#for the innocent people dragged into this

[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 :)

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 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.”

my inbox is always open for any comments about the fic!! thank you<3

[jinxificada]

stress to relieve, need to fulfill.

jinx x fem!reader

summary: what’s there to do when your friend keeps pushing your boundaries after a long, tiring week? only wrong answers.

notes: nsfw, modern au. jinx and reader smokes both nicotine and weed. stoner reader. high sex. u know mee, self indulgent asf. if you see first person pronouns, no you didn’t. 2,8k wc.

ཻུ۪۪ ༄࿐༉⁎ ⁺

you see her leaning against the railing, shoulders pushed behind and back straight, smiling smugly and flirty as her head tilted to the side.

isn’t she stunning? breathtaking?

but all that attitude was directed to ekko, who had her almost trapped as both of his hands also rested on the railing, each one next to her waist.

“jinx, hurry!” you groaned from your spot on the sidewalk, throwing your head back in annoyance. you had finished your cigarette two minutes ago, growing impatient by the second.

the wind brushes against her hair and she tucks a piece behind her ear. god, the way ekko’s body towers over hers makes you want to be sick. it's a disgusting feeling, seeing her flirting so easily.

"I'm comiiiiing!" she calls out in annoyance, ekko lets out a light chuckled as she brushes past him with a playful roll of her eyes. she always knows how to make those boys crazy. "jesus, did I take that long? you’re so impatient." she teased, stopping right in front of you and resting a hand on her hip.

you rolled your eyes, lighting another cigarette. “yes, i wanna get home already.”

"geez, impatient and bitchy today." she muttered under her breath, smirking as you both started to walk, she kept in stride beside you, occasionally bumping your shoulders together. she could see the agitation in your eyes, even as you refused to look at her. It was honestly comical.

you were looking forward to today for two weeks now. finals were done, you had only another week of pointless classes before graduating and leaving this shitty town behind. the smoke session was very much needed, and luckily you had the house all to yourself.

"don’t worry." she teased after a moment. "no more ekko attention. i’m all yours today, you needy baby." she pinched your cheek, causing you to gently slap her hand away, huffing at her mocking. “i swear to god— i’ve had a stressful week, jinx, i don’t know where you get all that energy from.” you mumbled, handing her the cig. "stressful week, or you just need to get laid?" jinx joked, her eyes sparkled in a playful mischief as she took the cigarette and raised it to her lips, taking a short puff before exhaling the smoke through her lips.

she was clearly enjoying her teasing, and your grumpy face only encouraged her. "ohhh, your poor baby." she stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “knock it off,” you muttered, though you wrapped an arm around her shoulders as you grab the cig back, taking a long drag.

jinx chuckled, clearly pleased with herself as she leaned into you. the cigarette continued to pass between you, her body was soft against yours.

"you are adorable when you're all grumpy and pouty." she teased, running her other hand through your hair. she turned her head slightly to the side and nipped at your earlobe, an amused huff escaping her lips, her breath against your ear was driving me insane. “i want to see how far this pouty mood goes." she whispered before pressing a kiss just below your ear.

“jinx—“ you gasped, trying to hide your blush. “we’re passing by a playground.”

"and?" she laughed, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at her. she feigned an innocent pout, her bottom lip slightly jutting out. "no one is around. we’re the only ones walking."

you look down at her mouth, your own watering at the thought of nibbling her pouty lip. would she yelp? sigh? would she flinch away or kiss you back?

you and jinx were friends, strictly. for years now. she was flirty, always pushing boundaries but then she would play dumb, as if leading people on was her favorite hobby. and you had a big fat crush on her. that’s why you didn’t want to risk it.

so you ended up pinching her nose and continuing walking, finishing the cigarette.

she let out a small squeak, a pout returning to her lips. she gently punched your shoulder in retaliation before sticking out her tongue. “mean." she teased, her arm still wrapped around your waist as you continued to walk. "you’re no fun today."

“i’ll let you choose the movie.” you say as if to apologize, pulling her into that side hug you were locked in previously.

soon enough you reach to your house, she settles on the couch and scrolls through the streaming services to find something to watch as you get the snacks you bought days before, quickly going back to bump your hips against hers to make space for you to sit down.

she smirked at the pile of snacks you had set down on the coffee table. "geez, you really went all out for our movie night, didn't you?"

you shrugged, a small smile appearing on your face. you weren’t about to admit that you picked out her favorites purposefully. “mhm… did you choose something yet?”

jinx looked down from the screen and watched as you began to roll the blunt, the sight bringing a smirk to her face. "hmm, not yet," she said. "nothing looks interesting enough."

“don’t be picky, we’ll be way too out of it to care about it.” you chuckled. "you’re right, the plot won't even make sense to us anyway." she huffed a chuckle.

her eyes tracing the movements of your hands, continuing to watch you finish rolling the blunt, "hurry upppp," she whined, poking your thigh impatiently. "i wanna get high already."

a small chuckle left your mouth, amused by her eagerness. “here,” you hand her the blunt and light it up for her. "finally…" she groaned happily, bringing the joint to her lips and taking a deep inhale.

holding the smoke in her lungs for a few moments, she exhaled slowly before turning to smirk at me.

"your turn, slowpoke.”

"I was taking my time, you impatient brat." you brought the joint to your lips and inhaled a deep puff, the taste of herbs filling your mouth, you felt your entire body release tension already.

you exhaled slowly, the familiar feeling of relaxation settling in your bones. as you passed the joint back to her, your eyes flicked toward jinx, who was already looking at you, eyes already a little dazed, her smirk was lazy and her cheeks a hint of pink as the weed started to cloud your minds.

"you look wrecked already.” you teased, poking her shoulder. she let out a small huff and rolled her eyes before taking another deep drag of the blunt.

"says the one who practically moans every time they get high."

your face flushed with embarrassment at her words. "I do not moan every time." you protested, although you couldn't keep the chuckle out of your voice. jinx let out a scoff, amused by your denial. "please, i’ve seen you high enough times to know you're a total needy whiner when stoned." she teased, taking another drag of the joint as her eyes scanned up and down your body.

her gaze felt like a physical touch, you were growing warmer as you forced yourself to look away. "I am not a needy whiner when stoned."

half an hour later the weed had fully settled into your systems. you barely paid attention to the movie playing, the only thing on your mind was her body pressed against yours, the warmth of it making you want to melt against her.

she was leaning into you, her head resting on your shoulder as she laughed at the crappy jokes, completely oblivious to the effect she was having on you.

you felt dizzy, shifting to nuzzle your nose into the crook of her neck. “i love this perfume,” you slurred quietly, making her smile and huff amusedly. "i know, you say that every time I wear it." she said, lifting a hand to play with a strand of your hair. you hummed, taking in the sweet smell of her perfume, it was intoxicating.

"It's so good,” you mumbled, nuzzling further into her neck, inhaling deeply.

jinx chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. her fingers traced lightly down you jaw before they reached your chin and gently forced you to look at her.

"how high are you, pretty baby?" she teased, her voice lower now as her fingers continued to explore your face. you looked up at her, eyes glassy and unfocused. it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the way her fingers felt against your skin. “very," you mumbled, the words slurring in your mouth. "very high. i feel kinda floaty."

jinx’s eyes darkened, the gleam of mischief appearing in them. "you are so high." she teased, her thumb tracing your bottom lip. “just how i like you."

you hummed faintly, pretending to bite on her finger. jinx let out a low, dark chuckle, her thumb now pressing against your tongue. "naughty girl."

her words sent a shiver down your spine, your heart raced in your chest. the way she was looking at you sent waves of heat through your body.

your lips closed around her finger, a low whimper vibrating down your throat at the sensation, soon suctioning without breaking eye contact. her eyes darkened even further, the sound of your whimper making her breath hitch. a low, primal sound left her lips as her gaze fixated on your.

"you’re getting bold, baby," she purred, her thumb pushing further into your mouth. you hummed around her finger, the feeling making your head spin even further. the combination of the weed and her scent was overwhelming, it was turning your brain to mush. your eyes fluttered, your tongue swirling around her thumb. you didn’t know where this audacity was coming from, but it just felt so good.

jinx chuckled darkly, her eyes scanning your face as her thumb gently caressed your lips. "you just can't help yourself, can you?" her tone was low and teasing, but you could hear the hint of restraint in it. “so needy…"

you gently pulled away from her thumb, a trail of saliva connecting both of you. her gaze darkened even further at the sight, her eyes scanning over your face with a mix of hunger and restraint. her breath hitched as your lips touched her jaw. she tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her skin to your mouth.

“you’re being such a good girl for me right now." she whispered, her free hand finding the nape of your neck. her words causing a shiver run down your spine, eagerly pushing her down to lay on her back as you kept savoring her skin, her body laid beneath yours without resistance.

she hummed, her hand in your hair. she gently tugged on the strands. you were too focused to respond to her teasing. she tilted her head back as your lips traveled down her neck, hands roaming around her form shamelessly. she felt warm beneath your body, your fingertips sneaking down her shirt and feeling her smooth skin. her pulse quickened under your lips as your body pressed flush against her. a moan left her throat, her grip on your hair tightening. her hips bucked against yours, the movement was subtle but definitely deliberate. you were doing such a good job at working her up.

jinx’s breath hitched as your fingers moved to the buttons of her jeans, the action seeming to catch her off guard. she wasn’t complaining, but she wasn’t expecting it. “you’re getting awfully handsy,” she rasped.

“i just wanna taste you…” you almost whined into her neck, too drunk with desire to stop and question your own actions.

“taste me, huh?” jinx chuckled, her hand in your hair gripping harder. her voice was still teasing but now laced with a hint of lust. “can you even handle it, pretty baby?”

you looked up at her, eyes glassy and lips slightly swollen. you knew you looked wrecked right now, a needy mess of a girl yearning for more. but you didn’t care.

"i can handle it." you huffed, your fingers struggling a bit with the last button. "i need to taste you, please.”

you couldn’t handle it.

your fuzzy senses made you move sloppily, munching on her pussy like she was your last meal, muffling your whimpers and moans against her as you humped the edge of the couch like a dog in heat. the way you lapped her folds made her groan loudly, rocking her hips against your face and pulling your hair aggressively.

“so pathetic,” she chuckled hoarsely, the view of you between her legs was making it hard for her to keep her composure. “you’re so desperate for me, such a needy—“ pathetic girl she was about to say, but the words dissolved in her throat as a loud moan escaped her lips when you sucked hard on her clit. she tightened her grip on your hair, guiding your movements. “hmmyeah…that’s it. good girl.”

your heart raced at the praise, she was intoxicating. a goddess you’d want to live and die for, to go against your own convictions just for a little bit of her.

her thighs closed around your head, holding you in place as you continued to slurp her fluids. the sounds and smell of sex will definitely linger in the fabric of the sofa, yet again, that was the last of your concerns. in fact, who says you won’t be sniffing on it days later just hoping to catch a taste of her again.

her moans rasped her throat, getting impossibly louder as she edged her high. her legs around my head was making you feel dizzy, the taste of her on your tongue, her noises in your ear, her scent in your nose. it was like your own version of heaven.

she was gripping your hair so hard it was almost painful, but you didn't mind. you wanted to hear her come undone, “please," you whimpered, barely able to get the word out. you kept begging between sloppy kisses on her folds. “please, please, please..let me make you come, please.” you whined desperately.

she pulled at your hair to meet your eyes, both of you had them glossy, red and wide pupils. jinx bit her lip so hard that it drew blood at some point, staining her cracked lips in a dark red shade.

“you’re really gonna make me lose it.” she choked out.

your tongue was relentless, switching between pressing and swirling around her clit and pumping inside her hole, her creamy juices dripping down your chin. “please cum, i wanna taste you, hm, jinx,” the words fell out of your mouth like a prayer, you hands gripping her thighs to the point of leaving marks on her pale skin.

“can’t— don’t stop!” she trembled, babbling and babbling incoherences, “i-i’m—“ a loud, guttural moan broke her sentence. her slim body tensed up before quivering and eyes shut as she rode out her peak. she was mesmerizing, you couldn’t stop even when your jaw was aching so bad. “f-fuck, stop, stop.” she pleaded, flinching away from your greedy mouth.

the intensity left you both panting heavily, she covered her face with her forearm and you shifted to rest on her stomach, fingertip drawing random patterns over her cloudy tattoos. jinx was wrecked, trying to even her breath.

“c’mere.” she mumbled, petting your head with her free hand. she doesn’t have to ask twice for you to crawl up to her, resting your head on her chest. youf mind was still dizzy from everything that just happened.

she was running her hand through your hair, when she broke the silence "you’re such a good girl," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

heat rushed to your face at her words. even just her voice sounded wrecked, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at knowing you were the one who did that to her.

you nuzzled yourself further into her chest, your body was starting to feel heavy. she chuckled faintly, her hand still running through your hair. "and now you're a sleepy, stoned mess."

after a beat, she added, "not that that's any differently from how you usually are, though."

“stop babbling,” you mumbled, pecking the top of her breast. “let’s nap.” she groaned softly, shifting slightly to fix her underwear and lay comfortably. “you’re still no fun.” she murmured, cuddling you back.

bonus !

having jinx on your lap as you hung out with the group wasn’t something new. but only a fool wouldn’t realize the change of dynamic between you and her. as one of your hands was busy holding your drink, the other gripped possessively to her hip, pulling her back in place whenever she slipped for squirming too much, babygirl couldn’t sit still as she told her fabulous stories.

“jinx,” ekko’s voice interrupted as he approached with a confident smile. “i have a blunt to share, ya wanna head upstairs?”

“oop— nah, thanks man.” she chuckled, leaning back against your chest as she held your hand to her stomach. “i only smoke my girlfriend’s weed.”

[somnoir]

Gotham's newest Crime Lord - part 4

Part 3 | Masterpost

Danny wasn't expecting for Red Hood to corner him. He would be lying when he says he wasn't panicking. First of all, they had quite literally strung up the bodies of prominent figures of the court of owls in very public places, then proceeded to order Technus to spread information about the court and their wrong doings.

The next step of the plan had been to publish a list of names—members of the court. Rich fruitloops that they were going to rely on the public to destroy. If the public and the GCPD couldn't do it, Danny had his ways to do so. Hauntings usually drove people mad if done a certain way.

But nevermind that!

His heart was practically trying to escape his chest—not that it was beating but it was there, in spirit (ha). He just wanted to see if little Emily and her sister were being fed by their mom and check if he needed to whisk the kids away and have them reside in one of their headquarters. Dan was more than willing to convert one of their facilities into a safehouse for children. Jeremy and some others were the ones who usually dealt with the house—others being parents are older siblings who got into crime for their family's.

"Phantom."

"Hood."

AAAAHH! The hot revenant really was looking for me! Thankfully, none of his siblings were there to witness how Danny was silently punching the air in absolute joy. Fuck yeah! Hot Crime Lord!

"Lemme guess... The big bad bat ain't too happy about the trouble we caused?" Danny chuckled, tilting his head as he narrowed his eyes. Organized crime was much better than his kingly duties, especially when it wasn't him playing the leader. Dan was doing pretty good as a boss, though Danny was reluctant to admit that in honor of his role as a younger brother.

"Sure as hell." Red Hood snorted, "But that ain't why I'm here, ghosty."

Danny rolled his eyes, gesturing for the other man to keep talking.

"You dealt with the court. Wraith led the mission... Personally. Not you. Not anyone else. It was Wraith, right?" Red Hood hummed, his helmet and modulator hiding everything. It frustrated Danny.

The mission was indeed led by Dante himself. But the operation had been split into three. Dan's team (Skulker, Amorpho) taking on the leaders of the court and disposing of them immed. While Danny's team (Wulf and Ember) were tasked to deal with the talons. Meanwhile, Elle's team (Johnny, Kitty, and Shadow) were tasked with saving the kids that weren't turned into Talons. But even then, Dan took full command of the situation.

It had been Dan who personally hung the Judge of the Clocktower and smeared his blood with some rhyme. It had been Dan who took charge of the remaining Talons once their leaders were dead and hung.

But it has been Danny who took the main Talon, dragged their body to Arkham, and painted a message in glowing, neon green paint. Maybe mixed with a bit of Ecto for better effects.

At the moment, all of the living Talons were in another one of their facilities—one outside of Gotham. Dan was a paranoid bastard, rightfully so, and had ordered the rehabilitation of these mindless soldiers outside of the Bats' territory. They didn't need anyone meddling with this. Not when it was Dan's first time choosing rehabilitation over elimination. In truth, these Talons were just innocent kids turned into weapons by the real monsters.

"Yeah, Wraith personally led this one." Danny pressed a hand against his hip, defiantly looking at the brick house that was the Red Hood. God, he almost didn't want a growths spurt if this was their height different. "Heard you've been snoopin' around, Red. What? Didya miss me?" It was teasing, a joke. He didn't expect much from it. He leaned in, grinning even when his mouth couldn't be seen, before pulling back as fast as he could.

But Hood sighed, letting out the hottest quiet laugh he could ever muster and tilted his head. "Yeah... Kinda missed you, ghosty. The kids were lookin' for yah. Emily was screamin' for yah on the roof two days ago."

Danny blinked.

Oh....

OH!

"Sure, sure." He immediately dismissed it, trying his best to make sure that his fast didn't go all purple, because apparently, that's the ghost version of blushing. Shit. "But the big bad Bat ain't too happy with us, yeah? I mean. Stringin' up the Judge and Talon gets you on his naughty list."

"Can't say he's pleased about it."

"Yeah, well, we ain't apologizing for that shit. The court wasn't on our radar before but they took one of our kids. Wraith is known for being one hell of a monster when it comes to kids." Danny scoffed, "They were turning them into weapons, Hood. I'd be okay if you want to throw them into Arkham, but the Judge and Talon? Somethings are more important than morals."

And Danny fucking knows that. He knows that some things should be out above morals, that they should be more important. His parents had failed to do that, failed to put their family above their morals and beliefs. The reveal was never going to be good. Not when Maddie Fenton fell to her knees, unable to accept that her baby died and demanded for him to give her back her son. It had hurt when she couldn't accept that Danny was Phantom and Phantom was Danny.

It got worse when they found out about Dan and Elle. They were hysterical. They stopped eventually. No more hunting, no more trying to protray ghosts as evil. They stopped helping the GIW. But they still couldn't accept it. They just vanished after that, leaving Danny and Jazz with Vlad, who had thankfully redeemed himself.

Danny knows what it meant to put something above your morals. Knows how valuable that is.

He shook his head, once again getting his head out of his heart and turning back to Red Hood. "Get to the point, Hood. You weren't looking for me for no reason."

"Well I've got someone who wants to meet the Wraith. The Court... They were almost involved in the court and was targeted." Red Hood tried to explain, making sure to sound as vague as possible. Danny could—kinda—understand why he was. Keeping someone anonymous until they couldn't. "Was wonderin' if you could set up a meeting. I don't think there's anywhere in Gotham that's basically neutral ground at this point but I'm willin' to bet on an area that you guys won't start a fight."

Danny paused, trying to simplify that damn request in his head. Hood wanted a meeting with Wraith, to introduce someone. And about the location? He was right. The entirety of Gotham was someone's haunt, every part of it was claimed. Even when the people were living, some were so damn liminal that certain areas were basically haunts now. Crime Alley being one of the biggest areas to end up becoming a haunt.

He could only think of three places that could somehow be considered their haunt: The Hill, where their main base was, the Narrows where Dan was trying to take over Arkham to make the security better, and possibly the Docks and Harbor. But there wasn't a solid claim on any of them, except for the Hill. It was one of the poorest and most crime-ridden areas of Gotham. The locals were hostile as hell when they first arrived, but after the Ghosts started cleanin' up the streets, helping people by offering a steady income, and keeping the kids safe, they eventually welcomed the Ghosts with open arms. It helped when Dan started weeding out people that were extorting the area.

That area was a no-go, obviously. Not their base.

"Gimme a second. Gotta ask about this before discussing a location." He whipped out his phone, modified perfectly by their resident technopath, Tucker-fucking-Foley.

D1: Got Hood here.

D2: Ew

D2: I don't wanna hear you moon about your revenant

D1: you're a bitch

D1: fuck you

D1: 🖕🖕🖕

D1: but that's not it

D1: he wants to set up a meeting. Said he'll introduce someone that Court tried recruiting

D2: Bet Vlad's castle that it's Nightwing

D2: he fits the Court's recruits

D1: what??

D1: all of the bats fit the MO

D2: yeah but Nightwing's the most flexible one. Idk

D2: Gut feeling

D2: Tell em I'm willing

D2: only on Sunday tho.

D1: K

"Good news! He's willing to show his ugly mug."

Red Hood snorted.

"Bad news—" and now he stiffened, "Wraith's only available on Sunday. Busy sched, see."

"Alright," Hood sighed, "Where are you guys willing to meet?"

Again, that was a problem. Danny might suggest the Bowery but that was too close to Hood's haunt. It wasn't until he felt the tug in his shadow that he goes stiff, blinking before he saw Hood's shadow move behind him. Instead of a hulking man, it was transforming into a classy looking woman—it reminds him of that lady from Resident Evil. The shadow moved, holding up what seemed to be a cigarette. The blankness of darkness morphed and now there was a white grin spread across her face.

Lady Gotham adored her knights but he was sure Red Hood was her favorite. Danny suspected that the city spirit had a hand in his resurrection—to which he was sure that had paperwork he'd need to process soon. But the city spirit was accommodating and welcomed them into her territory, with the promise that their intentions wouldn't turn malicious and destroy the city.

Danny couldn't help but laugh, eyes glowing green and Hood took a instinctive step back. "Heard you bats and birds got yourselves a cave." He tilted his head. "Gotham Cemetery. It's where you'll find ghosts."

The cemetery. The one area that was a haunt to all the dead and never the living.

Before Red Hood could even say another word, Danny floated of the ground, mockingly saluted the revenant, and phased through the wall.

NAILED IT!

"Lil' wing, I'm not sure about this. Doesn't it sound creepy that they want to meet in the cemetery?"

"I have a theory. I am 90% sure that the Ghosts of Gotham are actual ghosts."

"Why's you say that?"

"I had Tim and Babs help me investigate the other known members. All of them can't be detected by cameras cause the footage gets all fucked up. So we had to resort to teaditional means. Seriously, the demon brat and I had to follow that Johnny and Kitty duo around Gotham just so he could draw them properly! I kid you not, I saw those two phase through other vehicles when they were zoomin' around the streets."

"And?"

"There's a possibility that those two are from Gotham. But get this... All the matches are people who were confirmed to have died decades ago. Like... When B was a teenager."

Dick flinched. Okay. The new rogue organization might actually be made up of legitimate dead people.

"Shit."

"Right back at you."

The cemetery was already in their line of vision. Even if Dick Grayson was the target of the Court, Nightwing came with the package. Meeting Wraith as Nightwing was pretty reasonable if you had to ask him. And Jason had done his best to hunt down Phantom after Bruce forbade them from interacting with any of the ghosts unless they were starting trouble first.

Hopefully, this meeting would go well...

The cemetery is quiet once they start walking. The shadows seemed to be more lively, moving and rising like curious children wanting to catch a glimpse.

"BOO!"

His escrima sticks were already in his hands and Jason was already cocking his gun.

Phantom was floating there, upside down as Lazarus green eyes stared back at them. The obvious echo of laughter making the graveyard more eerie.

"Quit that!" Jason snapped, glowering at Phantom but slowly lowered his guns.

"Awww! C'mon now, Hood. You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost—but a really good-looking one!" Phantom promptly runs his fingers through his hair, winking at Jason before laughing it off like it was nothing.

"You're horrendous."

"Hey, hey, hey! I'm supernatural and beyond this world!" Phantom proudly declared, clearly on the roll. But Lazarus green eyes fell to Nightwing. The reaction reminded Dick of a curious cat.

"Shit, it really was Nightwing you were talking about. I owe Wraith a hundred bucks now, birdie." Even though his mouth couldn't be seen, Dick was pretty sure that Phantom was pouting. "C'mon, birds. The boss is talking to some ghosts over there."

"So... You're really ghosts?" Jason asks, walking beside the floating ghost while Dick trailed back a couple of steps.

"Kinda? There are different kinds of ghosts, really." Phantom shrugged, going silent again. "We usually help out the other ghosts that can't meddle with the living realm. Lotta ghosts in Gotham with unfinished business."

"What kind of business?" Dick frowned.

Phantom turned to him, mischief in his eyes as he pressed a finger against the place where his lips should be. "Now, now. I ain't tellin' you, birdie. Client confidentiality and all that."

Jason grumbled something unintelligible.

"Now that ain't nice, Hood."

And then Jason grunts in response.

"C'mon, Hood!" The way Phantom whined, Dick was very sure he was pouting. "Tsk, tsk. Stop ghostin' me, wouldya?"

Dick held back a snort. While Jason's glare could be felt through his mask.

"What? That wasn't so bad! Wow... This crowd is dead."

Jason groans and Dick didn't even hide his laugh. Okay, maybe Phantom was pretty okay if you could ignore the fact that his group was pretty homicidal if needed.

"And there he is!" Phantom sounded almost mocking, the tone so strangely familiar to Dick. (Twas the sound of a younger sibling rolling their eyes). "Wraith! Brought the birdies!"

"Seriously?" Jason groaned again but stopped. Dick didn't think he was being unreasonable because holy shit!

Wraith had the same white hair as Phantom with skin paler than the damn moon. But unlike Phantom, the ends of his hair looked like fire. Red eyes instead of green... And built like a brick house, because what the fuck was that?! He was taller than Jason and Bruce! Maybe even standing taller than Superman if he stood a little straighter.

He wore the same monochrome outfit that Phantom wore and a mask that covered his mouth. With round, red tinted glasses over his eyes. Wraith was talking to the air, well, the dead. Dick could see the faint outline of a young woman.

The fucking fridge, Wraith, turned towards them once Phantom called for him.

"You fuckin' twerp, can't you see I'm still talkin'? Rude little shit."

And Dick may have realized something else. Oh. OH! That's why it was so familiar, that behaviour and mocking tone! Fucking shit, were Wraith and Phantom brothers?

Red eyes were soon trained on him. Wraith looked him over once, before humming with a smirk.

"So I was right... Nice to meet you, birdie."

Masterpost

[pucksandpower]

I’m a Feminist

Franco Colapinto x team principal!Reader

Summary: everyone knows that Franco has a thing for older women, okay … so when his team principal turns out to be a (stupidly attractive) older woman, he can’t be held responsible for his actions

Franco sprawls in the chair, arms crossed over his chest like he’s holding court instead of facing an emergency meeting. His grin is wide, cocky even, and wholly unapologetic. Across the desk, you pinch the bridge of your nose, willing patience to come like some kind of divine miracle.

“Explain,” you say, voice flat, your tone giving nothing away. You refuse to let him see how utterly exhausted you already are by this conversation.

“I sneezed,” Franco says with a shrug, “and liked all your pictures. Really, it was — how do you say — an accident.”

You stare. No, you glare. "And commented damn mommy on all of them?”

Franco falters — barely. There’s a half-second where his grin wavers, his bravado cracks, but then it’s gone, replaced by another shrug. “I-I have the flu?”

Your exhale is sharp, just shy of a growl. “Franco.”

“What?” He leans forward now, feigning innocence. “Is it so bad? You look muy guapa in your photos. Should I not celebrate my team principal’s beauty? This feels sexist, no?”

“Sexist?” Your eyebrows climb so high they might leave your face.

“I’m a feminist,” he announces, as if that explains everything.

“Do feminists call their bosses ‘mommy’ in the comments?”

“Only the hot ones,” he shoots back without missing a beat, then quickly adds, “Joking! I’m joking.”

You slam your palms down on the desk, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. If anything, it widens. “Do you even understand how unprofessional this is? I have sponsors asking me if I’ve been hacked! The CEO of Dorilton Capital called me himself this morning!”

Franco’s face lights up like you’ve just paid him a compliment. “Darren! He likes me. He said I was charming.”

“He said you were a walking HR violation!”

His grin falters again, but there’s something annoyingly endearing about how quickly it returns. “Well, at least he talked about me.”

You sink back into your chair and drag a hand through your hair. God, you’re tired. “Do you even know how this looks? You went through every single photo I’ve ever posted. Franco, that’s-”

“Dedicated?”

“Obsessive,” you snap. “Creepy. Insane.”

“Romantic,” he offers, leaning back again like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“You are twenty-one years old!”

“And you’re …” He trails off, letting the sentence dangle in the air like bait.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He smirks. “I was going to say timeless.”

“Franco, enough.” Your voice is sharp enough to cut through his bravado, and for the first time, he looks a little serious. “Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in? If this gets out-”

“It won’t.”

“It already has! You didn’t think people would notice when every post I’ve made since 2016 suddenly has your username in the likes and comments?”

Franco shrugs. “I’m a fan.”

“A fan?” You throw your hands up. “What are you even a fan of? My press conferences? My sponsor meetings? My ability to yell at you when you ruin your tires on lap seventeen?”

His grin returns, this time with a little more sheepishness. “How sexy you look doing that last one, mostly.”

Your head falls into your hands, and for a moment, there’s silence. You think — foolishly — that maybe he’s finally run out of things to say.

But no.

“You never answered my DM,” he says, voice lighter, teasing.

Your head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“Last week,” he says, tilting his head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I sent you a DM. Very respectful. Very sweet.”

“I don’t even check my DMs!”

“Well, now I’m offended.” He places a hand over his heart like he’s genuinely wounded.

“I’m going to lose my job,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Franco says, waving you off. “You’re too good to lose your job. Everyone knows that.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’re the one who’s dramatic! I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this conversation right now.”

“I can’t believe you’re not flattered,” he counters, leaning forward again. “I thought women liked grand gestures.”

“Grand gestures?” You bark out a laugh, humorless and sharp. “Franco, this isn’t a romantic comedy. You don’t win me over by cyberstalking me!”

“Cyberstalking?” His mouth falls open, mock-offended. “That’s harsh, no? I think of it more like … research.”

“Research?”

“Sí. I’m just a very dedicated employee.”

“Dedicated?” Your laugh this time is louder, more incredulous. “I swear to God-”

“Would it help if I apologized?” He interrupts, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering.

“Yes,” you say immediately.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, watching you in that unnervingly focused way he sometimes has, the one that makes you feel like he’s cataloging every detail of your expression. “You wouldn’t believe me, though. Even if I apologized, you’d think I was lying.”

“Because you would be lying.”

“Touché.” He grins again, but this time it’s softer, less of a weapon and more of a shield. “Okay, so maybe I’m not sorry. But I didn’t mean to cause problems for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter.

“I mean it,” he says, and for the first time, there’s something like sincerity in his voice. “I thought it was funny. I didn’t think-”

“That’s the problem, Franco. You didn’t think.”

There’s a beat of silence. For a second, you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. His expression shifts, the grin fading into something that almost looks like remorse.

Then he says, “But if I had thought about it, you’d still be mad, so really, why bother?”

“Franco!”

He laughs, bright and unrepentant. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I promise. No more liking your pictures, no more comments, no more DMs. Contenta?”

You eye him warily. “You swear?”

“On my life.”

“Franco.”

“On my seat,” he amends, holding a hand to his chest.

You sigh, long and heavy, but you nod. “Fine. Just — keep your head down for a while, okay? Don’t give anyone else a reason to call me about this.”

He stands, smoothing his shirt with exaggerated care. “Anything for you … mommy.”

“And don’t call me ‘mommy,’” you snap as he heads for the door.

He pauses, hand on the handle, and glances back over his shoulder, smirk firmly in place. “Not even in private?”

“Franco!”

He’s laughing as he leaves, the sound echoing in the hallway long after the door closes behind him. You sink back into your chair, exhausted, and wonder — not for the first time —if this job is going to kill you.

And if it does, you think grimly, it’ll probably be Franco Colapinto’s fault.

[sparrow-and-seed-scrawls]

They grabbed the silks and jewels, pocketed the gold coins, filled their empty wineskins with the king’s finest, most sapid alcohol. Their old rags were abandoned for warm furs and leathers, and the youngest, barely older than thirteen, threw his too-small shoes to the side for a pair of fine boots.

All that time, they left Lora Isold bleeding on the marble floor, both arms tied so she couldn’t escape and her mouth gagged with an old tunic.

No matter that she’d been the one to get them passed the guards. No matter that she’d healed their sick with her last bottle of medicine. No matter any of it. They hadn’t even had the mind to give her a single coin.

She was used to pain. She’d bled on expensive floors before. It was the fact that she was going to die here, next to a young, naive king with a snapped leg. She was going to die with no payment and no honor, and that made bile rise in her throat.

The band of nobodies cleared the last of the treasure and slung packed bags over their shoulders. One of them, a Skilled young man, drew water from the air with a twist of his wrist and threw it over the fire. Winter chill filled the room almost instantly.

“Sorry, Sweet,” the leader said, leaning down to run a calloused hand through her hair. As if she were a child. “Your help was much appreciated.”

He set a golden goblet next to her face, so close she could feel the metal chill on her cheek. “Hope that’s worth your trouble. Maybe they’ll pity you a few drops of rum at the tavern, if you can make it there.”

His green eyes sparked, and he took her bound hand in his. Then he lit a flame in his palm.

She cursed behind the gag, her free hand grasping for any sort of brace against the heat. There were none.

He held the fire there for several moments, not even caring enough to look at her while he charred her skin. And when he finally did let go, he didn’t say a word. Just shook the fire out and spun on his heel.

He shot the king a sour smile. “Perhaps, if you still had your staff, you’d wouldn’t be dying such a humiliating death. Let’s go, men! The people will be glad to know their Unskilled king is finally dead.”

And then, it was Lora and the King Solari.

The king who’d, apparently, been living alone in the palace for who knew how long.

The king who simply stared at the now-empty throne room, his hair tangled where the people had yanked the crown off his head. His breathing was ragged.

He wasn’t in much better shape than she was.

His leg was broken, she knew that from the sound of his scream and the crack of earlier. But blood trickled down the left side of his face, red staining his lips in a way that looked much like he were a jester instead of a king.

They’d carved a picture into his dark cheek, Lora realized with a start. Intricate slashes gave way to the royal family’s seal, a shield with a scepter in the center and lined with laurels.

She hadn’t seen that seal in sometime. They’d carved it with reason, certainly. But she had no idea what that reason was.

She was a mercenary, yes, but this was far beyond anything she’d seen in her circles. This robbery—this wasn’t the sloppy work of a band of nobodies. This had been planned.

And she’d written them off as innocent and a bit stupid. Even naive.

That was hilarious. Truly, she hadn’t the slightest inkling that they were more than a handful of poor citizens trying to make something of themselves. She hadn’t realized their leader was a Skilled. Which was her own fault. She’d given out the fact that she was Unskilled too freely.

The king finally found her gaze. He used the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his skin, flinching slightly.

And he began to drag himself towards her. Slowly, using the palms of his hands and hissing out sharp sounds every few moments when his leg weighed behind him.

Lora tensed each time he did. A broken bone was a white-hot, screaming ache. You couldn’t move without it shouting its presence. So what was he doing?

He stopped a few steps away from her, eyes unfocused for a moment. When he finally steadied himself, he offered a weak laugh.

“I suppose we’re both expendable, hm?”

What?

She just stared at him. It wasn’t like she could respond very well, and even if she could, how was she supposed to respond?

Yes, they were both expendable to the adventurers, no matter their deeds or titles. They were probably expendable to most of the kingdom.

He reached a shaking hand up behind her head, and Lora was quite certain he was about to grab the knife from her belt and finally end her.

She waited, keeping her breathing steady. He would die soon after her, anyway. Without medical care, he wouldn’t make it for more than a handful of days.

The gag fell away from her mouth, instead.

She sucked in a full breath of air, the scent of blood and smoke and dust flooding her lungs. Her exhale came out on a cloud amidst the winter air. “Loosen the bonds on my hands,” she demanded, doing her best to keep her tone gentle despite her frustration.

He must’ve been too drunk on pain to chastise her for disrespect, because he did it without a word.

He was a bit unsteady in the cold. He pulled the rope over her burnt hand more than once, leaving her to bite her cheek to keep from making noise. It hurt.

But then the rope loosened, and she could see the dark skin of her palm and fingers. A steady burn, halfway up her forearm and fairly deep. It would take a time to heal.

With her good hand, she loosened her belt. Slid the pack and knife off and to the floor. Lifted her tunic to see the wound clearly.

She didn’t care enough to examine it. It hadn’t bled much, and it wasn’t deep. It was the burn she was more worried about.

Still, she pulled a worn map of the kingdom from her pack and laid it carefully over the wound, then wrapped the belt atop it so she had a horribly loose, unclean bandage of sorts.

Actually, she couldn’t even call it that. It was more of…

She didn’t have a word for it. Either way, it was an embarrassingly bad job, especially for her skill set.

“Glad to see you appreciate my kingdom,” the king deadpanned, staring down at the map wrap.

Oh. Oh.

“I’m not considering patriotism at the moment. I can die, if you’d prefer,” she said.

He lifted his stare to her, brown eyes narrowing slightly. His blood-stained lips tightened.

That probably was a bit too harsh, given the situation.

He bit out a half-delirious laugh, then, so sudden it made Lora jump. It seized at his chest and choked from his throat. “Perhaps you should! Perhaps you should, and then I can die without the humiliation of someone seeing me so bloodied with a forgotten seal carved into my face!”

She didn’t find the humor in his words. Yes, she’d wanted a new ruler for as many years as he’d been king. But she hadn’t come here to kill him, especially without a better alternative. That was a fool’s errand.

She’d only come to serve as a guide and perhaps show the kingdom their king wasn’t as powerful as he made himself to be. Then, perhaps, the people would elect a new ruler.

But if Solari died now, there was no replacement. The first to reach the throne would take over the kingdom, and that was certainly a worser fate.

She sucked in a breath. “Let me see the leg.”

“Why? So you can cut it off?”

A surprised laugh broke from her lips. “No, you egg, so I can set the bone.”

“To steal my bone?” He shot her an incredulous look. “You’re going to take that, too?!”

Yes, he was certainly delirious.

“No, just—” How was she going to explain this? “I’m going to fix it for now, until we can get to a healer somewhere.”

“Ah.” He nodded violently. “I know a healer.”

Lora didn’t doubt it.

She didn’t try to converse with him any longer. Instead, she handed him a flask from her pack.

“Drink. It’ll help the pain and bring your head back.”

He looked between her and the flask, then to the goblet at her side. “Give me that.”

She rolled her eyes but obeyed. He poured half the contents into the cup, lifting it in his hand and spinning it like some sort of rich wine. Which it most certainly was not.

His face twisted when the alcohol passed his lips. “This is certainly not wine.”

“It’s cheap alcohol for disinfecting.”

“Cheap?” He drew the goblet away, but she pushed it back to his lips.

“Finish it.”

He did, slowly, his eyes flicking and his hands unsteady. She couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the pain anymore.

“Do you want some?” he asked after several minutes, holding out the empty goblet. He was still pale, but at least his words sounded steady.

“No. I’m trying to fix your leg with the little focus I have left.”

“If you insist.”

She only had one good hand, so the task was going to be immeasurably difficult even without alcohol.

Even so, she took the tunic-gag to use as a splint of sorts. She anchored herself on one side of his leg with her knee and placed her good hand on the opposite side.

“Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t make a sound. This is, more than likely, not going to be enjoyable.”

“Joy,” the king deadpanned.

Lora pushed the bone back into place and wrapped it as tightly as she could manage.

The king cursed, his face going even paler than before. He sucked his teeth.

“Joy…”

Lora sat back.

Now, they simply had to find a healer without either of them dying of infection.

Joy.

——————

Merry Christmas!!! I think I’ll make this into a multi-part story.

Yippie!

Let me know if you want something specific in it. I love requests 🫶

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”

[animeyanderelover]

Hello can I request a yandere jjk x angel reader.

Geto, Gojo, Yuta, Sukuna. Thank you!!!

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional tendencies, cligniness, paranoia, sadism, abduction, isolation, violence

Tags: @lovley-valentine7

Angel s/o

Ryomen Sukuna

🗾​This is no forbidden lovestory. No tragic fairytale of two people who aren't meant to be together. No, the only emotions brooding between the two of you are those of repulsion, disgust and, on only Sukuna's side, an attraction that only fuels the hateful obsession. He is the King of Curses, you are a being of pureness and protection. The two of you are supposed to be enemies, intertwined in an eternal fight until one of you falls through the hands of the other. Those emotions though, they shouldn't be there. He should loathe you, he does loathe you. So why does he experience those sensations whenever the two of you clash? This thrill pumping through his veins goes beyond the bloodthirst and sadistic ecstasy when fighting someone, beyond the fantasies of slashing and devouring. Other feelings co-exist within those carnal desires Sukuna is so familiar with and if he would be someone lesser he would accuse you of bewitching him. Only someone weak would fall for a cheap trick that were to influence their perceptions in such unfamiliar ways, twist them into something so pathetic. You only add salt to the wound within his ego as he is the only one suffering from such a disease.

🗾​A primal part of him longs to slash you into bloody pieces so that your body and face may never tempt him again. Far too merciful would that be though, not enough for Sukuna's heart yearning for revenge. He has suffered a great humiliation because of you, feelings of love and attraction that have weakened him and his resolve. You deserve something far worse than death. He will drag you into a pit of hellfire even deeper than his, will break you and shape you until you are even more pathetic than he is. You will be punished for the seeds of feelings you have planted within him. You will be captured, kept and tamed by him until you are too tainted to return to the holy place where you originated from. He is going to enjoy ruining you and weakening your resolve, to shatter you until you have no option but to stay with him. As soon as you are in the position where he wants you to be, you will be kept as his obedient pet. Your abilities are going to be of great use for his plans after all. It's affection that keeps him still chained to you, a bond that even he will be unable to sever. You will be his. Because if you aren't, then he will burn you alongside the world you have sworn to guard over.

Gojo Satoru

🩵​His appearance and his powers have always put Gojo closer to a being closer to a deity, at least in the eyes of some people. The power that emits from you is something that even non-sorcerers can sense though they do not sense what you are. Gojo with his Six Eyes instantly discerns that you are an existence that no sorcerer has ever encountered. A messenger of an even higher being that has graced earth for purposes unknown. Gojo proceeds with a healthy mixture of caution though as he believes those in power to be rarely innocent. Being close to you is a dizzying experience, the energy you emit strong enough to evoke reverence within an average person. Even Satoru is not entirely immune to those feelings yet he isn't swayed as easily as he remains wary when around you. Every word, every gesture, every flutter of your eyelashes is something that he observes closely as he tries to figure out your purpose for your ascendence to earth and its people. He fails to inform people of highest position of your existence though as he would only dread what they would do with that information. Maybe, just maybe, there is also a part within him that wants to keep this extraordinary experience to himself.

🩵​The rapid fluttering within his chest, the warm adoration pulsing through every fiber of his being, the weightlessness he experiences whenever his gaze falls upon you. Around you Satoru feels a safety and a comfort that only someone like you could provide him with. It initially scares him, the sensation of a heaven on earth something that has never been granted to him. Soon he gives in to everything though and that is when the clinginess and paranoia start. Both of you are from different worlds entirely as his life is but a short spark in comparison to your life of eternity. It is this knowledge that he is a being chained to time that torments him greatly. He doesn't wish you to move on, to forget him as the centuries pass. It is a selfishness of the highest degree, perhaps even blasphemous in the face of a holy creature like you. Gojo is only human though, riddled with flaws and an imperfection that someone like you could never possess nor understand. It is you who triggered those feelings within, you who made him this way. If you truly are what history hails you to be then stay and save him from his solitude. Do that or watch him fall victim to his dark side where he will only accept salvation from you.

Geto Suguru

🗻​How utterly ironic of the monk to be met with an otherwordly being as yourself. Geto is not overly welcoming, at least not anymore the moment you voice your own doubts about his vision. A cast of judgement from someone like you cuts deep, so much deeper than Suguru would have ever imagined. In his mind he does what will be best for his own kind, his opinion of non-sorcerers tainted in nothing but hatred. What you try to protect is a creation that is beyond saving. Just take a look around you after all and see what the barbaric feelings of those monkey give birth to. They are the reason curses exist, they are the reasons why his kind dies in an attempt to save their ignorant lives. But for what reward? If they were to find out about the powers the sorcerers possess they would revert back to witch hunts and fear. He has seen it. There is nothing worth protecting within the non-sorcerers. But he could create a paradise like it is written down in so many ancient works across the globe, a place where the hatred and judgement wouldn't exist anymore. His own belief clashes with your own passive one yet to him never before has approval mattered as much as it did with you.

🗻​Suguru obsesses over the fact that he wants your approval for his plans. His mind is set and nothing can stop him, not even you. He will execute his plans with or without your blessing yet he cannot stop himself from obsessing over it anyways. It is an unbearable burn within his heart to know that a literal angel like you are do not agree with him. He constantly seeks you out, tries to convince you to understand his greater vision. He even takes you with him to show you the pettiness of humans, to make you see that they are beyond saving and that a future only lies within sorcerers like him and all those who have joined his cause. The silent look you always give him though always threatens to tear him apart as you gaze at him like he is a lost child who needs saving. He doesn't need that though. He has discovered the light already and yearns for you to join his cause. If he were in possession of your approval, of your love, there would be nothing in his way anymore. If you refuse though, if the threat arrives that you may disappear, Suguru will do his everything to keep you bound to his side. He is no sinner, not at all. He has seen a different salvation, one he will have you understand.

Okkotsu Yuta

💍​He should stay alerted, he should stay cautious when he approaches a being so out of this world. However, your mere presence is enough to eradicate any hostility that he could have possibly harbored for you. His whole body forcibly relaxes as if put under a spell, the grip on his katana easing. A heavy gulp that has his Adam's apple moving before he slowly steps closer to you, each step filling him more with sensations of elation and joy of the likes that he has never experienced before. Rika seems to be slightly uncomfortable within your presence though, baring her sharp teeth and hovering over Yuta as if warning you to not try anything on him. Rika's presence seems to be something that elicits a reaction out of you just as much. For one short moment he dreads that you will exorcise her, won't like her due to being a Curse. To his relief you deem her to be a creature that can do more help than damage though, sparing him the horrible scenario where he would have to defend her against someone as magnificent as you. You are beautiful, a fact that Yuta can't deny. Every time he does as much as think of you he feels those butterflies erupting within his chest.

💍​Your presence is addicting, every touch of yours electrifying bliss and your appearance radiant, transcending the beauty that he has been familiar with so far. Your figure visits him in his dreams, your voice a call he can only answer. Yuta wishes to worship you, to go down on his knees and praise you for the holy being that you are. Someone like you is too pure for this earth though, a place crawling with curses and humans. He feels this unexplainable urge to slash all those who commit evil, to rid your path of such unsightly beings so that you may only experience the good. It is a thought that grows louder each and every day, becomes hard to reign and only quietens when he is with you as if your presence cleanses him from such inpure desires. Still, the urge never disappears and manifests itself every time he catches sight of an ugly curse or a human who you should not have to witness with your magnificent eyes. His own spiral into insanity is not something he is oblivious to and it threatens to pull Yuta down with shame. How can he protect you after all when he himself has such unholy thoughts about you? You should need protection from him.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter warmers day 9: Work holiday party. Maxiel. About 740 words. (yes, 9...don't look at me.)

Max hadn't been planning on going to the work party.

He had been working for the company just for two weeks, barely knows the people in his department, is comfortable having a conversation not about work only with Pierre and Lando, his desk neighbors. He didn't want to have to spend an evening milling around a too fancy banquet hall, making small talk with people he had seen maybe once, and who probably thought he was too young to even be there.

And yet, here he is, a gin tonic in his hand, leaning against the bar and pretending he's really into the conversation Christian, his direct supervisor, had dragged him into. It's something about cricket, maybe. Or golf? Some boring sport, that's for sure.

He looks around the room, fruitlessly trying to find Lando who had disappeared half an hour ago, leaving him stranded, but all he finds is Pierre, an arm thrown around Charles' shoulders, giggling together over some fruity cocktail.

He sighs a little, trying to focus back on whatever Christian is saying, only to immediately get distracted again, supremely bored.

He really should have stayed home.

He waits for a lull in the conversation to excuse himself, taking his now empty glass to the other side of the bar to get a refill.

He's not planning on getting drunk, doesn't want to imagine what he might say to these old boring people if he loses his grip on his self control for even just a little bit, but a second glass won't hurt.

"Not one for golf, then?"

Max only manages not to startle thanks to years and years of training himself not to show emotions people could gain an advantage from, but he still frowns as he turns around.

"Excuse me?" he asks, trying to put as much annoyance in his voice without sounding too rude.

In front of him there is a man with curly hair and lovely brown eyes, in a very nice suit, a glass of something amber and probably disgustingly expensive in his hand. Max has no idea who this person is, but he has learned a long time ago how to recognise people who look important enough to know he can't piss them off, and this guy is for sure one of them. And he's worked way too hard to get this job to lose it because he was rude to some higher up at a stupid Christmas party.

"I saw you run away from Christian and Toto's corner, so I assumed they were having their annual dick measuring contest."

It startles a laugh out of Max, the way he says it so straightforwardly, dick measuring contest, forcing a too posh British accent, even as his other words curl around an Australian accent.

"Dick measuring contest?" he says, still laughing, watching the way the stranger's mouth is ticking up, amusement etched into the wrinkles by his eyes.

"They have a golf competition each year," the man explains, stepping closer to Max to set his glass on the bar counter, close enough for Max to smell his cologne, something unobtrusive and elegant, just slightly musky. It makes his mouth water a little, before he remembers where he is.

"They bet on it," the man says, stepping back, "and every year they argue about cheating."

It makes Max laugh again, half of it just to see satisfaction seep into the stranger's expression, sharpening his smile a little.

"You're new, right? I don't remember seeing you around."

It's an innocent question, Max knows this, but something about the way the man is looking at him makes it sound like he's flirting. Or maybe Max is just projecting, because there is no reason why this gorgeous man would be flirting with him at a work party.

"Yes, I just started," he answers, maybe a beat too late, offering his hand. "Max Verstappen."

The stranger's hand is warm and a bit rough, callouses on his palm that make Max wonder what he does in his free time, how he got them. How they would feel against his skin.

"Daniel Ricciardo," the other says, smiling his most blinding smile yet. "Enchanté."

Then he bends slightly to kiss Max's hand, lips lingering on his skin, beard rough against his knuckles, and Max wonders if this job really is that important to him, or if he'd be willing to risk it for a blow job in the hotel's nearest bathroom.

[fanficlolsblog]

UNHEALTHY OBSSESION

back to my main masterlist

pairing: yandere!jenna ortega x reader

summary: after a brief encounter with jenna ortega at a meet-and-greet, y/n is surprised to receive a follow request and a message from her. what starts as a seemingly innocent exchange soon spirals into a possessive obsession, with jenna constantly messaging, showing up unannounced, and isolating y/n from friends. as y/n tries to distance themselves, jenna’s behavior grows darker, her obsession tightening like a trap, until y/n realizes that escaping her hold might be impossible.

warnings: obsessive behaviour, stalking, emotional manipulation, psychological distress.

w/c: 1k+

you never thought much of celebrities. sure, you admired them from a distance, but you always told yourself they were just people, just names you’d heard. so when your friend dragged you to jenna ortega’s meet-and-greet, you felt out of place. she was beautiful, magnetic, but she was just a name on your friend’s lips, a face you knew from magazines.

that changed when you stepped up to meet her, the last in line. your friend had already gone ahead, gushing over the quick selfies she’d taken with jenna. you tried to keep your cool, gave her a polite smile, kept your distance. but when jenna looked at you, it was as if the whole room went silent. her gaze lingered, a little longer than it should, and you saw her eyebrows lift, just slightly.

“you seem… different,” she said, her voice soft, almost a murmur meant just for you.

you laughed nervously, shrugged it off. she held your gaze, eyes searching yours like she was trying to memorize your face. the brief exchange left you feeling strange—giddy but unsettled. it was probably nothing. you left, pushing the moment out of your mind as you rejoined your friend.

but that night, as you lay in bed, your phone buzzed. you glanced at it, frowning. a follow request on instagram—from jenna ortega.

your heart skipped. it had to be a joke, right? or maybe her team managing her account? but you hit accept, curiosity outweighing logic. almost immediately, a message popped up.

jenna: hi, y/n. i hope it’s okay i reached out. i… couldn’t stop thinking about you.

you blinked, staring at the message. it felt surreal, like a scene out of a movie. you hesitated, then typed a casual reply, something light, just to see if she was serious.

you: i didn’t expect you’d remember me.

jenna: i remember a lot about you.

from there, the messages kept coming. every day, multiple times a day, jenna reached out, asking about your life, your interests. she was kind, thoughtful, curious. her questions were endless—what was your favorite color? your favorite food? did you like to read? what was your dream vacation? the messages were warm, personal, and slowly, you felt yourself getting drawn in, almost hypnotized by her attention.

but things began to shift. her messages came faster, more insistent, like she needed to know where you were, who you were with. if you took too long to respond, she’d send another message.

jenna: you’re not ignoring me, are you?

you tried to laugh it off, tell yourself she was just lonely, maybe a little over-enthusiastic. but one evening, while you were out with friends, your phone buzzed.

jenna: i thought we agreed you’d tell me when you went out.

you frowned, fingers hovering over the screen. you hadn’t agreed to anything like that. but before you could type a response, another message popped up.

jenna: you don’t understand how much i care about you. you have no idea what it’s like, thinking about you all the time.

you typed a careful reply, trying to brush it off as a misunderstanding. but it was hard to ignore the chill creeping down your spine. things were moving too fast. she was everywhere—your notifications filled with her likes, your friends disappearing one by one, as if she’d somehow driven them away without a word.

then, one night, she showed up.

you were at your favorite coffee shop, the one you’d casually mentioned to her in passing, and she walked in like she belonged there. she didn’t look surprised to see you; if anything, she seemed pleased. she took the seat across from you, leaning forward, her fingers brushing against yours as she murmured, “i just wanted to see you.”

you tried to smile, tried to pretend it didn’t unnerve you, but her stare was intense, unblinking. she looked at you like you were the only person in the world, her fingers tapping idly on the table as she asked you about your day. every detail, every minute, like she needed to know it all.

from that day on, she’d show up without warning, always knowing where you’d be. and when you tried to confront her, her expression would shift—soft, almost hurt, like you’d wounded her.

“why are you acting like this, y/n?” she’d ask, voice trembling just slightly. “i’m just trying to keep you safe. you don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

you’d try to explain, tell her it was too much, but she’d look at you with those deep, unflinching eyes, and somehow, you’d find yourself apologizing, as if you were the one overreacting.

then came the gifts. small, thoughtful things at first—a book you’d mentioned, a necklace in your favorite color. but one night, you came home to find a box on your doorstep. inside was a single rose, delicate and freshly cut, and a handwritten note.

you have no idea what i’d do to keep you close, y/n. don’t push me away.

you tried to distance yourself, but jenna’s grip was tight, suffocating. she flooded your phone with messages, each one more desperate than the last, her words dripping with both devotion and a hint of menace. you stopped posting on social media, hoping it’d make her lose interest, but instead, she started showing up more often, as if your silence made her crave you more.

one night, you couldn’t take it anymore. you told her, face-to-face, that you needed space. she laughed, a soft, unsettling sound, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table between you.

“space?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. “y/n, you’re all i think about. i go to sleep thinking of you, wake up dreaming of you. don’t you see? no one will ever care about you like i do.”

you swallowed, trying to hold her gaze without flinching. “jenna, this isn’t… normal.”

she tilted her head, her smile fading. “maybe normal doesn’t matter,” she whispered, her voice chillingly calm. “maybe it’s just you and me, and maybe that’s all that’s ever mattered.”

you stood up to leave, feeling her eyes follow you, the weight of her stare burning into your back. as you walked away, you heard her say, quietly but clear enough to make your blood run cold:

“you’ll come back to me, y/n. you always do.”

and as you stepped outside, feeling the night air prickle against your skin, you knew she wasn’t finished with you. this wouldn’t be the end.

[lycheeleeches]

( Enter Lanyon ) :0

warning: ⚠️ Slight mention of suicide ⚠️

-forgive my horrible structure and rambling

After Jekyll gets sent away for his mad sciencey, Lanyon has made it his mission to try and one, get Jekyll back and prove his innocence and two, also get the society back.

Lanyon in this AU plays the role of Lucy, so you know what that means: the man goes insane.

Pretty much as he’s trying to fight to get Jekyll released, he gets a letter from the Beadle (still unsure of who I’d want to play this part, if I want to even assign a character this part, because I don’t think anyone fits the role), apologizing for what happens to Jekyll and promising that they and the Judge (also in the same boat as the Beadle) will get it all fixed up for him and they should meet up at their house to talk about the details

Lanyon, desperate, agrees and goes only to find this odd masquerade party going on.

It turns out it was a whole ploy to reveal Lanyon’s past and that while he someone with a good reputation ( who was also still sticking up for the society) shouldn’t be trusted cause he’s been participating in ”gross indecencies”.

Lanyon’s reputation and mental heath only plummet he’s tried to help Jekyll but has only made the situation worse and any chance Jekyll has had of being released and gaining back his position has been effectively destroyed by him. Not only has His past been dragged out but also Jekyll’s past relationship with him.

after returning from the masquerade (drunk) in a brief lapse of judgment he drinks one of Jekyll’s poisons that’s still in his office. It doesn’t end up killing him but it does make him go insane

Lanyon becomes a shell of how he is, and throughout the story he appears here and there.

When he first meets Hyde, he swears that he looks familiar (mind you, before all of this went down, Lanyon has never formally met Hyde and only has heard his name from when Jekyll mentions he’s hired him).

Hyde is too frantic to get this person away from him (fearing that somehow this random stranger figured out his identity) to even allow himself a moment to see if he recognizes the person. His lashing out is more out of fear than anger.

Lanyon, who has been hanging slightly near the society overhears Hyde’s name, and in his jumbled-up fragments of memory, is able to associate blame with this name. He knows he doesn’t like Hyde but can’t remember why.

It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that is able to put together that Hyde’s out here murdering people.

[gossippool]

fuck it 1.5k words of logan exposition that's part of the first chapter of an unpublished fic i won't be done with anytime soon. this backstory is partially inspired by the origin comic. tw mentions of violence, death, child death, self-harm etc. etc.

-----

The first time Logan killed an innocent, he was ten years old. He could name many moments in his life that felt monumental—'canon events', or whatever shit Wade calls it—but if he really had to name a point of no return for him, it would be then. All the way back then. He wonders about fate, often. If it was possible that things could ever be different. Then he remembers. His past comes back to him in flashes still, even after two hundred years. His ribbed, rough bones splintering the skin between his knuckles for the first time, the deafening quiet of the night broken by his howls and his mother’s screams, the gunshot before that, as if all the world had been contained in that one room. Her body underneath his, wounds gaping—maybe her throat, maybe her chest, or her stomach—and guzzling dark, dark wine. His grandfather’s mouth moving, the spit on his tongue. The words made no sound—he couldn’t remember what his grandfather had said, nor what he'd sounded like. But he'd known. So he'd run.

He'd had a decent childhood, before it all. Decent enough that he hadn't thought of life anywhere else, at least, or maybe that spoke of something that was the opposite of decency. Regardless, he'd felt… clean. He hadn't known about his claws then. How could he? His own mutant brother had been cast away, erased from the family legacy, with no explanation as to why. But now his claws resided in him like an itch under his skin, dead weight when he moved. He felt their presence in his fingertips even when they were retracted, and now when he thought back to the before, before he'd had the claws, he thought that maybe he'd felt them then too. He just hadn't known it.

It had been an accident, killing the mother he'd longed to see, the one he'd missed even when she was alive. But it being an accident changed nothing.

He'd been filled with a quiet sort of rage since then, the kind that simmered low in his blood, unnoticable on some days but intrinsically a part of him nonetheless. His anger was its own organ that kept his body running unprompted, and if he let himself accept that he was angry, let himself feel it, it took everything in him to not claw his way through the anger. To not claw at himself until he reached bone, to hear the unnatural, inhuman screech of metal against metal.

He'd released it in increments, chopping wood and lugging wheelbarrows and running with the wolves, and beating up the occasional man who deserved it. That was in the early stages, when every exhale released puffs of anger into the cold air.

On bad days—the bad days were the normal days—he wondered if he had been born defective. Not just in his claws, but born to be full of fear and hatred, to not know where to put any of it. Born to reap the consequences of his brother's failures in the form of neglect and frigid silences, of the bond of family only through blood and nothing more. In unleashing himself, he'd become his brother, maybe. A mantle of generational disappointment passed on for him to bear.

On worse days when he hated himself to the point of self-mutilation, he recognised that it may have been inevitable. A buildup of pressured anger in centuries-long microdoses that eventually forced its way through his fissures and burst out of him, destroying everything in its path.

He sits in this bar now, indistinguishable from all the others, unwanted again, always running. He bears the looks and the whispers like a wooden cross, dragging the weight of it on his back down Gethsemane streets—sacrificing himself for what the people feel it right give him, what he knows he deserves: contempt. The bartender pours him another drink with what looks like anger, but also pity. Pity is kinder than anything he’s been dealt for the past few years.

He holds the shot glass like a communion cup, imagines that in it is his mother’s blood. When he drinks it, he thinks forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me of my sins. But he knows he won’t be forgiven. He doesn’t know anymore if he even wants to be. Because his sins have been building up for two hundred years, clawing at each other to get to the insurmountable top. He is sin. Every inch of his body, from the roots of his hair to the skin under his fingernails, has been stained with blood that he has washed off over and over again but still feels. If he’s forgiven, if all his sins are taken away, he doesn’t know if there would be anything left of him but metal and a hardened heart.

It may absolve him of some guilt, he thinks, if he could say he remembers them all—all the people he’s killed, all the ways he killed them. He doesn’t. They hadn’t been important enough to him then, besides the life that they held in them that he starved to take away. And when his claws pierced through their flesh and muscle and bone, he drank up the lifelessness in their eyes like morphine. The high kept him alive, and rotted his insides. It quenched his thirst, but it didn't make him feel good. Then again, when does addiction ever?

He can't even remember the X-Men. When he had, when they'd crossed his thoughts in passing when they were alive, he could see them clear as day in his mind, vivid in saturation and detail. Now when he tries thinking of them, all he sees is questions written in blood.

He does remember one of them, vaguely, of those he's killed. All of his past is a blur now, memories seen through a fogged-up window or in a yellowing photo album. But this one he sees with slightly more clarity: a girl with dark skin and darker hair, a carbon copy of her mother. He'd killed them both twice over. It was the first time he killed a child.

And he remembers her because he’d liked it when he killed her. The tabooness of it, the special sanctity of a child's life that he had forced away, so easily. Something that people hardly dare to do. Look, he remembers yelling, to dead bricks and corpses in a dead-end alley. I'll fucking show you. They’d thought he couldn’t go lower than he already had. They'd thought they couldn't hate him more. They had no idea what he was capable of.

He remembers her screams, bloodcurdling but still unmistakably a child’s, and then her eternal silence. He remembers her mother's begging, his own mother's begging. He remembers that he had not felt an ounce of guilt in that moment, nor remorse, nor any of the gravity of her life.

Now whenever he drinks, he drinks enough to kill himself a little, in remembrance of her.

Not that that's the only reason. Because underneath it all, despite it all, through it all, he is nothing but a selfish bastard. And it's fucked up, he knows it is, but when he stopped killing people it had felt like withdrawal. More potent than any withdrawal he could get from drugs like a normal person. It was a withdrawal he's stuck with because he's more tired of kiling people than he is thirsty to sate his urge. Not the urge to kill—just the thought of it now makes him sick, clogs his throat with blood—but the urge to take all his despair and anger out on something. Everything. And oh, he's tried. Not even killing the world and filling oceans with blood was enough.

So he drinks, because nothing can satiate that urge, and the alcohol makes him forget that it even exists. You can't think about anything when you're blackout drunk. You can't see how other people look at you when you're passed out. But even in unconsciousness his body remains wound tight and tense, and he wakes up sore through every muscle.

He doesn’t believe in God, but he’s lived long enough to know enough. And he knows that God wouldn’t differentiate between the good and bad people he's killed. Blood is blood is blood. The blood of the innocent mixes with the blood of the evil, turning the lake a plagued, undrinkable scarlet all the same.

And this isn't a children's book, a bedtime story, a movie where everything gets wrapped up in a nice little bow and they all live happily ever after. He fucking wishes.

All of it remains in the back of his mind like a prowler, laying dormant and ready to pounce, when Wade drags him out of that bar; when he decides to save that asshole's timeline; when Laura tells him he's the wrong guy until he isn't; when Wade says he's the best Wolverine. He looks around him, and all the world is still black and white and bleeding red.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi bestie!! I have an idea for Seb. Your his best friend (almost brother like but not quite)

So y/n is over at his home in LA during a Christmas party and is wearing something that gets him turned on and he drags you away from the party and tells you how he loves you and you two fuck....hehe

Steamy Christmas Party » Sebastian Stan

Pairings: Best Friend!Sebastian Stan x Best Friend!Female Reader

Summary: Sebastian can’t keep his eyes off of you when you wear a new dress to a Christmas party, which leads to yours and his own steamy festivities.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (18+), best friends to lovers, sweet/dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, praise kink, Sebastian speaking Romanian, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request @cevansbaby-dove ❤️💚

A/N #2: I used Google translate for the Romanian translations. My apologies if I got anything wrong.

Translations: Dragă: sweetheart |Te iubesu: I love you | Ești atât de frumoasă, prințesă: You’re so beautiful, princess

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

Divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Sebastian’s eyes were on you the second you walked in the door. You were wearing a red dress. It happened to be backless, which is part of the reason why his eyes were on you. He bit his bottom lip the more he looked at you. Not in a creepy way. In an admirable way. He couldn’t help but notice your dress was hugging your curves in the most perfect way.

His mind began to wander… he wanted to get you alone. He just needed to find an appropriate way to do it. He needs you all to himself.

You were talking to someone when you felt a pair of familiar eyes on you. You glanced over the person’s shoulder to see Sebastian looking at you. You gave him a smile before excusing yourself from the conversation to go to the kitchen to get something to drink. Like if it were on cue, Sebastian did the same.

Sebastian walked in the kitchen at the same time you were refilling your drink. He approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist. You hummed softly, leaning into his warm touch.

“You know how to drive a man crazy, you know that?” Sebastian mutters softly.

“There’s more than one man here, Seb. Care to be specific?” You say innocently.

“You damn well know which man I’m exactly talking about, dragă.” He whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You and Sebastian have been best friends for a few years. Yours and his has always been playful and sometimes flirty. Yours two are so close that people think you two are dating or hooking up. It’s been rumored many times. Truth be told, Sebastian is in love with you. Little does he know that you’re in love with him too.

“You wore this dress to get me going, didn’t you, dragă?” He says, lightly rubbing a finger down your back.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.” You teased seductively, pressing your ass against his bulge, making him groan softly.

Sebastian spun you around so you were facing him. His blue eyes are now clouded with lust. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Wanna go to my room?” Sebastian asks in a whisper.

“Everyone will see us.” You say shyly.

“They already think we’re fucking. We might as well make that rumor true.” He says with a smirk.

You bit your bottom lip at the thought.

“Take me.” You whispered seductively.

Sebastian grabs your hand and lead you to his bedroom. Surprisingly, no one noticed you two go to his bedroom. As soon as the door was closed and locked, Sebastian pinned you against it, kissing you heatedly. You moaned against his lips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He breathes.

“Me too.” You say.

Sebastian moved the straps of your dress off of your shoulders as he kissed your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. You could feel his beard scratching against your skin. It’s a feeling you love very much. You moaned softly.

Sebastian took your dress off, exposing your breasts to him. He groans softly when he seen the panties you’re wearing. Red lace. It made him want you even more.

“You really do know how to drive a man crazy.” Sebastian says.

You giggled softly and bit your bottom lip. You stared up at him as you took off your heels. You then began to unbutton his shirt. You rubbed your hands against his chest to his shoulders, pushing his button up shirt off of him, letting it fall to the floor.

Sebastian picked you up and carried you to his bed, laying you down gently. He took his pants off before getting on top of you, hovering over you. He leaned down and kissed you with hunger. He then moved his lips down to your neck and collarbones, kissing your skin softly.

“I love you.” Sebastian murmurs softly.

“Say it to me in Romanian.” You said, running your fingers through his hair.

“Te iubesc.” He repeats in Romanian.

“Te iubesc.” You whispered.

You two weren’t sure if it was the heat of the moment or if that’s how each other feels.

Sebastian rubbed his hands against your sides and down to the waistband of your panties. He rubbed his thumbs along the lace material for a moment before looking at you for permission. You gave him permission by lifting your hips. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and took them off of you and threw them somewhere in his room.

He spread your legs, softly caressing your thighs. One of his hands move towards your pussy. His fingers felt how wet you are for him before blindly feeling for your clit. He found it with ease and began rubbing it. You bucked your hips against his hand, wanting more.

“Fuck me please!” You begged desperately, whining softly.

Sebastian kissed you softly before taking his boxers off and settling himself between your legs. You sat up on your elbows, biting your bottom lip at the sight of his cock.

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” You playfully teased.

Sebastian softly chuckles at your little playful comment. He lined his cock at your pussy, rubbing it in your slick to get it wet before lining it at your entrance. He slowly slid his cock in your pussy. Your mouth fell open and a soft moan left your lips as you watched his cock slide in your pussy.

Sebastian, being the gentleman he is, gave you a moment to adjust to his size. You laid your back against the bed and nodded. He started a slowly and loving pace just to get a feel of it for a moment before speeding up his thrusts.

“Oh my god!” You moaned.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back. Your hands held onto his strong shoulders, your nails digging in his skin. One of Sebastian’s hands held onto your waist while the other one found its way to your breasts. He held onto one of them for a few seconds before rubbing his thumb over your nipple.

“This feels amazing!” You moaned.

“Yea.” Sebastian agrees, nodding his head.

Your moans I’d like music to Sebastian’s ears. His cock was hitting all of the right spots. Your nails left red line scratch marks on his shoulders. Sebastian rubbed his hands against your skin, loving how soft it is.

“Ești atât de frumoasă, prințesă.” Sebastian says softly.

“What’s that mean?” You asked.

“I called you beautiful, princess.” He says in English.

You know some Romanian from Sebastian teaching you, but you didn’t know what that meant until he told you. You were only focused on one thing at the moment and that’s Sebastian. You’re the only thing he’s focused on as well.

“We should’ve done this sooner!” You moaned.

“I know right.” He agrees.

You arched your back in pleasure. Your beasts were closer to him that he could mark them up and kiss them, which he did. Your hands found their way to his back, digging your nails in his skin.

“Fuck…” Sebastian moans against your skin. “I love you, dragă.” He softly says again.

“I love you too, Seb.” You murmured softly.

You tilted your head back and your eyes fluttered shut. You felt Sebastian’s hand on the back of your head, gently moving your head back up so you were looking at him.

“Eyes on me, dragă.” He said.

You bit your bottom lip and nodded. Your eyes never left his for a second. Only when his cock hit that one spot inside of you, making your eyes flutter shut for a second.

“Oh yes!” You moaned. “Right there!” You tell him. “Please don’t stop!” You moaned.

Your moans urged him on. He sped up his thrusts more. Your nails left red line scratch marks on his back.

“You feel so good.” He moans, leaning his forehead against your shoulder.

You took the opportunity to kiss his neck, nipping on his skin to mark him up. One of Sebastian’s hands moved down to your clit, rubbing it in circles. Your hip jolted against his at the feeling.

“Oh god, yes, Seb!” You moaned.

Sebastian smirks to himself, loving the sound of you moaning his name. He rubbed your clit faster, wanting to hear you moan his name over and over again.

“Moan my name again. I want to hear it.” Sebastian says.

“You’re making me feel so good, Sebastian!” You moaned.

Sebastian kissed you after you said that, needing his lips on yours. The kiss was a mix of hunger and passion with a bit of sloppiness. One of your hands moved to the back of his head, carding your fingers through his soft hair as you two made out.

Your orgasm built up the more he rubbed your clit as he fucked you. His orgasm was building up as well. Like the gentleman Sebastian is, wanted you to cum first, focusing on your pleasure.

“I can feel you getting close. You gonna cum?” Sebastian says against your lips.

“Mhmm, yes!” You moaned, tilting your head back.

“Be a good girl and cum for me, dragă.” He says.

It didn’t take long after he said that for you to fall over the edge. Your legs trembled a little bit as you came. Sebastian gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own orgasm, which wasn’t too far behind yours. He came inside of you after a few more thrusts before slowing down the pace of his thrusts and pulled out of you.

Sebastian laid down next to you and covered the two of you up with a blanket. You two laid there panting and staring up at the ceiling with grins on your faces.

“That was fucking amazing.” You said after a moment.

“Yea.” Sebastian agrees.

That’s when you got to thinking. You realized that you and Sebastian said “I love you” to each other. You still weren’t sure if it was the heat of the moment or if that’s how you two actually feel about each other.

“Seb?” You turned your head towards him.

“Hmm?” Sebastian hums, turning his head toward you as well.

“What you said earlier…” You maneuvered yourself so you were laying on your side and your head was propped up against your hand. “When you told me you love me, did you mean it or was it the heat of the moment?” You asked.

“I mean it.” He answers. “I’ve been in love with you for a while, but I wasn’t sure how to tell you.” He tells you. “Did you mean it?” He asks.

“Yes.” You answered softly.

Sebastian smiles at you and leaned up, kissing you softly and passionately. You smiled against his lips, caressing his bearded cheek. You two leaned your foreheads against each other’s, gazing in each other’s eyes.

“You do know we have to go back out to the party, right?” You say.

“I know.” He says.

“Everyone is gonna know we left the party to fuck.” You said.

“They’ll also know we’ll be a couple when we go back out there.” He says.

“True.” You say, kissing him.

“I love you, dragă.” He murmurs softly with a smile.

“I love you too, Sebby.” You almost whispered, smiling back at him.

-Bucky’s Doll

[alia-alia12]

By Chance

Part 1: The Question

𖧹Gojo Satoru x Fem!reader

𖧹Fluff

𖧹1.2k

𖧹Masterlist

@ramonathinks 🫣🫣

The sharp hiss of the espresso machine and the murmur of quiet conversation filled the cozy café, creating a soothing background rhythm. Gojo Satoru stood at the counter, his bangs falling messily in front of his eyes as he waits for his usual drink—a black coffee with a splash of cream.

The day felt like any other—uneventful, calm, routine. He had slipped into the habit of coming here every afternoon, drawn by the atmosphere more than the caffeine. He enjoyed people-watching, observing life moving around him in effortless patterns.

But he didn’t expect her.

“Have you ever been in love, mister?”

The question came from a small voice by his side. He glanced down, finding a little girl with wide, curious eyes staring up at him. Her tiny hands clutched a stuffed rabbit, old and worn with love, as she waited for her mother to finish placing their order.

Her question hung In the air, innocent yet impossibly heavy.

Gojo blinked. He could’ve brushed it off with a laugh, teasing her for asking such a grown-up question—but something about the sincerity in her gaze made him pause.

Had he ever been in love?

The answer came easily, without hesitation.

“Yes,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Yes, I have.”

Before he could dwell on it further, the barista called his name. He gave the girl a small, genuine smile and nodded politely toward her mother before heading to the counter to get his order.

But as he stepped back outside, the wind tugging at his coat, the girl’s question echoed in the back of his mind.

Had he ever been in love?

He had—so much it still hurt.

His feet carried him back toward his apartment, though his thoughts stayed locked in the past. He thought about you—the one person who’d made him feel more than he thought he was capable of.

The one who held his heart so tightly… only to let it slip through her fingers.

Gojo didn’t know when he’d fallen for you, but there were certain memories that stood out more than most. Moments so vivid they felt like they had happened just yesterday.

Maybe it was the day you first met.

It was the first warm day after a long winter. He was six, dragged to the park by his grandfather, who insisted that he “get some fresh air.”

You were sitting on the edge of the playground, tying your shoelaces with a determined frown. He had noticed you right away—bright-eyed, serious, stubborn.

When your laces refused to cooperate, you huffed in frustration. Without thinking, he strolled over, hands in his pockets.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he announced, his young voice full of certainty.

You glared up at him. “I know what I’m doing!”

He smirked but knelt down anyway, tying your laces with practiced ease. You stared in surprise, blinking as he finished.

“There,” he said smugly, standing up. “You’re welcome.”

You stared at him for a long moment before smiling—a small, genuine smile that stayed burned in his memory.

Or maybe it was the first time you held his hand.

You were both nine, walking home from school during a sudden rainstorm. His tiny, battered umbrella barely covered both of you.

“Stop hogging the umbrella,” you grumbled, bumping his shoulder.

“You’re the one walking too far away,” he shot back, holding the umbrella out farther.

The rain kept splashing around your feet until you finally huffed, grabbed his hand, and tugged him closer.

“There,” you said firmly. “Now we both fit.”

Your fingers were cold but soft, perfectly fitting in his.

He still remembered the warmth that bloomed in his chest that day, though he didn’t have the words for it back then.

It could’ve been the day he accidentally stole your first kiss.

You were thirteen, sitting on the swings at the park near your family’s bookstore. The sky was streaked with the pinks and oranges of sunset, a lazy breeze tugging at your hair.

He was teasing you about something—he could never seem to help himself—leaning in just a little too close to get under your skin.

You turned your head at the wrong moment, and suddenly—your lips brushed.

It lasted less than a second, soft and unintentional, but time seemed to freeze.

He was the first to pull away, wide-eyed and red-faced.

“S-Sorry,” he mumbled, cheeks burning hotter than the summer air.

But then—you laughed. Soft. Genuine. Beautiful.

“It’s okay,” you said, still smiling, “it was an accident.”

Satoru thought… maybe he wanted more 'accidents' like that to keep happening.

Was it the day he asked you to be his girlfriend?

It had been late summer, the air warm and still. You two of you, both 16 now, were laying on the old picnic blanket near the edge of the park, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky.

His heart pounded in his chest, his usual confidence replaced by something far more vulnerable.

"Look," you started, pulling his attention away from your face and to the sky where you were pointing towards a random cloud. "It looks like a cat"

He squints, eyes adjusting to the bright sun. "It looks like a meatball"

You snorted. "Your imagination is broken."

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as Satoru forced himself to say the words that have been bouncing around his head for the past few weeks.

“Hey…” he’d said softly, fingers brushing against yours. “Be my girlfriend?”

You’d turned to him, startled at first—but then you smiled, so bright and real it made his chest ache.

“Okay,” you’d whispered. “I will.”

His eyes widened. "You will?"

"Yes."

Before he could overthink it, he leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips pressed softly against yours.

He’d kissed you then—his first real kiss, soft and sure, filled with quiet promises he couldn’t put into words.

Or maybe… it was the day you left.

The day you told him you were moving to another city.

You had tried to smile through your tears, promising you’d keep in touch, that distance wouldn’t change anything—but life had a way of proving otherwise.

Calls faded. Messages stopped. The distance became more than just miles.

Or maybe… it was all the little moments in between.

The way you always tugged on his sleeve when you were excited. The way you laughed at his terrible jokes. The way you saw past his bravado—saw him in a way no one else ever had.

No.

It wasn’t one moment—it was all of them.

Every shared glance, every small touch, every whispered conversation under the stars.

Every second spent with you made him fall even more in love than he already was.

The sound of a passing car snapped Gojo out of his thoughts as he reached his apartment building. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

It was silly—pointless, really—to get stuck in memories like this. Years had passed. You were probably living a new life, far from here.

But still…

He glanced back down the street toward the coffee shop, a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe fate wasn’t done with him yet.

Part 2

[the-bifrost-blogger]

Of Chaos and Quiet Moments

Title: Doctor's Orders

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Timeline: Shortly after Loki's sentencing.

Thor’s voice echoed through the house, rattling the walls as if the thunder itself had descended into Jane Foster’s modest living room. He paced back and forth, his towering frame casting long shadows against the evening light filtering in through the windows.

“Loki, enough is enough!” Thor bellowed, his deep baritone carrying both frustration and exasperation.

Loki, reclining lazily on the couch, appeared completely unfazed. His legs were crossed, one ankle resting on his knee, and a polished green apple hovered between his fingers, suspended midair by a faint flicker of golden magic. He spun it absentmindedly, his emerald gaze focused more on the fruit than on his brother’s righteous fury.

“I fail to see what the issue is,” Loki drawled, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Jane, seated at the dining table with her laptop open but clearly forgotten, threw her hands in the air. “The issue, Loki, is that you’re impossible to work with! Do you have any idea how many people I had to call after the soup kitchen fiasco?”

Loki’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “I’ve told you before, mortal, it was a mere grease fire. Hardly my fault that their equipment wasn’t up to standard.”

“Grease fire?” Thor barked, stopping mid-step to glare at his brother. “You turned the entire kitchen into an inferno! They’re still cleaning soot off the ceiling!”

Jane rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath, “And replacing half their pans...”

“And then there’s the dog park,” Thor continued, his tone growing darker. “What in the Nine Realms possessed you to bring an elephant to a dog park?”

Loki’s grin widened. “Admit it, brother. It was rather amusing.”

Thor’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, looming over Loki like an impending storm. “Amusing? Amusing? The poor beast trampled half the park benches and terrified every dog in sight!”

Loki shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “It was a lesson in adaptability for those pampered Midgardian pets. You should thank me.”

“Thank you?” Jane cut in, her voice rising in pitch as she stood up and approached the two brothers. “Loki, the city’s animal control had to tranquilize the elephant in broad daylight. Do you know how much paperwork that caused? And let’s not even talk about the chihuahua incident—”

Thor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And those are just the minor incidents. What about the library debacle?”

“Ah,” Loki interjected, finally looking up from his apple with a gleam of pride. “That was a masterpiece. A simple enchantment, and poof! The books sorted themselves. It’s not my fault the mortals couldn’t handle the reorganization.”

“You made the books levitate, Loki!” Jane exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “One woman fainted, and another filed a police report because she thought the library was haunted!”

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly trying to compose himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less firm. “Loki, this is serious. Your community service is not just a punishment—it’s a chance to make amends. But every organization we’ve sent you to has refused to take you back. If you don’t fulfill these hours, Father will have no choice but to intervene.”

At the mention of Odin, Loki’s expression flickered. For the briefest moment, his smirk faltered, replaced by a shadow of something heavier. But it was gone just as quickly, and he resumed his air of indifference.

“Very well,” Loki said with a sigh, tossing the apple into the air and catching it deftly. “Where, pray tell, do you intend to send me next? A preschool? A landfill? Perhaps I should clean your mortal sewers.”

Jane exchanged a glance with Thor, then crossed her arms. “Actually, I have a friend who’s willing to give you a chance. She works at Starlight General Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Loki repeated, his voice laced with disdain. “You expect me to play nursemaid to the sick and injured?”

Jane’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Not just any patients. Children.”

Loki’s eyes widened, and for the first time in the conversation, he looked genuinely horrified.

The sleek black car pulled up to the entrance of Starlight General Hospital, its polished surface gleaming under the mid-morning sun. Thor, seated in the driver’s seat with a grin as wide as the Bifrost bridge, turned to his begrudging passenger.

“Come on, brother,” Thor said cheerfully, slapping Loki on the shoulder with a force that jolted the smaller man forward. “It’s time for you to face your destiny.”

Loki, seated in the passenger seat with his arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face, stared out at the cheerful hospital façade. A brightly colored sign over the glass doors read “Pediatric Wing: Where Healing Meets Happiness!” and was adorned with cartoon drawings of smiling animals. The sight alone made Loki recoil.

“I refuse,” he said flatly, his emerald gaze narrowing. “Surely there is a more suitable punishment. Perhaps scrubbing the streets of New York or restoring those blasted park benches you’re so fond of mentioning.”

Thor leaned back in his seat, savoring Loki’s discomfort. “You’ve run out of options, brother. Every organization has refused to take you back. This hospital is your last chance. Unless, of course, you’d like to explain your failure to Father.”

At the mention of Odin, Loki’s jaw tightened. He turned to glare at Thor, his expression dark and venomous. “You will pay for this indignity,” he growled, stepping out of the car with the grace of a man marching to his own execution.

Thor followed, his booming laughter echoing across the parking lot. “Come now, brother! This will be good for you. And besides, how much trouble could you possibly cause in a hospital?”

Loki’s lips curved into a smirk as he walked ahead, his cape billowing dramatically behind him. “You underestimate me, Thor. That’s always been your weakness.”

Inside, the hospital lobby was a flurry of activity. Nurses wheeled patients past the reception desk, doctors hurried through the halls with clipboards, and the faint beeping of monitors mingled with the chatter of visitors.

Loki wrinkled his nose, already unimpressed by the sterile environment. His sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed on a figure dressed in bright pink scrubs that offended his aesthetic sensibilities.

The woman turned, revealing a clipboard tucked under one arm and a coffee cup in the other. Her scrubs were covered in cartoon kittens, and her name tag read: Dr. (Y/N) (L/N), Head of Pediatric Surgery.

She spotted Thor and broke into a warm smile. “Thor! You made it!”

Thor stepped forward, enveloping her in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground. She laughed, playfully swatting his arm when he set her down. “Easy, Thunder God. Some of us aren’t indestructible.”

Thor chuckled. “Dr. (L/N), this is my brother, Loki.”

Loki stepped forward, his posture stiff and his expression unreadable. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he said coolly, though his tone suggested anything but.

Dr. (L/N) raised an eyebrow, giving him a once-over. “So, you’re the infamous Loki. of Asgard”

“Infamous?” Loki repeated, feigning offense. “Surely you’ve heard of my glorious exploits. They’ve been somewhat exaggerated, I assure you.”

She smiled sweetly, though there was a spark of steel in her gaze. “Well, Mr. Infamous, let’s lay down some ground rules. No mischief. No tricks. And absolutely no causing trouble for my kids.”

“Your...kids?” Loki echoed, his brows furrowing.

Dr. (L/N) gestured toward a set of double doors painted with whimsical animals. “The pediatric ward. Those kids are my world. If you disrupt their peace, you’ll have me to answer to.”

Thor let out a low whistle. “Careful, brother. You’re in the presence of a true warrior.”

Loki’s smirk returned, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—curiosity, perhaps. “I shall endeavor to restrain myself,” he said smoothly, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise.

Dr. (L/N) led them through the hospital, giving Loki a brisk tour of the facility. She pointed out the nurses’ station, the playroom filled with toys and games, and the cafeteria where he could find snacks if he behaved.

“And this,” she said, stopping outside a brightly decorated room, “is where you’ll start.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, peering inside. The room was filled with posters of superheroes, stacks of comic books, and a collection of plush animals. In the center of the room was a hospital bed, occupied by a boy of about eleven.

The boy looked up as they entered, his face lighting up with excitement. “Is that Thor?” he asked, his voice high-pitched with awe.

Thor chuckled, stepping forward to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Indeed, young one. And I’ve brought someone else for you to meet.”

The boy’s eyes shifted to Loki, widening. “Who’s that?”

Loki stepped closer, his gaze flicking between the boy and Dr. (L/N). “I am Loki,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding. “God of Mischief.”

The boy’s jaw dropped. “No way! Are you a superhero too?”

Loki scoffed, but Dr. (L/N) interrupted before he could reply. “Loki’s here to help you out, Dylan. He’s going to make sure you have everything you need today.”

Dylan beamed. “Really? That’s so cool!”

Loki turned to Dr. (L/N), his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief. “You expect me to play servant to a mortal child?”

She crossed her arms, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. “That’s exactly what I expect. Consider it your first lesson in humility.”

Thor clapped Loki on the back. “Good luck, brother. Try not to disappoint the lad.”

And with that, Thor strode out, leaving Loki alone with Dylan and the formidable Dr. (L/N).

Loki stared at Dylan, his sharp features betraying no emotion, though a storm of irritation brewed beneath the surface. He could scarcely believe the indignity of being assigned to "assist" a mortal child, no less one so infuriatingly cheerful.

The boy, oblivious to Loki’s disdain, grinned ear to ear. “So, what kind of powers do you have? Can you fly? Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes?”

Loki blinked, caught off guard by the boy’s enthusiastic questions. “I am not some circus performer,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I wield magic far beyond your comprehension.”

Dr. (L/N), standing just behind him, cleared her throat loudly. “Loki,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut through steel, “remember what we talked about—kindness and patience.”

Loki glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling into a mock smile. “Ah, yes. Patience. My favorite virtue.”

Dylan giggled, clearly amused. “Can you show me some magic? Please? I promise I won’t tell anyone!”

The boy’s excitement was so genuine, so infectious, that even Loki found himself considering the request. With a dramatic sigh, he raised one hand, allowing a shimmering green orb to form in his palm. It flickered and danced like firelight, casting soft shadows across the room.

Dylan gasped, his eyes wide with wonder. “That’s amazing! Can you do more?”

Before Loki could respond, Dr. (L/N) stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his arm. “No tricks that could scare or hurt him,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “These kids have been through enough.”

Loki tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “I am perfectly capable of entertaining a child without traumatizing him,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t appreciate the insinuation.

Dr. (L/N) smiled sweetly, but her eyes were sharp. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned to Dylan, her demeanor softening instantly. “If Loki gives you any trouble, just press the call button, okay?”

Dylan nodded eagerly. “Got it, Dr. (L/N). Thanks!”

As she left the room, Loki couldn’t help but watch her go. There was something about her—the way she carried herself, the way she looked at him without fear or reverence—that intrigued him. He shook his head, forcing the thought aside.

“Okay, Mr. Loki,” Dylan said, breaking the silence. “What else can you do?”

Loki raised an eyebrow at the boy’s audacity. “Do you presume to give me orders?”

Dylan shrugged, unfazed. “You’re supposed to help me, right? So, help me not be bored.”

Loki sighed, muttering something in Asgardian under his breath. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a small illusion—a flock of shimmering golden birds that flitted around the room, their wings leaving trails of light.

Dylan clapped his hands, laughing in delight. “This is so cool! Can I keep one?”

“They’re not real, you foolish child,” Loki said, though there was no real malice in his tone. “They’re illusions, meant only to entertain.”

Dylan frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Can you make them do tricks?”

Loki hesitated, glancing at the boy’s eager face. With another sigh, he wove his magic, commanding the birds to form intricate patterns in the air—circles, spirals, even the shape of a dragon.

For the next several minutes, Dylan watched in awe, his laughter filling the room. Despite himself, Loki felt a flicker of satisfaction. Perhaps this task wasn’t entirely without merit.

Just as Loki began to relax, the door swung open, and Dr. (L/N) stepped back inside. She froze, her eyes narrowing as she took in the glowing birds.

“Loki,” she said slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Entertaining the boy,” Loki replied innocently, dispelling the illusion with a casual wave of his hand. “Is that not what you assigned me to do?”

Dr. (L/N) crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “No magic unless it’s absolutely necessary. Hospital policy.”

Loki smirked. “Ah, but you never specified that earlier. Shall I add ‘mind-reading’ to my impressive list of abilities?”

Dylan stifled a laugh, earning a glare from Dr. (L/N). She stepped closer to Loki, her voice dropping to a whisper. “This is a hospital, not a stage. If you can’t follow the rules, you’re free to leave. I’m sure Thor would love to hear about your inability to cooperate.”

The mention of Thor made Loki bristle, but he forced a smile. “Very well, Doctor. Your rules are my command.”

Dr. (L/N) arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Good. Then maybe you can help Dylan with his reading assignment instead.”

“Reading assignment?” Loki repeated, his voice dripping with disdain.

Dylan held up a thin book titled Adventures in Space. “It’s my homework. I have to read a chapter and answer questions.”

Loki stared at the book as if it were a venomous snake. “Surely you jest.”

Dr. (L/N) smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Welcome to the real world, Loki. Have fun.”

With that, she left the room, leaving Loki alone with Dylan and the dreaded reading assignment.

Loki stared at the small book in Dylan’s hands as if it were an affront to his very existence. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. “Of all the indignities I have suffered, this must be the gravest.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dylan said, grinning. He opened the book and flipped to the marked chapter. “I mean, it’s about space. You like space, right?”

“Space is not a subject, child—it is an infinite expanse of wonder and chaos. Hardly something to be trivialized in...” Loki snatched the book from Dylan, examining the cartoonish illustrations. “This.”

Dylan giggled, clearly amused by Loki’s dramatics. “Come on, Mr. Loki. It’s only one chapter.”

Reluctantly, Loki sat down on the chair beside Dylan’s bed. He scanned the first page, his expression growing more incredulous with every sentence.

“In the vastness of space, Captain Zoom piloted his trusty rocket ship toward the glowing nebula…” Loki read aloud, his voice dripping with disdain. He lowered the book and gave Dylan a look of sheer disbelief. “This is the drivel they force upon you?”

Dylan shrugged. “It’s for school. I think it’s kinda fun.”

Loki rolled his eyes but continued reading, his voice taking on a sarcastic flair. “‘With his loyal robot companion Beep at his side, Captain Zoom prepared to rescue the alien queen from the clutches of the evil Star Lord.’” He paused, his lips curling into a smirk. “Star Lord? Truly, your Midgardian literature knows no bounds of absurdity.”

Dylan burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “You’re funny, Mr. Loki!”

Loki arched a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not strive to amuse, boy. This is merely my natural state.”

Once the reading was finished, Dylan picked up a pencil and opened his workbook. “Okay, now we have to answer the questions.”

“We?” Loki repeated, his tone filled with indignation.

Dylan grinned. “You’re helping me, remember? It’s part of your volunteer job.”

Loki sighed dramatically but leaned over to glance at the workbook. The first question read: What was Captain Zoom’s mission in this chapter?

“Rescuing the alien queen,” Dylan said, scribbling down the answer. He looked up at Loki. “See? Easy!”

Loki snorted. “Your educational system sets a disturbingly low bar.”

The second question read: Why did Captain Zoom trust his robot companion Beep?

Dylan tapped the pencil against his chin. “Um… because Beep was programmed to help him?”

Loki leaned back, folding his arms. “How unimaginative. A truly great ally is forged through bonds of loyalty, not mere programming.”

Dylan frowned, erasing his answer. “What should I put, then?”

“Write this,” Loki said, his voice authoritative. “Captain Zoom trusted Beep because true loyalty is demonstrated through unwavering actions, even in the face of great peril.”

Dylan dutifully wrote down the sentence, then looked up at Loki with wide eyes. “You’re really smart, Mr. Loki.”

“Yes, I am,” Loki said, his smirk widening.

As Loki finished helping Dylan with his homework, the door opened, and Dr. (L/N) stepped in. Her eyes immediately went to the workbook.

“Homework duty done already?” she teased, walking over to inspect their progress.

“It is an utter waste of time,” Loki said, rising to his full height. “This boy should be learning something of value, not reading tales of fictitious space captains.”

Dr. (L/N) tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. “And what would you suggest, Loki? Teaching him how to conjure snakes or make people disappear?”

Loki smirked, stepping closer. “I could teach him to see through illusions, to question the falsehoods presented to him. Surely that would be a more valuable skill.”

Dr. (L/N) crossed her arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Or maybe we should let him enjoy being a kid while he still can. These stories might not be your idea of profound, but they give him hope and joy—something he desperately needs right now.”

Her words struck a nerve, though Loki refused to show it. He glanced back at Dylan, who was watching them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“I suppose,” Loki said slowly, “there is some merit in allowing the boy his distractions.”

Dr. (L/N) blinked, surprised by his concession. “Well, that’s... unexpected.”

Loki smirked. “Do not mistake my acquiescence for agreement, Doctor. I merely find arguing with you to be… tiresome.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Loki found himself loitering in the hospital’s staff break room, a space he had declared “unfit for anyone with even a modicum of taste.” It was a sterile room with plain white walls, mismatched chairs, and the faint aroma of burnt coffee.

Dr. (L/N) stood by the counter, pouring herself a cup from the offending coffee pot. She turned, her eyes catching Loki’s as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression one of idle amusement.

“Lurking again, I see,” she said lightly, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Merely observing,” Loki corrected, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “You Midgardians are endlessly fascinating. Tell me, is that what you call coffee?”

She raised an eyebrow, unperturbed by his sarcasm. “It gets the job done.”

He stepped closer, his boots making an irritatingly soft sound on the linoleum floor. “Does it, though? Or do you simply endure it because you’ve convinced yourself it’s the best you can manage?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Do you ever stop?”

“Rarely,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

The way he looked at her then was different—less playful, more intense. Her pulse quickened as his piercing green eyes swept over her, taking in the tired lines of her face, the faint smudge of ink on her wrist where she’d made notes in haste earlier.

“And what about you, Doctor?” he asked, his voice softening, almost a purr. “Do you always settle for mediocrity?”

She didn’t step back, though he was close enough now that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “I don’t settle for anything, Loki.”

“Bold claim,” he said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I wonder—are you always so controlled? So perfectly in command of every situation?”

Her jaw tightened, but she held his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Or do you just enjoy hearing yourself talk?”

Loki let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer. He was invading her space now, and they both knew it.

“Perhaps I do,” he admitted, his voice a murmur. “But perhaps I also enjoy seeing you flustered, Doctor.”

“I’m not flustered,” she said, though the slight hitch in her voice betrayed her.

“Oh, but you are,” he said, leaning just slightly into her space. “Your heart is racing, your breathing has quickened. Shall I go on?”

Her lips parted, but no retort came. For a moment, she was acutely aware of how near he was, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the burnt coffee aroma. She hated how much she noticed, how much she cared.

But then she smiled—a small, knowing smile that made Loki pause. “You know, for someone so clever, you’re remarkably predictable.”

That threw him off balance. “Predictable?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping around him to refill her coffee. “You think you’re mysterious, but really, you’re just lonely.”

The words hit like a dagger, and for a split second, his mask slipped.

“What would you know of it?” he asked, his tone sharper now.

She turned, meeting his gaze again. “More than you think.”

There was no malice in her voice, only quiet understanding. And that, somehow, made it worse.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them crackled with tension—part challenge, part something neither of them dared to name.

Finally, she broke the silence. “If you’re done trying to get under my skin, we have a patient waiting. Unless, of course, you’d rather sulk.”

He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Lead the way, Doctor. I wouldn’t dream of keeping your adoring public waiting.”

...

Leave a comment on any of the posts relating to this series if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Taglist:

@buttercupcookies-blog @msdjsg7

[alicethenobody]

OMG SAME 100% FACTS TRUE i fucking hate how the dmc fans online keep making the same repetitive unfunny dante in debt jokes while being more empathetic towards both nero and vergil. like dante tends to have isolation habits or isolate himself from others to protect others, that's a common trope in fiction in general (especially japanese fictional stories but some western stories like The Boys or Spiderman has this trope too). These people are actually fucking stupid sometimes. Not to mention without Dante - Vergil and Nero wouldn't exist in the series. I'm also glad I'm not the only one who thinks Dante is one of the more realistic responses to trauma I've seen.

The way the DMC fanbase treats my boy Dante sometimes also reminds me of how the Tekken community treats my man Jin Kazama (especially on websites like reddit, twitter, and the YouTube comments section). They always show more empathy towards his father Kazuya (who is very similar to Vergil and Sasuke, man loses his family and goes down a dark path obsessed with power. also is the father of another character but is absent in their child's life) and Heihachi (who is literally just evil...like dude fucking killed his own wife, his own father, Michelle's father, Lidia's father, Leroy's entire family. dude unleashed shrek and killed innocent people.). Yet they mock Jin's mental health issues of survivor's guilt and low self esteem and make shitty jokes at his expense a lot. Jin lived a peaceful humble life with his mother Jun until Ogre attacked and Jin wanted to defeat Ogre to avenge his mother and also avenge the other fighters who were hurt by Ogre (ex. Hwoarang's master, King's adopted father). Then Heihachi who Jin trusted for years just betrays him by almost killing him via being shot multiple times. Then Jin finds out he was born with the Devil Gene thanks to his dad and has a hard time controlling it. His father Kazuya only cares about power and wants to kill Jin to get the rest of the Devil Gene for himself and Kazuya mostly cares about revenge against Heihachi. Most of the terrible shit in his life is out of his control. Like Dante, Jin also isolates himself from others out of fear his devil gene might hurt them or they might get dragged into the problems of the dysfunctional Mishima bloodline he's trying to end.

It also doesn't help that the creators of Tekken also lowkey hate Jin Kazama too, Harada blatantly stated in multiple interviews that he prefers villainous characters (ex. Heihachi aka Harada's favorite character), and Harada always wanted Jin to be a villain like his precious Heihachi Mishima but the team disagreed at first for obvious reasons (there are already too many bad guys/morally grey characters in Tekken, Jin is supposed to be the good mishima bloodline member he is supposed to be the good guy who doesn't let his trauma or family history make him bad, and it'd just be a repeat of Kazuya's story). Then Harada also assassinated Jin's character and made him OOC in Tekken 6's shitty scenario campaign story. Jin's potrayal in Tekken 6 completely contradicts his characterization in the older games (especially his Tekken 4 ending) and Jin is just out of character in that game, but the fanbase are usually idiots who don't realize that. So the fans bash Jin even more, and oh don't get me started on all the horrible fanfiction on ao3 where Jin gets r*ped by multiple characters because he hasn't suffered enough.

Both Dante and Jin deserve better, i hate it here it's always my favs are cursed lmao. (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

YEAAAH like I’m sorry but I think people are so overly critical of his actions in DMC5. I’m always gonna be of the belief he did nothing wrong in that game except for not telling Nero Vergil was his dad but he had reasons for not telling him like… the fact that he was afraid of cursing Nero with the same life he was living if he got too closely associated with either twin. And the fact that Nero most likely wouldn’t believe him (which Dante himself said) unless he had definitive proof for him. Dante is a man weighed down by the responsibility of protecting all of humanity, something any other person would completely crack under. So he thinks he can only let people in a certain amount or else they could get hurt. It happened many times, after all. Like I’d understand the criticisms of his behavior if he acted like a toxic asshole the whole time but… he really doesn’t. At worst he’s said something insensitive a couple times which… who hasn’t done that in their life and he felt bad about it both times it happened lmao (when he upset Nero in 5 and when he accidentally made Patty cry in the anime. Like he was actively miserable the entire episode because of it.) I’ve read such a weird amount of posts bashing Dante or fanfics that do the same.

Btw I’ve never played Tekken but that sounds shitty :(

[lordvonbunnyv]

Okay guys, I normally rarely get involved in conflicts, but I have to tell you guys @pixie-dvsst my encounter.

this is the reason why I am on that list. It’s because S.C ruffy here tried to follow me and I sent them this private message.

As you can see I was very polite to them and was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt in case it’s just a big nothing burger and I really didn’t want it to turn into an Austro-Hungarian and Serbia situation aka them getting mad at me so I acted nice and professional. But they still blocked me and put me on their list.

Nirmal, I’m sorry for the flack you are receiving, but you really didn’t have to block me and put me on your list (though I am very flattered about it, wish it was for something else) I gave you a chance to defend yourself and gave you the benefit of the doubt, I wasn’t even accusing you of anything I am just protecting my followers. I can’t have a potential threat interacting with my minors, I said I was going to wait to get more evidence before I made a judgement.

But you implicated yourself. You blocked me and put me on your hit list. I was trying to avoid confrontation and getting dragged further into this pit, I didn’t want this. Especially around Christmas. I watch plenty of true crime to understand that the way people act after a crime scene could tell detectives if they are guilty or not. After seeing how you’re willing to drag everyone around you down with you like the Austrian-Hungarian empire and all of Europe and eventually the world, I have no doubt in my mind now that you are guilty.

An innocent man would keep their drama contained and not resort to petty playground insults and behavior. You could have ignored everything and kept everything contained to yourself, but you didn’t, you chose to burn your own empire down and then tried to set everyone near you ablaze. You are your own Eris, I hope you appreciate the ashes of your empire in the end.

Okay, this shit has gone way too far

you've probably seen these posts going around

Well I've decided to adress these claims

TW: mentions of harrasment, mentions of the Palestinian genocide, slurs and ableist language

Unfortunately, these are all lies

Angry doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling rn

Not only are these people spreading lies and misinformation, they are also setting me and these people up for harassment (some of the blogs mentioned are run by literal MINORS). Not to mention that sone of these blogs (including mine) have NEVER interacted with Nirmal before.

Also it's so funny that Nirmal claims that SHE'S the one being harassed when she's out ther calling people literal SLURS (last time I checked, she called Senja an "r-slured cunt who assumes things'').

On top of this, she spreads misinformation about asks from Palestinians, claiming they're "scams". First of all, how does she even know that they're scams? Second of all, why would Palestinians send these asks just to scam people. I highly doubt victims of the ongoing genocide would beg for money just for ✨funsies✨. Not to mention her overall shitty behaviour.

So there. I really do not appreciate lies being spread about me and my friends. I genuinely hope people see the truth.

(Also PLEASE do not harass any of the blogs mentioned. Just block and move on👍)

[userarmand]

The wilderness that is our daughter. I think the medication has overwhelmed our boy.