🧸🩹

“Great,” you mutter, trying to rinse it under cold water. But the bleeding doesn’t stop. Ten minutes later, you’re in an Uber on the way to the urgent care clinic, hand wrapped in a half-wet kitchen towel, mentally cursing your decision to wash that stupid wine glass so aggressively.

The waiting room is quiet, save for the occasional cough and the soft music playing from a wall-mounted speaker. You fill out a form one-handed, trying to ignore how much your hand is throbbing.

“Y/N L/N?” a nurse finally calls.

You get up, clutching your hand, and follow her through the hallway. “Dr. Sim will be with you in just a moment,” she says, smiling as she leaves you alone in the exam room.

You freeze. Dr. Sim? There’s no way. That name—no, that can’t be him. Could it?

You try to shake the thought, but your gut already knows.

When the door opens a few minutes later, all your worst (and best?) suspicions are confirmed.

“Y/N?” he says, surprise flooding his face.

Your stomach flips.

Jake.

Jake Sim.

Your ex. The one you haven’t seen in forever. The breakup was quiet, civil—“just not the right time”—but it didn’t make it hurt any less. And now here he is, in a white coat, looking annoyingly good, with slightly longer hair, sharper features, and that same soft voice that once talked you through your worst nights.

“Wow,” you say, blinking. “You’re a doctor now?”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Crazy, right? Never thought we’d run into each other like this.”

“Definitely not like this,” you say, holding up your wrapped hand.

Jake walks closer, eyes scanning your hand. “What happened?”

“Glass broke while I was washing dishes. Cut through pretty deep.”

“Can I take a look?”

You nod slowly, watching as he gently unwraps the towel. His fingers brush your wrist, and your skin burns where he touches. It’s quiet—almost too quiet—as he examines the cut, brows furrowed in focus.

“I’ll need to clean it up first,” he says softly, almost to himself. “You might need stitches, but that will be another appointment, I’ll just clean it up and wrap it around a bandage.”

You watch him grab gloves and supplies from the cabinet. There’s something strange about seeing him like this—same Jake, but also… not. More composed, more serious. But his hands are still the same. Careful. Warm. Familiar.

He kneels slightly so he’s eye level with your hand, and when his eyes flick up to yours, everything else feels far away.

“You doing okay?” he asks, his voice low.

You nod, but your breath catches when he presses the gauze against your palm. The sting makes you flinch, but it’s not just the alcohol—it’s him. His hands. His voice. Being this close again.

“You’re still dramatic about pain,” he says softly, almost teasing.

You look at him. “You’re still annoyingly gentle.”

His lips curve just slightly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You don’t answer.

The air is thick between you now, the kind of silence that feels louder than words. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, your knees barely inches from his. You hate that your body still remembers him. You hate that part of you wants to lean in.

His hands pause for a second, still wrapped around your wrist. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says suddenly, voice quieter now.

“Me neither,” you reply. “Especially not like this. Bleeding in your exam room.”

His eyes lift to meet yours.

“Still stubborn,” he murmurs. “Still beautiful.”

That one word knocks the air out of your lungs. Beautiful. Like he used to say when you were lying in his bed, bare-faced, laughing too hard at something stupid.

You should look away. You want to look away.

But you don’t.

Not when his face is this close. Not when his fingers are still brushing your skin like he doesn’t know where to let go. Not when the room feels like it’s about to burn down with everything you’re both not saying.

He looks too good in that uniform. Too polished. Too in control. You hate it. You hate that your breath stutters when he leans closer. You hate that your heart hasn’t figured out how to move on. And most of all—you hate how pretty he looks while fixing up your hand.

The white coat suits him way too well, rolled sleeves revealing strong forearms, the stethoscope hanging around his neck like a stupid accessory he doesn’t even need right now. His hair’s messier than you expected, but in a way that looks intentional—like he ran his fingers through it after a long day. His lips are slightly parted, brows pulled in quiet focus, and when he glances up at you through those lashes—You squeeze your thighs together on the exam bed, and look away too fast.

But Jake notices, like he always did.

“Still can’t hold eye contact,” he murmurs.

You scoff, eyes snapping back to him. “Still arrogant.”

Jake just smiles—slow and knowing—like he can read the heat behind your voice.

“I’m not arrogant. I’m just right,” he says, gently pressing gauze against the wound again. “This is gonna sting.”

“You already do,” you mutter under your breath.

But he hears it.

His hand freezes for half a second, while wrapping your hand in the bandage.

Then, slowly, he looks up. His eyes are darker now. Something unspoken passing between you, lingering in the air. Heat, thick and heavy.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” he says, barely above a whisper.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Because you do feel it.

You never stopped.

And judging by the way he’s still holding your hand like it’s more than just a bandage job, like he’s remembering, too—His thumb grazes along the inside of your wrist, slow enough that you know it’s not by accident.

Your pulse betrays you. Quick. Loud. Obvious.

And he feels it.

He doesn’t say anything—but you can see it in his eyes. That quiet smirk at the corner of his mouth. That shift in his posture as he leans in just a little closer, like gravity is pulling him toward you and he’s getting tired of fighting it.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs.

You glare at him. “You’re distracting.”

His smile deepens, but his eyes are still serious. Still locked on you like he’s trying to memorize the way you look under these fluorescent lights, with your cheeks flushed and your jaw tight and your hand still in his.

“I used to love when you looked at me like that,” he says suddenly, voice lower now. “Like you hated how much you wanted me.”

Your stomach tightens.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you manage to say, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be.

“I’m not,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips for just a second—barely a breath—but you feel it. “You’re doing it right now.”

You yank your hand back, too fast, too defensive. The sudden lack of contact feels colder than it should.

Jake watches you, quiet, reading you like a book he already knows too well. And maybe he does. Maybe that’s the worst part.

You get off the exam bed, not looking at him this time.

He doesn’t stop you.

But just as you reach for the door, he speaks again—quiet, like he’s trying not to say it but can’t help himself.

“You think we ended too soon?”

Your hand freezes on the doorknob.

And just like that, your whole chest feels like it’s caving in.

“W-What?” you breathe, turning around slowly, eyes wide, chest tight.

Jake doesn’t answer right away—he just steps forward, slow and steady, until your back hits the door and he’s standing so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze doesn’t waver.

“You heard me,” he murmurs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. He’s close. Too close. And yet… not close enough.

“I don’t—” you start to say, but your words die when his hand comes up, fingers brushing lightly against your jaw.

“You do,” he says softly, eyes searching yours. “I can see it all over your face.”

His fingers trail down, just enough to ghost along the side of your neck, his thumb grazing your cheek like he’s asking permission without words. Your breath hitches.

And then… something snaps.

He leans in—slow but sure—and you meet him halfway.

The kiss crashes into you like a wave you’ve been trying to outrun.

Warm. Familiar. Desperate.

His lips move against yours like he’s been waiting, like he never forgot, like this kiss has been living in the back of his throat since the moment things ended.

You fist your good hand in the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer—closer than you should, closer than is safe—but you don’t care. You can’t care.

Because this isn’t careful. This isn’t polite.

This is everything you tried to bury rising back up all at once.

His other hand rests against the door beside your head, caging you in—not to trap you, but to keep himself from falling all the way in. But it’s a losing battle. He kisses you like he’s falling anyway.

And you let him.

But suddenly, he pulls back.

His forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard, lips still brushing like he doesn’t want to let go—like he can’t, but he knows he should.

His eyes meet yours, dark and clouded with everything he’s holding back.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes out.

He takes your hand—your unbandaged one—and presses it gently against the front of his pants, eyes still locked on yours.

“See what you do to me?” he says, voice low and wrecked.

You feel him—hard and straining beneath the fabric—and your breath catches again, your body burning at the contact, at the sheer need of it all.

It’s not just lust.

It’s the way his jaw tightens when he looks at you. The way his thumb brushes your skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The way he’s holding back like touching you again will undo him completely.

“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he says, eyes searching yours. “Tell me you forgot. Lie to me.”

He’s daring you.

Daring you to break this moment.

But your silence says more than words ever could.

You don’t answer him.

You can’t.

Because the moment your hand presses against him, everything else fades—logic, distance, all the reasons you two didn’t work the first time.

All that’s left is this heat. This ache. This impossible tension that’s finally snapped.

Jake watches your reaction, his chest rising and falling as you feel how hard he is for you—how easily he still wants you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to forget,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, then your jaw, moving lower, slower, like he’s memorizing you again. “And then you show up… in that damn mini skirt, bleeding, cursing, rolling your eyes at me like no time passed.”

His hands slide to your waist, gripping tighter now—pulling you flush against him. You can feel every inch of him through the thin fabric, your thighs clenching at the pressure, your breath catching in your throat.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s different.

Rougher. Hungrier.

Like he’s been holding back for too long and finally let the leash slip.

You kiss him back just as hard, hands tangling in his hair, his coat, anything you can grip. You don’t care that you’re in an exam room. That you’re supposed to be a patient. That this is so, so wrong.

It feels too good.

His hands slip under your shirt, fingers trailing over your skin like he’s relearning every dip and curve—every place he used to touch like it was his.

“You still react the same,” he murmurs against your neck, tongue flicking out to taste the spot just below your ear. “Still melt for me.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, gasping when his teeth graze your skin.

“You don’t want me to,” he growls, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, lifting it around his waist. “You want me to ruin you all over again.”

“Then ruin me… Jake,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

The second the words leave your lips, something shifts in him.

His hands tighten on your waist. His eyes darken like a storm rolling in, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched like he’s holding onto the last thread of restraint—and you just cut it.

“Say it again,” he breathes, voice low and wrecked.

You lean up, lips brushing his ear, barely touching as you whisper, “Ruin me.”

And that’s all it takes.

He crashes into you with a kiss that’s pure fire—no hesitation, no pretending. Just months, maybe years of built-up want finally spilling out. His hands roam under your shirt, up your sides, gripping like he needs to feel every part of you to believe you’re real. He groans into your mouth when your body arches into him, like he’s the one unraveling now.

His lips trail down your neck, your collarbone, warm breath sending goosebumps down your skin. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he mutters against your skin. “I’ll break every rule for you right now.”

“Then break them.”

He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like instinct. He presses you harder against the door, hips grinding into yours just enough to make your head fall back with a whimper. The friction alone makes you dizzy—makes you desperate.

Jake leans in, lips hovering over yours again.

“You still want this?” he asks, voice rough, chest heaving against yours.

You don’t hesitate.

“I never stopped.”

Before you can say another word, your back is pressing against the cold metal edge of the exam bed.

“Up,” he growls, voice low and strained—like he’s barely keeping it together.

You don’t question it. You climb onto the bed, heart pounding, breath shallow, your body reacting faster than your mind can keep up.

But Jake’s not soft now.

His hands are rougher—impatient—as he grabs your hips and flips you, bending you forward over the edge. The paper crinkles under your hands as you brace yourself, head spinning from the heat rolling off your skin.

You glance over your shoulder, breath catching as you see him standing behind you, flushed, eyes full of hunger.

“You have no idea,” he rasps, leaning in so his chest presses against your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “how many times I’ve thought about having you like this again.”

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers digging into your skin, firm and possessive.

“You shouldn’t say that,” you whisper, voice shaky—though not from fear.

He smirks against your neck. “Why? Afraid I’ll mean it?”

One hand slides up your side, under your shirt, grazing skin like a threat. The other presses flat against your lower back, holding you in place. His lips trail along your jaw, your shoulder, your spine.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he mutters, his voice sending heat straight through you.

You press back against him without thinking, and his low groan vibrates through you.

You feel him shift behind you—his hands leave your hips for just a second, and you hear the soft rustle of denim as he reaches down, lifting himself slightly to slide his jeans off.

Your breath catches at the sound alone.

You can’t help yourself—you glance over your shoulder.

And what you see makes your entire body tighten with heat.

Jake’s shirt is slightly unbuttoned now, collar open just enough to show a sliver of the chest you remember all too well. His jaw is clenched, his brows drawn together in that same focused, wrecked expression he used to wear when he was trying not to lose himself too fast.

But your eyes fall lower—and he’s hard, straining against his boxers, the outline enough to make your lips part and your breath stutter.

He catches you looking.

Of course he does.

And he smirks—dark, dangerous, and way too confident.

“See something you like?” he murmurs, stepping back in close, letting the fabric brush against the back of your thigh as his fingers trail up your spine again.

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

Because your body already has—and he knows it.

“Tell me,” he breathes against your ear, voice lower now. “Tell me you missed this. Missed me.”

Your lips part, a soft sound escaping you—but whether it’s a yes or a plea or just his name, you’re not even sure.

“Please, Jake…” you whimper, voice cracking under the pressure building in your chest. “I missed this— I miss you.”

You hear him suck in a sharp breath, like your words hit something deep in him he wasn’t ready for.

Then—smack.

His hand lands hard on your ass, the sting blooming across your skin in the same breath that he growls against your neck:

“Good fucking girl.”

His voice is low, wrecked, full of heat and something more—something possessive.

He presses into you again, chest against your back, hand gripping your hip like he’s never letting you go again.

“You have no idea what you just started,” he mutters, lips ghosting along your ear. “And I’m not stopping until you forget everything but me.”

Jake pushes your skirt up instead of taking it off, eyes dark as they settle between your thighs. “Cute panties,” he murmurs—pink with white lace. He tugs them to the side, exposing your soaked folds, then positions himself right in front of your pussy.

“So fucking wet,” he growls, running two fingers slowly through your slick. You jolt at the touch.

“J-Jake!” you whimper, already breathless. “Please…”

He lifts his gaze, eyes locking with yours, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “Please what, princess? Use your words.”

You look down at him, cheeks flushed, legs shaking. His smirk deepens as he watches you struggle to find the right words.

“Please… don’t stop. I need you so bad,” you finally breathe out.

That’s all he needs.

He dives in like he’s starved, licking into you with hunger, his tongue sliding inside you with a groan. “Miss tasting your pussy,” he murmurs against your folds, the vibration making your knees nearly buckle. Your hands immediately find his hair, fingers tangling as you press him closer.

His tongue flicks in and out of your entrance while his thumb circles your clit, fast and deliberate. Your moans spill out uncontrollably, echoing in the small room.

But then—he stops.

“J-Jake… I was almost there,” you whine, frustrated.

He looks up at you, voice low, teasing. “I’m not gonna let you cum if you don’t shut that pretty mouth. Everyone’s gonna hear you.” His smirk returns. “Don’t wanna get me fired, right?”

You shake your head quickly. “N-No… mm, sorry!”

“Be good and be quiet for me.”

He slides two of his long fingers inside you, immediately curling them just right, hitting places your own hands never could. His tongue returns to your clit, drawing slow, deliberate 8s as his fingers fuck into you at a fast, punishing pace.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to hold the sounds in, but your body’s betraying you. “Mmmph!!”

Jake groans low in his throat when he feels you clench around his fingers. “That’s it. Cum for me,” he hums against your clit.

Your hand slips from your mouth as your back arches, fingers gripping the crinkling paper on the exam bed. “J-Jake!” you cry out, cumming hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until he’s licked you clean, not wasting a single drop.

He pulls you up without warning, bending you over the bed. “Need to be inside you right the fuck now,” he growls, voice low and desperate. Jake tugs your panties down slowly, letting them pool around your ankles before gripping his cock, pumping it a few times as he lines himself up. He rubs the tip against your entrance, teasing you.

“Fuck, Jake—just fuck me already,” you whine, breath shaky.

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Be patient,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock along your thigh, “or I won’t fuck you at all.”

“Mm—fuck!” you gasp at the sensation.

“Didn’t I say be quiet?” he snaps, voice rough. “So fucking sensitive.”

He pushes in just the tip, and you let out another moan the moment he does.

“I can’t help it, Jake… I need you so bad,” you plead, voice trembling.

And as much as Jake wants to keep teasing, the need in his gut wins. He groans and slams into you in one hard thrust.

“Shit—holy fuck,” he groans, stunned. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You cry out into the mattress, your voice muffled, your body trembling.

“You haven’t had anyone as good as me, huh?” he mutters, snapping his hips into you with force. “Answer me,” his voice turns dangerously low, “or I’ll stop. Right here. Right now.”

“Y-Yes!” you whimper. “Nobody’s as —moan— good as you!”

“Good girl,” he praises, slapping your ass hard, making you jolt. He groans, gripping your hips like he’ll break them, driving into you again and again. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

You can feel him twitch inside you—and the way your body clenches around him only makes it worse.

“Shit—don’t do that,” he groaned, his voice ragged. “You’re gonna make me cum too early, baby.”

You squeezed around him again, and he cursed under his breath, fingers digging bruises into your hips. “I can’t take—”

But he cut you off, thrusting deeper. “Yes, you fucking can,” he growled, voice low and rough.

His grip tightened. “You just had to walk in here wearing that skirt, huh?” he snapped his hips into you with purpose, each thrust sharper than the last. “What if it had been someone else? You’d let them fuck you like this too?” His pace quickened, punishing, demanding.

“N-no one else.. just you, jake!” your cried out, voice breaking with need.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, breath hot against your neck as he leans over you, thrusts growing deeper, rougher, more desperate. “You’re gonna make me cum already—shit.”

Your nails scrape at the sheets, trying to ground yourself as his pace turns relentless. Every snap of his hips sends shockwaves through your body. You feel so full, so stretched, it’s almost overwhelming.

“I-I’m close,” you cry out, voice shaky and wrecked.

He pulls you up slightly, chest flush to your back, hand sliding up your torso to grip your throat—not tight, but enough to make you gasp. “You gonna cum for me again?” he whispers in your ear, voice thick with lust.

You nod frantically, tears pricking your lashes from the intensity. “Y-Yes, Jake… please, I’m so close—”

“Then cum,” he orders, slamming into you one last time with force, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. “Let go for me, pretty girl.”

And you do—body shaking, back arching as you unravel completely around him, crying out his name. Your walls squeeze him so tight he can’t hold it anymore either.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m cumming,” he growls, burying himself deep inside you with a broken moan as he spills into you, holding you close as he rides out every last wave.

For a few seconds, it’s just the sound of heavy breathing and your hearts pounding in sync.

Then he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, still inside you, voice soft and low now. “You’re unreal… fuck.”

You’re still catching your breath when Jake pulls out slowly, letting a shaky groan slip from his lips. You think it’s over—until he flips you onto your back, eyes burning into yours.

“One more,” he pants, already stroking himself back to full hardness. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your legs fall open instinctively, body still trembling, but the need rushes right back.

“Jake—” you start, but he’s already pushing back in, still sensitive, still hard. The stretch is even more intense this time.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he groans, hand gripping the back of your thigh as he starts thrusting into you again, slower but deeper.

Your nails dig into his arms, head tilting back. “I can’t—I’m still so sensitive…”

“I know,” he breathes out, a smirk playing on his lips, “but you’re taking it so well, baby.”

His hips snap forward harder, faster—no teasing this time, just raw need. The sounds of your bodies colliding fill the room again, slick and desperate. You cling to him as another orgasm builds way too fast.

“Jake, I’m—”

“Cum with me,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, his rhythm turning messy, erratic.

And you do—again—body jerking under him as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release.

He follows with a deep, broken moan, collapsing against you as he cums hard, filling you once more.

This time, neither of you move right away—just breathing, holding, clinging like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

“Fuck…” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Jake finally pulls out, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. His cum slowly starts to drip from you, and he lets out a low curse at the sight.

“Messy girl,” he murmurs, brushing a hand down your thigh. You both pause for a second, the quiet hum of the exam room light the only sound aside from your breathing.

He gets dressed quickly before helping you.

He leans over, grabbing the tissue box on the counter. With gentle hands, he starts wiping between your thighs, cleaning you up with surprising care.

“Didn’t think this was how your check-up was gonna go, huh?” he teases, tossing the used tissues into the bin nearby. He uses another to wipe the inside of your thigh, his fingers lingering just a little too long.

You glare at him weakly. “Shut up.”

He grins. “I’m just saying. If I knew you’d show up in that skirt, I would’ve scheduled a full hour.”

Once he’s finished, he grabs one of the disposable cloths from the cabinet, dampening it with warm water from the sink. He comes back, pressing it softly to your skin to clean up anything the tissues missed.

“I’m serious though,” he adds in a softer tone, glancing up at you. “You okay?”

You nod, smiling lazily. “Yeah… I’m good.”

You fix your skirt and shirt, slipping your panties back on as you try to steady your breathing and smooth down your hair.

“Good,” he says, tossing the cloth into the bin and helping you sit up on the exam bed. His hand lingers on your lower back a moment longer than necessary.

You glance at him, trying not to smile. “You always help your patients like this?”

Jake chuckles, grabbing your chart and flipping it closed. “Only the special ones.”

You roll your eyes, hopping off the bed as he straightens his coat and tucks his shirt back in. The exam room suddenly feels smaller again—quiet and clinical, like nothing just happened.

He catches your eye and steps closer, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice is softer now.

You nod, cheeks warm. “Yeah. Just… probably won’t be walking straight for a bit.”

He laughs under his breath. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. “I should go before someone realizes I’ve been in here too long.”

“Mm. Might raise some eyebrows.” He opens the door slightly and peeks out, then turns back to you. “Come back in two weeks for a ‘follow-up.’ I’ll make sure your chart says something serious.”

You scoff. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet here you are,” he says with a smirk.

You give him one last look, trying not to grin too wide as you slip out the door, heart still racing, body still buzzing from everything that just happened.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

but one thing that you just can't seem to get a grasp on... is how he really feels about you.

as well as you can confidently say that you know choi beomgyu, the never-ending mixed signals he throws at you may just be your downfall in that department, from the outrageous flirting towards you on one end of the spectrum to the bragging of his latest phone number acquirement on the other.

i mean, what are you supposed to think when he's sweetly tucking your hair behind your ear one second and then commenting on how pretty that passing girl is the next? (unbeknownst to you, he's actually just trying to gauge your reaction).

but at this point you've had enough of the guessing games. you're gonna take things into your own hands and find out exactly how he really feels.

...or at least... that's what you told yourself, when you'd laid out across your sheets and took those coy little pictures, fully nude and fully ready to "accidentally" send them to your best friend to see what he would do;

but now, you release a resigned sigh as you set your phone aside untouched and tug your — his — sweater further over your shoulders in the chilly air of your room.

"stupid beomgyu," you grumble. "stupid me... stupid idea."

your lost confidence seems to mock you as your phone suddenly buzzes with a text from none other than the exact man of the hour, and you huff as you read it.

— hellspawn 🙄🤎: i'm coming over

his contact name feels as fitting as ever. "right, just invite yourself on in," you mutter to yourself (as if that's not exactly what the two of you always do anyways).

you have half a mind to respond with something snarky, but instead you just leave it be as you stare down at the nudes still sitting hauntingly unsent in your end of the message box, and with a shiver you resort to sticking your tongue out at his contact picture and leaving the text unanswered as you punch the air in a mini fit and toss your phone away into your pillows.

"i hate boys."

and with that, you grouchily trudge your way into the living room to start up the show that you've been binging together, phone and pictures forgotten.

unfortunately.

because what you don't know, but what you're soon about to find out, is just how crazy your best friend actually is about you — and as beomgyu stands frozen outside of your apartment building, staring down at his phone with a short-circuiting brain and eyes growing blurred from lack of blinking in the chilly night air, convenience store bag full of snacks falling forgotten to the ground — well.

he didn't even buy a lottery ticket, but it seems he's just won.

your naked body glows back at him from his screen as he fumbles back into motion, urging his fingers to remember their own mobility as he gulps and swipes hungrily through the array of photos that you'd sent.

hurriedly he brushes his long hair out of his eyes as it falls forward, his hunched frame in the middle of the sidewalk probably resembling that of a homeless man as he holds his phone close, shielding the sight of you from any prying eyes (there are none) while his thoughts suddenly erupt into every possible direction.

is this really happening? is this real life? what does this mean? is this a confession? she obviously wants me too, then, right? shit, should i have dressed better? do i smell okay? should i run back home and — oh god, what if these were meant for someone else? did she really mean to send them? what if she never speaks to me again? oh god, she's so.. she's so.. holy fuck.

beomgyu is breathless as his eyes roam across your soft skin, your pretty curves, the sly hint of a smirk peeking from your lips as your finger slips between them —

he feels his cock straining tighter against his pants the longer that he scrolls.

relishing in the sight that he's been dreaming of for so long, he imagines it were his hand wrapped gently around your throat instead of your own, his fingers caressing your bare tits and sliding down beyond the camera where his imagination is left to run wild — fuck, he's gotta get up there.

forcing himself to tear his eyes away, he quickly gathers the scattered snacks and stuffs them mindlessly back into their convenience store bag as he hurries towards the entrance of your building, not even needing to think twice as he inputs the code and all but lunges for the elevator.

"alright, be cool, be cool, be cool."

the deep breaths he's been taking and mini self pep talk he's been mumbling all but crumble away meaningless when he types in your apartment's passcode and opens the door to see you standing there by the couch wearing his sweater, so big on you that it's easy to pretend that your little pair of shorts underneath aren't even there;

and he's suddenly grateful for the long length of his hair as he feels the way his ears burn red underneath, but the inevitable flush on his face doesn't escape your notice as you glance up at him for a moment before turning your attention back to the tv remote in your hand.

"why do you look like you just ran a fucking marathon?" you scoff. "did the ahjumma downstairs hit you with her grocery bag again?"

but beomgyu is far beyond saving as images of you underneath him flicker across his mind, now no longer fueled by his imagination but by the real thing that you'd just graced him with minutes before.

"those for me?"

you pause. his voice is raspy, strained, almost breathless.

you glance back up at him. your brows pull together in confusion.

"huh?"

beomgyu barely breaks eye contact with you as he unlocks his phone, wordlessly holding it up to show you, eyes raking over your face for your reaction;

the remote falls to the floor with a thunk as your eyes widen and hands fly up to clap over your mouth in shock.

what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck- I SENT THEM?!?!

you rip your eyes away from the sight of your own body on his screen to meet his burning stare, and when you do — all excuses fizzle away as a shiver runs along your spine and straight down to your core.

the desire pooled in your best friend's eyes is unlike any look you've ever seen on him before, breaths coming out labored from his chest though he tries to control them; and when he takes a step forwards and asks again, voice deep and words punctuated,

"were those for me?"

you're nothing but a goner as you answer him with shaky legs and a nod.

the triumphant grin that spreads across beomgyu's blushing face is downright sinful as his bag of snacks once again meets a forgotten fate on the ground — along with his jacket that he immediately shrugs off of his shoulders, already reaching for the hem of his sweatshirt as he moves towards you with well-mustered boldness and says,

"should've waited for me, sweetheart. we could’ve taken them together.”

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— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @hyukascampfire, @kejingken, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13