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stylespresleyhearted · 9 months ago

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THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

#mota fic #mota fanfic #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #bucky x oc #bucky egan x reader #bucky egan fanfiction #bucky egan fanfic #john egan fanfic #john egan fanfiction #*made by me

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hellishjoel · 9 months ago

Text

on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

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summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks.

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection.

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke?

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults.

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite.

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work.

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot.

He’s impressive, really.

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands.

But his hands… they were brilliant.

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra.

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week.

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country.

You were good. Peña was great.

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful.

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion.

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch.

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters.

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever.

“Me?”

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta.

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.”

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?”

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance.

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron.

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath.

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.”

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree.

“Name them.”

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent.

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.”

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.”

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.”

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor.

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice.

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong.

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery.

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--”

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear.

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.”

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.”

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn.

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work.

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.”

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare.

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph.

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph.

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before.

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie.

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection.

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital.

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed.

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck.

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings.

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall.

“What the hell, Peña?”

Oh shit.

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.”

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect.

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite.

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident.

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.”

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man.

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands.

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor.

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art.

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next.

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery.

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore.

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes.

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash. He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives.

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson.

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway.

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds.

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved.

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months.

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More?

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you.

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you.

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint.

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.”

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.”

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.”

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps.

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.”

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore.

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed.

But fantasizing wasn’t enough.

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.”

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek.

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need.

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his.

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.”

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane.

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs.

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet.

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg.

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor.

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned.

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both.

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet.

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again.

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds.

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape.

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts.

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room.

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline.

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop.

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory.

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs.

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs.

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick.

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.”

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.”

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him.

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more.

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness.

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is.

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can.

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it.

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh.

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs.

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands.

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold.

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name.

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space.

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?”

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize.

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly.

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same.

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers.

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption.

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around.

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs.

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem.

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command.

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet.

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly.

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones.

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security.

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length.

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively.

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were.

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds.

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña.

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it.

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm.

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes.

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.”

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft.

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever.

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings.

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.”

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him.

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance.

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless.

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully.

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist.

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward.

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head.

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you.

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck.

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder.

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips.

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark.

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck.

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating.

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity.

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell.

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting.

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark.

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal.

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice.

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment.

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge.

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop.

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break.

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed.

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done.

Did he?

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze.

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half.

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back.

“For the lessons.”

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf.

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches.

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips.

“I know why you smoke.”

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient.

“Shit,” you mutter.

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff.

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit.

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s.

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empty-vessel-of-a-person · 5 months ago

Text

How M/C shows her love for Zayne.

Note: Contains Spoiler for those who just started the game. You are warned!!!!

She practically asked him out. In Sweet Conspiracy, she practically ensures that Zayne will call her to meet again by giving him her sweets so Zayne will call her to return then.. Witty little Miss Hunter.. 👍👍👍

She is willing to wait for him, no matter how long it takes for him to end his shift. The longest she waits for him was during the Entwined Shadow Event Partner episode. She arrives at the hospital after her shift ends early. Meaning if in regular working hours, she might end her shift around 4 pm then arrive at the hospital roughly before 5 pm. But Zayne didn't get off work until the "streetlights have dimmed" which can only mean the next morning. She is really dedicated to giving him a surprise.

Doesn't care if she's hurt as long as she can save Zayne. We can see this on multiple occasions. E.G. Foreseer Lore, Snowy Serenity, and Lingering Warmth. The common thing about these memories is in all of them, Zayne's Evol becomes out of control. And every time he pushes her away, she stubbornly stays and helps him anyway. This shows how much she is willing to give to stay by his side. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part. 💙❄️💙❄️💙❄️💙

She never snatched her hands away from Zayne and they always grabbed each other's hands. M/C always willing reach out to Zayne "Affectionately". Let's read that again people. Everytime M/C touch his face, he automatically lean in to her touch and she always let him kiss her palm. We always see this gesture as Zayne showing affection to us, but it is actually a 2 way street because in reality we gave him our affection first and he is reciprocating it. Give and take you people!!!! 😉😉😉😉😉

And lastly, M/C have no qualms is having an intimate moment (and it doesn't have to be sexual) with Zayne. The earliest time we saw this is, again on Lingering Warmth where Zayne is almost practically naked in the bathroom and M/C just holding him to keep him warm. In the Forest Breeze Secret Times, he is practically dressing her up. In the Sudden Rain Secret Times, Zayne is indirectly implying that they have showered together when he's drying her hair. On a shallow view, we can see this as an act of service from Zayne. But in Chinese and Japanese culture, a couple that's drying each other's hair is a testament that they are already intimately together and not just casually dating.

Final Thoughts: M/C is whole-heartedly, emotionally and physically inclined to Zayne. She trusted him completely and sought out for him on her own. Their feelings are mutual. They miss each other terribly when they are away from each other causing them to fly to each other's business trips just to see each other in a few moments and they never resist each other's physical advances and touches. You know why M/C resisted in Hidden Motive? Well that's for another blog... Hehehhe ciao!!!!

#love and deepspace #zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne lads #lnds zayne #zayne l&ds #dr zayne

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cece693 · 3 months ago

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Velvet Ring Pt. 3 (Hannibal Lecter x M! Reader)

Sorry for the short hiatus, but life comes first :) I have read your comments and delivered part three of Velvet Ring. Many say this should be a full-length novel, so I'm considering going to Ao3 and posting it there. More info to come, but I hope you enjoy it!

link to part one and part two

The months that followed your departure were a slow descent into madness for Hannibal, a feverish chase that consumed him with a depth he hadn’t known was possible. He had no doubt you were alive—he would have felt it otherwise, sensed the hollow ache in his soul if you had truly been lost. Yet, no matter how many leads he pursued, no matter the lengths he went to, you remained elusive, slipping from his grasp like water.

He contacted private investigators, each more skilled than the last, paying them handsome sums for information that ultimately led nowhere. Hannibal monitored hospitals, social service records, border crossings, tracking every lead that might hint at your presence, yet all he found was emptiness. His health took a toll—his once sturdy frame became thin, his skin turning sickly pale due to the lack of sunlight as the man feverously searched through papers. But his nights were the worst of it.

Sleep, once a rare respite, became his most unforgiving tormentor, an unbidden invitation into his memory palace, where every hall and chamber held your presence. In every room, you were there, waiting with that quiet intensity he could never forget, your gaze piercing him with unspoken questions. He would step forward, his hands trembling as he reached out.

"Please," Hannibal whispered, his voice breaking in a way it never did in the waking world. "Please, come back to me." And each time he reached for you, tried to bridge the impossible chasm he had created, he would awaken, gasping and cold, his hand outstretched to empty air, the harsh reality a cruel slap in the face. He knew he would never find peace, not without you. His life, his plans, his ambition—all of it was hollow now, stripped of all meaning.

But then, after months of nothing but anguish and shadows, he heard a whisper—a sighting in a small, secluded town, someone matching your description. It was faint, the kind of rumor easily dismissed as coincidence by anyone else. But Hannibal clung to it with an iron grip, the flicker of hope it rekindled blazing into a fire within him. Without hesitation, he set out, leaving no time to rest, crossing miles with a singular determination to find you.

Hannibal arrived at dusk, the air heavy and cool, exhaustion tugging at his every step, but a fierce anticipation overriding all else. He scanned the cobblestone streets, his gaze sharp and hungry, studying every face. Just as his hope began to waver, there you were—across the street, holding a small bag, engaged in conversation.

Hannibal’s heart seized as his eyes locked onto you, his breath catching at the sight of you after so long. But then, his gaze drifted to the woman beside you, her hand resting lightly on your arm as she leaned in, laughing softly at something you said. Something primal stirred within him, a dark flame fanned by jealousy, possessiveness, and the betrayal he felt as he watched you sharing even a fragment of your life with another.

Without hesitation, he crossed the cobblestone street, his steps unyielding, his gaze fixed intently on you. As he approached, the woman looked up, startled, and her grip on you tightened as she registered the intensity in his eyes. His face remained composed, but there was an edge to his expression, a darkness that radiated in the tight line of his jaw, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long on her hand resting on your arm.

"M/N,” he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet intensity that was both familiar and unsettling. The way he said it—both a question and an accusation—made you freeze, your eyes widening as they locked onto him. Hannibal took in sick delight at the way you removed the woman's hold on your arm, a unconscious sign that you did something wrong and knew it.

Turning to the woman, Hannibal smiled, cold and unyielding. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, his tone dripping with a courtesy that felt more like a threat than an introduction. "I'm Hannibal Lecter, and who might you be?"

She cleared her throat, her unease evident. “I'm Anna. Pietro's friend." Her voice was unsteady, unsure of how to respond to the quiet menace in his gaze. Hannibal didn't care that you had created a fake identity, the moniker friend, being of more importance. There was ambiguity in it—a loose, undefined boundary that could mean anything or nothing at all. The lack of clarity fanned the flame of his resentment, and he relished the discomfort that flashed in Anna’s eyes as his stare intensified.

"A friend,” he repeated, his voice soft but edged with subtle derision. His gaze flicked over her with a dispassionate coldness before returning to you. “I wasn’t aware Pietro had developed such… casual acquaintances during his time away.” His tone held a faint sneer, and he continued, turning back to her with a faint smile. “Tell me, Anna, how long have you been acquainted with him?”

Anna’s gaze darted nervously between you and Hannibal, the weight of his intense scrutiny pressing down on her. “Just a few weeks,” she replied, voice faltering slightly under his sharp gaze.

"Wonderful,” Hannibal murmured, his smile tightening, “then I assume he’ll be quick to abandon you in favor of company more suited to his needs. Pietro has a habit of seeking company that doesn’t benefit him—shallow, fleeting connections, if you will.” His words were like barbed silk, each one crafted to cut deeper.

“Hannibal!” you interjected sharply, your tone stern, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. You took a step forward, trying to draw his attention away from Anna, who looked close to tears.

Hannibal’s gaze shifted back to you, a faint glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “My apologies,” he said softly, his voice dangerously smooth, “I merely assumed that you’d be accustomed to my honesty by now.”

You clenched your jaw, leveling him with a glare. “Your honesty is cruelty, Hannibal,” you said firmly. “And I don’t appreciate you taking your issues out on someone who has nothing to do with this.” Hannibal seethed, watching as you turned your gaze back unto that pig leaning into her ear, whispering something unintelligible. His hands clenched at his sides, his entire posture radiating a barely restrained fury.

“Anna has nothing to do with this, Hannibal,” you said firmly, once the wretched pig had left. “I won’t stand here and let you humiliate her just because she's been kind during my stay here."

“Humiliate?” Hannibal repeated, his voice cold and dripping with disdain. “The only humiliation here is watching you pretend this… distraction somehow compensates for what you left behind. But if that’s the kind of company you now keep, perhaps I overestimated your standards as well.”

You narrowed your eyes, anger flaring. “That’s enough,” you warned, stepping forward. “I didn’t ask you to come here, and I certainly didn’t ask for your opinions on my choices.”

Hannibal scoffed, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Your choices?” he echoed, his voice rising, each word dripping with venom. “They weren’t just your choices. They were ours. When you abandoned me without a word, as if what we had was disposable, your choice became mine.”

For a brief moment, his gaze softened, the fury and bitterness fading to reveal something raw, something painfully human. His face transformed, stripped of the cold, unshakable control he had always exuded—even as children, when he had towered over others with a quiet, invincible strength. It was as if a mask had fallen away, and you saw, perhaps for the first time, that beneath his formidable presence, Hannibal was vulnerable and, terrifyingly, capable of being hurt.

Hannibal’s voice softened, a glimmer of both sorrow and fierce determination in his eyes as he gently brushed his thumb along your cheek. “But I forgive you,” he murmured, his words filled with tenderness. “But tell me this: why didn’t you tell me Lady Murasaki and Robert treated you horribly? I would have put an end to their horrid behavior if I’d known.”

The weight of his forgiveness, his readiness to overlook the pain of your absence, only made the guilt settle deeper in your chest. You took a shaky breath, looking down as the words you’d hidden so carefully finally began to spill out. “I thought…I thought I was protecting you,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “They’re your family, Hannibal. I didn’t want to be the reason you fought with them. And a part of me was scared. That if you spoke with them, you'll realize that they were right. That I was undeserving of you."

Hannibal’s face darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes as he took in your words, his jaw clenching. He felt a rush of anger swell within him, barely tempered by the knowledge that Robert and Lady Murasaki—those who had dared to make you feel so small, so undeserving—had already been dealt with. Even so, a bitter regret simmered beneath his composure, a twisted satisfaction tainted by the thought that he could have made their ends far more painful, a true testament to the suffering they had inflicted on you.

"That couldn’t be further from the truth, beloved." His hand moved to cup your face, his fingers warm against your skin as he tilted your chin, his gaze softening with an intensity that stole your breath. His voice, quiet yet filled with unwavering conviction, wrapped around you like a protective embrace.

“Don’t you see?” Hannibal continued, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your cheek. “Without you, my life would have been empty, hollow. They convinced you that you were an obstacle, something in the way of greatness, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. You are my anchor, the one who kept me grounded when everything else felt meaningless. My purpose.” His voice grew rough, carrying the weight of all he’d felt, all he’d kept buried.

Hannibal leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours, his voice softening. “They saw the depth of what we shared, and it frightened them. They knew I would choose you over anything they could offer, over any legacy or loyalty. And so, they made you believe you were unworthy, hoping to drive us apart.” He shook his head, the faintest hint of sorrow in his eyes. “But they were wrong. I am yours, and without you, I am nothing but a shadow.”

You felt the warmth of his words seeping into you, soothing the ache that their lies had left, dissolving the doubts that had plagued you for so long. His gaze held yours, his hand still cupping your face with a gentleness that belied his intensity. “Promise me,” he murmured, his voice almost pleading, “that you will never doubt your place beside me again. That you won't ever leave my side again.”

Your heart swelled, and with a trembling smile, you nodded, leaning into his touch. “I promise, Hannibal.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, filled with both relief and the unspoken vow that no one would ever come between you again. “Then we begin anew,” he whispered, brushing his lips softly over your forehead. “Together, as it was always meant to be.”

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intimacyinfinitely · 29 days ago

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Hello my friend, please help. We do not have money to buy food and drink. I have young children who do not know the taste of sleep because of the bitter cold caused by the rain. We do not have shelter. Our services are torn. Donate to me, even if it is a little. I ask you to help, my friend 🙏🙏😭

#asks #nazmy1988

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tetskuro · 5 months ago

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𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇

content: when kita falls ill, a very rare occurrence, you nurse him back to health.

warnings: fluff, timeskip!kita, gn!reader, established relationship

character(s): kita shinsuke

word count: 748

a/n: i started writing this back in july and took a break from it but it's finally finished! kita shinsuke i love u

Illness avoided Kita like the plague. Forget the legendary Iron Wall of Date Tech; when it came to blocking unwanted attacks from invaders, Kita's immune system stood undefeated. Sure, in his childhood years, he'd fallen sick a couple of times—maybe a mild cough here and a common cold there. But nothing ever lasted more than a few days. He was taught to always prioritize his health and maintain a steady pace, never pushing himself to the point of foolishly overworking.

But alas, Kita was human too, and even he couldn't evade the mortal travails of falling ill.

"Shin, you're burning up!" you exclaimed one evening, pressing the back of your hand to his clammy forehead and cheeks. When he had returned home after tending to his crops all day, you immediately noticed that his face was oddly flushed. And you weren't the cause—not this time at least.

"Felt an oncomin' fever late last night 'n I thought I could sleep it off," Kita admitted. "But it got worse today. I was just about ta make myself some tea 'n go rest." He sluggishly stepped towards the kitchen, his feet leaden with weariness.

"No," you stated, stopping him in his tracks. "You go get ready for bed, and I'll bring you tea. Chamomile, right?"

Kita looked like he was about to protest but wisely decided against it when he saw the resolute expression fixed on your features. Instead, he nodded wordlessly and headed to your shared bedroom. He peeled off his work clothes slowly, the aching sensation from the raging fever and toil of labor finally settling deep in his muscles and bones.

A few moments later once Kita had tucked himself under the covers, you entered the room with the promised tea in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other. His heart stuttered in his chest. In his feverish haze, you appeared as an angel to him—an otherworldly being sent from above whom he was honored to even lay eyes upon. The soft lamplight gave your figure a heavenly glow. Your movements were light, and your beauty was breathtaking. Kita wasn't an overly sappy person, but he thought he could be cured just by looking at you.

You sat down at the edge of the bed, and he gratefully accepted the mug of chamomile tea. He cradled the warmth in his hands and observed you over the rim of the mug.

"Thank ya, dear." Kita took small sips, careful not to burn his tongue.

Once you confirmed that Kita was as comfortable as he could be despite his fever, your mouth set into a thin, disapproving line. "You should've told me you weren't feeling well earlier. What if you had passed out in the middle of the field?" Concern was etched on your face, and Kita felt a wave of guilt wash over him. It wasn't fair to you, and the last thing he wanted to do was to make you worry.

"'m sorry," he expressed, sincerity evident in his eyes. "I didn't think it'd get this bad. It won't happen again."

Your features softened at his apology. "You always take care of me when I'm sick, so let me return the favor."

Brushing his hair back, you placed the damp cloth on his forehead. The cool water—and your gentle touch—did wonders for his pounding headache, a soothing feeling traveling throughout his entire body.

Apparently, sickness and drowsiness caused Kita's sentimentality to overflow. You knew he expressed affection in his own ways, typically through thoughtful gestures and everyday acts of service, but his current ailment made his words more unfiltered. Kita mumbled, "Darlin', yer too sweet to me. Yer an angel, y'know? What did I ever do ta deserve ya?"

Heat rose to your face at Kita's straightforwardness. "I could say the same for you," you replied and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Don't do that, yer gonna get sick too," he chastised, frowning at your impulsivity though his cheeks turned imperceptibly redder. Who knew Kita could be so adorable when he was sick?

"Get some rest," you whispered while fighting to hide a smile. Empty mug and washcloth in hand, you made sure Kita was snugly tucked in one last time before turning off the lights. "Goodnight, Shin."

The last thing Kita heard before falling asleep was your voice sweetly calling out to him. Mentally, he vowed to always take care of you in sickness and in health.

for more works, check out my masterlist

#⭑—fics #haikyuu #kita #kita shinsuke #haikyuu x reader #kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #hq #hq x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu x you #kita x you #kita fic #kita fluff #kita drabbles

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divinelolita · 6 months ago

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bttm m!reader edging 2008!tom with a cock ring while giving him a blow job :3 ?

08' TOM KAULITZ X MALE READER

cw: nsfw content, cock rings, domsub! reader, service top! tom, edging, orgasm denial, oral sex, crying, reader is kinda meannn ;<

a/n: hii! ik i havent written alot/engaged alot and i apologize. i've been focusing on my mental health more, and there's alot going on. ty to all of you who like my work, i try my best for uu! :D

"Ohhhhhmyygohhd..."

Tom dragged out as he threw his head back against the wooden bedframe, his jaw going slack as your pink tongue swirled around his tip. You hummed quietly, feeling his thighs tremble beneath you.

Tom couldn't fucking stand it. Your warm, velvety mouth was wrapped tightly around his throbbing length, running along the sensitive underside of his veins. He'd cry out, hand clenching into fists. He knew better than to touch you, push you away, while you were in charge.

And it certainly didn't help him much that there was a tight cock ring locked around his dick, preventing him from reaching the high he was so desperate for. He let out a little cry as the ache in his balls grew, his tip flushing a deep shade of violet.

"B-baby....m' sorry, so sorry...le'mme cum, pleaseuh?"

His voice was strained as he panted, pleaded, for your permission. You only let out a small giggle -god you were infuriating- as your soft, plump lips suckled on his tip. He let out a little whine, eyelashes fluttering as the ache in his lower abdomen only increased.

"P-please, baby? Let me cum..." He shakily whispered, his veiny hands reaching down to tug on your soft locks. You let out a little "hmph" as you slapped them away. He panted, mewling when you only doubled in your efforts, bobbing your head up and down his length.

He let out a sob, his thighs trembling wildly. His legs flailed, trying to close shut. You huffed, hands firmly pressing his thighs apart.

"Stop misbehaving and stay still. You'll take what I give you, is that fucking clear?"

You ground out as you slurped along his cock. When he only whimpered in response, you narrowed your eyes and scraped your teeth along his sensitive tip. Not too harsh, but enough to where he gasped out loudly.

"Y-yes..." He shakily sobbed, cock throbbing wildly as pre-cum dribbled onto your tongue. Poor baby. He was so close to cumming, but you were positive he wouldn't. Couldn't. The ring was far too right...

"Yes, what?" You hum as you bob your head up and down faster, feeling his tip run along the back of your throat. The vibrations from your hums go straight up his sensitive cock, making him wail loudly.

"Y-yes, I understand!" He pants, eyes dazed and rolled back. His hands grip tightly on the sheets- so tight you're almost worried he'll rip them to shreds. His dreads were cascading down his shoulders, his hairband which kept them up thrown somewhere and long forgotten.

"Good." You respond quietly as you continue, kitten licking his sensitive slit making him shake like crazy. "Good boy. My good boy..."

#tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel x male reader #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x male reader #sub tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz smut #x male reader #x reader #dom male reader #bottom male reader #x male y/n #tom kaulitz x female reader

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otomiyaa · 3 months ago

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Day 23: Money

Jinshi x Maomao | Nim's Lovely Tickletober

Word Count: 1.4K

Jinshi was shaking. No, no, no. Calm down. Don't panic. Too late, he was totally panicking and breathing heavily.

The knocks on his door startled him.

"C-c-come in."

As requested, Maomao entered and she bowed politely. "You called for me?"

Jinshi stared at her. She looked so casual after, after.... Jinshi shuddered as his mind went back to that moment earlier in the day. He was wondering what Maomao was up to in her free time lately so yes, he kind of followed her.

Staying behind, Jinshi ended up losing track, but he did go in the same direction as she did and looked around for her. That was when, from an abandoned shed, he could hear voices. Groans, and moans, mostly....

"Does it feel good?" That was Maomao's voice!!! More groans.

"Yes."

That was a man and he sounded so happy. Jinshi was already losing it. It didn't take long before the door opened and first the man came out: Lihaku. Jinshi stared in disgust as he walked away. Then Maomao came out. She looked all smug and proud while she admired the money in her hand. She then merrily pranced away.

Jinshi couldn't believe what he witnessed. Maomao was earning extra money doing things.... things like that? In places like that? WITH MEN LIKE THAT?

Not sure what to do with this new information, Jinshi had decided to summon her to his room to try and subtly discuss the matter. If Maomao was having money problems, she should come to him. Not do some nasty business with other men. He knew she was raised in such an environment, but this was still really shocking for a person like Maomao.

"I j-just wanted to talk. Are you doing well?" Jinshi asked, trying not to sound as if he was dying inside.

Maomao nodded. "I am doing well."

"H-how about financially? Is there anything... you need?"

Maomao made a face. "I need a lot of things. But not particularly." Another painful arrow through Jinshi's heart. Yes, loving poison and experimenting with all sort of things wasn't the cheapest hobby and she was drooling over any valuable ingredient at the market, he knew that.

But if she didn't need anything in particular, was she even just randomly doing this side hustle for like, no important reason at all?

Jinshi had no choice but to cut to the chase, especially when Maomao asked first: "Why do you ask? Are you raising my salary?"

That smug little girl. Jinshi glared at her and finally said the truth. "Because I saw you this afternoon."

Her expression changed. She looked surprised. "Oh." She then looked smug again!

"It can't be helped. My skills are so good, people want to buy a session all the time. And I can use the extra money."

Noooooooooooooooo!!!!! Jinshi almost stumbled as he rushed forward and he grabbed her shoulders.

"Y-you can't do things like that!!!" he screamed. Maomao looked unfazed.

"Why not?"

"B-b-b-because......! It's....!" Jinshi was almost fainting. Maomao looked like nothing was wrong at all.

"I don't see the problem. If I compare my work to any doctor's, I have the right to get paid for my services."

"You...!!! Eh? D-doctor?" Jinshi asked when he realized what she was saying.

"My massages really improve the physical health." Maomao nodded proudly. Massages. Jinshi sank through his knees and breathed out. They were just massages. He clenched Maomao's robes to not fall over completely and he sighed.

"M-massages. So... You're that good at them, hm?" he asked tiredly. Maomao nodded again.

"Do you want to try it?"

Jinshi blinked and slowly looked up. Was she offering him a massage now? He tried hard not to appear too perverted when thinking that thought. He then slapped his own cheeks. No, no, it's not like that! Maomao has been selling these massages to other men. Surely he could get one too.

"I'll give it to you for free," Maomao said. Jinshi almost gasped. Special treatment!!! He nodded his head profusely.

"Yes," he said stiffly. Within the next moment, Jinshi sat down and Maomao stood behind him. Her small hands were working on his shoulders, and Jinshi started to question this whole massage thing again. It did feel kind of erotic... Then again, maybe that was just his own silly and problematic mind.

"Does it feel good?" she asked. Oh yes definitely. Jinshi couldn't even answer. Maomao's fingers traveled more to the side, her thumbs rubbing him firmly in circles and making his muscles tingle. But then...

"Yah!" Jinshi jolted, and Maomao paused.

"Does it hurt? Your muscles sure are delicate," she commented.

"No! No it doesn't," Jinshi said. It didn't hurt, but worse. It tickled.

"Alright then." Maomao continued and Jinshi started to try and control his breathing. As if it wasn't already bad enough (in a good way) that Maomao was voluntarily touching him, her massage started to tickle, and the more Jinshi tried to convince himself it didn't, the more ticklish it became.

"H-hehehe.... mhmhmhm....." To his horror, Jinshi realized giggles were escaping his lips, and he quickly covered his mouth.

He hoped she didn't hear that embarrassing noise.

Maomao hummed. "Oh... If you're the sensitive kind of person, my massage can indeed tickle," she said. SHE TOTALLY HEARD IT.

Jinshi started to shake a little, holding back his laughter. "It d-doesn't t-ti-tihihickle."

The ticklish sensations only worsened though and he started to think she was doing it on purpose now.

"It doesn't?"

Jinshi continued to giggle and he squirmed, especially when her fingers lowered to his lower back, and he arched his back suddenly and gasped.

"W-wahahait!" he laughed. Maomao giggled as well.

"I'm amazed. I never had such a ticklish client before." Jinshi couldn't help but see it as both an insult and compliment. He was embarrassed that he seemed to be the only man giggling like a child because of her massage. But Maomao also took her precious time to make Jinshi laugh. It tickled a lot, but he also kind of didn't want her to stop...

"Y-y-you're dohohoing it ohohon purpohose ehehe!" Jinshi had fallen on his side now and giggled while Maomao continued to tickle him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. You are the one who is too ticklish for my massage."

She kneaded his lower sides and back, and Jinshi had never felt such a pleasant and ticklish sensation before. "Wahahah!"

"Do you want me to stop?"

Jinshi shook his head. "I cahahan tahahake it!"

Maomao laughed playfully. "We will see about that." The moment she aimed for his ribs, Jinshi's suspicions were confirmed that this girl had the actual nerve to tickle him on purpose.

"Nohoho! Not thahahat!" Jinshi howled.

"It's all part of the massage," Maomao lied. She made him laugh more than Jinshi had in the past... years. In his whole lifetime maybe. Those who would bathe and care for him knew how sensitive he could be and would avoid it whenever Jinshi's ticklishness threatened to make him laugh.

But Maomao here, she didn't hold back and exploited it. Surely it was rude and shameless, but Jinshi couldn't help but enjoy it. The feeling, the attention, and the uncontrollable laughter.

When Maomao finally stopped, he was breathing heavily and looking up at her smug face.

"Did that feel good?" she asked. Jinshi was still catching his breath. He knew she was teasing him, but... He wondered how he could get her to do this again to him without appearing like a crazy pervert.

"Y-yes. I admit it tickles, but it's a good massage," he sighed. He then added: "If I pay you money next time... Would you do that again?"

Maomao looked suprised to hear this answer. "Are you sure?"

Jinshi blushed and nodded. "It d-does improve my phyiscal health, as you said..." Jinshi said shyly. He wasn't going to say this out loud, but he was convinced that laughter was definitely a good medicine too, especially after a bad day.

"I'll pay you extra..." he said.

Maomao first gaped at him. She then smiled radiantly. "Hehe! Well, of course!"

Jinshi knew it would be weird to give her money for extra 'services' like that. But at least it was less weird to treat it like a paid massage service, rather than just ask her to tickle him again and again.

And besides, if this would keep Maomao off the streets and her precious hands off any other man's body... yes, Jinshi would pay her the double amount and would take her tickle attacks as a well-earned bonus.

#tickletober #tickletober2024 #lovelytickletober #jinmao #jinshi x maomao #the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #tickling #tickle fic #otomiya!writes #jinshi #maomao

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ducktoo · 5 months ago

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Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

1. New life…as what now?

Note: primary vs secondary acc issue, repost it now to the right place. Enjoy!

Masterlist here

It had been years since Y/n left the relentless grind of trainee life behind him. It was a chapter he thought they'd never revisit—especially not from the outside looking in.

His new life had a quieter rhythm.

No more sprinting to dance practices or losing sleep memorising lyrics. Instead, Y/n had been picking up odd jobs in the entertainment industry—small gigs, freelance work, and most recently, running errands for people still in the idol bubble. Heck, he even finished his mandatory services the moment he left his early days.

Y/n stretched, basking in a rare moment of peace as he sat in a quiet café. The iced Americano sweating in front of him was untouched, but that wasn’t a surprise.

He weren’t really there to drink coffee. More like he was trying to figure out what came next. The timeframe of unemployment is real…

Sure, there were opportunities, but nothing that screamed "this is it!"

Just as his thoughts began to drift into existential territory, their phone buzzed on the table.

"SM CEO."

Y/n’s brow furrowed. SM? What could they possibly want? He hadn't stepped foot in that building since—

No time to dwell. He swiped to answer.

"Hello, sir?"

A crisp, professional voice on the other end greeted them, and Y/n immediately recognized it—the CEO he occasionally met during their trainee days. "Y/n, it’s been a while."

Y/n nodded, as if the person on the phone could see them. "Good morning sir. What’s up?"

"Ah, nothing too stressful. I just want to ask how would you feel about rejoining the team—"

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. "Wait, wait, wait," he interrupted, half-joking, half-anxious. "With all due respect, you’re not trying to re-sign me as a trainee, are you? I don’t think my back can handle another round of choreography."

The voice chuckled lightly. "No, no. Not as a trainee. We actually have a bit of a different proposition for you. It’s related to aespa."

"aespa?" That name hit Y/n like a sudden gust of wind.

aespa. The super rookies who had been making waves all over the industry and one of the biggest girl groups leading the 4th generation of K-pop.

And Winter… his mind went there instinctively.

While they still regularly talked to each other, he remembered he was adamant about leaving his past trainee life behind and pursue blue collar jobs. Winter was someone Y/n had trained alongside before she debuted.

Y/n felt a pang of nostalgia—mixed with a little guilt. He didn’t want to be a disappointment to his childhood friend. "what about them?"

“Wait, hold up… what?”

The words felt stuck in Y/n’s throat, awkwardly lodged between disbelief and mild panic. The fluorescent lights above the SM CEO’s office flickered softly, adding to the sense of surrealistic reality. Y/n’s palms felt clammy as the director continued with that calm, almost amused smile, the kind that said, "Welcome to the deep end of the pool—good luck swimming."

“You’re going to manage aespa,” the director said again, this time like he was offering Y/n a cup of coffee, not rearranging his entire life.

Y/n blinked, their mind working overtime to piece together what was just said. “Manage… as in… manage manage?” He tried to keep their voice steady, but the end of the sentence squeaked out a little too much. It didn’t help that the director just nodded, nonchalant as ever.

"Yes. You're aware we're short-staffed, and your background as a trainee means you're already familiar with how the company operates. Their current manager had to step down suddenly due to health reasons, and we need someone to step in on short notice. Someone familiar with the company’s ways and preferably, someone who’s worked with Winter before. That’s where you come in."

Y/n’s heart did a weird flip. Of all the things he had expected—maybe helping out behind the scenes, doing some coordination work—this was not it. Y/n was barely done figuring out their own path, and now he had to figure out the path for one of K-pop’s biggest girl groups?

The panic was rising, but Y/n swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. “B-but, I was just a trainee before this.. I've never took any management courses before?”

The director leaned forward slightly, folding his hands together. “Yet, that experience as a trainee means you know about the idols' health and wellbeing more than everyone else. Everything else you can definitely learn on the job.”

"B-but-"

"And we think it will be better as well considering you and Minjeong auditioned together and got in together."

Ah right, Winter and Y/n were childhood friends. Sure, managing her wouldn't be too hard considering god knows how long they hung out together, but the rest of the members? Just the thought of it made Y/n gulped.

"Don't worry, the other managers will teach you your role. Red Velvet's manager will brief you after our talk." The director stood up, signalling the end of the conversation. “Your first day starts tomorrow. Get some rest tonight.”

Leaving Y/n alone in the room, he thought "…Minjeong will have a fcking field day with this…”

Y/n hadn’t slept a wink. The alarm clock was practically taunting them as it beeped at 6 a.m., the early start not unusual in idol life.

If the old Y/n—back when he was a trainee—had thought the pace of idol life was fast, stepping into a manager’s shoes was like jumping onto a bullet train already at full speed. There was no time to get acclimated, no luxury of easing into the role. Y/n showed up to the SM building the very next morning, and the minute he stepped through those familiar glass doors, the whirlwind began.

"Y/n, good to see you again!" One of the staff greeted them, barely pausing for pleasantries as she handed them a clipboard. "Here’s aespa’s schedule for the next two days. Red Velvet's manager will teach you today, but from tomorrow onwards, it’s all on you."

Y/n blinked, scanning the clipboard. Music show rehearsal. Commercial shoot. Dance practice. Fan sign event. And that was just before lunch on day one. "Wow… this is… intense," he muttered under their breath.

The staff member laughed. "Welcome to the life of an idol manager. You’ll get used to it."

He wasn’t ready for this. Hell no.

Yet, somehow, at 8:45 a.m., Y/n found himself standing outside aespa’s practice room, a bundle of nerves in the pit of their stomach. Through the glass window, Y/n could see the four girls, laughing about something, stretching, and getting ready to practice, while Red Velvet's manager briefing them their schedules and began to introduce their new manager.

This was going to be weird. Y/n hadn’t been around the group since the trainee days, and even then, he had been on the outside looking in. Minjeong… oh god, Minjeong. He really didn't tell her anything about this new role, just hinting that he got a job.

"Deep breath," Y/n muttered to themselves. It was just a job. Just another day.

As he opened the door, the laughter in the room died down almost instantly. Four sets of eyes turned to Y/n, and the tension hung in the air like fog. Karina stood in the centre, arms folded, eyebrows raised slightly as if sizing up an opponent.

"So," she said, voice cool and composed, "you’re our new manager?"

Y/n nodded stiffly, offering a small wave that felt ridiculously out of place. "Uh, yeah. That’s me. Jung Y/n. Lovely to meet you all.”

Winter, who had been doing some light stretches, straightened up when she recognized Y/n. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she let out a small laugh. "Wait, Y/n?!"

Y/n tried to relax, giving Winter a sheepish smile and a peace sign. "Y-yo"

Winter’s easy laughter filled the room, lightening the mood, if only slightly. "Ya, idiot! Is this why you didn't say anything about your new job?."

"Yeah, well, I guess." Y/n shrugged. "How are you doing tho?"

"More happy now that I know that you're working with us!" Winter beamed. "This is really too funny kekekeke"

While Winter was dying in the background at the revelation, Karina’s sharp gaze hadn’t shifted. She looked Y/n up and down, her scepticism almost tangible. "No offense, but… how much experience do you have managing?"

Y/n inwardly winced but kept their face neutral. "Well, this is my first time officially managing, but I’ve trained with the company for years. I know how things work on both sides, so…"

Karina didn’t seem convinced. She didn’t say anything, but the silence spoke volumes. Ningning and Giselle exchanged glances, sensing the subtle tension in the room.

Giselle, always the bigger person, stepped in, trying to ease the awkwardness. "It’ll be fine, unnie. Y/n’s got this. I mean, he survived SM’s training system, right?"

Karina shrugged, finally breaking eye contact. "We’ll see."

Y/n’s phone buzzed for what felt like the thousandth time, and He resisted the urge to hurl it into the nearest trash can. "This cursed fing- I mean, object"

This is fine.

Everything is fine. Sure, his first official day as aespa’s manager had turned into a whirlwind of chaos, but Y/n had told himself he’d survive the day. It was all about staying calm.

Except, calm was nowhere to be found, and the more he tried to navigate their new responsibilities, the more everything spiralled out of control.

The morning had started deceptively smooth. He arrived at SM early, clipboard in hand, ready to tackle the day. A smile even broke out when he saw the group filing into the van, chirpy with coffee and morning energy. But, as soon as Y/n opened the daily schedule on their phone, his stomach sank.

Wrong rehearsal room.

The worst way to f*ck it up as well. Misread the number 7 for 1.

"Uh... okay, small problem," Y/n muttered to themselves before looking at the girls. "So, it turns out I booked the wrong practice room this morning."

Giselle, who was squished between Ningning and Winter in the van, looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, you’re telling me we’re going to a room that doesn’t exist?"

Y/n winced. "No, it exists. It's just... not available.”

Ningning leaned forward with a smirk. "So what, we practice in the parking lot? That could be fun. Maybe film a TikTok."

"That's actually a fire idea" Y/n thought.

"Please don't give her ideas," Karina groaned from the front seat. She glanced at Y/n through the rearview mirror. "So... what’s the backup plan, manager-nim?"

Y/n felt the weight of the title more than ever in that moment. Being called "manager" was still weird, like wearing a jacket that didn’t quite fit. "Uh, we’ll use one of the smaller rooms for now, just for today. I’ll sort it out. Sorry about that, team."

"Just for today?" Giselle echoed with a teasing grin. "Good to know we’ve got a professional in charge."

Y/n sighed. This was going to be a long day.

By the time they arrived at the practice room, the energy had shifted. The smaller rehearsal space had a cozy feel, but "cozy" was just a nice way of saying cramped. The mirrors barely covered one wall, and the air-conditioning was struggling to keep up with the summer heat.

The girls, to their credit, didn’t complain much—well, except for Giselle, who Y/n could always count on for a sarcastic comment or two…and Karina who didn't need any words but Y/n knew he would be skinned alive after bed.

"Well, I guess we’re all gonna sweat out our souls in here," Giselle said as she dropped her bag onto the floor and stretched her arms above her head. "Thanks, Y/n. Really starting the day off right."

Winter shot Y/n a glance, her mouth twitching into a faint smile. "It’s fine, don’t worry. We’ve practiced in worse places."

Y/n appreciated the attempt at reassurance, but the guilt still gnawed at them. He was supposed to make things easier for aespa, not complicate their day with rookie mistakes. Even worse with him thinking his trainee days would help.

So much for better understanding of the girls.

As the group started their warm-ups, Y/n made a mental note to double-check all bookings going forward. He couldn’t afford to mess up again—not with Karina giving them those mildly skeptical looks every few minutes. It was like she was silently judging every move Y/n made.

"Great. Just what I need—her thinking I’m completely useless." Y/n sighed.

Things hit a new low when Y/n tried to connect their phone to the rehearsal room's speakers, but the Wi-Fi password wasn’t working. Panic started creeping up their spine as they stared at the screen.

Y/n wanted to hit his head into a wall right this instant.”

"Hey, Y/n, we’re ready for the playlist," Karina called out from across the room. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, uh... Just a sec." Y/n tapped the password again, slower this time, but it still didn’t connect. "What the—"

Giselle leaned against the wall, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the show. "Let me guess—you forgot the password? Or did you set it to ‘password123’ like a true professional?"

Y/n shot her a look, trying to hide the growing anxiety. "It’s the building Wi-Fi. I swear it’s not my fault."

"Sure, sure." Giselle’s grin widened. "No problem. We’ll just dance in silence. You know, like marionettes."

Winter chuckled softly, while Ningning chimed in. "Oooh, I love silent discos! We could start a trend."

While Y/n cracked a smile at Ningning's genius revelation once again, Karina sighed, crossing her arms. "Just use the Bluetooth on the portable speaker for now. We don’t have time to waste."

"Un-unnie" Winter whimpered, sensing that her leader began to get frustrated. "We don't need to rush, Y/n's just getting used to it."

"Jeong, it's ok." Y/n reassured. "Karina, good idea. I got the speaker just in case."

Y/n scrambled to connect his phone via Bluetooth, heart racing as the group exchanged amused glances. As much as he tried to take the ribbing in stride, Y/n couldn’t help but feel like every little mistake was another nail in their managerial coffin.

First the wrong room, now this…

Finally, the music blasted from the portable speaker, and Y/n sighed in relief. The girls began running through their choreography, their focus quickly shifting back to the dance routine. As the familiar beats filled the small room, Y/n retreated to the side, trying to steady their nerves with a big gulped.

By midday, Y/n was juggling three things at once: updating the afternoon’s schedule, figuring out lunch arrangements, and fielding a call from the media team about an upcoming interview. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t even notice Ningning creeping up behind them.

"Boo."

Y/n flinched, nearly dropping their phone. "Motherf- Yizhuo!"

She laughed, hands on her hips. "Relax, Y/n-oppa. You’re doing fine. We’re all still alive, and no one’s collapsed yet. I’d say that’s a win."

Y/n exhaled, rubbing their temples. "Yeah, barely."

"Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. This job isn’t easy. Plus, we’ve all made mistakes. I mean, did you know I once went to a music show wearing mismatched shoes? Like, two completely different shoes."

Y/n blinked. "Huh, seriously?"

"Yep," Ningning grinned. "And no one noticed until halfway through the performance."

"Is there a fancam of it at least?"

"Oh, there are plenty of that for you."

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing just a little. "Okay, maybe that makes me feel slightly better."

"Good." She clapped Y/n on the back. "You’ll get the hang of it, oppa. Just remember—you’re not the only one winging it half the time. We are too."

Before Y/n could respond, Karina’s voice interrupted them from across the room. "Y/n! Can we confirm the interview time for this afternoon?"

Y/n checked the schedule on their phone, tapping quickly before calling back, "Yeah, it’s at 2:00. I’ll make sure we’re on time."

Karina nodded, her expression unreadable as she went back to the group, but Y/n caught the faintest flicker of something that might’ve been approval.

"Okay, maybe I haven’t totally screwed up yet." Y/n did a small dance in celebration.

As the morning stretched into afternoon, Y/n found himself slowly settling into the role. Sure, it was still overwhelming, and they felt like they were constantly playing catch-up, but Giselle’s light-hearted teasing and Winter’s quiet-not-so-quiet encouragement kept them going. Even Ningning, who couldn’t resist poking fun at Y/n’s blunders, made the chaos a little more bearable.

By the time the group wrapped up their rehearsals and headed to their interview, Y/n felt a small surge of relief. They had made it through the first half of the day without any major disasters. Maybe this whole manager thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

As they entered the interview room, Y/n stood near the back, watching as the girls took their places on the set. Cameras clicked, lights flashed, and the media team buzzed around them. Y/n checked their phone one more time, going over the rest of the day’s schedule. Double checking always works.

Karina, standing just off camera, glanced over at Y/n with a small, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, and the hallway lights cast a soft glow over the exhausted aespa members as they stumbled into the dormitory. Their faces were flushed from the intensity of the day’s rehearsals, but there was a shared sense of relief in finally being off their feet. The practice room doors creaked open, revealing the calm haven of their living quarters.

Karina immediately went into her room to get changed.

Giselle frantically searched for a protein bar in their pantry.

Ningning plopped on the couch and groaned about the schedule.

And Winter noticed Y/n immediately headed to the kitchen. Already had a smile, she knew tonight will be a feast.

During his trainee days, the kitchen had become a sort of sanctuary for Y/n, a place where the clamour of the day’s chaos could be momentarily forgotten. Tonight, the giant pans of cheesy instant ramen unveiling the moment the lid opened was a beacon of comfort. The rich aroma of sauce and steaming noodles wafted through the air, promising a moment of respite.

Of course, it got the members' attention, and their tired eyes lit up at the sight of the pans of ramen. It was a welcoming sight, and their stomachs growled in unison.

Y/n’s presence in the kitchen, with his sleeves rolled up and a focused look on their face, was a stark contrast to the frenetic energy they had witnessed throughout the day.

“Y/n, you rock,” Giselle said, her voice filled with gratitude as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “I didn’t think I’d make it through the day without something like this.”

Ningning, always enthusiastic about food, followed suit and perched herself on a nearby stool. “Seriously, we owe you one. Our kitchen doesn’t usually get this kind of late-night love.”

Winter, the resident annoyance to her childhood friend, leaned against the counter and eyed Y/n with a playful smirk. “So, did you have this bougee ramen this much when you were a trainee too when I wasn't around? Or did you just eat instant noodles and subconsciously dream about becoming our manager?”

Y/n chuckled, stirring the noodles with practiced ease. “Oh, shush you. Buldak was basically my best friend during those days. It was either ramen or cereal for dinner.”

Karina, intrigued, raised an eyebrow. “Cereal for dinner? That’s a new one. What was your go-to flavor?”

“Plain old,” Y/n admitted with a grin. “It was the closest thing I could get to comfort food. Plus, it’s surprisingly filling when you’re too tired to care about anything else.”

Winter burst into laughter, nudging Y/n playfully. “I can just picture you in your trainee days, sitting in a tiny room, eating cereal straight from the box, dreaming about making it big. Did you ever think you’d end up here with us?”

"Hell no." Y/n’s expression softened, a nostalgic glint in their eyes. “Honestly, I had my doubts. It was a tough time, but moments like these make it all worth it. I’m just glad to be here with all of you.”

As the ramen finished cooking, Y/n ladled the pan into plates and handed them out. The group gathered around the table, their laughter and chatter filling the room. It wasn’t just about the food; it was about the camaraderie, the shared experiences, and the understanding that they were all in this together.

Giselle took a generous slurped and sighed contentedly. “This is exactly what we needed. I didn’t realize how much I missed simple yet fancy comforts like this.”

Ningning, already twirling noodles around her chopsticks, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, the practice room is great and all, but there’s something about a late-night cheesy ramen session that just makes everything feel right.”

Y/n took a quick slurp as well, and he banged the table in excitement. "That's how you live the life, man!"

Winter’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Anyway Y/n, give us some bed time story and let us hear your side of our trainee stories.”

"You don't tell them? Unless the early days wasn't unveil yet."

"Yep, and they can hear it directly from you."

Y/n laughed softly, shaking their head. “Oh, where to begin? Let’s just say my trainee days were filled with a lot of ramen, cereal, and endless hours of practice with this doof" He pointed at Winter. "There were days when I’d practice with Minjeong for so long that I’d fall asleep in the studio…. While my childhood friend here just left me and went home.”

While Ningning laughed at the last remark, Karina’s eyes widened in surprise, but regained her distance. “You’d fall asleep in the studio? That sounds rough.”

Y/n nodded, smiling at the memory. “Yeah, I’d be so exhausted that I’d just crash wherever I could. Sometimes, I’d wake up to find the other trainees laughing at me because I’d fallen asleep on the floor in some awkward position.”

Y/n sighed, thinking about those days "Also, I cooked for Jeong here like all the time. We’d spend hours in the practice room, and when the sessions were over, we’d retreat to the dorm’s kitchen. I was always the one cooking because this girl saw the recipe online and wanted me to make it.”

Winter chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ya, you're my eternal lab rat, Y/n. Remember that time you tried to cook a proper meal for us, and I ended up almost burning the place down?”

Y/n laughed, shaking their head. “Jeezus, don't even get me started. You were determined to help, but your idea of ‘helping’ involved a lot of questionable seasoning. It was a proper experiment gone wrong. I vomited all of that after I lost the rock-paper-scissors, and Minjeong laughed like a maniac."

Karina leaned in, clearly intrigued. It was the first time Karina took interested in the new manager today. “Wait, so Y/n was cooking for Winter all the time? What did you cook for her?"

Giselle nodded, her curiosity piqued. “Damn, girl, you got a private chef all this time?" She poked Minjeong's cheek, who was totally flustered at her statement.

Y/n smiled, lost in the memories. “Jeong and I had this routine. After a long day of training, we’d both be starving and exhausted. I’d take over the kitchen because I never trust her for….well, ever. She’d stand by, throwing whatever she found online while I tried to save whatever we had.”

Winter laughed, nodding in agreement. “Y/n was actually really good at cooking. He’d whip up something edible and often surprisingly delicious. I mostly just munch and tried not to set off the smoke alarm.”

Giselle’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “That sounds like something I’d do. Ya, remember when Ningning tried to make ramen on her own and ended up setting off the fire alarm?”

Ningning’s cheeks turned a shade of red, but she laughed along with the rest. “Hey, in my defence, I was trying to add some ‘extra’ ingredients. Let’s just say I got a little carried away with the chili flakes.”

Winter’s eyes widened in mock horror, slapping Y/n's back aggressively as she remembered something. “Oh, and Jimin-unnie's cooking experiment that ended up with the entire dorm smelling like burnt popcorn for days.”

Karina rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I was trying to make popcorn, okay? It was my first attempt at cooking.”

The group burst into laughter, their earlier exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Y/n joined in, their laughter blending with the sounds of the group’s mirth. The kitchen, usually a place for quick meals and late-night snacks, had become a space for shared stories and genuine connection.

As the conversation flowed, the stories grew more personal. Karina recounted her struggles with maintaining a rigorous training schedule while trying to stay connected with her family. Ningning shared her experiences of adapting to life in Korea and the culture shock she had felt when she first arrived. Giselle talked about the pressure of being one of the older trainees and the challenges of balancing expectations with her own ambitions.

Y/n listened intently, their heart swelling with appreciation for the group’s openness. The whole day was genuinely suffocating for Y/n and he glad his cooking opened up to them. It was a moment of vulnerability and camaraderie, a chance for everyone to connect on a deeper level.

Winter leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “You know, it’s crazy to think about how far we’ve all come. Sometimes, it feels like just yesterday we were all trainees, struggling to make it through each day.”

Ningning nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and determination. “Yeah, but look at us now. We’ve made it through the tough times and come out stronger.”

"Well, you four did for a while." Y/n pointed. "I just started."

"Aish, you know what I'm saying" Ningning brushed it off.

As the last of the ramen was devoured and the plates were set aside, the group settled into a comfortable silence. The kitchen, once filled with the noise of preparation and conversation, now hummed with a quiet sense of contentment. It was a moment of peace, a pause in the whirlwind of their busy lives—a small, perfect slice of normalcy in their extraordinary world.

Winter, sensing the serene atmosphere, broke the silence with a softer tone. “Thanks for doing this, Manager. It really means a lot to us.”

Y/n stared. "Ya, you're just gonna tease me and call me manager after that heartfelt dinner?"

"I'm being serious, this guy.." Winter glared. "We know that the sudden career change is rough for you. But all things considered….you aced it."

Y/n smiled at the thumbs up from everyone, even including the hard-to-approach Karina.

As the night wore on, the group slowly began to disperse to their shared room, their energy restored by the comforting presence of good food and good company. Y/n watched them go, their heart full with a sense of fulfillment. This was what it was all about—connecting, sharing, and growing together.

With the kitchen finally quiet, Y/n began to clean up, their movements slow and deliberate. The pot was washed, the plates stacked neatly, and the remnants of the meal cleared away. The kitchen, now returned to its usual state of order, seemed to hold the echoes of laughter and conversation, a testament to the bond that had been strengthened over a simple late-night snack.

As Y/n finished tidying up, he glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly 2 a.m. The day had been long, but it had ended on a high note. With a contented sigh, Y/n turned off the lights and began to head out to go home.

However, as he was heading towards the front door, a hand tugged his sleep. It was Winter.

"Hey, are you ok?" Her voice was full of concern. While she didn't say much, she knew today was tough for Y/n, especially under the eyes of her leader.

"Yea, I'm ok. What's wrong?"

"I know that Jimin-unnie has been…rough on you…but please don't hate her too much" She held on Y/n's hand, clearly whimpering and shaking from her hand. "She was just looking out for us. Things were especially tough these days even with our old manager."

"Aish, cmon I'm not that petty." Y/n wiped her tears. "Normal person would've been angry with me already considering how many times I fcked up. So Karina was already being the nicest possible she can be."

"B-but I don't want you to feel down and leave again…"

Y/n swore his heart skipped a beat after that confession. "Aish, I'll never leave you like before, Minjeong. Trust me on this."

"Really?" Winter hiccuped.

"Yes, crybaby." That made Y/n earned a kick to the shin from Winter, who cackled afterwards hearing her nickname.

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