#and those are part of the doctor too to her

[lologoinsolo]

Part 1, Part 2 TW: Mentions of blood! Non-con sedation And kidnapping!

“Make her off…” Kyle murmurs under his breath. That annoying smell of something far too clean and sterile has kept him up. Everyone has been taking time to sit besides Johnny in the hospital bed. “Make her off,” he jolts a bit when the door opens. John’s not looking his best but he’s trying to keep himself strong. Johnny took a bullet and nearly died for him after all.

“What’s that?�� John says, tiredness etched into his features as he takes his seat besides a sleeping Johnny. The doctors worked relentlessly to keep him alive, now he just needs to wake up from his coma. “Heard you muttering, do you need a break?”

Kyle merely scoffs, he and Simon’s been sitting here the most. He still can’t get how devastated Simon sounded when Johnny was laying in a pile— he shakes his head and breathes deeply. “You remember that girl,” he says offhandedly, “the one that acted weirdly around Johnny.”

John’s beard crinkles slightly, “yeah? Johnny mentioned it once. Gave a report and everything.” He leans a bit forward, “why?” The gears in his head starts to grind.

“She told him that sunshine can’t go down the tunnel.” John freezes and Kyle continues, “I don’t get it. She was clearly frightened and confused.”

“She said sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Kyle sighs, “said it like a prayer.”

“I called Johnny, sunshine, before we went in the tunnel.” At that Kyle sits up. “I told him that we wouldn’t go down easy”.

The man’s eyes widen. “Make her off, make her— Makarov!” He shouts and the nurse makes a shushing noise, Kyle doesn’t seem to care as he stands up. The realization crashed down on him. “She knew,” she had to. “John, she knew.” How else would she have known that Makarov would’ve been there before anyone else?

The tiredness ebbs from John’s face and the Captain shows up. “Get Laswell on the phone right now, Gaz.”

…

You watched the news repeatedly after you left the hospital. You couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, everything felt wrong. Those blue eyes haunt you every time you blink. Your left side of your head throbs and aches, an itch on the inside of your brain. You hate it. You hate him. You hate that you can’t help but wait for a sign. A sign that you’re not as crazy as the doctors have made you out to be.

A week passes and nothing, another and nothing. You give up hope till the news recounts a ‘gas leak’ in a tunnel. Causing multiple problems and a near casualty. You drop your remote when your vision shakes your world and you see the man with familiar blue eyes being rushed on a gurney. Voices shouting at you, voices you’ve never heard giving commands. Your hands claw at your hair and you feel bile coming up your throat from the intensity of the sight. He’s bloodied up and his left side of his head looks at though it’s been cracked open with the blood gushing out.

You scream and fall to your knees when you manage to pull out. Your stomach lurches and you struggle to stand. You grab your keys, your wallet, and anything useful and drive off. You don’t know where you’re going but you're running. You never stay long when the visions come true, you can’t risk yourself. You won’t.

So you move, move around quickly and find a job. You found a hole in the wall apartment, no one would come looking for you here… at least you hope. Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and you feel like maybe your life is coming slowly back together. Your visions have been weak but consistent, the only one that’s ever shaken you was blue eyes but he’s probably okay now. Hopefully…

Getting off of work, a job at the gas station. Something easy to blend into and no one bats an eye when you don’t look okay. Everyday has been feeling weirder. You’ve been writing more, visions are starting to stay longer. They’re getting worse again, the left side of your head throbs more every day. You’re tempted to run again but you don’t have the funds to do that. Taking a deep breath you push the apartment's creaky gate open, trudging along up the stairs to your place. You pull your keys out and as you do a warning flashes through you.

A man with a beard is sitting at your table, holding a gun, waiting. Waiting. He’s— you don’t open your door and you take off down the stairs. Your panic is rising with every stomp of your foot. You are near the gate and a flash of a hand goes through your mind's eye but not quick enough when you’re grabbed roughly. Can’t even scream when a hand clamps right over your mouth.

“Shut it,” a voice as deep as the ocean growls out. Your arms are forced behind your back as you cry and flail. You try to move them back but your assailant cuffs you quickly before slamming a hand back over your mouth before you can even call for help. Something cold is then pushed against the center of your back and it doesn’t take your curse to see that it’s a gun. “Walk. Now,” you hear a click and you tremble a step. Your arms are painfully tight against your back as he shoves you forward.

You walk up the steps and tears run down your face when he doesn’t even turn the knob, the door just opens for him. Meaning it was already unlocked. He shoves you once more to your kitchen table, the man with the beard that your curse showed earlier is sitting there. Waiting with a gun on the table. “Sit,” beard says, the one behind you gives a sharp nudge from his own gun and you sit.

“Pl-Please, I— I don’t have,” beard raises his hand and you try desperately to not whimper. “Please,” you beg, hoping he doesn’t kill you. You don’t know what they want or who they are.

“We need to talk.” Is all he says, he leans forward. The chair groaning under his weight and you blink back your wet eyes to see that he’s wearing a fishing hat. “You’re not hard to find, you know? Never stay in a place for long though.” His eyes squint and your struggle to breath when says without saying that you’re being tracked and watched. “Why are you running?” He doesn’t ask, he expects an answer from you. That gun on the table won’t allow you to deny him that.

“I…” you swallow, you can’t seem to stop your tears or the snot. You rub your face as best as you can against your shoulder. “Am I in t-trouble?” It’s not the answer he wants and his hand moves to his gun. “Please!” You shout suddenly, “I don’t know what I did wrong! Tell me, please— I don’t have any money. I’m sorry, please.”

He says nothing as you plead and beg, the one behind you doesn’t even make a gesture. You didn’t even recognize that he was wearing a mask, a skull one at that. A grim reaper that’s come to reap.

“Don’t kill me,” you blubber, you’re trembling so much that you’re surprised you haven’t vibrated off the chair. “Just— just tell me what I did wrong.”

He stands and you flinch, his hand trails as he walks around you. Shrinking under his hard gaze even more, “how did a girl like you work for Makarov, hm?” He chuckles mirthlessly, “could spill your bits out easily,” the one behind you grunts in agreement.

“I don’t,” you shake your head repeatedly side to side, “Makarov? Who? I don’t—“ beard grabs your chin and squeezes tightly making you whimper.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” He sneers, “one of my best nearly died but you told him to not go into that tunnel.” His thumb shifts harder against the fat of your cheeks. “Why?” That’s what confuses him in the entirety of tracking you down. If you did work for Makarov, why did you tell Johnny about it?

“Tunnel?” You murmur, tears rolling down your face and he does you the single kindness of flicking them away. It dawns on you now. “I-I,” you start hyperventilating, your anxiety through the roof as you try to breathe. The visions come flooding back and you scream.

…

10 minutes prior.

Gaz searches through your computer. Searching for something that could prove that you work with Makarov. It’s the only thing that makes possible sense, you’re practically normal. Your records scream ‘normal’, Laswell couldn’t find anything save for the fact that you’re an only child that went through numerous foster homes.

“Son of a bitch,” he slams his fist against your desk. Your search history is useless save for everything else. Sourdough starter, flower pots, seeds, gas, kitchenware, gas, star lights, dresser, gas. He sighs after looking at all of it, he hears a woman crying and he knows that Price is already interrogating you. He’d feel bad but they all need answers, “what are you hiding?” He mumbles when he sees gas, floor, and dresser typed in repeatedly. Almost like it’s important but why would you type it so many times. “Maybe she wanted new flooring?”

He leans back, taking a breath and he rolls his neck. “Gas…” his eyes move towards your dresser, “gas,” it starts to click, “Gaz, floor, dresser.” He pushes off and runs to your dresser. He opens it and digs through your clothing for something, anything. He lets out a gritted curse when there’s nothing.

He runs his hand down the sides, “floor,” a light bulb flickers to life in his head and he gets on his knees. His hands tap on the floorboards and he hears a hollow sound. “Gotcha,” he pulls the floorboards back and he sees numerous journals. Some old and some new, he grabs the newest one and he flips it open. Flicking through the pages and most of the dated entries makes no sense. Some are singular words to full on spirals of paragraphs. The latest one that’s dated today brings him to a stop.

Gun, man with gun, home, no safe. Run, run, mask, grab, gas will read, gas is read. Read. Read. figuring out, knowing. He knows. Knows. Knows. Scream.

Just as he reads that last word he hears a scream and he comes running downstairs with his gun in hand. He sees you screaming as Ghost shoves a needle into your throat. You flail and flounder, tears staining your cheeks and you manage to get off the chair. Ghost stands over you as you try to crawl away but there’s no way to escape. You hold out for as long as you can but eventually you give in. The sedative works quick and Ghost gives a nudge to your soft side but you make no movement. “Out like a light,” he hears the big man say. He crouches down and turns you on your back.

“Sir,” Gaz says, holstering his gun, “you need to see this.” Price glares down at you but he follows after Gaz upstairs to your room. “She—“ he doesn’t even know where to begin, “she knew we’d come.” He pushes your room door to open more. The journals he rummaged through is sprawled out on the floor.

“Makarov?” There’s a tight look on his Captain's face when Gaz shakes his head, “then how, Garrick?” Ghost is probably taking you to their van right now. Everything’s off record and he’s sure someone is bound to call the police with how you screamed. Just what he needed, he sways to move his weight to one side as Gaz looks bewildered, confused, and shaken up.

“Here,” he passes off your journal with the entry written before the one Gaz had read. It’s dated yesterday.

Man. 1, no, 2. Gun, man with gun, home, no safe. Run, run, mask, grabs. Grabbing you. Men, 3. 3 men, 3 total. Blue eyes. Blue. Same Blue. Hurt? Are hurt you? Will hurt they you? Scared. No. Stop, stop. Needle! Taken. Dark, van dark.

[eddtherippr]

I'm thinking about being Natalie's mother:))

Imagine already being in a relationship with Natalie for a long time, you never really got married but you live together and that's enough<3 maybe after a lot of talking you decide to go for insemination and it works out, so now you're going to be mothers♡

I just thought it would be cute and thought of it with Sophie Thatcher's Natalie

She would be so sweet and understanding, but also so clumsy and protective like a puppy.

(gonna do a headcanon post for this one instead of a bot.. but still might make a bot too)

nat w/fem!pregnant!reader

💾 — ⁺ 　 . ✦

anon you're so right about the last part... in the beginning nat's downright terrified just at the idea of having a kid. she's scared of becoming like her mom (or god forbid her dad) and fucking up with her kid the way her parents fucked up with her.

over time she warms up to the idea, so then you talk about the IUI process. nat's never been one to have a medical phobia but you have to talk a LOT about it because she's freaked out by the thought of something going wrong.

jump-cut to the eventual agreement, and then your IUI is a few days away. nat insists on being there with you, calling out from work weeks in advance, encouraging you with little 'you've got this baby's and 'everything's gonna be fine's before the doctor gets in the room even though she's probably more nervous than you are. she's halfway soothing herself, too.

she doesn't really have her first real breakdown over it until you take the pregnancy test two weeks later and it reads positive. because oh my god, you're having a fucking baby. her girl's pregnant, she's going to be a mom. once again, she cries way more than you do.

💾 — ⁺ 　 . ✦

pregnancy is rough— especially with nat at your heels like an adoring puppy the entire time. you can't be mad at her, though— not when she's constantly doting on you, bringing you a heating pad and something warm to drink when you feel sick, holding your hair back while you throw up in the mornings, going out at ungodly hours to get whatever weird shit you're craving from the 7/11 down the street. she's utterly whipped.

and when you first start showing in the second trimester? she goes nuts. hanging off of you constantly, arms wrapped around your waist, hands under your shirt with her palms against your stomach so she can feel the bump. your baby, her baby. she's still not over it.

one night, she holds up her walkman and those little orange headphones with a sheepish smile, explaining that misty told her that babies can hear music in the womb. you listen to mazzy star with the headphones fit over your stomach and nat actually yells out loud when the baby kicks. fucking quigley was right about something for once.

after that, she plays all of her favorite songs for hours, going through a whole case of cassettes with her head on your shoulder and a hand lovingly on your baby bump, grinning a little wider every time she feels a kick.

💾 — ⁺ 　 . ✦

the real scare comes when your water breaks suddenly while you're in the kitchen.

one second she's making fun of you for your questionable meal choice of pickles with ketchup and frosted flakes, the next second there's a puddle on the floor and you're bent over the table. she panics— drops her cigarette in the sink, knocks over two fucking chairs, runs around like a fucking idiot— that kind of panic.

within 5 minutes, you're in the car and she's driving like bo duke. you actually have to grab her arm and get her to slow down so you don't both die in a car crash before you even give birth.

during labor, nat's fucking terrified, not leaving your side for a second. not to eat, piss, or anything, just watching you with clenched fists. Her hands shake when she holds yours at first, but the second she sees you in pain, she gets her shit together real fast. "hey, hey, babe— just breathe, okay? you got this. you’re a badass."

she takes it in stride when you yell at her mid-contraction, because she's not a fucking idiot. "nat, shut the fuck up!" "yep. sorry. my bad."

💾 — ⁺ 　 . ✦

the second she hears that first cry, her whole body just sags in relief. she's teary as fuck and not even trying to hide it. wiping her eyes like crazy. "holy shit, you fucking did it."

when she sees you hold the baby for the first time, she just stares at you like she's not entirely convinced this is fucking real. but when she gets the baby? oh, she breaks. teary smile, laughing and sobbing at the same time, the whole works. she's careful as hell, tracing one finger over a tiny fist.

when she thinks you're asleep, she starts talking. and she just cannot shut the fuck up, whispering to the baby for hours.

"guess you're stuck with me, huh, kid?" she says. "you got real lucky with your mom. she’s— you have no fucking idea how amazing she is yet. but you’ll get to see it."

even quieter, teary and sniffling, you hear her say: "i love you. i'm gonna try. i swear to god i am."

you know she's terrified of being a bad mom, but right now? you're not worried about a goddamn thing. she's gonna be just fine.

[cupidsdescendant]

Hii!! Would it be possible for you to create some headcanons for Medic & Sniper with a plus sized/fat reader? There some serious lack for those </3

Thank you!

Hell yah anon ! I can do that :] hope u enjoy ^=^

Banner credit! @boygirl-club

Tags: fluff, slight nsfw, plus size, medic, sniper, medic is a goof, squishing, touching, poking, embracing

Plus sized Y/N! X Medic&Sniper

🚑🚑🚑Medic🚑🚑🚑

Is the type to find your weak spot and pinch it. He’s an old, weird German, idk what u expected

“HOO HOO! My goodness, Y/N. Jour squishy.”

It puts you off at first but you become more comfortable, and so does he.

Though a doctor, it doesn’t mean he’s serious about his own self…

Lol medics fat.

So why would he care? He treats you like the princess you are <3

Thinks your curves are pretty and likes the way they make waves.

Thinks of you as a piece of art. You have the body of a sculpture and the soft, tenderness of your skin turns him on.

Oopsie- that one slipped

Anywho, Medic thinks the way you were sculpted is absolutely phenomenal, and loves every part of your body ^__^

“Perhaps you’d let me paint jour essence?” He says romantically.

Spending the rest of the week begging for you to figure draw for him. Nude.

He’ll practice drawing you over and over, until he gets it right.

🦘🦘🦘Sniper🦘🦘🦘

Sniper admires your body from afar. If Medic is upfront then Sniper is the opposite.

He actually fears your beauty. He thinks you look so good in tight clothing, your curves being tightly held.

Your flabby arms or thick calves, Sniper is obsessed. Especially with your big, round cheeks

Oh and the other ones too lol

Sniper is obsessed with the way you pout. His heart skips a couple of beats before he could get ahold of it

Overall thinks you’re gorgeous but is terrified to say it out loud.

In his mind, he finds it hard to say the right words. He doesn’t wanna say anything offensive, afterall.

So he keeps his thoughts to himself until it’s the right time

“Ya look really good today, Y/N. I uh, like when uh.”

Oh god. NOT THE RIGHT TIME-

“When yer have your body exposed like that”

Y/N was merely wearing a crop top with short sleeves, her legs completely covered by her khakis

“Uhm, thank …you?”

Once you get closer he gets better <3

Alright folks ! That’s it for me :] have a great night >3<

[waynes-multiverse]

Oh, oh, oh, Beth… I fucking loved this way too much. You have absolutely no idea how much I laughed. My husband thought I was nuts 😂🫶

This series brought me literally so much joy and laughs. You’re simply amazing for writing it 🩵🩵🩵

He’d been de-aged, lost his memory, kidnapped in his car and had her chase him twice, so if anything, this shouldn’t be a surprise. This kind of shit always happened to Dean.

It does! It really does 😂

And omfg poor Sam is scarred for the rest of his life by the lewd images he’s seen. No one should see their roommates in this state, let alone their own brother 🙈 But I laughed throughout his trials (and fails) of text messages to Eileen, although I still believe the woman would have a good, long laugh about all of this, and if anything, would be chiding Sam for not providing her with all the goddamn gloriously embarrassing details 🤣

They were not calling Cas. Keeping Jack occupied was hard enough without another angel not understanding how consequential Dean and you having sex under a curse could be.

Bless him for trying to entertain the angelic toddler 😂

But I had a feeling as soon as Sam send little, naive Jack to check on the lions (in heat) in the den, that sneaky Dean would find a way to trick the poor kid. Oh, well, let the smutty goodness begin 😈🔥

And Jack’s whole monologue about the technicalities of sex just about killed me, jfc 🤣🤣🤣 (Plus that little bonus comedic moment of the kid being turned on by reader was just pure gold)

Yeah. Dean was proud of himself. Oh-ho, yeah, he was, and his smirk only grew wider as Jack’s footsteps trailed away.

You outsmarted a four-year-old, doofus. God, this man 😂

Seeing Dean’s junk, seeing you touch yourself, seeing an old wood nymph cry.

Snorted way too hard at Mrs. Butters crying and imagining Sam’s bitch face when he found her 🤣 He can’t catch a break, can he?

Wrapped in hugs? No. That thing, with its excessive amount of fabric, wrapped Dean up like a chastity belt

The fact he’s wearing the actual fucking purple nightgown throughout all of this hotness just adds an extra layer of hilarity I really appreciate lmao

“And you believed him?” Yeah, Sam was wrong. Cas might’ve been useful. At least he wasn’t so gullible.

True. Sam’s just straight up babysitting one toddler, two horny teens and a demented granny tonight 😂

“So that means Dean just needs to ejaculate inside her?” Jack chimed in before Sam could, seeming very proud of his speculation, and, yeah, that did it. Sam was going to bed. Part of him wanted to know why she’d done it, but he’d had enough.

Dead 💀

Least, it was for you. This all happened because of a stupid spell. Something well beyond your control. It wasn’t like he’d wanted to fuck you before all this. He’d never even made a move on you until now, and now didn’t count.

Why am I getting teary-eyed? 🥲

I’m so glad they worked it out, though. *sighs wistfully* idiots in love 😍💕

And I happily take a fourth serving of snickerdoodles! 🩵

Consequences for Mrs. Butters, though? Let her soak in a bathtub full of Dean’s cum for 24hrs while doing one of those eye doctor letter tests? 🤔 Yeah, that’ll do. I’m sure Sam will go for it at this point 😝

SNICKERDOODLES & SPECIAL SAUCE

Part 3: Good Things Come in Threes

Story Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: 'Twas the night of fake Christmas and all through the halls, creatures were stirring, eventually on all fours... or ...Mrs Butters isn't just messing with Dean's underwear drawer. She's messing with your love lives, too. 18+ only

Word Count: 5.7k words (multiple POV)

Tags/Warnings: crack, friends to lovers, love potion, language, dubious consent, pining, eggnog, Mrs Butters is a terrible wingman, SMUT—————————————————————PART 1 || PART 2 || Part 3 || Read on AO3

Part 3: Good Things Come in Threes

…and Dean have been hit by some kind of lust spell, the message read, but Sam hit the backspace, scrapping it all. He tapped that screen almost as fast as your finger had done under your panties when he—nope!! He wasn’t going there.

He couldn’t send a message like that to Eileen, either. It would just lead to more questions, and he didn’t want to think about the situation, let alone go over the details of it all. Didn’t matter that Dean’s arm pumping action was enough to douse any fire, now and in the future.

Yeah. Dean. It was better to tell her about him, so, Dean’s been cursed, he tried, leaving out the part about you being hit with it, too.

Only, what if it got out you had? What if someone let slip what the actual curse was, and how Sam had walked in on you both?

He sighed and erased the text again, typing out, Mrs Butters is missing, instead. It didn’t explain Dean desperately calling him away from their phone call, but it was the truth.

God. Why was this so hard?

Because it’s Dean, he chided.

He’d been de-aged, lost his memory, kidnapped in his car and had her chase him twice, so if anything, this shouldn’t be a surprise. This kind of shit always happened to Dean.

His thumbs hovered over the screen, still contemplating what he should type next, when Jack appeared in his peripheral, popping out from the junction in the long corridor.

He shuffled down the hall towards Sam with a worried look on his face. All that twinkled overhead, lighting up the stray pieces of glitter he’d caught on his forehead and cheeks.

If only the wood nymph had left a trail through the remaining sparkles on the floor. Little heel shapes would be mighty helpful to find her, but no. It’s like she’d vanished into thin air.

“Hey,” Sam said, and hit send. He was quick to add, Dean pissed her off, and sent it straight after. “Any luck?”

He looked up just in time for Jack to step into his personal space. His drained eyes, hopeful and ready to cling to any good news Jack threw his way. Anything was better than the fat-load of nothing he had to show for.

But, “No,” Jack said, brow creasing in the middle in concentration. “And I checked all the closets and opened all the cubicle doors just like you told me to. Maybe we should call Cas?”

They were not calling Cas. Keeping Jack occupied was hard enough without another angel not understanding how consequential Dean and you having sex under a curse could be.

“Yeah. No, ah. You know what?” Sam shoved his phone back into his pocket and rejigged his Taurus in his hand. “Why don’t you check on them? Make sure Dean’s ropes are still tight.” He found Jack’s eyes and gave him his best reassuring smile, ignoring the niggle in his gut that knew Dean was a flight risk and probably busted out already.

“What about you?”

Sam cocked his gun and patted Jack on the shoulder. “She came out when Dean hit the reset button. I’m gonna see if I can lure her out by shutting this place down.”

And with that, Sam left Jack, and Jack headed towards the library, a little apprehensive about going in alone. Being told to check the ropes, even though he could smite Dean if he wanted to, was no easy feat. He respected him a great deal.

He was strong, knowledgeable about the world, and had taught him a lot. They’d even got around to “the talk,” so Jack was also knowledgeable about what was happening in the bunker that night.

Dean’s body, not the spell.

No, Jack had no idea why everything was happening as it was.

Just the physicalities.

He knew all about courting and fucking and the differences and similarities between them. It was all thanks to Dean. They hadn’t covered masturbation because Dean had said, “he was better left on his own there,” but Jack understood the basics of what Dean was going through.

Blood was pumping through Dean’s penis. He’d busted his nut three times (Sam had stopped him on the fourth), and was still erect now. Oh. And in pain. Which was difficult to understand because Jack had only ever experienced an erection when he woke up and it had just gone away on its own.

But he also didn’t sleep much, and he shrugged, considering his options as he walked the halls to you.

He wanted to ask Dean what it felt like. He was curious about you too, but from their talk, he knew not to ask you anything relating to your breasts or your vagina. It was okay to ask your partner, but it wasn’t okay to ask someone you weren’t courting, dating, or fucking.

Right. Yes. That’s definitely what Dean had said.

Coming from the lower levels meant Jack came into the war room via the eastern corridor, on the opposite side of the kitchen.

Besides the vibrant tree, still littered underneath with presents no one was supposed to open yet, it was Dean he spotted first.

His legs, from his calves to his ankles, were tied to his seat and not outstretched, as you’d expect. There was no manspreading going on, as you would say, either.

No. He was far from his usual relaxed self, calling out Jack’s name in irritation. Unbeknownst that his attempt to hide his relief was thwarted by Jack’s keen senses.

Jack rounded the edge of the map table and stepped up the stairs with a patter and a frown. Losing the squeaks his sneakers made when moving from the polished floors to wood always disappointed him.

“Hello Dean,” he said back to the hunter, hand waving in greeting, before setting his sights on you.

You looked no better. Eyes half lidded. Chest heaving. The skin that dipped below the neck of your shirt was lined with sweat, and tracing the curves of your breasts made Jack’s stomach feel funny. It also made his throat dry.

Why did it do that?

He popped his ears. Tried clicking his tongue and swallowing, but neither helped and his voice came out croaky like a frog’s. “Sam asked me to check on you both.” He rubbed his lips together.

“And where is Sam?” Dean asked. His sarcasm wasn’t missed. “Have you found her yet?”

“No. But he’s going to try the boiler room.”

An ominous clank cut Dean off mid eye roll. The lights cut him off, too. Well, the lamps and ceiling ones around the library and beyond in the halls did, but not Mrs Butters’ Christmas tree. It shone brighter. Rivaled only by the baubles, looped, and still blinking, ‘round the balustrades and staircase.

You could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the train’s whistle and Dean’s groan. “For the love of… What’s he planning to do?”

“Reversing you doofuses letting her out, obviously,” you said with a wheeze, and Jack decided it was time to get to work on the ropes. He did not want to be here any longer than he needed to be.

Dean was angry. You weren’t much better, but you were the best choice to start checking. The low lighting thankfully covered your breasts, but it wouldn’t for long. “She’s nowhere to be found.” He pulled on the ties that held your arms in place. “Sam thought she might appear if he tried restarting her.”

“Restart,” Jack felt Dean’s aura flare. He heard the blood as it pumped through his veins. “Okay, you know what? Jack, you need to untie me right now.”

“I can’t do that, Dean.” He wouldn’t. Sam had told him to check the ropes and make sure Dean was secured, and it was imperative that he did. “Sam said you two needed to stay separated.”

“And Sammy needs your help more than we do. Angel trumps wood nymph.”

“But I’m a nephilim.” And he was very confused.

“Yeah. Okay, sure. Son of Lucifer,” Dean quipped, but soon changed his tone to one of pleading. “Look. We’ll behave, alright? I promise.”

He promised? Dean never promised. At least he never used the word itself. He hadn’t exactly promised when he’d said they’d have the talk, and he’d kept his word then, so maybe it would be okay?

“She’s not looking too good there, Jack,” Dean added, and it was true, you weren’t.

Your breathing was slow and shallow. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead on top of your breasts now, and Jack could feel the heat radiating off of your body.

“Speak for yourself,” you said, but it was so quiet and lacking your usual pep, Jack’s stomach flipped. His mind did, too.

He stood tall and turned to face Dean. His eyes narrowed as they had when he’d questioned Sam’s plan in the first place.

He could trust Dean, couldn’t he?

Yes. Yes. Of course he could, and he nodded. “I’ll go back to Sam,” he said, and without even checking on Dean’s arms, rushed away to the boiler room to help there. Mrs Butters needed to be found, after all.

In his haste to be useful, however, even though he’d been reading both your auras; even though he’d heard Sam’s spiel about how dangerous the situation was; Jack was oblivious to the smirk that graced Dean’s face the second his back was turned.

Yeah. Dean was proud of himself. Oh-ho, yeah, he was, and his smirk only grew wider as Jack’s footsteps trailed away.

He’d been working on the ropes since the moment Sam had left the room. In control enough to know you were off limits, not enough that he could stay here any longer. Nope. He’d been watching your rack, too, though unlike Jack it’d been more than a few seconds, and he was not going there with you. Not when he’d probably come the second his dick got wet.

He had a reputation to uphold. That and you’d never let him live it down, knowing you. He’d be the butt of your jokes for as long as he lived.

So, rather than bothering to talk or check in with you, he let his dick and its needs lead. As soon as Jack left, he got back to it, shimmying his wrists back and forth, only it wasn’t doing much good.

Stupid nightgown. Why the hell hadn’t he put on his jeans and jacket? Oh right. Because then it would’ve chafed. Caught on fire like flint and tinder.

Screw this. The floor was below him and with enough force, he’d break the chair just like he’s done in Texas. Sam and Jack wouldn’t notice that with all the concrete, rebar and wiring layered between them and him, giving Dean plenty of time to escape. Plus, the boiler room was at the other end of the joint.

Perfect!

He tested the waters, pushing his toes into the polished wood below them, and when he was certain he wouldn’t add injury to the insult, he braced himself.

‘Okay,’ he breathed out a puff of air. ‘You can do this, Deano.’

Huh. Deano? Your nickname for him was cute, but why the hell was he using it? He was gonna count to three, but after that he gave up and just went for it.

He gripped the right arm of his seat and swung himself to the left, lifting the leg an inch if he was lucky. Shouldn’t have had that second helping of turkey or ham.

He sighed louder than the first time, eyes flicking to you when he realised you’d said nothing since Jack left. Not even a squeak of surprise at the thump he’d made.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” He had trouble pulling himself away from your rack to your chin. “Sweetheart?” he tried again, and a small choke answered him.

You see, while Dean was doing alright, you weren’t so much. It was bad enough Sam’d tied you up, but leaving you smack bang across the table from him was the stupidest, most inconsiderate thing Sam had ever done.

You were going to kill him. You were no longer sorry Mrs Butters had told you his business. Eileen deserved her privacy. Sam did not.

Just being in Dean’s presence had doubled the pain. You thought it was excruciating before? Hah! Think again.

You’d dropped your head just to avoid his sultry gaze. A mix of concern and dilated pupils you’d mistake for him being high had it not been seeing him equally affected by whatever she’d done to you.

“It hurts, De.”

Your white knuckles and sweaty palms held on too tight to the arms of the chair. Damn. That Pink song knew a thing or two, even if the lyrics and your body had differing opinions.

You didn’t want Dean to blow you one last kiss. No. Oh no. You’d settle for blowing him, or better yet, him blowing his warm breath over you because everything was on fire. The depths of your panties, the worst. The stiff wood under your ass and your pyjama shorts weren’t doing nothing for you. Neither were your knees rubbing together.

“Would you quit it?” Dean growled, and the echo went straight there.

A shiver. A trickle. A shock? Whatever it was, your cooch clenched tight to trap it and you had to stifle the moan you almost couldn’t.

Fuck. Your head wanted to explode. Your front teeth bit so darn hard into the meat of your lower lip, they grazed the bottom set below them.

“It really hurts,” you said again, as if saying so was the magic chant you needed to tell the spell uncle.

“Yeah, well. You squirming like that ain’t exactly a picnic for me, either.”

The gravel in his voice had your head flicking back up. It moved to follow his staring at your boobs.

Your nipples, unlike in the kitchen earlier, were now visible through your sleep shirt. Hard and perky. You’d be insulted, but all you saw besides the lights flashing in the other room was a dick on legs, and what it could do for you.

Those fingers of his, just below the ledge of the table. Those lips, pink and plump, rivaled only by his tongue that swiped over them, could wrap around the girls any day, and, “Fuck.” Your body shuddered through the long squeak it released, elongating the word even further, like a balloon neck still pinched tight.

Nothing. There was nothing you could do to make this better. Had the knots not tied you to the chair, you’d have crumpled in a heap on the floor, shuffling and moaning. Probably would’ve pissed yourself by now.

The pressure was severe enough, and your head dropped once more. Shoulders rising and falling beside your neck as you pulled the air back into your lungs with deep breaths.

“Hey. You okay?”

No. No, you weren’t. Your body needed physical stimulation. You knew it, Jack knew it, and you’d settle for a brush of Dean’s pinky finger against your own at this point.

His fingernail. The hair at the end of his knuckle. The cool metal of his 1911 would get him and you both off if you were smart about it.

So you fluttered your lashes and let the tips fan your cheeks. Your eyes peeked through them with your best wanton gaze. “There must be something you can do,” you said. “If you get us out, I’ll scratch your back, and maybe you can scratch mine?”

Not only did you hope that would get Dean’s attention, you sure as hell fucking meant it.

And you got it.

His cock twitched below his nightgown. A bead of cum spilled out from its tip, and Dean planted his feet on the ground and tried rocking again.

To the left, to the right, adrenaline was an amazing thing. Each new lift of the chair legs had him swinging and swaying, and the floorboards making god-awful sounds. But then inertia gave way and kinetic energy kicked in, and Dean’s right arm and shoulder pummeled into the floor with a thump.

His funny bone twanged. His throat gave a grunt. His dick bobbed up and down. It re-pitched the tent in his purple polyester blend the second he bounced back, tall and proud.

Fuck yeah! He was free, and scrambling on his bow legs to free you, too.

“You really wanna?” His question trailed off as you licked your lips. Your eyes, drawn to the tent of his giant hug.

He’d be insulted, but his small brain and actual brain were fighting for dominance. That moan you made when his pinky grazed your thigh was porn for his ears, and with the added ambiance, your face belonged in one. But did you just?

Wow. Well, if that didn’t do it for a guy (or girl), he had some questions. He’d barely touched you.

Screw Miss January. Mrs Butters could get stuffed like her turkey. He was gonna fuck you if you were going to let him, and his lips found their way to yours, crashing down with force and heat, before you could say no.

They seared, unrelenting, not letting you leave your seat. He’d jump you like a dog, but he wasn’t that far gone. Or was he?

Chuck. Fuck the spell. Mrs Butters had done him a favour. He’d die happy if that’s what this was. Satisfied with the taste of you on his tongue. The power he had over you with just his fingertips.

He just had one question - could he keep it?

No! Absolutely not, if Sam had anything to say about it. This night was the worst.

Seeing Dean’s junk, seeing you touch yourself, seeing an old wood nymph cry.

Oh yeah, he’d found Mrs Butters. Or rather, she found him, having apparated before him the second he shut the power off. She now stood in the corner, cowering, her hoot high in pitch when Sam pulled his gun on her, beady eyes only likening her more and more to an owl as they widened in terror.

You were right about her making a mean Merlin, or whatever his name was, but Sam was at his wit’s end, and about ready to shoot.

“So it was you?” His gaze pierced those peepers of hers back, finger trembling on the trigger of his Taurus. Unaware of what might happen if he shot at her. Very aware not to show it.

He should’ve checked the lore.

But then she dropped her head into her hands, remorseful or conniving, Sam wasn’t sure, and “Yes,” she said. “But it wasn’t supposed to do this…and…and—”

“And what?” Sam’s nostrils flared.

“It’s too late.”

And it was.

Too late to stop you, that is.

Dean had you on your feet and you were walking. Hands grabbing, fingers caressing, your bodies stepping in time like a practiced dance.

Through the halls he led you, lips nibbling and sucking your neck, your collarbone, the top of your cleavage. Wherever he could reach, he attacked, and wherever he went, you welcomed. Your hips and pelvis especially.

Yes, you undulated against him while your hands fumbled with his nightgown. His bedroom door slammed shut behind you, but you were too busy to bat an eyelid. Wrapped in hugs? No. That thing, with its excessive amount of fabric, wrapped Dean up like a chastity belt, protecting him from you and your aching heat from him.

It still burned. Still throbbed. Sweaty palms and fingertips, leaving prints that’d put crime-scene investigators outta their job if they used it for evidence. Not that he cared. He was too busy helping you with your clothing.

Your shirt, your shorts, he pushed you forward and soon had your lust-drunk-ass tumbling onto the memory foam of his bed with a bounce and grin from ear to ear. And when he pulled that lilac monstrosity off and over his head himself, he gave you little warning or vantage to take a decent peek at that part of him. You sure felt it, though.

Dean pinned you beneath him and pushed a knee flush between your legs. Anyone would think you were going somewhere, but you weren’t. Your pussy lips spread open wide, trying to draw him in.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck.

Fuck indeed. It was all too much. The length of him glided over your hip, electrifying everywhere it touched. You’d gone from seeing it, to feeling it, hard, hot and more than ready for you in a matter of hours. You’d tear apart into a million pieces if he didn’t tear you with it soon.

So, without a word, your arm snaked its way between your bodies to grip him, experimenting with a soft tug or two, pleased when he grunted under your touch.

You’d high five yourself, but your hands were busy and you didn’t have the resolve to stop. Neither did he.

No. There was no checking in. No questioning. Who cared if you were on birth control or not? He just pulled up, shifted himself to claim your lips, and prodded your lower ones with his blunt tip.

Your sloppy kisses struggled to return his intensity, more focused on pulling him closer and encouraging him to move by opening your legs even wider, hooking your ankles over his. You really were a floozy, and Dean only exemplified it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t,” he said against your chin, before snapping his hips forward with a groan that rumbled straight up your spine.

Just as his pinky had left your panties a mess, that one thrust was all it took. Your inner walls spasmed ‘round him. The rest of you clung where you could as he set his pace, chasing the high Sam had interrupted two hours ago.

Your muscles contorted; skin tingled. Your back arched off the mattress. But even though you’d just come, your clit, your cunt, your whole being demanded more. Fingers dragged down Dean’s back, scraping, raking down and around to knead the soft flesh of his ass.

“Oh god. Don’t do that. I’m not gonna—”

But it was too late. His mouth opened into a tightened O and ropes of his cum painted your insides. Each throb pulsing against your still clenched walls.

“Shit.” He panted, chest heaving against yours. “I never blow that quick.” He swallowed, then grunted. The primality of it, the sexiest damn thing you’d ever heard.

“Me either.” You huffed. He’d given you two orgasms with little foreplay. Hell, you hadn’t even spoken. That had to be a record for any girl, not to mention he’d come, what, four times himself? The guy was over forty, and still his flesh burned molten hot.

Then again, so did yours.

You let go to star-fish underneath him, rolling your neck backwards into the pillow to draw air into your lungs. “You, ah, you good?” you asked. Though why you bothered when even Dean, with his world-renowned game and prowess, couldn’t break the spell, was beyond you.

“Are you?” He cocked his brow.

“It’s manageable,” you said, which was better than no.

Of course, Dean looked down at you. His eyes searched for the truth. He found it too, when he gave up on your top half to watch between you, drawing another couple of slow pumps in and out.

“Manageable, huh?” He chuckled at your whimper. Even gave you a devious wink. “Think you can manage switching positions?”

Sam wished he could switch positions, too.

No, not like that.

Thankfully, he wasn’t aware of what was going on behind Dean’s door. Well, no, that’s not true. He did. He stood above the evidence you’d left behind in the library, put two and two together, and now stood, staring dumbstruck at the broken seat.

Why did he bother?

“I told you to check the ropes,” he said to Jack, who was looking mighty sheepish. Of course, Sam should’ve known he’d been rather quick returning to the boiler room.

“Dean promised he—”

“And you believed him?” Yeah, Sam was wrong. Cas might’ve been useful. At least he wasn’t so gullible.

He thought.

Honestly, Sam could only scoff. His grin, wide in disbelief, as he stretched thumb and pointer over his eyes.

Blowing his brains out would be easier. Then he wouldn’t have to face your wrath when you realised what you’d done. Screw Dean’s. Though he guessed it was in his best interests to fix things.

“Okay.” He turned to Mrs Butters, cuffed and still looking sorry for herself. Whether the cuffs worked on her was another matter altogether. She hadn’t fussed about them at least. Though her beady eyes still stared into the depths of his soul as if this was all his fault. “Say you did it right. What was supposed to happen?”

“Does it matter? Aren’t you going to stop them before th-th-th-they—”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah. Even you said it was too late.” Though she’d made it sound like you were going to die.

He tucked his gun into the waistband of his sweats so as not to be tested. “But if you want to,” his arm stretched out wide in the general direction of room eleven, “Be my guest.”

Like Mr Bean and his incompetence or Mr Magoo, well past his prime, she’d messed up the love potion, not him. He couldn’t be held responsible for what you guys did because of too much henbane from a housekeeper who needed glasses.

Her thrill was less impactful. Her whole body shuddered. The woman, old-fashioned and teetering on sexist, was more disgusted than Dean was going to be once he learned he’d lost his free will to food.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Then sit.” He pointed at her, then at the table. His other hand ran through his hair, waiting as she did what she was told with a slow step and a pout.

“So will it wear off?” Jack asked over his shoulder, and honestly, Sam didn’t know what to say.

He was tired. His experiences with love spells sealed shut years ago for good reason, so unless he looked up the lore or called Rowena, he was leaning along the path of, was it fatal and could it be left until morning?

But Mrs Butters whimpered. “A kiss would have made or broken the spell,” she said.

“So that means Dean just needs to ejaculate inside her?” Jack chimed in before Sam could, seeming very proud of his speculation, and, yeah, that did it. Sam was going to bed. Part of him wanted to know why she’d done it, but he’d had enough.

As much as he hated to admit it, he and Mrs Butters were on the same page as Jack. If her beet-red cheeks were anything to go by, you’d both be fine come morning, assuming Dean had enough juice left.

Embarrassed, yes, and ready to kill Mrs B. But maybe, just maybe, dare he say, you’d be happy about it? He would when she was gone.

Dean was still oblivious to the mystery being solved, still seated in your sweet heat. Sure, he was doubting how much longer he could keep it up, but the squelch was heavenly. You, on all fours before him now, crying in pleasure with your continued eagerness for him to touch and taste you; he wondered if you’d do it again? Or was this a onetime thing?

“That’s it,” he drawled, trying not to let thoughts of what happened next bother him. He watched himself push in and out. Watched his spend and your juices mix and get pushed back inside, too, savouring the sight for his mental spank bank. This one would be a treat.

“Give me another one,” he cooed.

“Listen to your own advice,” you clapped back, and he fucking loved it.

He reached around to your clit and thumbed the now over-sensitive bud, proud of himself yet again when your body betrayed you.

You squirmed on his cock, and he was spilling into you with more ropes of his special sauce soon after. Your sweet pussy gripped him like a vise.

Yeah, that joke was long past its use-by date, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t continue to use it.

He pulled you in close and rolled you over before he could fall on you, exhausted, keeping you flush against him. A sheen of sweat, the only division between. Whatever the old bitch had done, if she was out to get you, he’d deal with it, but he’d also thank her, maybe…it depended on what happened here with you.

“You good?” He cursed the croak in his voice, but if you noticed his moment of weakness, or the repetitious irony, you said nothing towards it, first answering with a contented hum.

“It’s manageable.” You chuckled, wheezing when he gave a soft slap to your ass cheek. “Okay, it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“But you’re still hurtin’?”

“Just chafing.”

You shook your head, and Dean frowned, raising himself on his elbow to lean over you. His dick slipped free, although with the sight of your rack before him, it wouldn’t take long.

“You wanna make a run for the showers? Get cleaned up?” He might even consider getting you ice from the kitchen, though he couldn’t see that helping when he shuddered at the thought of putting some on his junk.

At first you were silent. Eyes refused to look back up at him. He felt your heart pick up its pace. The tightening movement in your limbs and chest, too, before you’d even moved.

“Guess I should get outta your hair,” you said, sitting up, and Dean was foolish to let you. Or maybe just a genius. A stupid one, but a genius nonetheless, recording more footage to his brain for further use, because it looked like he was going to need it.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He stood up, too, not caring that little-Dean was also on display.

He strode over to where you stood, drawing you in with a hand on both hips. His fingers traced the marks they’d left earlier, electrifying your skin all over again.

“No. No.” You took a step back. “It’s okay. It’s weird, right?”

Least, it was for you. This all happened because of a stupid spell. Something well beyond your control. It wasn’t like he’d wanted to fuck you before all this. He’d never even made a move on you until now, and now didn’t count.

But his hands gripped your flesh tighter. Bound to indent the little calluses you’d discovered on his hands the further you got throughout your evening. Your overused cunt even fluttered with interest when he said, “Only if you keep walking away.”

His eyes darted to the floor, and yours followed.

Oh god. You’d left a trail of cum there. One large dollop even hung just below the edge of your slit. Now you really wanted to die.

Your hand tucked down into your folds, slipping through the mess you’d both made. “How many times did you—”

“Three,” he boasted.

“And before we?” Your free hand, not holding everything in, swept the air between you.

“Three.”

Oh god. Even on birth control, you weren’t taking the risk if three times one way and three the other meant making stuff with love. You searched his eyes and found them, still wearing his cheeky grin. “First thing tomorrow, you’re taking me to a pharmacy.”

“Why?”

“To get Plan B.”

“You’re not on anything?” His voice hitched.

“Course I am!” Living a hunter’s life? You’d be stupid not to. “And now that my heads screwed on, I ain’t risking it given the circumstances.”

Dean blinked and flicked his head down. “What? you think my special sauce is extra special now?”

“That’s not funny.”

Fuck! You needed a shower. An actual douche would be better. But unless Mrs Butters’ boys had vaginas and kept them in the infirmary with all the other outdated equipment, one of those was coming from the pharmacy, too.

You looked to Dean in horror, expecting to see mirrored panic. Expected him to at least hide the pearly whites in his mouth, but no, those lips of his flattened into a thin line. One that curled on the end.

“Okay. Would you relax?” he said.

“Don’t tell me to relax. You’re not full of,” you couldn’t say those two words again. Cum seemed worse outside the act. Baby gravy? Jizz? Spunk? Oh god.

“I made it!” And he looked insulted, too. “Look, I’ll take you first thing, alright? But we’ve still got a few hours before they open.”

You didn’t miss the wag of his brows or the suggestive tone that further accompanied the suggestion to relax, either. Typical Dean. He’d just been up close and personal with your cunt, yet he struggled to open up.

“We’re past the awkwardness, don’t you think?”

“Look who’s talking.”

He had a point, but the phrase just brought on memories of babies sounding like Bruce Willis, and that ship needed to set sail. So when those calloused hands of his grazed your skin further to grab the globes of your ass, your body and mind welcomed them. Yup. Floozy.

He pushed you flush against him, much like he had throughout the night. Fingers embedded into flesh from both sides. His lips, no longer tasting of cinnamon and snickerdoodles, pressed into yours with the taste of him and you. The squelch, more delectable than anything made down below.

“I gotta sink right there,” he said between kisses. “Plenty of clean shirts.” He chuffed through another. “Wanna stay the night?”

And what did your floozy do?

Yeah. She agreed.

She didn’t even need to think hard about it. Better leaving hardness to other things. Yes, he was crude. Yes, he liked to wear his underthings inside and out, but the man had already reeled you in with an oversized purple nightgown. And the way he made his special sauce.

Or should you thank Butters for that?

PART 1 || PART 2 || Part 3 || Read on AO3—————————————————————There was another scene on the end there, but it didn’t feel like a satisfying conclusion when I was getting ready to post so I scraped it last minute which means - there might be a part 4? Mrs Butters needs some consequences right?

Leave it with me 😉 Coming next:

To You I Belong - 21/02 🇦🇺🕕

Omegaverse - Soulmate AU - Pregnancy (x reader) Dean isn’t looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to find the one meant for him is on the job. But it’s not the monsters he hunts that you need rescuing from. It’s someone closer to you. (Dual POV) 18+ only MDNI This one is darker than the other things I’ve been posting and might not be suitable for everyone - pls check the warnings in the series Masterlist (link above) final word count unknown 20 parts + timestamps—————————————————————DEAN TAGLIST:

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2

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@happyfxckinghorrors @bitchykittenconnoisseur

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[ride-em-cowboy]

The Doctor, The Pilot and The Little Girl - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

As always, tagging my ride or die @robertsfloyd 💕

“How did my favourite girl get on?” Nat’s voice came through the speaker as Bradley made his way back home, Lucy dozing in the back after a busy morning.

“Doc says she’s doing better, no signs of it turning into pneumonia and she’s out of the woods for now.”

“And how’re you?”

Silence.

“Rooster, I meant it when I said I can help out, besides me and Lu haven’t had a girls only sleepover for a while.”

“I’m fine, just exhausted. She’s been up coughing or with a fever most nights for the last week, just need an early night.”

“Mav already told me to tell you not to come in today. Said you looked like shit yesterday and he doesn’t want you spreading germs.”

“I told him-”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Anyway, I don’t wanna get sick either so stay away until you're germ free.”

“Yeah. Love you too,” he replied before ending the call.

He ran into the pharmacy on the way home, stocked up on a few bits for Lucy that they’d used while she’d been ill and filled the scripts. Not that he’d be needing it, no. He wasn’t sick. He just needed a good shower and an early night.

As soon as they were home he got Lucy a snack and set himself down on the sofa. “Alright Goosey, daddy’s home for another day so what movie do you wanna watch?”

“Barbie as ‘punzel?” She asked. He nodded, setting it up on the TV. He’d have to think of a way to get back at Nat for showing her every single Barbie movie ever made, but if his girl was happy. He’d be happy. Besides, if it kept her happy long enough for him to get some sleep then Barbie as Rapunzel it was.

-

Jake was just finishing up some patient notes for the day when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He looked at the screen, not recognising the number but picked it up anyway.

“Hello?”

All Jake heard in response was a tiny sniff.

“Hello? Is everything okay?”

“Doctor Jake?”

“Yeah, this is Doctor Jake. Who’s this?”

“I-it’s Lucy.”

“Hey Lucy, does your daddy know you’ve got his phone?”

“Papa won’t wake up. H-he’s on the floor and I tried shaking him but he won’t wake up.”

Jake’s blood ran cold, but he forced himself to stay calm for Lucy’s sake. “Okay Lucy, are you at home?”

“Yeah,” she whimpered.

“Good. I need you to be brave for me, okay? Can you tell me if your daddy’s breathing? Is his chest moving up and down?”

“It’s noisy. Like when he sleeps but he’s not waking up.”

“Lucy, sweetheart, can you put the phone by your daddy’s chest so I can hear?”

There was a shuffling sound before the faint sound of laboured and wheezing breaths crackled through the line. ‘Shit,’ Jake’s stomach twisted.

“Good girl, Lucy. Now I need you to be real brave, alright. Can you tell me your address?”

“My door number is 5 because that’s how old I am but I don’t know any more.”

“That’s okay Lucy. Can you unlock the door for me and then stay next to your papa. I’m on my way.”

Jake quickly looked up their patient details on his computer, scribbling down their address before he bolted out of the clinic's doors. He drove quickly, running more than one stop sign on his way.

“Lucy?” He called as he opened the front door.

“Doctor Jake!” She cried as she slammed into his leg, holding on like her life depended on it.

“Where’s your papa, Lucy?”

She pointed to the living room as she led him holding his fingers and dragged him along. Bradley was on the floor, deathly pale. Jake dropped to his knees, turning the man onto his back so he could get a better look at him.

“Bradley, can you hear me?” He asked as he gently shook the man’s shoulders. He could see the sheen of sweat that covered his brow. He pressed his fingers to his neck, relieved to feel his pulse thumping away beneath his fingers despite how rapid it was.

He rubbed his knuckles on the man’s chest, trying his best to rouse him, “come on, Bradshaw. Open those eyes for me.”

He let out a moan.

“Come on, big guy,” he repeated.

He blinked sluggishly, his glassy eyed gaze landing on him, “-ake?”

“Got one hell of a fever going there. Guess you haven’t been taking that medicine.”

“-m,” he began but Jake cut him off.

“You’re not fine, Bradley.”

He held out a hand for him, easily pulling him up into a seated position with a hand on his back. He helped prop him up against the sofa, sure he wasn’t going to keel over again before he pulled his bag closer.

“Dr Lucy, think you can help me and your papa out?”

She wiped away the tears from her cheeks and sniffed but nodded as she came closer.

“Good girl,” Jake praised, “now I need you to find my stethoscope and thermometer.”

She dug through the bag, easily finding the stethoscope and handing it to him. Jake wrapped it around his neck professionally and held out his hand for the thermometer. As soon as it was in his hand he swiped it along his forehead. The device beeped angrily in his hand “Jesus Bradshaw. 103.”

“Lucy, sweetheart, come hold papa’s hand for a minute while I go grab him some water.”

She quickly moved into his space, holding onto her dad’s hand like her life depended on it. “It’s okay papa. Doctor Jake is gonna make you better like he made me better.”

He sleepily smiled at her before his eyes fluttered closed.

He jerked awake as a little finger poked at his side, “Doctor Jake said no sleepin’.”

Jake was back a moment later, a clean dish towel over his shoulder and a cup and bowl of cold water. He dunked the washcloth in the bowl and rang it out before handing it back to Lucy. “Doctor Lucy, can you hold this over your papa’s head? Help cool him down a little while I check him over?”

She nodded, her expression very serious, “yes, Doctor Jake.” She stood by his side, her little hand holding it in place.

Bradley let out a sigh, relaxing a little as the coolness of the washcloth soothing the raging fever. “Just gonna take a listen here,” Jake explained as he placed his stethoscope in his ears and held the diaphragm to Bradley’s chest. His heart rate was definitely too fast but not dangerously so and his breathing sounded congested, but again it could be worse.

He glanced to Lucy who was still holding the cold compress to her dad’s head and watching his every move with wide tear filled eyes.

“What do you think Doctor Lucy, think I need a second opinion.”

He placed the stethoscope in her ears, much too large for her little head, but she’d be able to listen. She leaned in closer, “woah. That sounds really fast. You’re very sick papa.”

“I agree, Doctor Lucy.” Jake took the stethoscope out of her ears and rang out the towel once more and wiped along the other man’s head and neck. Thankfully Bradley was coming round a little now they’d cooled him off a little.

“Think you can open up and take some medicine for me?”

He opened his mouth and let Jake pop two pills into his mouth and carefully tipped the bottle and helped him to take a few sips.

They sat for a few more minutes, Lucy anxiously watching and Jake giving Bradley sips of water until he felt a little more human. “Alright big guy, think we can get you upstairs to get some rest?”

He nodded and croaked out a soft, “yeah.”

“You stay here with Mr Bear for a minute Luce,” Jake told told her.

He kept one hand on the pulse in his wrist as he helped Bradley stand up, making sure he wasn’t going to faint on him before the pair started their journey upstairs and towards his bedroom. He got him settled on top of the covers, not wanting to worsen his fever before he ran to the bathroom to replace the cold compress and check his pulse once more.

“Is Lucy okay?” He asked weakly as he made a move to sit up.

Jake pushed him down gently with a hand on his shoulder. “She’s okay. Just rest.”

As soon as his head hit the pillow all the fight left him and his eyes fluttered shut.

It would be an odd thing for a doctor to be wondering what his patient's dad’s bedroom looked like, but it was exactly how he expected it to be. Everything had its place, the bed perfectly made, a few home comforts around on the dresser and drawers. A few picture frames showed Bradley in full uniform with a few others with wide smiles as they had their arms around each other's shoulders. There was an older photo showing two men in similar uniforms, hugging each other. On his bedside table there were two more photos. One showed a couple, a blonde woman holding onto a small child with the same man from the other photo. The other was bradley sitting in a hospital chair with the smallest baby laying on his bare chest. Lucy. She was more wires than baby and he couldn’t help but smile at the proud grin spread on Bradley’s face, his hand protectively holding the baby in place.

As soon as he was sure Bradley was settled, Jake turned off the lights and made his way downstairs where Lucy was waiting, Mr. Bear clutched in her hands. “Alright, Miss Lucy, do you have anyone we can call to come and take care of you while your papa is resting?”

Lucy paused for a minute, “Well there’s auntie Nat, but she is busy flying planes and she doesn’t like sneezes. Then there’s uncle Mav, but he’s busy flying planes too and daddy doesn’t always trust him.”

Jake let out a sigh then turned back to Lucy, “well it looks like I’m gonna have to stay, is that okay with you? But we should let your auntie Nat know first just in case.”

The conversation with Nat went surprisingly well. Jake found out that Lucy had told auntie not all about him and his sticker collection, and how he loved Mr Bear, ending with the threat of ‘if you hurt my little niece I’ll come for you, Dr. Jake.’ There may have also been some name-calling and talks about Bradley being a stubborn bastard but that would stay between the pair of them.

As soon as he hung up the phone he turned back to Lucy. “So Miss Lucy, what should we do until papa wakes up?”

[glamorous-egoist]

So I haven’t been this sad in an episode of a medical drama since a handful of ER episodes. (I won’t spoil for folks who are discovering the show for the first time.)

Literally the saddest hour I’ve experienced in a while. Spoilers under the cut for Ep. 8.

I’ll start with the drowning death because honestly what the hell man…

The little girl who drowned that was agonizing, whoever played the mom? Heartbreaking, like I felt that through the screen. Once again Mel, my girl Mel, watching her sit with the sister actually made me teary eyed, she’s excellent, I love her so much. Like the entire part of the episode with the drowning victim and the sisters, she was so good.

Mel also finally getting relief about Rita and her mother too, I’m glad she came back.

Shifting to Javadi, Santos and Garcia for the Crohn’s Disease patient, which was not GI related. Javadi realizing it was a spider bite and getting the patient the help she needed, while showing off to her mom? Yes! I’m so glad to see her gaining confidence. Javadi is quickly becoming a favorite.

Santos. Nope not going there. I get it, I do, but she’s really bothering me. Kudos to her actress. Also for the record I don’t actively hate her, the writing just makes me really dislike her, I recoil with her behavior. It reminds me a lot of Carter in Season 2 of ER, I would actively cringe when he was on screen with his nonsense.

I am actively rewatching ER as I watch The Pitt, I’d started before The Pitt premiered. This is my third or fourth rewatch of ER, after watching it air live in the 90s/00s. So my crush on Noah has been two decades long in case you’re wondering.

Though kudos to Garcia for standing up for Langdon, I’m glad to see that there is no bad blood just good natured ribbing.

McKay and the weird pair of women, that may or may not be trafficking. It sounds like trafficking though, but her with Dana keeping them apart to try and get to the bottom of it? Love it! But I love Dana, that is my GOAT. Just really curious as to where that’s going?

The pacemaker patient, great little tidbit of history it’s great when a show can do that, this show really has shown the POC struggle and I really have to commend it.

Both Langdon and Robby teaching in that scene, so good no notes. Mohan also, I mean she’s great same with Javadi, all four of them were just excellent. I really love Langdon, I think he’s a great doctor, and I’m excited to see how he develops. But also the fact the pacemaker patient spoke about Adamson, seeing Robby get choked up, I felt that, you can tell it meant a lot. Kudos to Noah and his acting.

Collins, McKay and Santos and the missing finger. Another scene I had to close my eyes for because it was a bit too much. Though the patient hitting on Collins and realizing something was wrong a scene later was quite interesting esp after mentioning he was studying psychology.

Which brings me to Collins, the choice to show her having to get back to work after the miscarriage is hard. It’s hard to know that this is a reality a lot of women face and one that people don’t want to discuss out loud, but we should. I didn’t think she’d finish the shift, but here she is. Also what level of torture is this making her work the damn drowning, you all are out of your damn minds.

I’m really curious on the background with that and Robby, just keep dangling it I guess. Whatever. Pfft. (I care so much, please tell us!)

On Robby the exchange at Central with Dana about Mohan, Carter my love is that you? (Again if the lawsuit comes for me so be it, I really don’t care!) also him sitting down and explaining things to grieving people with compassion? It reminds me of Dr. Mark Greene… I’ll do my time in jail I don’t care!

Finally we get to the organ donor and honor walk, what a heartbreaking scene, but just so real. Ever seen those videos on social media? Ugly crying over it here too, but glad to see that story wrapped.

Honorable mentions? Myra girl, do not scare me like that again! Mohan and the heavy metals patient, again Dana my GOAT with the patient scores dig at Robby, she’s right and we all know it. Dana and Whitaker another great exchange, she’s the best. Also my boy made it another hour!

See you next week?

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

wait just realised 12's sentiment toward clara "do you think i care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference" is probably basically what i have yaz do in my thasmissy fic. "im with you, whatever happens"

[the-writing-goblin]

So, my apologies if this is incoherent because I am pretty tired, but this is a really interesting discussion to me. Also I feel like the tone here sounds grumpy, but I don't mean it that way. IDK, on to my actual thoughts.

So, one of the things I absolutely love in Bujold is that many of the characters in her stories are characters viewed as 'broken' in some way by their society, and characters who would be viewed as broken in my society too, actually.

I live in the US like OP, though in a blue state rather than a red one. One of the things that is absolutely true on Barrayar is that there is a lot of prejudice. Queer people like Arral are labeled degenerates. Disabled people like Miles are labeled mutants. That's not even touching on the polyamory in GJ&TRQ. These are people labeled both there and here as 'not trustworthy around children' (depressing but true, sorry). And they have children. In spades. And they are good parents! So I do thing there may be an element of 'fuck you' in there.

But actually, this is something you DO see as a trend in the modern world. Many gay couples in the US said they wouldn't get married or have children until suddenly, they could do those things. One thing that @alexa-santi-author points out is that Cordelia is very excited by the prospect of having many children when she comes to Barayarr, because she isn't allowed to on Beta. There probably is an element of rebelling there, but also the joy of being able to finally do what you want, when you'd never even been allowed to consider it before. And then she has to put that dream away for Miles, so I do think that this is at least a long established trend for her. Plus, I work in childcare, and let me tell you many of my coworkers come from and have very large families. This is, I freely admit, a biased sample, but people in the US can and do have seven or eight children voluntarily. Not huge numbers of people, but still.

I guess it's just really important to me that we consider not just the bias of our current time and place, but also the bias of... our own implicit bigotry I guess? I want to be super clear that I do not think anyone in this post is doing this, I just think that there is an important pattern with the Vorkosigan family in particular of being victims of bigotry both on Barayarr and in our own world, and that part of the story here is that these are people who society says aren't supposed to reproduce, or even be allowed around children.

Miles in particular is someone who's desire for kids doesn't hit you in the face like Cordelia's, but is pretty consistent through the books. As is the fact that a lot of people clearly think he shouldn't have biological children, something I unfortunately am absolutely certain actual doctors say to disabled people in the real world. And its really important to me that Miles wants children and has them and loves them.

I think my biggest struggle with the Vorkosigan Saga is that... everyone wants kids. And like, I know that's part of the point. That given the chance to have children without the physical burden of literally bearing a child and all the risks involved, that people would have more children.

I had to turn Cordelia's decision in Gentlemen Jole & The Red Queen over and over. I just. I live in Texas.

[syrenki]

Does pretending to be fine on the outside bring you at least some sort of satisfaction? That they won’t see how bad it gets

yesss and it's so selfish and embarrassing, i keep hoping someday they'll all see right through the bullshit and then they'll say "oh my, it was so very bad all along and you never said anything? you withstood it all and never brought any attention to yourself? that's so selfless, i could never, i would have broken earlier, you are so strong. we will help you now, you deserve it now because you never asked for anything!!!" but it never happens and it never will happen and the worse it gets for me the more i put on the cheerful and selfless and carefree demeanor, i get so desperate to keep it all up because if i ever drop the act and start Acting Depressed, start wearing my arms out or stop smiling at everybody all the time, i would be acting selfish, i would be attention-seeking, i would be undeserving of any help at all since i'm simply craving attention. you see what i mean? it's all twisted but i swear there is a logic there - the more desperately i need something to change, the kinder i will act, the milder, gentler, more selfless, quieter, i have to handle it with humility because not complaining and just taking it quietly is what would make me deserving of some care, and sometimes i need it so badly that i'd do anything to deserve it. i keep thinking if i deserved it i would have already received it, only that's not how people function, people go to psychologists or tell their friends 'i'm depreseed' and that's how they get help, not through martyrdom and humility. but i do it the quiet way and the worse things get the quieter and more mellow i become and it will probably go on this way until i kill myself and then people will say "holy shit, she was always so cute and kind and pastel, nobody could have expected this, who could have had any idea?"

[10moonymhrivertam]

Also while I'm soapboxing I shipped River/Doctor until The Husbands of River Song and people like to make edits of all that to hell and back but. Isn't that so lonely? This person matched you and compelled you and knew you and died and refused to give you up. And you could still give her up, for her own sake. It isn't fixed. But the next time she calls for you it's in a language you only read at home. You didn't give her up and you won't give her up. She knows things you don't know, and you assume it pales in comparison to the thing she doesn't know. You come when she calls. She knows your home better than most who have a key. You call yourself to her and she knows things you don't know again, but whatever it is, your other friends know. And you have to bear that and trust them as your memory is tampered with, time and again. And she'll do things for you that you both know you don't want to. So when you're in need, you dare to call for her, for the first time - the only time? And she doesn't. Answer. ...She has a good reason. You learn that even if she didn't know and match and compel you, you would obligate yourself to her on the strength of her connections to your friends alone. Any remaining hope you might someday find the strength to give her up - to keep her off of that planet - evaporates, now that she's your responsibility as well as your mystery. You learn, albeit briefly, what her eyes look like young. You realize that for her, you started the catchphrase that both endears and annoys you. You find out how she knew your name. You learn another of the things she's keeping from you - the one your friends were permitted to know. You prepare. You see her in a suit again, appreciate the parallels, but somehow you forgot - she won't let you go. Everything breaks. You promise never to let her go. Everything moves on. She moves on. She investigates the things she knows you investigate. She investigates the angels. She tells you about her posting. Her introduction rings in your ears. The book is read from. The loop is closing either way - this fixation could take her away before the Library does, and what does all this look like if you lose that? You don't have to find out. You learn you never had to admit to your friends that you knew how she died. It's the only nugget of comfort you have besides telling the story. And she haunts you, not in the way she always has, but like a ghost. You try not to entertain the argument that that's what she's been the whole time. You gave her all twelve faces, even the shameful one. It was the least you could do. So you never even think to hope, when a new friend grants you a new lease on life. And she doesn't recognize you, when she sees you, which is a little upsetting, but she did always have a cheat sheet before. And then she's stalling, but earnest. Lancing a wound to a captive audience.

She thinks you don't love her back.

A lifetime wasn't enough. How will twenty-four years shadowed by impending grief convince her?

[fcdcdmcmories]

"SHE'S INCREDIBLE, KAT. SHE.. SHE WORKED WITH ME FOR A LITTLE BIT HERE. IT.. DESPITE WHAT HE'S DONE, SHE'S NOT LET IT BREAK HER. AND SHE'S AN INCREDIBLE DOCTOR. BRILLIANT, THROUGH AND THROUGH. i know that she is not mine, but.. it feels as if she was. i certainly love her as if she were my daughter." he was talking about her as a proud father may have spoken about their child but it was the truth. those moments, back then, when the three of them got to be a family? IT WAS.. THE HAPPIEST THAT HE HAD EVER BEEN. "and she will. he's been naught but a dark cloud, hanging above her head for the longest time now. i can change that. i can make it so she never even has to SEE HIM AGAIN." and when it was time, perhaps a couple months from now, he would make it so he suffered an unfortunate accident in prison and then, just.. disappeared. JUST LIKE THAT. "i let her stay with me for a little while. and then, i gave her a job at one of the hospitals. nearly running it herself. you should have seen her, kat. you'd be proud." the sears problem was.. well, unfortunate, but he could make that right. couldn't he? yes. if that was what she wanted, he could make donna sweet just vanish and he would. yes?

"it was the happiest night of my life. well.. second only to the first one we spent together. YOU KNOW THE ONE," smiling rather fondly, even if he knew that was when he had made a mistake. he should have took her and cecilia and disappeared, so the four of them could be a family. a real one. PERHAPS.. THERE WAS STILL TIME NOW. "he is, but.. it doesn't change that he's still who he was in that photo. OUR LITTLE BOY. and you are still his mother. if anything, he'll want to know you. to know where he came from. i know it." or he would make sure of it, but a part of him was curious too. to know his son. their son. "it was a lie. all of it was a lie. i despised her. i should have never.. we were real. we should have stuck with that. do you know many times i imagined it was you that they called my wife? that it was you that i got to sleep next to and wake up every morning? you. always you." it was his fault, mostly, but that was fine. he could still make things right. he would make them right. every minute that he spent with her and god, that kiss ; that kiss ; was only making him more determined. he gasped into her mouth, pulling her even closer to him, deepening the kiss. the world around them faded. everything else faded. it was only her. "kat- i.. fuck. do you even know what you do to me?" because right now, his head was spinning so much that if he hadn't been holding on to her, he would have felt the need to sit down there and then. right? yes. "it is the effect that you have on me, woman. before i knew what i was doing, i was singing along to the name of the game while singing paperwork. IT WAS.. AN EXPERIENCE." lovingly and rather tenderly, he placed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

"i will take you dancing as many times as you wish. show you the city. what has changed. THERE'S SO MUCH BEAUTY AND LOVE AND MUSIC AND ART HERE, IT.." and he wanted to share it all with her. all of it. yes? always. shaking his head, he closed her hand over the card. "hush now. it's the least i can do. as for your job.. we can perhaps change that. whenever you're ready.. i can call the board. have them reinstate your license. it's hard for them to say no to me when i go out to golf with bob and his wife every sunday. AND THEN.. WELL.. ONE OF MY HOSPITALS NEEDS SOMEONE TO RUN IT. I COULD THINK OF NO BETTER PERSON FOR THE JOB. and in time.. cecilia could even come to work with you, if she so wished." of course, he'd miss having kat there with him as he had before and their stolen moments, but.. he was going to do this right. he was. "my love.. believe me, there's nothing i'd want more than to show you this entire town right now, but.. you need room to breathe and i know that. AS FOR ME, I HAVE SOME LOOSE ENDS TO TIE UP, BUT.. I WILL MEET YOU FOR DINNER TONIGHT. YES?" he wanted to go with her into those shops more than anything, but.. one step at a time. he didn't want to scare her off. no. "true love is a durable fire, in the mind ever burning, never sick, never dead, never cold, from itself never turning," as he said what he did, he didn't even blink. nor did he look away from her. "SHAKESPEARE. the bard was correct, after all. when it's true, it never dies. not even.. nearly three decades later. that was always my favourite." realising he hadn't answered her, he just smiled. "whatever you want to wear. although, i can not promise to hold back on the poetry matters." / @demongemz

"I suppose you are right I have a chance to see my children again, I only hope they'd both wish to get to know me, Theo had a mother so that role may be filled in his heart but I still wish to know him and learn what he became. Cecilia my darling little girl has suffered so much I want her to know I loved her and I never once didn't think about her and even hearing the things Finn has done to her only makes me love her more." Katherine didn't know what to do with this information her rage was only growing for Finn the man she loved would've never laid his hands on their daughter nor would he have done such deplorable things to sick people running his oath it was department to how much he'd changed since the schoolboy who managed to woo her. "I want her to be happy, that's all I've ever wanted, if he has truly broken her then I want her to heal around the people who love her." she cared so much for her kids and right now Phineas seemed to be the best way to get back into their lives or at least find them, he'd been the one to hide Theo and could make Finn pay for his crimes, it might've been slightly manipulative but she needed him right now. "I don't believe so but that doesn't mean you wouldn't tell me half-truths either, We've talked a lot about what Finn did, have you done anything in her life Phineas? You said you tried to protect her and I know sometimes your version of protection can be overbearing" she mused she wanted to know fully what had been happening since she was taken up until they all arrived here. "Romantic…repeating your mantra you told me the night I told you I was pregnant." she mused before looking at the small little photo the other seemed to carry after all these years, she'd loved him so much the day he was born, letting him go was made impossible for her and only further pushed her resolved in wanting to run away from Finn so that her kids could have a better life. "My little Theodore, how much I've missed, he's fully grown now, isn't he? I didn't think it would hurt this much to know how much I missed but I knew he would be just as perfect as Cee when he was born I loved him so much…"

She didn't know what was happening only that being near him felt so much like it always did back then, the way his words melted her ever defense to the point where she couldn't stop coming to him again and again. He'd always been something of a romantic but this was like someone had released whatever barrier he used to hold himself back and everything was flooding out in drones. "She was your wife, just as Finn was my husband, we all had a role to play back then even if he was only for show" she mused sadly, the only time near the end Finn even showed her a scarp of affection was at those galas because it was expected of him. she hadn't meant to allow the kiss to go on for so long but damn if she didn't miss his lips on hers, her hands moved to wrap around his neck falling pray to his passion once again. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as if it was finally being reunited with the man she loved, whenever he kissed her it was as if the world bled into full color and the very moment was halting time, it was so reminiscent of their very first kiss, the one that had started the mess to call this thing between them an affair and how hard it had been to pull away back then. "I love to dance, I loved even more when you'd start humming abba songs while on duty, really killed the whole big bad doctor Pederson vibes" she teased him allowing his touch to remain keeping her close, it shouldn't have felt this good to be in the arms of the man who killed her but she couldn't fight it in this moment. "Your classical music was good for a time and place but certainly nothing I could get behind, too stuffy for me." she didn't know when the switch had been made only that they'd quickly fallen back into their old banter, the one that existed for years now. The card had shocked her, she didn't have a way of paying him back yet, she currently was jobless and homeless when it came down to it having only arrived. "You know very well Phineas Pederson I don't take spoiling very well…I can't possibly pay you back for anything right now…I don't even have a job right now" she mused looking at the card, the idea of being able to have other clothes did appeal to her but she didn't want to see someone abusing him for what he could give her. "Our son's birthday? Now you're going to have me crying in the store when I use the card…I'm a bit surprised you aren't offering to personally take me to stores to ensure I do honor the whole spoiling thing" She paused looking at him for a moment, moving her hands to rest on his chest pushing up so she could stand once again pulling him off the floor. "Dress code for this dinner tonight or will you be just waxing poetry to me all night?" @fcdcdmcmories

[aq2003]

youtube user haruyasumi616 comes onto the internet to lie

[simptasia]

mum and i were almost not able to buy our house because a real estate lawyer heard us casually say i'm autistic and alarm bells went off in her head, because she believed that meant i wasn't mentally capable of understanding what i was signing up for

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[hyuckiefluff]

dr dreamy | na jaemin

pairing: doctor!neighbor! na jaemin x fem.reader genre & wc: smut, fluff, crack (ish) | 18k summary: in which your infuriatingly hot neighbor ends up getting your box of sex toys delivered to his door by mistake content warning: explicit smut, breast play, oral sex (fem.receiving), brief mentions of sex toy usage, teasing, marking, dry humping, cowgirl (yeehaw), alcohol consumption, monster cawwwk jaemin (i didn’t make this up it’s real) a/n: hiiiii yes yes i know, it’s been forever and ive neglected you all so bad i’m so sorry ! i can’t even use the excuse of being too busy bc i was just in the worst writing slump of my life. but i hope i can make up for all those 10 months of radio silence with this long fic :) also it’s pretty different from what i’m used to writing. for once i wrote it all in lowercase bc i felt like this was lowkey a pretty unserious fic and that was the vibe it required lol it’s also my first time trying to write something “funny” but my humor is not that good still i tried lolz. also i'd like to add that i know as much about doctors as the next person so don't expect much accuracy in that regard. anyways hope you enjoy :)

read part two here

your leg bounced anxiously as you stared at the photo the delivery guy sent, trying to figure out which door your package had ended up on. every single door in your building was the same plain white with no decoration, no plants, no quirky doormat to offer a clue. just a long, boring hallway of identical doors, and somewhere behind one of them was your package. 

"great," you muttered, already feeling the creeping frustration in your chest. 

your phone buzzed in your hand, and you barely had time to glance at the screen before answering. 

"sooo," came minnie's voice, far too chipper for this disaster, "did you like my gift?” 

“i’m gonna strangle you,” you hissed, rubbing your temples. 

“woah, you know i’m not into that freaky shit.” 

“i’m serious, minnie,” you groaned, dragging a hand through your hair. “the package got delivered to a different apartment. you must’ve put the wrong number on it.” 

“no way,” she gasped, already on the defensive. “i literally double-checked. triple-checked, even. it’s apartment 235.” 

"what?” you yelled, nearly dropping your phone.

this can’t be happening. out of all the apartments in your building… it had to be that one?

“minnie…” you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm, "it’s 236. apartment 236.” 

she paused. “oh.” 

you heard her laugh nervously, and it took everything in you not to throw your phone across the room. 

“minnie…” you groaned, pressing your forehead against the wall. “i swear, if it’s what i think it is based on our last conversation…” your voice trailed off as a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. “my next-door neighbor, minnie. MINNIE. jaemin…oh my god.” 

“wait,” she said, voice sharp with interest. “is that the doctor you said is too hot for his own good?” 

“i did not say that.” 

“you did.” 

“no, i said he’s just… a nice sight for my eyes, okay? in a building full of old people, sue me for appreciating the view.” you rubbed at your face. “but i can’t face him if he saw what’s in that package. i just can’t.” 

“listen…” minnie drawled. “what if he’s into it, though? think about it.” 

“i’m hanging up.” 

“no, wait—” but you pressed the red button before she could finish.  

the most mortifying experience of your 24 years on this planet, and it hadn’t even fully happened yet. but you could see it clear as day: the box, him opening it innocently, and its contents—oh, god, the contents.  

the thing is, you and minnie had a dumb tradition. whenever life got a little too miserable or stressful, you’d send each other gifts. random, stupid stuff. a manga you’d been talking about, or a plushie of your favorite sanrio character. the catch was you could never reveal what it was until it was opened. it was supposed to be a surprise.  

except this time, you were sure minnie’s idea of a "surprise" was directly inspired by your recent rants about being, well… frustrated. as in, the sexual kind of frustration. you had a strong hunch about what she’d sent. 

you sank into the couch, letting out a long sigh. you had two choices: go over there and pray he hadn’t opened it, or stay here and hope the ground swallowed you whole. both seemed equally unlikely.  

as you stared at the ceiling, someone knocked on the door.  

three soft knocks. 

your heart stopped, your body jolting so hard you nearly rolled off the couch. no. no, no, no. not him. please not him. 

you tiptoed to the door like a cartoon burglar, eyes wide with panic. don’t answer. if you don’t answer, he’ll just leave it. you could grab it later. it’s fine. everything’s fine. 

but as you got closer, you heard the softest shuffle from the other side. he was still there. you peeked through the peephole and there he was indeed… jaemin. your very handsome, very distinguished doctor neighbor. standing there, holding your box.  

you backed away from the door like it was about to explode. no, nope, you’d just wait until he— 

you bumped into the side table. hard. and in a moment of unfiltered pain, you yelled, “FUCK!” loud enough to echo down the hall. 

a long pause. 

“hello?” his voice was clear through the door. smooth, polite. 

you shut your eyes so tight you saw stars. letting him think you weren’t home was six feet under now. 

"just get it over with," you muttered to yourself, quickly checking your appearance in the mirror to make sure you didn’t look at destroyed as you felt.

you opened the door with the kind of smile you'd give a police officer who just pulled you over. "oh! good morning, neighbor!" you practically chirped, voice too high, too fake. 

he smiled, sleepy but devastatingly handsome. his scrubs hung perfectly off his frame, and his hair was tousled like he'd just came from a long night shift…which he probably did. he had the kind of face that made you think life has favorites.

“morning,” he said, nodding his head. “sorry to bother you so early, but this…” he held up the box, fingers tapping the side of it. tap tap tap your eye twitched. “this got delivered to my place by mistake.” 

he was so calm. too calm. 

“oh,” you squeaked, your voice barely functional. “uh, yeah! no worries at all! my friend sent it, haha, she’s… forgetful like that. really bad with numbers. haha…” you trailed off. kill me now.

“right,” he said, eyes flicking to the box. “well, here you go.” he held it out to you. 

you reached for it but your hands, slick with nervous sweat, betrayed you. the box slipped.  

“oh no-”  

thud.

everything.  

everything spilled out.  

time slowed. your heart dropped straight into hell. 

boxes. bottles. wrappers.  

and then the pièce de résistance.  

a sex doll. 

a life-size, anatomically correct, male sex doll.

you didn’t know what kind of sound you made, but it was something between a gasp and a whimper. your knees hit the floor as you scrambled to grab everything wishing you could somehow erase the last five seconds of reality.  

“oh my god,” you whispered, cramming the boxes into your arms. “oh my god. oh my god.”  

“uhm,” he cleared his throat and you didn’t even have to look up to know what kind of face he was making. there were no words for this. none. zero.  

“thank you for bringing it to me! bye!” you choked out, voice cracking on the last syllable as you grabbed what you could and slammed the door shut with the force of a hurricane. 

you pressed your back to the door, sinking to the floor, arms full of colorful boxes of shame. you stared at them.  

a vibrator. a bottle of lube. a very, very anatomically correct doll still half in its box.  

"minnie." you said her name like a curse.  

your phone buzzed. it was a text from her. 

minnie (6:18am): how’d it go?  

“hell,” you muttered, tossing your phone across the room. 

you sat there for what felt like hours, the weight of embarrassment crushing down on you. moving out suddenly seemed like the only reasonable option. scratch that, you were moving countries. or planets. was mars habitable yet?

♡ ♡ ♡

for the next few days, life was nothing short of miserable. you called in sick to work because there was no way you could leave your apartment and risk running into jaemin. the idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist into knots. to anyone else, it might seem dramatic—after all, owning sex toys wasn’t some scandalous crime—but the sheer context of it all was unbearable. 

the cherry on top was that the box had clearly already been opened. jaemin had definitely seen what was inside before you’d even dropped it. and the fact that he just pretended everything was normal while standing there with a straight face? it was almost worse. no, it was worse. because now he probably pitied you for dropping it in front of him even after he tried to save you from the embarrassment. 

you groaned, burying your face into the couch cushions. where was the armageddon when you needed it?

you hadn’t left your spot in the couch days, and your body was starting to hate you for it. your back ached from the awkward angle you were lying in, and your stomach growled because you’d panic-eaten the last of your food last night. 

“this is pathetic,” you muttered, grabbing your phone. 

after scrolling aimlessly for a few minutes, you reluctantly opened your food delivery app. you ordered enough food for at least two days and prayed the delivery guy would bring it to your door. but of course, life hated you, so when you got the “can’t find parking” text, you sighed loudly. 

“naturally,” you mumbled, dragging yourself off the couch. 

you threw on the most disguising outfit you could find: a black beanie, your puffy winter coat, and oversized sunglasses. did you look like a wannabe celebrity trying to dodge the paparazzi? sure. but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

you texted the driver a quick be right down and bolted to the elevator, keeping your head low. 

when you reached the parking lot, you practically snatched the bag out of the driver’s hands and mumbled a quick thank you before rushing back inside. you were so close to safety now. 

you stepped into the elevator and leaned against the wall, finally letting out a sigh of relief. but, as fate would have it, you celebrated just a tad too soon. 

just before the doors closed, a hand shot through the gap. you froze. 

you smelled him first.

that cologne. you’d know it anywhere. 

your heart sank as jaemin stepped into the elevator, looking unfairly handsome as usual. you, on the other hand, looked like a fugitive. 

“good afternoon,” he said politely, his voice calm and smooth. 

“hi, uh…afternoon,” you mumbled, holding the bag of food up to your face like a shield. maybe if you hid behind it long enough, he wouldn’t notice it was you. 

“y/n?” 

shit. 

you glanced at him reluctantly, offering an awkward laugh. “oh, hey, jaemin… didn’t realize it was you.” you pushed your sunglasses up onto your head. “these things are so dark.” 

he chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “didn’t recognize you either. are you coming from an event or something?” 

you blinked at him, realizing how ridiculous your outfit must look. “oh, no, i—uh… i have a cold,” you stammered. “just trying to stay warm, you know?” 

“ah,” he nodded, his expression softening. “well, you should rest up. drink plenty of water and maybe some tea with honey, it helps soothe your throat. oh, and—” 

he started rattling off doctorly advice and you could only stare at him, dumbfounded. because, of course, not only was he handsome, but he was kind, too. unfair. completely unfair. 

“thanks,” you said, cutting him off before he could get too deep into his list of remedies. 

he smiled at you again, and for a moment, you swore your heart skipped a beat. “i was actually a little worried,” he admitted, leaning against the elevator wall casually. “i haven’t seen you around the past few days.” 

“oh. uh… yeah,” you said weakly, shifting the food bag in your hands. “just been laying low, don’t wanna get anyone sick.” 

“i see,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “you’re not hiding from me, are you?” 

your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat. was it that obvious?

“what? no! why would i be hiding from you?” you forced out a laugh, but it sounded fake even to your ears. 

he raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was fighting a grin. “hmm. just checking.” 

“yeah, it’s because of the cold” you muttered, fidgeting with the handle of the food bag. “it’s nothing serious, though. i appreciate the concern.” you tried to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. 

“good to hear,” he said, his eyes still on you. “but still, if it doesn’t get better in a few days, you should probably see a doctor.” 

“right. definitely,” you nodded quickly, eyes glued to the little numbers above the elevator door, silently willing them to move faster. 

but of course, the universe hated you lately. the elevator suddenly jerked to a stop, too soon for your floor. you flinched, and before you could even begin to hope it was just a regular stop, the overhead lights flickered once, then twice, and then… nothing. 

darkness. 

“oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groaned, tilting your head back against the cold elevator wall. 

“well,” jaemin’s voice came through the darkness, and you could hear the grin in it, “this is bad timing, huh?” 

“this is my villain origin story,” you muttered, crossing your arms as you slid down to sit on the floor. “this is how i finally snap and become one of those people who yell at customer service workers.” 

he laughed, and you hated how nice it sounded. like melted chocolate. warm, smooth, and way too easy to get addicted to. 

“guess we’re stuck for a bit,” he said, sitting across from you. you could only make out the faintest outline of him in the dim emergency lighting. “not a bad person to be stuck with, though.” 

“yeah, lucky you,” you deadpanned, cradling your bag of food. 

there was a pause. not an awkward one but it felt somewhat intimate and you didn’t like it. not because you felt uncomfortable but because you were scared of embarrassing yourself further.

“hey,” he spoke up again, softer this time. “about the other day…” 

no. absolutely not. this was not happening. 

“nope,” you cut him off, waving a hand like you could physically swat the topic away. “we don’t talk about that. ever.” 

“but i think we should—” 

“we don’t, jaemin,” you said firmly, pointing at him like a scolding parent. “it never happened. you never saw it. i never dropped it. in fact, none of it exists. it was a shared hallucination caused by gas leaks in the building. that’s my story, and i’m sticking to it.” 

he snorted, hiding a laugh behind his hand. “gas leaks?” 

“yep. toxic fumes. real health hazard,” you nodded, doubling down. “you should probably get management to check that out, doctor.” 

“i’m a neurosurgeon, not an HVAC technician,” he shot back, amused. 

“same difference,” you muttered. 

another pause. you could feel him looking at you, even in the dimness. 

“for what it’s worth,” he started slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully, “i wasn’t judging you.” 

“good,” you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your coat. “because i’m not like ashamed of it, just… mortified, you know?” you finally glanced up at him, feeling a little braver in the low light. “there’s a difference.” 

he nodded, eyes warm and understanding in a way that made your chest ache. “there is.” 

you sighed, letting your head fall back against the wall. “i’m moving. i’ve decided.” 

he laughed, full and bright. “you’re not moving.” 

“i am, actually,” you insisted. “gonna change my name, get a new identity. maybe move to the mountains. live off the grid. it’s the only way.” 

“you’re ridiculous,” he said, still grinning. 

“you say that like it’s news.” 

silence settled over you both again, but this time it was lighter. less suffocating. you could hear him shift, stretching his legs out in front of him. he tapped his fingers against his knees like he was keeping time to a song only he could hear. 

“so,” he said after a beat, voice low and casual. “was that, uh… the first time you ordered something like that?” 

your whole face went hot.

“jaemin,” you warned. 

“what?” he asked, the picture of innocence. “just curious.” 

“don’t make me call those toxic fumes back in here,” you threatened, pointing a stern finger at him. 

he threw his head back laughing, and despite yourself, you smiled too.

"fine, i won’t bring it up anymore,” he said with a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. his fingers pressed into the muscle there, and he winced slightly. 

“you okay?” you asked, glancing at him with concern. 

“yeah, just a long day at work,” he replied, rolling his shoulder like it’d been bothering him for hours. 

“yeah, i can imagine. the life of a doctor must be pretty hectic,” you said, eyes flicking to his hands as they worked over the tense muscle. “but you gotta know your limits too… you’re not made of steel, you know.” there was a hint of worry in your voice, and you tried not to let it show too much, but judging by the way he glanced at you, he caught it. 

he looked at you for a moment, longer than usual, before nodding. “you’re right,” he let out a short breath. “i guess i’ve been burying myself in work lately. but it’s hard not to when it’s this time of the year… i’m a pediatric neurosurgeon and too many kids get sick and hurt during the summer.” 

“oh, definitely. i’m not even a kid and i always get sick in the summer,” you joked, hoping to lighten the mood. 

he laughed at that, his grin easy and genuine. “never too late to have fun during the summer,” he said, leaning back against the elevator wall. “just not too much fun. can’t party too hard with a cold.” 

“do i look like the kind of person who parties too hard?” you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“hmm,” he tilted his head with a slight (cute) pout. “i wouldn’t know. we don’t know each other that well.” he glanced at you, eyes flicking over you just once before smirking. “but you’re young and pretty, so why not?” 

your heart stumbled in your chest, and you fought to keep your face neutral. did he seriously just call you pretty so casually like it was a fact of life?  the dim lighting of the elevator became your saving grace, hiding the warmth that crept up your neck. 

"want a piece?" you asked, anxiously trying to change the subject, raising the bag of fried chicken in your hands. you shook it lightly to emphasize. "i have a feeling we're gonna be stuck here for a while, and it's still warm."

he raised an eyebrow, his grin widening into something a little playful. “don’t mind if i do.” 

he moved closer, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed, and you set the bag down in front of you both. “dig in,” you said gesturing with your hands toward the chicken.

“so… you’re a doctor…” you said after a couple minutes of eating in silence. 

“last time i checked, yeah,” he replied, glancing over at you with a faint smile. 

“so why’d you move into this shabby building with elevators that haven’t been serviced since the stone age?” you asked, pausing to tear into a chicken wing with zero grace or subtlety.

he stared at you, and you couldn’t tell if it was because of your question or the feral way in which you were eating. 

“i’m a resident, so i don’t make nearly as much as people think. plus, med school debt is no joke. this place fit the budget.” 

“oh,” you muttered, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “sorry if that sounded kinda judgy. people tell me i’ve got a chronic case of big mouth syndrome.” 

“it’s fine,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “at least you’re honest.” 

“what about you?” he asked, tilting his head toward you. 

“me? oh same story, different font. drowning in student debt, and this place was… available,” you said, popping another wing into your mouth. 

he nodded, and after that, the conversation picked up, flowing so naturally you forgot you’d technically only been speaking to him for a week. before that you had only shared neighborly greetings in the hallway.

you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the elevator jolted suddenly, the lights flickering back on with a low, mechanical hum. 

by then, the bag of chicken was empty, and you knew more about jaemin than you ever expected to learn in one night.

♡ ♡ ♡

“i thought elevators had some kind of emergency backup power for blackouts,” minnie said, her face pixelated on your phone screen. 

“yeah but this building’s like 60 years old,” you muttered, adjusting the camera so she could see you better. you were sitting on the floor, painting your toenails a fresh shade of lavender. “the fact that it even has an elevator is a miracle.” 

“true, true,” minnie nodded, chewing on a piece of candy. her eyes lit up suddenly. “by the way, why does your sexy doctor live there? i thought doctors were supposed to be loaded.” she propped her chin on her hand. 

“he told me he just started his residency,” you explained, blowing gently on your freshly painted nails. “and he just started a new job at the hospital. they don’t get paid that well when they’re starting out.” 

“hmm,” she hummed knowingly. “so you spend a few hours stuck in an elevator with him, and suddenly you’re an expert on the medical field, huh?” 

you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “it’s called having a normal conversation, you should try it”  

“i’m just saying,” minnie teased, tossing a gummy bear into her mouth. “you went in there hiding from him, and you ended up sharing chicken and life stories. i see you.”  

“there is nothing to see,” you shot back, tossing a pillow at your phone screen like she could actually feel it.  

“mm-hmm,” she hummed, leaning forward “so, did he mention it?”  

“mention what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.  

“the box,” she said ominously, dragging out the word like it belonged in a horror movie trailer.  

you froze. “he tried to,” you admitted, tapping your fingers on the pillow in your lap. “but i shut him down real quick.”  

“oho, look at you,” she said, leaning back impressed. “miss assertive, didn’t think you had it in you.”  

“i have more pillows to throw, minnie. don’t test me.”  

“yeah, yeah, violent tendencies aside,” she waved you off, completely immune to your threats. “i hope this new confidence means you’re finally putting my gifts to use.” she tilted her head with the most innocent smile, which made it all the more sinister.  

your face went hot. so, so hot.

“i haven’t,” you lied, voice a little too high.  

“liar,” she sang, leaning closer to the camera. “i can see your shifty eyes. you definitely tried it.”  

“okay, fine, i did!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “but it was a disaster.”  

minnie perked up with curiosity. “oh?”  

“yeah, oh,” you repeated, scratching your head. “it just… didn’t hit. it felt weird and i got frustrated, so i just gave up. plus i don’t know where you got that vibrator from but it almost burned my girlypop”  

“rookie mistake,” she sighed shaking her head dramatically. “that’s why you need someone with experience to help you out.”  

your brows furrowed. “what are you even saying right now?”  

“i’m saying,” she grinned like the devil himself, “that you have a perfectly qualified medical professional living right next door. i’m sure dr. mcdreamy wouldn’t mind giving you a consultation.”  

you blinked once. “minnie, you’re actually sick in the head.”  

“oh, please.” she tossed her hair over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “he’s hot, he’s single, and you’ve already done half the work. you were sitting there eating fried chicken, and you’re telling me he kept throwing compliments at you? we all know you eat chicken like a truck driver, and he still thought you were pretty. use your resources, babe.”  

“he was hungry and stuck. he was probably grateful i offered him food. what else was he supposed to do?”  

“it’s so much more than that,” she said, holding up a hand, a clear signal for you to shut up and pay attention.  “i know when a man is laying the foundation and trust me, he’s building a whole mansion with your name on it.”

“you’re fully overreacting right now.”

one of minnie's strengths was that she wasn’t one to give up easily. but that also ended up being one of her flaws. you knew for a fact she wouldn’t drop this jaemin thing until she proved he had a thing for you.

“seriously, though,” she continued, leaning in so close her face was the whole screen. “he’s a doctor which means he’s like literally obligated to help people. it’s in the oath or something.”

“your point is..?”

“you know” she raised her brows suggestively “experienced hands, medical precision, and he owes you one for that chicken dinner. it’s the perfect setup.”

“you’re insane… like actually seek help.” you shook your head, trying to sound firm, but you were laughing too much to sell it.

“i’m serious,” she laughed along, “you literally blush whenever you talk about him. oh and you can’t even say his name without smiling.”

“that’s not true,” you said, shifting your position on the couch like that would somehow make your denial more convincing.

“mmhm,” she squinted her eyes, clearly not believing you.

“and for the record,” you added, jabbing your finger at the screen, “not every attractive man i meet is getting sexualized in my head. i’m not a beast.”

“no, you’re just a liar,” she shot back with a wide grin. “be real for like two seconds. i can see you smiling so hard right now.”  

“you can’t see anything,” you said, voice sharper now. “it’s the pixelation. your wifi is ass.”

“nice try,” she said, drawing out the words. “i know a bashful grin when i see one.”

“you stress me out,” you muttered, twisting the cap back on your nail polish with a little too much force.

“and yet, you call me every day.” she propped her chin on her palm, smile pure menace.

“i guess i’m a masochist,” you sighed, leaning back on the couch. “tragic, really.”

“mmhm, tragic is right,” she said, eyes narrowing into little crescents. “because now i’m gonna be your maid of honor at this wedding i didn’t even prepare for.”

“goodbye, minnie,” you deadpanned, reaching for the end call button.

“goodbye, future mrs. mcdreamy.” she winked at the camera, and before you could curse her out, she hung up.  

you sat there for a second, staring at your phone’s home screen, lips pressed tight.  

delusional.

she was delusional.

but that didn’t stop you from thinking about jaemin’s stupid grin. the way he’d looked at you while eating fried chicken, casual but present, like he was really there in the moment with you. the way his eyes lingered, just for a second too long.  

you shook your head, shoving the thought away like minnie’s words had wormed their way into your subconscious.  

nope.

you capped the nail polish, shoved your phone aside, and focused on literally anything else.  

♡ ♡ ♡

over the next few days, something shifted. not in a big, dramatic way but in a way you could feel.  

jaemin wasn’t just the polite neighbor you exchanged pleasantries with in the hall anymore. now, every time you saw him, there was this unspoken acknowledgment hanging in the air like: we shared fried chicken in a broken elevator for three hours.

 this new attitude towards you was giving you whiplash. he was… extra friendly now. he smiled more, spoke to you first, acted like you were both in on some kind of inside joke. it wasn’t bad… but it wasn’t normal either.  

“morning, y/n,” he’d say as you both waited for the elevator, eyes crinkling like he’d already thought of something funny.   

“morning,” you’d reply, your gaze locked firmly on the floor. the tiles were suddenly fascinating. 

but then you’d catch the faintest trace of his cologne—the same one you’d inhaled way too much of in the elevator—and suddenly, the tiles weren’t so interesting anymore. so you’d try to sneak a glance or two, and when he wore his doctor’s coat and glasses, you couldn’t help but ogle. he was so ridiculously handsome. everything about him practically begged for you to admire. his sharp jawline, his dark eyes framed by impossibly long lashes, his lips always pink and effortlessly moisturized, his hair neatly trimmed in the back but just a bit longer in the front, falling perfectly right above his thick brows.

and he had the most captivating smile, so white it almost blinded you, and despite thinking he was the serious type at first, you quickly realized he was incredibly expressive. he communicated so much with just his brows, and it seemed impossible for him to speak without a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. like what was so funny? that you were crushing hard on him and it was kind of disrupting your life?

he was also too relaxed around you. way too relaxed. how was he so calm when he’d seen you in your most unhinged states? meanwhile, you could still feel the ghost of that moment hovering over you like a neon sign flashing "dildo girl spotted."

the third time you ran into him that week, you almost turned around to take the stairs, but you weren’t fast enough.  

“caught you,” jaemin said as soon as he spotted you, his grin sharp but not unkind. “thinking of bailing on me?”  

you paused like you were actually considering it. “don’t flatter yourself,” you said, walking forward like you’d planned to all along. “the stairs are just bad for my knees.”  

“oh, is that right?” he asked, stepping aside with a sweep of his hand. "good thing elevators exist, huh?”  

“lucky me,” you muttered, slipping inside. he followed right after, too close for comfort but not close enough to call him out on it.  

“lucky me,” he added, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, head tilted just so. "would’ve missed you otherwise."  

you had to bite back the cough that almost escaped when he said that, his lazy smile firmly in place like always.

you glanced at him, squinting. "what's with you lately?"  

“what do you mean?”  

“this,” you gestured at him vaguely. “all this… talking. you weren’t like this before.”  

“maybe i just needed an excuse,” he said with a nonchalant shrug “and three hours in an elevator with you was a pretty good one.”  

you blinked, momentarily at a loss. what were you even supposed to say to that?  

“did you rehearse that?,” you muttered, turning away before he could see the corner of your mouth twitch.  

“why, is it too corny? but you’re smiling,” he pointed out, you could hear his smile.

“no, i’m not.”  

“you are,” he said confidently, leaning in just a little like he was trying to see it up close. “it’s cute.”  

you flinched back, eyes wide. “don’t say that.”  

“why not?” he grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. “it’s true.”  

“oh my god.” you turned so far away from him it was a miracle you didn’t phase through the wall. “stop talking.”  

“can’t,” he said, all too happy to keep going. “we’re closer now. shared chicken trauma and all that.”  

“that is not a thing.”  

“it is,” he nodded confidently. “you can’t just sit in a powerless elevator with someone for hours and pretend you’re strangers afterward. that’s, like, scientifically impossible.”  

“scientifically impossible?” you repeated, eyebrows raised. “you’re making things up.”  

“and here you are listening to all of it,” he shot back, tilting his head toward you, his gaze a little too sharp. 

checkmate.

you opened your mouth, ready to respond, but your brain was buffering.. 

"that’s what i thought," he said, his voice low and too satisfied, just as the elevator dinged.  

the doors opened. he didn’t move right away, gaze lingering on you as if he was waiting for something…or maybe just seeing how long you’d hold it.  

“you talk too much,” you muttered, stepping out with your head high like you had the upper hand.  

“I think you like it,” he called after you, the amusement in his voice so obvious you could practically hear the grin on his face.  

your heart did that annoying skip thing, and this time, you didn’t have an excuse for it.  

♡ ♡ ♡

things only got worse after that.  

jaemin, apparently, had decided that you were fun to mess with now.

he wasn’t over-the-top about it, though. no, he was too smooth for that. he played it cool, weaving little comments and actions into your interactions. a smile that lingered too long, leaning in just a little too close when he asked a question, throwing casual compliments like they didn’t mean anything.  

it was unfair, really. he’d gone from the quiet, polite neighbor, the one who worked long shifts at the hospital and mostly kept to himself,  to an actual menace in the span of three days. and somehow, you were the target of all of it.

the first time it happened, you brushed it off as coincidence. the second time, you thought maybe he was just being nice because you shared food with him so perhaps he thought that he owed you. by the third time, you realized: this man was having fun at your expense.

“new hair?” he asked casually one evening as you struggled with your keys outside your door.  

you froze, glancing up at him in confusion. “what?”  

“your hair,” he repeated, nodding toward you. “looks good.”  

your brows furrowed. “it’s the same as always,” you muttered, turning back to the lock that was absolutely refusing to cooperate.  

“huh.” he tilted his head, as if he were genuinely surprised. “then i guess it’s just you.”  

what does that even mean?!

your hands fumbled, and the key slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor.  

jaemin’s laugh was soft but unmistakably amused. “you okay there?”  

“don’t you have patients to save or something?” you snapped, crouching down to snatch the key off the ground before he even had the chance to get it for you.

“off duty,” he shrugged, leaning against the wall next to you. his smile had that easy confidence you were beginning to associate with him now. “but i’ll step in if you need medical attention. emotional support counts too.”  

you groaned so loud it echoed in the hallway. “i swear, i liked you better when you were quiet.”  

“oh, you like me?” he asked, his grin widening just enough to make your stomach flip in protest.  

“past tense,” you shot back, finally shoving the key into the lock and turning it with more force than necessary.  

“if you say so,” he replied, drawing out the word like he didn’t believe you for a second.  

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, turning around with your key in hand, gripping it like a weapon. “how do you live with yourself?”  

“one day at a time,” he replied, dead serious.

you shot him a glare as you finally shoved the key into the lock. it turned smoothly this time.  

“maybe you should try it,” he added, just as you opened the door.  

“try what?” you asked, already regretting engaging.  

“living with me,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. he even had the audacity to wink.  

you nearly slammed the door in his face.  

“goodnight, jaemin,” you snapped, stepping inside.  

“sweet dreams, love,” he called after you, his voice warm and smug in a way that lingered.  

you closed the door, locked it, and leaned your head against it with a groan that could only be described as deep emotional fatigue.

“then i guess it’s just you.”

you stayed pressed against the door for a little too long, thinking about it.  

he’s the worst.

the absolute worst.

♡ ♡ ♡

then came the visiting.  

you heard a quiet, rhythmic knock knock knock on your door one night. not frantic, not loud just steady enough to make you pause in the middle of scrolling through your phone.  

you frowned. minnie wasn’t the “surprise visit” type, and you definitely hadn’t ordered food. so who…  

when you opened the door, he was right there. 

jaemin.

he leaned against the doorframe, one arm propped against it, the other tucked into his pocket. his posture was relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with that familiar glint of mischief.

“what do you want?” you asked, gripping the door like it was a shield between you and whatever ridiculousness he was about to say.  

“so rude,” he said, mock-offended, though the lazy grin on his face betrayed him. “you invite a guy to share fried chicken once, and suddenly you’re heartless?”  

“oh, please.” you stepped back slightly, but you didn’t close the door. “i offered it. don’t act like i saved you from a tragic famine.”  

“true,” he agreed, his gaze dropping for a split second, flickering over you like he was trying to catch you off guard. “but since you brought it up, i was thinking about how we never got dessert.”  

you blinked, thrown off by the randomness. “what?”  

“dessert,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “fried chicken’s great and all, but it’s not a complete meal. we missed out.”  

“and what, you came to my door at 9 pm to tell me that?”  

“yep.” he rocked back on his heels, completely unbothered. “i figured you owed me by now.”  

“owed you?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “for what, exactly?”  

“emotional support,” he said, grinning like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “that elevator ride? life-changing experience. bonded for life. it’s only fair you buy me dessert.”  

you tried to fight it. you really did. but the laugh slipped out anyway, betraying you.  

his grin widened, the kind that wasn’t just smug… it was triumphant.  

“fine,” you sighed, grabbing your phone off the counter. “but you’re paying next time.”  

“next time?” he echoed, his voice tilting upward just slightly. he leaned forward, close enough that the space between you suddenly felt smaller. “so you’re already planning our next elevator date?”  

oh, this man.

“don’t push your luck,” you muttered, pointing a finger at him while you tapped through your food delivery app. “i might close the door on your face next time.”  

“you like me too much to do that,” he said softly, and this time his tone wasn’t teasing.  

it was smooth, confident, and just low enough to make you glance up without thinking.  

your thumb hovered over your screen for a second too long before you forced yourself to break eye contact. you picked the first dessert you saw just to escape the moment and right before you got to pay he snatched the phone from you and put in his card details.

“so annoying,” you muttered.  

“gentlemanly,” he replied easily.

“you’re lucky i’m too tired to throw you out,” you shot back, already regretting how much you were letting him get away with.  

“lucky?” he asked, smirking. “i’d say you’re the lucky one. who else brings dessert and great company?”  

you groaned, loudly, just to drown him out.  

♡ ♡ ♡

thirty minutes later, you were sitting side by side on your couch, barely an inch between you, sharing a container of chocolate lava cake like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

“don’t hog it,” you grumbled, jabbing at his hand with your spoon when he took an extra-large bite.  

“it’s called portion control,” he argued, entirely unapologetic as he went for another.  

“it’s called stealing,” you shot back, scooping up a bigger piece just to even the playing field.  

“maybe,” he said, glancing at you with that maddening grin. “but you’re letting me get away with it.”  

“only because i don’t want to waste food,” you countered, though your voice lacked the conviction you wanted it to have.  

he leaned back slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours in a way that felt too casual to be an accident.  

“you’re really bad at lying, you know that?” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make you pause.  

you turned to glare at him, spoon still in hand, but the words caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you.  

he wasn’t grinning anymore. not exactly.  

it wasn’t a smirk or a joke or one of those teasing little quips he always threw your way. it was… softer. almost curious.  

your heart stuttered before you could stop it.  

“and you’re annoying,” you said again, but this time it came out quieter.  

his lips twitched, like he was holding back a laugh.  

“you already said that but i think it loses meaning when you let me hang out with you for this long,”  he murmured.  

you didn’t reply. you couldn’t. not when the air felt so… different.  

so instead, you turned back to the TV, grabbed another spoonful of lava cake, and shoved it into your mouth as an excuse to not say anything.  

he chuckled softly, the sound barely audible over the hum of the TV.  

♡ ♡ ♡

the next few days went by pretty much the same. whenever you bumped into jaemin in the hallway, the parking lot, or even at the local cafe, his eyes would lock on you like a heat-seeking missile, ready to tease you in a way that you hated to admit was starting to feel oddly enjoyable.

but everything escalated the day minnie came to visit you.

it had been a while since you two last saw each other, given that she lived in a different city. as soon as she arrived, you were buzzing with excitement. but you’d forgotten one crucial thing… minnie had a rare, borderline supernatural ability to drive you absolutely insane.

“i can't believe you had a second chicken date with him and still didn’t jump his bones… have i taught you nothing?” she said, exasperated as she popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. dawson’s creek reruns were playing in the background, and as if that show didn’t depress you enough, minnie’s relentless criticism of your non-existent love life was making it worse.

“it wasn’t a chicken date,” you groaned. “we had cake. and why would i jump his bones when we’ve only just started speaking more than two words to each other like, last week?”

“you don’t get it,” minnie said, turning to face you with the gravity of someone about to lecture you. “a man doesn’t just knock on your door asking you to have dessert with him unless he has a different idea of what 'dessert' is.” she raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“ew, don’t make that face,” you winced. 

“i’m serious, y/n. if you keep shutting down every man that’s interested in you, the only dick you’ll get is that inflatable one i got you.”

“not even,” you sighed, slumping against the couch. “i haven’t taken it out of the box yet. and i won’t. that thing already embarrassed me enough for the next two lifetimes.”

“but if you think about it, if it weren’t for tom, you’d still be secretly crushing on dr. mcdreamy.”

“you did not just name the sex doll tom,” you said, eyes narrowing.

“i think we should at least go out tonight since you’re clearly not gonna put the moves on your sexy neighbor.”

“absolutely not,” you shook your head, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “ i’m not about to waste my night talking to any guy who thinks 'intellectual debate' means arguing about protein powder.”

“okay, harsh… no wonder you’re single,” she muttered as she got up and started tapping away on her phone.

“who’re you calling?” you asked, squinting at her suspiciously.

“there’s only one person who can drag you out of this apartment,” she muttered with a sly grin. "hold on—hello? jake? yeah, guess who i’m with right now?" she paused dramatically, glancing at you with a wicked smile. "your favorite girl, obviously!" she snickered, tilting her phone just enough to snap a photo of you mid-protest. 

“dude, c’mon, i’m in my grandma pjs right now,” you said, pointing at the flowery pajama top you were wearing.

“how about we meet up at the neo club? yeah? awesome, and bring one of your hot friends,” she added, grinning like a cat that just cornered a bird.

she hung up, looking triumphant, but you folded your arms with a scowl.

“there’s no way i’m going out,” you said flatly.

♡ ♡ ♡

you still ended up going out.

but only because they offered to pay for all your drinks, and who were you to refuse such a generous offer?

it didn’t take long to spot jake. he was already stirring up trouble at the bar, his charm dialed up to 100 as he leaned in close, tossing out some line that had the bartender blushing so hard she had to look away just to keep it together.

“ugh, casanovas make me sick,” you grumbled, scrunching your nose as you watched him.

“stop harassing the lady, jake,” minnie said, grabbing him by the collar and tugging him away from the bar. he turned around with a mock-offended gasp.

“excuse you, she was absolutely enjoying that,” he said with an infuriating level of confidence. he wasn’t even wrong—the bartender was still grinning.

“whatever, tiger. look who’s out of her cave!” minnie announced, shoving you forward slightly.

jake’s eyes lit up the second he saw you. he practically lunged forward, wrapping you in a bear hug and lifting you off the ground.

“no way! my y/n! it’s been, what, four years since i last saw you?” he spun you in a small circle before finally setting you down.

“please don’t be so dramatic. we saw each other last year on your birthday,” you laughed, shoving his chest.

“too long for me, babe. you know seeing you is always a treat,” he said, giving you one of those overly saccharine smiles he knew would make you roll your eyes.

“when are you ever not flirting? is that your default mode? is there any way to reset you?” you said, tapping his forehead like you were trying to reboot a broken phone.

“you know you love it,” he winked, and somehow it was both annoying and charming at the same time.

“anyways, where are the drinks i was promised?” you extended a hand expectantly.

“here you go, princess,” he said, handing you a tequila sunrise with a flourish. “and here you go, troll,” he added, handing minnie a margarita.

“i’ll kill you,” minnie slapped his arm hard enough to make him flinch.

“ow, abuse! abuse!” he cried dramatically, clutching his arm as if he’d been mortally wounded.

“you’ll live,” minnie muttered, taking a sip from her glass.

the night was already off to a wild start, and you had a sinking feeling it was only going to get worse.

♡ ♡ ♡

“so you’re telling me the box with all the freaky shit minnie sent ended up being delivered to your neighbor?” jake was practically doubled over, clutching his stomach from laughing so hard. “and he opened it?”

“yeah, laugh it up,” you said, unamused as you swirled the straw in your drink before taking a long sip. you’d lost count of how many drinks you’d had, but the warmth in your chest and the slight buzz in your head told you it was definitely more than a couple.

“if i were you, i would’ve moved,” he said, wiping at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “i’m trying to think of a time i’ve been that embarrassed and not even my drunkest moments come close.” he shook his head like he genuinely felt bad for you, though the grin on his face said otherwise.

“believe me, i tried to avoid him,” you said, gesturing with your drink in hand. “but somehow, after that, he started sticking to me like gum on a shoe.”

“i’m telling you, he wants you!” minnie slurred, her eyes barely staying focused as she swayed slightly in her seat. clearly, she was the drunkest one at the table, her words carrying that telltale wobble of too many cocktails.

“don’t start with that again,” you shot back, tossing a napkin in her direction. “he doesn’t want me. he just likes messing with me because he figured out i’m an easy target.”

“oh, really?” she said, eyes narrowing like she’d just come up with the most brilliant plan. “then call him right now. and if he answers, put him on speaker.”

“like hell i will,” you snorted, glancing at your phone. “it’s-” you checked the time “…literally 3am. why would i disturb him just to prove your silly little theories?”

“coward! coward!” minnie started chanting, slapping the table. jake immediately caught on and joined her, their voices syncing up in a way that only drunk friends could manage. “coward! y/n is a chicken!” they sang in unison, making sure to drag out the last word obnoxiously.

“ugh, why do i have friends like you two…” you muttered, covering your ears as their chanting grew louder. “okay! fine! stop that right now, i’ll text him. once.” you jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis, giving them both a stern glare that did absolutely nothing to dim their excitement.

“what do i even say…” you groaned, staring at your empty chat with jaemin.

“send him a picture,” jake suggested.

you thought about it for a second, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “fine,” you muttered, lifting your phone. fueled by alcohol and peer pressure, you decided on the classic "oops, wrong person" strategy. you snapped a quick selfie, pursing your lips into a kissy face for maximum effect. you didn’t even care that it was blurry or that you looked very obviously drunk. in fact, that made it funnier. you snickered to yourself as you hit send.

“he won’t reply, guys,” you said confidently, tossing your phone onto the table face-down. but barely ten seconds passed before you heard the unmistakable ping of a new message.

“you were saying?” minnie arched a brow, crossing her arms in mock satisfaction.

“it’s probably just some random notification,” you said with a shrug, but your voice wavered as you picked up your phone. you tapped the screen, eyes widening slightly at the name that appeared.

jaemin neighbor (3:02am): ‘thought you weren’t one to party hard?’ 

the message was punctuated with a little smirk emoji that somehow made it worse.

“what’d he say?” minnie asked, leaning in so far you thought she might topple over.

you barely had time to answer before another message popped up.

jaemin neighbor (3:03am): ‘don’t drink too much though, you’re still recovering from that cold. and don’t let strangers hold your drink.’

your eyes stayed glued to the screen, heart doing an odd little flip that you refused to acknowledge. 

“oh my god, he’s worried,” minnie gasped, hands flying to her face. “he’s literally whipped!” she squealed, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you back and forth with unhinged glee.

♡ ♡ ♡

after seeing jaemin's message, you decided you needed to get drunker to drown out the thoughts swirling in your head. by the time you got back to the apartment, your uber driver had to practically haul you out of the car. you were a complete mess, your feet barely cooperating with the ground beneath you. minnie ended up hitting it off with jake’s friend so she decided to leave with him to do god knows what dirty things.

“woah there!” you yelped as you stumbled, nearly falling backward.

“ma’am, what’s your apartment number?” the driver asked. all you could do was laugh and mumble some random string of numbers that didn’t come close to making sense.

“y/n?” a familiar voice cut through the fog in your mind, sharp and clear like a bell. it almost sobered you up on the spot. he was wearing his scrubs and his tired appearance told you that he was coming back from a long shift.

“mr. doctor is here!” you announced with unrestrained glee, throwing your arms up. the sudden movement made you lose balance, and you tilted sideways bumping into the driver.

“you know her, sir?” he asked, his forehead shiny with sweat, clearly desperate for an exit out of this.

“uhm, yeah, she’s my next-door neighbor. i’ll take it from here, thanks,” jaemin said, stepping in with the calm authority of someone who’s seen this exact scenario a dozen times before. with zero effort, he crouched down and hoisted you onto his back, his hands steady under your thighs to keep you secure.

“wheee!” you squealed, your cheek smushed against the back of his head.

“hold on tight, yeah?” he muttered, his tone dry but fond as he adjusted his grip on your legs.

inside the elevator, you got bold. maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was just you accepting your undeniable attraction to jaemin, but your hands found their way to his arms. you gave his biceps an experimental squeeze and then hummed, thoroughly impressed. “do all doctors got big, muscular arms or just you?” you asked, squeezing again as if conducting a very important scientific investigation.

jaemin’s lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “do you always get this touchy when you’re drunk?” he replied, shifting you slightly higher on his back.

“oh wow, you smell so good,” you said, burying your nose in his hair. “like… like one of those fancy candles you’re not supposed to light cause they’re too expensive.” you giggled against his head, completely oblivious to the way his ears flushed pink at the compliment.

“i told you not to drink too much,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “this is dangerous, you know.”

“sorryyyyyy,” you whined, dragging out the word. “but you know what they say about alcohol… uh, ‘wine before whiskey, you’re feelin’ frisky’?” you squinted, clearly thinking very hard.

jaemin tilted his head, giving you a side-eye full of disbelief and amusement. “that’s absolutely not the saying,” he said, his voice low and warm with a hint of laughter.

“no?” you pouted. “then it’s… ‘drinks before thoughts, memories get lost!’” you declared with absolute confidence.

he let out a full, genuine laugh, his shoulders shaking under you as he carried you down the hallway. “close enough,” he muttered.

♡ ♡ ♡

in front of your door, you squinted at the digital lock like it had personally wronged you. you pressed one button, then another, and frowned when the screen blinked angrily. your brain felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and trying to remember your code right was harder than trying to solve a riddle while underwater. 

“ugh, whatever,” you groaned, letting out an exaggerated sigh before plopping down on the floor, legs sprawled out.

“what are you doing?” jaemin's voice came from above, and when you tilted your head back, you saw him crouched in front of you, eyebrows raised.

“can’t remember the code, so m’ sleeping here. duh,” you replied with the kind of lazy confidence and lack of urgency only drunk people have. you reached out and booped him on the nose simply because he looked cute like a bunny in your inebriated mind.

he blinked, clearly thrown, before a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “no, you’re not,” he said, shaking his head. he stood up, offering his hand. “come on.”

“ugh, fiiine,” you groaned, letting him pull you up, though you were basically dead weight. he slipped an arm around your waist to steady you, and the warmth of his hand pressed against the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. the touch was casual but it sent a sharp jolt of awareness through you. 

you bit your lip to distract yourself from the sudden rush of heat. blame it on the alcohol. definitely the alcohol. 

“i never sleep in a guy’s apartment ‘til…” you held up your hand and started counting on your fingers, lips moving as you mumbled to yourself. “like the 6th date.” 

“that so?” jaemin glanced at you, his voice raspy in a way that made something flip in your stomach. 

“mmhm,” you hummed, leaning your weight against him. “gotta have rules, y’know? safety first.” 

“you’re not wrong,” he replied, guiding you toward his door with slow, careful steps. “but that logic’s got a flaw, don’t you think?” 

you squinted up at him, skeptical. “what flaw?” 

“you’re here with me, and we’re not even on date three,” he said simply, giving you a pointed look. 

you tried to ignore the fact that he considered the elevator and that night at your apartment as dates.

“that’s different,” you countered, waving a hand like that somehow made you right. 

he glanced down at you, eyes sharp but soft in the way they flickered across your face. “how?” 

you blinked, suddenly too aware of the space between you two — or the lack of it. his arm was firm around your waist, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. 

“you tell me, doc,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes. 

there was a brief silence, just the quiet hum of the hallway lights and the soft shuffle of your feet. his fingers curled slightly against your hip, the pressure grounding but gentle. when he spoke again, his tone had shifted — quieter, steadier. 

“i’d never do anything to hurt you,” he said, voice sure like a promise. his eyes met yours, serious in a way that knocked the air right out of your lungs. 

you didn’t have a quick comeback for that one. 

he held your gaze for a moment longer before clearing his throat, eyes flicking away. “anyway,” he said, his voice back to its usual steady calm, “you can sit for a bit. i’ll get you some tea and food, sober you up.” 

“huh?” you blinked, your tipsy mind still trying to catch up after that intense moment you just shared. 

“sit,” he repeated, guiding you toward the couch like you were a stubborn cat. “tea. food. you’ll thank me later.” 

you flopped onto the couch with zero grace, still buzzing from everything.

your head was throbbing, but that wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the rapid thumping of your heart against your chest. it wasn’t normal. it couldn’t be normal. you pressed a hand to your chest like that might somehow slow it down.  

“what is this…” you muttered under your breath, tilting your head back against the couch. 

you were spiraling, no doubt about it. overthinking everything. it’s just jaemin, you reminded yourself. your neighbor. your kind neighbor. of course he’d say stuff like that. he’s a good person, and good people say things like "i’d never hurt you" all the time, right? it didn’t mean anything. didn’t mean a single thing. 

calm down, y/n.

you blew out a slow breath, trying to trick your heart into believing you were unbothered. 

jaemin came back moments later, a cup of tea in one hand and a small plate of buttered toast in the other. he’d ditched his jacket, now in just a fitted black t-shirt and scrub pants. you weren’t sure what was more distracting… the way the fabric clung to his chest and arms, or the way the veins in his forearms stood out as he set the plate down. you stared a little too long, gaze following the flex of his muscles.  

he’s just a guy, you thought, just a guy with arms that look like they were carved out of marble. 

“okay, drink this,” he said, nudging the tea toward you. his voice had slipped into his "doctor tone", soft but firm, like he fully expected to be obeyed. “you’ll feel better. if you feel dizzy or like you’re gonna throw up, let me know. i’ll go shower real quick, and you can shower after.”  

he disappeared into his room before you could respond

you sat there for a second, letting the silence settle around you. without him there, you finally took a proper look at his place. it was weirdly nice for a building as old and shabby as this one. sleek, modern furniture, spotless floors, a faint scent of something woodsy and clean. candles lined the windowsill, and he had an at-home gym tucked neatly in one corner. 

of course he does, you thought, he’s probably too busy saving lives to hit a real gym. 

you bit your lip, remembering the way his arms had felt around your waist. the heat of his skin seeping through the fabric of your shirt. and now, after seeing how built he actually was, it was starting to make a lot more sense. 

“ugh, stop it,” you muttered, shaking your head. it was just the alcohol messing with you. that, and the fact that you were definitely ovulating because there was no way you’d be acting like this otherwise. the combination was lethal. 

you reached for the tea, eager for something to snap you out of your head, but the second you took a sip— 

“ah—!” you yelped, dropping the cup. hot liquid splashed onto the floor, the mug clattering after it. thankfully, it missed your legs but your tongue throbbed like you’d just bitten into molten lava. 

“shit,” you hissed, sticking your tongue out like that might cool it down. 

“what happened?” jaemin’s voice came from the bathroom, sharp with concern.  

“‘s fine!” you tried to call back, but with your tongue still stinging, it came out garbled. “ihz ohkaay!” 

the sound of the shower stopped. you barely had a second to panic before jaemin burst into the living room, dripping wet, a loose towel slung dangerously low on his hips.  

you froze. 

oh.

oh my god.

if this were an anime, you’d have shot out a nosebleed so powerful it’d blast you into another dimension.  

“what happened?” he asked, eyes darting to the mess on the floor, then back to you. he crouched beside you, eyes scanning you likely looking for injuries. water dripped from his hair, trailing down the sharp planes of his face, his chest, his abs… 

his abs.

your gaze locked on the V-line that dipped beneath the edge of his towel, and your brain short-circuited. every coherent thought you’d ever had dissolved on the spot. you didn’t even realize you’d spoken aloud until you heard your own voice. 

“oh my god.”  

jaemin blinked, eyebrows drawing together in worry. “what?” 

“n-nothing!” you stammered, face heating faster than the tea had. you slapped a hand over your eyes like that might erase the image from your mind. it did not. it was burned in.

he frowned, his puppy-dog concern on full display. “i’m sorry, i should’ve warned you the tea was hot.” his gaze shifted to your tongue, still sticking out as you tried to cool it with air. his frown deepened. 

“izzokay,” you said, or at least tried to. with your tongue swollen and numb, it sounded more like “iz okeh, iz my fauwt.”  

“hold on,” he said, his tone dropping into doctor mode. “stay put. you might cut yourself on the glass.”  

he moved with quick precision, ducking into the kitchen and coming back with a towel and some paper towels to clean up. you, unfortunately, had nothing to do but sit there and watch him. and watch him you did.  

the way his muscles shifted under his skin with every movement. the flex of his back, the dip of his hips, the subtle pull of his abs as he crouched to pick up shards of glass. you sat there like a fool, cheeks blazing, unable to look away.  

he could model for anatomy textbooks, you thought, completely mesmerized. like, imagine turning to page 47 and seeing this man labeled as "muscular system: front view."

every part of him moved with that annoying grace certain people just had. the kind of grace that was only possible when you were stupidly, unfairly attractive.  

he wiped the floor clean and tossed the paper towels aside, giving one final glance at the spot to make sure there wasn’t a single shard left behind. then he turned to you.  

“all clear,” he said, standing to his full height. the towel on his hips slipped slightly lower, and your gaze shot to the ceiling so fast you almost got whiplash.  

“thanks,” you muttered, trying to keep your eyes anywhere but there. you still saw it in your peripheral vision. 

he tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “you sure you’re okay?” 

am i okay? absolutely not. your tongue was burnt, your pride was in pieces, and your brain was playing a slow-motion highlight reel of his abs. you were the furthest thing from okay.  

“yep,” you croaked, voice cracking at the end. 

“here you go,” he said, handing you a glass of cold water. “it should help your tongue.”

“thanks,” you mumbled, cradling the glass with both hands. you refused to look directly at him, eyes darting everywhere in the room. the slow drip of condensation on the glass suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world.

“are you hot? you’re sweating,” he asked, leaning forward, his gaze landing on you with that soft concern he wore too easily.

you nearly spat the water back out. of course you were hot. this whole situation was hot. the room was hot. he was hot.

“it’s fine,” you blurted, shaking your head a little too quickly. “i’ll just shower.”

“yeah, sure. go ahead,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “bathroom’s the door on the left.”

he glanced down at you, eyes flickering over your dress just briefly. instinctively, you tugged at the hem like that would magically make it longer. you should’ve known minnie was setting you up when she called this look “casually dangerous.”

“your clothes…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “they don’t look super comfortable to sleep in, so if you want, i can lend you something.”

there was no reason for your heart to leap into your throat the way it did. it was a normal offer. a completely normal, helpful offer. but your brain decided to be weird about it. suddenly, you were picturing yourself in one of his shirts, fabric hanging loose on you, the scent of detergent and him faintly clinging to it. god, you needed help.

“okay,” you said, trying to sound normal, but it came out too fast.

“i’ll grab them for you,” he said, already heading toward his room.

as soon as he disappeared, you collapsed against the couch, exhaling hard like you’d just survived a boss fight. you dragged your hands down your face, letting out a muffled groan.

“pull it together,” you hissed at yourself.

walking into the bathroom didn’t help. the warmth hit you instantly, soft steam curling in the air. it smelled like aftershave and clean skin, and if there was a single coherent thought left in your brain, it got drowned out by the sensory overload.

“seriously?” you muttered under your breath, tilting your head back with a groan. “what am i, thirteen?”

the mirror was fogged up, so you wiped at it with your sleeve, only to be faced with your own reflection staring back at you like girl, really? you pressed your hands to your cheeks, feeling the warmth that had nothing to do with the steam.

“i’m normal,” you announced firmly to no one but yourself.

except you weren’t, and you knew it. it wasn’t just the alcohol making your brain short-circuit anymore. you were sober now, and this was just you being ridiculous. the neatly folded clothes on the counter didn’t help. a plain white shirt and a pair of sweatpants sat there, fresh and clean.

you eyed the sweatpants, then glanced down at your legs, already knowing how this was gonna play out. still, you gave it a shot, pulling them up your legs after taking a (very) long shower. unsurprisingly, they swallowed you whole, the cuffs dragging behind you. yeah, no. you’d trip over yourself in less than a minute. sighing, you snatched up the shirt instead and pulled it over your head. it slipped down past your hips, the sleeves flopping well past your hands, turning them into little paw-like stubs.

“this will have to do,” you decided with a sharp nod to yourself.

when you finally stepped out of the bathroom, jaemin was lounging on the couch, scrolling on his phone. his gaze flickered up at you, and for a split second, he just blinked, eyes tracking down your frame before quickly darting back to his phone.

“where are the pants?” he asked, lips quirking up just slightly at the corner.

“too big,” you said. 

“hmm” he hummed, looking up and letting his gaze drag just a little slower this time, eyes sharp with mischief. his tongue pressed against his cheek, a lopsided grin threatening to break free. “i see”

if your heart was pounding before, it was in full percussion solo mode now. but you just flopped down beside him, acting like everything was cool, like you weren’t hyperaware of every inch of bare skin peeking out from under the too-big shirt.

you glanced at the clock on the wall — 4:30 a.m. blinked back at you in dim red light. too late to be awake but too early to call it morning. your eyes shifted to jaemin, and you could see the weight of exhaustion hanging on him. his blinks were slower, his body slouched deeper into the couch cushions.  

“jaem…” the nickname slipped out without warning, soft but certain. his eyes lifted to you immediately.

“you can go to sleep. i’m fine,” you said with a small smile, hoping it was convincing. “and… thank you. for everything. you’re too nice to me.”

his gaze lingered on you, steady and unguarded, like he was committing you to memory. then, his lips curved slowly into a smile. not his usual teasing grin but something gentler, sweeter. it hit you square in the chest, and you had to physically fight the urge to lean forward and kiss him.  

you did not win that fight.

instead, you moved on instinct… leaning in and wrapping your arms around him. the moment you did, you panicked. it felt stiff, clumsy, like you’d misread the whole situation. you were just about to pull away when his arms slid around your waist, slow but sure.  

he pulled you in, pulled you all the way in, until you were practically draped over him. your breath caught in your throat, heart thudding so hard you swore he could feel it.  

his head dipped down, face tucked into the curve of your neck. the warmth of his breath hit your skin in soft bursts, and his hold on you tightened just a little more.  

“it’s my pleasure,” he murmured, voice low and raspier than it had been all night. his lips brushed against your collarbone as he spoke, “always.”

good god, you nearly let out a sound you’d never be able to live down. every nerve in your body was on high alert. it had been so long since you’d been held like this.

his nose nudged against your neck lazily. you felt the butterflies in your stomach riot, wings frantic against your ribs.  

“jaem…” you said, but it came out too soft, too breathless to sound like an actual warning.  

“you smell good,” he muttered, voice all sleep and satisfaction. “you always smell good.” he breathed you in.

lord, have mercy.

“i think we should both sleep,” you murmured, but neither of you moved. neither of you even thought about moving.  

“yeah,” he said, voice low and uneven.  

“yeah,” you echoed, but it sounded less like agreement and more like an excuse for staying right where you were.  

he pulled back just enough to look at you, but his arms stayed firmly around your waist. his eyes flickered down to your lips. on reflex, you wet them with a quick swipe of your tongue, suddenly self-conscious. his gaze darkened and you swore you felt the shift in the air.  

“stop me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

but stopping him didn’t even cross your mind. not when he was looking at you like that. not when his face inched closer, closer…

his lips met yours softly at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide. you decided quickly. your hands slipped into his hair, pulling him in as you kissed him back with everything you’d been holding in all night.  

he responded instantly. his hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you in place, deepening the kiss until it wasn’t soft anymore.

his other hand found your hip, gripping you firmly as he shifted you on top of him, his touch guiding you like he knew exactly where he wanted you to be. dangerous. this was so, so dangerous. 

because you were only wearing that stupidly oversized shirt and the flimsy scrap of underwear underneath it. and when you settled fully onto his lap, you felt everything.

he must’ve felt it too, because his breath stuttered, and a needy groan escaped him, muffled against your lips. you felt it vibrate through your whole body, made you shiver as if he’d pressed his mouth to your spine instead.  

his hand on your hip squeezed, fingers digging in just a little harder. 

the kiss grew messier, wetter, breaths and tongues tangled together in a way that felt far past the point of no return. it didn’t help that his other hand left your neck, sliding down, fingertips trailing along your side before slipping under the hem of the shirt.  

his hand slid up and up until…

he froze the second he realized. his palm pressed against bare skin, no bra, no barrier. you felt his breath hitch at the same moment you heard it.  

“fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, his voice rougher now, heavier. his fingers spread wide, covering as much skin as he could reach, his palm warm and steady against your ribs.  

and when his thumb brushed up, grazing just barely under the curve of your breast, the sound you made was far too needy. his gaze flicked back up to yours. like he was asking. like he was giving you one last out.  

you didn’t take it.  

his hand moved again, bolder this time. his palm slid over the curve of your breast, warm and firm, fingers curling around it as if it belonged to him. you sighed at the contact, eyes fluttering closed as your head tipped forward. it wasn’t enough. you didn’t know what “enough” would be, but it wasn’t this.  

he must’ve felt it too, because his other hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin in slow, soothing circles. he tilted your face up, and for a moment, you thought he’d kiss you again. you tilted toward him, lips parting, but he had other plans.  

instead, he leaned in and pressed his lips just beneath your ear. the warmth of his mouth sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could even process that, he was moving lower. he kissed his way along your neck, slow and steady, with the kind of patience that made your heart feel like it was on a countdown. 

and then the kisses changed. his teeth grazed your skin, his lips sealed over the spot, and he sucked hard enough to make you gasp. your hands flew up, gripping at his shoulders as he trailed love bites down to your collarbones, marking you in a way that felt possessive, the kind you’d see after he was gone.  

“jaemin,” you whispered, your fingers digging into his shirt. his name barely sounded like a name anymore.  

his only answer was a low hum against your collarbone, his hand still working under your shirt. his fingers traced lazy lines along the sensitive skin beneath your breast, and just when you thought he was going to stay gentle, he pinched your nipple between his fingers.  

you gasped sharply, hips jolting forward on reflex. “oh—”

he didn’t stop. he rolled it slowly between his fingers, feeling out every little reaction you gave him, every twitch and shiver. your body betrayed you, arching into his touch, and the way he smiled against your neck told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.  

instinct took over before you could think it through. your hips rocked forward against his lap — once, twice — chasing relief from the ache that had been building low in your stomach for too long. you felt the slickness between your thighs, hot and damp, soaking through the thin fabric of your underwear and seeping onto his sweatpants.  

he felt it too. you knew he did from the sharp intake of breath he took, from the way his hands squeezed tighter his fingers digging into your hip, his other hand cupping your breast with just a little more pressure.  

“fuck,” he groaned, head falling forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. his hips shifted beneath you, his arousal impossible to miss now. he was hard, and every roll of your hips dragged against him perfectly, making him curse under his breath.  

the heat of it all was unbearable, and you had no one to blame but yourself. but at this point, did it even matter?  

he lifted his head, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded. his gaze flickered from your face to where your hips met his lap, his tongue darting out to wet his lips 

“i don't know how much longer i can hold back…” his voice was strained.  

you blinked down at him, heart thudding hard against your ribs. every nerve in your body felt like it had been lit on fire, but somehow, you still managed to smile.  

“who told you to hold back?”you said, voice soft but sure.  

“shit…” he muttered, his voice low and wrecked. his fingers dug into your hips, guiding them down against him with a deliberate pressure that had your breath hitching in your throat.  

it wasn’t just you moving anymore. he was moving you, rocking you back and forth against him faster, tired of pretending you weren’t both desperate for it.  

your head tipped back as a broken moan spilled from your lips. the friction was too good, just the right amount of pressure to have your thighs trembling. the heat between you had gone from warm to blistering, every grind making you more sensitive, more aware of the damp mess you were both making between his sweatpants and your underwear.  

his eyes locked on you, not wanting to miss a single second of it… the arch of your back, the part of your lips, the way your breath caught every time you sank down a little harder. 

“look at you,”  he breathed, voice rough and half-laughing. “getting this worked up over a little humping”

you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “i’m clearly not the only one,” you shot back breathlessly..  

his lips were back on you in an instant,  rougher than before, all teeth and tongue. his hands slid up your back, under his shirt you were wearing, fingers dragging against bare skin. his nails scratched lightly at your spine, sending chills down your whole body, and you gasped into his mouth.  

he didn’t let you pull away. his lips chased yours, like he’d been starving for this, like now that he’d had a taste, there was no way he was stopping. he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and your body moved on instinct, hips rolling harder against him.  

“fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, head falling back against the couch as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. his hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them tight as if to ground himself, but all it did was spur you on.  

you leaned forward, trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, biting just enough to feel him shudder beneath you. his pulse was wild under your lips, and when you grazed your teeth against it, his hips bucked up so hard it knocked the air out of your lungs.  

“you’re making it so hard to be soft right now,” he said through gritted teeth, head tipped back, neck bared for you like an invitation. his eyes flicked down to where you sat on him, where the line between you two had blurred so badly it didn’t seem to exist anymore.  

“then don’t be,” you whispered against his ear, biting down on the lobe just to hear him curse again. “nobody asked you to be soft.”

that was all it took. his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with purpose. his next move was fast—you were on your back before you could register it, his body hovering over you, his weight pressing you down in a way that made your heart race in your chest.  

his eyes met yours, pupils blown wide, hair falling into his face. he looked like a mess and it was perfect.

“say that again,” he said, voice nothing but gravel and breath. his hands slid up your thighs, pushing them apart, the slow drag of his touch enough to make you squirm. “say it again so i know you mean it.”

your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, and you reached up, fingers threading through his hair.  

“nobody,” you whispered, tugging his head down just enough to make sure he heard you, “asked you to be soft.”

for a second, he didn’t move. just stared down at you like he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to eat you up.

then he leaned in, and when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t soft or tentative or testing the waters. it was raw, hungry, and so deep it knocked the air out of you. his hands moved with purpose, sliding up your thighs, pushing his shirt higher and higher until the air hit bare skin.  

everything was heat and pressure and need. he was all you could feel, all you could hear — his breath heavy and uneven, his name falling from your lips like it was the only word you knew.  

and when he finally pressed his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was fighting to hold himself together, you knew you’d both already lost.

the next thing you know, his hands are tugging your shirt up and over your head, the fabric barely brushing past your arms before it’s gone. the cold air hits your skin for half a second before jaemin’s mouth replaces it, hot and relentless as he traces the curve of your collarbone, his lips dragging lower, slower.

when his mouth finally closes around your right breast, it’s warm and wet and just enough to have you mewling. his tongue flicks over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, his teeth grazing it just lightly, sending a sharp jolt of heat straight down to your core.  

his free hand slides lower, fingers trailing down your stomach, over your hip, and slipping beneath the waistband of your lace underwear like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he moves without hesitation, fingers seeking out the slick mess waiting for him, and the second he finds it, he lets out a low, rough groan against your skin.  

“god, you’re so fucking wet,” he mutters, pulling off your breast with a slick pop, his breath fanning across your skin. he glances down between your legs, his gaze so heavy you feel it like a touch. his eyes darken, his tongue darting out to wet his lips like he’s hungry just looking at you.  

he hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear, dragging them down in one slow pull, eyes locked on you like he’s scared to blink and miss it. the fabric barely makes it past your knee before he’s already looking back up at you, his pupils blown wide, lips parted with the kind of need that makes your chest feel too tight.  

“let me eat you out,” he says, and his voice is rough and desperate.

you bite your lip like you’re thinking it over, but you know you’re going to say yes. you just like seeing him like this — all unsteady and breathless, too far gone to hide it.  

“please,” he says again, this time more ragged, his voice cracking at the end like he might actually lose it if you make him wait any longer.  

“okay,” you say, and it’s all he needs.  

he’s on you in a heartbeat, sliding down your body so fast it’s dizzying. his hands are firm on your thighs, pulling them apart, spreading you wide until there’s nowhere left to hide. his gaze flicks up one last time, meeting yours like he’s checking, like he’s giving you one last chance to stop him.  

but you don’t. you won’t.

he presses his fingers to your folds, parting you slowly, exposing everything to him, and the breath he takes is deep, like he’s savoring the moment before the fall.  

then he leans in.  

his nose brushes against you first, just a soft nudge that has your hips twitching on instinct. then his tongue follows in one long, slow drag from bottom to top that has your breath stuttering in your chest. his grip on your thighs tightens, fingers digging into your skin like he’s steadying himself as much as you.  

he moans against you, a deep, satisfied sound that you feel as much as hear, and his tongue dives back in, licking at you like you’re his favorite thing to taste. the movements are slow at first, deliberate, his tongue exploring every part of you like he’s trying to figure out exactly what makes you fall apart.  

and you are falling apart.  

your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as you let out a shaky, breathless moan. your hips twitch up, and his hands are right there to hold you down, keeping you still as his tongue moves with more certainty, more purpose, licking you with long, messy strokes that make you gasp.  

his mouth doesn’t slow, if anything, it grows more determined. his tongue moves with precision now, circling that sensitive spot before flicking against it in quick, teasing bursts that have your hips jumping despite his firm grip.  

“fuck, jaem—” your voice breaks on his name, your hands gripping the sides of the couch, searching for something, anything to ground yourself. but there’s nothing. nothing but him, his mouth, the obscene, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat building low in your stomach.

he groans again, the vibration shooting through you, his tongue flattening against you before he drags it up,

“taste so sweet,” he murmurs into you, his voice muffled, every word spoken straight into your skin. 

“could stay here all night.”

the heat in your belly twists tighter at that, something about the way he says it, like he means it, like he’d ruin himself for this… for you. you’re already too close, and he knows it. he can feel it in the way your thighs tense, in the way your breath catches and your hips press up into him like you’re chasing something you can’t quite reach.  

he hums in satisfaction, his lips wrapping around that sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just once, just enough to make your whole body jolt.

“god, jaem, i’m—” you don’t even finish the sentence before it hits you, crashing over you in waves so intense you forget how to breathe. you squeeze your eyes shut, mouth falling open on a silent cry as the pleasure hits you all at once, white-hot and overwhelming. he doesn’t let up, his tongue flicking against you through it, coaxing every last tremor from your body.  

your fingers find his hair, tugging hard, half to ground yourself and half to make him stop because it’s all too much. he groans at the pull, but it only seems to spur him on, his hands tightening on your hips, keeping you pressed against his mouth.

“jaemin,” you say it firmer this time, tugging again, and finally, finally he pulls back, his lips and chin shiny with evidence of what he’s done.

“couldn’t help myself,” he says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth like he’s savoring every last bit of you. his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide, his hair a mess from where you tugged at it.  

“you look so pretty when you cum,” he says, voice low and husky, and you hate the way your heart lurches in your chest as if he’s just said something sweet.  

“you’re crazy,” you mutter, still catching your breath, wiping the sweat from your forehead.  

“crazy for you,” he fires back, grin widening like he knows how corny it is and says it anyway.  

and for some reason, it makes you laugh. a soft, breathy thing you can’t hold back. 

in one smooth motion, he’s crawling back up your body, his hands framing your face as he settles his weight over you. his lips press to yours, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. reminding you exactly where that mouth has just been. you taste yourself on him, and it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.  

“not done with you yet,”  he says against your lips, his hips pressing down against yours, and fuck, you feel how hard he is, the thick, solid pressure pressing right where you need it.  

“then don’t stop,” your fingers slide down his back, nails scraping lightly.

he flashed a wicked grin, and before you could process it, you let out a startled squeal as he hoisted you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. his arms were firm around your legs, his shoulder pressing into your stomach, and you could feel the strength in every stride as he carried you from the living room to his bedroom. 

"jaemin!" you protested, your fists lightly tapping his back, but it only made him chuckle.

"keep squirming, baby. see where that gets you," he teased.  

he laid you down on the bed with surprising gentleness. the cool, fresh scent of his sheets surrounded you, soft fabric meeting warm skin. it was a fleeting comfort, though. you both knew they wouldn’t stay this neat for long. 

jaemin peeled off his shirt with one smooth motion, revealing the sharp lines of his chest and the taut muscles of his stomach. you bit your lip as he kicked off his sweatpants, leaving him in just his boxers. his gaze was locked on you, dark eyes brimming with heat and amusement, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.  

you watched mesmerized as he pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fingers searching until they found a small foil packet. he ripped it open with practiced ease, and when the condom rolled out into his palm, your eyes widened. 

"that’s not the right size," you blurted out, half-laughing. "no way."  

his eyebrows lifted, a challenge sparking in his eyes. "oh? wanna bet?" 

then his boxers hit the floor.  

oh.  

your breath caught in your throat as your eyes dropped, taking in the sight of his dick. heat flooded your face. what the hell.

“close your mouth, baby,” he said, smirking. “unless you’re planning to put it to use.”  

"shut up," you muttered, glancing away, cheeks blazing. "are you gonna do it or not?"  

“do what?” he asked innocently, even as he climbed onto the bed, caging you in with his body. he hovered just above you, his grin infuriatingly smug.  

“you know what.”  

“hmm. don’t think i do,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your lips. “wanna say it for me, pretty girl?”  

you pressed your lips together, heart thudding in your chest harder every second. you could feel the weight of him, his warmth, the tension that hung in the air like a live wire.  

“fuck… me, jaem,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.  

he tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “louder, baby. i know you can be louder.”  

he wasn’t wrong. flashes of earlier moments filled your mind, the way you were moaning and whimpering definitely wasn’t quiet. you swallowed the last bit of your hesitation.  

“fuck me. please.”  

he hummed, satisfied, his grin softening as he hooked his hands behind your knees and tugged you down toward him. you let out a quiet gasp, suddenly flat on your back, with him positioned directly above you. his body hovered just close enough that every shift of movement made you feel him.  

your eyes flickered up to his face, and for a second, he wasn’t teasing anymore. his gaze was steady, searching, his eyes dark but kind. he reached out, fingertips tracing your jawline with such tenderness it made you ache in a different way.  

“you okay, baby?” he asked softly, letting you know he’d stop everything if you said no.  

your heart swelled at the care in his voice.  

you nodded, fingers curling around his shoulders.  

he leaned in, close enough for his breath to fan across your face. “need words, love.”  

“i’m okay, jaem,” you said more firmly, gazing up at him. 

his eyes lingered on yours a moment longer before he nodded. he took a pillow and carefully placed it behind your lower back 

"good girl," he murmured.  

he shifted, his hands steady on your hips, grounding you as he lined himself up. the anticipation coiled tightly in your stomach, a nervous, thrilling buzz. you felt him prodding at your entrance, he swiped his tip up and down, the action made you clench in anticipation. he eased in, inch by inch, the stretch stealing every ounce of air from your lungs.  

his head dropped, forehead pressed against yours, jaw tense as his eyes squeezed shut. a soft curse left his lips. “fuck, so… so tight,” he groaned, his voice wrecked. his fingers dug into your hips, holding you still.

the moans spilling from your lips mixed with his name, coming out soft and unrestrained. every inch of him felt like too much, the kind of stretch that made your breath catch and your nails press into his shoulders. it had been so long since you'd had sex that you'd almost forgotten what it felt like, and even back then, no one had ever filled you like this. jaemin was thicker, longer, and the difference was impossible to ignore. 

"baby, if you keep squeezing me like that…" he laughed breathlessly, his fingers drawing slow, steady circles on your hip like he was trying to soothe you. “i might not make it all the way in.” 

“s’rry, you’re… just too big,” you muttered, voice coming out more wrecked than you intended. 

he bit down on his lip, eyes flicking down to where you were connected. the sight alone was about to undo him. "yeah?" he breathed, a little too satisfied with himself. his hand slid up, fingers pressing into your waist just a bit harder, grounding you in place as he pushed in deeper. 

the pressure was overwhelming, every slow inch making you feel like you might fall apart right there beneath him. and the deeper he went, the more you swore you wouldn’t last long. the tight, aching pull in your stomach was already coiling up, twisting tighter with every second.  

“you okay?” his voice was softer this time, the restraint obvious in how still he stayed once he’d finally bottomed out. his forehead pressed lightly to yours, lips hovering just close enough to brush your skin.  

“mhm,” you nodded quickly, legs shaking around him. 

“words, baby,” he said, and his fingers tilted your chin so you’d look at him. 

“i’m okay, jaem. just…just move, please,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.  

"since you asked so nicely," he said with a grin that was all teeth and trouble. his hands gripped your thighs, pulling them higher against his sides. his hips pulled back, just enough for you to feel every inch of him drag out slowly, before he pushed back in.

the breath punched out of you. you didn’t even have time to recover before he was doing it again, sharper, testing just how much you could handle. 

"god, you’re taking me so well, princess," he groaned, eyes flicking down to where your bodies connected. his hands slid up your sides, the warmth of his touch a sharp contrast to the way he was slamming into you. "like you were made for me." 

“jaem-” his name was the only thing you could manage, high-pitched and broken. your head tipped back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut, but that only made everything feel sharper. 

“what's that?” he asked, voice rough as he leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. "love it this much, huh?" 

you didn’t answer, didn’t need to. he could hear it in every shaky breath, feel it in the way your body reacted to him. 

his mouth was on yours a second later, messy and hot, his teeth dragging over your bottom lip before his tongue slid past it. he didn’t kiss you so much as claim you, taking everything you gave and then some. your fingers knotted in his hair, desperate for something to hold on to. the sounds between you were wet, frantic, each one making the coil in your stomach twist tighter. 

you were close… so, so close.

 but then he pulled away again, leaving you gasping at the sudden loss. before you could even think to complain, he grabbed your hips, flipping you over like it was nothing. your cheek pressed into the pillow, hips lifted, and you barely had a second to brace yourself before he was back inside you.

the first thrust knocked the air out of your lungs. it was deeper now, sharper, because he’d found a whole new spot to ruin you from. your fingers dug into the pillow, muffling the sounds spilling from your mouth, but even that wasn’t enough. the angle had you seeing stars, the kind of pressure that made your legs shake with every thrust. 

“feel that?” his voice was right at your ear, low and rough. “feels different, doesn’t it?” 

you nodded frantically, too gone to answer, but that wasn’t good enough for him. his hand slipped up, tangling in your hair, gently tugging you up just enough so he could hear you.  

“talk to me, baby.” his voice was a rasp now, barely hanging on. "tell me how it feels." 

“s’good…so good, jaem,” you gasped, words rushed and jumbled but still clear enough. "i’m- i’m gonna…”  

“go ahead, baby," he said, lips brushing against your ear before he bit down softly on your earlobe, making you jolt. "want you to cum for me." 

your whole body shuddered as the release crashed into you, slow and unrelenting, like a wave that just wouldn’t let up. it didn’t hit and fade away like usual — it lingered, making your muscles seize and tremble with every pulse. you felt boneless, your limbs heavy as you sagged against the bed, head turned to the side, cheek pressed into the pillow. jaemin stayed inside you, his grip on your hips loosening just slightly but his eyes stayed locked on you, dark and intent. you could feel him watching every little twitch of your body. 

“look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “so pretty like this.” 

he eased out of you slowly, and the emptiness that followed had you sucking in a sharp breath. your thighs shook as you tried to press them together, but his were still on you, thumb brushing softly along your inner thighs admiring how your cum slid down your dripping core. 

you glanced down, lips parting at the sight. his cock was flushed, standing firm against his stomach, the condom showing nothing but a hint of precum mixed with the mess you’d left behind. a slow heat pooled in your belly again, your body already responding before your mind could catch up.  

“you didn’t—” you started, but the words dissolved in your throat, eyes flickering back up to meet his.  

you didn’t wait for him to say anything. your hand shot out, fingers curling around his wrist, and you tugged him forward. he followed easily, letting you pull him in close, his lips already parting like he was expecting a kiss. but just as he leaned in, you braced a hand on his chest and shoved him down flat on his back. 

“oh?” he breathed out a soft, surprised laugh, his eyes widening as his head hit the pillow. “what’s this, huh?”  

“shh,” you muttered, climbing over him, one leg swinging over his hips until you were straddling him. your palms flattened on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your hands. 

“bossy now, are we?” his grin stretched wider, his hands sliding up your thighs with a slow, deliberate touch. he squeezed just above your knees, fingertips pressing into your skin.  

“quiet,” you said leaning forward, your breath warm against his ear. “thought you’d like a girl who takes charge.” 

his head tipped back with a breathy laugh. “oh, i do,” he said, voice trailing off into a low hum as his eyes dipped to where your hips hovered just above him. “but i like it even more when she can keep up.” 

the corner of your mouth tugged up into a grin. “we’ll see,” you muttered, reaching between your bodies to wrap your hand around him. he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his whole body going rigid beneath you. even with just the faintest pressure of your hand, you could feel him twitch, his hips bucking up slightly. 

“s-sensitive,” he hissed, jaw tightening as he pressed his head back into the pillow. but he didn’t stop you, didn’t even try. if anything, his fingers dug harder into your thighs, holding you steady like he was afraid you’d pull away. 

“thought you could keep up,” you shot back, glancing up at him. his brows furrowed, his eyes squeezing shut for a second before they flickered back open. the teasing look on his face was gone now, replaced with something hungrier, more focused.  

you lined him up with you, heart thudding hard against your ribs. you’d done this before, but it felt different now… the weight of his eyes on you, the way his hands gripped you just a little tighter as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. the stretch was slow, inch by inch until you felt him fill you completely. 

“f-f—” his curse broke off into a low groan, his chest rising sharply as his hands slid up to your waist. “god, you’re—” he didn’t finish. couldn’t finish. his eyes screwed shut, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard you thought he might draw blood.  

you braced your hands on his chest, fingers curling just slightly as you adjusted to the feeling. the heat in your core burned brighter, the ache of it twisting into something sharper, more desperate. you shifted your hips just a little, testing it, and the friction hit you so perfectly you gasped, nails digging into his chest.  

“you okay?” his voice was strained, barely more than a whisper, but there was a thread of concern woven through it. his eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded but focused on you.  

“mhm,” you nodded, breathless as you lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him slide out before sinking back down just as slow. his head tipped back, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, a low groan rattling from his chest. 

“yeah, just like that,” he muttered, his grip on you loosening as he let you set the pace. “take your time, pretty girl.” his words slurred just a little, as if he wasn’t fully in control of them anymore. “feels so…” his breath hitched, head tilting back against the pillow. 

his hands never stopped moving, though. they roamed up your waist, across your ribs until they found your boobs, they played there for a minute before sliding down to grip your thighs again. every time you dropped your hips, you watched the way his face twisted — brows pulling together, lips parting, his eyes half-lidded and glassy. his fingers twitched, his grip faltering like he wanted to touch you everywhere at once. 

“harder,” he breathed, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. his eyes flicked up to yours, gaze locked, lips parted and shiny with spit. “don’t hold back.”  

you bit your lip, grinning through the burn in your legs as you shifted your pace and started going faster. the sound of it echoed in the room and you felt the warmth building low in your belly again, tighter and tighter with every roll of your hips. 

“y-yeah, just like that,” he gasped, voice cracking, his eyes fluttering shut again. he pressed his head back, the veins on his neck on full display, and you watched the way his adam’s apple bobbed with every uneven breath. his hands slid to your hips, guiding you in sync with his shallow thrusts upward. the movement was messy, desperate, his body seeking more even as he tried to hold on.  

“gonna—” he bit out, breath hitching sharply. his eyes flew open, wild and unfocused as he stared at you like he wasn’t even sure what he was about to say. “gonna— oh, fuck—” 

“yeah?” you gasped, leaning forward, your hands braced against his chest, fingers curling into his skin. “feels good, hm?” 

he didn’t answer with words. he answered with his body, hips snapping up to meet yours, his fingers dragging down your back, hard enough to leave little streaks of heat in their wake. his breathing grew choppy, his body locking up beneath you as his grip on your waist turned bruising. 

“don’t stop,” he panted, his voice rough, broken. “don’t— oh, fuck.” 

you didn’t. not until you felt every last bit of him give in. his whole body went taut, muscles straining beneath you, his grip locking you in place as he let himself go. he groaned so deeply it sounded more like a growl, his breath hot against your neck as he pulled you down to him, holding you close.

“what’s the verdict, doctor?” you asked, tracing circles on his chest, still sat on top of him.  

“hm,” he hummed with his eyes still closed, lips tugging up at the corners as if he was fighting off a grin. “patient shows signs of extreme confidence. possible cause: being too good at driving me crazy.”  

you snorted, tilting your head to look at him. “is that your professional diagnosis?”  

“oh, absolutely,” he said, cracking one eye open to meet yours. “might need to run some more tests, though. you know, for accuracy.”  

“yeah?” you leaned in, your lips ghosting over his jaw. “what kind of tests, doctor?”  

his hands slid up your back, fingers splayed wide as they pressed you closer. “thorough ones,” he muttered, his voice rasping against your ear. “real hands-on approach.”  

“sounds serious,” you teased, letting your nails drag lightly down his chest. “hope your credentials check out.”  

“i’m overqualified, baby,” he breathed, tipping his head back against the pillow with a lazy grin. “let me show you.”

part two

my inbox is always open for any comments about the fic!! thank you<3

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.