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sunsburns · 22 days ago

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forget it — joaquín torres (marvel) !

⟢ synopsis. request: reuniting with ex!joaquín after his near death experience, but you’re the nurse assigned to his care after he gets out of surgery. you broke up a couple years ago because of your very demanding careers, and you don’t see him until you realize they put YOU on babysitting duty to nurse him back to health, yikes!

⟢ contains. spoilers for brave new world! joaquín torres x nurse!reader, so much angst you’re gonna want to block me!! mentions of death, blood, gore, possible inaccurate medical procedures (i am not a nurse idk how that works), open ending but it's honestly realistic and cute.

⟢ word count. 13.7k+

⟢ author’s note. i learned medical terms for this

You like to think that every decision you’ve made has shaped you into the best version of yourself.

A better student, a better nurse, a better person. You’ve spent years honing your skills, pushing yourself past limits, ensuring that when it matters most, you’ll be capable—prepared. You might not have superpowers, enhanced genes, or combat training, but you have your mind, your steady hands, your patience. That’s what makes a difference in the field you’ve chosen. That’s what saves lives.

And it’s paid off. You don’t work at just any hospital—you work at this one. A private facility that caters to soldiers, government agents, and the kind of people who make headlines when things go wrong. The kind of people who disappear into classified reports. The kind of people you don’t expect to see lying unconscious under your care.

But you love your job. You love the structure of it, the control. You love the fact that, in a world constantly spinning off its axis, you can still do something that makes sense. You have your patients, your colleagues, your friends, your family. You still go out when you can, still make time to shop, and still remember to water your plants. Life is steady. Good.

And yet—

There’s something missing.

It creeps in during the quiet moments, when the hospital halls are still, and the steady beep of a heart monitor is the only thing filling the silence. It lingers in the space between breaths, in the pause before you check a chart, in the phantom weight of something you can’t quite name. A presence that once was, or maybe never was, but should have been.

You have everything you’ve ever worked for. So why does it still feel like something’s missing?

You don’t let yourself dwell on it. It’s ridiculous. You have your health. You have your life.

And you know better than anyone how fragile both of those things can be.

You remind yourself of how lucky you are because you’ve seen the alternative too many times. Lives wrecked and ruined by things far beyond anyone’s control. You’ve watched the light fade from seven pairs of eyes. Seven people who didn’t make it. Seven moments that carved themselves into your memory, no matter how hard you try to forget.

You haven’t even been working for three years.

And yet—

You’d hate to see the day when someone you love is one of them.

The thought grips you too tightly, too suddenly, and you only realize you’ve been staring at your hands under the running faucet when the sound of your name cuts through the fog.

“Look what I made!”

You blink, water still rushing over your fingertips, skin already pruning. A slow exhale leaves you as you reach for the faucet, shutting off the tap. The chill lingers on your skin even as you tear a paper towel from the dispenser, crumpling in your damp grip as you turn.

Maria is sitting up in bed, dark eyes bright with excitement as she holds out a carefully folded piece of olive-green paper.

She beams at you, her small fingers cradling the delicate shape with a reverence that makes your heartache. It takes a second for recognition to click. An origami bird.

“What’s this?” you coo, stepping closer.

Maria is a few weeks shy of nine. She should be at home planning her birthday party, picking out a cake, laughing with friends. Instead, she’s here. Confined to this sterile room, surrounded by too-white walls and the soft beeping of machines monitoring the inexplicable changes in her body. She isn’t dying. But she isn’t getting better, either.

Exposure to some strange quantum disturbance in San Francisco had led to her transfer here, to Washington, under your care. Away from reporters, away from speculation, away from anyone who might pry too closely while the government tries to figure out what happened to her.

“It’s a bird. Like the one on TV.” She explains, her tiny fingers carefully adjusting the wings.

You glance at the television, expecting to see another nature documentary—the kind she’s grown fond of in the past few weeks. But when your eyes land on the screen, you freeze.

A news channel. A live interview. Captain America and the Falcon, still in their gear, standing at an Air Force base. The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen is a blur. Something about a mission. About another near disaster averted.

Falcon stands just behind Captain America, posture sharp, hands clasped loosely in front of him, expression serious but composed. His suit still bears the scuffs of combat, a faint tear along the armoured plating at his ribs. You wonder if it hurts. If he’s bleeding. If he even let anyone check.

A small huff leaves your lips before you can stop it.

You can’t remember the last time you saw him. Now, here he is again, on a screen in a hospital room, larger than life.

“You like superheroes, Maria?” You force a lighter tone, turning back to her, moving to check her monitors. It’s unnecessary—you already did this when you came in—but it gives your hands something to do.

“You like superheroes, Maria?” you ask, forcing a lighter tone as you move to check her monitors. It’s unnecessary—you already did this when you came in—but it gives your hands something to do.

“I love superheroes,” she exclaims, voice full of unshakable certainty.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

She watches you closely, studying your face with a look that’s far too perceptive for someone her age. Then, after a beat—

“Who’s your favourite Avenger?”

You pretend to think about it. “Hmmm... I don’t know. Maybe... Hawkeye?”

Maria immediately groans, rolling her eyes so hard it nearly makes you laugh. “That’s so boring!” She throws her arms up in exasperation, nearly tugging her IV loose in the process.

“Hey, hey—“ you reach out, gently taking her hands, steadying her before she can do any real damage. “You’re really gonna judge me for that?”

“So boring,” she insists, her signature sass making an appearance. “My mom likes Thor because he has big muscles.”

You snort. “Wow. Okay. And what about you?”

Maria’s expression turns mischievous, blushing slightly as she glances back at the screen.

“The Falcon.”

The words land like a punch to the ribs.

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat stays put. You should have seen it coming, the way she lit up at the sight of him on TV, but it still catches you off guard.

Because for Maria, it’s admiration.

For you, it’s something else entirely.

“He’s so cool,” you manage, your voice lighter than you feel. “I don’t think he’s an Avenger, though.”

Unless he is and you have missed that entire chapter of his life. A lot had happened in the last few years—you wouldn’t put it past him to just forget to mention something like that. Not that either of you were on speaking terms anyway.

Maria grins, a small, mischievous thing, and before you can move, she takes your hand in hers and presses something into your palm.

“Here.”

You glance down.

The bird.

You blink at the delicate folds of olive-green paper, the slight tilt of its wings. It’s small, fits perfectly in your hand, but somehow, it feels heavier than it should.

“You have it.”

You open your mouth—to tell her she should keep it, that it’s hers—but the words never leave your throat. The sincerity in her gaze keeps you quiet, so instead, you close your fingers carefully around the paper bird, holding it like something fragile.

“Thank you, Maria,” you say softly.

You still have the bird.

It sits on your nightstand even now, weeks later, its delicate folds untouched, a reminder of that small moment. Of Maria.

You hadn’t thought much about that conversation at the time. Maria’s gift had been sweet, and you had found it endearing—the kind of innocent kindness that children offered so easily.

It wasn’t every day you cared for someone so young in this hospital, and while that was a blessing, it didn’t make it any easier when that child was rolled in on a stretcher.

And it wasn’t until a week later that you remembered Maria’s words.

Not until you watched a familiar face get wheeled into the hospital.

You had heard about it first—on the news, in passing conversations between coworkers. Another mission. Another near-tragedy. Another casualty.

And then you saw it.

The frantic rush of bodies in the emergency bay. The whine of a helicopter’s rotor blades still echoing through the halls, rattling against the glass doors. The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic burning your nose, mixing with the metallic tang of blood—so much blood, too much of it pooling beneath the stretcher, staining the floor, the sheets, the hands of every ER staff trying to keep him together.

Your coworkers moved fast, their voices sharp and urgent as they swarmed the broken, battered body like bees to a collapsing hive. You barely recognized him at first. His suit—scorched in places, torn in others—hung off him in tatters, the once-pristine armour dented and smeared with something dark.

His skin was pale—too pale.

His lips were slightly parted, chest rising and falling in short, uneven gasps like every breath cost him something.

The blur of medical jargon barely registered in your mind, words overlapping, breaking, reforming into pieces that didn’t quite fit together. But certain ones still made it through the haze, lodging themselves somewhere deep inside you, where they twisted like a knife.

“Heart palpitations—“

“Severe burns—“

“Broken arm—“

“Breath is weak—“

“We’re gonna need a defibrillator—“

“Won’t make it to the OR—“

Your heart stuttered.

You would’ve rather never seen Joaquín Torres again for the rest of your life than see him like this. Like that.

And after that, you were moving on autopilot.

The rest of the day blurred together, slipping through your fingers like sand. You went through the motions, nodding when spoken to, keeping your hands busy, but nothing really stuck. The only thing that did was time—how it crawled, stretched, and bled into itself.

One hour turned to two.

Two turned to four.

Four turned into a sharp, sickening pause.

You were just about to punch out for the night, car keys hanging loosely from your fingers when you heard it.

“His heart gave out. Medically dead for T-minus 30 seconds. Extra hands needed.”

You froze.

The words echoed, hollow and distant like they were being spoken underwater. A strange ringing had started in your ears. You weren’t sure if it was real or just something inside your own head—maybe both.

You had already been hesitant about leaving without checking in on him. You could’ve gone in. You had clearance. But you didn’t.

And now?

Now, you were hearing his heart gave out?

Your mind ran ahead of you, filling in the gaps before you could stop it—could almost hear the faint, dull whine of the machines, the inevitable, lifeless flatline.

The surgeon calling out the time of death.

Your own heart lurched violently in your chest.

Your feet were moving before you even made the decision, carrying you faster than you thought possible. You nearly crashed into the doors of the emergency wing, swiping your card into the OR viewing room, stumbling into the dimly lit space. Your breath came short, choppy, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Your eyes locked onto the glass.

And then—

“Clear!”

Joaquín’s body jerked violently, his back arching off the table before collapsing again.

From where you stood, you couldn’t see or hear the monitor. Couldn’t tell if there was a beat or if it was still that awful, empty silence.

“Clear!”

His body seized again, limbs convulsing before falling limp.

You flinched, a breath hitching painfully somewhere inside you.

The panic clawing up your ribs only loosened when you saw the doctors start to relax, their frantic movements easing back into precision. You watched, rooted to the spot, as they worked—saw the ventilator strapped tightly around Joaquín’s face, the way they were cutting into him, the deep burns covering his side.

But it didn’t feel like him.

He looked dead.

He looked so, so dead.

Your fingers dug into the ledge of the viewing window, knuckles white.

And suddenly you can remember the last time you saw him. A memory that grabs you like a vice.

He was so alive, and he was crying.

His eyes were red and bloodshot, but he wasn’t making a sound. Just staring at you, jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grind. His hands—warm, steady even in their trembling—gripped yours, his touch so familiar, so safe. His fingers curled around your palms like he could keep you here just by holding on tight enough. Like if he let go, he knew he would never get to touch you again.

His skin burned beneath your fingertips.

Like home.

But the warmth of him, the heat of his touch, it didn’t reach his eyes. And you knew—God, you knew—this was the last time.

The ring that sat on your finger was like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

You hadn’t even noticed the way your breath had started to shake, the way your shoulders had drawn in like you could shield yourself from what was coming. The weight of his forehead pressing against yours was the only thing keeping you grounded, the rise and fall of his chest meeting yours in a rhythm that was almost enough to trick you into believing, for just a second, that nothing had to change.

And then he pulled away.

It was slow like he was giving you time to stop him. Like he wanted you to stop him.

But neither of you moved.

His fingers ghosted over your left hand, tracing over the ring like he was committing the shape of it to memory. You swore his breath hitched when he touched it, but he didn’t hesitate. Not when he curled his fingers around the band. Not when he gave the gentlest, barely-there tug.

The metal slipped from your skin.

The absence was instant. A phantom weight. A missing limb.

Your breath stilled.

He turned it over in his palm once, twice, before slipping it into his pocket, the movement almost absentminded. Like he wasn’t crumbling apart inside. Like he wasn’t shattering this thing between you both with his own two hands.

And then you kissed him. And he kissed you back.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate. A broken thing—raw, aching, more plea than passion. His lips pressed to yours with the kind of hunger that tasted like regret, like grief, like goodbye. There was no hesitation when his fingers slid up to cradle your jaw, no distance between your bodies when he pulled you in, chests flush, like he was trying to fuse himself to you, trying to rewrite the ending of this moment with the press of his lips alone.

You tasted the salt of tears.

Yours or his, you couldn’t tell.

You felt his hands tremble when they skimmed over your skin. It hurt—fuck, it hurt—the way you knew neither of you wanted to pull away, but you would. You had to.

But you stayed. For a minute. For a breath. Lips lingering, foreheads pressed together, hands gripping tighter even as the seconds slipped away from you both.

He was the first to move.

The absence of his lips was instant—a cold, hollow thing. But he didn’t pull away entirely, not yet. His nose brushed against yours, his fingers curled at the back of your neck, like if he could just stay here for another second, one more second, maybe none of this had to be real.

Then, finally, painfully, he let go.

That kiss was one that lingered, burned, long after he was gone.

He was alive then. And so were you.

But when the door shut, a part of you had died.

And watching his body, motionless on that operating table, you thought maybe a part of him had, too.

It was hard to grieve someone who had never died.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been standing there, staring through the glass, until someone says your name.

Your body jolts, and when you spin around, you're surprised to find Sam Wilson standing a few feet away. His voice had been steady, but his eyes—God, his eyes—heavy with something unspoken, something worn. You wonder how long he’s been there. You think it must’ve been a while, judging by the exhaustion shadowing his face. The bags under his eyes aren’t just from one night of lost sleep.

You’ve met him plenty of times before—hell, you’ve had dinner with the guy on multiple occasions—but something about seeing him now, here, leaves you speechless. Maybe it’s because he’s not just Sam. He’s Captain America, the man Joaquín idolized. And he looks... helpless.

You feel your entire body tense. “Sir—“ Your voice cracks at the word, and you hate it.

Sam exhales, long and slow. “I was gonna call. I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re still the kid’s emergency contact.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I just... I didn’t know what terms you guys were on. I know the breakup was pretty bad and...” He trails off, looking at you like he’s bracing for impact. “I didn’t know if you’d show up.”

“I…” You swallow thickly. You should say something. Anything. But you don’t know how to find the words.

“Were you working?”

You glance down at your scrubs as if you need to confirm it. “Yeah... I just... I heard about his heart, um... how long was he...?”

Sam hesitates. He doesn’t want to say it. But he does. “Two minutes.”

You suck in a breath, sharp and cold, and instinctively look back through the glass. Joaquín is still now, the chaos momentarily subdued. He’s always been restless, always in motion, a man who never seemed to sit still to save his life. And now he’s just... lying there. You feel nauseous.

You don’t know what to say. You think Sam doesn’t either.

“I’m sorry, kid.” His voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry. For Joaquín. I never meant for this to happen. I’m always telling him to be more careful, but you know how he is—”

Do you?

You don’t know how much someone can change in the time you and Joaquín have been apart. You think you still know him. You remember how he used to be—stubborn, hard-headed. Kind, too. Always quick with a response, always teasing. Always warm.

You don’t think you’re remembering him the way Sam asks you to.

“Um... sorry.” You blink, realizing how long you’ve been zoning out. You should say something more. Something meaningful. But your throat is tight, and your hands shake at your sides. Sam looks just as lost as you feel.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mutter, rubbing at your face. “Are you okay?”

Sam blinks. He looks genuinely surprised by the question. “Am I—? Are you okay?”

You nod too fast, stuffing your hands into your back pockets. The heart monitor beeps steadily in the background, grounding you in the moment. “Yeah, I just… You were out there too. Did you get hit? I can check for a concussion.”

Sam says your name, and the way he says it—soft, sad—makes your lip quiver. When he steps forward, you don’t resist. You meet him in the middle, letting him wrap his arms around you, his warmth solid and steady. You tuck your face into his chest, only realizing you’ve been crying when you see the darkened patches on his shirt. He smells like coffee, and—funnily enough—a little bit like Joaquín.

“I’m sorry, kid.” His voice is tight, thick. Like he’s been holding back his own grief for too long.

You hum under his hold. “It’s not your fault,” you say because you think it’s what he needs to hear. You don’t know what happened out there, don’t know who made what call, but Sam relaxes just a fraction at your words. You hug him back.

The hours bleed together after that. You sit with Sam in the waiting area, watching the surgery unfold from a distance. Neither of you leave for long—only to grab coffee, maybe splash cold water on your face—but you don’t sleep. Sam doesn’t either, even when you suggest it. He stays rooted to his chair, jaw clenched, watching the clock.

He doesn’t move until the surgery is almost finished, until the surgeon is finally stitching up Joaquín.

And even then, he stays put.

So do you.

It’s nice, in a way, sitting in this heavy, aching silence. You don’t know what you would’ve done if Sam wasn’t here. You don’t know what he would’ve done if you weren’t.

Sam seems to relax even more when a friend of his shows up—Bucky. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him in person before, but you recognize the way Sam’s shoulders loosen just slightly like something fragile inside him can take a break. Bucky nods at you, then at Sam, and without a word, he takes a seat next to him.

You don’t say anything either.

Because you don’t need to.

For the first time in hours, Sam exhales like he’s not carrying the world on his shoulders.

You leave only when he urges you to, though it takes less than a minute after Joaquín is sent out for recovery.

You barely remember the drive home. The world outside the hospital blurs past in streaks of streetlights and empty roads, your hands gripping the wheel just a little too tightly. Every red light feels longer than it should, every breath harder to take. By the time you step inside your apartment, exhaustion settles in your bones, but sleep never truly comes. You close your eyes and see glimpses of him—Joaquín on the operating table, still and silent in a way he never should be.

You wake up before the sun rises, restless, your body aching with the kind of fatigue that sleep can’t fix.

By the time you return to the hospital, it’s at a strange hour—too early for the day shift, too late for the night crew. The hospital is caught in that eerie in-between where the halls are too quiet, where the few people still moving about do so in hushed voices. The fluorescent lights overhead hum, stark and artificial against the pale blue of the walls.

You’re running on espresso shots and the growing pit in your stomach, a weight that presses heavier with every step.

Joaquín is here. You know that. You have known that for almost twenty-four hours now.

But the thought still makes your hands cold. It was easier when you didn’t know what State he was in, or what he was doing—if he was even in the country.

You don’t let yourself think too much about it. You go through the motions, moving from patient to patient, checking vitals, signing off charts, trying to push through the fog in your mind. It almost works—almost—until you step out of Maria’s room and spot Amanda, the Chief Nursing Officer, walking toward you.

She smiles, clipboard tucked under her arm, but there’s something in the way she looks at you. Something unreadable.

You can already feel the dread start to wrap itself around your ribs.

“Hey, how’s it going?” she asks, falling into step beside you.

“Good,” you reply automatically. “What’s up?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes your tablet, her fingers brushing against yours for just a second too long. You furrow your brows, taking it from her, but your stomach twists at the hesitance in her gaze.

“There’s been a bit of a change,” she finally says. “Kit’s taking over Nicholas now.”

That makes you pause.

You've been taking care of Nicholas for a little over a month, an older man who came back from the blip different, well… different was a nice way to put it.

“Oh?”

Amanda nods, opening a new file on your screen before watching you closely. “Here,” she says, passing you the updated patient file. “Your new assignment.”

You take the tablet, adjusting your grip as you glance down at the screen—only to feel the air sucked from your lungs.

Captain Joaquín Torres.

The name alone makes your heart lurch, when did he become a captain? But then your eyes drop to the image beneath it.

You freeze.

Joaquín, unconscious. His skin is bruised, his face pale under the harsh lighting of the hospital room. The ventilator is taped to his mouth, bandages covering his side where the burns must be. He looks… wrong.

Your stomach turns.

“Um.” You barely recognize your own voice. “I don’t think I can take this one.”

Amanda’s brows knit together. “Why not?”

“It’s…” You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of how dry your throat feels. “It’s a personal case.”

“I know.”

That makes you look up, and when you do, Amanda is already watching you with that same careful expression—understanding, but unwavering. “That’s why I’m assigning it to you,” she says, soft but firm.

You stare at her, trying to process the words.

“Familiar faces help in recovery,” Amanda says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Waking up to someone he knows might do him some good.”

Your grip tightens around the tablet, fingers pressing into the smooth surface as your pulse pounds in your ears.

“Not everyone gets shot out of the sky by the military and lives to tell the tale.”

She’s right. You know she’s right.

But Joaquín isn’t just anyone.

And it’s been a long time since you’ve been a familiar face.

Would he even want to wake up to you?

You don’t ask that. You don’t let yourself. Instead, you swallow around the knot in your throat and force a nod. “Okay.”

Amanda watches you for a moment, searching your face like she can see everything you’re trying to hide. Then, she squeezes your shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. “You got this.”

You wish you believed her.

You suck in your pride as Amanda walks away and your fingers tighten around the tablet as you glance down at Joaquín’s medical file, his name printed in bold letters at the top. You already know his blood type, his medical history, his baseline vitals—things you shouldn’t still remember but do anyway. It feels strange seeing them laid out so clinically like he’s just another patient.

Your thumb swipes down the screen, scanning through his injuries. Severe burns on the left side of his torso. A broken radius and a fractured humerus on his right arm. The notes estimate he’ll be unconscious for a few more days, maybe a week at most. The doctors don’t think it’ll be a long coma.

He might wake up anytime.

Your stomach twists.

The live security feed on the tablet shows a grainy, black-and-white image of him, still and silent in the hospital bed, wrapped in layers of bandages and hooked up to machines that beep in steady intervals. The sight of him like this, unmoving, is almost more unsettling than the injuries themselves.

The elevator ride to his floor feels endless, but when the doors finally slide open, the hallway ahead stretches on like something out of a dream—too long, too empty, too quiet. The soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead fills the silence, and your shoes barely make a sound against the polished tile.

You’ve never hesitated like this before. No patient has ever made your heart pound this hard before you’ve even stepped into their room.

You stop in front of the door, your ID card clutched tight between your fingers.

He is hurt, you remind yourself. A wounded soldier. He needs care. That’s all this is. Just do your job.

Your hand trembles slightly as you swipe your card for clearance, and for a second, your eyes flicker down—out of habit, maybe—toward your left hand. The ring is gone. Has been for a long time.

You press your lips together and push the door open.

The room smells like antiseptic and fresh flowers.

Your eyes find him instantly.

He’s barely recognizable beneath the layers of medical care—IV lines, gauze, the rigid brace securing his arm. But it’s still him. His curls have grown out, the longer strands curling over his forehead, though the sides are still neatly trimmed. His face is slack with unconsciousness, lips parted slightly as he breathes in slow, measured rhythms.

There’s already a small collection of bouquets on the bedside table, a mix of bright yellows and deep reds—he always liked bold colours. You know more will come, especially once his mother finds out what happened. You pity whoever has to make that phone call.

Your pulse is loud in your ears as you move toward the sink, washing your hands on autopilot before slipping on a pair of gloves. The scent of hospital soap clings to your skin even beneath the latex.

You set the tablet down and step to his bedside, the weight in your chest settling heavier now that you’re standing this close. You can see the damage now. The discoloration where the burns peak through the bandages, the bruises blooming beneath his skin. His arm rests stiffly in its brace, fingers curled loosely at his side.

You hesitate before touching him.

Then, with careful hands, you reach for the hem of his hospital gown, lifting it just enough to expose the bandages on his torso. The dressings are damp, already beginning to seep through.

Too gentle.

You’re taking too long, moving too carefully. This should be routine—cleaning, reapplying, monitoring for infection. But your hands linger a second too long over his skin, your fingers ghosting over the edge of a bandage before you force yourself to focus.

You work in silence, methodical but deliberate, peeling away the old dressings and replacing them with fresh ones. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your hands, the only sign of life in his otherwise motionless body.

When you finish, you pull the blanket up to his chest, tucking it carefully around him.

You don’t leave right away.

You should. You have other patients to see, and other rounds to make. But you linger for a moment longer, just watching him.

Being here—being this close—feels like stepping into something half-forgotten. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to remember.

With a quiet exhale, you turn away, stripping off your gloves and tossing them in the bin before grabbing the tablet again.

This is just a job.

And you have work to do.

The next few days slip into a pattern—one you follow carefully, almost methodically, because routine is easier than thinking too much.

Joaquín remains unconscious, but his condition improves. You can see it in the subtle things: the way his breathing becomes steadier, how his colour starts to return beneath the bruising, how the tension in his features eases little by little. His body is still healing, but it’s doing what it’s supposed to—recovering, piece by piece.

Somewhere along the way, his mother and grandmother are flown in.

You make sure you’re nowhere near the hospital that day. You tell yourself it’s because you need the rest, that you’ve been pulling extra shifts, that you could use the break. But you know the truth.

You aren’t ready to face them.

You can barely bring yourself to stand in the same room as Joaquín, let alone look his mother in the eye. She always had a way of seeing right through you, of reading between the lines of what you said and what you didn’t. You don’t want to know what she’d find if she looked too closely now.

So you take a sick day. You ignore the tight feeling in your chest when you imagine them sitting at his bedside, his mother smoothing down his curls, his grandmother murmuring quiet prayers over him. You wonder if she blames you. If she thinks you should’ve been there when it happened. If she wonders why you’re here now, after all this time.

But you don’t ask. You don’t want the answer.

The next morning, when you step back into Joaquín’s room, there are more flowers.

The table beside his bed is overflowing now—bouquets of sunflowers, carnations, lilies, roses in every colour. Some are from coworkers, others from people you don’t recognize. A small card tucked between them catches your eye. You don’t pick it up, but you already know who it’s from.

His mother’s handwriting is easy to recognize.

A fresh wave of guilt washes over you, but you push it aside. You busy yourself with checking his IV, adjusting his blankets, making sure everything is in order. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room, save for the occasional rustling of flower petals when a breeze drifts through the open window.

Sam visits often.

He comes at random hours, able to bypass the strict visiting times the hospital has set up, sometimes lingering for only twenty minutes, sometimes staying for hours at a time. You catch glimpses of him in the security feed before you even enter the room—his tall frame slouched in the chair beside Joaquín’s bed, one ankle resting on his knee as he flips through a book.

He plays music sometimes, a quiet hum of familiar songs drifting through the room. You recognize the playlist—the same one Joaquín used to blast while working late, the one he’d force you to listen to whenever he got too excited about a new artist. It’s a mix of genres, the kind that shouldn’t work together but somehow do.

You pretend you don’t notice the way Sam watches you when you walk in, his eyes lingering like he’s waiting for you to say something. But he never pushes. He just nods, sometimes offering a small update about Joaquín’s family or a passing comment about work before settling back into his chair.

Neither of you talk about the fact that Joaquín still hasn’t woken up.

Instead, you go through the motions.

His burns are healing faster than you expected. The bandages come off, revealing raw, pink skin that will take time to fade. His arm is no longer suspended from the ceiling, the rigid brace replaced with a looser sling. His body is catching up with itself, putting itself back together the way it always does.

You try to keep the windows open as the sun sets later and the spring weather gets warmer, letting the sun come into the room. You hope it might bring back that golden tan to his skin.

The air in his room changes as the days go by. The tension shifts—subtle, but there.

The sun sets later now, casting golden light through the blinds in the evenings. You start leaving the windows cracked open, letting the spring breeze filter in, replacing the sterile scent of antiseptic with something softer.

It makes the room feel less like a hospital and more like something else. Something warmer.

But warmth can be deceptive.

Because the closer he gets to waking up, the more real this all becomes.

And you still don’t know what’s going to happen when he finally opens his eyes.

One day, while cleaning his burns, you notice something—something small, but enough to make your breath hitch.

The heart monitor.

The steady rhythm you’ve grown so used to suddenly shifts—just a faint change, barely noticeable, but it’s there. You freeze, your gloved hands hovering over his burned skin, waiting to see if it happens again. The beeping stabilizes after a moment, falling back into its familiar, constant pattern.

You swallow hard, exhaling slowly through your nose.

Maybe it was nothing. A fluke. You’ve seen it happen before—small involuntary fluctuations that don’t mean anything. You force yourself to shake it off, to keep going.

But the moment your hands brush against his skin again, the heart monitor spikes.

This time, you see it. The sudden jump, the erratic beep, the undeniable reaction.

You pull back immediately, like you’ve been singed. Your heart lurches, panic flashing through you because—did you hurt him?

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you scan his face, searching for any sign of pain. His expression doesn’t change. His eyes remain closed, his body still. But the numbers on the monitor flicker with every beat of his heart, betraying what his body won’t show.

And then it hits you.

He feels it.

He’s not just lying there, unaware of the world around him. His body is reacting. It means he’s drifting, slipping from unconsciousness, slowly clawing his way back to waking.

Your chest tightens.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you should want.

You should be relieved.

But you’re not.

Because for all the times you’ve wished he’d open his eyes, you never stopped to think about what it would mean when he finally did.

What if the first thing he sees is you?

What if he looks at you and all you find in his face is resentment?

What if he asks why you’re here? Why you even bothered?

Your breath catches in your throat, torn between anticipation and fear. Your fingers curl into your palms, gloves crinkling under the pressure. You wait, holding yourself still, eyes locked on his face, waiting for the inevitable flutter of his eyelids, the slow, unfocused squint as he adjusts to the light.

But it never comes.

His breathing stays even, his lashes unmoving, his expression unchanging. His body is stirring, but his mind isn’t ready yet.

Your hands feel cold.

You force yourself to take a step back, creating distance—just in case. You reach for the tablet to record the change in his vitals, trying to make sense of what just happened, of what almost happened.

You practically jump out of your skin when a voice cuts through the hallway, sharp and frantic.

“¡Mija!”

Before you even see her, you feel her—Esperanza’s presence sweeping toward you like a storm, her heels clicking against the tile. The next thing you know, you’re wrapped in her arms, your face pressed against the soft fabric of her floral blouse, caught in a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of you.

“Mi amor, ¿cómo andas?” she asks, her voice thick with worry and affection.

You barely have a chance to respond, still stunned by the unexpected embrace. She smells the same—warm vanilla and roses, a scent so deeply tied to holiday dinners that it nearly knocks you off balance.

When she finally pulls back, she doesn’t let you go completely. Her hands clasp yours, fingers curling over your knuckles like she’s afraid to let you slip away again.

“Esperanza,” you manage, breathless.

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, her lips pulling into a grin so familiar it makes your chest ache.

“What are you doing here? Visitors can’t be here for another hour,” you point out, grasping for something—anything—to ground yourself.

She waves a dismissive hand, scoffing like the very idea is ridiculous. “Ay, enough with that,” she chides. “When has that ever stopped me?”

And then she stops. Really looks at you.

Her expression softens, and suddenly, you're under a gaze so warm it makes your throat tighten.

“Wow, look at you, my dear. Hermosa,” she murmurs, shaking her head like she can’t believe it’s really you standing in front of her.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, flustered. “I look like a mess,” you correct, glancing down at yourself. You’re in scrubs, nearing the end of a long shift, and you know you must look exhausted. Especially after dealing with Maria throwing up glowing vomit all over you earlier today. There’s no way you look anything close to hermosa.

But Esperanza just smiles knowingly, squeezing your hands once before tugging you toward the chairs lining the hallway. She sits down, keeping her grip on you like she’s afraid you might disappear through her fingers if she lets go.

You follow, hesitating only slightly before settling into the seat beside her.

"It’s been so long," she says, her brows furrowing with something between disappointment and relief. "You haven’t called in months. I thought you were sick! Do you hate me?"

"I could never hate you," you say quickly, shaking your head, a little horrified she would ever think that.

And then she smacks your arm.

"Then why haven’t you answered my calls?" she scolds, her voice laced with exasperation. "Your mother tells me you moved away and what? I don’t hear a word from you?"

You blink. Your mind stutters at the revelation.

"Wait—" you pause, trying to piece it together. "My mom… and you? You’ve been talking?"

Esperanza gives you a look, like it should be obvious. "Of course," she huffs. "What, you thought just because you and Quino broke up, I was going to stop talking to my comadre?" She rolls her eyes like the very idea is ridiculous. "Por favor."

Your mouth goes dry.

Your mother and Joaquin’s mother—keeping in touch this entire time. Behind your back. Talking about you, probably about him, too.

Your stomach churns, and suddenly, there’s something heavy pressing against your ribs.

You open your mouth, but she’s already shaking her head.

"Oh, lo sé," she sighs, exasperated. "The dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. If it were up to me, you two would’ve been married by now. Given me a grandchild, too."

Your laugh comes out a little too flustered, a little too forced. You glance around the hallway, avoiding her gaze, trying to ignore the way your heart wrings at the thought.

"Yeah," you mutter because you don’t know what else to say.

Esperanza exhales, her posture softening. She lets go of one of your hands just to reach up and brush your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with the same gentle touch Joaquín used to.

The same way he always did when you were talking too much, or overthinking, or when he just wanted an excuse to touch you.

You let out a long, quiet sigh, blinking hard against the sudden sting in your eyes.

It’s too much.

Too much familiarity, too much of your old life creeping back in all at once. You don’t think you’ve gotten enough sleep to process any of it properly.

"Mija," she murmurs, her voice softer now, more careful. "I don’t care whether you and Quino are together or not. I loved having you around. I still want to have our little chats. You are like one of my own. And when he told me you broke up, I just…" she shakes her head, pressing her lips together like she doesn’t want to say it. "I hate that it took him getting hurt for us to talk again."

"Esperanza…" you start, but she just shakes her head again.

"I know, I know. Perdóname," she says, waving it off as she stands up. She smooths down the front of her dress and sighs. "It’s so good to see you again, mi amor. You keep taking good care of my son. I’ll be in the city for another week, so please—call me. Maybe we can get coffee."

Before you can respond, she scans her visitor’s pass on the key panel and walks into Joaquín’s room, disappearing behind the door without another word.

But she leaves the question hanging in the air, thick with nostalgia and something painfully close to longing.

And she leaves the scent of rosy perfume lingering in her wake.

You stare at the closed door, your heart thudding unevenly in your chest.

You should go. You need to go—your tablet is already beeping, pulling you back to reality, reminding you that there are other patients who need you, that there’s a crisis waiting for you three flights down.

Still, you hesitate for just a second longer, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat before finally turning away.

There’s no time to process this right now.

But you have a feeling that, no matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to shake this conversation anytime soon.

Maria’s hand grips the IV pole tightly, her small fingers curling around the metal as she rolls it beside her, careful not to let the wheels catch on the tile. The fluorescent hospital lights cast a soft glow over her—too pale against her skin, too sterile—but despite it all, she beams.

You’ve never seen someone so excited just to walk.

But today is special. It’s her birthday.

She didn’t ask for much—just this. A chance to stretch her legs, to be somewhere other than her hospital room. Her parents had begged you to keep her busy while they decorated, slipping streamers and balloons inside the room like they could somehow make up for lost time.

Maria hadn’t argued. She had just grinned up at you when you asked if she wanted to go outside.

Now, she’s practically glowing, her feet sinking into the grass as you lead her through the small hospital garden.

She tips her head back, eyes fluttering closed as the breeze ruffles her hospital gown, lifting strands of hair from her shoulders. Pink cherry blossoms sway on the branches above, petals drifting onto the ground like delicate confetti.

"Did you know cherry blossoms only bloom for a few weeks?" you tell her.

Maria gasps. "Really?"

"Yep. It’s called hanami in Japan. People go outside just to watch them bloom."

Her eyes widen in pure delight. "That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. They should be watched. They’re so pretty."

You smile. "Yeah, they are."

For a moment, she just stands there, soaking it in. And you let her.

It’s one of those rare times when she doesn’t look like a patient. No tubes, no machines, no sterile smell of antiseptic—just a kid. A kid enjoying the sun, the air, the simple beauty of something fleeting.

She sighs, finally pulling herself away. "Okay. I’m ready to go back in."

"Are you sure?"

She nods. "Yeah. I don’t wanna get in trouble for being outside too long. It’s my birthday, but I think Nurse Kate would still yell at me."

"Yeah, probably," you say with a chuckle.

The hospital halls are quieter than usual, the usual hum of voices and distant beeping fading into soft background noise. Maria walks beside you, still clinging to her IV pole but with a bit more confidence in her steps.

She doesn’t drag her feet anymore. That’s new.

Her body is stronger than it was weeks ago—no more trembling hands, no more laboured breathing after short walks. It’s a victory, even if it’s small.

Maria suddenly gasps, gripping your arm and her feet skid against the floor. You barely have time to react before she jerks to a halt, her entire body going rigid, eyes locked on something ahead.

Her mouth falls open.

"The Falcon?!"

Your stomach drops.

"Maria—"

"The Falcon is here?!"

Before you can stop her, she takes off, darting toward the digital display outside one of the hospital rooms. The screen flickers with patient information, vitals, and medication logs—

Torres, Joaquín

Maria’s hands slap over her mouth. "Oh my God."

"Maria," you warn, but she’s already clambering onto one of the chairs lined against the wall, pressing her face to the glass window beside the door.

"Oh my God! It's him! It's really him!" She whirls around, panic-stricken. "Is he dead?"

You lurch forward. "What? No." Your hands instinctively find her waist, steadying her before she tips over. "He’s just sleeping."

"Can I go say hi?"

"No."

"It’s my birthday."

"Maria—"

"Please!"

You close your eyes, inhaling slowly.

This was not in your job description.

You glance at the window, frowning. You weren't supposed to let anyone into a patient’s room unless they were authorized. Especially not another patient. There were rules. Strict ones. The last thing you needed was for someone to get sick, for someone to get hurt, for someone to wake Joaquín up before he was ready—

But then you look at Maria.

She’s practically vibrating with excitement, hands clasped tightly like she’s holding back from bouncing on her toes—the youngest patient in the entire building. Wide-eyed and full of wonder, she’s looking at Joaquín because he’s a real-life superhero, someone she’s only ever seen in headlines and shaky phone recordings.

And Joaquín… Joaquín loves kids.

He always has.

You’ve seen it firsthand—the way he kneels when he talks to them, the way his face lights up whenever he makes one laugh, the way he always offers high-fives like it’s second nature. Even now, even unconscious, the thought of him being the reason behind Maria’s uncontainable joy tugs at something deep in your chest.

It feels like something he would want.

And maybe… maybe this is okay. Maybe this is good—a reminder that people out there care about him, even the ones who have never met him.

Still, you hesitate.

You’re comfortable taking care of him now.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

No more denial. No more excuses. No more pretending that seeing him like this—unmoving, caught somewhere between here and wherever his mind has drifted—doesn’t scare the hell out of you. You’ve accepted that you miss him, that you still... care for him, even after everything. But stepping into that room again—with Maria, of all people—feels like a step toward something you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

Because Joaquín is here. So close. Close enough to reach out and touch, to whisper his name and wait for that slow, teasing smile to appear—the one he always gave you when you were being too serious. Close enough that you should feel relieved.

But he’s also impossibly far.

No teasing smiles. No dumb jokes. No knowing looks from across the room. Not even anger of having you near. Just silence. Just the faint rise and fall of his chest, the machines working to keep him stable.

For days, you’ve watched him. Sat beside him. Checked his vitals. Changed his bandages. Waited.

But then Maria looks up at you, eyes round and pleading.

"Okay," you exhale, already regretting it. "But you have to be really quiet so he doesn’t wake up, okay?"

She nods, lowering her voice, "Okay."

Maria is practically bouncing with excitement as you swipe your keycard and push open the door. Sunlight spills in through the half-drawn blinds, cutting warm streaks across the floor, across Joaquín’s blankets, across his still form. The midday hum of the hospital filters in from the hallway, muffled but present. The steady beeping of the monitors tracks his heart rate, a slow, even rhythm, while the IV beside him feeds a clear solution into his veins.

Maria tiptoes inside like she’s afraid of disturbing something sacred.

You don’t blame her.

Because up close, he looks even more unreachable. The bruises along his temple have faded from deep purple to a softer yellow-red, but the cuts on his face are healing. His lips are chapped. His hair is messy against the pillow, a sharp contrast to how put-together you remember him.

You move—more out of instinct than anything—because lingering in the doorway makes it worse. The small cart beside his bed is stocked with fresh bandages, antiseptic, gauze—everything you’ve used to help keep his wounds clean these past few weeks. Without thinking, you pick up his chart because you've forgotten your tablet, scanning the latest notes, his most recent vitals. Stable. No new concerns. No change.

Maria whispers something, but you don’t catch it.

You blink, glancing at her. "What?"

She’s staring at Joaquín, her small hands gripping the edge of his blanket like she’s afraid to touch him, but wants to.

“He’s even prettier up close,” she breathes.

Despite yourself, you smile. "Yeah? You think so?"

She nods seriously.

There’s something achingly familiar about the way she looks at him—like she’s trying to memorize him, like she’s afraid he might disappear if she blinks.

You know that feeling.

Because you’ve caught yourself staring at him the exact same way.

Like if you look long enough, you might commit him to memory all over again. Like you can make up for the lost time, for the time that has slipped through your fingers. You study him—not just the broad strokes of him, not just the familiarity of his face, but every little thing you’d forgotten during your time apart, the things that had slipped from your mind.

There is a faint stubble that’s started to grow along his jaw. And now you notice little moles dotting his skin, scattered in ways you don’t recognize from your memories or dreams of him—they were always focused on the bigger picture, the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he loved you.

Now, it’s the details that root you to the present.

The soft rise and fall of his chest beneath the hospital blanket. The steady hum of the monitors. The warmth of his skin when you reach out, pressing two fingers to his wrist, feeling the familiar, comforting rhythm of his pulse beneath your touch.

You check his vitals—his heart rate is stable, his oxygen levels are good, and his IV fluids are running properly.

Maria exhales softly, still watching him, her voice quiet as a breath.

"I think he’s gonna be okay."

You let out a slow, measured breath, your thumb grazing over the back of Joaquín’s hand—just for a second, just enough to feel the warmth of him.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Me too."

It’s enough. For now.

Your fingers slip away from his, the warmth vanishing almost instantly, and you start to usher Maria back toward the door. But as you move, something shifts—so small, so quick, you almost think you imagined it.

Joaquín’s fingers twitch at his side, just as yours leave his.

Your heart stutters.

A rush of warmth blooms in your chest, something fragile and desperate, something that wants to hope, to believe that it means something. That he felt it.

Swallowing, you make a quick note on his chart, recording the small movement even though it could be nothing.

Even though it could be everything.

You exhale, trying to ground yourself, trying to shake off the way your heart is pounding now, loud and heavy in your ears. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until Maria tugs at your sleeve, glancing up at you, her own expression somewhere between curiosity and uncertainty.

You force yourself to move. To turn away. To guide her toward the door, because whatever flicker of hope just sparked inside you is too fragile to hold.

But then—

A sound.

Low. Faint. Hoarse from weeks of silence.

Your name.

Spoken.

Maria gasps softly.

And you—you freeze.

The breath leaves your lungs in a sharp, startled exhale, and your fingers go rigid against the door handle. A slow, involuntary shiver runs down your spine, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

Did you imagine it?

You must have.

But then you feel it—Maria’s small fingers wrapping tightly around your hand, clutching at you with quiet urgency.

Because she heard it too.

Your name. A whisper, raw and barely there, but there.

And it came from him.

Joaquín.

The hospital room feels smaller now, charged with something delicate and terrifying all at once. The air thickens, pressing against your chest as you slowly—slowly—turn around, terrified that if you look, it’ll be gone.

That it was just a trick of your desperate mind.

But it’s not.

Because Joaquín’s fingers twitch again.

His brow furrows, lips parting slightly, throat working as he struggles to form a sound, his voice raw and unfamiliar after so many days of silence.

Maria gasps, gripping your sleeve, her excitement barely contained, but you don’t register it.

Because Joaquín’s eyes are fluttering open.

For a moment, he stares blankly at the ceiling, his chest rising in a shallow, uneven breath. His body remains rigid, like his muscles haven’t caught up with the fact that he’s conscious. There’s no immediate recognition in his gaze—just a hazy sort of confusion, as if he’s somewhere else entirely.

Then, he moves.

His fingers twitch against the sheets, then curl. His breath hitches. The faint beeping of the heart monitor quickens. His body tenses, his shoulders pulling in as if bracing for impact.

His gaze shifts—and lands on you.

The second your face comes into focus, his entire body jerks.

A sharp, ragged inhale drags through his chest. His pupils constrict. His hand flinches at his side, like he wants to reach for something—like he’s searching for something solid.

His breathing changes. It’s not just uneven anymore—it’s too fast, too shallow. The rise and fall of his chest is quick, erratic, his ribs barely expanding with each breath.

Then, a whisper, barely a breath—words spilling from his lips before he even realizes he’s speaking.

"Me morí."

The words repeat, over and over, almost like a prayer.

"Me morí. Me morí. Me morí."

His voice trembles. His fingers fist the blanket. Tears well in his eyes and slip down his temples, silent, unchecked.

Your heart lurches.

You move instinctively, stepping closer, hands steady even as your pulse pounds in your ears.

"Hey, hey," you soothe, voice low and careful, placing a gentle hand on his good shoulder. "It’s okay. You’re safe."

Joaquín flinches at the touch, his muscles twitching beneath your fingers. His head turns slightly, his gaze darting, frantic, searching—taking in the room, the medical equipment, the IV in his arm. You can tell his body wants to move, to fight, to run, military instincts kicking in. But he’s still weak, his limbs heavy, uncooperative.

His pulse pounds beneath your fingertips. Too fast. His whole body is reacting before his mind can catch up.

"Joaquín." You keep your voice steady, careful, like speaking too loudly might shatter him completely. "Can you hear me?"

His gaze snaps back to you.

Something flickers in his expression. Recognition.

His chest is still rising and falling too quickly, his hands still tremble against the sheets, but his shoulders drop just barely. Some of the tension bleeds away.

His lips part, but no sound comes out at first. His throat works through the effort.

Then, at last, a hoarse, broken whisper.

"Hi."

Your breath catches.

Your fingers twitch against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin grounding you as much as you hope you’re grounding him. You press your palm there just a little longer, just to reassure yourself he’s real, that he’s awake.

"Hi," you whisper back.

His lashes flutter as he blinks at you, slow and deliberate, his eyes still wet with tears. Still searching. His gaze drifts over your face like he’s trying to map every detail back into his memory.

Like he’s afraid you might disappear.

"Hi," he says again, quieter this time.

Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat.

"Hi, Joaquín."

A slow, trembling exhale leaves his lips. His body sags into the pillow, exhaustion catching up to him all at once. His fingers unclench from the blanket, the tension in his muscles fading—but not entirely.

Because when you start to let go, when your fingers begin to lift from his shoulder, he twitches beneath your touch.

The hesitation is so subtle that you almost miss it—almost.

A flicker of something crosses his face, something unspoken, something aching. You worry he's hurting.

It reminds you of another time, a different moment in a different place. Years ago, Joaquín slouched in the passenger seat of your car, showing you his newly earned stitches after getting beat up by a Flag-Smasher, laughing through the pain while you frowned.

"You gotta stop scaring me like this."

"I’m trying, I swear."

You remember the way his eyes had softened in the dim streetlight, the way he had looked at you then. The way he kissed you to take your mind off of his pain—how neither of you had wanted to let go.

And now—now, as your fingers hover over his shoulder, as he doesn’t look away—it feels exactly the same.

Only this time he can't kiss you.

Only this time you can't wipe his tears away.

You force yourself to pull back, to let your fingers drift away, even as your hand aches to stay.

Joaquín swallows hard, blinking sluggishly as his gaze flickers to the IV in his arm, the monitors beside him, then back to you. His lips press together briefly as if he’s gathering himself before a rough, scratchy mutter escapes him.

"Ah, shit. I screwed up so bad."

The sound of his voice—dry, raspy, but carrying the faintest hint of that familiar humour—makes something in your chest crack wide open.

A breathy, wet laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly swipe at your eyes, shaking your head.

"I'm... I'm gonna go call a doctor, alright?"

Joaquín doesn’t say anything. He just watches you.

There’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, something too much. It makes your pulse stutter, makes your breath feel too shallow in your lungs.

You don’t give yourself time to process it.

Instead, you turn, pressing the call button for the doctor. "Come, Maria," you say, voice quieter than before.

Maria, who's gone strangely silent since Joaquín woke up, rushes to your side without hesitation. But she does nearly break her neck to keep looking back at him until you pull the door shut, sealing that moment away.

You exhale, resting your back against the wall for half a second longer than necessary before forcing yourself to move.

The doctor arrives quickly. You straighten up, rattling off Joaquín’s vitals, every detail you can remember—his initial reaction, his moment of panic, his response to stimuli, everything. The words come automatically, like muscle memory, like routine. You focus on that, on the familiar rhythm of procedure, handing off the responsibility to the doctor so she can begin running tests, checking his neurological responses, assessing how much damage—if any—his body has endured after so many days in forced stillness.

The weight of your exhaustion presses heavier against your shoulders as you upload his files to the system, sending them over before turning your attention back to Maria.

"You did good, Maria," you tell her softly as you lead her back to her room.

She just nods, but there’s something distant in her expression now.

You get it.

She’s just witnessed the moment. The one where everything changes.

It’s the moment where the panic stops being panic and turns into something else—something messier, something heavier.

It’s the moment where the question “what if he never wakes up?” turns into something just as terrifying:

“He’s awake. Now what?”

Her parents are waiting when you bring her back, and you don’t stay. You let them have that moment for her birthday, closing the door gently behind you before turning back into the hallway.

And then you’re alone.

For the first time in hours, in days, you’re alone with nothing to distract you.

Your hands are shaking. You hadn’t even noticed at first, but now you can’t not notice—the tremor in your fingers, the way your pulse hammers too fast against your ribs, the way your body suddenly doesn’t know what to do with itself now that you’re not running on pure adrenaline.

You sink into one of the chairs outside Joaquín’s room, bracing your elbows on your knees. The motion feels stiff, foreign—like your body isn’t quite yours anymore.

Your eyes sting.

Joaquín is awake. He’s awake.

He spoke. He looked at you. He recognized you. He remembered you.

You should feel relief. You should feel something good.

And yet.

It’s like coming up for air after being stuck underwater too long—except just as you’re about to take a full breath, it’s ripped away again.

Because now that he’s awake… he can speak to you.

He can react to what you say, to what you do.

Maybe he’ll ask for a different nurse. Maybe he’ll ask to be transferred to another hospital back in Miami or something. Maybe, when his voice isn’t so raw and broken, he’ll tell you exactly what he thinks about the fact that you were the one sitting by his bedside all this time.

And God, you don’t know if you can handle that.

You drag your hands down your face, pushing out a breath. You don’t have time for this.

The sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway reminds you that Sam—or Joaquín’s mother—is bound to show up any minute now. The news will spread fast, and soon, his room will be filled with people who have been waiting for this moment, praying for this moment.

Shit.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a second before forcing yourself up. You should be in the room right now with the doctor, checking over Joaquín’s vitals, taking actual notes instead of spiraling in the hallway. Get your shit together and do your job.

Your movements feel sluggish as you reach for your tablet, swiping your ID card at the door. The scanner beeps, and for a split second, you hesitate—your fingers still lingering on the door handle, your chest tight.

Then you force yourself to step inside.

The room is brighter now, bathed in soft afternoon light filtering through the window. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm glow, a stark contrast to the sterile white walls and the quiet hum of machines. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor is too steady, too real.

The doctor is already mid-assessment, having raised Joaquín’s bed into a slightly upright position as she runs through a neurological check-up.

Joaquín is watching you.

His dark eyes flicker to you the second you enter, and you feel it in your chest, hot and unrelenting.

You swallow hard, gripping your tablet like it’s a lifeline, and take your place near the doctor, prepared to focus on numbers and stats and anything else except the weight of that stare.

You wonder if you’ll get kicked out for distracting him.

"Oh, great, you’re back," the doctor says, breaking through the static in your brain. "Do you mind grabbing some water for Captain Torres? I’m just about done here. Everything looks good and healthy. He’s recovering well."

You nod, already moving before your thoughts can catch up. Autopilot. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded at this point.

Still, you feel it.

The way Joaquín’s gaze follows every single one of your movements, tracking you like you might disappear if he looks away.

You crouch, retrieving a bottle from the mini fridge, fingers twisting at the cap before stepping back toward the bed. That’s when it hits you—he can’t take it. His muscles are still sluggish, his coordination not quite there yet.

You pour some into a paper cup instead, stepping closer when the doctor gives a nod of approval. Joaquín doesn’t say anything.

The tremor in your hands is almost imperceptible, but you feel it when you lift the cup to his lips. The moment your fingers brush his skin, a muscle in his jaw tenses.

His heart monitor beside the bed jumps.

Your eyes snap to the screen, but the doctor catches it first.

"Interesting," she hums, her tone just teasing enough to send heat creeping up your neck. But she lets it go.

"So, Joaquín," she continues, "We’re gonna have to do some blood work tomorrow, just to make sure everything is alright internally. We’ll up your dose of painkillers now that you’re awake."

"Awesome," he mutters, voice scratchy but laced with dry sarcasm.

She smiles. "They’ll make you a little drowsy, which is normal, but we’ll need you to try and stay awake until sunset. Just to make sure you’re not slipping in and out of consciousness. But I doubt it."

Then she turns to you.

"I’ll let Amanda know he’s awake. But you did a good job—woke up sooner than we expected."

You blink, caught off guard by the compliment.

"Thanks."

"I’ll come back later for a check-up."

And then she leaves.

The door clicks shut, and there is a silence that follows.

You stand there, hands gripping the tablet against your chest, unsure of what to do. Well, you know what to do—your duty is clear. You should be checking his vitals, updating his chart, making sure he’s comfortable.

But that’s not what’s stopping you.

It’s him.

Awake. Looking at you.

Joaquín Torres, alive and conscious and blinking at you like he’s still trying to convince himself this isn’t just another fever dream.

His voice comes quiet, hoarse, a low grumble you barely hear over the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor.

"You took care of me?"

Your breath catches.

It’s a simple question, but it knocks something loose in your chest. Because it’s him asking. Because he’s here to ask it.

You swallow, shifting on your feet. Your gaze flickers over him—not just the wounds, but all of him. The way the sunlight filters in through the window, warming the stark white of the sheets, reflecting in the deep brown of his eyes. He looks more alive now, and maybe it’s the light or the steady rise and fall of his chest, but for the first time in weeks, you allow yourself to believe it.

He’s here.

Breathing. Talking. Alive.

And yet—his dead face still haunts you.

The memory lingers in the corners of your mind, just out of reach but never truly gone. His stillness, the unnatural slack of his features, the too-loud silence of a body that had once been so full of energy, of life. The image is burned into your brain, playing over and over again like a cruel loop. The moment you thought you lost him.

The tears in his mother’s face.

The look of dread on Sam.

The guilt.

"Uh, yeah. I did."

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Joaquín exhales, long and slow, as if processing your words. Then, he tries to smile.

It’s small, faint and unsteady like he isn’t quite sure how to do it yet. The corners of his lips curve, but there’s a hesitation in the movement, like his face isn’t used to the motion after so long.

Still, he tries.

And when his eyes meet yours again, your stomach twists, sinking deep like an anchor dropping into dark water.

"I… I know it’s just your job, but—" His voice falters, but his gaze doesn’t. "Thank you."

Right. Your job.

The words settle into your chest like a weight—familiar, suffocating.

Because you remember the last time he said that to you.

Your last fight.

Well—it wasn’t really a fight, was it?

Not the kind with screaming and shattered glass, not the kind where anger built up and spilled over, reckless and sharp. It was quieter than that. Heavier. Because in the end, it wasn’t about anger.

It was about exhaustion. About wanting so badly to hold on to each other but realizing, little by little, that neither of you had hands free to do it.

You had barely been sleeping.

Between overnight shifts at the hospital, classes, training, and trying to be the best nurse you could be, your time wasn’t your own. It belonged to the people who needed you—the patients, the emergencies, the long nights where your body ached and your mind ran on fumes.

And Joaquín?

He had thrown himself into working with Sam, into proving himself, into becoming something bigger. His missions got longer. The risks got greater. He was gone more often than he was home, and when he was home, he was bruised, exhausted, a shadow of himself trying to piece together the scraps of a normal life between deployments.

You tried to make it work. God, you tried.

You spent so much time missing each other—passing like ships in the night, phone calls that never lasted long enough, conversations cut short by a code blue or a mission call.

At first, you thought it was temporary. That one day, things would slow down. That eventually, you’d find a rhythm that let you breathe with each other again.

But that day never came.

Instead, the gaps between you grew wider.

The distance stretched, and stretched, and stretched—until one night, you were sitting across from each other, and you both knew.

"I can't do this anymore, Joaquín."

You had whispered it.

Not because you didn’t mean it, but because saying it any louder might have broken you.

He had looked at you, like he was waiting for you to take it back.

Like if he just held on long enough, you’d change your mind.

"I know... You know, I love you," he had said, low, firm, desperate.

And that had been the worst part.

Because love wasn’t the problem.

It had never been the problem.

It was everything else.

Your job. His job.

The nights spent apart, the exhaustion, the never-ending fear of opening your front door to a folded American Flag. You couldn’t stand watching him bleed.

And he couldn’t stand knowing that one day, you might not be there to stitch him back up. That was the last time he said it. "But it’s my job."

Like that was supposed to make it better.

But now, you’re standing in his hospital room, staring at proof that it never got better. Because you had left to protect yourself from seeing him hurt. And now you had seen him dead.

"Of course," you manage to say, wincing when you hear your voice break.

Joaquín hums softly, but his eyes don’t leave you. He’s looking for something in your face—like he’s searching through memories neither of you have spoken aloud in years.

But then, his gaze flickers away. Over to the table. To the mess of flowers stacked in unsteady vases, their petals bright in the afternoon sunlight. The kind of display that only happens when someone is lucky enough to wake up.

His brow creases. "How bad was it?"

You swallow, feeling something sharp lodge itself in your throat. "You were shot out of the sky by a missile."

His lips part. "Right."

"It was pretty fucking bad."

A beat.

"Right."

You don’t know what you were expecting. Some kind of reaction, some flicker of acknowledgment for the hell he’s put you through. But instead, he just takes it—like it’s another report, another piece of intel.

You hesitate, something bubbling up inside you. You can’t tell if it’s anger or sorrow. "You died."

The words hit the air, heavier than you expected.

Joaquín blinks, his breath hitching almost imperceptibly. His fingers twitch against the blanket.

"I died?"

You nod, biting your cheek so hard you taste iron.

"Yeah," you force out. Your throat tightens. Don’t cry. Not in front of him. Not again. "Two minutes."

He’s staring at you now. Eyes wide. Disbelief creeps into the edges of his expression, but not enough—not enough for someone who actually understands what that means.

What it means to you.

"Oh."

You scoff. "Yeah. Oh."

Your laugh is brittle. Sharp around the edges. Because what else is there to say? Joaquín dies for two minutes, and you’ve spent days living inside them.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

"God," he mutters. "Sam’s gonna be so mad at me."

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Because this wasn’t how you imagined seeing him again.

In your head, there were a million other ways this could have gone—maybe you’d run into each other in the future when you were older. When things had settled. When you’d moved on.

Maybe you’d both be married to other people.

The thought makes you sick. But this? This is so much worse.

"Do you, um, do you need anything else? Are you hungry?"

"No."

You nod, but you don’t believe him. Patients are usually peckish when they wake up—a sign of life returning to their bodies, a reassurance that things are moving forward. And while he’s not allowed solid foods for another twenty-four hours, you could bring him a smoothie, something light.

But if he really wants something, he can call you.

You tell yourself that as you turn toward the door.

"Can you stay?"

You linger because you didn’t expect it.

Because you kind of hoped he would ask.

Because he didn’t ask you to stay last time.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, gripping your tablet a little tighter, as if the tension in your body could be contained in that single movement.

"Yeah," you say softly. "I can stay."

You turn back to him, and Joaquín is already looking at you.

His eyes are pleading.

It takes everything in you not to break right there. To not spill over.

You force yourself to move, careful, measured steps toward the chair beside his bed. It feels like you’re wading through something thick, something unseen, like grief or memory or all the what-ifs you’ve tried to bury.

You sink into the chair slowly.

A strand of hair falls into Joaquín’s face as he leans back against the pillows, the bruising on his cheekbone catching the light just enough for you to hate it.

Your fingers twitch again. The urge to brush it back is unbearable. But you don't.

He exhales.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asks suddenly.

You blink, caught off guard.

"Last night." you answer, almost automatically.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Not really."

A beat.

"Nightmares?"

"Something like that."

"Something on your mind?"

"Lots on my mind."

The words slip out easily, like an old habit. No walls. No defences. It’s like no time has passed at all, like the space between you hasn’t been filled with anger, regret, and time apart. Just raw, open honesty in the quiet of the room.

The weight that’s been crushing you for days feels a little lighter in the space between his questions and your answers. You exhale, and only then do you realize you’re holding back tears.

You wipe at your face absently, surprised to find wetness there. You hadn’t even known you were crying.

Joaquín shifts in the bed, his gaze sharpening. There’s concern in his eyes, guilt, and maybe something else—something deeper. He looks away, clearing his throat, as if trying to fight it.

"I hope it's not me you're worried about,"

"I'm always worried about you."

You glance away from him, pretending it’s nothing, but the words hang between you both, too heavy to ignore.

His breath catches, something in him faltering, and then you catch the slight, almost imperceptible way his fingers curl into the sheets. His ears are pink, the flush spreading down his neck. He’s always been terrible at hiding how he feels, and you’re helpless against it. You always have been.

You can’t look at him. You don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed him. How much you’ve been carrying around since the breakup. How much he’s haunted every quiet moment since you walked away.

"Joaquín," you start, tugging at the ring finger on your left hand, the absence of his name there like a wound you forgot was still open. "When they brought you in here—"

"I miss you."

Your chest tightens. "Joaquín—"

"It's true, I do." His voice is quiet, almost vulnerable. "I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you again, and I just…" His gaze drifts from yours, like he’s struggling to put it all together. "I couldn't get it out."

You swallow hard, feeling that familiar ache well up in you. “I miss you too. It’s been... it’s been really hard.”

"Yeah." He nods slowly, his voice softer now. "It has. But, you know, I’m the Falcon now. Can you believe that?" He chuckles, but it’s almost nervous, as if he’s trying to lighten the mood, trying to make you smile. "I work with Captain America. I’ve got big shoes to fill. I’ve got to show up, but this... this is all I’ve ever wanted, since I was a kid. I’ve got it now. But... there’s something missing."

You look at him, really look at him, seeing the difference in his eyes now—less brash, more tired but still so much the same. "Yeah. Yeah, I feel it too. It’s like a nagging feeling, right? No matter what we do, it’s there."

"Make me feel guilty." His lips curve into a faint smile, but it’s tired.

"Like I wanna vomit," you reply dryly, the familiar banter slipping back into place before you can stop it.

Joaquín’s eyes soften as he lets out a breath, and there’s an edge of regret in the way he says, “I’m sorry I left.”

Your heart aches at the words, and you feel the old wounds crack open. "I’m sorry I made you leave." You’re not sure whether you’re trying to make him feel better or punish him with your own guilt. Either way, it burns.

“No,” he says quickly, “It doesn’t work that way.”

"But it does," you insist, your voice soft but firm.

He presses his lips together, brow furrowed, as if trying to work through what you’ve just said. "I should’ve fought harder," he murmurs, voice cracking just slightly.

"Joaquín... c’mon. Let’s talk about this later, okay? You just woke up from a coma. I can’t be putting this much stress on your mind."

"But I wanna talk about it," he presses, desperate.

“I know, I do too,” you admit,

“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, leaning forward just a little.

"Rest first." You place a hand on his shoulder gently, urging him to lay back. “You’ve been through a lot. I can’t let you burn yourself out again.”

“I’ve been resting. Had the best nurse in the world take care of me,” he teases, trying to distract you with a smile.

You feel the tug in your chest at his words. "And I will still take care of you. But you need rest. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow," you confirm, trying to smile, to soothe the tension you’ve both built up.

"Will you still be here?"

You glance down at him, a familiar warmth flooding your chest at the sight of him so vulnerable, so human. "I’m not going anywhere. Will you still be here?"

His smile softens, a quiet promise in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#listen to blood orange while reading 🫶🏽#they make out and fuck after this i promise #faye’s writing ⭑.ᐟ #joaquín torres #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres fanfiction #the falcon #the falcon x reader #joaquín torres smut #joaquin torres smut #joaquín’s wings

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xxkissesforchanniexx · 11 months ago

Note

Best friend Chan who is in love with reader but has a girlfriend?

𝐒�� 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭?

Pairing: bestfriend!Chan x reader college au Genre: Angst (i cant write that for shit.), fluff, smut Word Count: 4.5k (lord help me) Warnings: Chan's gf is controlling, gf is a pick me, mentions of cheating (not by chan), mentions of college (younger half of members + chan gf + reader), fade to black sexual moment kinda >.>, nosey ass friends >.>, mentions of ateez members, not proofread, fighting >.> DO NOT DO IT, lowkey (highkey) cringe... UHH Idk what else...

A/N: I have exams soon so >.> i won't be taking requests until like May 😭 uhh I might get out the requests I have but until May I won't be accepting any very sorry >.>

You pursed your lips as your best friend's girlfriend, Chaewol, rubbed herself all over your friend, Chan's, arm.

"Chrissy." She said sweetly. "Can we go now?"

Your other friend, Seungmin stared at her, not even trying to hide the look of disgust on his face.

Minho just blinked slowly.

"Babe, we just got here." Chan sighed.

"I know but the waitress keeps giving me dirty looks." She pouted.

Hyunjin, a man who'd grown to be as close as a brother to you, made a face and leaned in close to you whispering, "Maybe if she hadn't been all over Chan as if the waitress wanted to steal him she wouldn't get dirty looks."

You gave your friend a knowing face.

"It's fine Chan." Seungmin smiled, stirring his drink with his straw, "Just go."

Chan looked at you with an apologetic look.

You shrugged. "We'll just try again some other time."

He smiled. "Alright. See you guys." He stood with Chaewol, who gave you the nastiest look as Chan led her out.

"The waitress wasn't even looking." Seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose.

"She's obviously jealous." Hyunjin huffed. "I would be too if my boyfrie-"

Seungmin elbowed him.

You looked between the two confused. "What?"

"Nothing." They both said.

Minho grabbed. a bunch of tissues from the dispenser in the middle of the table and tried forcing Hyunjin to eat them.

You burst into a fit of laughter as a waiter came over with water to help the spluttering Hyunjin.

Your phone buzzed with a notification from Instagram, you opened it and sucked in a breath at the post. It was of Chan and Chaewol at a bubble tea shop, she was kissing his cheek.

Hyunjin looked at your phone and sighed. "It's fine."

You nodded, "Yeah. Say any of you up for barbecue?"

Seungmin smiled, "Let's go."

It was late now, well past midnight, Chaewol was asleep, and Chan lie awake. He sucked in a breath, rolling onto his side and grabbing his phone, he opened Instagram and squeezed his phone. The picture Chaewol had taken earlier had blown up, "he's so sweet" and "you're so lucky" flooded the comments. He kept scrolling and stopped at a post where you were in a shopping cart and Changbin was pushing you, while Jisung was in a separate cart and Hyunjin struggled to push him. He laughed lightly and paused at a post from 30 minutes ago, that would've been 1am, you were at a table with the other guys. Jeongin was out cold on the table and the rest of them looked drunk stupid except for Minho, probably the driver..

Chan felt his heart clench. When was the last time he'd gone out like that with the rest of you.

He tapped your profile and scrolled through your recent posts, baking with Felix, cooking with Minho, gym day with Han and Changbin, movie night with a friend, a guy, he didn't know..

He stared at the image for a moment before swiping to the next, same guy, laying on his back between your legs, head rested on you stomach, your fingers in his hair, all that was visible, his nose and eyes.

Chan whispered softly, "Who the fuck is that."

Chaewol rolled over, murmuring, "What is it?"

"Nothing." Chan said, "Go back to sleep."

Chan looked through the comments,

Hongjoongisworld 1w Wow, so that's where my snacks went.

HWWAAA 1w Lucky.

former stronk man 1w ;-; why wasn't I invited.

and you tagged Sannie..?

Chan tapped the tag and exhaled slowly at all the pictures of a muscular man with a square jaw and pretty face. So this was Sannie. This was the man doing things he should be, Choi San, who goes to an entirely different school from you.

Chan jumped as suddenly his phone was gone. "Chae-"

"He's hot.." She scrolled through San's profile and hummed. Then her face fell.

Chan leaned over looking at his phone, there you were, phone covering half your face as you took the picture, San behind you, his arm wrapped a little too tight around your waist. Chan took his phone from Chaewol and put it down.

"Go to sleep." He huffed, rolling to face away from her.

Chaewol stared at Chan in the darkness for a long moment before pursing her lips. He's not mad that I called that other guy hot. He's made that Y/N is close to him... And she rolled to face away from Chan, biting her pink nails. What could she do to you?

You were drunk, buzzed, completely inebriated. To the extent Minho had to call someone to pry you off the pole outside of the bar. He'd used your phone and called someone you had labeled as Mr Sannie

Mr Sannie turned out to be someone named Choi San, he was a close friend of yours apparently, and you hugged him poking his face and neck as he half carried, half dragged you to his car.

Minho stared at San for a long time. What is Chan even going to say..

In light of your recent Instagram posts and a long call with Minho, Chan decided to leave Chaewol at home and go hang out with you for the first time in a long while. It was fun, running around being stupid with you. You and Chan were eating ice cream in the park when he asked suddenly.

"Who's San?"

You blinked a bit surprised. "He's a friend of mine."

Chan looked at you before looking back at his ice cream. "Just a friend?"

"Of course." You laughed, it trailed off as you realized he was serious. "Chan, San is just my friend."

Chan looked at you and smiled, "Good."

You didn't exactly know how to respond to that. Good why?

Your phone buzzed and you looked at it, there was a message from Yongbok to the group chat your friend group had.

lixie 3:47pm We're having a party off campus, you senior citizens tryna join in?

He Who Feeds Them Tissues 3:47pm I will if Chan will.

OMG SLAY💅🏻 3:48pm Why are we senior citizens...

Chubby Cheeks 3:48pm Because you've already graduated.

Hangry 3:48pm But we're not senior.

OMG SLAY💅🏻 3:48pm Minho and Chan are.

He Who Feeds Them Tissues 3:47pm You haven't eaten tissues in a while have you Hyunjinnie.

Me 3:49pm You're cooked. 💀

Loaf 3:49pm I'll go. Hyunjin hide.

Channie 3:49pm LOLLL

STAAA 3:49pm OMG GRANDPA LEARNED LINGO

lixie 3:50pm 😧 never thought i'd live to see it.

You giggled and looked at Chan who rolled his eyes.

Your phone buzzed again and Chan peeked over your shoulder, tensing at the sight of Sanniepoo..

Mr Sannie 3:50pm There's a party. Go with me?

Chan looked at you, you hadn't clicked the notification, hesitating.

"Are you going to go?" You asked him.

He bit his lip, "I have to ask Chaewol."

You looked down at your phone and tapped Mr Sannie's chat, typing something. "It's fine." You looked at your phone again and stood, "I have to go meet up with a friend."

Chan opened his mouth to say something, that friend was San, this guy he didn't know, who his own girlfriend thought was hot. You were going to meet up with this guy...

"Bye, Channie." You said before he could get any words out.

And you were gone.

You were sitting in class biting your pen and trying to study in art history before the teacher arrived, when you heard the steps then the whispers. You didn't bother looking up until a pink purse was thrown on your textbook.

You knew that purse, you'd helped Chan pick out that purse for...

"You really think you're funny." Chaewol said. Her group of girls dressed as if this were still high school looked at you with disgusted looks.

You looked up at her. "Am I laughing?"

The chatter in the class died.

"Leave my boyfriend alone." She said.

You raised a brow. "You think I'm messing with Chan?"

"Chris. Doesn't want you."

You stood, "What makes you think I want Chan?"

"Why else would you be all over other guys to get his attention?"

The class gasped.

"I've done a lot of stupid shit, but trying to get a guy's attention is not on that list yet." You said glaring at her.

"You're such a liar!" One of her friends said. "We've seen the pics of you with the guys from KQ Uni."

Chaewol got in your face. "Listen here, Y/N, if you don't leave Chan alone, it's going to be and you."

You sucked in a breath, "Back up."

"If I don't?" She asked.

"How old are you, Chaewol?" You asked irritated.

Chaewol smirked and turned, letting her hair extensions hit you as she grabbed her purse.

You pursed your lips.

You hadn't expected to be greeted by San's car outside of school as you left.

He gave you the corniest smirk as you got in, "I have a surprise for you."

You tilted your head, "What is it?"

He held a out a small box covered in blue velvet and you took it, opening the box you smiled at the sight of a plain black ring band. engraved in silver on the inside was "Dumass #1"

You burst out laughing and put the ring on as San held up his right hand, showing his matching band. You two took several pictures before San started driving.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"You know me so well," you smiled.

You took several more stupid pictures and a few pictures of your food, you were going to post the images but then you remembered what Chaewol had said.

"Why else would you be all over other guys to get his attention?"

You shook your head and pressed post.

"We should go meet the guys, they're out and about today." San hummed.

You nodded, "Okay."

You were laying in bed scrolling when Chan called you, you stared at your phone for a moment before answering. "Helloooo?"

"Uh.."

You heard the shakiness in his voice as he spoke.

"Can you come over? I- Chaewol and I aren't talking." He said sniffing.

"Chan what happened?" You sat up in bed, it wasn't the first time something like this happened...

You were at his house in 20 minutes, staring at your friend as he sniffled and allowed you before hugging you. You patted his back and made him sit as he cried about Chaewol cheating on him... again.

"Am I doing something wrong?" He looked up at you with tears in his eyes.

"Of course not Channie." You smoothed his hair and smiled at him gently. "She's the problem."

He muttered something about not being good at anything and lied down on the couch, resting his head on your lap.

You spent most of the night comforting Chan and relaxed when you got him to go to sleep. You stared at your friend's sleeping face, so content and calm as if in his dreams he'd forget about everything. You smiled slightly and leaned back against the couch falling asleep yourself, sure this would be the last time, positive...

When you woke up Chan wasn't laying on your lap and you assumed he'd gotten up to go do something but as you were about to stand you heard the voices by the door...

"Chris, you know it didn't mean anything. I love you babe." Chaewol sobbed.

"Please don't..." You heard Chan sigh.

"Chan!" She sobbed louder, and you heard her fall to the floor, "Babe it won't happen again! I swear! I love you, please!"

He wouldn't... right?

"Chaewol stand up."

"Not until you forgive me." She sniffed.

You exhaled slowly as Chan told her, "Come back later."

"Chrissy please-"

"I'm serious."

"Fine."

You heard the door close then Chan was back in the living room staring at you.

"Y/N-"

"It's fine. Just enjoy yourself." You pursed your lips and rolled your eyes, before leaving him standing there.

Chan's mouth was half open he was going to say something, he willed the words out. But a small, "Thanks for coming over." Left his lips instead and was met with the door slamming.

Chan kissed Chaewol and muttered, "You did so good for me."

Chaewol lay there on the bed trying to catch her breath, after cleaning up, Chan got into bed and Chaewol was already out cold. He rubbed her head gently, then he got a text from Changbin.

Baby Changbin 7:59pm Did you see what Y/N posted?

Chan opened instagram, there was a bunch of posts with you and a bunch of guys he didn't know, there was more with that Choi San... and he scrolled to this afternoon, food, you two being stupid, then.. a picture of your hand and someone else's, someone Chan could assume was San, wearing matching rings.

Chan bit his lip and looked at his jewelry drawer. He'd stopped wearing the necklace that matched yours because Chaewol thought it was "intrusive" and "a physical show of emotional cheating".

That left one thing...

"Baby." Chan shook Chaewol gently.

"Huh?" She groaned.

"There's a party tomorrow," He muttered.

"I know." She opened her eyes a little.

"Can we go?"

"Yeah whatever, let me sleep..."

Chan lie back and stared at the pictures of you and San.

He opened his chat with Changbin.

Me 8:02pm He goes to KQ Uni?

Baby Changbin 8:02pm They all do

Me 8:03pm We're going to that party.

The day of the party Chan pulled up in front of the old college he once attended, where you and Chaewol currently went. He had come on Chaewol's request, so he could take her to buy a new outfit for the party.

He saw you and Jisung and was about to get out of his car to go talk to you but another car pulled up. Chan froze as he got out of the driver's seat and hugged you then began counting on his fingers while making an exaggerated face. Jisung cackled. You rolled your eyes and pushed San's head, he faked a hurt expression and opened the front passenger side door for you.

Chan squeezed the wheel and this time got out of the his car, he would've approached but the sound of a squeal made him look away from you, Chaewol and her friends came over and she threw herself on him.

She looked in your direction, then made a face, "That's the guy from KQ Uni isn't it?"

Chan didn't answer, eyes glued on the way you and San went back and forth before you finally got into the car and Jisung got in the back seat.

Chaewol shook him slightly. "Chris?"

Chan's eyes met San's as he closed the door. All the man did was smile before getting into his car and driving away taking you with him.

Chaewol squeezed Chan's arm. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all." Chan lied, "Let's go, hm? Gotta make you look even more beautiful."

Chan pulled up to the party with Chaewol and her friends. He got out and opened the door for Chaewol, who quickly scampered to join her other friends. Chan shook his head and started looking around for his friends, then he saw Minho, there was a group of guys with him, Chan could only recognize San.

He approached and San smiled at him, Minho patted Chan on the shoulder and introduced him to the rest of the men. "This is my good friend Chan. Channie, this is San, Seonghwa and Yunho."

Chan nodded and smiled, "Have you seen Y/n?"

"Oh, she ran off with Seungmin somewhere." Minho said. "Probably to get drinks."

"Oh, okay."

San raised a brow at Chan, "You know Y/N?"

"She's my friend from high school." Chan said.

Seonghwa looked between the two sensing the tension and laughed nervously, "I'm going to go.. get us some drinks? Yunho come with me." Seonghwa grabbed Yunho and dragged him away.

MInho stared at the two in shock, "Hey, hey, hey. It's a party, don't look so aggressive.."

San nodded, "Of course."

A moment later, you and Seungmin came bouncing back giggling like little children. Seungmin grabbed Minho, "Hyunjin wants to dance with you." And he dragged him away.

Chan smiled at you. You gave him a hug and poked his nose, "Didn't think you'd make it."

"I'm here." Chan shrugged.

San's mouth fell open dramatically and he made a face at you. "Am I invisible???"

You gave him a side eye. "I saw you earlier."

San clutched his chest, "So cruel..." he faked tears then the two of you started laughing.

Chan felt a tug on his arm, he looked at Chaewol.

"Oh," She looked at you and San.

San looked past you at Chaewol and you turned, pursing your lips ina. tight smile.

"Hi," Chaewol smiled at you and then looked at San, "I'm Chaewol."

"San," He nodded before looking right at Chan as if asking with his eyes So you have a girlfriend... San smiled at you and grabbed you, "Y/N we should dance."

Chan was about to say something but Chaewol pulled him away, "Babe we should go get some drinks."

Chan wanted to pull away he wanted to say no but then.

"Christopher."

He looked at Chaewol and smiled, "Ok."

As the party neared its end, Chan didn't know where Chaewol was, but he was too drunk to wonder. Minho had found him half passed out on the couch and helped him up. Minho helped Chan walk and eventually found you, talking to San's friend Seonghwa.

"He's too buzzed yo drive and Chaewol is no where to be seen." Minho said before carefully passing Chan's weight to you.

You stumbled slightly and somehow managed to support him. Seonghwa helped you before you fell over, you carried Chan to Seonghwa's car and tossed him in the back seat.

Seonghwa drove you to Chan's house and parked before asking, "Are you okay to carry him in alone?"

"Of course, I've got him." You laughed, and woke up a half asleep Chan in the backseat before helping him walk to his front door and convincing him after a bit of bickering to open the door. he trudged into the house and flopped face first onto the couch.

You laughed and he looked at you.

"Are you going?" he asked quietly.

You stopped laughing and nodded.

"Why...?"

"Because I have to go home, Chaewol wouldn't like seeing me here." You said.

Chan sat up and looked at you, "Please don't go."

You stared at him, "Chan-"

Before you could protest he hugged your waist and buried his face in your belly. "Please.

You stood between staring down into his eyes as he looked up at you. "I can't... Chaewol might get angry."

Chan's grip on your relaxed for a brief second. Then it tightened again and he whispered, "I don't care... Please... Stay. I need you to stay."

"You're drunk." You shook your head and started pry yourself away from Chan but he held you tighter.

"Would you be mad at me if I told you I liked you?" He muttered.

"No." You said quietly. "I'd ask you why."

"And if I said I love you?"

You stared at Chan. "You're not thinking straight." You started to pull away but he squeezed you for a moment.

"I don't need to think." He stood up and smiled gently at you, "It feels better if I'm with you." He hugged you completely against him and rested his head on your shoulder.

"Chan I-"

"Don't push me away right now... I might cry if you do." He breathed.

You held him as his body relaxed against yours. And the door opened.

You weren't sure what happened between the door opening and where you were now. What you did know was that you were going to beat the crap out of the person pulling your hair.

Chaewol pulled your hair and screamed at you as her friend tried pulling her back. It was a mess of punches and scratches and hair-pulling. "Boyfriend stealing, home-wrecking BITCH!" Chaewol screamed as she pulled your hair.

"You're the one who can't keep your legs closed!" You shouted, swinging at her.

"Don't come back here! Keep your hands off Chris!" She shouted as Chan pulled you off her and she kicked at you still gripping your hair.

You grasped on her hair as well and pulled out her hair extensions. "You fucked your relationship over yourself! You cheater! You ugly, ungrateful- OOOH!" You threw her extensions in her face as Chan picked you up around the waist and carried you out the door.

"Christopher! Get back here! Bring her back right now!" Chaewol shouted as her friend tried calming her down.

You were trying to get away from Chan as he dumped you on the ground and held you so you wouldn't run back to keep fighting.

"Chan are you even living?!" You shouted. "Howw do you let her treat you like that! It's your house, your money, your LIFE!" You pulled away from him and started walking away.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you back hugging you tightly. "Please." he muttered. "I love you."

You stared blankly for a moment. "Huh?"

"I need you." He pulled back and looked at you.

"You're probably just in shock and drunk."

He shook his head slowly, "I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting and screaming and everything.." He leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours. "Please."

And you didn't stop him as he kissed you.

Chaewol was faking tears the following monday in class and everyone was running to her to console her. Except you.

"Chaewol don't cry." Someone said rubbing her shoulder. "What happened?"

"I went home after the p-party. And Ch-Chan and Y/N were all over each other," She sobbed.

The whole class shot you dirty looks, you kept about your business staring at your text book.

"A-And then..." She snuffed. "We had a fight and Chan carried her out." She sobbed dramatically.

You made no move of any kind when some girls came up to you asking if it was true.

"IT GETS WORSE!" Chaewol shrieked. "THAT HOMEWRECKER KISSED HIM OUTSIDE TOO!"

You closed your textbook and got up from your seat, going to leave. As you stepped out of the building Chaewol's friends flocked behind you.

What you hadn't anticipated to see outside was Chan, he leaned against his car looking at his phone. Looking up at the sight of you and the other girls.

"Where's Chaewol?" he asked.

"She's inside crying over your sorry ass." One of her friends spat.

Chan opened his car and pulled out three pink suitcases and set it on the side walk. "Tell her to come get her stuff. If I missed anything she can come get it herself."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Chaewol's voice came from the front entrance and you turned to see her running out and down the steps where she grabbed Chan. "Chris! Chrissy! Baby! Honey!"

Chan pulled his hand away from hers.

"WHY?!" She screamed, other students were looking through class windows or from where they were walking.

"I'm tired. I'm so tired." Chan said simply and grabbed your hand.

You gasped as he put you in the car. "Chan-" You started as Chaewol tried to open your door.

"Let them try." He said locking the doors and looking at you. "I want to talk to you."

When you were a sophmore in high school and Chan was a senior, you became fast friends. Not that Chan wanted to be your friend, really, he had been hoping to get your number and possible convince you to date him. But he'd failed miserably as Minho told him countless times before.

You'd have been lying if you had said you weren't into him, he was sweet and funny and gorgeous. But when he went to JYPU, he met a girl from another school, she was sweet at first, but when they started dating things didn't work out well. At least for Chan. The first time he'd called you crying saying that he and Chaewol had fought you thought it was normal. But the more it happened, the less normal it seemed to you...

And then he didn't speak to you for months on end... because Chaewol said he couldn't.... Becuase Chaewol didn't trust you.

And when she'd cheated and you suggested breaking up, it wasn't even a day before he'd forgiven her. And you couldn't help but wonder why. Why you were in this car staring at your hands? Why you let him drag you out? Why you let him kiss you?

Chan whispered quietly. "I talked to San."

You looked at him.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not you fau-"

"It is." He rested his head on the steering wheel. "I let Chaewol take over my life, and every time she lied and betrayed and and promised it wouldn't happen again it did... and I let it happen." he sat up and turned to you. "I'm sorry."

You sucked in my breath. "You shouldn't apologize. You couldn't have known better.."

"But I did know better." He looked at you. "I've known better- No, I knew you were better. I just.. I was scared you didn't want me back. Let me tell you when I'm sober. While you'll listen.."

"Channie." You stared at him.

He leaned in. "Can I.." he said quietly.

You nodded slowly and Chan leaned into you, his soft breath against your lips before he kissed you gently. He pulled away and whispered. "I love you."

You looked into his eyes. "I love you too..."

Your phone buzzed in your bag for god knows what time. Chan's lips were on your neck, you whined as he sucked a dark mark to the skin.

You moaned as he rutted against you. Rubbing his tented crotch against your clothed pussy. He pressed his thumb to your lip, "Suck." He muttered.

You opened your mouth and sucked on his thumb obediently. He groaned and pulled your shirt over your head. Chan kissed down your chest and removed your bra before moving lower and pulling off your pants. He kissed your thighs and smiled at the wet spot on your pantie. "This for me?"

He pulled your pantie off and licked a big strip of your pussy and moaned into you. You grabbed his hair.

"This is mine. You hear?" He looked up at you, coffee colored eyes dark and pupils blown wide. "This pussy is mine."

You whimpered and nodded.

"Good girl." He whispered before shoving his tongue into you.

You squealed.

"And the rest was..." You smiled to yourself blushing deeply.

"So then what?" Seonghwa asked as he sipped his coffee.

"You horny little-." San slapped him.

You rolled your eyes and smiled as your phone buzzed with a message from Chan.

Channie🥰 2:14pm I wanna take you out, text me when you get home.

Tags

@juskz

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austinbutlerslovers · 11 months ago

Text

Mr. Butlers Baby Sitter 3

Label Mature 18+

🔗 Part 1 • Part 2

Summary You are deeply entangled in Austin’s world almost to the point of full immersion. After physically training you reward and punishment commands you willingly follow his desires.

He love bombs you and takes you shopping to buy a dress of his choosing for your first official date with him.

You only find out later when he brings you back to his estate that the expensive clothing and lavish dinner are not included in your babysitters fee. He says you must repay him in another way and he already knows exactly how he wants you to make it up to him.

🚨 Depraved Smut 🚨

dubcon•yandere •groping• manipulation into sex• sex in public•rough sex•oral sex with force •cum eating •degradation•squirting• fingering•forced oral sex• forced fingering •dirty talk•name calling •orgasm denial•movement restriction•coercion into sex•nude photos w/o consent •forced penetration • size kink •P in V•mental fragmentation of a female •captive syndrome •black mail•kiss it better • love bombing

🫦Smut consultants @burnthheparaphilia @purejasmine

Masterlist ••• Upcoming List

Mr. Butlers Baby Sitter 3

Austin takes your hand and guides you from his office back upstairs. He brings you through his master bedroom into his enormous master bathroom.

“I want you to relax for me in here” he says leading you to the shower in the center. He presses the settings inside of the expensive apparatus and steps out. “It’s all set, press the end button to turn it off. I’ll go get your clothing and leave you here to shower” he says and quickly departs closing the door behind him. Once you are sure he is gone you slowly strip naked from wearing his shirt and get inside the shower.

Your body instantly relaxes as you let the warm water cascade over your face and through your hair. You can see the infinite ocean through the floor to ceiling glass windows ahead adding to the ambiance. You’ve never been in a shower this big or luxurious.

All of his soaps and shampoo are preloaded in a three compartment device. When you place your hand beneath it dispenses the correct amount of shampoo and you rub it through your hair.

The shampoo has one of those scents that completely changes your mindset. You can’t stop enjoying the smell as you smile and rinse it from your hair.

You place your hands beneath the body rinse next and the soap smells just like Austin once it dispenses; bergamot, orange, vanilla. You stifle a laugh that you will smell the same.

You lather the soap all over your body and it makes your skin feel almost creamy in texture. You rinse off and press the end button to turn off the shower. Grabbing the nearest towel you dry your body and wrap it around.

You can’t find a blow dryer so you pull off your towel and use it a second time to dry your hair.

Naked standing at the sink drying your hair you look over to see the bathroom door is now ajar. You wonder how long it’s been open as you wrap the towel around your body and push the door fully open back to the master bedroom. Neatly folded on the bed is your yoga out fit “thank god!” you say on a breath.

You can finally dress again, Austin has been withholding your clothing all morning. You quickly step into your panties, shorts and sports bra finishing by zipping up your long sleeve jacket to complete the black yoga set.

The house is quiet as you wander from the bedroom to the hall and head down stairs. You reach the landing unsure of which way to go until you remember your phone and purse are in the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen you see your phone in the same charging cubby space as before next to your purse. You pull your purse onto your shoulder and check the phone screen seeing two missed calls from home.

You almost call back until Austin hugs you from behind surprising you.

“Did you miss me?” He says softly in your ear.

You turn to look at him and he’s changed his clothing for the date. His hair is combed back in lose waves and his blue eyes study yours awaiting a response.

He looks very attractive wearing a leather jacket with his all black ensemble, and it makes you momentarily lose your thought. Your eyes are immediately drawn down to his black jeans which are so tight you can see the outline of his enormous caged cock.

You look back into his mesmerizing blue eyes and they light up as he stares at you finally making you regain your thoughts to answer.

“I…I was wondering were you went.” You respond slowly.

A small smile of contempt forms on his lips It’s not the answer he wants from you; he wants you to miss him, to crave him, to be worried when he’s gone, but he plays it off.

“C’mon let’s get out of here.” he says taking your hand and pulling you along with him. You place your phone back in your purse as you walk.

You look over him as he guides you down a corridor of his estate. You can’t help but observe how masculine he is leading you, his walk exudes carefree confidence. The cologne he wears emanates from his skin as you follow and leaves a devine scent in his wake as he walks you to the end of the corridor and pushes the door open.

When he clicks the lights on there is a collection of several cars and motorcycles in a large warehouse space, this is his garage.

“OH my GOSH!” You exclaim at his selection, it’s like a personal car dealership.

He smiles watching you quickly walk down the steps to the ground floor and inspect each vehicle and motorcycle. You know each price tag is higher than he last.

“Which one do you want to take?” He asks over his shoulder as he reaches the keybox.

You are a little stunned but you eye a car you’ve always wanted to own.

“The range!” you say grinning as you head over to the black SUV.

He clicks the alarm and it unlocks. You pull the door and sit in the passengers side. The smell of fresh leather overwhelms you in the newest series of the SUV. As Austin approaches the dash begins lighting up and is fully automated as he enters.

He turns the SUV on with the engine button and presses the panel on his visor opening the garage door directly ahead.

“You ready to go?” He asks placing his hand on your thigh as he smiles.

“Yes of course I love this car ” you say excitedly. He meant with him but sees how much you enjoy his objects of wealth. He removes his hand from your thigh back to the steering wheel and pulls from his estate down the hill to the bottom of the driveway.

He presses his car display while he’s stopped and types in an artist to begin playing music. It is one of your favorite songs. You look over at his side profile as he drives and don’t know if you should be impressed or terrified with how much he knows about you.

“You like this song don’t you?” He asks feeling your gaze as he knowingly smiles.

You can’t help but feel a little flattered.

“Yes Austin I love this song.” You confirm

You look out the window as he drives you along the cliffside road and watch the evening sun set as he drives you into town.

Spoiled

After several minutes of music and driving you arrive to the Malibu County shopping center. He parks the car and you go to pull your door open but he stops your hand by holding your wrist.

“I have to get it” he says and you release your hand from the door. “I just have to get the door for you every time okay.” He says again

“Okay Austin” you confirm.

He comes to your side and helps you exit taking your hand. You look up to him feeling unsure, you are so confused by him at every turn. He is being a perfect gentleman now with his actions but you know there is the other side.

He sees your confusion and grins drawing closer

“You have been a very good girl for me today” he says narrowing his eyes.“But whenever I want you to be, I’m going to make you my little slut again” he says causing a chill run through your body.

He studies your reaction the way you involuntarily bite your lip and knit your brows thinking you’ve done something wrong. It pleases him greatly seeing his trigger commands work so well on you. He grins and slips his hand around yours holding it firmly as he guides you from the car.

You dreamily follow Austin as he leads you through the shopping center lot. He is much taller than you are and his stride is longer. As he pulls you along he realizes the distance and slows his pace to match yours allowing you to hold hands walking together.

Once you reach the rows of shops no one takes much notice that he’s a celebrity and he walks through like everyone else. You round a corner heading away from the main promenade to a row of independent boutiques.

You suddenly hear a strange clicking sound drawing your attention. Twenty feet ahead and off to the right is a man with a high powered camera taking photos of you two.

Its a jarring sight and you instinctively squeeze Austin’s hand making him look over. As soon as Austin makes eye contact with the photographer it engages the man to come closer and speak up.

“Hey Austin who’s the girl is this a friend or a date or what ?” he asks clicking away.

Austin raises his hand in a dismissive gesture and continues walking with you. The tabloid vulture, continues to lurk you. This is a known celebrity hot spot and he’s looking to make money on a salacious photo.

“Is this your new girlfriend? Cmon Austin gimme some context for these photos man” he asks crudely as Austin continues to ignore him.

The photographer sees your proximity is more than friends and decides to provoke him to get a response “Austin you hitting this or what man?“ he asks studying your body and taking photos of you at a lower angel.

“Enough” Austin says sternly and places you in front of him blocking the continuation of the unwanted shots.

Glancing down at his digital view finder the photographer checks his capture nodding in approval. You are wearing the tightest tiniest yoga shorts getting him the photos he desired.

“Yea Austin she’s fucking hot man.” He admits aloud “real quick rebound from your ex and I can see why“ he says stinging Austin about his recent divorce as he looks through his captures.

Austins jaw clenches and he inhales sharply to contain his deep seated rage. He continues walking with you instead of what he really wants to do and fuck up the photographer for the day.

You reach the two story shop and Austin holds the door open for you. Never having heard of this brand you walk in to find a grandiose themed contemporary luxury boutique.

A beautiful employee greets you and once she sees Austin she bashfully smiles recognizing him and loses her decorum .

“W-welcome….oh my gosh.” She says quickly departing to tell her manager.

The manager approaches and welcomes Austin correctly.

“Welcome, my apologies she’s my new sales associate. I will be personally helping you with your selection today.” She says with a knowing smile to Austin, he was a frequent patron last year.

This was his then wife now ex-wife’s favorite boutique. Austin plans to spare no expense on you here.

“Is there anything in particular I can help you with?” She asks Austin as she eyes you for your size.

“I would like to shop undisturbed privately for her this evening .” Austin requests.

“Understood” she says and quickly goes to the front of the boutique flipping the sign to ‘closed’ and locking the doors.

She has several celebrity clients who shop this way, but this is the first time Austin has asked her for such a request. Then she eyes the paparazzi in front of the store and understands why.

Austin follows you around the displays until you pick up a form fitting beige dress. The price tag is an eye watering amount, you quickly try to put it back but Austin stops you retrieving the dress and holding it up next to you.

“I like this one but I’ll need to see it on you .” He says.

The manager readily collects the dress from Austin as you continue shopping together. He sees a black silk dress on a mannequin and walks around it discovering the back of the dress is held together by two simple interlacing strings.

He points to it and the manager immediately begins stripping the mannequin.

“This was just imported in and I’m obsessed with it. This is going to look stunning on her body.” She shares with him as she smiles fondly looking at the dress.

Austin loses sight of you during the exchange with the manager but quickly finds you in the back of the store. In one hand you are holding a high waist leather miniskirt with a silver floral pattern on the hem.

In your other hand you hold its matching ribbed crop top with a silver floral embroidered chest patch. You hold them to your body looking at your reflection.

Austin smiles as he watches you study yourself in the show mirror of the section.

“It’s going to look great on you.” He says reaching near you and pulling a silver floral hemmed cropped leather jacket. “You’ll wear it with this.” He says holding it up.

Your heart flutters because you wanted the matching black leather jacket to the set but the price was so high it scared you. He smiles seeing the excitement in your eyes.

“I want to see it on you too” he requests and you readily nod in agreement.

Once the manger collects all of your items she leads you both upstairs to the dressing rooms. There is a large gray half circle couch facing three rooms. All of the accessories, purses, and shoes line the walls of the expansive upper level.

Austin sits on the half circle couch in the center and begins making a phone call to pull favors to get a reservation to take you to the notorious sushi restaurant Nobu.

The manager hangs your clothing in the designer dressing room.

“If you need any sizes or different styles please press this button.” She draws your attention to an illuminated button near the door and you nod, she smiles and takes her leave.

You enter the dressing room and try on the crop top, skirt, and leather jacket first.

You come out to show Austin as he requested. Even though he is on the phone his eyes are fully concentrated on your body which makes you smile. You turn completely showing the leather jacket holding the lapels.

He nods yes and mutes his call. “I want to see you try on all of them.” He says before unmuting it again.

You turn back in the dressing room and pull on the tan form fitting mini dress. The low cut neckline makes your chest look voluptuous and you blush.

You open the door again and his eyes immediately fall to your chest then he slowly looks you up and down. He nods and puts his hand out with one finger making a circular gesture signaling you to turn around.

You give him a slow spin and look back into his eyes as he gives you the ‘okay’ signal with a smirk of approval. You smile feeling giddy that he’s going to buy all of this for you and hurry to try on the final dress.

It slips up your body like a glove and you pull the two strings in your hands. When you make them tight they work with the dress instantly snatching your waist smaller and amplifying your tits. The level it elevates your look to is stunning.

You tussle your hair over to one side for more volume and look over how beautiful your body is wearing it. You turn to your side to see the deep plunging V down the back.

You slowly exit the dressing room.

As soon as Austin sees you he stops his call. “No no thank you I appreciate it I owe you one ….I ..I gotta go” he says quickly and hangs up.

He looks enamored as he gazes at you in the dress he picked.

You slide your hands down the silk front as his eyes follow your every movement. Seeing he likes this one the most you slowly turn showing the back to him and peek over your shoulder.

His eyes wander full of lust over your exposed skin as you give him a seductive little dance. You peek at him through your lashes and smile as you sway your hips making the silk dress flow.

He stands from the couch and slowly approaches until he’s standing behind you in the reflection of the mirror ahead. He trails his finger tips down the soft skin of your back as his eyes wander your body.

“You look perfect” he says softly as his eyes lock with yours in the reflection. Your arousal is already forming as he places his large hands on your hips pulling you back on him pressing you against his cock.

He slowly trails his hands up your waist and over the smooth silk of your full breasts "A-Aus!..”you say in protest trying to stop his provocative touch because you are in public.

He smiles as you bring your hands over his in a feeble attempt to pull them off. Instead he squeezes your full breasts in his hands and massages them as you both watch the sexual display in the mirror.

He lowers his face next to yours as you stare at each other in the reflection.

“Do you like when I touch you in public baby?” he whispers against your ear and pinches the buds of your nipples making a light moan escape your lips.

“You want everyone to know you’re the only one for me when I touch you like this?”He asks cupping your breasts and squeezing them again harder.

Once you give in to his touch he presses his lips against your ear “You want every one to know you’re my little slut don’t you?” He whispers seductively as he grins.

You try to fight his words but they increases your sexual arousal for him. Your brows knit as your face flushes and he catches it immediately in your pleading eyes.

“Aus....we can’t do this here" you plead and he pulls his finger tips across your breasts leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

“Your body is mine to use whenever I desire” he confirms pulling the front of your dress down exposing your cleavage. He slips his fingers under the neckline and you gasp as his finger tips graze the bare skin of your nipple.

"P-please Aus....not out here" you desperately beg and he warmly smiles. He only exploits you in the open to lure you deeper into his plan.

“Okay not out here “he agrees and trails one hand down your waist pulling open the dressing room door with the other and guiding you inside locking you both in.

He tricked you into the privacy of the dressing room so quickly that even though you know what he plans you are unable to resist him. He is so tall and handsome as he stands behind you in the reflection. He wraps his arms around you and you melt into his embrace. His beauty is both a blessing and a curse when he uses it to be so manipulative.

He wastes no time lowering his lips onto your neck, kissing and sucking a weak spot you didn’t even know existed until you lightly moan craving his touch.

“Do you want people to hear how much I please you?” He asks as his hand moves to your clit feeling it throb under his touch.

“I-I’ll be quiet” you promise and he begins to rub his fingers into the silk against your aching pussy. You tilt your head back onto his shoulder so turned on your lashes flutter from how good his touch makes you feel.

He wraps one hand around your exposed throat as he continues to rub your pussy “I’m going to fuck you in this dress.” he rasps against your ear.

“Aus…Aus you can’t …we’ll get caught.” You say just above a whisper. He kisses slowly along your neck until he reaches your ear.

“They wont check on me again until I swipe my credit card” he says confidently. “Now be a good girl and bend over for me.” He commands.

You obey him and lean forward as he trails his fingertips down the soft exposed skin of your back settling his hands around your waist.

You grab your shins for stability but he leans over you taking your wrists one at a time and placing your hands on the mirror.

“Keep them there” he asserts and you nod looking down to the ground between your legs.

You watch his hands collect your dress near your ankles pulling it up your legs and along your thighs. You feel the silk fabric glide over your ass and onto your lower back where he bunches it to stay.

His hand finds your clothed pussy and he presses his fingertips into your panties.

“Your soaking wet” He whispers rubbing his fingers against the drenched fabric.

“What excites you more …is it me?” He asks squeezing your pussy lips together. “Or the money.” He asks separating your pussy lips grooving his fingers between them.

A shiver run downs down your spine as you moan and clench involuntarily from his masterful touch.

“Answer me!” he says sharply and slaps your sensitive pussy between your legs. You stifle a whimper as you recover from the sting of the harsh slap.

”Y-you Austin.” You finally pant out and he rubs your pussy better.

“Good girl.” he compliments and lets you enjoy the way his hand expertly massages between your legs.

He removes his hands from pleasuring you and unzips his jeans releasing his large hardened cock from its confinement. He presses his tip to your clothed pussy making a moan wrack your body.

He guides his tip up and down the drenched fabric over your pussy watching how you fall apart in the reflection turning him on even more.

“You are so responsive to me, every touch every word, that’s why you are the only one I want for my pleasure” he confesses.

You try hard to fight it but you can't help but feel special. Out of everyone he wanted you, he sought you out, and he chose you to be his.

He pulls his hips back and looks you over in the perfect position that he wanted. Your body bent over, hands pressed to the mirror legs spaced apart, dress pulled up. He trails hand down your spine.

“I cant get enough of you” he confesses and you stare down to the floor unable to meet his gaze any longer. You are overcome with so much arousal you are throbbing to your core.

“Such an obedient good girl deserves a reward right?” he questions and you nod as you close your eyes trying to hold yourself together knowing what’s next.

”Do you want me to make the ache go away?” He asks making your arousal explode for him.

“Y-yes Austin pp-please I would like that very much.” You beg.

He collects your hair into a ponytail using his fist and gently pulls your head back making you stare at each other in the reflection. “I want you to watch what I do to you.” He reveals and you nod.

He releases your hair and grabs the bands of your panties slipping them down as you step out of them.

He slowly spreads your pussy lips open and pushes his two long fingers deep inside of you until a moan falls from your lips. Your warm arousal drips down your thighs as he slides his fingers in and out of your pussy.

“Aus ..Aus I-I think I'm going to cum!" you whisper feeling your core already tight.

“Don’t cum yet” He says curling his fingers inside of you hitting the sweet spongy spot within that makes you lose your mind. You cover your mouth with one hand to muffle the loud moans from escaping.

“Don’t do that..I want to hear what I do to you" he says pressing your hand back to the mirror. He keeps fingering your pussy until you are quivering and shaking trying to stay sane.

He increases his speed working his arm vigorously as he smacks his knuckles against your pussy as it makes squishing sounds. He fingers you so deeply you are to ready cum.

You moan out loudly suddenly not caring if anyone hears anymore, you just want him and whatever he desires of you.

You close your eyes as the coil in your stomach becomes its tightest ready to release and Austin rapidly slides his fingers out leaving you completely empty.

“Austin please please I need more I’m so close!” You cry out desperately jiggling seeking any type of friction.

He holds the base of his hardened cock and presses the tip to your wet entrance.

"W-Wait-!! Aus!" before you can protest him not wearing a condom you feel the huge head of Austins cock push through the lips of your pussy. With a bouncing push he gets in just past the inner lips spreading your cunt.

"Fuck babe your little pussy is tight" He says thrusting inch by inch to go deeper. You wail as he pushes farther inward and your walls throb around him. He thrusts lightly until his cock takes less resistance and he is able to burrow all the way against your cervix.

You gasp and press your hands harder to the mirror as he begins pushing his hips forward to get his cock deeper into your tight walls as he thrusts.

You hear the slapping sounds of his skin against yours as he exerts more force with every hard drive of his cock. By the time your eyes meet in the mirror he is thrusting so hard he is jolting you forward.

“Aus....too fast!” You plead so he will slow but he increases his speed clapping his hips against your ass making you cry out.

“Who….-are you hm? …Where is that…-good 'Babysitter' I was recommended?” He asks thrusting at a dangerous rate.

“A-aus!..-i-it’stoo much!” You plead getting wrecked by his heavy plows. But he doesn’t slow down he wants to humiliate you into an orgasm this time.

“Such …a good …baby sitter …getting…fucked.. by her boss..in a public dressing room.” He says on each thrust. “Getting fucked like a good needy slut.” He reveals plowing harder.

“Austin please!” you whine as his thrust wrack your body and his words shatter your self image. You begin to lose your mind on the complications of what he’s doing and the spasming walls of your pussy add even more tortuous pleasure.

Your walls begin to flutter causing resistance against his hard pushing cock and you feel the sudden burst of euphoria in your core as you orgasm.

“Austin I’m cumming!” You cry out.

“Good girl he pants “ feeling your wetness increase on him. You are so tight that on each thrust the liquid finally begins leaking out of you and trails down your legs.

“Oh shit baby…- I fucked you…so good you … your cumming all over the..-fucking-.. floor" he says between thrusts. “I’m gonna cum now.. Fuck!" He yells overcome with arousal.

His pace turns erratic as he snaps his hips forward driving his cock in your pussy. His blue eyes focus intensely on yours as you watch him fuck you in the mirror and in that moment as he possesses your body you realize Austin controls you entirely.

"Get on your fucking knees babe" he demands and abruptly stops his thrusts. He slowly pulls his cock all the way out of you careful not cum.

As you kneel in front of him he grabs a fist full of your hair rushing you to his cock.

"Open your mouth for me" he demands and you do as he requests opening wide and sticking your tongue out. “That’s it baby.” he says and hastily pushes his cock in as much as you can take.

You whimper as he stuffs your mouth full and slides his cock in and out until it twitches on your tongue. He grabs your head to prevent you from escaping and pulls you farther down his cock but you quickly hold the base with your hands to take him all the way without gagging.

You look up at him through your wet eyelashes pleading for him to cum in your mouth as you suck him and with just that look alone his hips falter.

“Oh fuck… fuck” he says staring at you at in disbelief.

With his cock lodged in the back of your throat he begins pumping your mouth full of semen. You suck the cum right out of him and he stares at you in awe while he groans in pleasure with his hand on your head. Your hands fly to his thighs squeezing them hard pleading for him to let you go.

He releases you from his grip and pulls his cock out of your mouth watching you stare up at him as you swallow all of his cum down.

He immediately kneels down to your level breathless as he looks into your eyes.

“Fuck baby-…you are such a good girl for me" he says in disbelief and takes ahold of your jaw pulling you into a kiss. “I want to want to keep you forever.” he confesses grinning in the moment feeling the rush of endorphins as he stares into your eyes. You look back at him feeling a sense of accomplishment that he is pleased and you smile.

“C’mere” he says helping you to stand and takes ahold of you in a second passionate kiss of his lips. He intertwines his tongue with yours and holds you close like he never wants to let you go. Once he pulls his lips from yours he gazes into your eyes again as a smile forms on his face feeling completely satisfied.

“Alright let’s get out of here.” He says stepping back and quickly putting his cock away in his jeans.

He reaches behind you and collects your new clothing then presses the call button for the manager before he steps out of the dressing room leaving you inside.

You quickly find your yoga jacket and wipe your legs clean before kneeling to the floor and quickly cleaning your cum. You fold your yoga outfit up with your soaked panties inside.

You let out a breath in the dressing room after cleaning everything up. Austin is very satisfied with you and that makes you smile. You are now willing to do anything to please him and hear those magical words “good girl” that you crave on a subconscious level.

You hear Austin and the manager speaking just out side of the dressing room door.

“Shes going to wear the black one out and she’ll need heels” He says and knocks on the door. You turn and check your face and dress in the reflection. Other than a sore jaw,slightly swollen pussy, and missing panties you look and feel fine.

You exit the dressing room and the manager looks you over. “Oh she looks magnificent” she says to Austin and your face flushes bright red. She has no idea what Austin just did to you in her dressing room.

She continues to compliment as you keep avoiding her eye contact “Are you a model honey?” She asks highly invested.

“No I’m his Babysi- - -“ Austin cuts your short

“She’s my girlfriend” he interjects.

“Oh” the manager says as both of you look at him with surprise. Her seeing how quickly he rebounded from his wife with a younger woman and you because he called you his girlfriend, he titled you.

“Well that’s wonderful she says with a smile.”her mind now spinning to get more information from his ex wife on the matter the next time she comes into the boutique.

Your reservation for Nobu are within the hour so Austin takes your hand and walks you along the selection of heels. He picks out a pair of strappy black ones “She’ll wear it with these.” He says requesting your size already knowing. “Oh they are perfect to match the straps on the dress” she compliments and Austin hands her his credit card.

Paparazzi

When you exit the store carrying your shopping bags there is a small mob. It is dusk and you are lit up by paparazzi flashes. You shield your eyes but Austin is accustomed to it. A group of girls run and approach Austin holding their phones poised to take a selfies keeping pace with him.

“Austin please!!! Please may I take a selfie with you! One girl your age finally begs and he smiles kindly posing next to her face.

“Oh my GOD!” she screams. Her friends do the same keeping pace and waiting for him to quickly pose smiling and then continue walking.

“Thank you Austin!” They gush.

“You’re welcome” he says grinning making them go insane with hysteria.

You look at their frantic eyes as they study their screens of the photos having only a second with him. A second group of fans approach but they only film him from a distance. Austin so tall and imposing in person that they are too nervous or too polite to ask for photos

“That’s Austin Butler” they murmur as he walks by.

Austin quickens his pace as you reach the parking lot. You keep stride in your new heels and you are grateful you are in good shape. Reaching the car he opens your door and assists you inside with his hand, once your are seated he closes the door. His SUV is already surrounded by a gathering crowd as he walks to the drivers side. The sound of camera clicks are loud as their flashes begin to light up the SUV.

From the passengers seat looking through the windshield the noises are muffled and you can see the total wave of chaos Austin created. Dozens of fans and paparazzi surround the car some even watching at a distance from the shopping center.

You look over to the drivers side and see Austin interacting with fans taking a few quick selfies and signing his autograph now that you are saftley inside the car. He opens the door and the sounds amplify of people yelling his name as well as the loud camera clicks.

Austin closes the door muffling the sounds again and immediately presses the engine start button. He carefully edges out of his parking space into the parking lot avoiding people standing in the way who slowly inch back still wanting to engage with him. Security guards for the plaza finally arrive and usher people back allowing you and Austin to drive safely away.

Once the shopping center disappears from view you speak up “Austin Is that normal?” You ask breaking the silence.

He grins as he answers “Yea” calmly driving.

“Do you like it?” You ask witnessing how comfortable he is in chaos first hand.

“I love it.” He says grinning as he gets on the high way. “Only thing I dislike are the paparazzi.” He admits.

You drive a short distance and exit the highway. You suddenly remember Austin’s taking you to dinner and grab your purse to put on your makeup. You pull down the visor mirror and begin applying mascara and eyeshadow. You quickly rouge your cheeks and dab on lip stick.

You can feel Austin taking quick glances at you while he drives and when he pulls to a red light he stops the SUV and takes ahold your jaw turning you to face him.

He intensely studies your face. “I don’t like lip stick on you, and I don’t ever what you to wear it again take it off.” He says with authority.

“Okay Austin.” You say timidly pulling a tissue and wiping your lips clean. His stare still lingers and you become worried. “What is it Austin why are you looking at me like that?” You question and his face relaxes into a smile.

You are so obedient that he’s in love with you, but he doesn’t say it. “Because I adore you.” He says instead making you sit back in your seat from the impact of his words.

Only yesterday you were his babysitter and this is your first date, now he’s saying he adores you. Austin is moving way too fast but you take his hand and squeeze it gently to show you care, and make sure he doesn’t become angry feeling rebuffed. He smiles and lifts your hand to his lips placing a kiss on it as the light turns green.

You arrive to the seaside restaurant of Nobu. Austin helps you from the SUV and holds your hand to head inside the restaurant. The entire building is paneled in large wood planks. As you enter the restaurant it is open to the out doors facing the ocean.

A stunning hostess greets you prepared for his arrival and brings you through the restaurant to your reserved VIP seats on the outdoor balcony of the beach. It is night and the ocean is dark and ominous as the waves crash at the shoreline.

Austin pulls your chair and pushes you in to go take his seat. There are low lighting black lamps on every table setting a luxurious ambiance.

“Austin..this is… like really really nice.” You admit looking around at the stylish decor. Everything is a honey wood color from the seating to the tables to the walls and to your left is the endless ocean. He smiles watching you take it all in.

“Do you want to start with a cocktail? Austin asks looking over the digital menu. You regain your focus and slightly panic.

“They’re gonna card me Austin I can’t .” You reveal and he just smiles at you.

“May I order for you?” He asks after making his selection.

“Yes” you confirm and when he doesn’t hand you the menu to choose you smile realizing he already knows what you will like.

Your waiter makes his introduction and Austin orders the meal.

As you wait Austin stares across at you. “Did you have fun today? He asks with a gentle smile. “Yes I did.” You admit, but the alarm bells in your mind are slowly going off that Austin may officially be forcing you into a relationship.

Your face changes as you worry about being in way over your head having a relationship with him. “What’s wrong?” He asks seeing your shift in your mood. He leans in with inherit interest as you speak.

“Did you mean…what you said in the boutique..about me…” Your voice trails off feeling uncertain. “That your my girlfriend?“ he asks with a grin already knowing what’s on your mind. “Yes that part.” You confirm feeling a slight chill from the wind in the night air.

He takes his leather jacket off and stands walking around to you and placing it on your shoulders. The warmth from his body lingers in the jacket and it comforts you. “Thank you Austin.” You say looking up to him. “You’re quite welcome“ he says kneeling down to be at eye level with you. He places his elbow on the table and rests his fist to his chin gazing into your eyes.

He trails his other hand down your shoulder as you huddle warmly in his jacket “What was I gonna tell her, that your my baby sitter?” He asks in a low voice studying your face. “I can’t tell anyone I’m fucking my babysitter.” He says casually. His words confuses you and now you are unsure if you are his girlfriend or still his babysitter.

The waiter arrives presenting a large glass bottle etched with Japanese lettering and Austin returns to his seat.

The waiter names the brand and where it was imported from and how it was distilled, then pours your glasses and sets the bottle on the table before he departs. “What is it Austin?” You ask with a contemplative look studying the foreign bottle. “Its sake different alcohols have different effects on you and I want to see what this one does.” He says smiling remembering whiskey makes you want your mouth on his cock.

He lifts his sake glass and gestures you do the same. Realizing he wants to cheers you lift your glass as well. The concept is still foreign with this being only your second time having alcohol. “To a great relationship” he says making your heart flutter as you touch glasses. You still aren’t sure if this makes him your boyfriend and you both take a drink as he grins at your confusion. The sake is sweet and you can’t even taste the alchohol until it warms your tongue.

Your appetizers arrive and the waiter informs you it is their crispy tuna as he sets down the six pieces of tuna puree topped with a slice of jalapeño and avocado on a toasted rice cake.

You each pick one up and you cheers the bite to Austin making him smile at the cute gesture before you both eat them.

It is heavenly, the rice cake is very crunchy in contrast to the fluffy softness of the tuna. “I want more” you say immediately after you both clear the tray. He grins at your eagerness “Patience baby I ordered a lot for us.” He confirms refilling your sake glass.

Next comes the thinly sliced yellow tail layered on a plate. The waiter sets it down with a small serving of wasabi and shredded ginger.

You each pick up your chopsticks and clear the plates one delicate layered slice at a time. Your mind explodes on the flavor, the fish is soft and delicate and the ponzu sauce is sharp and tangy.

Austin refills your sake glass seeing it is empty again.

Next is a tray of thickly sliced albacore, it is covered in delicate crispy onions, with a light lemon drizzle and ponzu. You each take pieces and chew through the crunchy tanginess of the fish mixed with lemon and crispy onion. You signal Austin to quickly refill your sake due to the sournesses and he grins pouring you another glass after you’d just finished the previous.

The main course arrives, a plated caramelized cod for each of you. It is lightly charred and the exterior is flaky and succulent with the sweetness of brown sugar enhancing the soft flavor of the fish. Feeling dizzy and and giddy you want to lick the sauce that dots the plate but you know better, the entire meal was highly addictive.

Austin refills your sake glass one more time emptying the bottle as you wait for the check. By now all the colors and sounds have enhanced in the room and you stare off into the ocean dreamily as Austin pays.

Austin helps you up and holds you around your waist guiding you to the car. You almost stumble on the curb leaving the restaurant but Austin corrects your step holding you tightly. “Come on baby a few more steps.” He instructs. “I had a really good time.” You murmur smiling at him feeling the drinks kick in with the dinner that was probably a skyrocketing amount. “I had a good time to.” He says smiling over at you.

Austins sits you in the car and buckles your seat belt across your lap making you laugh. “Austin I’m not a baby!” You scoff grinning “Youre my baby” he says looking at you flirtatiously as he clicks the belt in place. Your face blushes as your head lolls back overwhelmed by him as you let out a sigh, you are clearly drunk.

As Austin drives you to his estate he sees your eyes keeps closing so turns the music up and rolls down the windows. The wind and the music keep you awake. He knows you want to rest but he has other plans for the evening.

You look over at him studying his handsome face as he drives. He’s so intense and mean at times but when he’s soft and caring it makes you slowly give in to his ways and fall for him a tiny bit. A grin forms on your face thinking of him as your boyfriend and he peeks over at you placing his hand on your thigh. ”Almost home baby.” He says affectionately.

You stare at his muscular arms when he returns his hands to the wheel and turns up the hill which you recognize as the driveway to his estate.

Obsession

You pull into the garage and Austin clicks off the SUV making every thing go silent. He looks over at you and your eyes are filled with passion for him making him smile. He knows you are drunk again which means you will do even more degrading things that he likes tonight.

“Did you enjoy everything that we did today.” He asks checking in. “Yes I loved it” you say being reminded of your bags of clothing sitting in the backseat. “Good “ says leaning in and planting a kiss on your lips. He pulls away and opens his door to exit the SUV.

You reach for your door too and he gives you a look making you slip your hands back your lap. “I almost forgot” you confess. He smiles at your obedience and comes around to get your door.

He walks you in to the estate and the lights automatically turn on illuminating the way to the kitchen. Austin stops in the hall “ I need a sec, there’s another bathroom near the landing” he says and you walk to the landing at the stairs and find it. You are still a bit drunk and stumble in to the bathroom as the lights automatically turn on. You drank so much sake you wait a while until your bladder is cleared before you clean yourself up.

You stand and wash your hands checking your reflection in the mirror. You are taken aback because you look absolutely stunning still in the expensive dress and wearing makeup.

You open the bathroom door and Austin is waiting for you resting his hip and elbow on the banister of the landing. “Come” He says extending his hand. You take it and he leads you to the wing of the estate with his office. This time you head to a lower level taking a set of stairs at the end of the hall.

At the base of the stairs there are two large black doors which he pushes upon leading you inside.

It is his man cave all of his most personal and intimate objects are within. In the center is a black wrap around leather couch with a matching ottoman. Guitars in lit display cases line the walls illuminating the room with a grand piano is just off to the left.

The ceilings are high vaulted and the walls without guitars are covered in dozens off organized framed photos. You step closer to a wall near the piano and see they are behind the scenes photos from his movies.

You look closer at a picture of him looking dapper in a military uniform with other soldiers on a set. The placard below reads ‘Masters of the Air 2024.’ You smile eyeing another photo next to it seeing how handsome he looks as a valiant officer standing in front of a historic plane.

You turn to see Austin resting back on his leather couch with his feet on the ottoman, he unzips his boots and takes them off as you come to sit with him. He pulls your legs across his lap and begins untying the lace strap of your heels slipping them off .“Thank you Austin“ you say bashfully feeling enamored by the romantic gesture. “You’re very welcome.”He says running his hand along your dress at your thigh before he looks into your eyes.

“Tonight your shopping spree and dinner won’t be covered under your babysitters fee.” He relays taking your breath away. “Oh…” you say feeling crestfallen wondering how much you actually spent.

He smiles trailing his fingertips along the silk of your expensive dress. “You’ll have to make it up to me.” He says staring at you seductively.

You already feel the uneasiness begin to set in. “What do you want me to do Austin?” You ask wondering how degrading it will be.

His eyes wander over your body lustfully. “It’s something you’ve already done for me.” he answers coyly. You look down at his hand caressing you wearing the expensive silk dress and come up with your answer “Alright Austin “You say reluctantly. You only readily agree because it’s something you’ve already done.

“Go wait for me near the piano” he instructs and helps you to move your legs from his lap and stand up.

As you reach the piano Austin has made his way across the room to a black door. Red light emits from the room within as he opens it and presses through a plastic curtain to he enter. It is his dark room Austin is also a photographer able to develop his own film.

You wonder if there is anything Austin can’t do as you look around the room realizing he plays piano and guitar. Then look at the walls covered in photos of all his other accomplishments and you assume no, he can do anything he puts his mind to.

Austin emerges from the dark room with a camera in his hands, but not just any camera it looks highly expensive.

He smiles approaching you from across the large room as he studies your form. “I couldn’t help but admire how stunning you looked in that dress all evening, so I decided you’re going to make up your spending tonight by taking some pictures for me.” He says looking pleased.

“Okay Austin “ you say smiling feeling relieved by his simple request.

Once in your vicinity he looks you over. “you look good in this lighting.” He admits and takes a few steps back already bringing his camera up to take the shot. “You look good to me in any lighting actually” he reveals making you both smile.

You hear the whir click and then see the flash. It doesn’t blind you but it makes you remember your first night with him. You know he still has the racy photo he took then to black mail you. Now that you have bonded with him you wonder if he will still release the photo to ruin you if you decide to leave him.

You are snapped out of your thoughts by Austin’s voice “I want one of you at the piano” he conveys bringing his hand to your waist and guiding you to sit on the piano bench.

He looks you over in approval before stepping back and raising his camera it clicks and flashes taking the photo. “Beautiful” he says making a small smile form on your lips.

He approaches you and places his camera on the piano to kneel down in front of you. His fingertips touch your ankles before he hooks the hem of your dress in his thumbs slowly gliding it up your calves and over your knees. He inches your dress higher and rests his hands on your thighs.

“Spread your legs apart for me“ he says looking up into your eyes. Your stomach pulls tight and you hesitate because you aren’t wearing panties anymore. You slowly open your legs to him and he forces them wider staring in awe at your bare pussy. ”Where are your panties?” He asks sounding upset.

“I-l wrapped them in my yoga outfit to put them in the shopping bag because…because they were so wet Austin.” You confess. He clicks his tongue making a tisk sound in disapproval. “You’ve been out with me all evening without any panties on?” He asks voice lowered as he stares between your legs. “Y-yes”you confirm and he stands up. “Do you know what happens to needy little sluts who don’t wear panties in public ?” He asks making your chest rise and fall. “Austin please..” you beg but you it’s to no avail.

He collects his camera and steps back “You’re already bare so touch yourself” he commands and you hesitate before you place your hands between your legs to pose. “I said touch yourself” he relays and you feel the heat creep up your neck as you obey and slip your fingers up and down your pussy as he snaps the photo.

“You like making yourself easy to access don’t you?” He says stepping closer and standing directly over you. Before you can answer he pushes you back with his free hand to make you lay flat on the bench.

“Put your fingers inside of yourself” he instructs and you bring your hand to your core. “Show me what a needy little slut you are” he instructs and your face blushes on his words as you slip your fingers inside of yourself. “Fuck” he whispers as he snaps the photo.

His breathing increases and he gently removes your hand replacing it with his own. He pushes his long fingers into your pussy making you moan. You see him smirk behind the camera enjoying the obvious power he has over you and with his fingers burrowed in your pussy he snaps the photo.

He puts his camera on the piano and kneels down to focus on fingering you, but you are tensed thinking he is upset as he pumps them into you and it causes resistance. You writhe on the piano bench beneath him and he removes his fingers placing his arm across your pelvis holding you firmly to restrict your movements.

“Relax baby I’m going to give you what you need I’m only teasing” he says and begins to rub your slick wetness into you pussy. He circles around your entrance and teases his fingers back in with little movements until they slide inside on each thrust. You pant as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out, letting you grow accustomed to them.

Once he feels you clench on his fingers he knows you are ready. He inserts his fingers deeper and probes inside of your walls until he finds the hidden ridge within. He rubs it firmly as you begen to moan loudly and he smiles. “You like that baby?” He asks knowing he found your gspot “y-yes Austin p-please more!” You beg.

He spreads his fingers wide inside of your walls and you feel your pussy being stretched apart. You cry out and grasp his wrist from the intense sensation.

You release his wrist when he brings his fingers together to roughly finger fuck you rubbing your gspot every time he plows them deep inside. He begins stroaking your clit in tandem and you moan loudly as you become so wet your pussy makes squishing sounds.

He coos at you in your moment of ecstasy "Baby let go and cum for me I want to enjoy this." He says and you begin to moan harder as your walls flutter against his fingers. “I’m going to cum Austin” you whine and he thrusts his fingers into you deeper pushing you over the edge.

You scream in pleasure as warm streams of your clear arousal cover his hand and spill onto the piano bench making a pool between your legs. "Fuck baby that’s the second time today, you came so much for me!” He says proudly. You shiver as you come down realizing he is right.

He pulls his fingers from you and stands unzipping his jeans. “Come get on your knees for me” he instructs and you shakily sit up on the piano bench before coming to kneel in front of him where he stands next to the piano.

“Take my cock out.” He commands and you obey reaching into his jeans and helping his cock spring free. “Put the on the tip of your tongue.” He instructs picking up his camera from the piano.

You open your mouth and place his cock head on your tongue. “fucking angel” he says snapping the photo. The clash of degradation and arousal swells inside of you.

He brings one hand to the back of your head and pushes your mouth down his cock until you gag unable to go farther. With his other hand holding the camera he takes the photo. When you see the flash you know this photo is so bad you almost want to cry.

Austin smiles “what’s wrong baby?” he coos seeing your saddened face. You try to pull your mouth back from his cock to speak but he holds your head firm on him and you begin to gurgle around it trying to protest his actions.

"Don't talk with your mouth full babe use your manners." He says teasingly as he stares down at you struggle, his cock gets harder in your mouth on his control and power over you in the moment. He finally decides to pull his cock out of your mouth and hear what you have to say.

You gasp for breath. “I don’t like that photo and I want you to delete it!” You say assertively trying to regain your composure.

He tilts his head to the side watching you defy him and voice your displeasure. “You should be thanking me for letting you suck my cock and taking photos.” He conveys.

Your face turns red with embarrassment beause you are so conflicted.

He places his hand on your chin making you look up at him. “Thank me properly” he says and your eyes go wide. He’s going beyond your limits of morality and you give in unsure how to react.

“Thank you for letting me suck your cock and taking a photo of it Austin.” you say with a hint of regret.

“Good girl” he says smiling

“We’re going to try again because the last time you looked like you were going to cry and I want to capture that look you give me that makes me want to cum.” He says.

He holds the base of his cock and gestures you to put your mouth on it. This time when you take him as far as you can you look up lovingly into his eyes.

“Fuck that’s it” he whispers taking the photo “I love when you stare up at me like that.” He admits

He pulls his cock from your mouth and places his camera on the piano. When he puts his cock away you are thoroughly confused. “Come I want to show you something.” He says taking your hand and recollecting his camera with the other.

He brings you to his dark room and as you push through the plastic curtain you see the entire room is illuminated in red light. He has several workstations on tables with plastic tubs. The smell of chemicals is pungent and overpowering even with the ventilation system he has installed.

He brings you to stand at a table in front of a tray of liquid. “You ever developed a photo before?” He asks. “No Austin of course not.” You say with a scoff ”I only use my iPhone” you answer.

“I’m going to show you how.” He says gently.

You follow him to a station where he clicks open the back of his camera on a light up table and removes the roll of film in its canister.

He pulls a tab on the small film canister and unrolls a long brown glossy strip inside which has the captures.

He lays the flattened roll on the light up table and looks at each capture choosing his favorites. He takes scissors and cuts the exact frames on the role he’s decided upon.

Then he brings the tiny frames of film in his palm to a second machine inserting them one at a time into a tray under a lens.

He places a piece of glossy paper under the lens and turns the knob on the machine making the first image he chooses larger until it fits the edges of the glossy paper it is projected upon.

It is a faint image and you can barely see it with your eyes. Austin then does it two more times with the other frames.

Once he has three glossed papers with faint images he brings them to the station with his his warming trays of pungent liquid. This is where the smell of chemicals is at its strongest.

He takes the first glossed piece of paper with tongs and swishes it through the pungent clear liquid until a photo begins to appear on it.

The image is of you with your legs apart in the expensive dress at the piano with your fingers in yourself. “It’s stunning” he compliments“ look at your eyes” he says gazing over to see your reaction instead he sees your apprehension. “You don’t like it?” He asks and you shake your head no. He pulls your head to him and plants a kiss on your hair.

“You don’t understand art like I do. I could easily sell these with my other photos.” he admits and you panic “Austin please don’t.” You plead but he ignores you and uses the tongs to pull the picture out and turns to hang it on the drying line with the others.

Your eyes widen when you realize he has dozens of photos of you in comprising positions hanging on the drying line. His obsession with you runs very deep and it sends a chill through your body

He slips the second piece of glossy paper in the liquid. “I could pull a few favors and do an art exhibition of these ” he says over his shoulder.

But you aren’t paying attention anymore because you are intensely looking over the dozens of photos of you he has hanging.

One is of you unconscious laying naked across his bed, another is of you inebriated with his hand placed around your throat. Your eyes widen in shock at the one of you in his shower. Your head is tilted back with water cascading over your body it is from just this morning “Austin what the fuck!” you finally snap.

He turns to you as you pull the picture of you in the shower from the line to show him. “What is honestly wrong with you Austin!?” you yell and he smiles “I’ll take photos of you whenever I want you are mine” he confirms.

“The fact that is the one your upset over amuses me” He says turning to retrieve the picture of you sucking his cock and hanging it with the others. “A-Austin this is so wrong this is wrong on so many levels” you say panicking stepping back as you look into his eyes and then at all the photos. Finally you look to the door to escape as he narrows his gaze at you. Feeling overwhelmed and finally realizing how deeply he has you trapped your mind panics signaling you to flee.

You turn hurriedly to flee but he quickly snatches your wrist and pulls you back to him grabbing your waist and lifting you up forcibly onto an empty table.

You gasp at his aggression but he shushes you as he rubs down your neck and your shoulders and positions himself between your legs. “I’m sorry I can’t let you leave like that.” He says and you feel the hard cock in his jeans press against your bare pussy. Before you can think he unzips his jeans and pulls out his erect cock out aiming it between your spread legs

“A-Austin what are going to do?” You ask panting and he leans in closer to kiss you but you hesitate pulling back. As you stare at each other in the intense moment you see an unyielding question burning in his eyes. “I know it’s all wrong but being with you has unleashed my innermost hidden desires and I can’t resist them with you.” He admits

He takes his cock in his hand and you look down at him stroking it “Tell me you want me.” He says and you feel his breath on your lips as his presses his tip to your entrance. So many thought are swirling through your head as you look into his pleading eyes. “Austin what do you want with me?” You finally ask.

“I know you hinted that you want me to be your boyfriend so, I’ll do that, I’ll do that for you.” He says relenting.

“Austin I’ll be honest you scare me at times and I’m worried if I leave you’ll share these pictures. So I really have no choice do I” You reveal.

“So make the right choice.” He implies, and that’s what worries you, he’s going to keep you as long as possible with blackmail.

He pulls his face back a little and you can see the sudden disappointment about you forming in his eyes. You quickly tell him. “Yes! Yes Austin I want you.” And pull him into a kiss making him calm instantly.

You moan in his mouth as you I feel the head of his cock push inside of you. He does a quick violent thrust to get his cock farther in and you moan even more. He begins to thrust into you easier as you become accustomed to his size and his cock begins gliding in and out of you.

When he starts to go faster you hold him around his shoulders felling him thrust into you so hard. "You like this, don't you? …-Having me fuck you your pussy knowing… I can’t get enough of you…having you surrounded by your photos that I take …-to pleasure myself when you’re not around.” He says going faster.

Overwhelmed by his intensity, you can only gasp for breath, locking eyes with him as he continues deep powerful thrusts . “SAY IT!” he demands, his voice cutting through the air. You feel the force of his thrusts between your legs intensify, each smack igniting a surge of pleasure. “Y-yes..of course …I do Austin,” you manage to say breathlessly, you will agree with anything he says in this moment.

He begins to fuck you with long strokes, pulling his cock back farther before plunging it back inside. It feels so good you reach down to touch your clit. "Don’t touch yourself.” He commands and you obey placing your hand back on his shoulder. He plows into you deeper and faster sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your breath hitches, and your muscles tense as he drives you closer to an orgasm.

“Beg me to cum” he commands burying his cock at its deepest in your pussy .

“Please, Austin, let me cum” you beg and he reaches his hand between your bodies and strums your clit.

You scream in pleasure as you reach climax, and Austin instantly withdraws his cock, making you feel the rush of warm liquid as you squirt. You feel more warmth spreading over your navel as he shoots his cum on your dress, driven by the intensity of his desire to possess you completely marking you with his cum.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing ragged and uneven as he stares at you, both of you physically spent. You struggle to catch your breath, the aftermath of pleasure still coursing through your veins. It takes several moments before the intensity of the moment begins to calm.

He loves you but he doesn’t say it instead he presses his forehead to yours and holds the back of your neck caressing your jaw with his thumb.

“You’re mine” he says staring into your eyes.

“Okay Austin.” You answer quickly and he smiles. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He says looking down at his cum glisten in the silk on your dress.

He plants a kiss to your lips and helps you to stand. He turns you around and unties your dress slipping it down your waist until you step out of it.

“I’m adding this one to my collection” He says smiling. “what collection?” You ask in curiosity, he looks over the dress in his hands then looks back into your eyes. “My collection of what you wear during my favorite encounters with you.” He confesses.

College

You awaken in the morning to the sound of your iPhone alarm clock. Austin is curled up against you holding you tightly . You wiggle to get out of his arms but he is too heavy keeping you trapped. You turn your head to look at him as you gently tug his hand to wake him nicely. “Austin I need to go to school.” You say softly and he slowly opens his eyes. He looks at you and he smiles seeing you first thing in the morning, though deep down he hates that you are leaving. But he promised you last night after he showered you and you climbed into bed with him that you could return to school the next day.

He lets out a breath and sits up in bed, he already has a plan set in place that will deter you from school for a while to bring you back to him.

“I’ll set up the shower and cook you breakfast okay?” He says pulling your head to him and planting a kiss on your hair. “Okay Austin.” You say.

You finish breakfast together sitting at the counter in his enormous kitchen. As he gets up and takes your dishes to the sink he decides to offer you something he knows you can’t resist. “Why don’t you take the range to school.” He says offhandedly as he pulls two cooling espressos resting on they tray of his machine.

“Really? You would do that!” You ask excitedly. “Why not.” He says grinning at your excitement. “I’ll have them detail your car in the meantime and you can bring back the Range when you come to work on Saturday.” He offers. “But I thought… you wanted me to stay all week.” You question due to his original agreement he paid your for on Monday.

“Well with school that makes it difficult doesn’t it.” He reveals. “You’ll have to stay here and wake up like this every morning at 5am to drive there then be back here after 5pm that’s a bit excessive.” He reasons.

“Oh I didn’t think about that.” You admit. He brings you your espresso and as you sip it he hands you your tiny birth control pill which you swallow with the last of the caffeine.

He reaches in his sweats pocket and pulls out the range key handing it over. “ Thank you Austin.” You say collecting the keyless fob in your hand and looking up to him. “Your very welcome.” He says feeling his heartache when you stand up and hug him goodbye. He pulls your face to his planting a kiss. “See you on Saturday.” You say grinning. “See you in Saturday” he says with a weak smile.

🥀 To be continued 🥀 ….

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itsvelyria · 1 year ago

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"little things they do for their s/o"

Charles Leclerc

he was raised a gentleman, taught to treat ladies with the utmost care and respect. but as much as it was part of his nature, he liked opening doors for you. perhaps it was the tiny smile that you would give him as you passed or simply because it gave him joy to have helped you in some way. whether it was cars, restaurants or hotels, he always made sure to take that two quick steps to the door, pulling the handle and turning to you with that cheeky grin and wink. the flush that dusted your cheeks with their matching giggle always making his day.

Carlos Sainz

he didn't think too much of it, taking your purchases from you when you two were out shopping one day. it had felt so natural, one of your hands laced with him while the other carried your stuff. then it was a november night when you were stumbling back home after a late night when you had taken off your shoes, whining about blisters. he had leaned down, long fingers reaching for the heels while the others came to circle your waist, stabilising you. you had shot him a grateful smile and he replied with one of his.

Danny Ricciardo

whether he was on a plane, or in a garage somewhere on the other side of the world, your boyfriend always *always* sent you a reminder to drink water. it was sweet, the way your phone would light up at random times of the day with a message from your lover telling you to hydrate. and it was never pushy, the way it felt when your mother did, though that could just be because of the person. even during calls at 2am because he had just gotten out of his debrief session, the man never failed to show concern for your health.

George Russell

in his defence, you were always cold and always sneezing in his car. when he'd picked you up for your first date, you had been shivering by the time you two had gotten to the restaurant. picking up the car from the valet after, he'd turned up the heat, noticing how your shoulders had loosened. ever since then, he had started paying slightly more attention to the weather and adjusting the temperature in the car accordingly. it was a little thing, but it made him smile whenever you would slide into the passenger seat and feel that much more comfortable.

Lando Norris

you had just chalked it up to the way of life, hair ties were meant to go missing. until one day. when you were watching a video of your boyfriend and noticed a familiar blue elastic around his wrist. still, you had assumed it was another of his bracelets. then came a particularly hot day in Austin, you were lying on his makeshift bed, wondering if this was how hell felt like. your boyfriend had walked in, taken one glance at you and offered you a hair tie. the brown band staring you in the face had a little smiley face charm and something clicked in your head. now, you had your very own hair tie dispenser in the form of a very thoughtful man.

Lewis Hamilton

the man knew he was doing it. you were considerably shorter than he was and he respected that you had a smaller gait than him. but this also meant that in order to be able to hold your hand, he had to slow down and match your pace, which wasn't such a bad trade-off. in fact he quite enjoyed it, even if it was through the sea of cameras pointed right at him and fans waiting for him to sign merchandise in the paddocks. it was poetic in a sense he supposed, the way you made life seem to slow down so that he could truly take the time to appreciate it.

Max Verstappen

your boyfriend had a miracle brain, something that should be studied by scientists and academics worldwide. how else could one explain how he manages to know where every single one of your possessions were at all times? what you didn't see, was that he spends a lot of time watching you. his eyes couldn't drag themselves away from you the second you entered a room, tossing your AirPods or keys on the bookshelf or nightstand. quietly, he'll note the location, loving it when you would shout across the house asking where your phone was and he'll be able to tell you it was in the bathroom. the reward of your lips on his cheek wasn't bad either.

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thezombieprostitute · 6 months ago

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The Arrangement - Chapter 4

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Implied physical abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

It takes you a bit to find the master bedroom. You tremble at the thought of what's expected of you tonight. The closets are full of clothes your and Jake's mothers chose. Thankfully a small dresser seems to have been filled with all of your preferred clothes. You wash off your makeup and clean up your hair so it looks more natural. You're not sure how Jake will react but at least you have the excuse of following Clay's instructions.

As much as you hate to go back out there, your mother's voice won't stop nagging you about being a good hostess. You have a guest, you should provide food and drink, right? You're not sure what all is in the kitchen but it won't hurt to look and familiarize yourself with the place.

You sneak past the two men sitting at the table with a laptop between them. The less attention you draw to yourself the better. It's what gotten you this far in life.

The kitchen looks like it missed the worst of your mother's attempts at interior design which makes sense. She always felt the kitchen was for servants which led it to becoming a safe haven for you. You start by opening all the cupboards and making a mental inventory. The cookware is quality stuff, not just for decoration. There are some decent options for the kind of cooking and baking you like to do but, if your husband will give you permission, you'll do some shopping for the rest.

For now, though, you can make a simple pasta aglio e olio. Simple, but tasty and filling. It might even help give Jake a better impression of you, ease his temper a bit.

Jake is so caught up in his discussions with Clay and securing all of the internet connections in the penthouse he almost misses you as you place the plates of food on the table. He has to do a double take when he sees you. Without the makeup, hair styling, you look...beautiful. His jaw drops slightly at the realization.

Thankfully Clay is quick to help him out. "Well that's mighty kind of you, young lady," he tells you. "If it tastes half as good as it smells, we're in for a real treat."

You smile and drop your head at the praise. If Clay likes it, that's one less thing for Jake to be angry with you about. His initial reaction had you worried you'd overstepped with your attempts to be comfortable.

"Thank...thank you," Jake sputters. He flinches as Clay kicks him under the table. "You, um, I, um, you look really pretty," he finally ekes out. "And thank you for the food!" That last bit is said in a rush as he feels his face heat up from embarrassment. Was he wrong about you? Was the makeup and clothing not your choice? Was Clay right about you being afraid of him?

You keep your head down as you head back to the kitchen to clean up. You want to cry. Your husband's reaction to the food, to your more comfortable dress, has you so frustrated and scared. He clearly didn't like it and was just trying to keep on his boss's good side. You saw how red his face had gotten from how angry he was. You're terrified about what's going to happen once Clay leaves. Eventually the tears come, unbidden, as you clean. The dishes could probably wait until tomorrow but you need to pour your energy into something.

A cough from behind has you freezing in place. "Um," it's your husband. "Do you, do you know where the glasses are? We, um, we could...I was, I was getting us some water." His tone is so much softer than before. You're not sure what to make of it. You point to the cupboard that has the cups and hear it open. He says a quiet "thank you" before filling them up at the refrigerator's water dispenser. It isn't until you hear him walk out of the kitchen that you let yourself breathe.

As Jake sits down at the table, handing Clay the glass of water, he says, "you might be right about her."

"Poor girl is a bit skittish," Clay nods. "You gonna be okay tryin' to talk to her?"

"I don't know," Jake confesses. "I...she...I tried to talk and she just froze up. I think she was crying."

"Take it slow and soften your tone, Jake. You'll get there."

"I hope you're right."

Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn;

@icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82 @ronearoundblindly

#jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x female reader #arranged marriage au

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bangchansgirlsblog · 1 year ago

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Bending over back

Warning: kissing? A bit of angst, it’s not traumatizing I promise

Pairing: Chan x reader

Summary: Basically your in love with him but your his assistant.

-A/N: i don’t know how I wrote this, it’s quite boring idk. Prolly gonna do a part two. I don’t like this one. HELP.

"Chan?" Her footsteps followed quickly behind him trying to keep up with him as we walked into the dressing rooms.

"Yeah?" He replied dryly as he sat into the makeup artists chair after saying a quick hello.

"You have a meeting with Eunwo and the PR tea-"

"Y/n honestly I don't have time for this right now. You see I have a show in a few minutes and you decide to tell me all this now?" He scoffed and looked up from his phone.

"No Chan it's just that-"

"Just that what? Look your a great assistant and all but your sometimes so uncoordinated. Do you really expect me to remember all the meetings I have?" He glared up at her.

She was wearing her usual knitted sweater, tight pencil skirt and some lofers. Her hair was up in a bun and she held her IPad and Chan's bag one in each hand.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again," she hung her head low and looked at the floor.

"Good, now go sit on the couch and sit there looking pretty," he stated and went back to scrolling on his phone.

Y/n was so confused because he would be so nice to her and then be the worst person to her at the same time. It was so confusing-

"oh and for God's sake Y/n what do I say about your sweater? It's ugly, I can't have my assistant walking around in such. Get rid of it. You know what, I'll even take you shopping,"

There it was, his sweet and sour side. Y/n was slowly getting tired of the abusive but at the same time she really didn't mind because she had the biggest crush on her boss. The biggest crush ever since she had join JYP and she walked into their first rehearsals as stray kids.

She basically watched him grow up and her feelings grew even more because of all the time she spent with him. Same hotel, same flight, same car, same house, same office. They were together 24/7 and not once did Chan ever try to make a move on her. He just became more and more bratty and even though she was okay with it, it hurt because she thought that maybe one day he would see her as something more but-

"Y/n get me water please," she heard his voice call for her.

Nope. He wouldn't see her as anything more. She accepted it and she was getting exhausted.

The rooms were all lit and they all had different people in them doing different things so it was very confusing for her to note where what was.

The crowded hallways and the lack of space was slowing her down from completing her task and it was frustrating her. Everyone was busy doing their own thing and wasn't bothering to help her out at all. It was almost like she was invisible.

"Can someone please show me where the water dispensers were set?" She asked anybody that could possibly hear her. No one dared to respond so she finally gave up and went into the other guys' rooms hopeful to find that they had accidentally set all of them there and low and behold a whole box of water was sat in Hyunjin's room.

He was getting his makeup aswell so she quickly slipped in then out. Making sure not to distract anyone and she run down the corridor and back to Chan's room where she found him done with his makeup and was now dressing up.

"Thank you love just drop it over there," he instructed. "Can you go pick up one of my friends from the backstage entrance. Her name is Min-Ji. Giver her this so they can let her in," he passed her another backstage pass with her name on it. His smile was very visible. Was this his new girlfriend?

Who was she? Was she pretty?

These thoughts run through her mind as she walked down the same corridors once again until she made it to the backstage door. She gave one of the body guards a high five with a bright smile and handed him the pass.

"I'm here to pick up Chan's friend," she smiled as she told one of the popular and most familiar guards.

"Oh, Chan has a new friend now?" He teased.

"Yeah I geuss, I've never met her before. Do you see her anywhere out there?"

"I'll have to make a call, one second," he Smiled and made his way back outside making sure to lock the door behind him for safety purposes and after what felt like hours but were actually 10 minutes, he came back with a girl. A really really skinny, pretty girl. Her eyes were perfectly shaped, he body was shaped like an hour glass, her skin was made of glass, her lashes were long and she had such beautiful lips.

She was dressed in a two piece and really looked/smelled good. Y/n was comparing herself so hard. The way she dressed was no way compared to the way this girl was dressed and her beauty was no way near the way this girl looked. Her heart was beating at a fast pace and now she knew that she had no chance against her. She knew Chan would never go for a girl like her when he was right next to whoever this was. It made her sad thinking about it.

"Hey! You must be Chan’s assistant," ouch, assistant? Was that all she was? "I'm Min-Ji but everyone calls me Jiji," she smiled and put out her hand for a shake.

"I'm Y/n. The assistant," she shook the hand quickly and led her to Chan's changing room.

"This is really such a big place," Min-Ji commented as they where making their way down the corridors.

"Yeah it is,"

"How long have you been working for Chan?" She asked trying to make conversation.

"About 6 years,"

"Do you have any advice? You know...for me?" That made Y/n start to slow down her pace because what was she trying to say?

"What do you mean?"

"Well you know...I have a big crush on him and he invited me here tonight. Do you know how i can be different? Like catch his eye?" Her cheeks were red from all the blushing she was doing. Probably thinking about all the possible ways her and Chan could be together.

Oh.

"Well, I don't know really. Just be yourself I geuss," Ofcourse such a hot girl like her wanted Chan! It was Chan after all! Ugh! The hot tears started to build as she thought about the situation over and over again.

"Chan she's here," y/n knocked on the door and slowly pushed it open.

"Ahhh, great! Min-Ji! Hey love," he smiled and moved away from the stylist to give her a hug,

"Hey Channie! Long time no see," she giggled.

"How are you? Please take a seat, I still have a lot before I get ready. Y/n please, get her a drink," Chan said.

"Ofcourse," she smiled through her teeth. Deep down she wanted to die as she watched the two interact and be all touchy. That should be her but..

She's just an assistant.

The show was great, everyone was happy with the outcome. Everyone had fun! Everyone enjoyed their time there and now it was wind down time. One of the trickiest parts of the day because everyone was shutting down so everyone was everywhere.

"Y/n you can go now, wait for us outside," Chan said shooing her away. She was shocked at this action. He wanted to spend some alone time with Min-Ji and it was so obvious. The both of them had been whispering and giggling with eachother for the past 30 minutes. It made sense for him to want her out. She wouldn't be surprised if they fucked.

The pain that she felt in her chest turned into anger and the tears that threatened to leave her eyes were not making it any better. Why? Why did she have to go and fall in love with her boss? Why her?

"Y/n!" Someone yelled for her making her jump a little, "what are you doing outside?! Get Chan and let's go!" One of the managers yelled as he walked up the corridor towards her.

"Sir? Sir he’s in there with someone-"

"Did we hire you to be standing around all day?! I told you we're on a tight schedule! We should be in a bus right now because we have a flight in less that 4 hours," he run a hand through his hair as he continued to yell at the poor young girl.

"Sir I tried to tell him, but his with-"

"Get him in the bus now. I don't want your excuses," he shoved past her making sure to hit her shoulder. Her hand automatically rub the area. Her feelings were now even more emotional than before.

She had tried warning Chan but instead of understanding Chan yelled at and now she got yelled at again. Was anyone going to actually be nice for once?

She quickly knocked on the door and prayed that Chan wouldn't be pissed off. Maybe he would be in a good mood to be rushed.

"Chan we really need to go! Please just come out," she begged.

"5 more minutes!" He replied.

"Chan we need to go! Mr-" the door swung open and cut her off. Min-Ji came out with her hair a mess and her lipstick everywhere. Her cheeks were flustered as she quickly made her way out and past her. Seeing her like that was the last draw for Y/n as tears slowly started to roll down her cheeks. She looked back inside the room and saw that Chan was fixing himself.

The tears wouldn't stop as she looked at him, analyzing him and trying to find some type of reason to run away and hide.

"Hey, do you think that..." he trailed off as he turned to look at his assistant. Worry quickly filled him as he made his way to her. "Hey? What's wrong?"

Why did he care? Y/n thought.

"Did someone do something? Why are you crying?" He looked down both sides of the corridors and saw that no one was there, so what was really going on?

"N-nothing," she shrugged his hands off her body and made her way inside but was stopped by a hand grabbing her arm.

"I've never seen you cry before so something has to be wrong-"

"I'm just your assistant," she sobbed. Chan was taken back because yes she was his assistant but that's not what she was to him.

"What do you mean?" He asked. His feelings now getting worked up but he couldn't help but ask why? Why was he getting so worked up after seeing her upset.

"Chan just let it be, we're going to be late," she wriggled her hand out of his tight grip and put her iPad inside her bag. She grabbed everything and made sure everything was left in place before grabbing his bag but was quickly stopped again.

“Y/n, love. Tell me what the matter is, I won’t tell anyone,”

The tears were heavy as they fell but nevertheless she still had shit to get done and Chan was shocked as to why she was still able to get shit done when she was having a mental breakdown. He felt bad.

"L-let's go," she breathed. Her chest pumping up and down at a high pace.

"Can we talk about what's made you upset?" Chan asked softly.

"Chan not now, please..."

"Later?" He asked hopeful and he got a head shake in response but he was satisfied with it.

"Can you atleast calm down for me? Just breathe," he took a few steps closer until he was towering over her. His hand land by her arms and he rubbed them trying to calm her down. It was working but the intense eye contact he was holding with her was scaring her. Her brain was foggy as she silently got lost into his eyes. Little did she know he was also getting lost in her eyes. He slowly analyzed her facial structure….he found her beautiful? The tension grew as he kept whispering encouraging words so she could calm down

until she did it.

She got on her tippy toes and kissed him he instantly kissed back and when she realized what she was doing she pulled away. Adrenaline run through her body as he looked at her shocked.

“Woah,” was all he was able to say to her.

Embarrassment grew in her chest before she knew it she was running out with door. She run to fast that she couldn't hear Chan's calls for her.

She entered the bus and sat in one of the empty sits and covered her head with her hoodie and pretended to sleep.

What the hell was that?

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freesia-writes · 8 months ago

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Ch 30: Wedding, Part 1

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.8k

Song: That Funny Feeling -- Bo Burnham (from "Inside")

The bell on the door of the butcher shop chimed, and Hunter was surprised to see Omega coming in. Wiping off his blade and hands, he ventured into the front to greet her.

“What’s up, kid?”

“Sorry for embarrassing you at dinner the other night,” she admitted, although the mirth on her face did not convincingly reflect a wealth of remorse.

“Yeah, well… I probably deserve it,” he chuckled. The few days between had replaced the utter humiliation with more of a begrudging acceptance of the whole ordeal.

“You’re just going through your rebellious phase, since you didn’t get to as an adolescent.” Her diagnosis came with twinkling eyes that earned a groan and an eye roll from him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted.

“And that’s alright,” she said sagely. “You’re doing the best you can with what you have. Besides… it’s kind of fun, eh?” She elbowed him in the side, and he squinted at her in suspicion.

“And what do you know about that?”

“Nothing, of course,” she smiled innocently. “Anyway… I have a favor to ask.”

“You’re not off to a good start.”

“Neither are you,” she returned evenly, surprising him into a chuckle. “Some of my friends are going to a beach bonfire, and it starts… like… now. But I was supposed to drop off all this stuff from the last few internships.” She held up a bundle of datacards. “For some reason, my transmitter isn’t working, so I’d have to go up to the school in person. But by the time I get there and back, I’ll have missed most of the bonfire. So…”

“You want me to close the shop and take them to the top of the island?” He lifted an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He knew he was going to do it, he just liked to point out what a huge imposition it was.

“You’re closing in eight minutes anyway,” Omega pointed out with an equally knowing grin.

“Fine.”

“Thanks Hunter! You’re the best!” She gave him a hug, dropped her datacards on the counter, and bounced out of the shop with a spring in her step.

It was only then that he was hit with a sudden suspicion of her true motives.

* * *

The walk to the school ended up being just what he needed. It was a beautifully fresh afternoon on the island, with the perfect balance of sunshine and breeze. The sky was dotted with fluffy clouds that gave periodic respites of coolness when the sun would pass behind them, allowing Hunter to avoid getting overheated as he hiked up the winding path. The brick building came into view, bringing up a scourge of memories and emotions, but he attempted to fight them off with an insistent focus on his singular objective: drop the datacards off in the main office and be done.

“Well hello, sir,” the main secretary greeted him as he slipped through the door, quickly donning some lipstick when he turned to secure the knob behind him. She shoved it into a desk drawer as he approached the desk, holding up the datacards. A few ladies were packing up for the day in their cubicles behind her, and he noticed a few others finishing a conversation in the back of the room around a small water dispenser.

“Afternoon,” he said. “I know you’re about to head out. I just wanted to drop these off for Omega. They go to… the internship office.” A quick frown came and went..

“Vetana?” came an abrasive voice from a side office, and a greasy figure swaggered out. “I’ll run em back to her.” None other than Mullet Hanker was the one approaching the counter, a smug expression on his handsome face. The front desk lady’s heart rate increased as he approached, and a light flush painted her cheeks as she fawned at him. He gave her a wink as he reached for the cards, and Hunter felt a tightness in his core.

“Actually,” he said, pulling them back into his hands. “I forgot. Omega needed me to deliver a message too… I’ll just take them around.”

“Oh yeah?” Mullet seemed to recognize Hunter then, and a myriad of emotions danced across his face. “Well I’d be happy to deliver a message as well.”

Hunter stared back at him, keeping his face carefully neutral, but the intensity in his hawkish eyes spoke otherwise. “I appreciate it. But not necessary. Thank you all,” he said, addressing the secretary as well, whose eyes had widened somewhat as she felt the tension sparking between the men. It seemed as though Mullet were about to reply, but he closed his mouth, watching Hunter slip out the door with thinly pressed lips.

Once outside, Hunter took a deep breath, simultaneously apprehensive and indignant at himself for feeling that way. He toyed with the thought of going back and just leaving them after all, and he wondered why he’d felt so immediately insistent that he take them himself. He didn’t want to, if he were honest, but he’d somewhat sealed his fate, so he headed for the main hallway and began a slow walk down the dark, quiet halls. When he arrived at Lyra’s door, halfway open as usual, he paused, trying to calm the tidal wave of frustration and resentment rising within. Finally, he knocked on the door frame and stepped into view.

Lyra looked up quickly, eyes rounding as she recognized him. Panic and hurt flashed across her face, and she remained in her chair, hands spread flat on the desk as though it were the safeguard between them. Hunter held up the datacards, searching for the right words to say and second-guessing every single one.

“Omega asked me to bring these.” A sheepish admittance.

“Ah. Thank you.” She stood to take them from him.

“Yup.” He passed them to her carefully, avoiding any accidental touch of the hands.

Silence.

They looked everywhere but at each other.

“Well… thanks,” he said lamely, then moved back toward the door, slowly, as though held back by some unidentified force.

Lyra watched him, mouth opening and closing a few times. He couldn’t help but look back over his shoulder to offer a polite nod, and he was struck by her body language. She was perched on the edge of her chair like a bird about to take flight, hands fidgeting on the desk before her for a second before she clasped them together to stop the movement. She was emanating a disquiet anticipation and he could feel himself being drawn into her tumult like a boat on stormy seas.

He turned and left without another word.

* * *

“Babe!!” Luci exclaimed, beaming at him as he stood in her doorway. “You look a-maaaaazing!” He stepped in sheepishly, straightening the front of his tuxedo. It was an incredibly formal wedding, a stark contrast to the typically laid-back affairs of the island, and he’d been coerced into wearing a full suit, including a vest and white gloves. Again he had that sensation of being in someone else’s life, but the absolute adoration from Luci was distracting him from the spiky discomfort he was feeling.

She had indeed given him space over the last week, insisting that she would truly be okay with whatever he decided about the wedding. While part of him wanted to refuse out of spite, he had a begrudging compulsion to keep his word. It was a pathetically trivial topic, but the principle of the matter had nagged him into compliance, so here he was, trussed up like a Life Day dinner and being delightedly inspected by Luci.

“What’s this?” she asked, drawing her fingers over a small pin he had added on his left breast pocket.

“Omega made it for me in a job shadow for a welder,” he answered, glancing down at the small skull with two Aurebesh 9s beneath it.

“A bit morbid, don’t you think?” she observed, furrowing her perfectly-shaped brows.

“It’s… an old family crest,” he deflected, standing up a little straighter with an air of authority. Maker, how long had it been since he felt that? Luci read his vibe effortlessly, instead grasping his lapels and pulling him in for a quick kiss.

“Well you look freaking delicious. Maybe too much, actually. Gonna have to beat the ladies away,” she said playfully. “But maybe I’ll give you a run for your money.” She held her arms out, offering a little spin to show off her own outfit, which Hunter had been trying to formulate words to address. She was wearing a bright red, lacy dress that hugged her curves all the way down her body until it flared out gracefully below her thighs. The scalloped neckline danced across her cleavage in a treacherously perfect cut as she adjusted herself one last time.

“The curse of perfect tits,” she giggled, wagging her eyebrows at him. Her lips had never looked so voluptuous, and she’d applied her makeup expertly to give herself a boldly glamorous look, framed by luscious curls that scattered across her shoulders and down to where her dress scooped across her lower back.

“You look…” He was lost for words.

“I know. You’re speechless,” she laughed. She was a bombshell and she knew it, and yet it was somehow not a brag that hid a deeper insecurity but rather a seemingly effortless confidence that she carried into virtually every aspect of her life. Turning to look at her floor-length mirror, she tilted her head as she stood beside him. “We look damn good together.”

He nodded and waited by the door as she pulled on some black high heels followed by a dab of perfume from an ornate, gold-plated bottle. With one last scrutinizing glance, she joined him in the doorway, satisfied. Her sweet-yet-spicy scent filled his nostrils, and the heat radiating from her bare chest was palpable. She had skipped on jewelry, which surprised him as she was typically adorned with a luxurious array of gold necklaces and earrings, but her nails were long and bright red, a perfect match to the dress, and the hair and makeup was above and beyond. She’d turn heads, no doubt.

Luci was in the wedding, which, as Hunter quickly discovered, meant that she was needed for a whole lot of things that didn’t involve him. There were two brides, each uniquely decorated with the customary attire of their home worlds, and a large bridal party made up of friends that all seemed to know each other well.

So he was left to fend for himself as the final ceremony preparations were made, opting to slink around the perimeter of the patio before finding a nice, quiet corner to tuck himself into. The outdoor area was made entirely of stone, with mature trees draping their leaves over the roofs and railing of a balcony that curved across the side to reveal a stunning vista below. As the sun lowered, it painted the horizon with a beautiful, creamy light that gave an ethereal feel to the evening.

Hunter fidgeted with his gloves, noticing with a wry smile just how odd they now felt, despite the fact that he’d been wearing gloves almost his entire life. Different ones, granted, but it was further proof of the irrevocable shifts of the last few years. An elderly couple approached him, wandering away from the throngs of people that were quickly filling the seats and space, and he stood up straighter, offering a polite dip of the head as they neared.

“Well aren’t you a dashing young man,” the lady spoke, her quavery voice sweet as honey as she looked him up and down. “Look at him, Arro.” She elbowed the feeble-looking man next to her, who was hunched so much that Hunter was looking more at the top of his head than his face. The labored straightening of a stiffened spine brought the man’s eyes to Hunter, and a mischievous smirk curved his wrinkled cheeks.

“Quite a delightful specimen,” chuckled Arro, who slowly lowered his gaze back to his frail wife. “But he lacks a certain… jenessekwah…” He drifted off, wiggling his eyebrows and earning a burst of embarrassed laughter from the woman.

“Oh, pulling out the Twi’leki, I see!” she giggled, the wrinkles on her face settling into the smile lines that she had clearly spent years carving out. “What a night!”

Hunter could not have felt more distinctly “other”, and yet there was something about the deep love and familiarity between the two of them that created a dull ache in his chest. He forgot whatever Twi’leki phrase he’d conjured up to impress the two of them and instead excused himself with some genuine well-wishes and a bow. He found an empty seat in the back of the rows, with some space between it and the people further down, and he slipped into it, glancing at his chrono, then checking his comm.

Minutes ticked by. The crowd grew louder. The seats filled. The host of the evening took his place at the front, giving a five-minute warning that the ceremony would soon begin. Hunter was doing everything he could to avoid the merciless waves of thoughts that seemed to be intent on afflicting him. It was frustrating that, after a lifetime of having clear missions laid out for him, a squad to tackle them with, and a litany of distinct, purposeful plans at his disposal, he was spending the “free” portion of his life in what felt like a complete freefall. Memories flickered at the edges of his consciousness – joy and loss, victory and defeat, contentment and confusion – moving his forehead in tiny flinches as each took its turn.

“Well fancy seeing you here!” Two women appeared from behind, dressed to the nines and clearly delighted to be there. Hunter recognized one of them from the school office, though he’d never talked to her directly… Unless she was part of the herd that sometimes visited his shop. They stepped past his legs, one being far more careful than the other not to brush against him, and sat down neatly in the chairs right beside him. “Hunter, right?” the office lady said, offering a hand, which he gently shook. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met. I’m Ketzya. This is my friend Araquella.” The friend leaned forward with a friendly wave and her textured dark hair fell over her shoulders, framing a brilliant smile. She was beautiful, and the mere noticing of such a thing somehow made Hunter feel angry.

“Nice to meet you both,” he replied automatically, forcing the hint of a smile onto his sharp features, but it was immediately frozen. Past the women, across the aisle, he saw a familiar form. Lyra was exchanging pleasantries with a few Xyloan elders, head tilted at their words as she listened intently. One of them clasped her hand, nodding vigorously, and she smiled demurely, lowering her head in humility before picking her way across a row to an empty seat.

“And how do you know the brides?” Ketzya asked, as Araquella settled back into her seat.

“What?” Hunter said it far too loud, startling himself and both ladies, and he jerked his eyes back to them. “Oh. Uhh. I…Um…” He paused, entirely unsure of the social nuances of a situation like this.

“Haha, oh I see!” Ketzya giggled, leaning in to gently elbow him in the side, which again irritated him more than it should have. “Wedding crasher, eh? Sweetheart, if you want a free dinner, you just have to say the word.” She batted her eyelashes at him, snickering at her own magnificent wit, while Hunter simply stared, dumbfounded.

“Subtle,” her friend observed, tipping her head back to catch his eye behind Ketzya’s head. He watched her eyes roll before they crinkled into a smile.

“What!” came the protest, and the school worker lifted both hands in surrender. “I’m just stating the obvious. You tellin me you wouldn’t do anything he told you?” Ketzya looked at Araquella now, and Hunter wondered if she’d been drinking or was simply always this unfiltered, but her friend huffed indignantly and stared right back.

“What if all he wants is for you to shut up and leave him alone?” she retorted, but her face was relaxed and Ketzya burst into laughter. They clearly had some kind of understanding. “Besides,” Araquella continued, “No one is bossing me around.” She leaned back again to address Hunter, “No offense.”

“None taken,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He glanced around the patio as surreptitiously as possible, wondering if he could slip out unnoticed and find Luci at the reception. Why did he need to be here anyway? He hadn’t thought to ask and was deeply regretting it now. But alas, the gentle background music gave way to a proclamation, and the ceremonial fanfare began.

I had to write in Hunter's outfit after seeing this DELICIOUS fanart of tuxedo Hunter by @marymunchkiin!! Click the link and show it some love.

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