don't be afraid to request anything! i dont judge, and i love writing on my free time :) im looking to write a lot more this year; my favorite things to write are angsty things !!
i also do have the right to reject any ideas that i don’t morally agree with or feel comfortable writing <3
characters ill write for: here
robert reynolds (bob, the void, sentry);
dead end - 8 part series - incomplete
keep us here - one shot - coming soon
bite & squeeze - imagine request - complete
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falcon (joaquin torres);
shrapnel of guilt - one shot request - complete
facetime - imagine request - complete
ransom - one shot request - coming soon
zephyr - three part series - might scrap it tbh
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moon knight (marc, steven, jake);
rainy nights - one shot - complete
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spiderman (andrew);
keeping secrets - one shot - complete
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druig (the eternals);
mind control - 3 part series - will not have further updates
Her who held excitement. Her who, even in her deepest insecurity, would continue to spend all her time and money because she had the most of it to give.
To end up on the other side, with less companions than she began. Surrounded by those focused more on themselves, just as she had built them to treat her.
i sadly have no motivation to write, which seems to be an ongoing trend this year. i don’t even fully remember what i was going to do with my bob fic honestly…. but perhaps one day it will meet its conclusion
“your alien boyfriend” this “your alien boyfriend” that. what about your vigilante boyfriend?
your vigilante boyfriend who is honestly (kind of) a bad boyfriend. he misses date nights, birthdays, anniversaries, parties, dinners, and constantly lies to you.
there was this one time he disappeared from the face of the earth for a week. no one knew where he went, and he didn’t warn anyone either. no calls, no texts, nothing. you almost reported him missing before he came by your workplace for lunch, a bag of your usual takeout already in his hands like nothing happened.
he calls you at ungodly hours of the night, begging you to forgive him for being a shitty boyfriend.
if you let those calls ring and go to voicemail, well, now there’s a knock on your window door. and guess who it is? the last person you want to see at three thirty in the morning. your boyfriend.
at least he comes with your favourite flowers and your favourite candy. even your favourite movie on dvd and a kicked, sad puppy look on his face. poor guy.
unfortunately for you, you can’t stay mad at him for long. you really like this guy, and he really likes you too.
you can see past his tardiness and terrible time management because, despite that, he’s honestly a pretty good boyfriend.
and at least he takes care of himself. your boyfriend is super into fitness, and you’re sure he spends most of his free time in the gym, because what else could explain his insane physique? he’s a total gym rat.
there’s this weird thing about him, though, and it’s weird to the point that it has you concerned. he must be prone to injuries or something, because why else would he constantly have bruises or cuts or jags or new stitches?
he must be pretty clumsy. that must be it. but then again, you’ve never seen him trip or stumble once. he barely ever drops anything, and when he does, he’s got quick enough reflexes to catch it. so... he’s not clumsy?
when you ask him about it, he scrambles to answer and tells you he bare-knuckle boxes. actually, he tells you this with the straightest, most serious face you ever seen on him. in fact, he competes a few times a week, so that’s why he’s always so beat up. but you shouldn’t go to any of the meets because he’d hate for you to see him get hurt. duh.
he’s actually really fucking bad at keeping secrets. sometimes he comes home late and tosses himself straight onto the bed with you. you tell him to get off and change out of his outside clothes. and he does, but you can’t help but notice the clothes he’s wearing aren’t... you know, clothes.
you can’t make it out in the dark, but you felt the hard, padded material when he slung half his weight onto you.
and you’re sure you weren’t supposed to find his suit in your laundry basket the next morning.
ive never been accused of anything, but if anyone ever doubts me: i will HAPPILY send you my timestamped wattpad work from 2014-2016.
i overused em-dashes and semicolons so badly back then, y’all. if anything i became more tame ab using them now BECAUSE i have it in the back of my mind that it’s a “red flag” for ai.
summary: you knew what you were signing up for when you fell in love with joaquin. even after he became the falcon, you stayed. the late nights, the injuries, the missions halfway across the world— you stayed for all of it. that is until he lies to you about the stakes of his mission.
pairing: joaquin torres x reader
warnings: mentions of anxiety, mentions of death, mentions of an explosion, lying, crying, our man being a dumdum, slight descriptions of injuries, f!reader. i believe that's it
Y/N was curled up on the couch, blanket draped over her legs, coffee mug tucked between her palms. The morning light streamed through the windows, casting golden beams across the living room floor. She watched as Joaquin knelt by the door, tugging his boots on, his duffel already slung over one shoulder.
"Ughhh, don’t gooo," she groaned, dragging the last syllable out in a playful whine.
Joaquin chuckled under his breath, glancing at her over his shoulder. “You know I have to.”
“I know,” she sighed, setting the mug down. “I just wish you’d stay a little longer.”
He stood up and crossed the room, all soft footsteps and warm eyes. His bag and boots made him look too official. Too far away already. She reached for him without thinking, and he met her halfway, leaning down to press a slow, gentle kiss to her lips.
“It’s just recon,” he murmured against her mouth. “Quick and easy. I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”
She nuzzled against him, her voice muffled in his jacket. “Only two days, right?”
He paused. It was the smallest thing— half a breath of hesitation.
But then he smiled.
“Yeah… two days.”
Her smile lit up instantly. “Okay. Then when you get back, I’m making you dinner and you’re not allowed to lift a finger. And we’re watching that dumb movie you like—”
“Grown Ups is a classic,” he cut in, mock offended.
“—again,” she teased, poking his chest.
He grinned and kissed her again, longer this time, like maybe if he kissed her hard enough he could carry the feeling with him. Like maybe it could shield him from whatever was waiting.
She waved as he backed toward the door. “Be safe, Torres.”
He winked. “Always.”
But his smile faltered the moment the door shut behind him.
His hand gripped the strap of his bag a little tighter.
Because this wasn’t recon.
Not even close.
This was classified international threat level, Sam’s voice tense over the phone when he called last night, “Suit up. It’s bad.”
Joaquin had no business pretending this was easy. But he also had no business scaring the woman he loved half to death. So he lied.
He lied because the image of her on that couch, coffee in hand, planning their movie night—
That was the thing he wanted to come home to.
The thing he had to come home to.
Even if it meant lying through his teeth.
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Y/N wasn’t thrilled about the silence in the apartment, but at least her phone buzzed every now and then.
Joaquin💚 [11:04 AM]Made it. Everything’s chill so far. Miss you already 😘
She smiled, replying instantly.
Y/N [11:05 AM] miss you more!! I’m so bored without you.
come back soon, I’m begging 🧎♀️
A couple hours passed. Another ping.
Joaquin💚 [2:37 PM] paperwork + recon = actual hell. I’ll text when I can, mi amor.
gonna be tied up tomorrow, so don’t worry if I go quiet, okay?
She rolled her eyes, but her heart stayed soft.
Y/N [2:39 PM] okayyy but you owe me cuddles when you get back
I’m talking all day in bed, birdboy
Joaquin💚 [2:40 PM] Whatever you want hermosa 😌
The rest of the day passed as usual. She made dinner for one. Watched an episode of her comfort show. Fell asleep with her phone under her pillow.
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Y/N woke up to her alarm going off. She opened up her phone and sent a quick good morning, knowing he was probably busy and wouldn’t get the chance until later.
Y/N [8:02 AM] hope today’s not too rough. can’t wait to see you tomorrow😽
Hours passed. No answer.
Then, around 5 PM—
Joaquin💚 [4:57 PM] I’ll see you soon, mi amor ❤️
Her whole chest warmed at the sight of it.
She didn’t even question it. It was just enough.
She started setting things aside for dinner tomorrow. Picked out a movie already. Even brought out one of the “fancy” candles she always saved for special nights.
He was coming home. Everything was fine.
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Y/N woke up early, nerves fizzing in her stomach, but she chalked it up to excitement.
She vacuumed. She changed the sheets. She double checked the fridge. She even set out one of his old hoodies for him because she knew he’d come home cold like always.
She texted him mid morning:
Y/N [10:12 AM] can’t wait to see your face again. I miss you. call me when you’re on the way
No answer.
Y/N [1:47 PM] all good?
Nothing.
Y/N [5:26 PM] quino?
Still nothing.
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By 9 PM, she was pacing. The candle lit earlier in the day had burned out. The food was untouched.
Her stomach twisted as she dialed.
Voicemail.
Again.
Again.
Again.
She tried Sam.
No answer.
Y/N [9:57 PM] hey! sorry to bother. just wondering if you’ve seen joaquin?
he was supposed to be back today. I haven’t heard from him.
just let me know he’s okay, please.
She tried to rationalize.
Maybe he got stuck in a debrief. Maybe he was too tired and crashed at the base. Maybe he dropped his phone in a sewer. Maybe.
But by 1:30 AM, she was curled up on the couch with her arms wrapped around herself, heart pounding like a war drum, staring at the door like she could will it open.
Still nothing.
Still alone.
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Y/N’s eyes blinked open before her alarm.
The first thing she did— before stretching, before getting up, before even breathing properly— was reach for her phone.
No new texts.
No missed calls.
No voicemail.
No Joaquin.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. She restarted her phone like it would magically receive texts from him when she turned it back on.
Still nothing.
Her chest tightened, that creeping sort of ache that made her stomach twist. She sat up slowly, dragging the blanket off her legs like it weighed fifty pounds.
She opened Sam’s contact.
Still just the “Delivered” timestamp under her message from last night.
She tried again anyway:
Y/N [6:21 AM]just let me know if he’s okay please. I’m really worried. I won’t ask for details.
Still nothing.
She made coffee, not because she wanted it— her appetite was gone— but because her hands needed something to do. The mug sat untouched as she curled up on the kitchen stool, thumb flicking through Twitter rappidly.
“Explosion in Eastern Europe.” “Rogue enhanced individual stopped in unmarked desert region.” “UN in emergency talks after intel breach.”
Obscure, glitchy livestreams. Reddit threads with two upvotes.
Anything.
Anything at all.
But it was all too vague. No names. No cities. No confirmation. No Joaquin.
Then it hit her—
He hadn’t told her where he was going.
Not the region.
Not the climate.
Not even a timezone.
And Joaquin always told her.
Even when it was top secret. Even when he prefaced it with “you didn’t hear this from me” and made her pinky promise to forget.
But this time?
Nothing.
No clue.
No heads up.
He didn’t talk about it. Just told her that Sam had called and he needed to leave in the morning.
And she hadn't even noticed.
Because she trusted him. More than anyone.
Because he never lies.
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the countertop with a dull thunk.
She didn’t move.
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By now, Y/N had the news playing in every room.
Her laptop screen flickered between cable broadcasts.
The living room TV was on low volume, looping CNN.
Joaquin’s desktop buzzed with tabs full of military leaks and conspiracy forums.
The bedroom TV played foreign news she didn’t even understand, but watched anyway, desperate for a face, a name, a shadow, a voice.
Still nothing.
No knock at the door.
No key in the lock.
No Sam.
No Joaquin.
Her body felt like it was humming with anxiety, but also numb. Her hands were shaking and her jaw ached from clenching so hard, but somehow she hadn’t cried. Not yet.
She was terrified.But she kept telling herself: “He’s okay. He has to be okay. He promised me.”
Then the worst thought of all crept in, slow and poisonous:
“What if he lied because he didn’t think he’d come back?”
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Y/N jolted awake on the couch, heart thudding against her ribs. She blinked into the glow of the still running TV screens, the dull sound of news anchors murmuring across the apartment like ghosts.
Then—
BOOM.A sharp sound from the bedroom TV, followed by shaky handheld footage of a massive explosion lighting up the night sky.
She scrambled off the couch, nearly tripping on the blanket tangled around her legs. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the screen.
A foreign broadcast. Sirens wailing. Smoke thick in the air. Fires roaring behind a blurred reporter’s face.
But that wasn’t what made her knees buckle.
It was the words she barely caught in the flurry of English dubbed over the panic:
“Captain America and The Falcon were seen at the scene—”
Y/N’s mouth fell open. A quiet, broken sound escaped her lips— a sob or a gasp, she didn’t know.
“No… no, no, no…”
She grabbed her phone with trembling fingers, redialed Joaquin again.
Voicemail. Again.
Sam.
Voicemail.
“Please pick up,” she whispered, her voice cracking, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Nothing.
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She launched herself toward the kitchen, snatching up her laptop. Fingers moving too fast to type correctly, she started searching. Anything. Everything.
The articles were vague. Conflicting. Translations were barely coherent. One site said “terrorist interception.” Another said “rogue meta-human engagement.” One mentioned four casualties—“identities unknown.”
Y/N couldn’t breathe.
She physically couldn’t breathe.
She was kneeling on the floor now, laptop open in front of her, chest heaving with uneven sobs as she tried to piece the puzzle together.
He didn’t tell her where he was going.
He didn’t tell her anything.
He lied.
He always told her. Even the top secret stuff. Even just a code word or a timezone.
But this time? Nothing.
And now it had been almost three days.
Three days of silence.
Three days of hoping.
Three days of pretending this was normal when it absolutely wasn’t.
Her voice cracked as she whispered to herself:
“Am I being dramatic? Am I—Is this crazy? This is his job, this is—he’s done this before. He always comes back.”
But it had never been like this before.
Not this long.
Not this silent.
Not after lying to her.
Her hands went to her head as she let out a shaky sob, rocking back slightly on her heels.
She stared blankly at her phone.
Debating.
Whether she should call his mom.
Whether she should call his aunt.
What would she even say?
“Hi… I think your son might be dead, but I’m not sure yet because no one will call me back and my boyfriend lied to me about where he was going and what he was doing and now I haven’t heard from him in three days.”
She almost threw the phone across the room.
The ache in her chest was so deep, it felt permanent now.
She didn’t know what she hated more—
The silence.
The not knowing.
Or the fact that he left her in the dark on purpose.
Because the truth wasn’t just that he might not come home.
It was that, for the first time, she wasn’t sure he wanted her to be waiting.
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The apartment was silent, save for the low hum of a news anchor still murmuring from the living room TV. Y/N lay on the floor, one arm tucked beneath her, cheek pressed to the hardwood. Her laptop screen had gone black, her phone still clutched in her hand, dead from overuse.
The doorknob jiggled.
Then— click.
Keys clinked softly against the kitchen counter. The door eased shut.
Y/N’s eyes flew open.
She shot up, breath caught, heart immediately racing, every nerve in her body screaming. For a second, she thought she was dreaming. Or hallucinating.
But then—
“Hey,” came a soft voice. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Her head whipped toward the sound.
Joaquin.
His silhouette was barely visible in the dark, but she could make out the outline of his duffel bag hitting the floor. He was trying to tiptoe. His boots thudded softly against the wood.
“Longer trip than planned,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Y/N stumbled to her feet, adrenaline crashing through her in waves. She crossed the room in seconds, throwing herself at him before she could even think.
Her arms wrapped around him tight, her face burying into his neck. She felt him flinch— not from her— but from everything else. His ribs. His arm. His busted body. He still hugged her back, good arm curling around her waist.
“You’re okay,” she whispered, like a prayer. “You’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” he murmured back. “I’m here.”
She started to cry softly. Quiet tears against his shirt.
She reached behind him and flicked on the kitchen light.
The relief shattered.
The first thing she saw was the sling.
Then the busted lip. The bruised jaw. The bloody scab on his brow. One eye darkening into hues of purple and black. His knuckles looked like they’d been dragged through concrete. His shirt was half untucked, torso taped up beneath it, bandages peeking out near his waist.
Even clean, he still smelled like smoke. Like fire. Like something had blown up way too close.
Her breath hitched. She stepped back, looking him over, really seeing him now.
He caught her gaze— and had the audacity to smile.
“Hey… it’s not as bad as it looks,” he offered, shrugging slightly, like maybe if he said it casually enough it would land.
Y/N just stared.
And then she snapped.
“You think this is a fucking joke?!”
Her voice cracked the silence, raw and choked.
Joaquin blinked, caught off guard. “Y/N—”
“No!” she snapped, stepping back and fumbling for her phone. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
She shoved the screen at him even though it was dead, her fingers shaking.
“Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past three days? Huh? Reading reports of explosions in Morocco and half translating articles about military operations and body counts! Four bodies, Joaquin! Four bodies they can’t identify and your name is nowhere and I thought you were one of them!”
His smile disappeared. His entire expression shifted— defensive guilt melting into realization.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” he said quietly, voice breaking around the edges.
“I’m your girlfriend, Joaquin!” she screamed, chest heaving, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s literally my job to worry! You think lying makes it better?! You told me it was recon! That you’d be gone two days! And I trusted you—I didn’t even think it was weird you didn’t tell me where you were going because I TRUSTED YOU!”
He stepped forward like he wanted to hold her again, but she stepped back.
“I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I thought maybe you were hurt. Maybe you were dead. I didn’t know if I should call your mom. I didn’t even know where to look. And you come in here— smiling? Like this is just some stupid debrief?”
Her voice cracked then, shattering mid sentence.
“I’ve never felt so alone, Joaquin. Not even once. And that wasn’t a mission, was it?”
A beat.
“You lied to me.”
Joaquin didn’t speak right away. He couldn’t. His throat felt like it was full of broken glass. His good hand hung limp at his side, and the guilt that washed over his face was devastating.
“Y/N…” he whispered. “I didn’t know if I was coming back.”
Y/N’s breath left her like she’d been punched in the stomach.
She stared at him— this man she loved, this man who looked like he’d walked through hell and crawled his way home— and something inside her cracked.
“You didn’t… You didn’t know?”
Her voice was so quiet, it sounded like it belonged to someone else.
Joaquin’s eyes dropped. “It went sideways before we even landed. Intel was wrong. We were already in deep by the time Sam realized what we were walking into. We– we knew it was bad but it wasn’t nearly what we thought it’d be.”
Y/N’s hand went to her mouth. She was shaking again.
“So you knew. You knew it was dangerous. And you still lied to me. You still left me here with nothing.”
“I didn’t want you to live through that fear,” he said. “I didn’t want you waiting by the phone for a call that might not come.”
“I did that anyway!” she shouted, the scream ripping from her throat. “I did that for three days! Do you know what that felt like? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be left in the dark like that?!”
He flinched like her words hit harder than any of the bruises on his body.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he whispered, helpless. “I—I thought if I could just come back, everything would be okay.”
“Okay?!” She laughed, bitter and sharp. “I didn’t need you to make things okay, Joaquin. I needed you to tell me the truth.”
He looked at her like he’d give anything to rewind time. “I thought I was protecting you.”
Her eyes narrowed, heart splintering. “You weren’t protecting me. You were protecting yourself.”
That landed. He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
“Because if you told me the truth,” she continued, voice trembling, “you’d have to accept what it meant. That you might not come back. That you’d leave me behind. And you couldn’t face me knowing that.”
Tears burned at his eyes now.
Y/N stepped closer, voice lower, sharper.
“And the worst part? You made that decision for me. You didn’t even give me the chance to worry, or to help, or to say goodbye if it came to that.”
Her hand hit her chest.
“You left me here with nothing. No location. No team contact. Just silence. And you’ve never done that to me before.”
He looked shattered.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, barely audible. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I thought—I thought if I told you, it would just make it worse. I didn’t know what else to do.”
She exhaled shakily. “I’m not asking you to stop doing your job, Joaquin. I know what this life is. I knew it when I fell for you. But if we’re doing this— really doing this— you don’t get to shut me out when it gets hard. You don’t get to protect me by disappearing.”
She paused. Her voice cracked.
“Because I don’t want the version of you that only loves me when it’s easy.”
Joaquin didn’t say anything right away.
He just stood there, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, like he was trying to swallow back everything that wanted to pour out of him.
Y/N watched him, arms crossed, tears still clinging to her lashes. She was furious. Heartbroken. Done, if he didn’t give her something real.
His good hand went to his mouth, thumb grazing his busted lip. Then it dropped again, and his whole body seemed to sag beneath the weight of what he’d done.
“Y/N…” His voice cracked on her name.
She didn’t move.
He took a step closer, shoulders trembling.
“I thought I could do it,” he said. “Go out there, get it done, come home to you and pretend like it was just another mission. Just like always.”
His voice broke again. He laughed, miserably.
“But it wasn’t. It wasn’t like always. I saw shit out there that I’m never gonna be able to unsee. People screaming. People—” He stopped, jaw locking, tears welling behind his eyes.
“I thought I was gonna die. Like— I really, truly believed I wasn’t coming back. And all I could think about was you. About what I’d leave behind. About how I never told you— never gave you a chance to decide if you wanted to stay with someone who could be gone in a blink.”
Tears started spilling now, slow and hot. He didn’t wipe them away.
“I was so fucking scared, Y/N,” he whispered. “Not of the mission. Not of dying. I was scared that if I told you the truth, you’d realize this wasn’t the life you wanted. That you’d wake up one day and decide it wasn’t worth it.”
She shook her head, but he kept going.
“And that’s not fair. I know it’s not fair. I made that call on my own. I didn’t trust you to love me through the scary parts and you always have. That’s on me.”
He stepped forward again, close now, looking at her through wet lashes, shoulders shaking.
“I messed up. I messed up so bad and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But please, baby— don’t walk away. Don’t give up on me.”
His voice cracked as he choked out:
“I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Y/N stood there, arms still crossed tight over her chest, tears flowing freely now. Her lower lip trembled as she stared at him– bruised, crying, desperate.
She’d wanted him to break. She just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.
“Don’t you ever shut me out like that again,” she whispered.
Joaquin nodded so fast it almost looked like a sob. “I won’t. I swear to you, I won’t. I’ll tell you everything— I’ll never lie to you again, I promise, just— just don’t leave.”
She reached for him.
Finally.
And the second her arms wrapped around his neck, he collapsed into her like his whole body had been holding itself up on guilt and adrenaline and her forgiveness was the only thing keeping him standing now.
He cried into her shoulder. Full on cried. The kind of cry he hadn’t let himself feel in years. His knees buckled, and they sank to the floor together.
And Y/N just held him.
Because even though she was still hurt, still raw—
She loved him.
Even through the scary parts.
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The bathroom filled with steam, the tub half full and still running, the scent of lavender drifting into the air. Y/N sat on the edge of the tub, carefully checking the water temperature. Joaquin stood just inside the doorway, his body bruised, his arm still in a sling, looking at her like she was the softest, strongest thing he'd ever seen.
“You don’t have to do all this,” he murmured.
She looked over her shoulder. “Yes, I do.”
And something in her voice— soft but sure— shut down any further argument.
He let her help him undress. He let her steady him as he stepped into the warm water. Let her kneel beside the tub and wash the dried sweat and battlefield off his skin with slow, soft movements.
He melted into her touch.
Let his eyes flutter shut as she ran the cloth gently across his shoulder, his ribs, behind his neck.
No talking. Just breathing. Just existing in the same space again.
He leaned back in the tub, good arm reaching for her hand.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.
Y/N squeezed his fingers. “You’re lucky I’m not holding that against you right now.”
That earned the smallest smile. Still bruised. Still tired. But real.
By the time they made it to the bedroom, the sun was starting to peak at the horizon behind the curtains.
Y/N helped him into one of his softest shirts, then into bed. They collapsed onto the mattress together, limbs tangling naturally like they always did. The room was dark, the A/C humming, blankets soft. It was the first time either of them had truly relaxed in days.
They were bone deep tired, but wrapped in each other, hearts still beating loud and close.
Joaquin lay on his back, Y/N tucked in close, her hand flat over his chest. His fingers lazily traced shapes on her spine.
It was quiet, and then Y/N whispered, “I’d never leave you.”
His hand paused.
“Not even when you took the wings. Not when I started seeing your face on the news. Not now. Not ever.”
He turned his head toward her. “You scared the hell outta me, you know that?”
She looked up. “You scared me first.”
He leaned down, kissed her— slow and tender, his lips ghosting over hers like a vow.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed against her mouth. “For lying. For putting you through that. I just… didn’t realize what I had until I thought I’d lose it.”
She kissed him again, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “Well. Now you know.”
He nodded slowly, voice quieter, heavier. “This is all I want. You. Us. Our life. Even the quiet stuff. Especially the quiet stuff.”
Y/N pressed a kiss to his chest. “We’re not on a timer, Quino. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you have to fly halfway across the world… I’ll be right here when you get back.”
He swallowed thickly, his arms tightening around her.
And then, just as his breathing started to slow, his voice cracked through the dark one more time—
“I can’t wait for you to be mine… really mine.”
Y/N blinked, propping herself up slightly. “Wait—what?”
Joaquin, eyes already closed, mumbled: “not telling where I hid the ring.”
author's note: i need to give him a hug. this is inspired by that remix going around on tiktok of all night x tyrant by beyonce LOL i heard it and i was like "...wait"
also i feel like this man would def lie to you about something like this at least once in his life cause he wouldn't want you to worry about him🙄 he means well but he's kinda dumb. i still need him tho
somebody PLEASE !!! send me your best frank castle fics, im feening.
bonus points if he’s possessive, angry, or defends reader. bonus points for hurt/comfort. i prefer plot over smut, but i don’t mind if a fic has it. I do prefer a slow burn tho!!!
