Guilty Pleasures
Word Count: 1.3K Summary: “Oh! And,” he interrupts, wiggling your fingers smugly, “you bite your nails when you’re thinking. Didn’t peg you for the anxious type, but it’s kind of cute.” He lifts a hand toward his—your—lips, playfully tapping your lower one. You’re going to kill him. Well, he’s already dead, but you’ll find a way. Pairing: Jaemin X reader
Taglist: @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120
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You barely register the faint prickle at the back of your neck before your limbs suddenly go slack. A sharp chill courses through your chest, followed by a disorienting lightness, like you’re being peeled away from yourself. Then—blackness.
When you blink, you’re no longer behind your eyes. You’re watching them. Watching him.
Jaemin smirks at you from your own reflection, his fingers wiggling in a sarcastic little wave.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he purrs with your voice. “Miss me?”
Oh, you hate him.
When the exorcist first explained that Jaemin, a restless spirit, needed to temporarily possess your body to deliver a message from the in-between, you were willing to be gracious. Sympathetic, even. Poor, wandering soul. Couldn’t pass on until he spoke to his loved ones. You agreed without hesitation. But this? This was not part of the deal.
He’s supposed to be grateful. Solemn, maybe. Instead, he’s parading around in your skin like he owns it.
You glare at him from the mirror, your eyes narrowing, though it’s useless. He raises your eyebrows mockingly, as if to say, Is that all you’ve got?
“Y’know,” he hums thoughtfully, stretching your arms above your head, “you’ve got way more upper body strength than I expected.” He glances down at your torso, admiring it with an obnoxious little grin. “Are you secretly hitting the gym at midnight or something?”
You mentally screech, flailing in the disembodied limbo you’re stuck in.
“Jaemin, I swear—”
“Oh! And,” he interrupts, wiggling your fingers smugly, “you bite your nails when you’re thinking. Didn’t peg you for the anxious type, but it’s kind of cute.” He lifts a hand toward his—your—lips, playfully tapping your lower one.
You’re going to kill him. Well, he’s already dead, but you’ll find a way.
Over the next few hours, Jaemin wreaks absolute havoc on your daily routine. He rearranges your entire spice rack alphabetically. He texts your best friend unhinged compliments like, “You have the most symmetrical ears I’ve ever seen.” And when you pass by your nosy neighbor, he waves far too enthusiastically, making her nearly drop her purse in confusion.
“Why are you like this?!” you scream from your incorporeal prison.
But the worst comes when he finds the full-length mirror in your bedroom.
“Oh-ho…” he whistles lowly, tilting your head at an angle. “Would you look at that.” His eyes (your eyes) darken with amused mischief, half-lidded as he trails your fingers down your collarbone. His lips twitch into a familiar smirk—the one you’ve seen on his face every time he appears in your dreams. The one that always leaves you a little breathless.
He leans forward until his breath (your breath, dammit) fogs up the glass. His lips part slightly, and in a soft, husky murmur, he says,
“Damn. If I’d known you were this pretty, I would’ve possessed you sooner.”
Your heart, your actual heart, stutters.
“Oh, you are unbelievable,” you seethe.
He chuckles, the sound rich with genuine delight. “Don’t be mad. You’re making this way too easy.” He trails his fingers over the mirror’s surface, like he’s caressing your cheek. “I’ve been watching you for so long. You didn’t really think I was gonna waste this chance, did you?”
You stop fighting. Stop flailing. You just blink at him.
“…Wait. You’ve been watching me?”
Jaemin flashes you a slow, devilish grin.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs silkily, voice dripping with fondness, “you’ve been haunting me since day one.”
And damn it all—you feel yourself fall for him.
You stare at him—at yourself—but the person staring back feels nothing like you. There’s a glimmer in your eyes that doesn’t belong. A sharpness to your smile that you’ve never worn. It’s him. Completely him. And he’s making it impossible to breathe.
“Haunting you?” you echo, barely able to keep the waver out of your voice.
Jaemin’s grin spreads slowly, devilishly, like he’s savoring the effect he’s having on you. He drags your fingers down the side of your throat, deliberately slow, making your pulse pound in places you no longer have a physical form.
“Mmh,” he hums, tilting your head to the side like he’s admiring his favorite portrait. “You didn’t notice?” His voice dips into something low and smoky. “Every time you got chills for no reason? That was me.” His smile grows wicked. “When your window blew open, even though you swore you closed it? That was me, too.”
You reel, trying to process his words, but your mind keeps snagging on how he’s brushing your knuckles across your lips. His eyes glimmer with dangerous delight as he murmurs,
“And when you had those dreams about me?” He presses your index finger against the corner of your mouth, tracing it slowly. “Yeah. Definitely me.”
Your mind blanks.
No. No, no, no, no. Those dreams. The ones that left you breathless and achingly hot, your fingers gripping at sheets that never seemed cool enough. The ones you brushed off as some twisted side effect of your subconscious craving companionship. Those were him?
Jaemin watches the realization flicker in your eyes, and he smirks. The bastard smirks.
“Caught you,” he taunts softly. “You liked it.”
You hate how warm your limbs—his limbs—suddenly look. How he’s using your body to lean against the dresser, one hand slipping into your hair with an infuriatingly slow, self-satisfied motion.
“I— I did not like it,” you snap, but the waver in your voice makes the words feel brittle.
Jaemin clicks your tongue, mock-scolding you. “Tsk, tsk. Lying to a ghost? How cold-hearted.”
Then, with a wolfish grin, he steps closer to the mirror, lowering his voice into something just shy of sinful.
“Admit it,” he purrs, lips brushing your reflection. “You miss me when you wake up.”
You want to scream. Want to throttle him. Want to—
Oh. Oh no. You want to kiss him.
He feels it. The longing that spikes through you. His eyes—your eyes—flash with a victorious gleam. Slowly, deliberately, he presses your palm against your chest, right over your heart, as if to taunt you with your own racing pulse.
“Wouldn’t it be easier,” he breathes softly, the words a whisper against the mirror, “if you just let me stay?”
The world stills. Your throat tightens.
Stay?
Stay in your body? With you?
“You’re insane,” you murmur faintly.
Jaemin flashes you a dimpled grin. “Possibly.” Then, in a voice so soft you almost mistake it for reverence, he adds,
“But you make me want to be alive again.”
And before you can stop yourself, you whisper back,
“You already are.”
For a single, breathless heartbeat, he falters. His eyes—no longer teasing, no longer smug—widen slightly, raw and disarmed. For the first time, you catch a glimpse of something achingly human behind them.
And that’s when he lifts your hand—his hand—to the mirror. Presses his palm against the glass, longing sparking in his eyes like embers.
“Come closer,” he murmurs, so softly it barely reaches you.
Without thinking, you do. Your consciousness—your disembodied self—drifts toward the surface of the mirror, drawn in by the magnetic warmth in his eyes. You hover there, feeling the pull of his presence. The way it stirs something deep and trembling inside you.
His lips part. Just slightly. His eyes lower to your mouth.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, your voice barely a breath.
And before you know it, you’re crashing back into your own body.
The sensation is sudden and disorienting. Like being dunked into ice-cold water, your limbs snap back into place, your chest heaving. You blink rapidly, disoriented. Dizzy. Alive.
But when you glance at the mirror—he’s still there. His reflection. Smiling softly. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… gentle.
“See?” he murmurs. “Told you we were better together.”
Your lips part, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs.
“You’re impossible,” you whisper.
Jaemin’s grin turns slow and fond.
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “But I’m yours now.”
And God help you—you smile back.
