Synopsis You are living your life at slow pace, working as a librarian in the same school your husband teaches at, doing your geodesic research, not expecting anything new or overly exciting happening in next few years.
Until one rainy day in San Francisco.
Word count 2.2k
Author’s note This is FIRST CHAPTER don’t worry it will have at least six more. And if you see any mistakes please tell me because English grammar is so different from my native language so it is hard to me to properly beta read it. And comment please I would love to read your thoughts about this. And I wrote it based both at film and book so some things will be different depending on source. Love you, bye.
Ah, weather in San Francisco. Foggy and rainy. Like any other day.
You hear rain drops hitting your window, somewhere in between that nice melody you hear something like egg shell cracking. So you turn your head and move your hand to where Ryland is supposed to be. Well he is nowhere to be found. Unique. Usually he waits for you to stand up first to avoid cooking. So today starts as a good decent day. You sit, stretch your arms above your head, and stand up from the bed. You check the weather, go to the bathroom, take yours and Rylands clothes out of wardrobe — your usual morning routine.
“Good morning! I am cooking an omelette,” you hear Ryland from the kitchen.
So you do only possible thing, aka walking up to him and hugging him from the back. Your forehead slightly hits his upper spine and your hands slide onto his waist where it feels like they belong there.
“I ironed your shirt yesterday,” you murmur. “And since the rain we are probably have to take a car and so I will wait for you in library.”
“Okay,” he says as he puts yours and his omelettes and dishes and hands them to you. You put them on dinner table and put some of unchecked works away, while he takes forks and comes to the table. And so you sit down to have breakfast in this little paradise.
When you park the car and get out of it, one of your favourite part of daily routine happens. You kiss Ryland and give him a hug, while Ryland puts his chin in your head and answers to a hug. You love to get here few minutes before everybody else does. You get to have this moment and Ryland gets to avoid ‘helicopter’ moms. But now your hug feels like it is ending so you make a step back.
“Bye bye love,” you say with a smile waving your hand at him. He waves back and starts to walk away towards part of school where his classroom is located. You head to the library thinking on your research while holding strong on pack of documents you took with you.
You walk by the parking lots. There is approximately six minutes till the school day starts. You see a group of kids running down the road, they are probably late to their class. “Good morning, Mrs. Grace!” One of boys says while the group passes you and all other kids pick the gesture up and start to greet you too.
“Hi kids,” you answer.
This is not the place where you expected yourself to be found at ten years ago. Back then you would say something like “People like me are born without felling of satisfaction.” Or “I am not dreaming about stars, I am planning on how to get them.” And you were. Terraforming Mars. Lunar colonies. Internship at NASA. You wasn’t the brightest star on the sky yet you were definitely one that was made to look at. Geodesics is a fun science, you can do whatever you want after getting your degree starting with geology and ending with astronomy. So you did. You were staying in your group of friends working with them in different fields, exploring, living your best life. Till something not very good happened but now, looking back, you are happy your life changed that way. As life showed you few times you do have feeling of satisfaction you just weren’t searching for it in right place.
Time passes faster when you work. Few kids came in to return books during lunch break but library was mostly silent today, what you are quite enjoying because it lets you concentrate easier.
You were thinking about the Petrova-line for few days. And after Arcline collected few samples and it was showed on TV your interest of course didn’t collapse. So now instead of focusing on your research about ways to explore glaciers using technology of IR light instead of typical carbon relying analysis as you should. You have white board on your lap, writing down questions and answers you know. That doesn’t fill space at all so you decide to put down thinking for a bit and make your hands busy with some monotonous activity.
You hear door opening as I am on few finishing stitches of new Venus as last one was missing for few weeks.
“Hi, dear, approximately five minutes and we can go,” you say not lifting your eyes from crocheting. Why would you? Not like somebody, who is not your dearest favourite most precious husband Ryland, will enter library, that is supposed to be closed by now, forty minutes after sixth period.
“Hello”, a woman that entered the library says. You stare at her as she keeps approaching your table. Your mind splits into thinking about two things. First one was ‘Are you sane? Maybe you are asleep and dreaming’. Second was ‘Did she just tried to walk in closed library doors? What would she do if they were closed?’. You didn’t have time to start questioning her identity.
“I am Eva Stratt. I’m with the Petrova Taskforce.”
You nod, not like there is a lot for you to do. She continues.
“Doctor—”
“No,” you interrupt her.
“Miss—”
“And you missed again.” Yes, this is not professional, but there is not a lot of professional right now right here, so why not to let a little game happen?
Eva looks a little confused but that expression disappears pretty fast as her eyes find your nameplate in the corner of your table.
“Mrs Grace, are you familiar with this work?”
She asks handing me pretty thick paper with ‘An Analysis of Water-Based Assumptions and Recalibration of Expectations for Evolutionary Models.’ right in the middle of front page. How could you possibly not know? “Is that why she is here? It’s been years just forget already,” you think. But you hope that your face didn’t show all the frustration you had on your mind.
“It states your name here as one of the sources and as an editor. I am specifically asking about page 20 to 25. Where it clearly states that considering all existing theories about start of life we cannot be sure that only possible scenario is where some kind of energy hits some body of water changing the way molecules were bonded to basic amino acids. We can also assume that any specific type of rock or/and ice formation has potential to be that ‘body of water’”. She opens the paper at twenty first page, puts it on your table, turns it to be facing you, and slides it in your direction. But you don’t even need to look at it.
“Maybe.. Answer mostly depends on why are you asking.” You look at her expecting to make some kind of eye contact but you are surprised to find her looking over your shoulder where to your ‘luck’ white board with words ‘Pavlova line’ right at the most obvious place are. You hit it with tip of your foot a little so it makes a little turn and falls on the side with words written.
“We need your help with research about the Pavlova-line. Right now we have around two hundred scientists from different countries working with us and we need your help too.” Eva says while ignoring the thing you just did, unlike you, she behaves very professionally.
“Why?” You are definitely not the first person they should ask about it. You can name at least ten better candidates right now.
You probably look confused as her tone changes with next words.
“You decided to support study that disapproves the main way to see evolution,” Eva now has more of explanatory voice as if she was explaining the difference between gas and liquid.
“Yes, I did, but that was a long time ago, and it also little bit ruined my husband’s academic career, just a little, you know. I now have to publish under pseudonym, so does he, but both of us are satisfied with the way things go and I don’t want to fix something that is not broken.” Well, that came out fast. Maybe just a little too fast as if you were thinking about it every few days, as if you still cared about how life was before, as if you are still interested in how would things be if one single very significant event didn’t happen.. But you didn’t. Topic closed.
“Are you sure that this is what brings you satisfaction? Don’t you want to make life easier? The dots are staying all around our sun what can stand as prove of your theory. Don’t you want to try?” Eva leans over your table, coming closer to you. You want to try but you don’t want to answer her like anything that proves her right even a little. Somewhere deep in your mind thought about Ryland sparkles. Did they ask him? It was and is his idea after all.
“First of all, this isn’t my theory, I just suggested few things, second of all, I am a geodesist, what means that I look at ground and tell whether you can build here or not, even more, my speciality over all is rocks, and they can not be alive, they are bunch of same kind atoms, yet even there all I do is looking at rocks and say whether they are cool or not! I am not a biologist nor a chemist, the biochemistry part of mine life just exists, I was young and had way to much time and courage to explore, and, the most important part, I am a librarian at middle school right now. I just.. I just don’t get it honestly. Why?” You finish your ‘speech’. You are not satisfied with it but you did what you could. Eva nods, probably deciding something in her mind. You find yourself feeling something like agreement with whatever she thought about.
“We have the Arclight coming in few hours, it, of course, is completely up to you if you want to participate, but we would like you to.” Eva says.
You answer immediately.
“How much time I have to decide?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Am I allowed to call my husband and tell him that?”
“There is no need in that.”
“Wha— Why? I will still need to take him home as we took car today and I want to take at least something with me.”
So they talked to Ryland, didn’t they? You came with such concern since this is the most obvious thing to happen. And he probably did agree. And he is the one who most likely told them about you. Them? Did Eva talk to him or it was someone else?
“We will drive you. And, if you decide now, we maybe will have time for you to do things you want to do.”
You think that there no need in that since he is already with them. Yet a little check will not hurt anybody. So instead of asking directly and probably getting something like ‘…I don’t need you to know so you won’t’, you go with very ‘sneaky’ way.
“Fine, I am in, but you get me home so I at least can leave car keys and a note there.” You say, while starting to pack your bag.
“There is no need in note.” As expected, she repeats her self and you are more than happy to hear that this time. So you decide to make a bald move and ask straight away.
“You took him too? You came to him first didn’t you? This is why he didn’t come here yet?” And all of those questions are yes or no, so she cannot get you distracted and avoid answering.
“Yes.” Eva says. She is not talkative. But right now you couldn’t care less, as you can almost hear yourself screaming ‘bingo!’ in your mind. Three out of three! Perfect score! But your face stays rested and calm(not for Eva, she sees the way your eyes brighten up, when she answers the way you were expecting her to.)
“Then there is no need to go home, so you instead can take me now wherever you want to.. Are you going to tell me where are we going? No?” You say that in most uncaring voice possible.
“No”. Not like you were expecting her to tell you governmental secrets, but she said it in dry tone. So you decided to give her a compliment.
“I kinda like you. You are in some way predictable.” Yes, this is exactly what you wanted to say.
She smiles just a little.
We leave as soon as you are done closing library. Eva and you walk up to the parking lots, where you see two black jeeps parked.
Eva introduces you to Carl, then you are given a walkie talkie and are set in the car without any clarifications. And in something like ten minutes of drive you notice that your phone has lost its signal. In ten more minutes car stops and Eva opens your door. You see very generic environment but you don’t really have time to spend on comprehension of everything around you.
“Welcome to the mobile Petrova-line Taskforce base.” Eva says as you two walk away from the car.
Thank you for reading this
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Have a nice day and remember that life is all sunshine and rainbows
Ryland is obsessed with touching you. Not even sexual touching. Just like touching —a hand on your back. Or holding your hand. Playing with your hair.
He’s so touch starved 😭
Oh absolutely
The moment you give him the okay (and he’s worked out the first initial awkwardness he feels in himself) that he can touch you whenever —that man doesn’t stop.
It starts because the ship is tiny. The Hail Mary is small, and cramped. And he doesn’t mean to brush against you, or touch your back like that when he tries to move around you. He really doesn’t mean to. But then he does mean to.
And you notice immediately because Ryland isn’t subtle. Even Rocky notices eventually.
“Why Grace touch so much?”
And Ryland gets so flustered and freaked out by the call out. But you just laugh, and tell him it’s okay! You don’t mind. You even like it.
But Ryland thinks, at first, you’re just being nice. So he’s still a little awkward about it. Until you start touching him back. Running a hand through his hair when you walk by. Touching his arm when you’re standing close. And that’s what really makes him realize he misses touching another person —you touching him.
So he doesn’t stop. He has his hand on your lower back when analyzing slides or working. Holding your hand in the mental health room. God, cuddling. He loves cuddling. Lay on his chest, let him hold you. Or reverse it —he loves laying on you. Loves being held.
tags | angst, abusive relationships, reader is married to another man, blood, murder of animals eventually, eventual smut, religious guilt, infidelity, references to noncon, darker than most concepts I write
Ch. 3 | masterlist | ao3
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You don’t go back—for a while, at least.
You make use of the chicken and beef you’ve had buried somewhere deep in your freezer that you should’ve thrown out weeks ago. Anything to prevent the way the thought of the butcher shop makes your heart race and pulse heavy in your ears.
Grilled chicken. Chicken and rice casserole. Lasagna. Stuffed bell peppers.
It’s enough to tide your husband over. Not enough to make you forget.
It doesn’t last nearly as long as it should.
You debate it. Biting your lips raw and crossing your arms behind your back, pacing in front of your empty fridge. You could go during the day, be greeted by the sweet gentleman you’ve grown to know at the butcher in the mornings. The one who doesn’t have blood on his apron or wear a scowl. The one you should’ve only ever known.
You don’t even visit the bunny in your backyard, afraid that the animal will make your chest twist and give you some sort of confidence again.
The risk of Simon being there is enough to make you walk past the shop entrance entirely. You settle on the local market down the street instead, tucking your purchases to the side when you walk past Simon’s again with a bag full of frozen meat. Hiding it from him as if he’ll see you buying from a different shop. Like you owe any sense of loyalty to him.
You don’t look through the glass when you walk by. Eyes straight, fingers tight. You don’t even go to the flower shop.
You make beef stew that night.
The beef doesn’t taste as good. It’s tough, takes you several bites of grinding your molars to eat a mouthful. You blame it on your cooking. You cooked it for too long or on a setting too high. You didn’t let it simmer enough in your crockpot or didn’t season it right.
Maybe it’s all in your head.
Your husband eats it with a grimace on his face, nose scrunched up as his teeth stab through the meat. His hair’s still well-kempt, gelled down to the side. Tie hanging off the back of the chair along with his blazer. You wonder if he’s finally had enough respect to straighten himself out before he came home to you or if he just didn’t see someone else in his office today.
You don’t go to his office. He doesn’t invite you. You don’t want to be.
You’re not allowed to see that world. He goes to work events all on his own. You watch him peel off from the driveway on those rare occasions, left wondering if any of them even know he has a wife at home. If he’s too embarrassed to even confess he’s married to someone like you.
You try to watch him eat, watch the way his lips form around his fork or the pink color of his tongue, force yourself to feel something other than disgust when the juice collects at the corners of his lips.
“Tastes like shit.” He grunts. You’re not even surprised.
“I got the meat from the market.”
“The hell did ya do that for?” He scoffs, food falling from his mouth.
“I was already there, so it was easier.” You have to look away from him to stop yourself from gagging.
“Well don’t do it again.”
You nod, gulping down the bile at your throat. He doesn’t know he’s pushing you closer to the beast.
That night when your face is buried in the sheets and your husband’s grunting above you; you imagine Simon instead.
When morning comes, you grant your husbands wish, and walk the familiar path to Simon’s. It’s early enough you know he won’t be there, sun barely shining through the clouds. Still, when you arrive, you peer through the window, searching for his shaved head just in case.
You don’t know why you feel disappointed when you see a head full of hair.
You give the beef stew a second try. A devotion to cook Simon’s meat better than the markets.
That night, your husband’s not happy when he comes home, slamming the door, and kicking his shoes off. You stay silent, straightening your back, and prepare yourself, turning around with the same tight lip smile.
“Went to the butcher today. Made the beef stew just the way you like it.”
His eyes slit. “Why the hell would you cook me the same dinner?”
You pause where you stand, holding a warm bowl of stew between your palms.
“Well, I thought I was doing something you would like.”
His hand flings forward, smacking the bowl out of your hands. The hot liquid spills down your hands and splatters across your clothes. The glass bowl breaks, shards shattering on the floor, as you gasp from the burn.
“You don’t know shit.”
He stands up, grunting under his breath that he’s going to find dinner somewhere else.
You don’t let yourself cry, not when you have to run cold water over your hands, not while you’re on your hands and knees picking up the pieces of glass, not when you have to scrub the floor, not when you’re left to eat dinner alone.
Your hands don’t even shake when you wash your clothes, steady and focused. Determined for the first time in days.
Your legs take you to the entrance of the butcher shop before you’ve even had time to think or put your clothes in the dryer. Puffing clouds of air with stinging cheeks and ears. You didn’t even put on a coat.
You see him through the fogged glass, big and brute.
He looks up when you walk in.
“Hi.” You whisper.
The corner of his lips curves.
“Hi. How’s your forehead?”
“It’s okay.”
“No concussion?” He jokes.
You shake your head, “Barely a bruise.”
“Glad to hear. What did you need?”
“Nothing.” You say, digging through your bag. “I brought you something.”
He tilts his head.
“I cooked dinner for my husband, but he didn’t want it and well,” You avoid eye contact, placing the container on the counter. “I thought I would pay you back for dealing with my accident the other day.”
There’s a brief pause of silence; it makes your skin crawl, looking up to ramble some more, hoping it doesn’t sound as horrid as it does.
“You brought me the dinner you made for your husband?”
You look at him shocked, lips parting, “Well, that's not how I meant it. I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea—“
You reach for it, but he beats you to it, snatching it from the countertops before you even get a chance.
“I want it.” He doesn’t give you room to disagree.
You just nod, let him lead you to the back again. This time you stand against the steel table. This time there’s no head injury.
“Don’t you get cold in here?”
He chuckles, “Does the princess need a sweater?”
“No,” You ignore the name. “You only ever wear a t-shirt.”
“You don’t have a sweater on either.” He points to your chest.
“Forgot it.”
He raises his brow, but he doesn’t comment on it more.
“Got enough muscle to warm me up.”
You inhale.
“Yeah.”
You look away when his lips curl into a smirk.
“Never had a customer cook me my own meat.” He opens the container, steam rising from the top despite the cold walk over.
“Probably never had a customer smack their head on that glass.”
“Never that.”
You watch him put it to his lips, bare hands and all. You should look away.
You don’t.
It should disgust you, the way he dips his fingers into the broth.
It doesn’t.
You think about your husband, for a split second. You couldn’t even fathom staring at him for more than a few seconds without repulsion curling acidicly in your throat. And yet, you can’t look away from Simon.
He eats like a dog, messy and greedy, groaning around each bite like it’s the best thing he’s ever had. Crooked canines tearing through each piece of meat almost savagely.
A man starved.
It drops down his fingers and chin. Just like it had when you were alone. You swallow around the desire building in your mouth. It’s like you can almost taste him, licking your lips for remnants you might’ve missed.
Your palms are sweaty, despite how cold it is. Flesh practically scorching when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks. You stare wide-eyed and unblinking as he pulls them out with a wet smack.
When he finally looks at you, his eyes are heavy.
You almost forget to breath.
Don’t you know you’re not supposed to feed strays?
joaquin torres who can sense that you’re overwhelmed/not feeling good in public and immediately pulls you on to his lap/into his arms and makes sure you know that he’s there.
I am so fucking tired of rape fics. I am a sexual assault survivor and you sexulise rape. why. why do I work so hard to get better and it all get ruined by some horny asshole just like last time. THESE CHARATERS DONT WANT TO RAPE YOU. rape is horrible, its NOT sexy. its traumatizing. why do you keep talking about it and writing about it. STOP MINIMIZING MY PAIN WITH YOUR DERANGED FANTASIES.
Simon Riley isnt a rapist
Leon Kennedy isnt a rapist
and belive it or not Jonathan Crane ISNT A FUCKING RAPIST
Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader
Summary: You're not the type of person to go clubbing – but Joaquin is pretty good at convincing you to come along with him when he goes. Yet, when an interaction with another man at the club goes badly, Joaquin is there to pick up the pieces and make sure you're okay.
Warnings: Mentions of drinking/clubbing/eating/food as well as a guy at the club being creepy and physically grabbing the readers wrist, causing a bruise.
Word Count: 4.1k
A/N: Here I am with another Joaquin fic! I really love how this one turned out. I honestly wrote it just this afternoon in a few hours, I started it and I couldn't stop working on it. I'm really happy with it so I hope those of you who read it enjoy it, even though it's longer than my last Joaquin fic! Please let me know if you liked it and if you'd like to read more Joaquin from me! 💗
“Did I ever say thank you for coming out with us tonight?” Joaquin says, placing a hand on the small of your back to help guide you as the two of you make your way through the crowd, heading back to your booth where your friends are waiting for their drinks.
He’s been texting you all day trying to convince you to join them tonight – but you are the one member of your friendship group that isn’t into partying and clubbing. It’s always difficult to convince you to leave your house once you’re there.
It never stops Joaquin from trying though. He always enjoys clubbing more when you come out with them. Even just being in your presence is something he loves – whether he’s at a club or anywhere else.
“Oh, just about ten times,” you flash him a grin, trying to avoid bumping into anyone and spilling the drinks. Your friends had been waiting long enough considering how busy the club was.
Joaquin laughs, the sound audible above the loud music in the bar. It’s a familiar sound and one that instantly comforts you despite your unease at being in such a crowded place. “Definitely room for me to improve, then, angel. What do you think?”
“I think, pretty boy, that you could probably benefit from inviting me out somewhere other than a packed club sometimes, simply so I can talk to you without having to yell!” You joke, flashing him a look as you finally get back to the booth where your friends are waiting, placing the tray with all of their drinks on it on the table. They all take their drinks, yelling thank you’s at you and Joaquin as you take your seats again.
“You guys made it!” One of your friends, Cruz, yells out at the both of you.
Joaquin meets your eyes from across the table with a grimace. Cruz is incredibly drunk by the sound of his slurred voice. Joaquin is only a few drinks deep and he’s nowhere near as far gone as Cruz is. You both share an amused smile as Joaquin takes a swig of his beer.
Clubs are not your thing, never have been. It just so happens that you’ve befriended several people that love them – Joaquin being quite the enthusiast. He’s dragged you out to many clubs over the city in the time since you’ve known him. If it were anyone else, you were pretty sure you never would’ve gone… but with Joaquin, you don’t mind it. His presence is comforting, even in such a busy and chaotic atmosphere.
Joaquin is the kind of guy that all the girls and guys in clubs like these like, and on nights like this, you can understand why. The way he looks, a smile on his face as he laughs at something one of your friends says, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from the warm air. He’s effortlessly attractive to anyone that looks at him. He’s so comfortable here. You’ve always found Joaquin attractive, but even you can admit that he looks even more attractive when he’s in a place like this – if that’s even possible.
You take a long sip of your drink – water, having decided early in the night that you were gonna be the designated driver for your friends so that they could all enjoy their night properly.
“I’m just going to the bathroom, okay?” You lean into your friend, Katy, sitting beside you to tell her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll take my phone with me if you need me!”
She nods, a little pre-occupied in a conversation with the guy beside her – someone she’d met earlier in the night at the club and had been with you guys ever since. Your eyes fall on Joaquin briefly, still laughing at something he’d heard, as you stand from the booth.
It’s difficult to make your way through the crowd without Joaquin guiding you, making you feel safe with his hands on you, but you manage. When you see the door to the bathrooms you almost let out a sigh of relief. They’re empty when you finally make your way inside – another relief. Girls at clubs can be nice, but they can also be the entire opposite and it’s nice to have a moment completely to yourself to have a second to breathe.
Once you’re done, you take another long breath before leaving the bathroom, preparing yourself for the walk back through the crowd of people dancing so you can get back to your friends. You walk past the bar first, finding it to be a little less crowded than the dance floor.
It’s louder over this side of the room, the music thudding and thumping since you’re closer to the speakers. It’s probably the reason you don’t hear the voice of someone beside you at the bar trying to talk to you as you attempt to make your way past. You only realise when a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you backwards. You stumble a little, bracing yourself on the edge of the bar, eyes falling on a light haired man sitting on a stool at the bar. The way he’s looking at you already makes you feel uneasy.
“Do you often ignore people who are trying to talk to you, honey?” He says, voice raised enough for you to be able to hear him.
“I’m sorry?” You furrow your eyebrows. “If you said something before, I didn’t hear it. It’s pretty loud in here.” You point towards the roof of the bar where the speakers are.
He laughs, a sound completely opposite to the sound of Joaquin’s earlier. This mans laugh immediately unsettles you and if he wasn’t still holding onto your wrist, you would be gone. But he has an uncomfortably tight grip on it and you doubt he’s planning to let go.
“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, then picks up his drink and takes a long sip of it. “Listen, I don’t appreciate being ignored, okay? I put myself out there to talk to you, so I’d appreciate it if you gave me the same energy in return.”
You swallow, heart in your throat, and attempt to take a deep breath. This is not good. Why had you gone to the bathroom by yourself? Especially on such a busy night in a busy club.
“Okay,” you start. “If you let go of my wrist, I’ll sit down here and we can talk for a bit.” You figure it can’t hurt to try and bargain with him, even though you have every intention of trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible when he lets go.
“How can I be sure you won’t run away? Nah, I don’t think I will let go.” He adjusts his grip on your wrist, pulling you a little closer to him. Your heart starts beating faster as the fear starts to set in.
You risk a glance across the bar in the direction of your friends booth and feel your stomach drop as you realise you can’t see them from here, meaning they can’t see you either. Surely Katy would notice that you hadn’t come back yet and would come looking for you… you aren’t too far away from the bathrooms, so there’s a chance she’d see you on her way… but you know that she’s too occupied with her new man to come looking for you.
This is why you don’t like coming out. This is why you always say no when Joaquin or your other friends ask you to come out with them. And the one time you say yes, this is what happens. You should’ve told Joaquin where you were going as well but you figured it’d be okay – it was just a quick trip to the bathroom, what could go wrong?
Panic starts to rise in your stomach and you try your best to push it down and not let it get the better of you. You know you need to keep yourself calm in a situation like this, especially around a man like this, or things can go south quickly.
“I promise I won’t run away,” you lie, trying not to let your nerves come through in your tone of voice. “But you’re actually really hurting me right now, so I’d appreciate if you let me go. Can we make a deal? I won’t run and you’ll let go.”
You can tell by the look in the mans eyes that he isn’t going to give up this easily. The longer he keeps holding your wrist, the more your breathing starts to get heavier. How can you get out of this situation when he’s not willing to make this deal with you?
A hand gently lands on your lower back and you flinch, just as you hear a soft voice in your ear. “It’s just me, you’re okay,” Joaquin whispers, calming you immediately.
It’s impossible not to let out a breath of relief as your eyes fall on him. He’d come after you. He’d noticed you were gone or Katy had told him you hadn’t come back yet. He’s here. You’re not alone with this man and you know Joaquin isn’t going to leave you.
Joaquin’s hand gently rubs up and down on your back.
“What you’re gonna do right now is let go of the ladies wrist,” he says simply.
You watch as the mans eyes flicker towards Joaquin but then fall back on you, his grip still tight around your wrist. You attempt to step a little closer to Joaquin but it’s impossible to move with him still holding onto you.
“Hey! Eyes over here, man. Not on her.”
The man sighs. “Listen, man–”
“No, you listen to me,” Joaquin steps in-between you and the man, his voice forceful and loud above the music. “What you are going to do right now is let go of her wrist or I am going to break yours right here, right now. And that won’t be all I break either.”
“Okay, sure. You definitely look strong enough to do that, pal,” he scoffs.
You inwardly wince. You know Joaquin is strong enough to do that and worse. He’s a Captain in the Air Force and he’s The Falcon. You’re pretty certain that he could inflict a lot more damage than a broken wrist.
“You wanna find out?” Joaquin asks.
The look on Joaquin’s face must be intimidating because the man finally relinquishes his hold on your wrist. You immediately wrap your other hand around your wrist, holding it to your chest and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through it from his grip.
The man throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes before standing and walking away, further into the crowd of people. Before he’s even disappeared from your view, Joaquin has turned around, his hands moving to take your arm and carefully examine your wrist.
“It’s already starting to bruise… that bastard,” he mutters, his eyes dark. You can hear every word despite the loud music around you simply because of how close he’s moved into your space. “You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I only just noticed you were gone a few minutes ago and Katy mentioned something about the bathroom so I went there straight away but I couldn’t find you.”
The fear and panic in your stomach has gone, now replaced by nausea. You can feel yourself starting to shake, the adrenaline of everything starting to wear off. “Can you take me home?”
Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist, hold you close and leading you out of the bar. He figures he’ll just text your friends once you’re both safely in a cab to tell them where you’d both gone – that and he’s a little annoyed at Katy for letting you go to the bathroom alone. He’s annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner that you’d disappeared.
“I’d drive you home myself but I’ve been drinking, angel,” Joaquin says as the two of you wait for a cab on the sidewalk just up the street from the club. His arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you close. It’s comforting to you, helping you to remember that he’s still there beside you, not going anywhere. “My place is closer, but we can go to yours if you feel up for a longer cab ride.”
You shake your head. “Your place is fine.” You’ve stayed over at his apartment before, several times, both alone and with other friends. His bed is much more comfortable than your own, you’ve learned, since he never lets you sleep on the couch.
“Okay,” he says, rubbing your back gently as the cab pulls up in front of you.
He lets you in first before sitting beside you and telling the cab driver his address. One of his hands holds yours, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth over your skin in an attempt to help calm you down. He can see how uneasy you still feel after it all. Why had he not gotten to you sooner? Not realised you were missing sooner?
The cab ride back to his apartment is silent, as is the elevator ride up to his floor. You wait beside him, arms crossed over your chest as he unlocks his front door and lets you inside first.
“You wanna shower or something?” He asks, closing the door behind you.
“Yeah, I think that’d help,” your voice is small. The sound of it makes Joaquin’s heart hurt.
“You remember where I keep my clothes? You can help yourself, angel.”
You nod, reaching over to gently squeeze his hand again before heading towards his bedroom to get some of his clothes to change into before heading into the bathroom just off of his bedroom.
While you shower, Joaquin kicks off his shoes, steps into the kitchen and starts working on making you something to eat. Something warm, something comforting. He’s become a pretty decent cook over the past few years and cooking for you is one of his favourite things to do. He’s always inviting you over for dinner, which is exactly the reason why you know where he keeps his clothes – you eat, you stay late talking, Joaquin refuses to let you go home when it’s so late at night and he has a perfectly comfortable bed.
His heart almost stops in his chest as he sees you walking out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a shirt. “I know I’ve said this before, angel, but you look damn good in my clothes,” he flashes you a grin.
You teasingly roll your eyes at him as you walk into the kitchen, arms crossed over your chest as you try and suss out what he’s cooking you. “Bet you say that to all the friends you let stay over and borrow your clothes, Torres.”
Joaquin snorts. “Bold of you to assume I have other friends staying over.”
He doesn’t. Even out of your friendship group, you are the only person who’s stayed over in the last several months and especially the only person he’s let sleep in his bed and borrow his clothes. He’s not willing to admit to himself what that really means. Not yet.
“What are you cooking?” You ask, peeking inside the pot on the stove.
“Pozole,” he says, coming up beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. He’s apparently incapable of keeping his hands to himself when he’s worried about you. “It won’t be ready for another hour and a half at least, but I figured cooking you something comforting and warm might be nice. I was already gonna cook it for dinner this week so I had everything in the fridge ready to go.”
“Joaquin, you didn’t have to do that,” you glance over at him. “Really, I would’ve been fine with a cup of tea or a pack of cup noodles. And it’s so late.” You mean it honestly, even though the fact that he’s been prepping everything for this while you were showering sits heavy and meaningful in your stomach. No one ever does things like this for you… except Joaquin.
He shrugs his shoulders and moves away from the stove, hands on your waist so that you move with him. He directs you over to the couch, waiting till you sit down before he puts a blanket in your lap and attempts – badly – to tuck you in.
“What are you doing?” You can’t help but laugh.
“You are gonna sit here for the next hour and a half, till the pozole is ready, put on a movie or something, and just try and relax. And I am gonna sit beside you, once I get changed out of these sweaty ass clothes,” he says, standing back up straight. “I’ll be two minutes, angel!” He calls out, hurrying away from you towards his bedroom.
You smile to yourself as you grab the remote to the TV and try your best to curl up under the blanket. It’s amusing, how quickly things can change. An hour ago, you were in the club with Joaquin, who was having the time of his life, and now here you are, curled up on his couch in his clothes. Your eyes drift down to your wrist, where a bruise is already starting to form, and you wince. That’s going to be painful when it fully forms.
Joaquin comes back out a few minutes later, wearing a similar pair of sweatpants and a muscle tank that causes you to focus on his biceps for much too long. You barely even notice that he’s carrying something in one of his hands.
“Uh, what’s that?” You ask, motioning to the tube.
“It’s cream that’s meant to help bruises,” he says, lowering himself down onto the couch beside you. “I forgot I had it but I bought it for myself not long after I became Falcon. Will you let me put it on you?”
You nod, letting him take your arm in his gentle grip. He squeezes some of the cream onto your wrist and gently massages it in. It hurts already, even with just the slightest bit of pressure, but you try your best to ignore it and focus on the look of concentration on Joaquin’s face. He looks up at you afterwards, catching you staring.
“See something you like, angel?”
You look away, a little flustered, and pull your wrist out of his grip. “Thank you.”
He grins and stands up, heading back towards the bathroom to put the tube away and wash the cream off of his hands. He knew it might not be the right time to be teasing with you, but he had to be – this was the Joaquin you knew, and he could tell that right now, the last thing you wanted was for him to treat you like you were something breakable, like what had happened at the bar was something you couldn’t move past.
“All right, what are we watching?” He says as he walks back to the couch, climbing over the back of it and settling down next to you, resting his arms up on the back of the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “You pick somethin’ good?”
You surprise him by passing him the remote. “You choose. I can’t find anything.”
He almost freezes solid when he feels your head lean down on his shoulder. He lets his arm fall around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest so you can rest comfortably.
“What if I pick something you don’t like?” He asks, trying his hardest not to stare at the top of your head and hope to hell you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, even though you’re laying on the opposite side of his chest.
“Nah, you won’t,” you say. “I like everything you like.”
Joaquin clears his throat and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, what if I put on The Conjuring or something?”
“You wouldn’t,” you mutter, knowing him well enough to know he’s joking.
“What if I’m being serious, angel? What if all I want is to put on a scary movie so you get all frightened and have no choice but to cuddle up to me in search of safety?” He grins.
“Joaquin, I’m already cuddled up to you.”
He pauses. “Okay, well that’s true.”
“Just pick a movie, Joaquin.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You’re thirty minutes into the movie by the time you speak again. Joaquin is invested in the story but the second you speak, his entire attention is on you.
“Thank you for saving me tonight, Joaquin,” your voice is quiet.
Joaquin gently rubs your shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. You don’t have to thank me for anything, angel. You know that, right? I should’ve noticed and come after you as soon as you left. Katy should’ve never let you go to the bathroom alone either.”
He can’t help the bitterness in his tone.
“I didn’t meant to ruin your night, Joaquin,” you mutter, seemingly ignoring everything that he’d just said to you.
Joaquin is quick to sit up straight, making you move from your spot on his chest. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden movement. He gently cups your face in his hands.
“Ruin my night? Angel, you did not ruin my night. Did you not hear anything I just said? In fact, you probably made my night even better than it already was. I mean, c’mon, pozole and being curled up on the couch watching a movie with you is a hell of a lot better than being out in that club without you,” Joaquin admits, his honesty getting the better of him.
You frown a little, eyes clouding with tears. Joaquin is quick to wipe one from your cheek after it falls. His heart hurts at the sight of the tears in your eyes.
“C’mere,” he says, pulling you into his chest again, wrapping his arms around you and letting you cry into his chest. Your arms wrap around him, gripping the material of his shirt. One of his hands rubs up and down on your back in an attempt to relax you. “I always ask you to come out with us cause I enjoy it more when you’re there. I thought you knew that. And I know the clubs aren’t your scene, but I figured you didn’t hate them that much if you said yes to me every now and then. I promise I won’t ask you again, angel. Especially after what that prick did tonight. I almost knocked his jaw in then and there.”
He smiles as he hears something that sounds like a sob like laugh come from you.
“If I ever see him again, I can’t promise I won’t break his wrist, believe me.”
“No, you won’t,” you mutter, pulling away from his hug.
His hands immediately move to your face again, clearing the tears off of your cheeks.
“Maybe I will,” he shrugs.
“You’re too much of a sweetheart for that, Joaquin Torres. I mean… look at everything you’ve done for me tonight. You telling me you’re not a soft hearted person?” You ask.
Joaquin smiles to himself. “Angel, I’m just soft hearted for you,” he confesses. “Now, I’m gonna quickly go check on this pozole okay?” He stands up from the couch, stretching his legs and padding over towards the kitchen – mostly just to make it so you don’t feel obligated to say anything in return.
He’s standing in front of the stove, stirring the pozole with a wooden spoon, when he feels your arms snake around him from behind, surprising him with a back hug. “Uhhh, what’s happening right now?” He asks, pausing his stirring.
“Thank you,” is all you offer in answer.
“Angel, what’s going on?”
You remove your arms from around him so he can turn around and face you again. He’s about to ask you what you’re thinking when you lean up and press your lips to his cheek before bounding back over to the couch without another word. Joaquin stands, staring after you in shock. He feels like his cheek has been burned – in a good way, if that’s even possible.
“Hurry up and finish stirring that pozole, pretty boy!” You call out from your spot on the couch. “I wanna finish watching this movie and my pillow has gone missing.”
Joaquin lets out a small laugh, gives the pozole another small stir and starts walking back over to you. “I suppose I’m the pillow?” He asks, shaking his head. “I’m comin’, angel. I’m comin’.”
kento fully believes communication is key. he does not hesitate to tell you his wants and dislikes, and he expects you to do the same. he understands that people's expectations of others are different, so he wants you to tell him what you like. so, when you told him you loved receiving flowers. you expected him to give you more flowers, but not this much. as you opened the door, you saw a giant bouquet of 1000 rose and kento's head slightly peaking out from the side.
"to make up for the flowers i never gave you," you couldn't see his face, but you could hear from his voice he had a toothy grin.
"ken..." you couldn't form your words as you saw the bouquet in front of you. "it's so..."
"do you like it love?" he asked as if there was another answer except yes.
"yes, i love it!" you wanted to kiss him, but the flowers had prevented you to do so. "come in, put them down!" you taking the flowers, but kento insisted on carrying it inside.
as soon as he set down the flowers on your countertop, you laid your hands on his face, guiding him down to give him a kiss. his free hand slowly creeping around you waist. "i love you ken."
Toji Fushiguro secretly dreams of a domestic life—a life with you and his son, Megumi. He envisions a steady nine-to-five job that keeps him safe, sparing his family he cares so deeply about the worry his previous job brought. He imagines dropping Megumi off at daycare each morning, then coming home to find you both working on his homework, laughter filling the air (and some tears when it comes to his math homework, poor thing)
He longs to drive you both to Megumi's baseball practices and games, cheering proudly for his precious boy, savoring every moment. Peace and happiness are his greatest desires; he dreams of growing old with you, teaching Megumi how to shave and how to treat a partner with kindness.
Family dinners out, then cozy evenings at home—Toji sees you all snuggling on the couch, watching as Megumi drifts off to sleep. He pictures you capturing those sweet moments with your camera, documenting the life you’ve built together. Then he would gently lift Megumi into his bed, tucking him in with care and checking for monsters hiding beneath.
He wants to decorate the house for holidays and learn to cook special meals for you both as a surprise. He wants all of this because deep inside toji is just a big softie… especially when it comes to his family.
This is the thing Toji wants most in life and he’s willing to give up everything for his family to have it.
You come home to find Nanami barely awake, sprawled on the couch with one foot on the floor. A book lies over his face, shielding him from the sunlight streaming through the window. His button-down shirt is slightly rumpled, bunched up just enough to reveal a hint of his tummy. His glasses have slipped off and rest on the floor, forgotten.
The air is warm and cozy, carrying a faint hint of fall that wraps around you like a soft blanket. You can’t help but smile at the peaceful scene before you. Dropping your outerwear and shoes at the door, you creep over to him, kneeling on the plush carpet.
Sitting with both legs tucked beneath you, you gently slip your hand under his shirt so you can feel his warm skin and you rest your head on his chest. You breathe in the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling utterly content. Slowly, Kento begins to stir. You hush him softly, and he responds with a gentle hand resting atop your head, a silent welcome home that wraps you in warmth.
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