bamyeong ꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ

beomgyu writings ❤︎︎

i’ve been on tumblr for a while now, but recently made a new account to start writing my own fics because i’ve built up the courage recently. i ask for criticism, but don’t be harsh and mean. feel free to request me and i will get to it as soon as possible! ^\\^

- p.s i also make small, short fics and writings as well, so please be specific if you want a longer ver !

touch ups : again? ♡

pairings: idol!beomgyu x makeup artist!reader (f)

wordcount: 5-6k

synopsis: beomgyu suddenly develops the habit of snacking right before every schedule, leaving behind smudged lipstick, ruined lip tint, and endless excuses to visit his favorite makeup artist for yet another touch-up. after the seventh “accident” in a single day, you begin to wonder if he’s really that hungry—or if he just likes having an excuse to see you.

warnings/tags: beomgyu refers the reader as “noona”, teasing, fluff with a bit of smut, possessive behavior, age gap, power imbalance, making out, implied sexual activity, flirty beomgyu. probably missing some tags and this isn’t proofread.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the first time it happens, you genuinely believe it's an accident.

you're backstage at music bank, hands full of brushes and makeup supplies, when beomgyu appears in your station doorway with that sheepish grin you've learned to read like it’s a second language. his lower lip is smeared with something dark—chocolate, you realize, as he gets closer, the careful gradient of the berry-toned tint you'd spent twenty minutes perfecting is completely destroyed.

"noona," he whines, already settling into your chair without being asked, "i got hungry…”

you sigh, reaching for a cotton pad and makeup remover. "you know we have thirty minutes until pre-recording. right?"

"i know, but the catering had those little chocolate pies and i couldn't resist." he tilts his chin up obediently as you grip his jaw gently to inspect the damage. his skin is warm under your fingers, slightly flushed from rushing back from the green room. "sorry."

"it's fine." you're lying. it's not fine—you're going to have to reapply the base around his mouth, redo the lip line, blend the tint all over again. but he's looking at you with those big brown eyes, all soft and apologetic, and you feel your irritation melting like the chocolate still clinging to the corner of his mouth. "just... try to be more careful, okay?"

"i will," he promises. "you're the best, you know that?"

you duck your head to hide your smile, focusing on cleaning him up.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the second time is two days later.

inkigayo this time, a different venue, a different look—coral lips, sun-kissed skin, the concept styling calling for something fresh and summery. you're packing your kit when you hear the familiar shuffle of shoes against carpet.

"don't tell me," you say without looking up.

"i was weak," beomgyu announces, and when you do look up, sure enough, there's a telltale smudge of cheese dust, you realize with horror—across his upper lip. the gradient is ruined. again.

"beomgyu." you can't help the whine in your voice. "we don't have time for this. you're on in fifteen minutes."

"i'll be fast," he promises, already hopping into the chair. he catches your wrist as you reach for a wipe, thumb brushing deliberately over your pulse point. "you're always so good to me, noona. i really appreciate it."

something in his tone makes you pause, but then he's releasing you, closing his eyes, presenting his face for repair like the good client he usually is. you push the strange flutter in your chest aside and get to work.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the third time, you start keeping track.

it's a photoshoot. concept photos for the new album, which means the looks are more elaborate, more precious, more expensive in terms of time and perfection. you've just finished beomgyu's second outfit change, a delicate dewy look with glossy lips that took forty minutes to perfect, when he returns from the craft services table with a rice cake halfway to his mouth and red bean paste smeared across his cheek.

"beomgyu!" the other stylists turn to look. you feel your face heat with embarrassment, with frustration, with something else you can't quite name. "what are you doing?"

"i'm hungry," he says simply, like that explains everything. like he didn't just destroy an hour of your work. he doesn't even look sorry this time. there's something playful in his expression, something almost challenging. "aren't you going to fix it?"

you fix it. of course you fix it. it's your job, and he's your responsibility, and besides… his skin is soft under your fingertips, and he smells like vanilla and something uniquely him, and when you lean in close to reapply the lip gloss, his breath ghosts warm against your cheek.

"all better," you murmur, stepping back.

his eyes open slowly, heavy-lidded, and he runs his tongue over his freshly-painted lower lip in a way that makes your stomach tighten. "thanks, noona. i knew i could count on you."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the fourth time, you start to suspect.

it's a radio schedule, early morning, everyone bleary-eyed and running on coffee and adrenaline. you've given beomgyu a simple look: tinted lip balm, barely-there base, something natural for the visual radio broadcast. you're organizing your station when you feel a presence behind you.

"don't turn around," he says softly, and there's something in his voice that makes you freeze.

"beomgyu—"

"i got hungry again."

you turn anyway, and there he is, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. his lips are smeared with strawberry jam, sticky and sweet, but completely destroyed, and he's looking at you like you're the only person in the room.

"you're doing this on purpose," you accuse, but your voice comes out quieter than you intended.

"am i?" he tilts his head, all innocent curiosity, but there's a dimple forming in his left cheek that only appears when he's trying not to smile. "maybe i just have a big appetite."

"for snacks?"

"for..." he lets the word hang, gaze dropping to your mouth before returning to your eyes. "for certain things."

your heart is beating against your chest. the radio studio is small, cramped, full of staff and equipment and the constant threat of someone walking in, but beomgyu is looking at you like he doesn't care about any of it. like he'd let the whole world see.

"sit down," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "i'll fix it."

he obeys, but as you lean in with a cotton pad, his hand comes up to circle your wrist—not stopping you, just holding you there, thumb stroking the sensitive skin.

"your hands are cold," he observes.

"it's early."

"you should warm them up." his eyes are dark, intense, nothing like the playful boy who'd whined about chocolate. "i know a good way."

"beomgyu—"

"after the schedule," he says, releasing you as suddenly as he'd grabbed you, leaving you unsteady and breathless. "come find me. i'll be... hungry."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the fifth time, you don't even make it to the chair.

it's a fansign, hours of sitting and smiling and signing albums, and you've given him a look that needs to last: matte lip tint, setting spray, the works. you're checking on yeonjun's eyeliner when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"emergency," beomgyu says, and his voice is pitched low, intimate, meant only for you.

you turn, expecting another smudge, another stain, another excuse. instead, you find him perfectly intact, lips pristine, not a crumb of food in sight. but his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and he's holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"what—"

"bathroom," he says. "now. please."

you shouldn't. you know you shouldn't. there are a hundred people in this venue, staff and security and fans waiting just outside, and you're supposed to be professional.

you follow him anyway.

he doesn't even wait for the door to close all the way before he's pressing you against it, his mouth hot and demanding against yours, and you can taste it now—strawberries, always strawberries, like he's been eating them in secret just to leave the flavor on his tongue for you.

"you've been driving me crazy," he breathes between kisses, hands sliding down to grip your hips. "all week, watching you get flustered, watching you touch my face, my mouth..." he nips at your lower lip, and you gasp, arching into him. "do you know how hard it is to sit still while you're painting my lips? wanting to bite you instead?"

"beomgyu… no—" you try for his name, but it comes out as a moan when he rolls his hips against yours.

"i wasn't hungry for snacks," he admits, mouth trailing down your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses that you know will leave marks. "i was hungry for this. for you. your hands on me, your eyes on me, your attention."

"you're ridiculous," you manage, but you're already unbuttoning his shirt, already sliding your hands under the fabric to feel the heat of his skin.

"ridiculous for you," he agrees, and then his mouth is on yours again, swallowing whatever response you might have made.

you lose track of time. you lose track of everything except the taste of him, the feel of him, the way he groans when you scratch your nails down his back. it's only when your radio crackles with your supervisor's voice that you jolt back to reality, pushing him away with shaking hands.

"fix me," he says, grinning, gesturing to his swollen lips, the smeared tint, the love bites you've left on his neck. "you're the only one who can."

you fix him. you always fix him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the sixth time, you stop pretending to be surprised.

it's a music video shoot, long hours, hot lights, the kind of day that drains everyone dry. you've touched up beomgyu's makeup six times already—legitimate touch-ups, sweat and movement and the demands of performance, but when he appears in your station at hour nine with cherry lollipop residue on his lips, you just raise an eyebrow.

"really?"

"i have a sweet tooth," he says, not even bothering with the pretense anymore. he leans against your table, close enough that you can smell the candy on his breath. "and you're the only one who can satisfy it."

"that's not even subtle."

"was i ever subtle?" he reaches out, thumb brushing over your lower lip, and you let him. you've stopped pretending about that too. "i like watching you work. i like your focus, your hands, the way you bite your lip when you're concentrating." his thumb presses harder, pulling your lip down slightly. "i like making you touch me."

"you're shameless."

"for you?" he leans in, mouth hovering over yours, not quite kissing, never quite kissing until you're aching for it. "absolutely."

you kiss him first this time, grabbing his collar and pulling him down, and he makes a sound against your mouth that's half-laugh, with a half-groan. his hands slide into your hair, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss until you're dizzy with it.

"there's a supply closet," he murmurs against your jaw. "third door on the left. ten minutes."

"we can’t—"

"don't make me wait." he pulls back, eyes dark, lips already swollen and red—ruined. you'd think if you didn't know better, if you didn't know he does this on purpose. "i've been snacking all day just to see you. don't make me go hungry now."

you meet him in the supply closet. of course you do.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the seventh time, you're ready for him.

it's been a long day—fan meeting, radio interview, variety show filming, and now a late-night live broadcast. you've been running on adrenaline and espresso since 5:00 am, and you're packing up your kit, dreaming of your bed and the silence of your apartment, when you hear the door to your station click shut.

you don't turn around.

"let me guess," you say, keeping your voice light, casual, even as your heart starts to race. "you found the catering table again."

"i found something better," beomgyu says, and then his arms are sliding around your waist, his chin hooking over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. "i found you alone."

"you've found me alone seven times today."

"have i?" he turns you around, and his expression is soft now, fond, all the teasing stripped away to reveal something vulnerable underneath. "i just... i like being with you. even if it's just for five minutes while you fix my makeup. even if it's just watching you work from across the room." he cups your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones. "is that pathetic?"

"no," you whisper, leaning into his touch. "it's... it's sweet. annoying, but sweet."

he laughs, bright and genuine, and presses his forehead to yours. "i can stop. the snacking, i mean. the excuses. if you want me to."

you think about it—the long hours, the ruined makeup, the constant interruptions. the way your heart jumps every time he appears in your doorway, the way your hands shake when you touch his face, the way you've started hoping he'll find something to mess up just so he'll come find you.

"no," you say. "don't stop."

his smile lightens up. "yeah?"

"yeah." you reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to meet you halfway. "but maybe... maybe next time, skip the snacks. just come find me."

"and say what?"

"say..." you kiss the corner of his mouth, the other corner, the tip of his nose, each press of lips deliberate, worshipful. "say you're hungry. say you need me. say you couldn't wait another minute to see me."

"i can do that," he breathes, and then he's kissing you properly, deeply, hands sliding down to grip your waist and pull you flush against him. "i can definitely do that."

the door clicks—someone trying to get in, finding it locked—and you both freeze, breathing hard, foreheads still pressed together.

"your makeup," you remember, pulling back to look at him. his lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, hair fluffed up from your fingers. he looks thoroughly kissed, thoroughly wrecked, and a possessive pride surges through you at the sight. "it's ruined."

"is it?" he doesn't look concerned. if anything, he looks pleased and satisfied. "guess you'll have to fix it."

"beomgyu, we don't have time."

"we have time." he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, your wrist, the sensitive skin of your inner arm. "we always have time. for this. for us."

"you're impossible."

"you're mine," he counters, and the certainty of it makes your chest ache with something warm and terrifying at the same time.

"yeah," you admit, because there's no point in denying it anymore. there never was. "yeah, i am."

he beams, and pulls you in for another kiss.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you fix his makeup one last time that night, fingers steady now, familiar with the structure of his face, the shape of his mouth. he watches you work in the mirror, eyes never leaving yours, something soft and content in his expression that has nothing to do with the cameras waiting outside, the schedule pressing down on both of you.

"there," you say, stepping back. "perfect."

"perfect," he agrees, but he's looking at you, not his reflection. he stands, straightening his jacket, and pauses at the door. "hey, noona?"

"yeah?"

"i'm hungry."

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling, reaching for your bag, your coat, your keys. "there's a convenience store down the street. i'll buy you whatever you want."

"whatever i want?" he holds the door open for you, falling into step beside you as you head for the exit, for the night air and for whatever comes next.

"within reason."

he catches your hand, threading his fingers through yours, and brings your knuckles to his lips for a kiss that makes your breath catch. "what if what i want... is you?"

you squeeze his hand, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walk into the night together. "then i guess... you're going to need a lot more touch-ups."

he laughs happily, and you think: this is it. this is the beginning of everything.

"good," he says. "i was planning on developing a very big appetite."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

this was supposed to be a pure fluff fic, but then my brain said “what if they sneaked into a supply closet and kissed” (・ω<)

seven is a lucky number in korea (if you realized, the reader noticed his intentions then) and also it felt like the right amount of "okay this is definitely not an accident anymore" without being completely unbelievable. the man just really likes snacks and his makeup artist, can you blame him??

steady confessions ୨ৎ

word count: 10-12k (?)

pairing: dr. choi beomgyu (neurology) x dr. reader (cardiology)

warnings/tags: doctor au, medical au, neurology x cardiology, hospital, enemies to lovers, fluff with smut, slow burn, workplace romance, neurosurgeon beomgyu, cardiologist reader, soft dom!beomgyu, established relationship, explicit, use of the petname ‘baby’

synopsis: you're the youngest doctor at the hospital, and you've worked hard for it. no patience for pretty brained surgeons who think they own the place. dr. choi beomgyu is exactly that. wonderful, annoying, with hands that can save lives at three in the morning but apparently can't stop stealing your coffee almost all the time.

─── ୨୧ ───

you've been fighting for two years. trading insults in hallways, pretending you don't notice how his scrubs fit or how he bites his lip like it hurts when he's reading your charts.

but when a bad night brings you together, things change because beomgyu doesn't want to fight with you anymore. he wants to know why you drink black coffee, why you have ink on your hands all the time, and why your heart beats fast when he's close.

and you? you're starting to wonder if his hands are really as skilled in bed as they are in surgery.

─── ୨୧ ───

the first time you meet dr. choi beomgyu, he's inside someone's head and you're trying to keep a patient alive.

not you personally. the patient. a kid on a motorcycle who hit a wall quite hard. you'd been called from your afternoon appointments to get to the trauma room. you arrived to find chaos.

"where's the brain doctor?" you snapped at the nurse, already gloved up.

"in surgery," she called back. "car accident, head injury, they took him up twenty minutes ago."

"and the other brain doctor?"

"stuck in another surgery. we've got the trainee covering, but..."

but. there was always a but in trauma case. you checked the patient yourself, confirmed the tear in his heart, stabilized him enough for the scan, then walked up to the surgery floor because if you were going to fix this kid's heart, you needed to know what his brain was doing first.

that's when you walked into the operating room without knocking, and found him.

he was young. younger than you expected for a brain surgeon with his reputation. top of his class, trained overseas, recruited back to build their strict program. you'd heard the gossip in the break room, the way the nurses sighed, the way even the tough emergency doctors spoke about him with respect.

he was also, unfortunately, gorgeous.

not in a soft way. in a sharp, and dangerous way. dark hair under his cap, focused doe eyes above his mask, long fingers working with a gentleness that seemed impossible given what he was doing. he was doing brain surgery, you realized, relieving pressure with movements so perfect they looked practiced a thousand times.

"pressure's dropping," the anesthesiologist said.

"give me two more minutes," beomgyu murmured, not looking up. his voice was lower than you expected, warm even through the mask. "i need to get this last clot."

you should have left. you should have waited outside, checked the board, found the trainee. instead, you stood there, frozen in the doorway, watching his hands move. steady, unshakeable, confident in a way that made something low in your stomach tighten immediately.

he finished, finally, stepped back, and only then did he look up. his eyes found yours immediately. dark, smart, stripping you bare.

"can i help you?" he asked, and there was something almost amused in his tone, like he knew exactly who you were.

"dr. choi," you said, and your voice came out steadier than you felt. "i'm dr. y/n, heart specialist. i need to know your patient's brain status before i fix his heart. if he's not going to wake up, i need to know now."

something flickered in his expression. surprise, maybe, or interest. he pulled down his mask, revealing a mouth that was unfairly shaped, soft lower lip and sharp teeth that showed when he smiled.

"dr. y/n," he repeated, like he was tasting your name. "the wonder kid from cardiology. i've heard about you."

"and i've heard about you," you replied. "the whole hospital has. something about a terribly handsome man and stealing people's coffee."

the nurses went very still. the anesthesiologist looked like she was trying to disappear.

but beomgyu laughed. it was a startled sound, and it changed his whole face from cold to something warm and approachable, being much more dangerous.

"i only steal the espresso," he corrected, pulling off his gloves. "and only when it's been sitting there for more than ten minutes. when it’s been abandoned."

"is that what they really teach these days? theft 101?"

"advanced theft, actually. with a minor in not taking shit from heart doctors who barge into my operating room." he stepped closer, and you realized with a jolt that he was tall, taller than you, which was rare, and he was using it to crowd your space in a way that should have been rude but instead felt like a difficult challenge. "my patient will wake up. brain activity is good, pupils responsive, and no brain death signs. i'll have him stable within the hour. does that meet your standards, dr. y/n?"

“yes.” you responded.

you turned and walked out then, spine straight, with your heart pounding against your ribs in a way that had nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with the way he looked at you.

that was two years ago.

now, standing in the break room at 6:47 in the morning on a tuesday, staring at the empty coffee pot where your coffee should be.

"looking for something?"

you don't turn around. you know that voice now. you know it in your sleep, unfortunately, you know the way it drops when he's tired, you know the way it sharpens when he's about to say something seriously cutting.

"my coffee," you say, keeping your eyes on the empty machine. "which someone drank. all of it. again."

"how tragic," beomgyu says, and you hear him moving behind you, the sound of his shoes on the floor. he's close now. "you know, there's a solution to this."

“enlighten me, doctor."

"make your own coffee. or…just throwing this out there, learn to share."

you turn then, and he's right there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, he looks tired. dark circles under his eyes, because he's been practically living at the hospital. there was a burst blood vessel last night, you heard. emergency surgery at two in the morning.

"you look like hell," you tell him.

"you look like someone who needs caffeine," he returns, and then he's reaching past you, into your personal space, brushing your shoulder with his arm, then retrieving a thermos from behind the microwave. he holds it out. "here. i made extra."

you stare at it. then you stare at him.

"what's the catch?"

"no catch. i'm being nice."

"you're never nice."

"i'm nice sometimes." he shakes the thermos, and you can hear the liquid inside. “no sugar. i've noticed you don't take sugar. probably because you're already sweet enough."

"that's disgusting," you say, but you're taking the thermos from his hand anyway. "was that a line? did you just try to flirt with me using coffee?"

"did it work?"

you unscrew the lid, then take a sip. it's perfect. exactly how you take it, exactly the right temperature, and the fact that he knows this, that he's memorized all of this without you even realizing, makes something flutter in your chest that you blatantly ignore.

"it was mediocre at best," you lie.

beomgyu smiles, slow and knowing. "you're a terrible liar, dr. y/n. has anyone ever told you that?"

"has anyone ever told you that you have boundary issues?"

"daily. usually by you." he pushes off the counter, and for a second you think he's going to leave, but instead he shifts, trapping you between the counter and his body in a way that should feel threatening but instead feels warm. "i have a consult in twenty minutes. patient with heart problems after brain bleeding. large bleed in the head, heart enzymes through the roof, and heart function down to thirty percent. your department's already involved, but i wanted to give you a heads up personally."

this is how it is with him. professionalism wrapped in closeness. you've learned to separate the doctor from the man, but some days the line blurs more than others.

he's looking at your mouth now, which you realize immediately, and you should move before it becomes something else, but you don't. you never do. "dinner," he says suddenly.

"what?"

"dinner. tonight. after rounds? there's a soup place near hongdae that stays open late, and i'm starving, and so are you. i'm tired of eating alone in the break room while you glare at me from across the table."

"that's not..."

"it is.” he glare. it's very intimidating.

you should say no. you've been saying no for two years, or at least you've been saying not yet, not now, not while we're colleagues. but his eyes are soft underneath all the annoying teasing, and you can see the exhaustion there, the loneliness that comes with being good at something that requires everything from you.

"just dinner," you say, and you're not sure if you're warning him or yourself.

beomgyu's smile this time is different. more real, something that reaches his eyes and stays there.

"just dinner," he agrees. "i'll meet you at the south entrance. 8:30. don't stand me up, dr. y/n. i have a fragile ego."

"you'll live," you say, but you're smiling too, and he sees it, and his expression shifts into something that looks a lot like hope.

he leaves then, finally, and you stand alone in the lounge with your coffee and your racing heart and the feeling that you've just crossed a line you can't uncross now.

─── ୨୧ ───

the patient is a disaster.

not the brain part. beomgyu fixed the bleeding by 10:00 in the morning. you spend six hours in the intensive care unit adjusting medications, watching the heart images closely.

you consider canceling. you're exhausted, covered in sweat, and your hair falling out of its tie. but when you check your phone, there's a text from an unknown number. "south entrance. i'll be the one in the leather jacket looking pathetic. don't worry, i showered. -b" and something in your chest loosens.

you change quickly, washing the hospital smell from your skin and changing into the spare clothes you keep in your locker. you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and wince. you look like what you are. a doctor who's been awake for twenty hours, pale and bruised under the eyes, too thin because you keep forgetting to eat.

but beomgyu has seen you worse. beomgyu has seen you at three in the morning with blood on your scrubs and tears in your eyes because you lost a patient. he has seen you furious, you grieving, you competent and cruel. this tired woman is probably the most honest version of yourself you've ever shown to someone.

the south entrance is quiet at night, just the glow of the emergency lights and the occasional taxis passing. you see him before he sees you. leaning against the wall, he's on his phone.

then he looks up, and sees you and that smile that spreads across his face is so open, so relieved.

"you came," he says, pushing off the wall.

"you invited me."

"i invite you a lot. you usually find reasons to be busy." he falls into step beside you, and you're walking now, away from the hospital, into the night air that smells like rain. "how's our patient?"

"stable. for now. we'll need to watch her for the next two days. rebleed risk, blood vessel spasms. but her heart's recovering."

"because of you."

"because of medicine," you correct, but you're pleased despite yourself. "your surgery was clean. no leftover problems. she'll wake up if the brain lets her."

"that's the trick, isn't it?" beomgyu says, and there's something sad in his tone. "we fix what we can reach. the rest is just... waiting and hoping."

"you did everything right," you tell him, because you know that's not what he's saying but it's what he needs to hear. "the bleeding was unstoppable when she came in. she would have died without you."

"i know," he says, and it's not arrogant, just factual. "but knowing doesn't always help. at 3:00 in the morning, when you're staring at the ceiling in the on-call room, knowing doesn't make it easier."

you understand. you've been there.

the soup place is small, warm and steamy and smelling of broth and kimchi. beomgyu seems to know the owner. an older woman who smiles at him with real affection and leads you to a corner booth without asking for an order.

"he comes here after every big surgery," she tells you, patting your hand. "first time he brings someone. you must be special.”

"colleague," you say quickly.

"mm," she says, clearly not believing you, and bustles away.

"she likes you," beomgyu says, sliding into the booth across from you. the table is small, your knees brushing under it, and you don't pull away.

"she likes you. not me."

"no y/n." he's looking at you seriously now, all the teasing gone. "

the way he says your name. y/n, not dr. y/n, not the formal distance you've maintained for two years. it makes your breath catch. you've heard him say it before, in passing, in anger, but never like this. never like it's something precious.

"beomgyu," you start, not sure what you're going to say.

but then the food arrives. seafood soup for you, kimchi soup for him, rice and side dishes that give you time to compose yourself. you're starving, you realize, and you eat with the single-minded focus of someone who's learned to take food when it's available because you never know when the next emergency will pull you away.

beomgyu watches you eat with something like fascination. "you're the only woman i know who eats like she's performing surgery."

"precision is important."

"is that why you became a heart doctor? the precision of it?"

you pause, chopsticks halfway to your mouth. no one's ever asked you that. not directly, not caring about the answer. they ask about the money and the challenge. they don't ask about the why.

"i like rhythms," you say finally. "the heart has a rhythm. even when it's broken, even when it's failing, there's a pattern to it. you just have to learn to read it. brain work is... messier. electrical storms, chemical imbalances. the heart is mechanical. honest."

"and the brain is dishonest?"

"the brain lies. it tells you you're fine when you're bleeding out. it hides things. bleeding, tumors, memories. the heart just... beats. until it doesn't."

beomgyu is quiet for a moment, stirring his soup. "i think that's why we work," he says finally.

"what?"

"heart and brain. they're connected, you know. physically, through nerves. but also... metaphorically. you need both. the steady rhythm and the electrical spark." he looks up at you, and his eyes are dark, intense. "i think you're my rhythm, y/n. and maybe i might be your spark."

you stare at him, and you feel something shift in your chest. something that feels like the moment before a storm breaks.

"you're ridiculous," you say, but your voice is soft.

"probably. but i'm also right." he reaches across the table, and his hand finds yours, his fingers threading through your fingers with a confidence that makes you want to both pull away and lean in. "two years, y/n. two years of fighting with you, of wanting you, of telling myself that colleagues shouldn't, that we're too busy, too tired, too broken by this job to be good for each other."

"and now?"

"now i'm tired of waiting. i'm tired of pretending that what i feel when i see you is professional respect. it's not. it's... you're the first thing i think about when i wake up. not my cases. not my patients. you. the way you looked at me in that operating room, like you wanted to fight me and kiss me at the same time. i've been chasing that feeling for two years now."

your heart is beating now. his thumb is tracing circles on your palm, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"i don't do this," you whisper. "i don't date colleagues..."

beomgyu interrupts gently. "but you're allowed to have more. you're allowed to have this… to have me."

you should say no. you should pull your hand away. instead, you tighten your grip on his hand and say, "okay."

beomgyu's smile lit up immediately.

─── ୨୧ ───

the first time he kisses you, it's in the doctors' parking garage at 1:00 in the morning, three weeks after the dinner that changed everything.

you've been dating, if you can call it that. stealing moments in supply closets, trading texts that start with patient updates and end with "i miss you" and "when can i see you?”.

you've learned that he's gentle, underneath the arrogance. that he cries sometimes after bad outcomes, where no one can see him. that he's terrified of spiders and allergic to shellfish and that he became a brain surgeon because his grandmother died of a stroke when he was twelve and he couldn't understand why the doctors couldn't fix her.

you've learned that when he looks at you, he sees you. just you. the person who laughs at his terrible jokes, who brings him coffee when he's been in surgery for ten hours, who understands what it's like to hold a life in your hands and wonder if you're worthy enough.

tonight was hard. you'd called it at 12:47, and then you'd walked out of the trauma room and straight into beomgyu, who was somehow already there, already knowing and already reaching out for you.

he didn't say anything. he just took your hand and led you to the parking garage to his car, and he leaned against the hood and pulled you into his arms.

"i'm sorry," he whispered into your hair.

"i did everything right. everything. and i still..."

"i know." his hands were rubbing circles on your back, steady and warm. "i know, baby. i know."

you'd cried, ugly, loud and desperate, into his shoulder, and he'd held you through it, murmuring nonsense. pressing kisses to your temple, your forehead, anywhere he could reach.

and then you'd looked up, and he'd looked down, and the space between you had narrowed to nothing.

his mouth was soft. that was the first thing you noticed. how soft and careful he was, like he was worried you might break completely. the kiss was gentle and questioning. you made a sound against his lips, needy and embarrassing, and he responded by deepening the angle more, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, with his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

you could feel his heart beating against your chest.

when you finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, "i've wanted to do that for two years."

"show off," you managed, and he laughed,

"i'm going to take you home," he said, and his voice was rough, wrecked. "and i'm going to pretend that i don't want to kiss you again. but i will. i want to kiss you everywhere. i want to learn every part of you."

your breath hitched. "beomgyu..."

"just let me take care of you tonight," he murmured, pressing another kiss to your jaw, then your throat, right where your pulse felt like it was going to pop out. "let me be good to you."

you nodded, unable to speak and he kissed you again, harder this time, with a slight edge of hunger that hadn't been there before. his hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel him. hard and hot against your hip and the knowledge that you did that. it made you dizzy.

"your place," you managed between kisses. "now."

he didn't need to be told twice.

─── ୨୧ ───

his apartment was small, cluttered with medical journals and coffee mugs. he led you to his room where a nice, polished bathroom was connected to. "shower first," he said, already pulling his shirt over his head, revealing a torso that was lean and softly defined. "you're shaking."

you hadn't noticed, but you were. the adrenaline was kicking you hard.

he drew you into the bathroom, started the water, and then slowly, and carefully began undressing you. his fingers were steady as they pulled your sweater up and pulled down your jeans. he unhooked your bra and stared carefully. "beautiful," he whispered, looking at you in the harsh bathroom light without a trace of self consciousness. "you're so beautiful, y/n."

"you're not so bad yourself," you said, and your voice was husky.

he smiled and stepped into the shower, pulling you in after him. the water was warm. he immediately reached for the soap, lathering his hands and running them over your shoulders, your back, down your sides. he washed you with a thoroughness that was half intimate, his fingers lingering in places that made you gasp at some moments.

when he reached your breasts, you moaned, head falling back against the tile. he made a soft sound that was almost pained, and his thumbs brushed over your chest.

"beomgyu," you whispered.

"let me," he murmured, leaning in to kiss your neck, your collarbone. "let me touch you. i've thought about this so many times… i thought about having you in my hands and making you feel good."

his hand drifted lower over your stomach, and you parted your legs without being asked. needy and desperate in a way you'd never been with anyone else before. his fingers found you, sliding through your folds with confidence that made you cry out, and then he was circling your clit precision.

"steady baby," he whispered, arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up. "i've got you. let go, baby. i've got you."

he worked you with his fingers, one hand holding you carefully while the other drove you higher and higher. he knew exactly how to make you feel relieved and you realized with a dizzying rush that this was what it meant to be with a man who made his living with his hands.

when you came, it was with his name on your lips, your body shaking against his and your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. he held you through it, kissing your neck, your face, whispering praise that made you blush easily.

"that was just the beginning," he said, and there was a promise in his voice that made you shiver.

he turned off the water, wrapped you in a towel, and carried you to the bed.

he dried himself quickly, then climbed onto the bed, settling between your legs. he kissed you again and you could taste yourself on his tongue, which somehow made you even more turned on. his hands were everywhere, learning your body, and mapping the places that made you moan and squirm and beg.

"please," you whispered, arching up into him. "beomgyu, please."

"what do you want?" he asked, voice rough. "tell me. i want to hear you say it."

"i want you inside me," you said, and the words felt filthy but right. "i want you to fuck me. please."

he groaned, the sound torn from his chest, and reached for the bedside drawer. he pulled out a condom, rolled it on with practiced ease, and then he was there, hard against your entrance. he entered you slowly, so slowly you thought you might die from it. inch by inch until he was fully inside, filling you in a way that made your eyes roll back. he paused, breathing heavily.

"you okay?" he asked. the concern in his voice was clear as day.

"more than okay," you whispered. "move, beomgyu. please."

he started slow, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, setting a rhythm that was in its control. but you didn't want control. you wanted him wild and free, wanted him as undone as you felt.

"faster," you demanded, digging your heels into his lower back. "harder. i won't break."

he groaned, and then he was moving, really moving. "you feel so good," he panted, his thrusts becoming rough, losing their precision as his own pleasure overwhelmed him. "so tight, so perfect…fuck, y/n, i've dreamed about this."

"me too," you admitted, and it was true. you'd touched yourself to thoughts of him, memories of his hands, mouth, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him the most. "baby, i'm close. don't stop. please don't stop."

he reached between you, found your clit with his thumb, and that was it. you came apart, crying out his name. he followed you over the edge, burying his face in your neck and groaning as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering through his release.

for a long moment, neither of you have moved. he stayed inside you, breathing hard against your skin and you ran your fingers through his hair, holding him close.

"i love you," he whispered, so quiet you almost missed it. "i know it's fast and i know it's crazy, but i love you. i've loved you for so long.

you felt tears prick your eyes, happy and overwhelmed. "i love you too," you said.

he pulled back then, smiling that soft, real smile that was just for you. he kissed you. "stay with me tonight. and tomorrow. and the next day. stay with me as long as you'll have me."

"that might be forever," you warned.

"good," he said. "that's exactly what i was hoping for."

─── ୨୧ ───

the first time you have sex in the hospital, it's six months later, and it's completely his fault.

you'd been dating openly by then, the hospital gossiped, of course, but you didn't care. you were happy and beomgyu was somehow even more insufferable now that he had you, constantly touching you, kissing you, bringing you coffee and lunch and little gifts he picked up on his way to work.

you'd just finished a difficult case, a heart surgery that had gone longer than expected, and you were exhausted and hungry and in desperate need of a shower. you stumbled into the on-call room, intending to nap for an hour before your next shift, and found beomgyu already there, sat on the couch, reading a journal.

"hey," he said, looking up with a smile that made your heart skip. "tough case?"

"the worst," you groaned, flopping down beside him. "four hours of trying to fix a valve that didn't want to be fixed."

"come here," he said, setting the journal aside and opening his arms.

you crawled into his embrace, burying your face in his neck, and he held you, one hand stroking your back, the other playing with your hair. you relaxed into him, feeling safe and loved.

"you're amazing," he murmured against your hair. "you know that? the way you work, the way you care. you're incredible."

"you're just saying that because you want something," you teased, but you were smiling.

"i always want something," he admitted, and there was a new tone in his voice, lower, hungrier. his hand moved from your hair to your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "i want you. right here. right now."

"beomgyu," you protested weakly, even as your body responded to his suggestion. "we're at work. someone could walk in."

"the door locks," he said, and then he was kissing you, deep and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth that made you moan. his hands moved to your waist, pulling you on top of him, and you could feel him, hard and ready beneath you.

"you planned this," you accused, grinding down against him.

"maybe," he admitted, grinning against your lips. "or maybe i just can't be near you without wanting you. maybe you drive me crazy just by existing."

he placed you on his lap and his hands were everywhere, pulling at your scrub top, palming your breasts through your bra, you arched into his touch, already forgetting why this was a bad idea, already desperate for more.

he pulled your pants down, your underwear with them, and then his fingers were in you, curling to find that spot that made you see stars. you bit down on his shoulder to muffle your moan, and he hissed, the sound equal parts pain and pleasure.

"need you," you whispered. "beomgyu, i need you inside me."

he didn't hesitate. he reached for his wallet, pulled out a condom, and rolled it on with shaking hands. then he was guiding himself into you, filling you in one smooth thrust that made your back arch.

"quiet," he reminded you, his voice strained. "you have to be quiet, baby. can you do that?"

you nodded, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, and he started to move. it was fast and dirty, nothing like the careful lovemaking at his apartment. this was need. two people who wanted each other too much to wait.

he fucked you hard, harder than you could’ve ever imagined. he groaned as you continued to ride his lap.

"so good," he panted. "always so good for me. my girl."

"only yours," you agreed, and you were. completely, irrevocably his.

after, as he holds your waist while you rest your head on his shoulder, trying to catch your breath, he pressed kisses to your shoulder and your collarbone.

"i'm going to marry you someday," he said, casual and certain.

"is that a proposal?" you asked, smiling.

"no," he said. "that's a promise for when i propose, you'll know it. i'm going to do it right, but i'm telling you now, so you can start getting used to the idea. you're the one for me y/n.”

you kissed him then, and you knew, with a certainty that you would say yes. that you would spend your life with this man.

"love you," you whispered.

"love you more," he returned, and then he was kissing you again, forgetting that you both were still at work.

pairing: professor bg x top student reader (f)

genre: smut, fluff, slight angst (?)

word count: 4k

warnings/tags: professor/student au, college setting, legal age gap, strict professor beomgyu, organized top student reader, risky public sex, almost getting caught, buildup, desk usage, praise kink .. probably missing tags

a/n: request for anon! this is my first fic after quite some time so i’d love to hear any criticism as long as it isn’t rude please!

you have never missed a single deadline in your entire academic career, but you are also completely whipped over your professor.

it started exactly in september, the third week of classes, when he handed back your first paper. you got an a plus and a single comment written in dark red ink at the bottom of the last page: excessive but correct. you looked up from your desk and he was already watching you with that low expression on your face, arms crossed over his chest, like he was waiting for you to argue about the comment he left. like he was daring you.

you didnt argue though. you just nodded and glared at him then wrote the comment down in your lecture notes and spent the rest of the semester trying to get him to look at you the same way again. like you were a problem he hadn’t solved yet.

you wanted to be completely wrapped around his finger.

you started wearing skirts to class, ones that were short enough to when you bent over even the slightest bit, he could take a small peak. you started staying after to ask questions you already knew the answers to, just to stand close to his desk and embrace his presence while he explained things in that low serious tone. you knew you were being reckless and you knew it but you couldn’t stop. you had never wanted anything more than this.

its november now, three weeks before finals, and you have a paper due on friday. you finished it last tuesday, but you go to his office hours anyway on thursday at four pm because you have a question about the footnote format… at least that’s what you tell yourself when you check your reflection in the window of the building, while you smooth out your plaid skirt and straighten your white, almost see through blouse and make sure your hair is neat while it flows down your back.

his office is at the end of the hall, small and cluttered with books stacked on every surface possible. you knock three times gently, the way you always do, and you hear him say "come in" in that voice that does things to your spine.

you push the door open then you see that hes sitting at his desk with his reading glasses on, frowning at something on his laptop, and he looks up when you enter. his expression doesnt change but his eyes do something complicated when he sees that its you. something that makes your stomach flip completely.

"close the door," he says.

you do. you click it shut and turn the lock without being asked, the way you always do. you sit in the chair across from his desk with your legs crossed at the ankle and your notebook open to the exact page you need, with your pen ready.

beomgyu looks up from his laptop and his expression doesnt change but his eyes do something complicated when he sees its you. something that looks almost like hunger before it shutters back to complete professional disinterest.

"miss y/n," he says. "what brings you here today at this hour? your paper is not due until friday."

"i finished early," you say. "i wanted to clarify the footnote format for the citation. the library has it formatted differently."

beomgyu doesnt look at your notebook. he is looking right at you. at your throat where your pulse is beating way too fast. at your hand resting on the edge of his desk, close to his own.

"you are always careful," he says quietly. "always prepared. you have never submitted a paper with one single error. not once this entire semester so far.”

"i like to do things correctly." you answer quickly.

"do you." it is not a question. he turns in his chair and now you are standing between him and the desk, trapped in the space he has created. "or do you just like to impress me?"

your breath catches. "i dont know what you mean…"

“yes you do." he stands up. he is much taller than you and he uses it, he steps forward until you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. "you sit in my front row in your perfect outfits with your perfect notes and you answer every question like you are performing for a show. for whom, miss y/n? for the class? or for me?"

your mouth is dry and your voice trembles. "for the material."

"liar," he says, and there is something almost soft in it. "you have been acting different for me since september. since you took that comment on your first paper and decided to make me notice you."

"i didnt decide anything."

"no?" he reaches out and touches your face gently, just his thumb brushing against your cheek, and you stop breathing. "you planned this y/n, you planned your teasing outfit and your question and the way you would stand just close enough that i could smell your sweet perfume. you are too organized for accidents. so tell me. what is the plan you have set up? what do you want from me?"

you look up at him and you see it, the way his hand is shaking where it hovers near your face. he is not as controlled as he pretends. he never has been.

"i want you to stop being my professor," you say. "just for an hour, please. i want to see what happens when you are not grading papers and setting up strict rules."

"and then what?"

"and then i want you to ruin me," you whisper. "i want you to mess up my perfect attendance and my perfect grades and my planning. i want you to make me forget about it all."

beomgyus hand closes around your jaw. his grip is firm, possessive, nothing like the polite personality he maintains in class. "you’re driving me crazy," he says. "do you understand that? i’m only your professor. this is my office and if anyone found out i would lose my job. you would be in quite a lot of trouble, this is not some fantasy where there are no harsh consequences."

"i know," you say. "thats why i want to make this quick."

his eyes flash. he kisses you.

it’s not gentle and it’s not careful. it’s complete biting and tongue while his hand is pulling on your hair, making your head go back to give him better access. you make a noise against his mouth and he swallows it, pressing your back against his desk until you are sitting on the edge and he is standing between your legs. his other hand goes to your waist and pulls you closer and you can feel how hard he is through his pants.

"you planned this," he says against your lips.

"as always," you gasp.

"then plan to be quiet for me," he says. "because i’m going to fuck you on this desk and you are not going to make a single sound. can you do that? can my best student follow simple directions?"

"yes," you breathe. "yes, professor choi."

he groans at the title and the way you speak. his hands go to your blouse and he starts unbuttoning it with fast movements, but he pauses when he gets to the third button. there is a hard knock at the door.

you freeze. beomgyu goes still, his hand on your chest, while he covers your mouth with his free hand.

"professor choi?" a voice calls. it is another student, you recognize her voice from the second row. she is in your section. "are you there? i have a question about the assignment."

beomgyu looks at you. his eyes are dark, completely unlike the controlled man who teaches your class. he should tell her to come back. he should push you away. he should do a dozen things that make obvious sense.

instead he says, "one moment," and his voice is steady, and professional. he looks down at you and raises an eyebrow. "under the desk," he mouths.

your heart stops. then it starts racing so fast you feel terribly dizzy.

you slide off the desk and onto your knees. he guides you with a hand on your shoulder, pushing you gently until you are crawling under his desk, hidden in the shadowed space between the front of his legs. it’s tight and dark and you can hear and see him settling back into his chair, the wheels creaking slightly.

"come in," he says.

the door opens. you can see your classmates feet from your position under the desk, her white sneakers and the hem of her jeans. she walks in and sits in the chair you were just occupying earlier before things between you and professor choi got crazy

"im sorry to bother you," she says. "i know office hours are almost over."

"it is no bother," beomgyu says. his voice is calm, patient, exactly the way he sounds in class. "what is your question?"

"its about the citation format. for the paper."

you almost laugh. you would, if your heart was not beating so loud to where you are sure she can hear it. she is asking about the exact thing you asked about. the thing that started all of this.

"the paper is very specific," beomgyu says. you see his hand reach for a pen on the desk above you. "you must include the access date for electronic sources. here, let me show you."

he leans forward to write something and as he does, his other hand finds your head under the desk. his fingers messing through your hair then tightens, guiding you forward until you are pressed against his legs. you understand exactly what he wants.

your hands go to his belt. your fingers are shaking but you manage to unbuckle it quietly. he is still talking your classmate, his voice steady and perfect as if nothing was happening.

you pull his cock out of his underwear and he is hard and so heavy in your hand. you hear his breath hitch slightly but he covers it with a cough.

"are you alright, professor?" the other student asks.

"just a cold," he says. "continue. what else is confusing you?"

you lean forward and take him into your mouth.

he tastes exactly like how you imagined. you have to work carefully in such a small space, your head bumping against the underside of the desk, your knees aching on the hard wooden floor, but you have never done anything this crazy in your life and you can’t back down now.

you swirl your tongue softly around the head and slide down as far as you can. his hand in your hair tightens, pulling slightly, and you feel him twitch in your mouth.

"so for the quote," he says, and his voice is still mostly steady but there is a roughness underneath now, a tension, "you would format it like this."

he writes something on the paper he is showing her. his hips shift, pushing up slightly into your mouth, and you take him deeper. you can feel him throbbing against your tongue and it makes you soaking wet, the knowledge that you are doing this, that you are under his desk sucking him off while he tutors another student, that you have reduced this strict, disciplined man to this.

"that makes sense," she says. "thank you so much. i know i ask a lot of questions."

"it is my job to answer them," beomgyu says. his hand is gripping your hair so tight it hurts but you do not stop. you bob your head even faster, using your hand on what can’t fit, and you feel his thighs tense under your palms.

you want him to come. you want him to lose control in his own office with a student sitting just inches away. you want to be the one thing that breaks him.

"is there anything else?" he asks, and his voice is strained now, barely holding on.

"no, thats all. thank you again."

"of course. close the door on your way out."

you hear her stand, then walk to the door. you hear it open and then close and then you hear beomgyu let out a breath that sounds like a prayer.

"you," he says, and his voice is wrecked, "are going to be the death of me."

you pull off long enough to say, "should i stop?"

his hand tightens in your hair. "if you stop i’ll fail you out of spite."

you laugh, the sound vibrating around him, and he groans. then he is pulling you up, out from under the desk, and he is kissing you again, desperate and messy. he lifts you onto his lap as he sits on his chair still and pushes your skirt up around your waist.

"you’re perfect," he says against your mouth. "you’re perfect and impossible to deal with and i have thought about this since the first week of class."

"thought about what?" you ask, breathless.

"thought about fucking you while you sit on my lap in my office while you wear that skirt. thought about ruining your perfect life with extra credit assignments that involve you on your knees.“

he pulls your underwear down your legs, lifting you up a bit on his lap. you gasp. he pushes two fingers inside you without warning and you arch back, knocking over a stack of papers.

he moves his fingers inside you, finding the spot that makes you see absolute stars, and you bite your lip to keep from crying out. you’re already so close, just from thinking about the risk, from the moment under the desk, from his fingers inside you.

"please," you whimper. "please, need you inside me."

"professor choi," he corrects, but he is already unbuttoning his shirt, already lining himself up. "say it properly."

"please professor choi," you beg. "fuck me. please."

he pushes in.

you both moan. he’s huge and hot, filling you completely. he pauses for a moment, breathing hard, his forehead against yours.

"you take it so well," he murmurs. "look at you. my best student. so perfect for me."

"move," you whisper. "please move."

he starts slow, thrusting deep, while he guides your hips on his lap, but it does not stay slow for long. he picks up the pace, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and the chair starts to creak.

"you wanted your professor to fuck you in his office, hm?"

"yes," you cry out, too loud, and he covers your mouth with his hand.

"quiet," he warns, but he is smiling, that severe expression finally cracked into something fond and desperate. "my perfect princess, you’re going to come for me, arent you? you’re going to come on my cock and take me all in?”

the words send you over the edge. you clench around him, your orgasm rolling through you, and he keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own release. when he comes he buries his face in your neck, biting down hard to muffle the sound, filling up inside you with your name on his lips.

you stay like that for a long moment, his face buried in your neck while your head rests on his shoulder on his ruined chair, breathing hard. his hand is still over your mouth slight and he moves it now, gently, brushing your hair back from your face.

"your paper," he says, "is getting an a."

you laugh, breathless, "youre ridiculous."

"im all yours," he says, it sounds like a promise. beomgyu grins, that pleased smile that you have only seen in your dreams until now. "my office is always open at all times for my top student."

"your only student," you correct.