden floor. The lights were dim, only the warm glow from the kitchen spilling into the space as you rounded the corner.
You grabbed the oven mitts off the counter—carelessly tossed over the still-warm stovetop earlier—and tugged one on hastily, shoving it down your wrist without much care.
The oven door creaked as you pulled it open.
Heat rushed out, blooming against your face. “Oh, thank God,” you sighed, shoulders sagging in relief.
They weren’t burnt. Slightly cracked on top, maybe, but still intact—rows of small, colorful macarons sitting neatly on the tray. You carefully pulled them out, setting the tray down on the counter with a soft clink. For a brief moment, a small smile tugged at your lips.
They were perfectly baked. Soft-looking. The kind Beomgyu would absolutely brag about to anyone who’d listen, even though he hadn’t been here for a second of it.
Your smile faded just as quickly as it came. Because right then—right on cue—you heard the engine of a familiar car slowing outside. Then dying down completely.
You let out a huff, tugging the oven mitt off and tossing it onto the counter. “Of course,” you muttered. “Of course you’d come home now.”
You dragged a hand through your hair, fingers catching on strands you didn’t bother fixing. You didn’t even straighten the hem of your shirt as you stepped away from the counter, the faint warmth of the kitchen following you back into the hallway.
Your sleep shorts hung loosely on your hips, fabric soft and worn-in, but you barely registered it. You didn’t care how you looked. Not tonight.
Beomgyu needed a scolding.
And he needed it bad—if he wanted to stay in your good graces.
Your footsteps were quiet as you crossed the living room again, heart already thudding a little harder than before. The front door unlocked moments later, followed by the familiar clatter of keys and the sound of shoes being kicked off without much thought.
Then you heard laughter. Faint, muffled through the thick wood of the door. A laugh you’d memorized by heart by now.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as the sound carried through the hallway. “Deep breaths,” you muttered under your breath. “Deep breaths, (Y/N).”
You loved him. He loved you.
You forced a smile onto your face, even though it felt tight, unnatural. Reaching over the back of the loveseat, you grabbed the silk robe that had been discarded there earlier—probably yours, forgotten in the middle of the day—and slipped it on loosely as you made your way down the short hallway toward the door.
You didn’t bother peeking through the opaque glass panel beside it.
Instead, you opened the drawer by the entryway, fingers brushing past spare keys until you found the keycard. You pressed it against the sensor, the mechanical beep humming softly before you pushed down on the handle.
The door swung open—and the smell of alcohol hit you almost immediately.
Your nose scrunched instinctively, eyes narrowing at the sight in front of you.
Soobin stood there, looking far too sober for the situation, Beomgyu’s arm slung loosely around his shoulders as he struggled to keep your boyfriend upright. Beomgyu himself was swaying just slightly, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, a lazy grin plastered across his face like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Behind them, Yeonjun leaned against the van, waving sheepishly.
“Sorry, (Y/N)!” Yeonjun called out.
You smiled—but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your gaze shifted back to Soobin, one brow lifting slowly.
“…Uh,” Soobin chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened was—”
“What happened now?” you corrected calmly.
Soobin swallowed, then laughed again—smaller this time, nerves creeping into the sound. “Well… we won the music show.”
You just stood there, arms loosely crossed, gaze fixed on him with an expression that was unreadable at best. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, settling heavily on Soobin’s shoulders.
He winced.
“…Surprise?” he added, hopeful, voice lifting like he was testing thin ice.
Your eyebrow lifted higher.
“…No?” Soobin tried, already backpedaling. “Okay—yeah, we won, and your boyfriend here—” he shifted his grip as Beomgyu sagged further against him, “—might’ve had a little too much to drink.”
“Hey, baby,” Beomgyu chimed in warmly, voice soft and loose, a grin tugging at his lips like this was all one big joke.
You felt it then—the irritation curling tighter in your chest.
You didn’t look at him. Not even a glance. Your jaw set, fingers tightening slightly against your arm as you kept your eyes on Soobin instead, refusing to acknowledge Beomgyu’s presence until you were ready.
“What else?” you asked flatly.
Soobin straightened immediately. “Well—uh—we drove here. Not us. Obviously. Our manager,” he rushed out. “Because we both know drunk driving is illegal, right? I mean—”
“Yes, Soobin,” you cut in calmly, already stepping forward. “I get it. Thank you. I’ll take him from here.”
Soobin blinked, caught off guard by how composed you sounded. “Are you sure? I mean, I can help you escort him inside—”
You stepped back just enough to make space, expression tight but controlled. “Beomgyu’s just exaggerating.”
“I am,” Beomgyu snickered, trying to straighten. “I can walk. Let go of me.”
Soobin rolled his eyes and pushed Beomgyu’s arm off his shoulder. “Sure you can.”
You hummed softly, the sound more tired than amused. “Thank you for bringing him home alive. At least.”
Beomgyu opened his mouth, clearly about to protest—but one look from you had him snapping it shut. Your gaze cut to him briefly then—sharp, warning, unimpressed.
You turned back to Soobin, your expression easing just enough to be polite. “Thank you, Soobin. Please give Yeonjun my thanks too.”
Soobin nodded, already looking apologetic. “Good luck,” he muttered under his breath before stepping away.
You didn’t wait for goodbyes.
The moment Beomgyu stumbled inside, you stepped aside, hand already gripping the handle. You shut the door behind him with a firm click, locking it without hesitation.
Beomgyu turned toward you, still smiling like he hadn’t just walked straight into trouble.
You rolled your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose. “Oh,” you muttered quietly, “this is going to be fun.”
You turned to face Beomgyu just as he started walking toward you. And honestly—you were almost impressed.
He was steady on his feet, posture loose but not stumbling, eyes bright in that tipsy, annoyingly charming way he got when he thought he was getting away with something.
Almost.
You didn’t acknowledge him. Not even a glance.
Instead, you turned on your heel and headed straight for the kitchen, bare feet padding against the wooden floor. “Stupid Choi Beomgyu,” you muttered under your breath. “And your stupid empty promises.”
He trailed after you immediately, pout already clear in his tone. “Hey—hey, why are you walking away?”
You moved behind the counter, grabbing the flat spatula from where you’d left it earlier—the one you used to gently pop the macarons off the baking sheet. You slid it under the first shell, careful, precise, like he hadn’t just walked in smelling like soju and bad decisions.
“Baby,” Beomgyu whined, leaning his elbows onto the counter across from you. “I missed you.”
You stayed silent, refusing to look up.
You continued working, sliding the spatula under each colorful macaron, lifting them one by one and setting them neatly aside. Like he wasn’t there. Like his presence wasn’t filling the kitchen, crowding the air, making it harder to breathe.
The smell of alcohol hit you again—stronger now. Soju clinging to him, sharp and unmistakable. His jacket from earlier was gone, probably abandoned somewhere by the door.
Beomgyu tilted his head, studying you. “(Y/N),” he said softly, dragging your name out. “Your boyfriend is home. You know that, right?”
You raised a brow, eyes still fixed on the macarons.
“The last time I checked,” you said sharply, finally looking at him, “I didn’t have a boyfriend who forgot he had a girlfriend waiting at home.”
Beomgyu blinked—once, twice. “…What?”
“No?” you continued, voice tight, controlled. “Does that not ring a bell? Or did the alcohol wipe that out too?”
He straightened slightly, caught off guard. The lazy smile faded, confusion flashing across his face as he processed your tone. His posture shifted—suddenly more aware, more present. The kitchen lights flickered for a brief second, casting his shadow taller against the wall.
You ignored it.
You tugged the robe tighter around yourself with one hand, muttering, “Such a fucking bother,” before carelessly tossing it aside onto the empty counter. You transferred the already-set macarons onto a clean tray laid out in front of you, movements a little sharper now, less patient.
Beomgyu hummed, trying to sound casual. “I did tell you I was going to be late.”
Your grip tightened around the spatula. You physically had to stop yourself from throwing it at him as you inhaled deeply.
“You said late,” you said slowly, every word clipped. “Not drunk, Choi Beomgyu. There’s a difference, you fucking idiot.”
You felt his eyes on you—felt them tracking every movement as you kept your head down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your face just yet. The kitchen felt too small, the air thick, heavy with the tension you were barely containing.
You muttered under your breath as you worked, but you didn’t bother lowering your voice. You wanted him to hear.
You sorted through the macarons with rougher movements now, separating the cracked, uneven ones from the perfect shells. The soft clack of them against the tray sounded louder than it should’ve.
“You said we were going to make these together,” you said, voice trembling just slightly. “You said you actually wanted to try.”
You turned, grabbing a plate from the rack, the ceramic clinking sharply as you set it down.
“And instead,” you continued, harsh and bitter, “I look like some lovesick idiot waiting up for her apparently drunk boyfriend to come home from work.”
Your chest tightened.
“Me,” you scoffed. “I’m the stupid idiot.”
“Did I want this life?” you whispered bitterly. “No. I didn’t.”
You moved toward the fridge, stopping just short of the handle. Your hand hovered there, fingers trembling slightly as you stared at it, thoughts racing—about fillings, about ruining them, about whether you even had the energy to finish what you started.
About whether you had the energy for him.
With a sharp exhale, you decided against it.
You yanked the fridge open instead, the cold air hitting your face as you grabbed a can of soda. The chill bit into your palm as you hissed softly, slamming the door shut behind you.
Only then did you turn around.
Beomgyu stood there, expression no longer playful, no longer smug. Just quiet. Watching. His posture had straightened, shoulders tense as he followed you with his eyes while you paced the kitchen, movements sharp, restless.
You gestured vaguely with the can. “You could’ve called me, Beomgyu.”
He shifted then—finally moving—rounding the counter slowly, until he stopped right in front of you. He leaned back against the marble countertop, arms braced behind him like he was settling in, not cornered. Like he wasn’t standing on thin ice.
You squinted at him.
He tilted his head slightly, gaze steady, almost expectant. Like he was urging you to keep going.
That alone made your irritation spike.
You rolled your eyes, setting the soda can down on the counter behind you with a sharp clink. “I’m waiting,” you said flatly. “For you to defend yourself. Do something. Literally anything to protect the remaining good image I have of you in my head.”
Your laugh was short, humorless. “Or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?”
Beomgyu sighed, head tipping back for a second. “What do you want me to say?”
He raised a brow, posture still relaxed—but he still towered over you, presence heavy, unavoidable.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he said, softer now. “Baby, I truly am. I don’t know what to say to you, so I’m here apologizing.”
You stared at him. Then you stepped closer—just one step—closing the space between you as you pointed a finger at his chest.
“Why do you sound like you have no idea what you just did?”
That made him huff, irritation flickering across his face. He pushed off the counter, standing fully upright now, removing any trace of casualness.
“Look, (Y/N),” he said, voice tightening, “I’m trying to apologize. And if you don’t want my apology—”
You ground your teeth together, hands curling into fists at your sides as you cut him off, voice low but shaking with restraint.
“Oh my fucking God, Beomgyu,” you hissed. “I don’t need you to apologize. I need you to own up to your fucking mistakes.”
You took another breath, chest rising sharply.
“Who comes home drunk and acts like he doesn’t have someone waiting for him at home?” you demanded. “Who does that?”
The frown came quick, deepening between Beomgyu’s brows. “That wasn’t my intention,” he said, running a hand down his face. “I was already tired. I was snappy.”
He exhaled, frustration bleeding into his tone. “I just worked twelve hours straight. I had to rerecord half my lines because I kept messing up, and the staff insisted we unwind. I couldn’t exactly say no to that.”
All you heard were excuses.
You rolled your eyes again, the motion sharp enough that Beomgyu noticed.
“You couldn’t have told me?” you shot back.
He scoffed under his breath. “We’re going around in circles.”
You bit back the tears burning at the corners of your eyes, refusing to let them fall. “I don’t even ask for much, Beomgyu,” you said, voice cracking despite yourself. “I just want you to know that you have me to call when you’re going through shit.”
You pressed a hand to your chest, breath unsteady. “I’m here for a damn reason.”
Beomgyu stepped forward abruptly, closing the distance completely. “Maybe I didn’t call you,” he snapped, “because I didn’t want to burden you even more.”
His voice was louder now, sharper. “Is that so hard to understand?”
You took a step back.
The heel of your foot caught against the tile, breath stuttering as your brows furrowed. Your chest felt too tight, like every inhale scraped your lungs raw. You didn’t even lower your voice. Didn’t care if the neighbors heard, if someone knocked tomorrow with a complaint—you were already past the point of embarrassment.
“Yes,” you hissed, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “Because right now, you’re nothing but a jerk.”
The word left your mouth sharp and ugly, and once it was out, everything else followed.
“For the past weeks,” you continued, hands curling into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, “all you’ve been saying is that you want to make it up to me.”
Your laugh was humorless, brittle.
“And yet all you’ve been doing is coming home late—”
Your voice faltered. You turned your head just slightly, swallowing hard as a lump rose in your throat, burning. You hated that your body betrayed you like this.
When you looked back at him, Beomgyu was staring down at you—eyes dark and intense.
It only made the anger surge harder.
“Stop acting like nobody cares about you, goddammit,” you snapped, stepping forward this time, finger twitching like you wanted to point it straight into his chest. “You’re already a hard worker. You don’t need to keep killing yourself to prove your worth to anyone—”
Your chest rose and fell rapidly now, breaths shallow and uneven. The words were tumbling out faster, anger bleeding into hurt you’d been holding back for far too long.
“I feel like I’m being used,” you said, quieter—but it landed heavier than anything you’d shouted.
Beomgyu’s shoulders stiffened. His jaw tightened.
“You come home drunk,” you went on, voice shaking, eyes stinging, “to a clean house and a cold dinner because you never bother showing up anymore.”
Your hands clenched again, knuckles white. “I wait,” you snapped. “I wait, and I wait, and I tell myself you’re just busy—”
Your voice cracked, and that was what finally pushed you over the edge.
“All you do is come home to get fucked,” you spat, the words ugly and raw as they tore out of you. “And it’s fucking pissing me off.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
It slammed into the room, thick and suffocating. The hum of the fridge suddenly sounded too loud. Your ears rang.
Beomgyu’s eyes widened—just for a split second—before his expression hardened completely. His mouth pressed into a thin line as he straightened to his full height, towering over you without even trying.
“I come home to get fucked?” he repeated slowly, disbelief dripping from every syllable.
He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, fingers curling at the roots like he was holding himself back.
“Do you even hear yourself right now?” he shot back, voice tight, offended—hurt in a way that made your stomach twist painfully.
He stepped closer again, closing the already minimal space between you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension thick enough to choke on.
“You think that’s all this is?” he demanded, eyes flashing. “You think I come home just to—what—use you?”
He laughed, short and bitter, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s what you think of me?” he said, quieter now—but somehow sharper. “After everything?”
You sneer up at him, anger coming off you in waves as you tilt your head in mockery. “Yes,” you spit, the word sharp and jagged. “Because you’ve been treating your own girlfriend like shit for the past months, and I’m fucking tired of it, Choi Beomgyu.”
His name hangs in the air, a final, damning blow. For a split second, his face is a mask of pure shock, the flashing anger in his eyes extinguished by a sudden, cold dawning.
Then, a sound rips from his throat—a laugh, but it’s completely devoid of humor. It’s bitter, dry, and utterly chilling. He leans down, not close enough to make you stumble back, but just enough to invade your space, to make you feel trapped.
A slow, predatory smile engulfs his face, twisting his handsome features into something menacing. “Or,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, “is that what you need, you fucking brat?”
You blink, the sudden shift in the atmosphere catching you completely off guard. “What the fuck are you talking about?” you demand, your voice losing some of its fire in your confusion.
He sneers down at you, the expression a perfect, cruel mirror of your own from moments before. He tried to be understanding, he really did. The thought is a bitter pill in his own mind, a justification he’s been chewing on for weeks.
Because despite him coming home late and drunk, he surprised you the next day with your favorite flowers. His gaze flicks towards the living room, and he watches your eyes follow his, seeing the bouquet on the coffee table as if for the first time.
And he was pretty sure the ones he got you three days ago were sitting snugly in one of the glass vases inside your shared bedroom. He watches the shame creep up your neck, the faint blush that betrays your anger, and a cold satisfaction settles in his gut.
Just last week, he got you that bag you were eyeing when he and Taehyun stopped by Dior. And he was pretty sure that was on top of your vanity mirror a few days ago.
He takes another step, crowding you against the wall, and he feels the faint tremor that runs through your body. You weren’t mad at him for being late and drunk. Well, a little, maybe, he concedes internally, a dark part of him reveling in your conflict. But you needed somebody to put you back in your place.
He’s so close now he can see the flecks of brown in your dark eyes, can smell the faint, sharp scent of whiskey mixed with the sweet vanilla of your perfume.
And a little fucking discipline is what Beomgyu’s good at. A cruel smirk plays on his lips. Or really, memorizing your body more than you do.
He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a ghost of a touch that’s more of a threat than a kiss. He mockingly smiles, his mouth hovering just over yours.
“What?” he purrs, the vibration of his voice sending a jolt straight through you. “Now you’re shutting up? Weren’t you berating me just now?” He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression one of smug, triumphant amusement. “Cat got your tongue?”
You could feel your ears ringing as the heat on your face beat at you, a traitorous blush that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with his suffocating presence.
You stutter out a response, the words catching in your throat. “Th-this is what I mean when you act all high and mighty—”
But Beomgyu was quick to shut you up. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around your jaw, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh of your cheek.
His other arm snaked around your waist, yanking you flush against him until there was no space left, not even for air. A shit-eating grin spread across his face as he leaned in, pressing a singular, infuriatingly soft kiss to the tip of your nose.
“Let fucking go of me,” you muttered, your voice muffled by his hold. “You’re drunk, Beomgyu.”
He pouts, the mocking expression never leaving his face as he says, “What happened to calling me ‘baby,’ huh?” He leans closer, and you flinch at the strong smell of soju in every breath he takes, the sharp, alcoholic fumes mixing with the faint sweetness of the yogurt they probably mixed it with.
He whispers, his voice a low, conspiratorial taunt, “I may be drunk, but I’m never too drunk to know if my girl misses me being inside her.”
You open your mouth to protest, a fresh wave of indignation rising, only for him to press his mouth against yours. The taste of soju, sharp and acidic, mixed with the faint, creamy tang of yogurt, overtook your senses as Beomgyu kissed you, deeply.
It wasn’t a kiss of passion but of punishment, his lips moving against yours with a bruising force. You tried to push him away, your hands flattening against his firm chest, but he was an immovable wall.
Just as you were about to give in, he let go, pulling back with a wet sound. He pressed a chaste, almost gentle kiss to your forehead, a stark contrast to the assault on your lips.
He smiles down at you, his eyes dark and glinting. “There, all better now?”
You sneer at him, the furious flush on your cheeks betraying the venom in your expression. “I’m not kissing and fucking you when you’re drunk, Beomgyu. Get your hands off of me.”
He hums, a low, thoughtful sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours. “I don’t think so.” His grip on your waist tightens. “You’ve been nothing but a whiny brat the moment I got home.”
You try to step back, but he only pulls you closer, making your frown deepen into a look of pure, unadulterated anger. “For the hundredth fucking time,” you seethe, “this is what I mean! All you do is come home and expect me to be ready and have my legs spread for you—”
Only for him to pull you closer by your face, your cheeks squishing in his hold. He looks down at you with a single, unimpressed raised brow.
“Excuse me?” he says, his voice dripping with condescending sweetness. “Did I say you could stop kissing me and start talking? Because I don’t recall giving you that option.”
He was quick to spin you around, so your front was pressed against the cold marble of the counter. The sudden shock of the chilled surface against your bare skin made you yelp, a sharp, indignant sound that was swallowed by the cavernous kitchen.
Beomgyu’s hands clamped down on your waist, his grip like iron, keeping you pinned in place as you squirmed.
“Choi Beomgyu, let me go this instant!” you huffed, trying to push yourself up, but his body weight was an unmovable force behind you.
He simply chuckled, a low, dark sound that vibrated through his chest and into your back. In one fluid motion, he gathered both of your wrists and held them firmly behind you with one of his large hands, rendering you helpless.
He leaned forward, the heat of his breath fanning over the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold counter. “I don’t think you deserve to be listened to right now, baby,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat.
Beomgyu hummed, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “Because you wouldn’t let me apologize, no?”
You opened your mouth to retort, to tell him exactly where he could shove his half-assed apology, but he chose that exact moment to tug at the waistband, letting the elastic snap back against your skin with a sharp sting. You squeaked, the sound pathetic and utterly betraying your defiant posture.
A smirk was evident in his voice as he said, “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already acting like a bitch in heat.”
You groaned in pure, unadulterated annoyance, your cheek pressed against the unforgiving marble. “I didn’t even ask for this, you asshole!”
Beomgyu raised a brow, a gesture you couldn’t see but could feel in the shift of his weight. His hand abandoned your waistband, traveling with agonizing slowness to cup your clothed pussy.
You instinctively tried to keep his hand away by shutting your legs together, clamping your thighs tight, but that only fueled him.
The pressure of his palm was a constant, maddening presence as his fingers began to trace the seam of your shorts, following the lines of your folds through the fabric with a precision that made your breath hitch.
He clicked his tongue, a sound of condescending disappointment. “Oh really?” he drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm.
“Your body seems to be telling a very different story. It’s practically begging for it, isn’t it? All this resistance… it’s just for show, isn’t it, baby? You love this.”
You tried to push yourself away, but the movement was clumsy and desperate. It only served to arch your back, pressing your ass more firmly against the hard line of his cock straining against his jeans.
Beomgyu released a sound that was a mix of intrigue and approval, a low, satisfied hum that vibrated through you.
“See what I mean?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over the nape of your neck. “For being such a whore for me?”
The crude word made you gasp, a sharp intake of air that was cut short as he suddenly hooked his thumbs into your shorts and yanked them down. They didn’t fall to the floor, instead bunching up around your mid-thighs, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. The cool air of the kitchen kissed your heated skin.
“This is what I mean!” you cried out, your voice trembling with a mixture of rage and unwanted arousal. “You only see me as some sort of fucktoy and not as your girlf—”
Before you could even finish the word, Beomgyu’s hands were on you, cupping the soft flesh of your ass. His fingers were cold, a stark contrast to the heat blooming under your skin, and the sensation made you flinch. He traced the curve of your ass, his touch possessive.
“And I need you to stop talking,” he commanded, his voice losing its playful edge and hardening with authority.
He leaned closer, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the skin of your exposed shoulder. He wasn’t gentle; he sucked and nipped, leaving a trail of dark, possessive hickies in his wake.
You tried to hold back the moans that were threatening to spill from your lips, pressing them into a thin, defiant line, but the pleasure was a potent drug.
Beomgyu hummed against your skin, the sound a deep rumble. “Still not gonna say anything?” he teased. As if to answer his own question, his fingers found your slick folds, caressing the heated, sensitive skin with an expertise that made your knees weak.
He chuckled, the sound dark and triumphant. “Bold of you to push me away while you’re this wet for me.”
You hissed out a strangled, “F-fuck you.”
A teasingly cruel smile spread across his face. “That’s what I’m trying to do here, baby,” he whispered, and slowly, he let one finger sink into you. You moaned aloud at the intrusion, the sound raw and unrestrained.
“Now shut up and let me talk,” he said, his voice deceptively calm as he suddenly pushed a second finger in, stretching you. You instinctively leaned forward, your elbows hitting the cold marble of the counter for support as your body trembled.
“You’re accusing me of being a bad boyfriend,” he stated, curling his fingers just right, stroking that sensitive spot inside you that made you see stars. You moaned out a broken, “Ngh—you are!”
Beomgyu clicked his tongue, a sound of sharp disapproval. He removed his hold on your wrists, letting you support yourself, but your freedom was short-lived.
He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back and pulling you flush against his chest. You whined at the sharp, pleasurable pain of the pull.
He snarled against your ear, “I’m such a bad boyfriend that I’m fingering you right now, huh?” He began to pump his fingers in and out of you in a relentless, punishing rhythm that made you shudder and clench around him.
“I’m such a bad boyfriend for letting you wait up on me while I’m stuck in the studio, making money to keep a roof over our heads,” he continued, his voice dripping with venom. “And a pretty damn big one at that.”
He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching you wider, making you moan out in pure, unadulterated pleasure. “Ah, fuck,” you cried out, the fight completely draining out of you, replaced by the overwhelming need for release.
The sound of your surrender seemed to be the only thing he’d been waiting for.
Beomgyu’s grip on your hair loosened, but only so his hand could slide down to grip your jaw, turning your head just enough to capture your mouth in a bruising, possessive kiss. It was all teeth and tongue—claiming you, swallowing your moans as his fingers continued their relentless assault between your legs.
“Look at you,” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick with lust and a dark satisfaction. “All that fight… and it all melts away the second I touch you. You’re so easy, baby. So fucking easy for me.”
His words were meant to humiliate, but they only stoked the fire building in your core. He was right. You hated that he was right. With a final, deliberate curl of his fingers against that sensitive spot, the coil in your stomach snapped.
“That’s it,” he growled, his voice a low, triumphant rumble against your ear. “I can practically feel you squeezing my fingers. Lie to me again, baby. Tell me you don’t want this when you’re cumming all over my fingers.”
Your orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your body convulsed, your inner walls clamping down around his fingers.
Your vision went white, and for a moment, the only things that existed were the cold marble beneath your hands and the overwhelming pleasure pulsing through you.
He didn’t stop, drawing out your climax until you were a trembling, whimpering mess, completely boneless against the counter.
Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers, leaving you feeling achingly empty. He brought them to his lips, his eyes locked on yours as he cleaned your arousal from them with a slow swipe of his tongue.
“See?” he murmured, his voice a low, triumphant purr. “I’m not such a bad boyfriend after all, am I? I always give you what you need.”
Beomgyu’s grip on your hair tightened suddenly, yanking harder until your scalp burned with the sharp pull, forcing your back to arch sharply against his chest.
The cool air hit your exposed skin, contrasting the heat radiating from his body as he molded himself to you, his free hand sliding possessively over your hip. You gasped, the lingering waves of your orgasm making every sensation feel amplified, your body still quivering uncontrollably.
“Now,” he drawled, his voice twisting back into that sickeningly sweet condescension, like honey laced with venom, “are you ready to listen to my apology?”
He held you there, waiting, his breath hot against your ear.
But all that escaped your lips were small, ragged pants as you struggled to catch your breath, your chest heaving, mind foggy from the intensity. The words wouldn’t form—couldn’t form—your throat tight and raw from the cries you’d already let out.
Beomgyu cooed mockingly, the sound dripping with false sympathy. “Aww, what’s the matter, sweetheart? Did I just fuck the fight right out of you?”
His free hand moved with slowness, fingers deftly popping the button of his jeans. The zipper rasped down, and he shoved the fabric along with his boxers past his hips in one fluid motion, freeing his throbbing cock. It sprang heavy and hot against your ass, the length of it pressing insistently as he moved closer.
He leaned in, lips brushing feather-light kisses along the side of your neck, trailing up to your jaw. Each press of his mouth sent shivers racing down your spine, a mix of tenderness and control that made your knees weaken further.
“I can take any insult you throw at me, (Y/N),” he whispered, his tone laced with that condescending edge, deliberately omitting the sweet nicknames he usually peppered in—like ‘baby’ or ‘darling’—the absence hitting you like a chill, making your body shiver involuntarily against him.
“But calling me a bad boyfriend? Accusing me of just using you for this tight little body?” He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. “That’s just absurd.”
The leaking tip of his aching cock nudged against your dripping folds, slick with your release, rubbing teasingly along the sensitive slit. You whimpered at the contact, hips twitching forward instinctively, but he held you firm with that iron grip in your hair.
A hiss escaped his lips as he coated himself in your wetness, the heat of him making your core clench around nothing. “Don’t fucking say words you don’t mean,” he growled, voice roughening with restrained hunger.
“Might I remind you who was there for me when I was still worth nothing?”
Your response dissolved into a deep, throaty moan the instant the swollen head of his cock breached your entrance, stretching your aching walls as it pushed past your folds and sank into your cunt.
The burn of the intrusion mixed with the fullness you craved, your body yielding to him despite the emotional storm raging inside.
“Who takes care of me when I’m sick and can’t even talk shit, huh?” He pushed in another inch, deliberate and slow, savoring the way your inner muscles fluttered around him.
The added pressure drew a sharp moan from you—“Beomgyu—!”—your voice breaking on his name, hands scrabbling against the marble for purchase.
He hummed in response, a smug vibration rumbling from his throat as he nuzzled into your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Hmm? Or who talked to my mom for hours on end, just because you wanted to keep me well-fed and happy on my birthdays?”
Without warning, he surged forward, slamming the rest of his length deep inside you in one brutal thrust. Every thick vein and rigid ridge dragged against your sensitive walls, seating him perfectly, filling you to the hilt until you felt him in your gut.
A broken “Hah—fuck!” tore from your throat, followed by a choked moan as tears pricked at your eyes from the overwhelming stretch.
Your body arched further under his hold, pussy clenching greedily around his cock, milking him as if begging for more despite the ache.
Beomgyu tugged your hair just the slightest bit more, tilting your head back so he could whisper directly into your ear, his hips grinding in a slow circle to emphasize his point.
“Not gonna fight back?” He smirked to himself when all he heard in return were your small moans and whimpers, no trace of the earlier defiance.
“Mhmm, because you know I’m right,” he purred, voice smug as he began to move—shallow thrusts at first, each one pulling a fresh gasp from your lips.
His hand on your hip dug in, bruising fingers guiding your body to meet him, while the one in your hair kept you arched and exposed, utterly at his mercy.
A low chuckle rumbled from Beomgyu’s chest, vibrating against your ear as his lips ghosted over the sensitive shell. His fingers twisted tighter in your strands, the pull sending fresh sparks of pain-laced pleasure shooting down your spine, keeping you locked in that vulnerable bow.
He peppered open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of your neck, teeth nipping at the tender skin just enough to mark without breaking, his breath hot and ragged as he maintained his relentless rhythm.
Each thrust into your soaked pussy was powerful—like he hadn’t downed at least twenty shots of soju alone earlier that night—his hips snapping forward with a force that jolted your entire body against the counter’s edge, the marble biting into your palms.
“You really are such a funny girl, baby,” he hissed through clenched teeth, the words laced with that mocking affection as his cock dragged deep inside you, stretching your walls with every plunge.
The slick sounds of skin slapping skin filled the kitchen, mingling with your shared gasps, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and spilled alcohol from the nearby bottles.
“Makes me want to knock you up—fill this greedy cunt until you’re leaking me for days.”
The crude promise twisted something deep in your core, heat flooding your veins as his tip battered against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
“Gyu—fuck, right there!” you moaned, the plea spilling out unbidden, your voice hoarse and desperate, body betraying any lingering resistance as you pushed back to meet him.
He obliged without mercy, his pace quickening into a brutal one, hips pistoning faster as sweat beaded on his brow, dripping onto your shoulder. The friction built an inferno inside you, his thick shaft splitting you open with each drive, veins pulsing against your clenching heat.
Beomgyu hummed approvingly, the sound vibrating through his teeth as he latched onto your neck again, sucking a fresh bruise into the flesh. “Or maybe you are right, you know,” he murmured against your skin, voice dropping to a taunting drawl between grunts.
“All talk until you get dicked down. Maybe deep inside, you do know you’re just a little slut for me, aren’t you?”
Your response came as a breathless moan, hand flying to his arm where his fingers clamped like a vice around your waist, nails digging into his skin in a futile bid for leverage. The pressure coiled tighter in your belly, a familiar ache blooming hot and insistent as his words sank in, stoking the fire.
“Fuck—yes—” you cried out, the admission fracturing into a whine, your thighs trembling as you teetered on the edge, every nerve alight with the building ecstasy.
Beomgyu hummed again, a satisfied rumble as he bit down on your neck, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make you arch further, the sharp sting blending seamlessly with the pleasure radiating from your core.
His grip on your hair eased just a fraction, loosening enough to let you crane your head to the side even more, offering him better access to your throat without the burn crossing into true pain.
The shift allowed a sliver of relief, your neck muscles sighing in gratitude even as he continued to pound into you, his balls slapping rhythmically against your clit with each forceful entry.
“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he muttered, voice strained and wrecked, his forehead dropping to rest heavily against your shoulder.
The warmth of his skin seeped into yours, his breaths coming in sharp bursts as he felt your walls flutter erratically around his length. “Are you close?”
You tried to nod, the tug on your hair limiting the motion to a jerky tilt, but the affirmation dissolved into another moan, high and keening, as his cock hit that devastating angle again.
The coil in your stomach wound unbearably tight, threatening to snap at any second, your vision blurring at the edges with the intensity.
Beomgyu hissed through his teeth, his thrusts growing erratic, hips stuttering as he chased his own release.
“Cum with me,” he commanded, the words a rough growl against your skin, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple sharply, twisting just enough to shove you over.
As if on command, your body obeyed, spasming wildly around his cock in a vice-like grip. Waves of pleasure crashed through you, your pussy gushing hot juices that flowed down his length, soaking his thighs and dripping onto the floor below.
The orgasm ripped a scream from your throat, muffled only by the way your face pressed into your arm, every muscle seizing as ecstasy pulsed through your veins. Beomgyu followed seconds later, a guttural groan tearing from him as he buried himself to the hilt one final time.
Thick ropes of cum painted the inside of your walls white and hot, flooding your depths until you felt deliciously full, the warmth spreading like liquid fire. He shuddered against you, cock twitching with aftershocks as he emptied himself completely, marking you from the inside out.
With a gentle push, he guided your head forward, releasing the last of his hold on your hair so you could support yourself fully on your arms against the cool marble.
Your elbows buckled slightly under the weight, but you managed, pants escaping in heavy waves as your chest heaved, lungs burning from the exertion. The counter’s chill seeped into your flushed skin, grounding you as the high ebbed, leaving you boneless and spent.
Beomgyu’s hand finally loosened completely from your hair, both palms now gripping your hips in a softer hold, thumbs stroking soothing circles over the bruises he’d left.
He panted against your back, his own breaths ragged and uneven, sweat-slicked chest rising and falling in time with yours. “Fuck, baby, you did so well,” he rasped, voice thick with lingering lust and a hint of genuine awe, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out, the wet slide of his softening cock leaving you achingly empty once more.
He watched, transfixed, as your mixed juices spilled out from your abused pussy with ease—creamy white strands of his cum mingling with your clear arousal, trickling down your inner thighs in obscene rivulets.
The sight drew a low hum of approval from him, his fingers tracing lightly over the mess, smearing it further before he caught himself.
He leaned over you then, his body draping warmly as one arm wrapped around your waist to steady you, lips brushing your temple. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, the words tumbling out in a soft, exhausted whisper, guilt flickering through the post-orgasm haze as reality crept back in.
Beomgyu grinned from ear to ear, the expression quickly masking the soft contentment in his eyes with his usual shit-eating smirk, all cocky charm and zero remorse.
“I know,” he said simply, the two words dripping with smug satisfaction as he nuzzled into your hair, inhaling your scent like it was his favorite drug.
You rolled your eyes in annoyance, a weak huff escaping despite the way your body still hummed from him, too drained to muster real irritation. The audacity of him—turning your apology into his victory lap—made your lips twitch, even as affection warmed your chest.
Shifting slightly, Beomgyu reached past you to the drawer beside the sink, pulling out a clean towel with efficient movements. He unfolded it gently, kneeling a bit to carefully wipe over the wetness dripping down your thighs, the soft fabric absorbing the evidence of your union with tender strokes.
You hissed at the initial contact, oversensitive nerves firing in protest, your legs twitching involuntarily.
“Sorry, baby,” he murmured sheepishly, his smile turning boyish and apologetic as he lightened his touch, focusing on cleaning you up without causing more discomfort.
His free hand rubbed slow, soothing patterns on your lower back, easing the lingering tremors in your muscles. He stood up, his movements fluid as he pulled his own boxers up to hide his softening cock.
Then, with surprising gentleness, he tugged your shorts back up over your hips, the fabric feeling soft and familiar against your sensitive skin. He pressed a trail of soft kisses along your shoulder, a stark contrast to the possessive marks he’d left there just moments before.
“I’m gonna clean you up properly once we get to bed, okay?” he whispered, his voice warm and sincere.
You only grumbled in response, a small pout forming on your lips as you buried your face in your arms. “Gyu… the macarons…”
Beomgyu blinked at you, his expression shifting from apologetic to one of pure, incredulous disbelief. He slowly turned you around to face him, his hands resting on your hips as he stared down at you.
“I literally just fucked you stupid against the kitchen counter,” he said, his voice flat with astonishment. “And you’re worrying about some stupid macarons?”
You huffed, pushing his chest lightly. “You’re the one who wanted them!”
The sheer absurdity of it all broke the tension, and he laughed, a soft, genuine sound that made your heart flutter despite your annoyance. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll clean that up, and then we can finish them up tomorrow, okay?”
You tilted your head slightly, still pouting as you mumbled, “But you have a shoot tomorrow…”
Beomgyu just shrugged, placing a hand on your lower back as he urged you softly to get out of the kitchen, guiding you along with him. “I took the week off.”
You blinked up at him, truly surprised this time. “What—”
He pinched your nose lightly, making you squint your eyes at him in scrutiny. “That’s what I was about to say, until you closed the door on me and started nagging at me the second I walked in.”
You rolled your eyes, letting him guide you towards the stairs. “Who comes home drunk and uttering absolute nonsense—”
He placed a finger over your lips, effectively silencing your rant. “We’re already past this, baby. Now come on and let me pamper you.”
You grumbled in reluctant agreement, making him smile as he guided you up the stairs, his arm a warm presence around your waist.
It was a really good idea, he thought, that he’d gone ring shopping before getting wasted with the rest of the members.
Otherwise, you’d probably kill him for proposing with a Ring Pop instead of the four-carat diamond he had tucked away in the pocket of his jacket, which was currently thrown haphazardly on the kitchen floor.
i actually can't with this man, he's actually the biggest baby but also biggest tease?
he would baby you all of the time, pinching your cheeks and kissing you all over your face
but then he will also pout if you don't give him the same treatment, the pout will leave once you give him a kiss and cuddle him
so he is obviously very affectionate, but he knows when to be serious and turn it down a notch, which mainly occurs with other people around/in public
but at the same time i can also see him not caring and just doing whatever, it really depends on his mood, the setting, and who he's with
very very vey big on fashion, meaning, he would love to style you, or you ask his input on your outfit, it will make him so happy
i could see him also liking it when you guys match, but very subtle like having the same shoes, same general color scheme, sharing accessories
he's such a flirt, will never ever miss out on an opportunity to make you blush, it's one of his favorite things ever
loves kissing you, cheek, forehead, hands, but especially lips
will also buy you anything your heart desires, you will not be touching your wallet around him
he's so boyfriend omg
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ soobin
he's the sweetest and cutest thing ever
he would definitely be into a more cliché romance. the type you see in dramas, he really is a hopeless romantic
we all know he can get really shy and flustered, so in the beginning of your relationship he was like that all of the time, always giving you his shy smile
now he still does shy up, but it's really when you initiate physical contact like giving him kisses and hugs
he would love sharing clothes with you, thinks you look adorable with it being big on you
big on cuddling and physical contact even if he does become shy
when he initiates it he doesn't really become shy, it's really just when you do it
he would love back hugs with him resting his head on yours or your shoulder
and would love hugging you and spinning around, he thinks it's the cutest thing
he's learn to just ignore his members when they tease him, to the point where he doesn't even care, he will continue laying in your lap with anyone present
loves loves loves holding hands, he likes how his is a bit bigger than yours
he's your biggest supporter for sure, always right behind you for everything you do
he always acts like a teenager in love, everyone can see how happy he gets when you walk into the room
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ beomgyu
okay so this man is the absolute love of your life, but also a literal clown
he's so goofy omg, but he's such a brat sometimes
i can promise you that boredom is never a thing when your with him
he's such a tease too, always laughing and giggling with or at you, but not in a mean way, he knows when to stop
your laugh is his medicine, like he loves making you laugh, it's one of his favorite things
his ego would go through the roof too like "omg i just make you laugh, i'm the funniest person ever"
he loves cuddling but he can also not sit still for the absolute life of him, so you two laying in bed means someone is rolling off of the bed (like he will start jumping on the bed and won't stop until you push him off, but not hurting him obviously)
also love hugs, he will fully engulf you into a bear hug, crushing every bone in your body, but then he'll spin you around until you're both dizzy
very soft with you when he's tired, like all he wants is to lay down with you and baby him, or vice versa if you're tired, he will baby you to no end
you are one of his top prioritizes so he will always make sure that you're okay
making sure you have enough to eat, lending you his jacket, watching over you when doing something, putting his hand on a corner so you don't bump your head, etc.
one of your biggest supporters, will make sure he is the loudest too, always making sure you get your way
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ taehyun
so so sweet, very much a gentleman
i could see him always paying for you, definitely likes to go shopping just so you don’t have to pay for anything
when you guys go out he’s always carrying your bags, like before you can get a chance to grab it after he payed for it, it’s already in his hand
speaking of public, he wouldn’t like pda, maybe handholding or him giving you his arm, but that’s about it
in private he is definitely more affectionate, always touching you like slinging an arm over your shoulders, hand on your thigh, holding hands, linking pinkies, laying your legs over his lap, etc.
will do anything for you, he quite literally can’t say no, so if you really want something just ask, because you have very good chances of him saying yes
makes sure that you are in good health, so he’ll always be watching over you to aloe sure you are eating good and also doing some form of exercise/activity, as he wants to keep you healthy
i feel like he would make you breakfast in bed on random occasions, if he could bring himself to get out of bed that is
on the other occasions he would just stay in bed with you, as he wouldn’t want to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace
he can be very soft either way you, gentle and affectionate, but also very playful when he wants to be
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➺❥ huening kai
omg he's a little baby, like all you want to do is snuggle him
it's known, and very well headcanoned that this man is a snuggle bug, and i completely agree
he loves hugging you and giving you kisses on the cheek, and obviously hopes for it to be reciprocated
i could see you laying down on the couch or bed doing your own thing, reading a book, scrolling on your phone, watching tv, etc. then you just see kai coming over and laying on your stomach, grabbing your hand and putting it on his head, and him snuggling into your belly
he's just overall very smitten with you, like he always has a look on his face that screams "i'm so in love, i can't believe that we're together"
whenever he’s not with you he’s always calling and texting you because he hates being apart :(
it’s always just little updates or check-ins, like he’ll text you “eating lunch right now! are you eating?” or “i miss you :(, i can’t wait to get back”
i also think he would be big on pet names, but they’re pretty consistent, where once he finds a few he’ll stick to them
doesn’t like either of you to be mad at each other, so if there’s ever an argument he will always apologize and try to resolve it, because he doesn’t want you guys to go to bed angry
he’s also a little goofball so he deck tries to make you laugh, like the others, he loves seeing you smile and laugh, it makes his heart flutter
his family would love you too, you definitely get along with lea and hiyyih
request: hi!! i saw you were taking txt requests and wanted to ask if you could do headcanons for tubatu and their favourite kind of nonsexual intimacy/physical affection :D
warnings: none, that i could think off. maybe some slight negative thoughts. most definitely not proof-read
a/n: ermmmm...hi...i have made a return to writing after a LONG time so feel free to send requests :))) hope this is good!
Choi Soobin
With Soobin, I can really see him valuing consistency in a relationship. I don’t necessarily mean a routine that you and him follow intentionally, it’s just things that serendipitously fall into place that becomes a constant in his life and your relationship.
He’d really treasure these constants when things becomes a little too hectic for his liking as an idol and the leader of Tomorrow X Together.
Sometimes he’s called at random times throughout the day for dance practice, sometimes he’ll have an impromptu trip for a fanmeet, sometimes he’d have a date planned with you only for it to fall flat because the company needs him for a photoshoot
So when he’s able to anchor himself to you, whether it be before or back-to-back schedules, or amidst the craziness that is comeback season, he does nothing but take great delight in it.
So what does this entail? Nothing. No literally. What others would call ‘doing nothing,’ you and Soobin view it as soaking in each others’ presence, filling up your half-empty cups with nuggets of calmness and tenderness.
It’s nothing extravagant, it’s literally just you and him existing in the same space while he does one thing and you do another. Parallel play, if you will.
It includes Soobin doing the cooking while you’re perched on the counter, phone in hand as you read off the recipe for him
It includes sharing the bathroom with him; you’re taking a much needed shower and he’s at the counter, doing his skincare, humming along to whatever songs you have playing on your speaker, breaking the verbal silence to playfully point out how you fogged up the mirror with how hot you ran the shower
It includes small bits of the mundane that mean the world to Soobin
Slowly but surely, it just happens to become a routine. You just always end up together, quietly, peacefully without forcing anything. He starts off by adjusting things for your comfort – fluffing a pillow when he notices it growing flat, speaking in a hushed voice when you have a migraine, flickering the big lights off and turning on the soft, yellow lamps, handing you your water bottle just as you’re about to ask him for it
It may seem too simple but as time passes, he lets you see his unfiltered states. He won’t always talk about what’s wrong, not at first, but he’ll linger around you when he’s tired and overwhelmed, when something in his atmosphere is a little off, when he doesn’t have the energy to “perform”. At the end of the day, he just tends to orient himself towards you in such subtle ways: a large hand on your thigh, his body language angled towards you, even in group settings
Soobin has no qualms in you witnessing his unpolished self, when he’s quieter than usual, a little spaced out, perhaps a bit fragile from stress
That’s where his intimacy lives: in the space around you
Over time, you start to notice that that he relaxes more around you than everyone else. Sure, he loves his members, but he’s with them most of the time in front of a camera, so there’s a layer of performance surrounding the interactions. Yet, when he’s around you, he’s allowed to pull the mask off and be unguarded around you.
Your silent reading is interrupted by the arrival of Soobin in your shared apartment. You put your book off to the side and rise from the couch, already noticing the way he trudges through the door, shoulders tense but the air around him is…exhausted. “Hey, Binnie,” you greet softly, stepping on your tippy-toes to wrap your arms around his neck, smiling to yourself when he immediately reciprocates the embrace. You can feel the way he curls into himself to fully stick himself onto you, the way he bends his neck lower, his spine arched to match your height. Expecting him to pull away after a few seconds, he surprises you by waddling over to the couch with his arms still wrapped around you. He’s a little clumsy at first, bumping into the table by the door that holds a bowl of keys and random objects but he finds his rhythm as he seamlessly moves you into the living room, pulling you down alongside him. He plops down with a huff and you follow suit, sitting on the other side from him to grab both your ankles and drape them over his lap.
You pout, not playfully because if Soobin’s feeling something, you feel it with him. “Long day?” a hand comes up to cup his cheek, clean from the makeup he had to wear in the morning for recordings, soft to the touch like he always is. Ohhhh, how easy Soobin is but instantly, when your hand comes in contact with his skin, he closes his eyes peacefully, and lets out an exhale with a shake of his head. You can already see him melting into the familiarity of the joined space. “Yeah,” he mumbles, his own coming up to rest over yours, leaning into your touch while his other hand wraps around one ankles, his thumb rubbing circles into your leg. “Just…wasn’t able to get a second and breath, you know?” peaking on eye open, anyone would be amiss to neglect the tender look Soobin gives you. It’s funny, really, how his eyes start to twinkle with fondness when he opens the other eye. “But I’m okay now.”
“Are you ?” you counter with a raise of you brow, hand floating up to push back the strands of hair that fall into his eyes. Soobin just hums in confirmation, arms coming out to wrap around you waist to pull you closer to him, right into your side, making it so you rest your head on his shoulder. “I made some bimbimbap. You want me to plate it up for you?”
“Maybe later. I just wanna sit here with you for a bit,” he whispers in reply, eyes landing on the book you were reading earlier. “Whatcha reading now?” You know, oh you know all too well that if Soobin was dwelling on something, if his mind was infested with doubts and misgivings, he’d tell you, he’d open himself up and bare his problems to you. You never needed to pull it out of him, never needed to coax him. That’s how much he trusts you, that’s how much he’s so sure of you. So when he asks you this banal question, you know that he needs now, is just a change of pace from the chaos of non-stop interviews, recordings, practices, and meetings. You gladly bring him into you space, there’s no one else you’d rather share it with, so you talk about your book, the plot, your thoughts before shifting over to the kitchen for dinner, dipping into small talk, perhaps more intimate conversations of worries and wishes. With Soobin, intimacy means being someone he doesn’t have to recover from, sharing silence that feels full rather than empty, and knowing that, even though nothing substantial has been said, you’re still connected. Intimacy with Soobin is not intense, it’s enduring.
Choi Yeonjun
In a budding romance with Yeonjun, non-sexual intimacy and physical affection starts off brights, maybe a little too intentional. If he has his sights set on you, he’s going to want to let it be known to the world.
Dramatically swinging your arm while his fingers are laced through yours. Placing a hand in the back pocket of your jeans, ever the the flirt. He knows it makes you blush when he does this and a smirk graces his lips as the two of you walk down the street like that. A part of him really does live for flirty displays of physical affection; the way peoples’ eyes are on him and you, the way you squirm around, not used to such blatant displays of affection. He’s warm and physically engaging with everyone, that’s just in his nature, but with you, he takes it a step further, though, you know that it’s a little bit of a show
You can’t really fault him for it, though. Being an idol, he constantly has people trying to get close. Not close to him but close to the idol image, the fame, the status. It’s a test of sorts. Are you really wanting to stay once you realize that his schedules are so sporadic, you may not see him for weeks at a time? Are you able to stick around when he’s surrounded by so many adoring fans, knowing thousands, if not millions of people constantly have their eyes on him? And most importantly, are you able to stare back at him unflinchingly when he breaks down and the cocky facade crumbles? If yes, the way he treats you becomes all the more distinct. Not necessarily louder, just intentional
In crowded spaces, he seeks you out specifically, eyes scanning through dozens of people at an event. He’s won an award at a show, having to sit restlessly through the rest of the event until it ended, and it he immediately booked it backstage, pushing through the throngs of people, head turning to every side to find you and when he does, he breaks out into a giant, dopey smile before crashing into you.
He brings up small details you’ve offhandedly mentioned but forgot later on. Going to a cafe, you order a slice of tiramisu, garnished with a raspberry and two blueberries, the former of which you don’t like. Yeonjun knows this, so he leans over the table to pluck the berries off the dessert and pops them into his mouth. “Hey!” you cry out, wanting to get annoyed for the sake of it. “What?” Yeonjun shrugs, chewing the fruit. “You said you don’t like blueberries.” You falter. Most of the time, you forget this fact yourself, mostly because you just don’t come into contact with blueberries enough to remember your dislike for them. But Yeonjun remembered, of course he did.
Yeonjun’s intimacy stops being general warmth and becomes targeted. Finding your gaze, locking eyes with you mid-conversation, even when someone else is talking. He’ll look at you from across the table, a subtle warm flame beneath his gaze, the two of you having a conversation with no words shared
His intimacy builds through shared moments that become exclusive over time: inside jokes, repeated habits, a certain tone of voice he only uses with you. But what really deepens it is when the performance drops because when he starts to 100% trust you, he lets you see the parts of him that aren’t that confident, where he needs reassurance instead of constantly giving it as the eldest of the group, and the quiet vulnerability behind all that confident energy.
At the end of the day, Yeonjun wants to share all experiences with you. Big and small, happy and sad, he wants to go through all the ups and downs with you, he wants to include you in his energy, and wants to be included in your energy.
Choi Beomgyu
I think Beomgyu would be kind of similar because he would hide his intimacy underneath extreme playfulness and teasing
At first, he’s all noise, cackles and jokes to get under your skin, purposefully pushing your buttons just to see your reaction but if you stay long enough, you start to notice the patterns.
He’s awfully observant and so like a switch has been flipped, he’ll stop a joke mid sentence because he senses you’re mood change. Beomgyu can sometimes forget that he’ll take his teasing a little too far but when he realizes it, he’ll bite his tongue in the same second and sit closer to you than usual, clinging onto you like a cat, but literally though because he’ll touch you absentmindedly, stuffing his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your comforting scent, or he’ll start to play with your fingers while listening to his other members talk
I could see him being quite hot and cold at times. Not in a negative way but just in that his mood could plummet or rise at the drop of a hat. He could literally be resting his head in your lap, playing with strings of your hoodie that dangle in his face, purposefully singing a song off-key, just to irritate you a bit and depending on your reaction, he’ll either keep going or stop entirely.
“C’moonnnnn, your phone can’t be that interesting,” he whines, reaching a hand up to try and swat your phone away. You scoff and roll your eyes, looking through your bank account without sparing your boyfriend a glance. “Trust me, even though my credit card stresses me out, it’s less of a headache than you,” you counter back, causing Beomgyu to sidle up further into your lap, his hans flying to your waist to tickle you. “Quit it!” you squeal, trying to wriggle yourself free, eyes still trained on your phone and when you get a glimpse of a notification that pop up, you stiffen. Whatever it is, it’s enough to dampen your mood entirely.
Beomgyu senses this immediately, the way your jaw tightens, the way you start to chew on your bottom lip. He withdraws, but doesn’t leave. He pulls his fingers away from your side and gently takes your phone from you, putting it off to the side as he sits up, scooping you into his lap for a change. He settles you sideways, hand brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Hey, you’re alright, okay?” his voice is softer now, there’s not a trace of that booming tone that laces his words when he’s energetic. “We’ll figure it out together.”
That’s the thing about Beomgyu. You never walk alone, you never struggle alone. Why should you when you could share the pain? Why have a piece of happiness on your own when you could double it with him around?
I definitely think Beomgyu would love late night talks the most. It’s the most intimate version of him, when the energy drops completely. At night, there’s nothing to distract him and it allows him to just…stay and be present. At times, he talks about the most random things, something he saw on the internet. “You know they played an Ateez song on the Artemis II mission?” “What? No way!” “I know! It’s a missed opportunity for them to play ‘Over the Moon,” he adds with a shake of his head. Other times, it’s a terribly soul-bearing affair.
“I don’t know. I just…the future really freaks me out, you know?” The two of you are at the park in the middle of the day, laying in the grass, other people scattered around but right now, it’s just you and Beomgyu. He’s dragged you here after the company announced that they’re going to be prepping for a comeback so he wanted to squeeze some time in with you. He’s laying straight on his back, gazing up at the sky and you’re laying the other way (think The Fault in Our Stars film poster). You hum, nodding to his words. “No, I get it, Beom. I think most of the world would understand. What’s making you think this way?”
He sighs, turning his head to look at you, a small pout on his lips from the uncertainty of the situation. “Not sure…guess the vastness of sky reminded me of the future. And the fact that contract renewals are coming up and I don’t know if-”
“-hey. It’s gonna be okay. you’re gonna be okay,” you interrupt, turning to look at him, your nose just barely brushing over his. “One step at a time and…I’m pretty confident in the fact that the rest of the guys want to keep the group together.” Beomgyu smiles and rubs the tip of his nose over your cheek. “You’re right.”
There’s softness underneath a few layers of humour. Not that his teasing isn’t him, but he’s able to be both sides of himself when he’s with you.
Kang Taehyun
Okay, so for Taehyun, because he’s a smarty pants, i could soooooooo see him loving intellectual and deep conversations
He’d loooveeee to tell you all the things he’s discovered but he’d love it even more listening to you talk about your passions and interests
He’s all about learning: learning your love languages, learning your fears to keep you safe, learning what makes you bloom out of happiness, and just learning about you in general!
With learning comes observation and Taehyun is observant alright, allowing him to be super attentive towards you and your needs
He adjusts how he speaks to you based on your moods. If you’re feeling glum, he knows to keep the teasing at pay, he doesn’t push. If you’re excited about something, he matches your energy, not wanting you to feel silly.
He helps you in ways that are uncannily timed
You had offhandedly told him that eating at university kind of makes you anxious because the cafeteria is too loud, too overwhelming. The next time you have a long day of classes, which only happens on Wednesdays, he messages you after your two back-to-back classes, knowing that you had an hour and a half window to grab lunch before your next one.
“Hey, come out of the building for me, sweetheart :))” simple and direct, but it still makes your heart flutter, especially in confusion because isn’t today his day off??? Shouldn’t he be resting??? You scurry out of the campus building, only to find Taehyun leaning against a banister at the end of the concrete staircase, arms crossed and when he sees you walk through the door, he doesn’t grin the way Yeonjun or Beomgyu would, but his face softens.
“Tae? What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?” you ask, pressing a kiss to his cheek and allowing him to tuck you into his side. “I am resting. Got my baby here with me, that’s all I need.” You roll your eyes at his response but he sees the way you blush at same time and a slow smile draws on his face. “Besides, you usually have lunch at this time and I thought it would be nice to take you to a proper place. I know you don’t like how loud it is in there,” he tacks on, head gesturing towards the building. Incredulously, you stare back at him, unable to say anything for a few seconds because you’ve only said thing once. Taehyun chuckles and brings a hand to the small of your back to guide you away. “Don’t look so surprised, baby. I listen.”
I don’t think Taehyun would be too into PDA. Like yes, he loves physical affection but he kind of keeps it to a minimum in public. I think he’d be more into eye contact, especially since he has such an intense, magnetic gaze
His eyes tell the whole story and when you lock eyes, it grounds and stabilizes you. One look from Taehyun speaks much more than words can.
You could be at a fancier dinner with him and his members. It’s a little out of your comfort zone but he asked you to come and how could you say no to his boba eyes? You’re sat next to him but you aren’t given a chance to converse with him as the other members fill up the space with their own words. It gets a bit overwhelming when voices start to overlap with one another, mingled with the doubt that you’re in a place where you don’t fit it and you fall silent, but still having a nice time.
Taehyun notices almost immediately and he turns his head to look at you, his face turned down ever so slightly, looking at you through his lashes with a soft look, silently asking you “are you okay?” you nod, giving him a small smile but he sees you’re not telling the full truth, so his hand finds yours underneath the table and gives you three small squeezes. I. Love. You.
Taehyun’s intimacy is being understood in a way that’s quiet but very very real. It’s never feeling dismissed or overlooked, and even though he’s not overtly expressive, he’s actively considering you, offering security in your relationship with him
Hueningkai
With Hueningkai, because he’s such a cuddlebug, intimacy is immediately accessible, but it deepens as time goes on
It starts off easy: he reaches for your hand without a second thought, comes up behind you for a hug, his strong arms circling around your waist and rocking you side to side with his chin resting on your shoulder
For him, touch is the most natural thing in the world but as your relationship with him deepens, those simple gestures from before gain emotional weight. He attaches himself to you when he’s quiet, not just playful, he leans on you when he’s unsure, and his hugs will linger, as if he’s grounding himself
Omg you know that one live where a MOA commented that their stomach was hurting and he starts to wave his hands in circles like he’s patting their stomach??? He would DEFINITELY do that in real life
You truly don’t know what’s up. Your stomach’s been hurting for the past half hour and you’ve done everything right: you’ve eaten, you’ve gone to the bathroom, you’ve taken a painkiller, so what’s happening? You’re curled up in your bed, laying in a fetus position, having left Kai to his own devices while he was playing a game on the PC with beomgyu. Normally, you’d be sitting with him in the living room, humming to yourself as you do your own task but he noticed how eerily quiet the room was. “‘Kay, I’m hopping off for the day,” Kai says, not giving his bandmate time to complain as he clicks out of the game. Sliding his headphones off, he gets up from the desk and looks around, brows furrowing when you’re not on the couch like you usually are. “y/n?” he calls out, only to be met with silence.
He walks further into the apartment, stepping into the bedroom and sees you in bed, blanket covering your form, small whimpers of pain escaping your mouth, and he genuinely physically wilts when he sees you like this. “y/nnie, what’s wrong?” he asks, now standing at the side of the bed before crouching, hand resting on your forehead and brushing strands of your hair back.
“Stomach hurts,” is all you say in a whisper, eyes fluttering shut from the pain. A frown pulls on his lips and he gets up, walking to the other side of the bed to join you in laying, his chest pressing against your back, one arm wrapping around you so his hand rests on your tummy. “I’m sorry, bubs,” he whispers into your hair, hand starting to rub circles over your shirt. “And you already took something for it, huh?” he adds, eyes flickering to the half-closed bottle of pills on the nightstand. “Yeah but…your hand’s warm…feels nice,” you mumble, already feeling the tension in your stomach lessen from his warmth. “Yeah? Guess I’ve got the magic touch.” That may be an understatement because you fall asleep within a few minutes and even when you’re in deep sleep, he doesn’t leave. He keeps his hand on your stomach, his breath softly brushing against your hair as he himself joins you in sleep.
Maybe self-indulgent because I’m Kai biased and a #romantic, but I think he would definitely do a princess spins with you, especially if you come bearing good news. The craziest part is that he doesn’t even mean to, he just gets so caught up in your happiness that he externalizes it on instinct
Linking pinkies with you too, he thinks it’s so cute OR OMG he would be so silly and charming just to get giggles out of you
You’ve wrapped up a date with him and he drops you off at the apartment before leaving to go to HYBE for the rest of the day. He’s holding hands with you and you’re trying to let go to go inside but he won’t let you!!! “Hold on,” he says softly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “That’s for a goodbye. And this-” another kiss. “That’s for you to keep for later.”
“Kai!” you giggle, bonking your head with his. “You’re so silly. I’ll see you in a few hours!” he shrugs, shooting you a boyish smile with hearts in his eyes cuz he’s that smitten with you, even if you’re deep in the relationship with him.
Oh, that’s another thing too. No matter how long you’ve been dating, he’ll always keep things playful and light THIS CUTIE UGH
Anyways, safe to say, with Hueningkai, you never have to doubt your relationship with him because he’s open and always ready to offer hugs and kisses. With him, it’s emotional and physical closeness that’s easy to access, but still meaningful
