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fireside-fanfics · 7 days ago

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Meant to Be

The night was quiet in D.C., or as quiet as it ever got. The hum of streetlights mixed with the faint throb of a jazz station leaking from a rooftop three blocks away. From the high-rise office window, the city looked glassy and distant, a reflection of something that had already happened.

She barely noticed.

Fingers flying across a holographic interface, she blinked only when necessary, scanning lines of coded data faster than most people read sentences. Her shoulder twitched slightly when the door behind her hissed open, but she didn’t turn around. Only one person ever walked into her office without knocking.

“You missed dinner,” Joaquin said, voice light, teasing, but not without a note of concern.

“You ate enough for both of us,” she replied, still not turning.

He chuckled. “Still doesn’t mean that I wanted to eat alone.”

Now she looked, spinning her chair with that quiet, surgical grace that always made people sit up straighter. Her gaze found him instantly—like she’d known exactly where he’d be standing before he arrived. She always had.

“Tell your stomach I’m not apologizing.”

Joaquin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slight pout forming just to annoy her. It didn’t work. It never did. She rolled her eyes and giggled, the teasing facade dropping instantly like it always did. He always had that effect on her.

They’d known each other since the day they were born. Literally. Same hospital. Same hallway. Their parents had been in the delivery rooms next to each other, yelling across the corridor like lunatics and placing bets on who’d be born first. Joaquin won by four minutes. He never let her forget it.

They grew up in each other’s pockets—matching scars, matching detentions, shared baby teeth in the same glass jar at Joaquin’s mom’s house back in Arizona. When one got chickenpox, the other did. When he broke his arm falling out of a tree, she cut her palm trying to climb it to help him.

She’d always been sharp-eyed and quiet, a tongue like a whip when she chose to speak. Joaquin was louder, bolder—filling up the silences she left behind like it was his calling. Where she was an edge, he was a cushion. Somehow, it worked.

And now? Now they were working for Captain freakin’ America.

“She’s been in there all day,” Sam had said earlier that evening, passing Joaquin a plate of brisket at the team dinner. “Tell her the world can wait five minutes.”

Joaquin had just nodded at Sam. He was used to it—watching her dive headfirst into a codebase like it was a battlefield. It kind of was in its own way, just ... digital.

He stepped further into the room now, leaning down beside her desk. “You’re burning out your retinas again.”

“That’s not how eyes work.”

“It is when you don’t blink for two hours.”

A corner of her mouth twitched—barely—but for him, it might as well have been a full smile. Joaquin leaned closer, tapping the edge of the screen where a rapidly shifting schematic flickered. Glancing at her, he asked, “Is that a heat map of the facility in Latvia?”

She nodded, adjusting in her seat. She gestured towards the other rolling chair next to her and Joaquin sat next to her.

“Someone’s running dummy data across their security feeds,” she said. “It’s messy but smart. Government-level protocol, buried in low-budget noise. They’re hiding something.”

He whistled low. “You’re gonna crack it before breakfast, huh?”

“Already did, babe. Just working on how to prove it without triggering their failsafes.”

Joaquin looked at her for a long beat. Not the screens. Not the scrolling data. Just her. Hair in a messy knot, eyes rimmed with the faintest exhaustion, posture too stiff for how long she’d clearly been sitting.

“You remember that summer your dad caught us sneaking beers from the cooler at your cousin’s wedding?” he asked suddenly.

That made her blink.

“Of course,” she smiled, eyes glazing over like she was reminiscing. “You pretended to pass out so he wouldn’t yell at us.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” he grinned. “He just made me mow the lawn hungover the next morning.”

“You were so dramatic, Quino,” she exhaled, the ghost of a laugh flickering across her face.

“You liked it.”

“I still like it… I love it.”

They stood like that for a while. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It never had been. They’d learned to speak without speaking, to communicate in glances and shifts of breath. It had confused people for years. Roommates. Coworkers. Even their instructors in basic training. Everyone always asked—Are you two together? Joaquin used to answer, “Not really.” She used to say nothing at all.

It wasn’t until after they’d made it through basic, pinned with the same wings, dusted off and stitched up from their first real deployment, that something shifted. No big confession. No fireworks. Just one night in the barracks with the lights off, his hand finding hers under the sheet. No fanfare. Just a soft realization and quiet like it had always been there.

She stood now, stretching, her back popping. He grabbed the protein bar off her desk and tore it open, handing it to her.

“You’re gonna take a break,” he said. “Because if you code yourself into a coma, I’ll have to carry your smug, underfed ass all over Europe.”

“You always carry me,” she quipped, taking the bar with a smile.

Joaquin looked at her sharply. She didn’t say things like that out loud, not often anyway.

“Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “And you always carry me.”

She broke the bar in half and gave him the bigger piece. Another wordless habit. Joaquin took it, chewing slowly, watching her reboot the screen so it projected onto the far wall. Schematics exploded into 3D above them, brilliant and overwhelming—but not her. She stood right in the middle of it like she was built for this.

And maybe she was. His partner. His storm. His silence. His beginning.

She caught him watching and with a mouth full she asked, “What? Why are you looking at me like that, Quino”

“Nothing,” he replied with a wide smile. “Just glad you were born.”

“You say that every year.”

“I mean it every year.”

This time, she didn’t look away. Just reached out and tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing his torso.

“I’m glad you were born too, Torres,” she muttered.

He stilled under her touch. Not because it surprised him—it didn’t. They didn’t need declarations, but when they came, they always landed like thunder: quiet from a distance, earth-shaking up close. A beat passed. Then two.

Joaquin moved first, stepping into her space like he always had—easy, unhesitant. His forehead came to rest gently against hers, and for a moment, the world outside the glass and the code and the weight of their jobs disappeared. There was only the low thrum of the city, the soft blue glow of the schematics, and the familiar rhythm of her breathing.

“Do you ever think about how weird it is?” he murmured. “That after everything—school, deployments, all the chaos—we’re still here. Still us.”

She let her eyes close, just for a second. “It’s not weird. It’s inevitable.”

He smiled again. Smaller this time. Softer.

“Inevitable,” he echoed, like he wanted to keep the word for later.

And maybe that was it. Maybe that was the whole point. They were forged in tandem: childhood, basic training, combat, code. They spoke the same language in different ways—him through warmth, her through precision. It had never been about finding their way to each other. They’d always been there.

She pulled back enough to glance at the screen behind him—still flickering, still demanding attention—but for once, she didn’t turn toward it. Instead, she turned toward him.

“Come on,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Walk with me.”

“Where to?”

“Nowhere important.”

He nodded, already reaching for the jacket she’d forgotten was draped over the chair behind her. Held it out like he always did. They left the room side by side, the way they always had. No ceremony. No announcement. Just two people born on the same day, raised in the same dust, who had somehow, against all odds, made it through war and wires and loss—and still walked in step.

Still inevitable.

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joeliz99 · 5 months ago

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The Warmth of You- Danny Ramirez

Description: (Y/N) is overwhelmed, caught between exhaustion and self-doubt, but Danny reminds her that she doesn’t have to carry it all alone in a quiet night filled with warmth, music, and understanding.

Warnings: RPF, Fluff.

GIF Credit: @lesbiradshaw

The house felt unusually quiet on that Friday afternoon, the kind of stillness that seemed out of place when both Danny and (Y/N) were home. She had been going through a tough time lately, and her usual cheerful self seemed to be fading. Danny knew she needed space, and he was more than willing to respect that. But, deep down, he couldn’t just stand by and let her face it by herself.

The sun was already setting when she finally stepped out of their room, Danny calling for her a second time. She followed the sound of his voice, instinctively heading toward the kitchen as the smell of food floated toward her. As she rounded the corner, Danny turned his head from the stove, just as he finished the pasta. He turned the music down a notch to be able to talk to her.

"I'm almost done here. How’s it look?" he asked, a small grin tugging at his lips.

(Y/N) took a step closer, her eyes scanning the dish as he plated the second one.

"Look at you," She offered him a half-smile, "You decided to step it up this time. Looks great."

Danny flashed a smug smile in return, happy to see her smile, even if it was just a little. He handed her the plate, his voice playful. "Don't sleep on me, baby. What you learn right, you never forget." He tossed the towel over his shoulder, then grabbed his plate with one hand and a couple of drinks with the other.

"Come on," he said, nudging her toward the balcony.

(Y/N) followed him, a little confused as to why he was leading her outside instead of to their usual dining area. But as they reached the balcony, her confusion faded into surprise. He had transformed the space into a cozy little setup — a coffee table, the small sofa, and a couple of blankets arranged perfectly, creating a warm, intimate corner.

"Wow," she spoke softly, stopping for a moment to take in the scene. The last light of the setting sun bathed the space in a soft orange glow, casting gentle shadows over everything. It was quiet and peaceful.

Danny smiled, placing her plate down on the table and taking a seat on the couch. "I figured we could hang out here. It’s been a while since we did something like this."

He knew how much she loved watching the sunsets, and while they didn’t always have the luxury of enjoying them at the beach, they had found a place where they could at least catch that golden hour every now and then.

(Y/N) smiled, truly touched by the effort he’d put into making this moment feel special.

"This is really nice... Thank you," She settled beside him and crossed her legs while he handed her the food.

As they both settled into the cozy setup, the faint hum of the city below them was the only sound besides the occasional clink of their plates. Slowly, the golden light faded as the sky darkened, being replaced by the twinkling city lights. The soft sound of music played in the background, creating a comforting rhythm as they ate, the melody weaving its way through the air, adding a layer of calm to the moment.

Danny occasionally cracked a joke about how the whole dinner thing was turning out better than he expected, and (Y/N) playfully rolled her eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips. It was nice to have moments like this, the simple act of sharing a meal providing a sense of normalcy.

When they finished, he took their empty plates and set them aside, still humming to the music as he moved around the kitchen. (Y/N) didn’t say much, content to sit for a moment and let the evening sink in before Danny returned to her side and sat back down next to her.

The girl kept her eyes trained on the view, her thoughts drifting to places she hadn’t visited in a while. She felt the weight of everything she had been holding onto — the stress, the quiet sadness she hadn’t shared with anyone. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep it to herself; it was just hard to explain.

Danny, sensing the stillness in her, leaned back against the couch. Without a word, he shifted, making room as he laid down on the other side, and gently encouraged her to stretch her legs out. She hesitated for a second, but then did as he suggested, resting her legs across his lap. He mindlessly began to soothe one of them, his hand moving in soft circles as he waited for her to speak, giving her space but showing he was right there, present.

After a long moment, (Y/N) sighed softly, breaking the silence. She shifted slightly, her voice quiet, but steady. "You know," she began, "I think I’m burned out… I’ve been doing so much lately, always trying to get things done and it never seems like I’m doing enough." Her fingers absently traced the rim of her glass, her eyes not quite meeting his.

"It’s been hard to shake off. And honestly… I don’t even know if it’s worth it anymore. I mean… I’m trying to build something for myself, but it feels like everything’s slipping away. Work’s been a mess, and I’m barely holding it together. I don’t even know if I’m doing right by my family anymore." She paused, looking away, her throat tightening slightly. "I’ve spent so much time away from them, trying to prove I can do it… but at what cost? It feels like I’m losing control over everything I’ve worked so hard for."

Danny’s expression softened as he heard the vulnerability in her words. He could see it — the exhaustion, the frustration that had built up. His hand never stopped moving in slow, reassuring circles, and he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her more closely. "I get it. I really do. But you’re trying to carry so much on your own. No one can do that forever."

She let out a shaky breath, her voice thick with emotion. "I don’t even know how to let go of it all, though. I’m scared that if I do, everything I’ve been working for will just... disappear."

Danny shook his head slowly, his voice steady, but firm. He was a man who didn’t mince words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. "Look, (Y/N), I know how much you care and how you’re determined to build something great for yourself and for us. But let me tell you something — you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You’re not a machine, and you’re not meant to do this alone." He paused, giving her a moment to take in his words before continuing. "What’s the point of all the success, if it means you’re losing yourself in the process? And what’s the point if you don’t have the people who love you around to share it with? You don’t have to do everything perfectly, and you sure as hell don’t have to do it to prove to something to yourself or anyone else. I’m here, every step of the way, just like I’ve always been, and I’ve seen the wonders you’ve done with so little in your hands. You’re a doer, always been… But I need you to trust that it’s okay to rest and lean on me, and on the people who care about you whenever you feel like it.”

He shifted to face her, his gaze softening as he spoke, but there was strength in his words. "I can’t tell you what the right decision is. Only you can figure that out. But I’ll be here to support you, even when you don’t have it all figured out. That’s what we’re supposed to do for each other. And you know what? It’s okay to let go sometimes. It doesn’t mean you’re giving up or that everything’s falling apart. It just means you’re human."

(Y/N) blinked, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that, or how much she had been holding back. For the first time in a while, she felt the tight grip she had on her thoughts loosen a little.

Danny closed the distance between them, wrapping her in a tight embrace that she immediately reciprocated, her head resting against his chest. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles down her back, offering comfort without saying a word. There was nothing more to do in that moment—just be there, present for each other, and that alone was enough.

A familiar melody drifted through the speakers, low and steady in the background.

Danny recognized it instantly. It was one of his favorite songs—one she had introduced to him years ago in the middle of a record store.

He could still picture it vividly: her eyes lighting up as she flipped through vinyls, excitement spilling from her lips as she pressed a pair of headphones over his ears. That was the moment he really saw her. Not just as his best friend, not just as someone he cared about, but as something more—someone who felt like home.

And now, years later, that same song played between them. Danny glanced down at her, a quiet thought forming before he acted on impulse. Without hesitation, he rose from the sofa, his hands slipping to the curve of her back as he gently pulled her with him. She gave him a confused look, but he only smiled, guiding her into movement, slow and effortless, swaying to the deep rhythm of the music.

"I'm not about to waste this opportunity," he murmured, his grin widening when he saw the corner of her lips twitch up. His hands found hers, lifting them to rest on his shoulders, while his own slid down to her waist, keeping her close.

“Remember this song?” he asked, his voice laced with nostalgia.

Her expression softened as she nodded. “Of course I remember… Why wouldn’t I?”

They moved in sync, their bodies close and their steps unhurried. It was intimate in a way that words couldn’t quite capture—something between them that had always been there, something unspoken yet deeply understood.

There was a time when this moment had been nothing more than a distant dream, a quiet wish. Now, it was their reality, theirs to hold onto whenever they wanted.

As the song neared its end, Danny’s movements slowed, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his gaze flickered over her face. He dipped his head, his lips brushing softly against her cheek, trailing a path along her jaw, lingering at the birthmark just above her lips—one of his favorite details about her.

His hands moved with an ease that came from knowing her so well, gliding gently over her body as if committing every curve to memory.

When his hands found their way to the sides of her neck, his thumbs resting just below her jaw, she instinctively tilted her head up, her breath catching in anticipation.

Danny studied her for a brief moment, his expression unreadable—until his thumb ghosted over her bottom lip, and he finally closed the space between them.

The kiss was slow, deliberate. A deep, lingering exploration that held no urgency—only purpose. His lips moved against hers in a rhythm that felt like second nature, savoring the way she softened beneath his touch. His hold on her grew firmer, pulling her just that little bit closer, grounding them both in the moment.

There was something about the way he kissed her—like he had all the time in the world. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be, nothing else he’d rather be doing than this—than her. The lazy drag of his lips, the way his tongue barely brushed against hers before retreating, teasing, deepening the kiss just enough to leave her wanting more.

And maybe that was the point.

When they finally parted, her lips were swollen, her breath uneven, her fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to steady herself. Danny took in the sight of her, his own breathing slightly heavier, his hands still cradling her face like she was something fragile, something precious.

She sighed, a soft, content sound that filled the space between them.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice tinged with something raw, something deeply felt. "For everything."

Danny smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His voice was quiet but certain as he murmured, "That’s why I’m here, baby… You’re never alone in this, not with me around."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary before pulling her back into his arms. And as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, she finally let herself believe it. That no matter what happened—no matter how heavy life got—he would always be right there, holding her through it all.

————————————

Just a quick little idea of something I couldn’t get out of my head. Soon there will be a new part for “You, Always.”

Still wanting to read more? Here are some other Danny's shots to read. You're welcome!!!!

#danny ramirez #danny ramirez fic #danny ramirez x (y/n)#danny ramirez x you #danny ramirez x reader #fanboy #joaquin torres #fanboy x reader #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #danny ramirez fluff #danny ramirez gif #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres fic #mickey garcia

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annasfantasies · 4 months ago

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Sneaky love

/Joaquin Torres x fem!reader

ALL CREDITS GO TO THE AUTORS OD THE PHOTOS

Pairing: Bodyguard!Joquin Torres x Stark!fem!reader

Summery: cute scenes with your secret boyfriend who also happens to be you bodyguard

Warnings: fluff, nicknames (babe, beautiful, sweetheart), all Avengers are alive, some suggestive content

Word count: 1461

masterlist

ENGLISH ISN’N MY FIRST LANGUAGE

I hummed as I snuggled up to Joaquin. His warmth surrounded me in my bed, soft light illuminated us from the tv opposite the bed.

His hand brushed through my hair, I could hear his heart beat under me as I laid on his chest.

"Will you stay here tonight? Please?" I looked up at him. His curls were falling into his face as he thought.

His hands moved to hold my cheeks, his thumbs stroked my skin. "What if someone comes in?"

I leaned into his touch. "They have mission right in the morning. No one will come here, babe."

Joaquin has been my bodyguard for a while now and no one knows about us yet, so we've been sneaking around. It's not that hard since we have rooms on the same floor with the others living on different one or somewhere else.

"I don't know. What if?" He raised his eyebrows and brushed a strand of my hair behind my ears.

I shrugged my shoulders and licked my lips. His eyes automatically fell on them. "And?" I bit my bottom lip and leaned up on my arms, hovering over him.

He shook his head and grinned up at me. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know?" He pulled me closer, our noses touching.

"And why is that?"

He nudged me with his nose, his hand moved to the back of my neck before he finally kissed me.

I looked around the room while waiting for my drink at the bar. My dad threw yet another party. The bartender placed a drink in front of me. I thanked him and took a sip of it before looking to my right at Joquin who was already staring at me.

He was wearing dark dress pants and silk creamy shirt, the first few buttons were undone showing his upper chest. His curls were perfectly defined, some were falling down his face. My hands itched with desire to touch him, fell him.

My cheeks turned slightly red as he watched me. "What?" I tilted my head, trying to be intimidating.

He shrugged his shoulders and licked his lips. "You're pretty tonight." He mumbled, his cheeks mirrored mine.

I raised my eyebrows and shook my head. "What if somebody heard you?" I moved closer to him. "What would they say about my bodyguard complimenting me? Hmm?" I licked my lips and took another sip.

He chuckled and shook his head. "That we are very good friends?" He leaned against the bar.

I bit my bottom lip before answering. "Oh yeah, yesterday we did a lot of friendly activities."

I smirked when I saw his cheeks turn even deeper colour. He tensed a little bit and opened his mouth to say something but the words got stuck in his throat.

I turned on my heel and walked away. I could hear him following me so I sped up my pace. I walked out of the large room into some hallway and just when I turned around a corner he pressed against some door.

His hands mover to my face, one holding my cheek and the other moved some hair out of my face. "Hi, beautiful."

"Hello Mr. Bodyguard." I beamed up at him. My hand found the handle of the door and pulled at it, causing us to fall in some small room.

I stumbled over my heel and let out a squeak. Luckily, Joaquin caught me before I hit the floor, taking me into his arms and closed the door with his back. He cradled my form in his arms and pulled me closer. "You're gorgeous, sweetheart."

"Thank you." I mumbled and laid my head down his shoulder into the crook of it before inhaling his scent. "You smell good."

He chuckled and buried his face into my hair, giving me soft kiss. "I missed you." I could hear a smile in his voice.

"We've been together all day." I chuckled and tightened my grip on him. Ha hands sneaked under the shirt causing him to yelp and tens up. "What's wrong?" I raised my head and looked up at him, playing innocent.

"Your hands are cold." He narrowed his eyes at me, sizing me up with his gaze.

I opened my mouth to defend myself but then an idea popped in my mind.

My hands sneaked around to his stomach, goosebumps forming under my touch. His eyes widened as he tried to get away from me. I moved lower only for him to catch my wrists. He said my name strictly, I giggled.

"What?" I tilted my head to the right and looked at him with my best puppy eyes. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Sweetheart." He opened them again.

"Hmm?"

He shook his head, releasing my hands but trapping me in his arms. "You're impossible." He mumbled before leaning down and kissing me.

The sunlight hit my face as I turned in my bed making me groan. I raised my head and looked at the clock that was on one of the bedside tables. Before I even found the clock I saw large bouquet of tulips and a note next to it. My face lit up as I shuffled closer.

I reached out and took the note, it said: "Good morning, sweetheart. I had to go to train with Sam, but I home you like the flowers. I love you, Joaquin."

My cheeks got redder and the smile on my lips got bigger. I bit my lip and hopped out of the bed. I ran to the bathroom and got ready before going to the training room.

As I walked in I saw the two men practice on a mat. "Hi guys."

They stoped and greeted me back. Joaquin's eyes lingered a little more on me, we made an eye contact before he winked at me. I smiled at him and went to the back.

I got on a treadmill I as watched them fight again, Joaquin was shirtless, sweat dripping down his chest, his curls were disheveled and falling in his face. My heart started racing as I watched him.

Suddenly I tripped over my own feet, flying right to the ground. I groaned and sat up. "Are you okay?" I looked up to my left to see Joaquin kneeling on the floor next to me. His hands already on me checking for any injuries.

I signed and nodded. "Yeah, don't worry." I smiled at him before getting up. "I just fell."

"Yeah, maybe you should stop staring at your bodyguard." Said the man who I forgot was there.

My head whipped out in his direction, my eyes widened and cheeks turned red, again. "I... I wasn't staring." I was but he doesn't need to know that. He just nodded with disbelief painted all over his face while gathering his stuff before leaving.

Joaquin turned back to me, furrowed eyebrows in worry and a frown on his lips. He took my face into his hands, moving my whole head around to check me again. I giggled and his face wrinkled even more. "What's so funny?"

I beamed at him while planing his cheek. He leaned into my hand unconsciously while still holding me. "Nothing, you're just so cute while worrying about nothing."

He scoffed and shook his head. "It's not nothing. You fell, what if you broke something?"

"Then you would have to carry me around. I wouldn't mind." I shrugged my shoulders and started to get up. But before I could fully straighten up he swept me off my feet, carrying me in bridal style. I let out a yelp, my arms flew up around his neck to steady myself. He chuckled at my reaction, his eyes were crinkled from his smile. "What are you doing?!"

He hold me closer and tighter. “Carrying you, sweetheart.” He started walking towards the entrance.

Once we were in his room he laid my body down on his bed and sat next to me. He cupped my face, his thumb stored my cheek. “I like to have you in my bed.”

I raised my eyebrows and smirked. “Oh?”

He shook his head and licked his lips before answering. “I didn’t mean it sexually.” He game me one of his soft smiles. One of the smiles filled with warmth and affection, one that reaches his eyes, little wrinkles around them. “I love having you in my room, with me. I love you.”

A blush crept over my cheeks and a soft smile spread across my lips. I reached up for him and pulled him closer. “I love you too.” I pressed my lips against his. The kiss was soft enough to make me melt into his palm and let out muffled sigh.

A/N: hey guys! This took me longer than it should have bc I ran out of motivation to write it bc of school but it’s done finally!! Not my best work but I hope you guys like it❤️ don’t forget to like, reblog and comment, thanks!

#annasfantasies #mcu joaquin #joaquin torres x stark reader #joaquin torres x stark!reader #joaquin torres x avenger #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #mcu #capitan america brave new world #cabnw #danny ramirez #danny ramirez fluff #danny ramirez x avenger #danny ramirez x reader

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casedclosedbyb · 4 months ago

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A Week of Joaquin's House-Sitting Adventure

Joaquin Torress x reader

Fluff

Summary: Joaquin Torres agrees to house-sit for your while you're away for a week

Wc: 495

You walked through the door of your apartment after a long week away, the familiar scent of home filling your senses. Everything was just as you remembered it—until you got to the corner by the window, where your beloved fake plant sat. The plant that you were *very* certain didn’t need any water at all.

Your eyes narrowed as you took in the scene. There it was, sitting upright as always, perfectly placed in its pot. But next to it, you noticed something unusual: a small watering can, now half-filled with water, resting on the windowsill. You couldn't help but laugh.

You shook your head, already imagining what happened. "Joaquin," you called, loud enough for him to hear from the living room.

Joaquin looked up from his seat on the couch, his face splitting into a nervous smile. "Hey, you’re back!"

You walked over to the plant, poking at the leaves gently. "So, you *did* water it. The fake plant. Why?"

Joaquin stood up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I didn't want to disappoint you," he said with a crooked grin. "I thought maybe you’d be sad if you came home to a dry plant, you know? Figured I'd take care of it the best I could."

You stared at him, trying to suppress a smile. "It’s fake, Joaquin. It doesn’t need water. Ever."

He raised both hands in mock surrender, his grin growing wider. "Look, I wasn’t sure, alright? I mean, what if it was secretly a *real* plant and I missed my chance to keep it alive? That would’ve been awkward."

You laughed outright now, shaking your head. "Joaquin, you water *real* plants. Not the ones that are basically plastic and fabric."

He stepped closer, shrugging exaggeratedly. "Well, I just didn’t want it to feel neglected! It was in the corner all by itself, so I figured a little splash of water wouldn’t hurt." His voice dropped slightly, teasingly. "Better safe than sorry, right?"

You couldn’t hold back your grin anymore. "You really went all in on this one, huh? I can’t believe you thought a *fake* plant needed watering." You walked over to the kitchen and grabbed the small watering can from the windowsill, lifting it for emphasis. "What, were you planning to drown it or something?"

Joaquin’s face flushed a little, but he couldn’t help the light chuckle that slipped out. "I mean, I guess I was prepared for any situation," he said, leaning against the counter. "Better to overdo it than underdo it, right?"

You leaned against the counter, eyes still glinting with amusement. "You’re lucky you're adorable, Joaquin."

His grin softened, and he stepped toward you, pulling you into a hug. "I tried, okay? I just wanted to make sure you didn’t come home to a mess. And, you know... I kinda missed you."

You smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Next time, I’ll take care of the plants. You can handle the other stuff—like, I don’t know, maybe the actual *house-sitting* duties?"

He chuckled softly, kissing your forehead. "Deal. No more watering fake plants, I promise."

You both stood there for a moment, enjoying the quiet and warmth of the moment. Joaquin might not have been the best at house-sitting, but the effort was there—and that, you thought, made him perfect in his own way.

36 notes · View notes

peterparkive · 21 days ago

Text

hover | j. torres

｡𖦹°‧ synopsis: you just want to enjoy one good night out with your friends, your boyfriend, and some dangerously good cocktails—but some guys never learned to take a hint. luckily for you, joaquin’s never been shy when it comes to reminding everyone that you’re completely and utterly spoken for

-> pairings: falcon!joaquin torres x fem!reader

-> disclaimers: fluff, cursing, post cap 4 and thunderbolts (but in my fic, we don’t suffer through a sambucky fallout), no use of y/n, established relationship, slightly suggestive, use of pet names (baby, love, etc), protective joaquin, flirting from unwanted parties, kate and yelena being annoyingly loving bffs, reader lowkey just wants to rip joaquin’s clothes off

-> word count: 4k

-> song rec: jealous by nick jonas

-> a/n: no thoughts, just danny ramirez in the karol g music video, dear god. that, and joaquin’s hands on your waist like they’re permanently branded there

Sam Wilson had outdone himself.

The rooftop venue was stylish and vibrant, perched high above Brooklyn with a view overlooking the New York skyline as the setting sun glowed a soft orange and pink. String lights hang overhead, casting a golden glow over the crowd and mixing with the soft rainbow of colors emitting from the DJ’s strobe lights beside his booth. Mellow beats spilled out into the early party, weaving through the laughter and chatter of the guests.

The bar, which is the “real main attraction” according to Yelena, is polished. Expert bartenders and mixologists reside behind the counter, crafting concoctions that are named after Sam himself and his close inner circle; “Captain’s Courage,” “Redwing’s Glide,” “The Winter Sour,” and the one you’ve been most excited to try, “Falcon’s Flight.”

Nearby, low velvet couches and cocktail tables form islands where heroes, intel, and allies lounge, swapping stories and drinks.

It was Wilson’s idea for an after-mission-party, to recognize the collective effort of merged teams in retrieving an important object overseas. While the party was originally for Avengers, inner operatives, and close friends or family, the guest list extended vastly to people who work behind the scenes and now mingle among Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

It isn’t a gala or a press event, but a celebration—a rare night to unwind and have some fun after weeks of chaos and work.

Stepping through the glass doors to the rooftop and beneath an intriguingly big archway of balloons, you are engulfed by loud conversations and the hum of music.

At your sides, Yelena and Kate take in the sight with just as much surprise and wonder. Yelena’s eyes sparkle with mischief and Kate’s with disbelief.

“Fancy,” The blonde widow says, scanning the scenery. “I’m already planning on starting a fight near the DJ booth.”

“You gonna want me to break it up?” You mumble, unable to take your attention off of the elegant decorations and deliciously warm scent of drinks in fancy glasses.

“I want you to record it.” She says right back and you both snicker quietly. “Seriously though, don’t wander off far. I need you by me the whole night if I want to survive this thing.”

“Don’t listen to her. You should wander far,” Kate teasingly nudges you with her elbow and nods in the direction of the bar. “Especially wander towards him.”

Your gaze follows hers to the center of the room where Joaquin talks with Bob and Sam, that casual smile plastered on his face as he speaks.

He’s clad in black slacks and a loose white button up sleeve, save for the top few buttons that he’d purposefully left undone for some unknown reason (not that you were complaining). His curls are prominent on his head and a singular gold chain dangles from his neck. You snap your mouth shut at the sight, willing yourself not to drool. He looks incredible and you struggle to understand how he gets more and more handsome everyday.

“Don’t be shy now.” Kate says playfully.

“She is shy. Look, her face is getting warm.” Yelena jokes, raising her eyebrows with a smirk.

“It is not.” You snap.

“Yes, it very much is.”

“Shut up.” With a roll of your eyes, you turn towards your best friends. “How do I look?”

“You look good.” Kate nods confidently and Yelena hums in agreement. “Irresistible, even.”

“Thank you.” You breathe gently before twisting around in your black heels.

Straightening your shoulders, you adjust the straps to your black mini dress that cuts off mid thigh, revealing just enough leg to be considered scandalous. You inhale sharply because you find yourself suddenly nervous to greet your boyfriend even though you’d literally seen him merely hours ago at work. With as much self-encouragement as you can muster, you make your way to him through the crowd.

Joaquin’s gaze finds you immediately, pulling away from the conversation the second his eyes land on you. His smile widens on his cheeks, and he excuses himself from his friends to start off towards you.

“Mi amor,” He hums with a small tilt of his head as his eyes scan your outfit from top to bottom. “You look gorgeous.”

The feeling of his eyes on you—drinking you in like you’re a glass of wine—is enough to make your knees buckle beneath you. You never quite learned how to keep your composure around him. “Quin, you look so handsome.”

“It’s not too much?” He asks, placing his arms on your waist to tug you closer.

You shake your head with a small hum, hands gliding up the front of his shirt to fiddle with the unbuttoned buttons. “Not too much—too little.”

He makes a deep noise of satisfaction at your comment, a smirk curling up at his lips. “You like it?”

“Of course I like it.” Your hands slide up to his shoulders before gently wrapping around the back of his neck to pull him close.

With his lips now hovering against yours, he says, “Did it just for you.”

“Oh.” You tease. Then his lips connect with yours, pressing you into a singular kiss.

Whatever he’s been drinking tastes sweet in your mouth and you hum at the flavor. The kiss, though short, is passionate and you both figure you could stay forever that way. Though, as much as you want to, you can’t kiss in the middle of the crowd all night, so you pull away with a sweet smile.

He groans playfully at the lack of your lips on his.

“Later.” You say, adjusting the collar to his shirt.

“Can’t wait for later.” He mumbles with a sideways smile.

Joaquin always gets painfully soft around you, though he isn’t far from it normally. His clinginess seems to skyrocket whenever he’s in your proximity, needing to keep his hands on you no matter what the two of you are doing. You always joke that he’s like a puppy in that way because he’ll follow you around everywhere, if it means he won’t have to be without you.

“You gotta try,” You smile, gently running your hands through his hair to fix it. “Right now, we’re celebrating you.”

“And you.” He quickly corrects. “We couldn’t have finished the mission without you, baby.”

As Mission Intel Lead, you aren’t necessarily a hero like your friends and boyfriend are—shining under the spotlight and prying cameras of the press—but you’re extremely important in your own way. While everyone else’s boots are on the ground, you’re feeding them information through their earpieces, from tactical layouts to enemy movements. You’ve earned a reputation as the sharpest mind behind the scenes and there’s a chance that if a mission goes smoothly, it’s because you’re two steps ahead of everyone else the whole time.

“Says you, Mr. Falcon,” You smile, dropping your hand to his so you can give it a light squeeze. “I wanna try the drink Sam named after you.”

“Oh, you wanna drink me?” He raises his eyebrow. “Querida, say the word and we can leave right now.”

With a small eye roll and a gentle tilt of your head, you grin, “You wish.”

“I do,” He nods. “I really do wish.”

“Joaquin.” You laugh lightly and he does the same, watching your smile brighten.

The sound of footsteps grows louder in your direction and you both pull apart to watch Sam, looking as fancy as ever in a black and white tux, maneuver towards you with a knowing smile.

“Well, hello,” Sam smiles, tugging you into a side hug the moment he sees you. “Was wondering when you were gonna show up so lover-boy over here would stop looking over his shoulder for you.”

“Was not.” Joaquin sheepishly smiles, the apples on his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“You were too,” Sam points. “Which is why I hate to break this up, but we’ve got people asking about you, Falcon.”

“Right now?” He asks.

“No, tomorrow,” Sam sarcastically comments. “Yes right now, man.”

“Okay, okay,” Joaquin quickly turns back to you, his hand squeezing the side of your arm gently. “I’m gonna go take care of this, then I’ll find you. Or you find me. Either one works. You gonna be alright?”

You grin at his soft rambling, nothing out of the ordinary for him. You reach up, adjusting the chain on his neck so it sits flat. “Of course, my love. I’ve got Kate and Lena waiting for me.”

“Tell them I said hi.” He leans down to press a fast but sweet kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

You hum, reciprocating his smile before he and Sam take back off into the crowd. Just as you’re turning around to walk back to your friends, they beat you to it, joining you at your side.

“You two are disgusting.” Yelena says.

“Disgustingly adorable.” Kate corrects.

“No, pretty sure I just said disgusting,” Yelena jokes, her voice monotone.

You roll your eyes before grabbing onto both of their hands. “Come on, I need a drink.”

“I second that.” Kate perks up, letting her hand go limp as you drag her and Yelena off into the direction of the free bar.

The three of you do just that—huddled at the bar like self-appointed critics, spending your first hour of the party sampling every custom drink and pretending you have the credentials to back up your reviews.

“I wonder if Bucky actually had any say in what his drink tasted like,” you muse, happily sucking the last of your drink through the straw. “‘The Winter Sour’ is just…so sour.”

“I doubt it,” Yelena replies, swirling the remnants of her own drink. “I overheard him and Sam arguing about the name on the phone the other day. Bucky thought it was a personal attack.”

You and Kate both break into quiet laughter, muffled behind your cups.

“Okay,” you say, placing your empty glass down with conviction. “I know what we’re trying next.”

Kate clocks your determined stare at the drink menu and quickly downs the rest of her cocktail like a dare was issued. When the bartender glides over, you confidently order three “Falcon’s Flight” —no hesitation.

The drinks arrive moments later, a trio of vibrant ombré cocktails glowing like the same sunset just outside the windows. Shades of orange and pink swirl together beneath rims coated in glittering chili sugar, catching the light like something magical.

“Oh, this is good,” Kate murmurs with wide eyes, blinking through the surprise of the spice. “Like, dangerously good.”

Yelena takes a tentative sip and immediately grimaces. “Ugh. It’s too sweet.”

You just grin, cradling the glass. “Well, it is Joaquin’s,” you say, taking a much more enthusiastic sip.

Kate nods thoughtfully, glancing around at the other drinks on nearby trays—neutral tones of yellow, white, and pale gold. The others barely hold a candle to the pink hue glowing in your hands. “Explains the color choice.”

“I think it’s delicious.” You say with a shrug.

“That’s because you think he’s delicious.” Yelena teases, downing her drink anyway.

“Gross.” Kate mumbles.

“I do.” You say without shame.

You’re halfway through the sugary concoction when the empty space on your right grows occupied.

Landon. A tall blonde with blue eyes that have a habit of lingering in places they don’t belong. He works in the tech logistics division of the team, one of the behind the scenes brains who helps coordinate comms. He’s a smart guy, useful too, but he carries himself with far too much confidence for someone whose greatest heroic feat was troubleshooting encrypted routers.

You’ve run into him a few times—in the hallway, during briefings, on awkward elevator rides—but you never spoke to him directly. You did notice, though, the way his gaze focuses too long on the office secretaries as they pass or the way he watches you tie your hair up when it gets too hot. Tonight, he looks painfully aware of his own smug reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar.

“Ladies,” He says smoothly, sliding beside you with a drink in his hand and a smile that was clearly trying way too hard.

Kate offers him a polite nod, Yelena blinks once in response and you sip your drink slowly, hoping he’ll just greet you all and move on.

Wishful thinking.

Quickly and almost like it was first nature, he launches into some ridiculous joke that claims the three of you are “Earth’s Mightiest Threat,” which earns a pity-laugh from Kate and a blank stare from Yelena. Out of social habit, you give him a sympathetic smile but then you’re already looking past him to determine what drink you’re ordering next.

“You really pull that off,” he says, tone slick with something he drunkenly probably thought was charm. His eyes drag down your body in a slow, deliberate sweep that makes your skin crawl.

You shift uncomfortably, glancing between him and the other girls in the hope that maybe—maybe—he wasn’t talking to you. But then his gaze lands right back where it started: you.

“Me?” You ask, more out of sheer confusion than anything.

“Yeah,” he says and you immediately resist the urge to gag at the smell of alcohol wafting from his breath. “That dress looks good on you.”

You pause, the need to cringe coming naturally in his presence. Far too polite for your own good, you give him a nod that doesn’t even qualify as a thank-you.

“I know.” You reply, already turning your attention back to the bar and reaching for a napkin that you didn’t need.

Anyone in their right mind would have heard your snappy, hostile remark and automatically back off, understanding that you’re so clearly not interested. But, either it’s the drinks or simply a lack of social awareness, Landon is not catching the drift.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” He asks.

With a few blinks of disbelief at his utter determination, you sass, “We’re at a party with a lot of people so probably not.”

Your sarcastic comment went right in one of Landon’s ears and out the other. He smiles with a confidence that might've made you think he won the lottery. “Right,” He smacks his hand down on the table, standing with pride. “Catch you later, ladies.”

The moment he finally walks away, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “God, he was wasted.”

Yelena and Kate remain silent for a beat before the latter raises her eyebrows with a smirk. “Oh, he wanted you.”

“Told you, you look irresistible.” Kate adds.

“What?” You reply a little too quickly. “No, he was flirting with all of us.”

“Oh, come on,” Yelena scoffs. “He was not, his eyes were on you the whole time.”

“Ew, gross.” Your stomach twists in disgust.

“He’s always like that at parties,” Kate points. “No sense of awareness when it comes to flirting with girls, let alone ones in committed relationships.”

You nearly shudder at the lingering discomfort of his shameless flirting. “Whatever, he won’t come back.”

“Oh, believe me,” Kate arches her brow. “He’ll try.”

You let out a small scoff and shake your head, trying to brush off the feeling. In an effort to shift the energy, you joke, “He’s always so quiet in debriefings. That might’ve been the first time I’ve ever heard him speak.”

Your friends laugh too, Yelena bringing her drink up to her mouth for a sip. “I know right.”

“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” Kate chuckles.

The night carries on, warm and electric with the kind of celebratory buzz that made every second of that mission feel worth it.

You stand near the bar surrounded by your friends—Kate, Yelena, Sam, Bob, Bucky, and Joaquin—conversation flowing easily between the group, full of laughter, jabs, and the type of energy that only came after completing a mission together. Joaquin has his arm loosely wrapped around your waist while he chats with Bob, the casual touch a quiet but grounding reminder of his presence.

You’re mid-laugh, fully invested in whatever chaotic story Sam and Bucky are trading off telling, when the soft vibration of your phone buzzes from inside your purse. With a curious frown, you pull it out and glance at the screen—your smile falters slightly at the name lighting up the display.

“I’ve gotta take this,” You turn to Joaquin, holding it in front of him. “Work.”

He tilts his head, concern stretching across his features. “I can go with you.”

Quickly, you shake your head, not wanting your small phone call to take away from his celebration. “No, it’s fine, love. Just five minutes. I’ll be back, yeah?”

Without pressing, he nods and gives your hand a soft squeeze before letting you go, despite how much he ached to hold onto you longer.

You weave through the crowd, slipping out of some glass double doors and onto an empty balcony, where the music grows muffled and the night air chills your warm skin. You lean against the balcony ledge, answering the call with a hushed voice as you speak.

A few minutes pass of your boss speaking through the phone about something that could’ve easily been passed on through an email, and you’re wrapping up the conversation when you feel company—unwelcome but, unfortunately, familiar.

“Work calling?” A voice asks, just near your shoulder.

It wasn’t the second time Landon tried to make an advance towards you, again. He’d done so earlier when you and Kate stumbled off to the bathroom, the man opting to wait outside the door for you to come out. Only, you shot an “S.O.S” text to Yelena who distracted him to give you and Kate enough time to sneak back outside, in between heaps of giggles.

You tense, lowering the phone the moment your boss hangs up. “Yeah,” You blink at Landon, taking a small step away to increase the distance that he is so clearly trying to minimize. “Always seems to when I’m having fun.”

“I get that,” He nods, voice slightly more slurred than the last time he spoke to you. “Enjoying the party then?”

“Was.” You say quickly, hostility rolling off your tongue.

“I can keep you company.” He presses, shrugging his shoulders casually.

With a sharp inhale, you glance up at the night sky and hope it’ll give you the strength you need to not kick him in the ankles with your heel. “No thanks. I was just about to head inside anyways.”

“I’ll go with you.” He responds.

He is unbelievably relentless and somehow even more oblivious. Kate had been right; his persistence is quiet, but annoyingly steady. It’s not like you’re trying to entertain him or give him anything to work with either. You just hope he’d be socially aware enough to pick up on the vibe—or complete lack of one, to be correct.

“Landon,” you twist towards him with a shake of your head. “I have a boyfriend.”

And you’d think it would stop there.

Wrong.

“How come I haven’t seen him?” His shoulders drop, bottom lip pushing out from beneath his top one with a look that tells you he really just doesn’t care.

Despite the fact that you’d been with said boyfriend all night, the man in front of you was clearly too drunk to tell the difference between flirting and flat-out disinterest.

You open your mouth, preparing to curse him out, when soft footsteps sound from behind the two of you.

“You’re seeing him now.”

Joaquin.

His voice is calm but cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth it usually carries. You turn, relief washing over you like a wave as he stares down Landon. He looks different, not angry but protective as his eyes narrow and he walks towards you.

With ease, his hand instinctively settles on your waist, his thumb tracing gentle circles as if silently asking, ‘are you okay?’

You nod up at him, and his gaze shifts back to the blonde beside you.

“Oh, Torres,” Landon says, straightening his posture despite the tension radiating off him. “I didn’t realize you two were a thing.”

Joaquin practically scoffs.

Bullshit.

Everyone knows you two are together—he makes sure of that. Your boyfriend treats you like you’re every star in the galaxy wrapped into one, making it hard for him to stay grounded when he’s with you. He isn’t shy about showing it; loud in the best way, and more importantly, proud. There isn’t a single person in that entire building who doesn’t know he’s yours.

So he reads Landon’s lie right through his horribly fake white teeth.

“You need something, man?” Joaquin asks with a faux friendly tilt of his head, as his cheeks grow read with a jealous heat.

Landon blinks, pushing himself off of the balcony with pursed lips. “Just saying hi.”

Joaquin lets out a laugh—one obviously forced and sarcastic, but equally as hostile. “Yeah, you’re the third guy tonight who’s tried to corner her just so he could ‘say hi.’”

A warm flush spreads through your stomach at his words and the way his hand massages your hip protectively. You can’t take your eyes off him, studying the side of his face as his jaw clenches—whether consciously or not. His eyes aren’t dark, but they hold a sternness that warns the blonde while quietly reassuring you.

Landon, who seems to finally catch the hint, raises his hands in mock surrender and begins backing away. “Alright, alright, my bad. I’ll go.”

Joaquin nods once, slow and easy. “Right.”

Taking the hint, Landon retreats quickly, weaving through the crowd to put distance between himself and the two of you.

When he’s finally gone, you allow yourself a deep exhale as your shoulder muscles loosen. Joaquin turns towards you fully, his hand gently brushing your arm.

“You good?” He asks, eyebrows knitting in concern as he scans your face for any sign of discomfort.

You can’t help but smile up at him, the action coming instinctively. You don’t say anything, only nod your head as an answer. Your silence, accompanied by the way you stare up at him with sparkles in your pupils, makes him still.

He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk of suspicion as he side-eyes you. “What?”

“Nothin’.” You hum simply, reaching down to tangle your hands in his. “I was trying to get rid of him all night, y’know?”

Joaquin nearly grumbles at the mention of Landon. “I know. It’s not your fault, baby,” He spares a glance in the direction of the door where the other man has disappeared. “He should know better. They all should.”

You watch the way his scowl contorts into something similar to a frown.

“Is it not obvious that I’m your boyfriend?” He asks, his lips puffing out in a pout that makes you want to lean up and capture it between your own lips.

“Oh, believe me, they know,” You answer, reaching your hand up to run it gently through the curls on his head. “I just don’t think they care.”

He scoffs but his eyes are on you now, watching your face like he can’t be bothered looking anywhere else. “I’ll kick all of their asses.”

You hum out a noise of satisfaction, raising your eyebrows. “I’d like to watch that.”

“You would?”

“Mhm,” You smile. “You’re pretty hot when you’re jealous.”

His shoulders straighten, like your comment gave him an automatic confidence boost. “I am?”

You nod your head, fingers trailing down the sides of his face to brush over his soft skin gently. “You got all serious and scary. I never see you like that.”

“Cause I’ve got no reason to be,” He says, letting you run your fingers over his face like you’re just desperate to be that close. “Except for when weird guys flirt with my girl all night. I mean, I was right by you for half of them, that’s just ridiculous.”

A small giggle leaves your mouth, hands dropping to find his hands again. You twist one of the rings on his thumb, eyes blinking up at him with such admiration, you thinks you might explode.

Joaquin treats you with a kindness and devotion you once thought existed only in romance novels and movies. He worships the ground you walk on, and in moments like this, when every glance and touch is focused on your comfort and safety, you can’t help but feel like royalty.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, watching your gaze flicker across his face.

With a small shrug of your shoulders, you respond simply, “How lucky I am.”

“I see,” He nods, a playful smile stretching across his cheeks. He brings your hands up to his mouth, taking a moment to place a soft kiss on the back of each one. “I’d actually like to argue that I’m the lucky one. Clearly, every other guy thinks he’s got a shot, but I’m the only one who gets to hold you,”

A smirk curls up at your mouth, as you watch him plant kisses on your fingers like you’re a delicately crafted statue that he doesn’t want to risk damaging.

“I’m the only one who gets to kiss you,” His lips against your skin sends a vibration of goosebumps across your body. “To make love to you.”

Warmth pools at the bottom of your stomach, his words igniting a heat that only Joaquin is capable of bringing to life. Your teeth find the corner of your inner cheek to chew on. “Quin,”

“Not much of a competition between me and them, right, mi amor?” His voice is sultry and flirtatious as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. He’s teasing you because he knows exactly what to say to make you squeeze your legs shut and leave you wanting more.

You’d take him right there if you weren’t publicly exposed thanks to the glass doors that revealed the two of you to the party like an open book. Instead, you squeeze his hand and tug him closer, chest lightly bumping against yours. “I’m yours.”

A hum leaves his mouth, his beautiful curls dropping over his forehead as he looks down at you. Completely enamored by the loving haze dancing across your eyes like smoke, he smiles, his arms finding their spot on your waist again. “Good.”

His fingers trail across your back, with a light touch that tells you he was doing it on purpose. It has your breath rattling in the back of your throat, burning with a thirst only he can quench.

“You wanna head back inside?” He asks, casually and composed.

You want to scold him for his blatantly obvious taunting. He knows what he’s doing and he’s doing it well. “You’re gonna get me all riled up and then ask if I wanna go back inside?”

Joaquin raises his eyebrow in an effort to pretend he hadn’t been whispering sweet nothings on purpose. “What do you mean?”

With a roll of your eyes, you nudge him on the arm. “You’re an asshole.”

He laughs, the sound warm as it bounces off of the balcony and through the chill air of the night. His smile nearly reaches his eyes, impossibly gorgeous in a way that makes you smile too. “I’m your asshole.”

“Ew.” You whine, but hold him close to you anyways. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How else am I supposed to say it?” He grins, head dipping to press a gentle kiss to the side of your cheek.

Your eyes flicker shut in satisfaction, just as his small path of kisses trails to your lips. When your mouths press against each other, you’re humming into the kiss, holding him there with a hand behind his neck.

The kiss is sweet—hungry—but sweet, how it always is with Joaquin. You kiss each other like it’s the first time you’ve ever done so. No matter how many moments your lips have met, they move in a unison that makes every shared exchange feel fresh and youthful.

You never get tired of it. It’s a pleasure that comes with a fervent beating of your heart and a bubbling of your stomach, like your insides are made out of the same sparkling champagne you’d long abandoned inside. Kissing him—being with him—makes you feel light on your feet, like you’re floating on Cloud 9.

“My girl.” He mumbles against your lips as the two of you slowly part.

“Always.” You say, leaning back to look at his face.

He licks his lips, playfulness glinting in his eyes. “You taste like sugar.”

You giggle as you grab his hand to begin tugging him back inside the party where all of your friends are waiting—Yelena, who you promised you wouldn’t abandon that night, likely more impatient than the rest.

“You’d know,” You respond. “I’ve been drinking ‘Falcon’s Flight’ all night.”

He lets you drag him, following behind like a puppy. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You laugh. “Shut up.”

1K notes · View notes

blank-potato · 14 days ago

Text

From New York To D.C.

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Thunderbolts!Reader

Summary:

“Joaquin Torres,” he says smoothly, offering a handshake. His voice is warm, confident, and you can't lie, it makes you feel a little tingly. The Falcon. You weren’t living under a rock; you knew exactly who he was. You’d seen him on TV, soaring through the sky beside Captain America, pulling off impossible saves like it was just another Tuesday. What you weren’t expecting was to see him up close. And of course, he was even hotter in person. And now you were supposed to keep your cool? Life’s unfair. You hesitate only a moment before taking his hand. “I know,” you say, your voice a touch too honest. That earns you a small laugh, which you mentally pat yourself on the back for. “Fan?” he asks, eyebrow lifting in amusement. You try to play it cool, despite the fact that your brain is short-circuiting. “Something like that.” Or You're both on different Avengers teams, but when you hit it off at a gala, you start sneaking around.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, making out, implied smut but no smut, late night phone calls, teasing, mutual pining, sneaking around, getting together, love confessions, getting caught, rooftop date, texts from the new avengers group chat, reader breaking and entering for Joaquin...twice

WC: 6.7k

A/N: Might be obsessed with Joaquin Torres right now. The crush I have on Danny Ramirez is actually driving me to madness. Enjoy the product of said madness.

***

Galas were the worst. Stiff suits, fake smiles, and enough small talk to make your brain melt. But the whole team had to show up to these things. Public events, fundraisers, whatever would help. The New Avengers’ reputation was still… rocky, and good PR was something your squad desperately needed.

You’re at a charity gala in D.C., standing near the hors d'oeuvres table, staring down a plate of shrimp like they’ve personally betrayed you. Everyone had disappeared off somewhere, so you were left on your own with nothing but time.

You’re so lost in your own misery that you don’t even notice someone reaching past you to grab one. Your eyes follow the hand up the arm, to the shoulder, and finally to a face. A very handsome face. He doesn’t look at you at first, too focused on choosing between the shrimp and some kind of crostini.

But then his gaze flicks to you, and stays. You’re so happy it does, even if you’re halfway to melting by the time he’s opening his mouth.

“Joaquin Torres,” he says smoothly, offering a handshake. His voice is warm, confident, and you can't lie, it makes you feel a little tingly.

The Falcon. You weren’t living under a rock; you knew exactly who he was. You’d seen him on TV, soaring through the sky beside Captain America, pulling off impossible saves like it was just another Tuesday.

What you weren’t expecting was to see him up close. And of course, he was even hotter in person. And now you were supposed to keep your cool? Life’s unfair.

You hesitate only a moment before taking his hand.

“I know,” you say, your voice a touch too honest. That earns you a small laugh, which you mentally pat yourself on the back for.

“Fan?” he asks, eyebrow lifting in amusement.

You try to play it cool, despite the fact that your brain is short-circuiting. “Something like that.”

You collect yourself, ready to give an introduction. “I’m—”

“I know who you are too,” he interrupts, a glint of something teasing in his eyes.

You smirk. “Keeping tabs on the competition?”

“Competition? Not quite.”

“Oh really?” You step in just a little closer, just enough to make it obvious. Your eyes meet his, and there’s a flicker of tension. But you invite it, a little tension never hurt anyone.

He grins, cocky and unbothered. “Yeah… because we’re the actual Avengers.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing playfully. “I don’t know about that, Torres.”

He laughs, and you feel it in your chest, a warm ripple that makes this whole awful gala suddenly seem a lot more tolerable.

“I know we’re on opposite sides of this lawsuit,” he says, a playful lilt in his voice, “but… do you want to dance?”

He nods toward the dance floor, offering you his hand. You know you probably shouldn’t take it; there are rules, professional boundaries, and logic, but there’s no saying no to those pretty brown eyes of his.

“Just don’t drop me on my ass,” you mutter, slipping your hand into his.

His hand is bigger than yours, warm and steady. It makes you feel… safe. Which is ridiculous and borderline embarrassing considering you’ve known him for all of five seconds. But that’s just the Joaquin Torres effect.

As the music wraps around you and your bodies move together, close enough to blur lines, you tilt your head up and smile. “You’re not a bad dancer.”

He chuckles, effortlessly keeping in rhythm. “I’ve got some moves.”

You raise a brow. “Just on the dance floor?”

He looks at you like he already knows you’re trouble, and before long, the smirk he tried to hold back finally wins.

“In some other places too.”

He spins you with ease, pulling you back into him in one smooth, practised motion. He was too good.

“You might’ve just made my night, Torres.”

He glances at you, arching a brow. “Is that right?”

You lean in, voice soft against his ear, “Between the mindless small talk and repetitive conversations, it’s nice to talk to someone that actually interests me.”

His breath catches, heart hammering, but he doesn’t back away. A burst of confidence then makes you guide his hand lower, to the small of your back, and feel his fingers press in a little more firmly, holding you there.

“You interest me too,” he says, casually.

You have no idea if you’re doing a good job of being super hot and super mysterious or if you’re playing right into his hands but either way you interest him.

That’s a good thing, right?

When the song ends, the room's energy shifts, but neither of you moves right away. Joaquin's thinking, you don't know what about, but you swear in that moment you’d never wanted to know anything so bad.

“Want to go to the balcony?” he asks.

You blink, surprised but smiling. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” he teases, tugging you gently toward the nearest door. You walk with him, weaving through the crowd, but your gaze stays locked on his. He moves smoothly, like he knows just where to step. Meanwhile, you’re trying your best not to trip over your feet; you feel completely lost in him.

Is this what love at first sight is? Turning into a mindless idiot?

You get out to the balcony being able to see all the night lights flickering in the distance, the stars out in full force tonight.

Letting out a sigh of contentment, you notice Joaquin staring at you and only you, the view from the balcony couldn’t concern him less. You were the main attraction.

“You’re looking at me a certain type of way…,” you murmur.

“Can you blame me?” he says softly, opening the door and guiding you outside, into the night.

He leans casually against the railing, eyes still locked on you like he couldn’t dream of looking anywhere else.

“I was just thinking,” Joaquin says, voice low and sincere, “I’ve seen some pretty incredible views flying over the Grand Canyon, New York at sunset…”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “And?”

He tilts his head, grin softening into something more earnest. “None of them made my heart race the way you do.”

You should’ve known something like that was coming. But still you bite your lip, fighting the smile tugging at your cheeks. “God, you’re smooth.”

“Only when I mean it, and I mean every word.”

“You’re going to make me do something I regret,” you admit.

It wasn’t a lie. If he kept looking at you with those pretty eyes and talking to you with that voice of his, you’d pounce on him right here, right now. Important senators, dignitaries and politicians be damned.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might too,” Joaquin says. You swear he can read your mind, or maybe you were drooling right in front of him and just didn’t realise.

“So, you wanna go somewhere more private?” he suggests, and you’re a little surprised he beat you to it.

Somehow, those words are enough to make something inside you give way. A dam breaking. A match struck.

As soon as he said that, you briskly made your way to the nearest empty hallway and started trying to devour each other.

You press him back against the wall, the distant hum of gala music barely registering anymore. His breath catches, hands hovering at your waist like he’s not sure if this is real, or if he should hold back.

“You wanna— are we doing this?” he asks, still not quite believing that he’s gotten himself into this situation.

“Yeah, we’re doing this.”

You loosen his tie a little, not even trying to tease him and pull him for a sloppy kiss. You needed him now, fuck being mysterious. You find yourself smiling against his lips when you feel him grip the fabric of your clothes to press your body against his. The kiss grows messier, hotter, as if the two of you are trying to make up for every second you spent not trying to eat each other's faces.

Your breath is shaky when you finally look up at him, his eyes are blown wide, hair messier, lips parted so beautifully. He might just be the death of you. You might just drop dead right now, in the middle of this gala, and your biggest regret would be that you never got to have sex with him.

“You…,” he breathes out, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

What did he think he did to you?

You tilt your head slightly, smirking. This was doing wonders for your ego. All this from him, and after one dance, was insane, but the chemistry was undeniable.

“I could say the same about you,” you murmur, your fingers brushing along his jaw. “One dance and you’ve got me sneaking around like a teenager.”

You slip your hands beneath the hem of his shirt, palms against warm skin. “I want you to show me just how much you want me.”

Joaquin crashes his lips back onto yours, determined to make sure you never forget how good he could make you feel.

You pull back to breathe again, now wishing you didn’t have to put space between you. Oxygen was secondary; Joaquin was the only thing you needed right now.

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes raking over him, “you’re perfect.”

Your fingers trace along his jawline, and before you know it, you’re both pressed close, the hallway closing in around you, knowing full well anyone could walk by at any second.

You nearly lose your balance when he starts kissing your neck. It’s feather-soft, barely there but devastating all the same, making you feel like you’re floating. The heat of his lips on your skin, his cologne, warm and comforting, drifting in and making you weak.

“Damn,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and rough.

You feel a buzz against your thigh and pull back confused.

“You’re uh… vibrating.”

“Oh, it’s my phone,” Joaquin says, now a little sheepish as if he wasn’t just turning your brain to soup. He sighs and fishes it out of his pocket, his eyes widening when he sees who’s calling, “It’s Sam, I kinda disappeared on him, I should…”

“Oh yeah, of course,” you reply, still slightly out of breath. Before you completely detangle from each other. As you walk away, you can’t find it in yourself to stop smiling, heart still racing from the encounter. You wish you’d gotten his number, but you had your ways. You weren’t exactly the giving-up type.

“See you soon, Falcon,” you mutter to yourself as you watch him stumble out of the hallway, trying to fix his hair and tie. And you’re totally not looking at his butt… it’s a cute butt, though.

***

Morning hit Joaquin like a ton of bricks. He’s normally on his best behaviour, but the unexpected happened. So maybe you actually hit him with a ton of bricks. There was something about you he couldn’t shake, and it wasn’t just the way you pushed him up against a wall and kissed him like your life depended on it.

There’s a distinct, irritating buzzing coming from his nightstand. It was too early to be receiving calls in his world.

He groans, slapping at the desk trying to pick it up when his phone vibrates again.

“Hello,” he grunts as he finally answers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, still sprawled out on his stomach.

“Torres?” The voice on the other end is familiar to him, but he can’t quite place it. Whoever it is, it made his heart skip a beat, that’s for sure. It was sweet and gentle, with a hint of something hopeful that caught him off guard.

He sits up, now a tiny bit more awake, “Who is this?”

“The girl you were dancing with last night…the one you made out with,” you tease.

He chuckles, amused even though he sounds half-asleep. “Ah, the fake Avenger.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“How did you get my number?” he asks, a note of curiosity slipping in. He’s 99% sure he didn’t give you his number, only because he was kicking himself on the way home for not doing so.

There’s a brief pause, then a soft shuffling sound, “Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m still here…” you say, voice a little shaky.

On the other side of the line, you’re hesitating, knowing you might’ve crossed a line. Maybe even been a little sneaky and broken a few laws. But when a guy like him sweeps you off your feet, you do what you have to do. “I have my ways.”

He laughs again, warm and genuine, and you can’t help but feel relieved. At least you’re not officially a stalker in his eyes.

“So, to what do I owe the honour?" he asks, voice still thick with sleep but curious.

“I’m in D.C. for another day and a bit, so… I was wondering if you could show me around the city.”

“You want me to take you out?” Joaquin asks, a playful glint in his eyes. A date? With you? He’s definitely completely awake now.

“If you want to continue what happened last night, before we were so rudely interrupted… maybe have a coffee or two, eat a whole bakery.”

He chuckles, and you swear you’ve never heard anything so sweet. Turns out the Joaquin Torres effect works over the phone too.

“We’ll have to be careful, with the press and all that.”

“I’m pretty good at disguises…”

Joaquin grins, probably a little too wide, but he can’t help it. There’s just something about you.

***

You’re waiting in the park, hat pulled low over your eyes, trying to look casual despite the nerves buzzing in your stomach. Considering you’d tried to climb him literally just last night, you thought you’d be a little less jittery by now. Still…

There’s the sound of footsteps behind you, then a hand suddenly lands on your shoulder. Before you can even think, you spin around and, without warning, flip whoever it is onto the ground.

Groans escape the guy beneath you, and your heart skips a beat when you hear a familiar voice.

“Torres?” you ask, eyes wide as you stare down at the very cute superhero sprawled on the grass.

He laughs weakly, rubbing his back. “Is this how you say hello? Judo moves?”

You cover your mouth in shock. Talk about making a bad impression. He stands up, dusting himself off casually.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, still frozen in your position.

“It’s alright, I can take a hit, or well, a flip.”

He chuckles, smiling at you, and you feel yourself relax. You look him over, he’s also dressed down, trying to look as inconspicuous as you are. But there’s no disguising that handsome face of his. If you weren’t careful with these kinds of thoughts, you’d be climbing him again in no time.

“You miss me? Just kidding, I know you missed me.”

“You wish,” you bite back, as if you weren’t the one that invited him here.

“You’re right, I do wish you missed me. It’s not every day that I meet someone like you.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s charming. You’ll give him that.

“So, where to first?”

Joaquin grins, “Anywhere you want, but after I can take you on a fly around the city if you want to.”

“Is that your secret weapon, Falcon? I bet that has all the girls swooning.”

“You have no idea,” he jokes, flashing that easy smile.

The date that wasn’t officially a date went surprisingly well. You both tried not to draw attention as he bought you gelato, then spent a solid hour trying (and mostly failing) to beat the top score on the DDR machine, the two of you laughing breathlessly as Joaquin missed another arrow and nearly tripped. Then came the dramatic groans and determined squints as Joaquin tried to win you a toy from the claw machine, insisting, “One more try. I’ve got the angle this time.”

Sitting on the roof of his apartment building afterwards, you lean against each other as you hold onto the duck plushie he eventually won you. You’re close, and it feels comfortable, like you’ve known him much longer than just an evening and a day.

“Will I see you again?” you ask softly. You hope you don’t sound desperate, but you can’t remember the last time it felt so easy to be with someone like this.

“If you want to.”

He looks at you, a small smile tugging at his lips, but says nothing.

“Plus, you have my number,” you remind him with a teasing grin, “You know, the one you hacked to get because you like me so much—”

You cut him off with a playful nudge, “You’re so annoying.”

***

It’s been over a month, and things have been going well between the two of you. Video calls were all that kept you going, sharing movies, teasing each other when one started to nod off on screen. You weren’t expecting to fall for him like this, but here you were, completely hooked.

You call him late at night, after a long day filled with missions, training sessions and meetings. All you need is your daily dose of Joaquin Torres.

The call rings through, and when he finally answers on video, you quickly adjust your hair and straighten your shirt, making sure you look okay before he comes into view. His hair’s a tousled mess of curls, eyes a little tired from working too hard, but still, he smiles at you like you’re giving him energy.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite Avenger,” he grins. “Is that Quino?” he asks, nodding toward the duck plushie you’re clutching under your arm.

“Yeah, he misses you almost as much as I do,” you say, waving it at him with a smile, making him chuckle.

All you wish is that he were right there beside you, so you could curl up on his chest and just breathe him in.

“I saw you on TV…” he says, and you’re a little surprised.

“You did?” You perk up, eyes brightening.

He nods, voice sincere. “You looked really heroic…”

“You really mean that?” you ask, your voice suddenly smaller, softer. The praise meant a lot to you, knowing that what you were doing was actually worthwhile, that you were making a difference and that he noticed that.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you grin, tucking your chin into your pillow. “You have the biggest heart. Brave, superhero, and boy—” You pause, catching yourself before you expose yourself. He wasn’t your boyfriend, was he? “...um claw machine extraordinaire.”

“Is that so?” he laughs. Looks like you got away with it.

“Who else would suffer through that experimental synth-folk concert I dragged you to?”

“It was… experimental and definitely... an experience.”

“Still trying to save my feelings.”

You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest as he mirrors your smile.

“What are we watching tonight?” he asks, adjusting his camera and settling back against his headboard.

You both scroll through options and finally settle on a movie. As the movie plays, you listen to his running commentary, the comfort of his voice softening the distance between you. Even through a screen, it feels like he’s right by you.

At the halfway point, you feel your eyes starting to get heavy. “You falling asleep on me?” Joaquin asks, his voice soft and teasing. This happens more often than you’d like to admit. Something about Joaquin made it impossible for you to have a sleepless night.

“No…,” you say, but you’re obviously nodding off.

“You sure about that?” he chuckles, watching you blink slowly like each one takes an incredible amount of effort. “Because you just answered with your eyes closed.”

“I’m… just resting them,” you mumble, voice slurring slightly as your head lolls to the side.

Joaquin smiles, soft and fond. “Uh huh. Just resting them. Should I keep talking so you can pretend you’re still awake?”

You don’t answer. Or maybe you do, but it’s a sleepy murmur he can’t quite catch. He watches as you fully drift off, your breathing evening out, face relaxed in the glow of the screen.

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

And even though you can’t hear him, you smile in your sleep anyway.

***

You can't eat, you can't sleep, what else could it be?

You’re in love.

Which is why you’re currently half-delirious, jet-lagged, and sneaking into his apartment like some lovesick burglar. You tiptoe through the place, heart pounding with excitement and nerves, when you see him. He’s standing in the kitchen, shirt slightly wrinkled, hips moving to whatever beat is pumping through his headphones. He hums along, completely lost in it as he washes the dishes.

You smile, watching him for a second too long before deciding to sneak up behind him.

Just as you're about to tap his shoulder—

In one swift, fluid motion, he grabs your wrist and flips you over his shoulder. You land on the floor with a thud, him pinning you down before you can even blink.

So this is how he felt that day.

“Joaquin, it’s me!” you gasp, wide-eyed.

“Oh shit,” he mutters, instantly pulling back when he sees your face. He rips his headphones off as muffled music spills into the room.

“Surprise?” you groan, winded but trying to smile.

“Why on earth did you break into my apartment?” he says, half-scolding, half-amused. He helps you to a sitting position, and you groan again, rubbing your back soothingly.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

He shakes his head, that crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You’re insane.”

“And yet, here I am.”

He helps you up, laughing under his breath. “You could’ve just knocked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You hold your arms up, and he doesn’t miss a beat, hosting you into his arms and taking you to his bedroom.

He places you on the bed, and you snuggle against the sheets, surrounded by Joaquin's scent, something you has been missing a little too much.

"Straight to bed? How did you know I didn't want to go to the living room, hm?" You say as you take off your jacket.

Joaquin's about to give you a snarky answer when he sees it.

The shirt you had on was unmistakable, bright red with a stylised graphic of his wings spread, and “Team Falcon” printed boldly across the chest.

"Are you serious?"

He can't contain the smile that works its way into his face.

“I wanted to show my support,” you say innocently, flopping back on the bed with a grin. “How do I look?”

He stares at you, trying not to smile too widely, eyes dragging over the sight of you.

“Very sexy.”

He’s leaning down, about to kiss the ever-living hell out of you, when you suddenly spot in the corner of the room a small corkboard filled with photos, and one catches your eye. You walk over, squinting a little. “Is that you in high school?”

Joaquin looks up from where he is. “Oh no,” he groans, “I forgot those were still up.”

You practically teleport over there and look at his pictures with glee.

“Your hair was so long,” you say, smiling as you take in the photo of a much younger, slightly awkward but still undeniably cute version of him. “I love it!”

He groans louder, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t say that.”

You move on to another photo, one of him in the Air Force, his smile wide beneath a pair of aviators, arm slung around a fellow pilot, wind whipping through his hair.

“Oh…” you breathe, fingers pausing on the screen. “Now this is a whole different kind of adorable.”

Joaquin leans over to look, a bit embarrassed. “That was before I knew what I was getting into. I thought flying meant clear skies and cool jackets.”

You glance at him, grinning. “And now look at you, still flying, just more likely to encounter an alien or Hulk or something.”

You study the picture for a second longer, then softly say, “You look proud. Like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

He quiets, voice softer now. “That day was… big for me. First solo flight. My abuela cried when I sent her the photo.”

You turn to him, warmth blooming in your chest. “She should be proud. I know I am.”

He blinks at you, a little stunned, he wasn’t expecting to get like this with you so soon. “You’re gonna make me emotional over an old picture.”

“Just trying to balance out all the teasing,” you wink. “Can’t have you thinking I’m only here to have sex with you.”

“You’re here to have sex with me?” he says, his voice dipping when his arms wrap around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. He had you, and you didn’t mind one bit.

“Of course, that’s all you heard,” you mutter, putting the picture down as he grins smugly against your neck.

“You said it,” he murmurs, voice low, smug. “Not my fault, I have a gift for selective hearing.”

You huff out a laugh, twisting in his arms to face him. “You are impossible.”

“Oh?” he arches a brow, clearly enjoying the challenge. “You wanna say that again?”

Without warning, you shove him back toward the bed. He stumbles with a surprised laugh and lets himself fall dramatically onto the mattress. “Attacking me now?”

“I prefer the term ‘light sparring,’” you say, crawling onto the bed after him. “What? Afraid to lose, Falcon?”

He tries to roll away, but you straddle his waist before he can escape. “Okay, wow, this took a turn,” he grins, hands hovering in mock surrender.

You lean down, playful but close enough to feel his breath. “Looks like I win.”

"Just wait until I start playing dirty."

He starts tickling you which sends you into a laughing fit, nearly falling onto him. He uses the moment to flip you over, pinning you to the bed with a triumphant grin. “Don’t start a fight you can’t win.”

You pant, giggling, squirming under him. “Not fair. You used the element of surprise.”

“Also known as tactics.” He dips down to kiss you, it’s soft and warm. The kind of kiss you wanna get every day. When he pulls back, his voice is soft. “You’re not just here to sleep with me, huh?”

You look up at him, brushing a thumb across his cheek with a hand you pull free. “No, Joaquin. I’m here because I like you. A lot.”

“Good. Because I like you too. A lot.”

You’re not sure if either of you had admitted it before, but it felt too good to ignore.

You tug him down beside you, both of you still catching your breath, tangled up on the bed. The teasing fades into quiet comfort, laughter still lingering in the air.

Brushing your stray eyelash off your cheek, he pauses, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only person in the world. Then he kisses you, it’s deep and slow yet intense. His hands cup your face like you’re something important, something precious, and his mouth moves over yours like he’s trying to devour you, trying to pull you into him until you can’t think of being anywhere else.

When he finally pulls back for air, his gaze drops to the Falcon shirt you’re wearing. He smirks, voice low and teasing. “As much as I love the merch…”

He trails off, fingers ghosting over the hem, and you get the hint. You raise your arms, heart pounding, letting him take it off.

One after another, articles of clothing form a pile on the floor until you’re both naked, your bodies moulding together perfectly against one another. And you must admit you’ve been dreaming about this moment since the first time you kissed. The curve of his shoulders, the tension in his strong biceps as he held himself over you, he was perfection, sculpted even.

His warm lips make their way down your body, slow and deliberate, like he’s savouring every inch of you. Each kiss sends a shiver through you. You’re not sure how you’re going to survive the night.

“What are you gonna do with me, Joaquin?” you whisper, breath hitching.

He looks up at you, a smile on his lips, eyes dark with emotion. “Whatever you want me to.”

***

“Something’s going on,” Alexei says, “She’s been flying around like a butterfly, no?”

For the past few weeks, you were practically floating around the tower with a grin that wouldn’t quit and a twinkle in your eye. Baking cookies at odd hours, humming to yourself, and sighing contentedly at your phone every time you get a text from someone. Like nothing could get you down, and it’s been weird.

“We should leave her to it,” Bob says with a smirk, clearly enjoying the cookies a little too much.

You're all busy prepping for a mission. Maps open, gear scattered, energy high, when Yelena approaches with a question, brows knit in mild frustration.

“Don’t worry, I got the schematics on my phone,” you say, handing it to her without looking up.

“It timed out,” she mutters, before turning it back on. But both Yelena and Ava suddenly go quiet.

You’re barely paying attention to the murmurs around the room, eyes fixed on your laptop, until you hear something that makes you want to retreat into yourself like a turtle into its shell.

“Why is Falcon your lockscreen?” Ava teases, and you stop typing instantly. Your head turns, a nervous smile plastered on your face.

“I—”

You glance around the room. Everyone is looking at you now.

You just had to have him as your lockscreen.

“I admire his heroics. Is that a crime?” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

“So much so that he’s your lockscreen?” Yelena adds, “This picture isn’t even of him in his suit, he's holding a puppy...”

John looks at the picture and nods in agreement, "Yeah, this seems way more intimate."

You can feel the questions rising in the air, and you’re sure you don’t have a good answer to any of them.

“I’m a fan, okay? But, I don’t have to explain myself to any of you.”

They exchange knowing looks but drop it, more amused than judgmental. You stare down at your laptop, pretending to be focused again, but your heart’s still racing.

***

You’re waiting on top of Avengers Tower, the wind tugging at your clothes as you hug your arms around yourself. The city glitters below, but your eyes are fixed on the sky. After being teased relentlessly by practically the whole team interchangeably for the past few days, you needed your Joaquin time.

Then you hear it, the familiar sound of metal wings slicing through the air, followed by the soft thud of boots hitting the rooftop. You turn just in time to see him land, wings retracting, that helmet still on and that perfect smile already tugging at his lips.

Without thinking, you rush forward and jump into his arms, laughing as he swings you around.

“How was the flight?” you ask, breathless, as he laughs and pulls off his helmet.

“Not too bad,” he grins, setting it aside.

“I love this,” Joaquin says, looking over the modest feast you’ve put together with a genuine smile.

Setting up the movie, you both settle in, cuddling up next to each other. Already feeling more connected than when you’re forced to video call, this was different. Nothing could compare to feeling the warmth of his body vibrating against your side when he talks and laughs.

The movie hits a lull in the action, and you both fall into a comfortable silence.

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to go public?” you ask softly, the city’s quiet hum blending with the flickering screen.

“Absolutely. This is only temporary,” Joaquin replies, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek like a promise.

You smile, leaning into his touch. “So in other words, you wanna show me off?”

He grins, eyes sparkling. “You bet. Can’t wait for everyone to know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Your heart skips a beat, as it often does when you’re with him. “We’ve been handling the distance well so far…”

“Yeah,” he nods, eyes locked on yours. “But I’m ready for the part where I don’t have to secretly fly across states just to kiss you goodnight.”

A slow smile spreads across your face, and you reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Me too, Joaquin. Me too.”

***

The day was like most others, busy, a blur of tasks and distractions, but you froze when you saw it. On your phone, a breaking news report flashed: Joaquin, hurtling toward the ground, one wing damaged and useless. The sickening thud as he hit the earth echoed in your mind like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

At that moment, the world stopped spinning. Time slowed to a crawl.

There was no hesitation. You were up, grabbing your things, and moments later, you were on a Quinjet bound for D.C. You knew he was being treated at the Avengers Compound, but you didn’t care; if it meant breaking in, you would.

Fear clutched at your chest, terror gnawing at your bones. The thought that your life could never be the same without him was unbearable. No more late-night calls, no more spontaneous flights through the sky, no more drifting off to sleep to the sound of his voice. It would all be over.

And you weren’t ready to let that happen.

***

The fall was brutal, but it could have been far worse. He had experienced worse, but right now, he was still in a world of pain. The only thing he could think of as he was falling was all the regrets, all the things he’d left undone, left unsaid.

He never got to tell you he…

His eyes flutter open when he hears the unmistakable sound of someone breaking in through the window.

There’s a clumsy rustle as the intruder fumbles with the curtains.

“Fucking… stupid curtains…”

Another muffled thud echoes in the quiet room as the figure trips.

He knew that voice anywhere. He whispers your name, and you look up from the floor. You look like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. But instead of fear, your expression melts into a complex mix of emotions. You’re happy to see him alive, terrified, and overwhelmed all at once.

You rush to his side, barely able to hold yourself together,

He whispers your name again, soft and hoarse, and somehow it eases a fraction of the pain twisting inside you. But he’s still injured, bandaged, bruised, fragile in ways you’ve never seen.

“Joaquin…” you breathe, voice cracking as you lean in and hug him gently, careful not to press on any wounds.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he needs you to survive. Like you’re the anchor that brought him back.

“You scared the crap out of me,” you whisper against his skin, your voice trembling.

His arms wrap around you weakly, but surely. “I’m here,” he murmurs, like a promise he plans to keep. “Not dead.”

Suddenly, the chaos of your joint situation comes to mind…

“The media, our teams—” he begins, voice strained.

“None of that matters!” you shout, the words ripping from your throat. “Not when you’re hurt.”

Your eyes rake over his injured form, bandages stark against his skin, a gash on his side still seeping faintly beneath the gauze.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he offers, trying to sound reassuring.

You step closer, giving him a sharp, disbelieving look. “Are you kidding me?”

He gives a small, sheepish laugh, but it quickly turns into a wince as the movement pulls at his side. “I mean it. I’ve literally shot out of the sky before. This is nothing, I’m actually kind of an expert now.”

You know he’s joking around for your benefit, but you still can’t help but worry. “Don’t downplay it. You almost died.”

His grip tightens slightly around yours. “Yeah, but I didn’t. And you’re here.”

The exhaustion was obvious; he needed you here more than he knew how to express but struggled to find the words.

“Were you stealthy getting in here?” he asks, half amused, half amazed, unable to figure out how you managed it. You had come through the window decked out in tactical gear, which was mildly concerning, so he bets it’s an interesting story.

“Well?” he teases.

You bite your lip, looking just a little guilty. “I scaled the building, and at least ten people saw me come in here. I knocked out a few security guards, and the Quinjet may or may not be parked like... right outside the front door?”

Your list of crimes and bold moves was impressive, and Joaquin couldn’t be more proud. The fact that you did all that for him was overwhelming.

“You didn’t.”

You shrug. “I don’t care. Nothing was going to keep me from you. I…”

“I love you,” Joaquin says, taking the words right out of your mouth. It’s raw and comes straight from the heart. He thinks he’s known this for a while, but never said it aloud.

“I love you too,” you reply, it leaves your lips so easily you wonder why it took you so long to say it.

For a moment, the chaos of the world fades. It’s just the two of you, in the hush of a hospital room, holding on like it's all that matters. Then you notice your phone flash, you’d put it on silent to do your little sneaky break-in, and you’ve never been more glad you did.

You glance at the screen to see a flurry of missed calls and texts from the Avengers group chat.

Bucky: Hey. 12:01 PM Bucky: Did you steal the Quinjet? 12:01 PM Bucky: Come back right now, and we might not kill you. 12:03 PM Yelena: You flew to D.C.?!?! 12:07 PM

You scroll down a little further, not liking the nervous feeling that's bubbling in your stomach.

Bucky: HEY. 12:20 PM Bucky: TEXT BACK. 12:20 PM Bucky: ANSWER YOUR PHONE. 12:27 PM

Well, something judging by the texts you can tell there's been an escalation of sorts. The word, 'HEY,' has never been so intimidating and you've now discovered that you don't like it when Bucky types in capital letters.

Ava: 🙃 12:45 PM John: 🙃 12:50 PM

You have no idea what this means.

Bucky: ON OUR WAY. 1:00 PM

You're fucked.

You rest your head on his chest, letting out a long, frustrated groan.

“What’s wrong?” Joaquin asks, voice low and laced with concern.

“There’s a tracker on the jet I stole, and they're coming here,” you mumble into the sheets, muffled by the fabric and your own regret. You sigh, rolling onto your back with a dramatic flop. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Too focused on me?” Joaquin chuckles, warm and amused, and runs his fingers gently through your hair. The gesture is soothing, comforting in a way that only he can manage.

“Always.” You look up at him, with a little pout, “They’re gonna kill me.”

“Nah,” he smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “They’ll just make you do recon missions in Siberia for a month.”

You groan again, burying your face in his side.

“You’re worth it, though,” you mumble, voice soft but certain. “I’d steal ten more Quinjets, if it meant I could be with you.”

Of course, you would.

Then he smiles, that warm, crooked grin you’ve come to crave, and he leans in to kiss you.

It’s slow, reverent, like all of your kisses. When you never know when you’re going to see one another, it makes it all the more important to cherish each one. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm, his hand slipping into your hair as your lips move together. It’s everything, relief, longing, love.

You’re careful not to press on his side, mindful of the bandages, but even that doesn’t stop your body from curling instinctively closer. You’re so absorbed in each other that you almost don’t hear the very distinct sound of someone clearing their throat.

You break apart and turn around slowly, only to find Sam standing in the doorway. Getting caught making out with Falcon by Captain America just secured a place on your top ten most embarrassing moments ever, just behind running into a stop sign in front of your whole school.

Sam doesn’t look mad, but he does look monumentally confused. He’d just walked past the Quinjet parked out front, noticed guards slumped over unconscious, and now finds you two tangled up inside.

He raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Is someone going to explain this to me?”

“...Meet my girlfriend?” Joaquin squeaks.

Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

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dameronspector · 2 months ago

Text

Calling them by something else than your nickname for them

Pairings: All x GN!Reader

Summary: this is basically inspired by that trend where people call their partners by their names instead of nicknames and because I’ve tried this on my bf, and he gets sad everytime LOL!

Warnings: Brief angst for Bob and Bucky but otherwise, it’s just cutesy stuff <3 wrote this in a hurry, hope y’all like it! please like and reblog 🤭

divider by @saradika

Joaquin Torres

There was this trend going around lately, where people called their partners with their name instead of nicknames. And you just knew that you had to try this on Joaquin because 1) he lived to hear you call him ‘Quino’ or ‘Jay’ or ‘Baby’ and 2) you only called him Joaquin when you had something serious to discuss or when the two of you were fighting.

Letting out a giggle, you decided to try this on him through text first. It was a Sunday, so he was out in the gym with Sam while you were lounging around in your shared bedroom, enjoying a day off from work.

You: Joaquin.

You: Could you go to the store and get some bread? We’re out, and we need it for the sandwich we’re making today.

You knew that he had a special ringtone for your text notifications, so you didn’t have to wait that long before he replied back.

And you were right, approximately a minute later, he replied back and you burst out in laughter.

Quino 💟: ?

Quino 💟: did something happen? are you okay?

Quino 💟: did I do something?

You: ..no? Why?

Quino 💟: 😟

Quino 💟: im coming home

You almost felt bad for freaking him out like that. Almost.

The door opened a few minutes later and—

“Baby?”, he called out as his feet pattered against the hardwood floors, quickly making his way around the apartment to get to you.

You bit your cheek to stop from laughing in his face, busying yourself with your phone by pretending to read something on it.

He finally entered the bedroom, chest heaving from how he had basically ran here, hands resting on his hips and you were so sure his cheeks were splotched with red from the work out.

"Hey, angel?", he called you once again, his voice coming out in a breathy manner.

You hummed and finally looked at him. His toned arms glistening with sweat, the tank top stretched tight across his form and his body glowing with sweat, curls falling into breathtaking waves around his head and a cute dent in between his brows.

It's annoying how gorgeous he is.

"Are you okay?"

You furrowed your brows, "Why do you keep asking that, Joaquin?"

He winced. His mouth tugged into a frown and brown eyes blown wide. You almost gave up.

"Did--did I do somethin'?", he asked in worry, making his way over to the bed and sitting down in front of you, hands restlessly braced against his thighs, twitching to hold yours in his.

You feigned confusion, "What-Joaquin, if something was-"

"That!", he interrupted you loudly, looking at you incredulously.

You blinked, "That, what?"

He groaned like a child, this close to stomping his feet, his face adorably scrunched up in annoyance, "You keep calling me Joaquin!", and he pouted.

You pursed your lips, "Joaquin, come on, is that not your name?", eyes sparkling with mischief.

His eyes widened again, hands coming up to cradle your face in them and he leaned close, "Angel, stop that! That's not my name. It's Quino or Baby to you", he stressed, face melting into confusion and sadness both.

You took a good look at his saddened face, brown eyes looking at you like a kicked puppy, his plush lips twisted into a frown and voice so soft that you couldn't help but let out a sweet giggle.

He sulked even further and you finally put your hands on his face, unable to resist from consoling him any longer. He tilted his head in confusion at your reaction.

"I'm sorry, baby. It was just a prank", you confessed in between giggles.

He perked up at the nickname, eyes blinking in realisation before he groaned, "You're mean", his cheeks squished by your hands, lips molded into a pout because of it.

You scrunched your nose, "Maybe. But you, are so cute", you cooed and leaned in to kiss his lips and cheeks.

"Don't do that again. I was so worried", he muttered lowly, leaning into the kisses you pressed to his cheeks, hands coming around your waist to hold you close.

You breathed a laugh against the swell of his cheek before moving to his forehead and peppering soft kisses on it. You pulled back and looked at him, his mouth still set into a pout.

Holding his chin in your hand you kissed his pout, before pulling away to kiss his cheeks again.

"My quino", you muttered against his cheek and he let out a content sigh, humming in agreement before burying his face into your neck.

Bob Reynolds

One of Bob's most favorite thing about dating you, was that you almost never called him Bobby or Bob. 'Bobby' was a sore spot for him, because his father had tainted it by his demeaning and abusive behavior and 'Bob' was, well, boring, because everyone called him that. You though? You'd rather call him 'Rob', 'Babe(s)' or his personal favorites: 'Honey(bee)' or 'Bear'.

Imagine the confusion and heartbreak he felt, when you had accidentally called him Bob during a late night meeting today.

The entire team had gathered in the conference room of the Watchtower for a group meeting, regarding the next mission that all of you were going to take part in. You had a habit of taking notes, Bob knew this well and he often carried your diary with him, your neat and organised notes helping him massively.

"Bob, could you pass me my diary?", you offhandedly requested him, your attention shifting to the other side as Ava asked you something.

Bob paused, an uncomfortable look crossing over his face before he schooled it and handed you your diary. You whispered a small thank you before jotting down all the important information, your head buried into the diary meanwhile Bob looked at you in longing, his thumb picking at the skin around his pointer finger in nervousness.

Had he done something wrong? Why did you call him Bob? Did he upset you in some way? His brain was working overtime to convince him that he had upset you. That he had done something wrong like he always does. It was agonising to sit through the meeting, his thoughts were spiraling and chest aching, lips turning red from how much he was gnawing on them with his teeth.

Finally the meeting ended an hour later, Bob at his wit's end and the moment it was done, he speed walked to his room, to avoid talking to anyone. He shut the door and sat on the bed in silence, the noise in his head making it physically impossible for him to stand. He wasn't sure what you would do if you came looking for him. Would you get mad? Would he say something that he'll regret later? What if you don't come looking for him, at all? He swallowed his tears with great difficulty and chose to distract the intrusive thoughts by reading a light hearted book.

You on the other hand, were confused. He was sitting right next to you, where did he disappear suddenly?

"Guys, where's Bob?", you asked everyone in confusion. They looked around the room helplessly and seemed to have realised at the same time as you.

"He- he was right here...", Yelena murmured lowly.

"I think I saw him go out...Don't know where", Alexei replied casually, your eyebrows scrunching further. You took their leave and immediately left the room, checking in his favourite reading nook first- he wasn't there. Then you checked in the kitchen, he liked to have tea before sleeping, so you thought he must be preparing that but, no luck. You checked in your room, and he wasn't there either. There was only place left to check, his own room.

You let out a sigh of relief as you opened the door to his room. There was, sitting on the bed with a book in his hands, black sweatpants covered legs outstretched, his maroon sweater making him look extra soft, hands half covered with the oversized sleeves and his curls were shorter now, they fell on his forehead in soft waves, making him look like an angel. The golden hue of the lamp from the sidetable made his profile glow, gentle hands thumbing the pages carefully.

"Honey, I've been looking for you", you announced in a quiet voice, shutting the door behind you just as carefully, not wanting to scare him. He still flinched, glossy blue eyes looking up at you in surprise, as if he couldn't believe you're here. You frowned and sat next to him, your legs folded snugly and body facing his.

"What's wrong? You didn't tell me you were leaving", you asked him softly, a hand coming up to brush his hair back. He licked his lips, eyes observing your face closely. his eyes shining in the low light.

"You're not upset with me?", he asked tentatively, as if he was anticipating a fight.

You frowned harder, "Why would I be upset, babe?"

His eyes widened slightly, swallowing thickly. You watched a light pink blush dust his cheeks and ears.

"I- well. You...you called me Bob today, in the meeting", he managed to blurt out, his deep voice coming out scratchy because of how long he had sat in silence.

"I-I don't understand...", you trailed in deep thought. He thought you were upset because you called him Bob?

He rubbed his eyes with a hand, trying to distract himself from the embarrassment, "You don't call me Bob. You call me Babe. Or-or Honey. I just...I thought you were upset because you didn't say any of those names. So yeah...That's...that's it."

He was red in the face as he finished talking, his fingers fiddling with the book and eyes avoiding yours at any cost. You felt your heart melt. He was so observant with everything you did, it was a blessing yet curse. Curse, because his beautiful mind ended up reaching to conclusions that weren't true in any capacity.

You smiled at him softly, a hand gingerly taking his book and placing it face down on the bed before climbing on his lap, your legs going around his waist and arms circling his neck. He froze before hesitantly wrapping his arms around your back, securing you in his arms and stared at your collarbones instead, a somber look on his face that somehow, made him look softer.

"Honey, I'm so sorry", you cooed earnestly, a hand massaging the curls by the nape of his neck.

"Everyone kept calling you Bob, so I just happened to unknowingly pick it up, and called you that in a flow. I swear, I am not upset with you. I was just distracted. I'm really sorry, babe", you mumbled sincerely, pressing a tender kiss to his pointed nose.

He then looked up at you, his ocean blue eyes staring at you in wonder, face awash with relief and fondness. He buried his face into your neck and brought you closer, nose pressed into the skin and lips brushing against it as he spoke in a meek voice, "No, don't apologise. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that...I'm sorry, (Nickname)", arms wound tightly around your back, curls tickling you lightly.

You smiled lovingly and leaned your head against his, hands smoothing across his broad back, and rocked your bodies side to side.

"It's okay, baby. I got you", you breathed out and kissed his temple, him returning it with a kiss to your neck.

Bucky Barnes

Bucky's first name itself was a nickname, yes. But the nicknames that you gave him were so special to him, that he'd feel like he was missing something if you didn't call him by any one of those.

They had a wide range: you'd call him 'Bucko' if you were feeling clingy, or 'James' if you were feeling particularly romantic and you'd call him 'Babe' or 'Baby' in almost every sentence. You'd call him 'Honey' if he was having a bad day, keeping the tone as sweet as honey to soothe him and he'd melt into a puddle in your arms. There were other silly names that you'd call him to tease him: old man, peepaw and sometimes, baby girl (that one confused him, because he's not a girl??? you told him he wouldn't understand. He sulked, Sam and Joaquin made fun of him.)

He hated how you'd call him 'Barnes' when you were angry. You two rarely argued, but when you did, it would be hurtful because neither of you liked to yell at the other. So it was usually sharp defenses thrown towards each other, or silent treatment.

Bucky hated both, but he hated when you'd call him 'Barnes' in that rough, irritated and solemn voice, even more. He felt like you were his colleague instead of his soulmate, then. He'd feel his chest ache, every single time.

So imagine his shock, when you called him that right now, as he was in the bedroom, picking out clothes for today's Senate meeting while you were in the kitchen.

"Barnes!"

He straightened up, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as well. He felt like a soldier in the barracks again, the way he was standing in attention at your call. He took the time to think about what did he do today, did he do something to piss you off? Did he forget something? He felt a brush against his legs, and he looked down to look at the tiniest, white furred member of the Barnes household.

"D’you know why they’re mad, Alpine?", he murmured to the cat, who stared at him with her sharp blue eyes and meowed, her eyes slowly blinking as if she was saying ‘Yes, dad.’

Bucky sighed and trudged back to the kitchen, his body sulked as he wondered what he did to make you call him by his last name.

There you were, standing by the sink, your arms folded across your chest and eyes instantly looking up as you heard his footsteps. Alpine brushed past him and stood by you elegantly, as if she was chiding him as well.

Bucky stood there nervously, a hand brushing over his stomach, as if calming down his nerves.

“Yes, sweetheart?”, he offered in a croaky voice, extending an olive branch beforehand.

You sighed and Bucky flinched.

You paused. Eyes observing him closely. How did you miss his tensed expression?

Furrowing your brows you walked over to him, “Hey, are you okay?”, your voice soft and careful.

Bucky swallowed before clearing his throat, hand raised to push his hair back.

“You- did I do somethin’ to upset you? I’m sorry if I did, I don’t remember-”, his voice cut off, him inhaling deeply from his nose.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry. I don’t remember what I did, doll. I’m sorry-”

Your eyes widened. What was he saying? Why was he so anxious?

“Whoa, hey. What’re you saying, Buck? I’m not- you didn’t upset me. What’s happening?”, you replied, your hands coming up to massage his shoulders.

Bucky looked up at you in surprise, “What- but you…”, he gaped at you like a fish.

“But what, babe? You can tell me anything”, you murmured in reassurance.

And suddenly, Bucky felt stupid for assuming the worst. His ears warmed up in embarrassment.

“I-ugh. I thought you were mad at me because you…you called me Barnes”, he winced.

You frowned, “What—”

Bucky sighed, “You call me Barnes when you’re mad at me or when we’re fighting so I thought…”, he shrugged. Your face shifted in understanding and you let out a giggle, hands bracing against his shoulders. He grumbled, squeezing your waist.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I was just-I was annoyed because you put your damn arm in the dishwasher again!”, you let out between giggles, watching as his face slacked in relief and realisation.

“Oh-”, he gave you a sheepish smile and ducked his head shyly. You laughed and squished his cheeks.

“Please find an alternative for the arm, honey. I need that dishwasher, hm?”, you cooed and leaned in to press a kiss to his heated up cheeks. Alpine brushed against your legs, letting out a ‘mrow’ that you took as her agreeing with you.

“See! Even your daughter agrees”, you teased him and bent down to give Alpine a nice scratch. She purred.

Bucky glared at her and murmured, “Traitor”, to which she narrowed her eyes and went back to leaning into your pets again. Bucky looked at his two girls and smiled, happy that he was proven wrong.

Sam Wilson

If there’s one thing that Sam disliked the most, it’s his full name: Samuel. Ever since he was bullied for that in school, he had decided that he’d shorten it, and make ‘Sam’ as his official name instead of Samuel.

He was Sam to all his friends and colleagues, Wilson to his fellow armymen and agents, but he was Sammy to you. Now, you did have different nicknames for him, but something about the way ‘Sammy’ rolled off your tongue, made him feel all giddy and special inside. You’d say it with so much love and affection, a bright smile on your face as you called him, that he’d stop responding to your calls if you tried calling him ‘Sam’.

It began slowly, but with time, you’d realised that he did that on purpose, so that he could hear you call him Sammy instead. It was cute, the way he’d pout and sulk until you called him Sammy. It was all in jest, your relationship was like that. All teasing and giggles and full of inside jokes.

But sometimes, it just slipped from your mind.

And that some time happened to be today, as he came back from a mission, tired and exhausted. He showered, changed into his night clothes and just crashed on the bed face first, you following closely as you shut off all the lights in the house before stepping into the bedroom.

He let out a loud groan into the pillow and you smile in sympathy, sitting down next to him and smoothing a hand across his broad back.

“Long day?”, you asked quietly, the sound of the AC and a distant sound of vehicles driving past, being the only noises to be heard.

Sam inhaled deeply, his back expanding beneath your hands and he begun, “Like you wouldn’t believe. Lost our target because the intel forgot to give us the information on time. Had to run up a damn hill in a civilian area, couldn’t use the wings because we couldn’t blow our cover. That asshole made us run up and down thrice. My damn knees were dead by the second time”, his rough voice was muffled by his arms, head buried in them.

“Aw. I’m sorry, babe. C’mere”, you cooed and beckoned him close, leaning back against the headboard while he lifted his heavy body up, burying his head into your chest, strong arms wrapping around your back.

He nuzzled into your chest and sighed in contentment, “Can you read to me?”

“Of course”, you replied while picking up the book left on your side table, Pride and Prejudice, and begun reading it.

You had made Sam watch the 2005 movie and he was hooked. He thought he was hiding it well, but by the end of the movie, he was wiping his tears discreetly.

Halfway through your narration, you felt him doze off. His breathing was slower and light snores leaving his mouth.

You slowly closed your book, putting it aside and rubbing a hand across his arm.

“Sam? Let’s go to sleep, come on”, you gently coaxed him out of his slumber.

He breathed in deeply before humming, slowly lifting his head away from your chest before he abruptly paused, eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s up?”, you asked him as he laid back down on your chest, his warm embrace and woodsy scent engulfing you.

“What’d you say?”, he mumbled sleepily.

You frowned, “What’d I say..?”

“Go back, rewind a few seconds”, he jested and poked your tummy, tickling you lightly.

You squealed, “Sam! Stop—no!”, twisting around to escape his strong hold.

“Ah, Ah! You did it again!”, Sam was fully awake now, propping himself up on an arm while his free hand kept tickling you.

“Oh g-god! No! Sam, stop it! P-please! What did I do!?”, you stuttered out in between laughs.

“Babe. That’s Sammy or Babe or Baby, for you. Not Sam”, he chided you and stopped tickling, a serious look on his face.

You stopped laughing, clutching your stomach as it cramped. Once you had recovered, your face shifted in understanding, and you let out a tiny gasp.

“Oh! Ohhh…”, you smiled brightly, pinching his chin in your fingers lovingly. He jutted out his bottom lip.

“Now, gimme a proper welcome”, he grumbled and held your wrist in his big hands.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I missed you”, you said softly and cradled his face in your palms instead.

He smiled bashfully then, gaped teeth on display and everything. You joined him, pulling him closer and kissing him lovingly.

“Say it again”, he murmured against your lips.

You giggled, pinching his cheeks, “You are so cute, Sammy.”

He hummed and buried his face in your neck again, hugging you tightly.

“Now, we can sleep”, he mumbled into your neck, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

AN: this was a silly idea that was loitering around in my drafts for so long!!! Hope you all enjoyed this <3 might make a part 2 with other characters!

#joaquin torres x reader #bob reynolds x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #fluff #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #danny ramirez #lewis pullman #sebastian stan #anthony mackie #the falcon and the winter soldier #thunderbolts #captain america brave new world

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browneyedluvr · 5 months ago

Text

JOAQUÍN TORRES

oneshots

love birds. by websterss

gazes by joaquinwhorres

senses by petertingle-yipyip

from shadows to sunshine by wondergotham

soft hearted by fireinmoonshot

strawberry danishes by fireinmoonshot

5 year difference by websterss

endlessly falling by donottouchredbutton

in a heartbeat by donottouchredbutton

his secret by writingdumpster

back to you by mischiefmanaged71

hope ur ok by mischiefmanaged71

jealous!joaquin by halliejaade

about love by fireinmoonshot

detour by blackbat05

forget it by sunsburns

first impressions by fireinmoonshot

second impressions by fireinmoonshot

baby bird by everydaydreamer

tio joaquín by wynnerwynne

ray of sunshine by eclipsedechoesofmywords

come a little closer by yourauthorjen

matchmaker by goosewriter

blurbs

friends to lovers by sunsburns

grumpy x sunshine by almadelsur

ass kissing by sunsburns

headcanons

high school sweetheart by writermai05

series

edelweiss 2 3 4 5 6 by halliejaade

fault lines 2 3 4 5 by nathanbatemanfucker

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres x reader #danny ramirez #joaquin torres angst

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sillygoose067 · 2 months ago

Text

Couch Cuddles

Lewis Pullman x Reader

Lewis had always been a creature of comfort. Sunday afternoons were sacred—feet up on the coffee table, the soft hum of a sports announcer in the background, a half-finished mug of tea going cold beside him. He had a habit of mumbling commentary at the game under his breath, like the players could hear him and would immediately make better choices.

You were used to it by now—his grumbles, his sighs, the dramatic little “Oh, come on”s he tossed at the TV like it personally offended him. You’d grown kind of fond of it, actually.

A couple of years into your relationship, and the two of you had fallen into an easy rhythm. The kind that made words optional. You knew what snack to bring him when he got that mid-afternoon slump look, and he knew how to wordlessly pass you the charger before you even realized your phone was dying. It was simple. Familiar. Soft in all the right ways.

Still… sometimes you wanted to stir the pot just a little.

You’d been in the bedroom for a while, doing absolutely nothing productive, when the low hum of Lewis’s voice floated in—something about a penalty, followed by a long, dramatic sigh. You smiled to yourself, climbed off the bed, and padded into the living room.

Lewis was sprawled across the couch in full weekend mode: hair slightly messy, wearing that faded black shirt you loved—soft as anything, stretched just right across his shoulders and chest. The remote rested on his stomach, forgotten, and his legs were long and inviting and obviously not expecting company.

Perfect.

You approached silently and knelt beside the couch. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, relaxed and curious.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hi,” you chirped, grinning just a little too much.

Then, with zero warning, you hooked your fingers under the hem of his shirt and started crawling underneath.

Lewis flinched, caught off guard. “Wait—what? What are you—?”

You shushed him like he was the one being ridiculous.

“Shh. Accept your fate.”

You wriggled up between his legs, pushing his shirt up with you until your head popped through the collar like a very determined kitten. Face now directly in front of his, nearly nose to nose, you blinked at him innocently.

“Hi again.”

He stared at you, deadpan. “You are inside my shirt.”

“I sure am,” you said brightly.

Lewis made a face somewhere between amused and exhausted. “You know there are other, less invasive ways to cuddle, right?”

“I’m maximizing surface area,” you argued, snuggling in deeper. “It’s scientifically optimal.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his arms hovering awkwardly before settling around your waist, like he couldn't not hold you even if he wanted to pretend this was entirely your problem.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered.

“You love me,” you corrected with a dramatic little pout.

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Tolerate.”

You gasped. “Lewis!”

He grinned then, quietly pleased with himself. His fingers squeezed gently at your hips. The teasing melted into something warmer as you relaxed fully into his chest—pressed close, tucked under the fabric like you’d always belonged there.

He was solid and warm beneath you, skin meeting skin in a lazy sprawl of limbs and softness.

“You good?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You nodded against his neck, cheeks smooshed affectionately into him. “Mhm. You’re cozy.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low in his chest. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Your weirdo.”

“Unfortunately.”

You giggled and gave him a gentle kiss just below his jaw. He flushed a little at that—subtle but there, his arms tightening around you in a way that made it clear he was never going to complain about this level of ridiculous affection, not really.

The game continued to drone in the background, completely ignored now. You nestled closer, his hand absentmindedly tracing shapes along your back, both of you melted into one lazy tangle.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, Lewis shifted just enough to murmur near your ear.

“You’re stretching the hell out of this shirt, by the way.”

You pulled back, mock-offended. “Wow. Body heat and judgment?”

He smiled, kissed your temple, and said softly:

“Still worth it.”

941 notes · View notes

andy-15-07 · 14 days ago

Text

Whiskey Kisses

PAIRING: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1489 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

REQUEST: I have a request for danny's imagine book... do you know his character fanboy from top gun? well, I was thinking about it, and may you can write about a girl who is a bartender at the hard deck, and she is always hanging with the aviators as a friend, till fanboy invites her to a night out and she accept (bc he is danny ramirez lmao) and then they have a lovely night together (plsss write a hot scene with them, I need it!!!!!!

You’d worked the bar at the Hard Deck for almost two years, long enough to know exactly how much the aviators could drink before Penny cut them off, and exactly how much flirting they’d try before you rolled your eyes and made them pay double.

Most of the time, you felt like one of them , or at least their collective therapist. You poured them beers, watched them hustle pool, listened to them gripe about training and mission briefs and who had the better call sign.

But one of them? He was different.

Mickey Garcia. Fanboy. Sweet, clever, easy-laughing Fanboy who somehow managed to sneak past every wall you’d built between you and the cocky flyboys. He’d lean over the bar just to ask how your day was, grin at you like he knew some secret, and slip you a tip big enough to make Penny raise an eyebrow every time.

Tonight, the Hard Deck was buzzing. Rooster and Hangman were squaring off at the piano. Phoenix was calling out Hangman’s bullshit. And Fanboy? He was at his usual stool, right at the corner where you couldn’t help but bump into him.

You slid him a fresh beer without him asking. “Your tab’s getting dangerous,” you warned.

Fanboy lifted his glass in salute. “Good thing I’m not scared of danger.”

You huffed a laugh and leaned closer, your elbows on the sticky bar top. “You’re not nearly as smooth as you think, Garcia.”

He smiled , that crooked grin that made your belly warm every time you saw it. “Wanna bet?”

You rolled your eyes but your smile gave you away. Before you could retort, a new wave of rowdy pilots demanded your attention. When you turned back, Fanboy was gone , but when the crowd thinned, you found him waiting at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers.

“Hey,” he said, a little softer this time.

You wiped your hands on a rag. “Hey, yourself. Another round?”

He shook his head. “Actually… I was gonna ask. You ever get a night off?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Rarely. Why?”

Fanboy leaned in, close enough that you caught a whiff of his cologne , clean and warm, with a hint of sweat from the California heat. “I got two tickets to that shitty dive bar downtown. Live band, cheap whiskey. Come with me?”

You blinked. You knew the place , tiny stage, sticky floors, local bands screaming their hearts out. It wasn’t exactly romantic. But the way he was looking at you, hopeful and nervous at the same time…

You pretended to consider. “If I say no, you’ll just keep tipping me fifty bucks a drink until I say yes, huh?”

He laughed. “Maybe.”

You tossed the rag over your shoulder. “Fine, Garcia. Pick me up after close. And you’re buying.”

His grin was worth every smart-ass comment you’d get from the rest of the squad for the next month.

By the time you closed up, your feet were killing you, your hair smelled like spilled beer, and you were absolutely sure this was a terrible idea. But when you stepped outside and saw Fanboy leaning against his beat-up car, the driver’s door open for you, your nerves melted.

“You ready?” he asked.

You shot him a look. “You sure you can handle me outside the bar?”

He didn’t flinch. “Try me.”

The dive bar was exactly as shitty as you’d expected. Neon lights flickering half out. A two-man band screaming covers into busted mics. But the whiskey was cheap, the dance floor sticky, and Fanboy’s arm fit perfectly around your waist as he pulled you through the crowd.

One drink turned into two. Then four. Then you were laughing too loud, pressed against him in the back corner booth, your legs draped over his lap while he traced circles on your knee.

“I like this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” you teased, swirling your straw through the last inch of whiskey.

Fanboy’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “All mine.”

Your heart stuttered. Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was him, maybe it was both. But you didn’t think , you just grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss that tasted like cheap booze and everything you’d wanted for months.

You barely made it back to his car before you were on him again , hands tangled in his hair, legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed you up against the door. You laughed against his mouth when he fumbled for the handle.

“Keys, Mickey,”

“Fuck the keys,” he growled, and his mouth was on your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make your knees buckle.

Somehow, you made it to his place , a tiny, half-unpacked rental near the base. You didn’t bother turning on the lights. He kicked the door shut behind you, lips never leaving yours as he stumbled you backward until your knees hit the bed.

You landed with a soft thud, grinning up at him. “You’re pushy tonight.”

Fanboy knelt between your thighs, fingers tugging at your waistband. “I’ve been waiting for this since the first time you poured me a beer,” he admitted.

You lifted your hips to help him, your jeans hitting the floor a second later. “And what is ‘this,’ exactly?”

He leaned down, lips brushing your jaw, your throat, lower. “All of you,” he murmured against your skin. “Want all of you, baby.”

Your breath caught when his mouth found your chest , teeth and tongue working under your shirt until you were gasping, your back arching off the bed. His hands mapped every inch of you, rough and eager and so fucking sweet it made your eyes sting.

You tugged at his shirt until he peeled it off, tossing it somewhere you’d never find it again. His skin was warm under your palms, taut muscle shifting as he kissed you breathless.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

You bit your lip, shameless under his hungry gaze. “Want you to fuck me, Fanboy.”

His groan was low, wrecked. “Say it again.”

“Mickey,” you gasped when his fingers slipped under your panties, brushing over your slick heat. “Fuck,want you to fuck me, please,”

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your belly. “Good girl.”

Then he was sliding your panties down, tossing them behind him, and lowering his mouth between your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue had your hips jerking, a sharp cry breaking free when he sucked at that perfect spot, his hands pinning you down like he’d been dreaming about this for months.

You were close embarrassingly fast , heat coiling in your belly, your fingers buried in his hair, tugging as you rocked against his mouth. He moaned like he loved it, like he couldn’t get enough of how you tasted, how you squirmed.

When you came, you clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your cry. Fanboy pulled back just enough to look at you , his lips glistening, pupils blown wide.

“Don’t you dare hide that from me,” he rasped.

You barely caught your breath before he was kissing you again, the taste of you on his tongue as he worked his jeans open, shoving them down just enough. When he pressed against you, hard and hot, you wrapped your legs around him and tugged him closer.

“Mickey,”

“Got you, baby,” he promised, forehead pressed to yours. “I got you.”

He pushed in slow, inch by inch, until you were full, gasping his name into the crook of his neck. He didn’t move right away, just rocked his hips enough to make you whine, his breath shuddering against your ear.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe. “So fucking good,”

“Then move,” you begged, nails digging into his back. “Please,”

He did , slow at first, savoring every roll of your hips, every stuttered moan you gave him. Then faster, harder, until the bed creaked under you and you were both gasping, cursing, clinging to each other like you’d drown if you let go.

When you came again, it was with your name on his lips, his mouth pressed to yours to swallow your cries. He followed a heartbeat later, hips stuttering, your name spilling out like a prayer.

After, you lay tangled together in the dark, the only sound your breath and the faint hum of cars on the street outside. Fanboy traced circles on your bare hip, his lashes brushing your collarbone when he blinked.

“You good?” he murmured.

You huffed a tired laugh. “You’re dangerous, Garcia.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Good thing you’re not scared of danger.”

You smacked his shoulder , then kissed him again, slow and soft this time.

Last call had never felt so good.

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fireside-fanfics · 8 days ago

Text

Catch Me Every Time

content warnings: f!reader in pain; soft domestic fluff; romantic slice-of-life; established relationship

The rooftop bar was a dream caught between decades. High above the city, it radiated with old Havana charm—weathered wood decking, slow-turning ceiling fans hanging from beams wrapped in ivy, and Cuban jazz flowing soft and golden from the live band tucked near the bar. Wrought iron tables framed by banana-leaf planters held flickering candles in tinted glass.

The air was thick with the smell of citrus, rum, and warm spices, like someone had bottled summer and poured it over the whole rooftop. It was the kind of place where the lights glowed like memories and the breeze made everything feel a little bit softer.

You and Joaquin were seated at a round table with three other friends—Dani, Cam, and Marcus—your mojito sweating in your palm as the sky slowly bruised from violet to ink. You were leaning lightly into Joaquin’s side, half-listening as he animatedly told a story from a training weekend gone sideways.

“—and then,” Joaquin said, laughing as he told a story about training mishaps, “Sam walked straight into the glass door because he didn’t realize it was that clean.”

The whole table erupted into laughter. You smiled too—he always made you smile—but beneath it, something twisted sharply in your lower belly. The kind of pain that stole your breath for a second and made your hand tighten around your glass. It had been building slowly. At first, it was annoying; and then, it was frustrating. Now, it was borderline blinding.

You shifted in your seat, pressing your thighs together to dull the pressure. Joaquin’s hand came to rest on your knee. Comforting. Steady. A tether you didn’t even know you needed until it was there. Joaquin glanced at you—his hand settled on your knee—but you gave him a tight smile and looked away. You weren’t going to ruin this. It was supposed to be a nice night out … but then came the heat.

A slow, creeping wave of it crawling up your spine and prickling at the back of your neck. You downed half your water in one go. Joaquin leaned toward you, lips brushing your temple.

“You okay, cariño?” Joaquin asked, voice pitched low just for you.

“Yeah,” you lied. Your breaths were short and labored. You replied too quickly and Joaquin noticed. “I just need the restroom.”

You stood, or at least you tried to. The world tilted sideways. Your knees buckled. Someone gasped. Joaquin caught you before you even hit the ground, arms strong and steady around your waist as he lowered you gently.

"Woah, hey—hey, I got you," he said urgently, brushing your hair out of your face as you blinked against the dizzying blur.

You were only out for a second, maybe two. But by the time your vision cleared, there were four concerned faces looking down at you and Joaquin holding you like the world was ending.

"I’m okay," you rasped, trying to sit up. “Just… dizzy.”

“You fainted,” he said, jaw tight, voice pitched somewhere between worried and pissed. “You never faint.”

“I think I just… overdid it,” you said, not sure if you meant the food, the heat, or the stubborn pride.

Your friend Dani gently offered her arm, but Joaquin didn’t let go until you were fully upright. Then—without a word—he trailed behind you as you headed toward the restroom. He wasn’t hovering exactly, just … there. He was like a shadow at your back, protective, watchful. The second you swayed, his hand was under your elbow, steadying you. You reached the restroom door and pushed it open with trembling fingers.

“No one’s in here,” you said quietly, glancing back at him.

Joaquin didn’t hesitate; he slipped in behind you before the door could close. He locked it, flicked the switch for the fan, and turned toward you. His whole posture screaming calm he didn’t quite feel. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides while you leaned over the sink and braced your palms.

You leaned heavily against the sink, body sagging as you finally let yourself stop pretending you were fine. He didn’t crowd you, but he stayed close enough to catch you again if he needed to—close enough to keep an eye on your color, the tremble in your fingers, the sheen of sweat on your neck.

“Breathe through it,” he said gently, reaching for a paper towel and handing it to you. “You’re okay, baby.”

“I think it’s just cramps,” you whispered after a moment, wiping sweat from your temple. “Some of the worst I’ve ever had.”

He gave a soft hum of understanding, the worry never leaving his face.

“You don’t have to play through pain, cariño.”

“You were looking forward to tonight and I didn’t want to cut the night short,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it…”

“You almost passed out in the middle of dinner. That’s a big deal.”

“Fair…” you let out a weak laugh.

Your voice trailed off as you breathed in through your nose, out through your mouth. Each inhale trembled slightly, but Joaquin could hear the difference—the way your exhales started to stretch longer, steadier. Your breaths were still shaky, but they weren’t spiraling anymore; your breaths were starting to find a rhythm.

Your eyes closed for a few moments, lashes brushing your cheeks as your shoulders dropped just barely, like the weight pressing down on them had shifted. You didn’t speak, but Joaquin didn’t need you to. He could see you working through it—gathering yourself piece by piece, breath by breath. And for now, that was enough.

“Are you sure this isn’t something more serious?” he asked gently, breaking the silence.

“I think it’s just cramps,” you answered, voice thin but steady. “It’s the worst I’ve had in forever … maybe ever.”

“Don’t push yourself like that again,” he said quietly, handing it to you.

You met his eyes in the mirror and gave a tired smile. “I’m stubborn, remember?”

“Yeah, well. I’m more stubborn,” he quipped back, brushing a thumb over your shoulder. “And I’m not letting you pass out on me ever again, especially not twice in one night.”

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, and after a few minutes, your balance returned, the heat in your chest eased, and your body finally gave you some peace. Once you could stand without bracing yourself, you turned to face him completely. You gave him a small smile and reached out to him, your hand settled on his bicep. Joaquin placed his hands on your hips and snaked around your waist to settle on the small of your back.

The two of you were quiet for a few moments—simply enjoying each other’s company.

“I can go back now,” you whispered.

Joaquin nodded, but he didn’t move just yet. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours for one beat, one breath. He breathed an “I love you” so softly that you might have missed it if you weren’t so close. You wrapped your arms securely around his waist at the words and repeated it back with your cheek pressed against his chest.

“We’re leaving soon, okay?” he murmured. “I’ll get the check the second you say the word.”

“Deal,” you giggled.

You pulled back and Joaquin kissed your nose, causing you to giggle. You made your way to the bathroom door. You reached for the door, but Joaquin gently caught your hand before it touched the handle. His fingers laced with yours. As you stepped out together, back into the soft golden lights of the rooftop, he kept your hand tucked in his.

As you walked slowly back to the table, he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand in slow, grounding circles. You didn’t realize how much you needed the steady, wordless comfort of it until your shoulders relaxed. And Joaquin didn’t let go—not even once.

The drive home was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The windows were cracked, letting in a warm summer breeze that smelled faintly of asphalt and night flowers. Joaquin drove one-handed, his other resting on your thigh, thumb brushing soft little circles into your skin.

The radio played low—an old Spanish guitar instrumental—and the dashboard light painted his profile in soft amber.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked for the third time, glancing at you during a red light.

“I’m just tired,” you whispered, nodding from where you were curled slightly in the passenger seat. “It hit really hard all at once.”

He reached over and brushed your hair away from your face. “You’re gonna get pampered so hard when we get home.”

“You say that like it’s a threat.”

“It is. A very soft one.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut again, lulled by the rhythm of the road and the quiet safety of him. Joaquin kept glancing over at you during the drive—one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on your thigh. He didn’t say anything when your posture shifted just slightly, when your hand crept to your lower stomach, fingers pressing in slow circles. You hadn’t made a sound, but he noticed—the way your shoulders tensed again, how your breathing changed, how your knee began to bounce ever so slightly.

By the time the front door clicked shut behind you, the cramps were back in full force, sharp and low like a dull blade dragging across your insides. You kicked off your shoes with a sigh, more from exhaustion than anything else, and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. Joaquin didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t need to. He was already moving toward you, soft-footed and calm, like he’d known it was coming before you did.

“C’mere,” Joaquin said, voice soft as velvet. He crouched down in front of you and helped ease you out of your dress like it was made of silk and you were made of glass.

He handed you a pair of black biker shorts and one of his long-sleeve shirts—your favorite one, oversized and soft and warm from the dryer, sleeves pushed to the elbows, his scent still clinging to the collar. For a moment, you watched in silence while he lit a candle on the nightstand and turned on the small salt lamp next to the bed. The room glowed a soft orange, full of hush and safety.

Without a word, you slipped into the ensuite bathroom. You didn’t feel like taking a full shower, but you turned on the faucet and let the cool water run over your hands, your face, the back of your neck. It wasn’t much, but it helped—just a moment to breathe.

A minute later you exited the shower and you saw your hairbrush and your favorite lavender essential oil already waiting for you on the counter beside the folded clothes. You hadn’t brought them in—but Joaquin had. Of course he had.

When you padded back into the bedroom, hair damp from your rinse and feet bare, Joaquin was already sitting against the headboard with the blankets folded back. He opened his arms and quietly beckoned you closer, like he was offering you a place to land.

You went to him without hesitation, climbing into his lap, back against his chest, legs tucked comfortably between his. His arms came around you instantly, one hand over your stomach, the other splayed across your thigh.

"Are you warm enough?" he muttered.

“Yeah … just don’t stop touching me.”

“Never, mi amor.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, nose brushing gently through your hair. Then his fingers found your scalp, combing through the strands with care before beginning to braid—slow and soft, like muscle memory, like ritual.

“I like it when you braid my hair,” you murmured sleepily.

“I know,” he whispered back. “You always go still when I do.”

You did. Everything inside you quieted when his hands were in your hair, when his heartbeat thudded steady behind your spine, when his breath puffed warm against your temple. After a while, your muscles relaxed and your breathing slowed. You drifted off just like that—wrapped in his arms, warm and loved and safe.

And Joaquin held you long after you’d fallen asleep. Because to him, there was no place more important in the world than right here.

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joeliz99 · 5 months ago

Text

"You, Always." - Danny Ramirez

Warnings: Slowburn, RPF Fic, Multi-part series

(In case you missed the first chapter, click here)

Part One

Time to start over.

Second Chapter

February 20. Three years prior. Two different people.

Nobody expected them to become such close friends. Sure, both (Y/N) and Danny had naturally easy-going personalities, and they were good at making friends, but it wasn’t obvious at first why they clicked so well. Time passed, and somehow, they just fit.

They only had one class together, but they shared a solid group of mutual friends.

(Y/N) was a couple of years younger than most in their circle. She'd transferred from abroad to attend NYU Tisch, pursuing her passion for the Institute of Recorded Music.

Danny, on the other hand, had transferred from Miami after realizing he wanted more than just picking up random acting gigs for cash. He wanted to perform. But that didn’t mean giving up sports. If anything, sports had always been his first love. So, he joined the football team.

There were only three games left in his final season before graduation. That Saturday, everyone gathered to watch him play in one of them. The field was packed with fans, both sides screaming as the second half kicked off.

You could see the players weaving across the field, coordinating in real-time, dodging tackles as they pushed forward. Danny was in his element, shifting his body to avoid opponents, eyes locked on the end zone. He stretched his arms wide, ready to catch the ball as it soared toward him—and he did.

The roar from the NYU crowd surged around him. His friends cheered from the stands, urging him on, though the noise barely reached him over the rush of adrenaline.

“Come on, Danny! Let’s goooo!”

Everything was perfect—until it wasn’t.

It came fast. First, he felt the impact. A collision—his body slammed against a larger, heavier frame. Everything blurred for a moment as his body crashed to the ground, dragging the other player with him. The ball slipped from his hands.

A tense silence followed before a sharp scream cut through the air. Danny's hand shot to his shoulder, his face twisted in agony as pain exploded through his body. His teammates rushed to him, but the crowd’s energy faltered, replaced by uneasy murmurs.

On the bleachers, Yason’s face twisted into a frown, his body tensing.

“Something’s wrong.” (Y/N) stood up, eyes fixed on the field as the medical team rushed toward Danny. “Guys, he’s not okay.”

“Come on.” Yason was already moving, the rest of the group following suit.

Chaos broke out. Some players argued with the ref, accusing the other team of a dirty hit. The assistant coach had to step in to calm things down. Meanwhile, Danny was carefully lifted onto a stretcher, his arm and shoulder stabilized.

It wasn’t looking good. The decision was made. He needed immediate medical attention.

The paramedics, already standing by, exchanged positions with the athletic trainers. They spoke in hushed tones as they assessed Danny. A fracture could be involved. He was out for the rest of the game.

“Can one of us go with him?” Amelia’s voice cracked as she asked, her face twisted in worry. She followed the group down the steps toward the field, urgency in her step.

“One of the trainers is going with him,” Yason replied, not missing a beat. “We’ll meet them at the hospital.”

“And how are we supposed to get there, Yason?” someone asked, their voice tight with frustration. (Y/N) didn’t answer. Instead, she fell into step with the paramedics, keeping close behind them as they made their way off the field. Danny lay on the stretcher, his face pale, sweat clinging to his skin, his features twisted with pain. His eyes were shut tight, his frustration evident, but he still didn’t allow the tears to fall.

“Hey, Danny. It’s okay.” (Y/N)’s voice was quiet but firm. He didn’t look at her, his jaw clenched tight. The anger, the pain, the sadness swirled together on his face. But she didn’t need him to answer. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll see you at the hospital.”

It didn’t take long before most of the group piled into an Uber heading to the hospital that had been chosen to treat Danny. The atmosphere was thick with tension; everyone was on edge, worried about his condition. Getting any information out of the nurses was a challenge—they only spoke with the assistant coach, who, for now, was the one legally responsible for Danny.

Hours passed before they finally got an update. As expected, his shoulder was fractured, but thankfully, it was a closed reduction, and the area was immobilized to allow for healing. He’d be sent home soon, but the recovery time meant he wouldn’t be able to finish his final season. It was over for him.

(Y/N), who had interacted with Danny’s mother more than once, was the one who had to break the news. Of course, she was concerned—this was the second time he’d been injured like this—but (Y/N) made sure to reassure her that he was okay and that they would take care of him. After all, this was the family he had in NYC.

Danny was discharged and sent back to his apartment, the reality of his situation setting in: his passion for football had just been ripped away, again. Why did this have to happen to him? Why again? He was furious—at himself, mostly—even though no one could have predicted the injury.

Nearly two weeks passed, and Danny barely left his apartment, only going out for classes and work. He didn’t want to see his team; he couldn’t bear the thought of them treating him like some fragile charity case.

One night, he was lying in bed, reading a book, when someone knocked at his door. He barely moved, his eyes flicking to the door but remaining silent, waiting for the visitor to announce themselves. The guys never knocked.

“Uhh... Are you gonna let me stand out here waiting?” (Y/N)’s voice rang through the door. He hesitated for a moment before answering.

“It’s open.”

Her head popped through the door as she opened it, her eyes quickly scanning both him and the rest of the room before she stepped inside.

"Had to make sure you were in decent shape before I came in," she said, her voice light but with a hint of concern. Danny glanced at her, still confused, and then noticed the items she was carrying—food, along with a few other things he couldn’t quite make out.

"Aren’t you supposed to be at a rehearsal?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but it got canceled. I figured we could hang out since you seem to want to be MIA."

He settled back against the pillows, placing his book on the nightstand just as she walked in, dropping everything she’d been carrying and casually sitting down beside him with a quiet sigh.

"So, did you miss me?" she asked, her voice light but with a spark of mischief in her eyes. Danny rolled his eyes, purposely avoiding the way she looked at him with that teasing smile, or the gentle nudge to his good arm. She was the one person he didn’t mind being around—but he wasn’t about to let her see that.

"You just came here to bother me, didn’t you?"

"Maybe," she replied, her grin widening as she relaxed beside him, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. A subtle smile tugged at his lips, despite himself. "But seriously, you don’t mind me being here, right?"

He sighed, his tone softening without him quite realizing it. "You know I don’t, (Y/N/N)."

Her smile deepened, and she stood up to grab the takeout food from the table.

"Good. Let’s eat, then. Maybe watch a movie. You can pick whatever you’re in the mood for."

Danny nodded, reaching for the remote. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for anything in particular, but she’d made the effort, and he appreciated it.

Soon, they found themselves lying in bed, full from Chinese takeout, with a movie playing quietly on Danny’s computer, positioned between them.

The only sounds in the room were the occasional low comments they made to each other and the soft hum of the city drifting through the window. The night hadn’t quite settled in, but the room was darker than usual—thanks to the heavy curtains that shut out the chill of the lingering winter air on a typical March afternoon. Their shoulders brushed occasionally under the large blanket that covered them both.

(Y/N) glanced at her phone now and then, tapping out notes as they popped into her head. It was a habit—she noticed the little things, let them simmer in her mind, and later, they’d find their way into her music. Whether the outcome was good or not didn’t matter much. It was just how she kept her creativity sharp and her mind awake.

Danny glanced at her screen and smirked before turning back to the movie—one he wasn’t really paying attention to anymore.

“Do you even want to be doing this?”

(Y/N) blinked at him, confused, until he nodded toward her phone.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to forget what I’m thinking now.” she admitted, setting it down.

Danny hummed, his gaze steady. “I know how your mind works,” he murmured. “I just want this moment to be about me, you know?”

A teasing smile played on his lips, making her roll her eyes before nudging his shoulder.

“Please, you’re not that special.”

He grinned. “Am I not? Look who you chose to spend your afternoon with.”

His confidence was effortless, but she didn’t quite match it this time. Instead, she glanced away before shifting in her seat.

“Are we really going to pretend like everything’s fine?”

Danny’s jaw tensed. For the first time, he broke eye contact.

“I’m not pretending.”

“Danny.”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “What? You want me to say I’m pissed? That I feel like I wasted my time? That I don’t know why this shit keeps happening to me?” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “I’m not the type to complain, (Y/N). It’s over. That’s it.”

A quiet pause stretched between them before she spoke again, softer this time.

“Life’s not over just because you didn’t finish this goal, Danny. There’s more to do after this. You just have to figure out what’s next.”

He turned toward her then, their faces inches apart.

“And what if I don’t know what that is?”

(Y/N) exhaled, tilting her head slightly. “Then thank God you decided to pursue acting instead of football. Or soccer. Or whatever else you’ll be obsessed with in the next couple of months.”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback.

Instead, he just looked at her, his head resting on the bed frame and just mere inches away from her. Both stayed silent, not really having anything else to say. She was right, and he knew it, but instead, he could only now concentrate on the fact that he was thankful to once again have a moment where there were only the two of them.

Danny stayed quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on her before he looked away, his head resting against the bed frame, just inches from hers. There was hesitation in the air, the weight of their conversation still hanging between them. After a beat, he nodded slightly, as if coming to terms with something unspoken.

"Thank you," he murmured, the words soft but sincere.

They both fell into silence then, the tension easing as they were left with just the quiet presence of each other. She was right, and he knew it, but for now, he didn’t even care—thankful for this rare moment where it was just the two of them, with no distractions or complications.

His head dipped slightly, forehead nearly brushing against hers. The touch was barely there, but somehow, it felt like everything.

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

There it was again—that look. The same one they’d been avoiding for a while now.

(Y/N) swallowed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Danny exhaled, his breath fanning over her lips as he shook his head lightly. “You know, (Y/N)...”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. The weight of the moment pressed down on her chest, heavy and real.

Danny let his head rest against hers fully now, his touch featherlight, hesitant in a way that made her stomach flip. His hand—his good one—lifted, fingers brushing against her jaw, barely touching. It had been happening for months now—longer, maybe. The glances that lingered too long, the way their conversations drifted into something quieter when they were alone. The way he always found an excuse to touch her, whether it was knocking his knee against hers under the table, tucking her hair behind her ear, or the way his hand had found the small of her back at an event a few weeks ago when he guided her through a crowd.

And then, the park.

That was the moment she had known—really known.

They had been sitting on a bench listening to music, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows, when he reached up, almost absently, and ran his thumb along her cheek. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And she let him.

She let him because, deep down, she wanted it. Just like she wanted this.

(Y/N) swallowed hard, her lips pressing together as she finally forced a breath out. “I—”

But he didn’t let her finish.

His fingers tilted her chin slightly, just enough to make her meet his gaze head-on, and before she could talk herself out of it—before either of them could—he closed the space between them.

His lips brushed hers, a question rather than a demand.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t an explosion. It was quiet, hesitant, like the moment itself was holding its breath.

And then, it happened. A soft inhale, a shift, and the slow press of lips meeting lips.

(Y/N) felt her hands curl into the fabric of his hoodie, grounding herself in something, anything. Danny sighed against her mouth, his hand settling along the curve of her jaw, his thumb brushing the skin there as if he wanted to memorize it. For a moment, they lingered, as if neither of them wanted that moment to end. It was too good, too unreal.

But the world around them came rushing back, and (Y/N) slowly pulled away, her breath shaky. She didn’t want to admit it, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

After a beat of silence, she finally whispered, "What are we doing?”

_____________________________________________

March 24. 1,095 days later. A long way to go.

It was the day before the wedding, and the air was thick with the rush of last-minute details. Amelia and Yason were both stressed, so their loved ones were either trying to help or staying out of the way.

(Y/N) was on a mission to buy Amelia some comfortable shoes for the wedding reception, having forgotten them back at her house. As she walked out, she bumped into Danny, standing with a coffee and a book in his hand, looking completely at ease.

“Oh hey! Glad to see you survived last night,” he joked, a smile spreading across his face.

“Yeah, been awake since the crack of dawn, trying to help with this wedding,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I’m heading out now. Need to find some stuff for Ame.”

“Want some company?” Danny asked, not even overthinking the proposal.

She raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re coming with me to buy shoes?”

“Why not?” He shrugged, glancing down at the book he was carrying. “I was gonna go for a walk anyway.”

“Okay... Then let’s go.”

After navigating shoe stores, coffee breaks, and a few rounds of aimless window shopping at thrift stores they used to visit back in the day, they found themselves at a quiet little park. The sounds of the city faded into the background for a moment, the sun high in the sky, casting a golden glow on everything. Neither of them felt the need to rush back to the hotel just yet.

They sat on a weathered bench, their backs leaning against the rough wood, shoulders brushing lightly every so often, but neither acknowledged it. There was something comfortable about the silence, something that wasn’t forced. It felt like they were picking up where they had left off—only now, there was something different. Something they couldn’t quite name yet.

Danny took a sip from his coffee, looking out at the patch of green in front of them, fingers tapping the side of his cup absentmindedly. (Y/N) kicked her feet lightly, the tips of her sneakers brushing the ground.

“So…” he began but stopped himself, glancing at her, then back at the park. “It’s funny, you know? I always thought if we saw each other again, it would feel like... like we were complete strangers. Nothing left of who we were.”

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze still on the half-full coffee cup in his hands. "The people we were? " she said, a dry chuckle escaping.

Danny’s lips quirked up at the corner, a little embarrassed but not backing down. "Yeah… I just thought time would do its job." He turned to face her fully now, his tone softer. "But I guess I never really imagined it would be this easy to talk to you again."

She glanced at him, holding his gaze for a beat longer than she intended. "You think it’s easy?"

He smirked, setting his coffee down next to him. "I don’t know. Maybe ‘easy’ isn’t the right word." He paused, his smile fading a little as he looked out into the park. “It’s just... surprising, I guess. How normal it feels. Like, it’s been years, but you’re still here. And I’m still here. Like we were never gone, you know?”

The simplicity of it hit her—this was what they had. A kind of unspoken understanding, wrapped up in years of lost time and unresolved feelings.

(Y/N) kicked the dirt lightly with her shoes and looked down, trying to brush off the heaviness in her chest. "Yeah, I get it. It's like... nothing really changed, even though it did.”

Danny chuckled softly, but it wasn’t the teasing laugh she remembered. It was warmer, more grounded. " Mhm… I guess we’ll have to talk about that too. I don't know it now's the right time, though.”

They both sat there in silence again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just them, existing in the same space, figuring out what it meant to pick up the pieces after everything that had happened.

Still wanting to read more? Here are some other Danny's shots to read. You're welcome!!!!

#danny ramirez x (y/n)#danny ramirez #danny ramirez fic #danny ramirez x you #danny ramirez x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x reader #danny ramirez gif #fanboy x reader #fanboy #the falcon #the falcon and the winter soldier #slow burn #friends to lovers #friends to enemies #friends to strangers #Danny ramirez fluff

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nolita-fairytale · 3 months ago

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and for us, it won't be long | joaquin torress x fem!reader | chapter two

summary: you and joaquin can't even order thai food in philly without flirting. a conversation ensues.

warnings: smut (minors dni) tooth-rotting fluff, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, swearing, use of she/her pronouns, one bed trope-adjacent, mentions of food, limited spanish, top gun reference, inappropriate mention of isaiah (poor guy he did not ask for this he's just training the youths of captain america!!), friends to lovers

word count: 5.7k

a/n: omg it's finally here i finally did it! i haven't written a fic in so long so if you're still reading this... thank you for your patience. this one is spicy! these two are yappy overthinkers who are so damn sweet on each other. i don't know how to explain it but... this is who they told me they wanted to be.

part one | masterlist | part three

It’s a very serious decision that you have to make—your final dinner selections—one that should never be taken lightly, and the sole reason you’ve found yourself inside of a Thai restaurant bickering like an old married couple.

“So… I say we do an order of egg rolls, a chicken pad thai, a curry, and maybe something else to share? Or is that too much?” you chuckle as you review your order, taking charge of the endless indecision that’s plagued the both of you.

“I think you underestimate just how much I can eat,” Joaquin shoots back, stealing a playful look at the mom and pop restaurant owners that wait, patient smiles plastered to their faces as the two of you fail to make a decision.

“It’s not a competition,” you tease him, side eyeing his flex.

“It won’t kill us if we get two pad thais. It’s kiiiinda my favorite,” he adds, while simultaneously, you interject with a, “Yeah, why not? We can have leftovers.”

“Okay, well, what if we just get one pad thai and then something else, but you can have most of it. I only want a few bites, I promise,” you reason with him, though you can’t promise it’ll be true.

“Bullshit.”

You laugh.

After all this time, he still knows you so well.

“Okay fine. I guess we could double up on pad thais or do you want to get another noodle dish and we’ll still share,” you suggest, bringing up your former idea again, this time expecting some kind of acknowledgement from Joaquin. You send an apologetic look to the restaurant owners—a silent, I’m Sorry—who, you can only imagine, are growing more and more impatient by the minute.

You both wait a beat, thinking it over before simultaneously coming to the conclusion that:

“No you’re right we should do that,” Joaquin agrees with a sigh, admitting defeat.

“No, let's do what you want! You just said pad thai was your favorite,” you concede, in complete harmony with your twin concessions.

You both laugh and the couple who own the restaurant share a knowing look.

“Well, what do you want to do?” you ask with a giggle, your eyes wide as you look to Joaquin. “Nah, you’re right. We should mix it up instead,” Joaquin reiterates, holding his ground.

“You sure?” you question, hesitantly.

“How about we give you all three noodle dishes, plus the curry…” the woman finally interjects, putting you both (and probably her and her husband) out of your misery. “...and a discount for the Falcon.”

“Your service to this country is much appreciated,” her husband adds with a curt, yet reverent nod.

Joaquin grins in response, and you’re not sure whether he’s celebrating his two-chicken-pad-thai win or the fact that he’s been recognized as an Avenger. He thanks both of the restaurant owners with a charming smile, before pulling out his wallet.

“Oh you are not paying!” you protest, panic in your eyes as you move to stop him. “Yes, I am!” he insists, shooting you a look. “At least let me go dutch with-,” you begin.

“Absolutely not!” he scoffs, shrugging your suggestion off like he’s almost offended. “You’re letting me crash with you anyway.”

“Joaquin!” “Oh honey, let the handsome boy pay,” the restaurant owner interjects once again, this time with a wink in Joaquin’s direction, putting yet another debate between you and Joaquin to an end.

“Let him pay,” her husband repeats firmly, his face serious enough to shut you up.

You’re speechless, so instead you let out an exasperated sigh, throwing up your hands in defeat. The couple shares yet another knowing look before tearing your order off of their notepad to give to their kitchen as they talk amongst themselves, switching quickly from English to Thai. You can only assume it means they’re talking about the two of you as they share a laugh, then a pointed look back to you and Joaquin, and you can hardly blame them. You’ve sure put them through it in the five minutes you and Joaquin have been here.

“Did you put them up to this?” you ask in disbelief, launching your mostly-joking accusation at your friend.

“Oh yeah. They’re paid actors,” he replies quickly, the wittiness and smugness evident on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You scoff with a playful eye roll, trying your best to ignore how a familiar warmth fills you. You’ve missed Joaquin’s flirty banter, something that had always been there between the two of you, but never acknowledged. All these years you’d kept your distance, certain that you’d be a terrible army wife. You knew you’d be no good, sitting at home waiting for your husband to return from his deployment, and Joaquin had been intent on enlisting when the two of you graduated high school.

You wonder if it’s the only thing that held you back from ever taking your friendship with Joaquin any further. Not that anything has changed… he’s still active duty… and now he’s an Avenger. But after his accident, you’ve questioned your own stubbornness, unable to deny just how much his near-death experience scared the shit out of you.

The Thai takeout has been demolished, what’s left of it stored away in the fridge hours ago. You’re half asleep when the credits music of Matrix Reloaded—Joaquin’s request—wakes you. You blink your eyes open to see Joaquin half asleep on the other end of the couch, his feet kicked up, legs stretched out across the length of your incredibly comfy couch.

“Hey doofus. We fell asleep,” you whisper, nudging his leg with yours.

Joaquin groans, slowly beginning to blink his eyes open. His heart skips a beat as he wakes to you, making note of the fact that he really likes it.

“So much for our Matrix marathon,” he mumbles, sitting up a little taller from where he’s curled up on the couch.

“You should take the bed,” you suggest softly, noticing the way he shifts uncomfortably.

It hasn’t been that many weeks since getting out of the hospital. It makes the most sense and you don’t mind sleeping on the couch for a few nights.

“No, I’m fine. Really,” he brushes off the notion. “I just-. Well, you’re still technically recovering and-.” you begin making a case for your suggestion.

“But the couch is really comfy!” he grins, trying a little harder to convince you. “It is a comfy couch but I still think you should take the bed,” you reply, firmly.

Joaquin searches your expression for any kind of retreat, realizing that you’ve clearly made up your mind. And he knows what that means.

Once you’ve made up your mind, there’s no changing it.

But he doesn’t love the idea of kicking you out of your own bed either.

“Why don’t we just go halfsies?” He suggests so casually, as if he’s suggesting the two of you split the bill he insisted on paying earlier. “Not like we haven’t shared a bed before. Doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything.” “You do have a point,” you drag out slowly, your breath catching your throat. But you know you’re going to have to sell it better. “Right, yeah. No big deal.”

He’s technically right. You’d had plenty of sleepovers as kids, and had spent many a class overnight field trips in sleeping bags next to each other.

“Just like last time,” Joaquin adds, caution in his voice this time.

Last time.

“Last time” had started the way they always do. After returning from the blip, you and Joaquin reconnected and had gone out to catch up, dancing into the early hours of the morning, fueled by a few too many tequila sodas in downtown Miami. It was a night to remember—except for the parts you’re not sure he does.

You’re not even sure you remember correctly.

You remember the next morning, waking up in the same bed as Joaquin, and having to explain to both sets of your parents that you’d both had a little too much to drink and crashed at Joaquin’s because it was safer than going home.

It was harmless.

Just a night of fun and old friends after five years of being gone.

Nothing happened, you both insisted, much to the unconvinced looks on both of your mothers.

Except… if you remember correctly… there was a kiss.

A few kisses, actually.

But you’d never talked about it and both you and Joaquin had been drunk, so you assumed it wasn’t worth talking about, an event of the night swept under the rug so seamlessly you figured it clearly hadn’t mattered to either of you.

“Right yeah. We should… share the bed. Totally makes sense,” you finally agree, plastering a fake smile on your face like you haven’t just had a mini-existential crisis.

“What?” Joaquin asks, searching your face for a reason you’re suddenly acting so weird.

“Nothing,” you’re too quick to defend. “That’s not a nothin’ face,” he points out, unconvinced. “I-, it’s nothing!” you shrug, your voice higher in pitch, telegraphing that it really is okay. “No, what’s up?”Joaquin asks, this time much more concerned as he begins to back off his suggestions. “I don’t have to share the bed if you-.”

Had he pushed too far? Should he not have brought it up?

“Joaquin, it’s fine, it’s just-.” you interrupt, wishing you had just done a better job lying in the first place.

Joaquin chuckles, “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?”

You roll your eyes, because you love and also hate how easily he recognizes the look on your face.

“I-,” you start, giving yourself one last chance to back out of telling him the truth. But you know there’s no use. He already knows something’s up.

“It’s just-. Well last time…. Listen, it wasn’t a big deal or anything, and we were really drunk and I had just gotten back after being gone for five years so there’s that but-,” you stammer out, tripping over how awkward and uncomfortable this conversation is about to be.

He waits patiently, a softness in his eyes that lets you know that whatever’s on your mind is okay to share.

“I take it you don’t remember…” you sigh with a nod.

It’s not like you’d been holding out for him to bring it up, that you thought he’d been holding on to the memory ever since, just waiting for the right time to confess his love, but you’re surprised to find yourself disappointed as you accept that he really must’ve not remembered.

“...Well, there was sort of… a kiss between us. That night. You know. Last time.”

“Oh, uh,” Joaquin begins hesitantly, wanting to tread as carefully as possible. “I uh. Yeah I-, I know.”

Oh.

I know?!

Your heart skips a beat.

It’s not exactly the reaction you were expecting.

“Wh-?” you begin to ask, caught off guard by his admission. “I-, I didn’t think you remembered.” “I didn’t know if you wanted me to,” he admits, earnestly.

You have to stop yourself from letting out a laugh.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, a laugh following as you feel a warmth in your cheeks.

“I-. You didn’t say anything the morning after and, like you said, we had both been drinking the night before so… I don’t know. I didn’t say anything because you didn’t,” Joaquin explains, almost shyly, catching you off guard even further.

It’s your turn this time to say:

“Oh,”

“Yeah,” he lets out a sigh. His eyes nervously search yours, trying to get a read on you.

“Listen, this doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s-, it’s not a big deal!” you deny, trying your best to get things back on track. “I think I just… I don’t even know why I brought it up. Maybe just so it wasn’t awkward when we-. You know. Address the elephant in the room and get it out of the way, you know?

You know you’re rambling, but it’s as if your mouth’s run away from you and taken on a mind of its own. “But…” Joaquin trails off, as he decides to tumble off this cliff with you, uncertain whether the risk will pay off. “... doesn’t it feel like it? I mean, this feels weird, right?”

You take a breath.

A beat.

“A little,” you admit quietly, as the two of you exchange nervous laughter.

Yeah. A little, being an understatement.

You try your best to gauge any kind of reaction from Joaquin, wondering why the tension between you feels so charged, especially considering how many times you’ve insisted that this was so not a big deal.

An idea crosses your mind, and you think you might be going insane, but you’re not sure you can fall asleep feeling this weird about things.

“Okay, well, before we jump into my bed together… I think we should… resolve this,” you begin, deciding to take charge.

“What do you mean?” Joaquin asks, hesitantly.

“I-. I don’t know. It doesn't seem like talking about it is getting us anywhere. And… well, shit. I brought it up in the first place so. Sorry for that,” you continue to ramble on nervously. You take a deep breath before suggesting what you think might be a terrible, terrible idea.

“Maybe we should just… get this out of our systems? So we can prove to ourselves that it’s totally not weird at all and just… not even a big deal.”

Joaquin processes, going over and over in his head what he thinks you’re trying to say. “You mean… kiss again?” he finally asks, a hope in his eyes he prays isn’t too goddamn obvious. “Maybe. Yeah. I don’t know. What do you think?” you ask, shakily.

A beat.

“Fuck it. This is a terrible idea and I-,” you begin to backtrack, shaking off how silly that way.

“No, it’s not!” Joaquin is quick to interject, inching a little closer. “But… I mean. You sure?”

You nod slowly, contemplating what you’re agreeing to, before finally deciding on:

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You both exchange nervous laughs, before shifting just a little closer to each other. “So should we just-, I mean are supposed to just-,” you giggle, awkwardly, gesturing towards the man.

Why was this so weird?

Joaquin grins, another small laugh falling out of his mouth as he leans in closer to you.

“Oh my god! Joaquin, what’re you doing?” you gasp, your voice quiet as his lips are inches away from yours, as if this weren’t your idea.

“Well, you said we should just go for it,” he teases gently, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

“I know but. It’s weird. This is-, it’s weird, right?!,” you giggle again. It’s as if your mind wants to pull away, but your body betrays you, as your heart skips a beat, reminding you to learn forward this time too.

“Mhmm,” he hums, with an aplomb you certainly do not have. He lowers his voice, and almost as if he’s warning you, he adds, “I’m gonna kiss you now.” You nod, just a little, before replying with:

“Okay.”

He chuckles.

“Okay.”

Joaquin takes his time, almost teasingly, before brushing his lips against yours. You’re taken by surprise by the fact that it doesn’t feel like enough. He pulls back just enough, before pressing his lips to your with full force this time. You inhale him, this moment, and the feeling that everything is about to change as you kiss him back, meeting him just as deeply as he’s met you.

It’s not like you’d never wondered what this would feel like, but thinking about kissing Joaquin had just a thing of your childhood fantasies—something you’d thought you’d long forgotten. The way his lips move against yours feels like the fucking Fourth of July, explosions going off in and outside of you.

“Joaquin?” you murmur against his lips, hanging onto the last threads of self-control you have (which, you think should come with a gold medal, considering especially the way he’s kissing you right now).

“Hmmmm?” he hums against you, his hand coming up to cup your face, with no intention of stopping any time soon.

“Yeah, so this kinda feels like a big deal,” you reply, in between kisses. “Uh huh,” he sounds in response, before sucking on your top lip. You gasp, more than happy to keep going, but he wants to make sure you feel the same.

Joaquin pulls away just momentarily, his hand still cradling your face. He’s inches away from you once again, his gaze matching the seriousness of his tone as he asks, “We don’t have to keep going. If you don’t want to. We can stop.”

“No!” you practically cry out, eliciting a small chuckle from his lips. The ones you very much wish to be kissing again.

“Dimelo. Tell me what you want,” he says softly, and you’ve never felt safer with anyone. You’re actually not sure how you’ve managed to keep it together, ready to melt off of the couch and into his arms. “You wanna keep going?”

“Uh huh,” you nod, this time closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips against his. “I wanna keep going.”

So much for this not being a big deal.

He takes your ‘yes’ as a sign to keep kissing you, as you shift for your body to face his. You’re wrapping your arms around his neck, and he’s licking into your mouth so that his tongue can tangle with yours, the two of you surrender to whatever this thing is between the two of you. It’s as if you can’t get close enough to him. His hands are cautious, his fingertips grazing your arms, before hesitantly trailing his hands over your waist. You lean into him, wanting to be even closer, and on your cue, Joaquin pulls you onto his lap. With your knees on either side of his hips, you straddle him, pressing your body to his chest as his tongue teases yours.

You pull away, only for a moment, your eyes telling him that you need to explore more of him. You begin to kiss along his jaw, then down to his neck, leaving kisses along the column of his throat. As you begin to travel outwards, you notice the scarring along the back of his neck and shoulders from the accident, surprised at how quickly the skin has healed.

It’s gotta be some kind of super-medicine, you think to yourself.

His eyes search yours as if to ask, Is it okay?

His scars, he means.

You begin to kiss along the tops of his shoulders, his collarbone, and where his shoulder meets his neck, as if to reply:

They’re beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

It’s more tender than you’re ready for, caught up by surprise by the moment, so you lift your head, meeting his lips once more. Joaquin’s hands are less cautious this time, pressing you against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, continuing the passionate makeout.

Holy shit.

You’re making out with your childhood sweetheart.

The one you swore you’d never date.

But right now, you could care less, because he feels too good, and he kisses you like you’re his favorite thing. It’s all soft sighs, gentle hums that turn into moans, and hands all over. You could really lose yourself in this as you feel Joaquin’s hips buck up into yours, causing you to let out a moan.

“Joaquin, wait,” you pant, using all the willpower you have left in you at this moment, as you break the hot and heavy makeout session that’s gone on between you.

Because it feels too good.

And because you want this to go where you think it’s going.

“If we keep going… this-, we- we can’t unring this bell,” you pause, your eyes searching his for confirmation that he wants this just as much as you do.

“I don’t wanna,” he replies, with the utmost sincerity and admiration in the way he looks at you. “I don’t wanna unring the bell. No take backs.”

You giggle with a nod, “Okay. No take backs.”

It’s innocent and hot all at once. He pulls you back into him, his kiss tender as he smiles against your lips.

“Hold on,” he rasps, his order direct and sure.

Before you know it, he’s standing up, and you’re clinging to his strong form with your legs and your arms letting out a laugh as soon as you realize what’s happening.

“So does this mean you wanna share the bed or-?” he teases you, knowing very well that that’s your only plan for tonight.

You chuckle in response, shaking your head, “Take me to bed or lose me forever, Torres.”

“I love that movie,” he smiles. “I know you do,” you smile back.

“But I mean it. Take me to bed, baby.”

Baby.

He likes the way it sounds on your lips, and he likes the fact that it’s you calling ‘baby’ even more.

“Yes ma’am,” he grins, as you hold onto his body, feeling every step towards your bedroom.

You’re grateful for once, that your apartment isn’t that large, as Joaquin reaches your bed before you know. He lays you down gently, hovering over you as he removes his shirt.

“Oh my god!” you gasp, as he approaches the bed, this time shirtless. You cannot get your hands on him fast enough, feeling each plane of his superhero body against your hot, hot hands. “Please remind me to thank your personal trainer.”

“Oh that’s Isaiah. He-,” Joaquin begins to explain, smirking as you chase his lips.

“I really don’t want to think about Isaiah right now,” you interrupt him, taking your shirt off for good measure.

Joaquin is on you in seconds, kissing you like he’s kissed you a million times before. Were you really going to do this? Were you about to have sex with your best friend?

Before you can overthink it, Joaquin begins to leave kisses down your neck, returning the favor from earlier. His hot, wet mouth feels incredible, and all you can do is feel every single nerve ending in your body ablaze. You moan as he nibbles on the sensitive skin just below your collarbone, and you can feel him smile against your skin. He takes his time, making his way to the very top of the bralette you wear, leaving delicate kisses as he looks up at you.

“May I?” he asks.

He’s met with an eager nod from you, his large hands coming up to pull the fabric down, just enough to expose your breast to him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he sighs out.

Before you can respond, he’s wrapped his mouth around the peak of your breast, and you’re crying out in response.

“Oh my God, Joaquin,” you sigh, feeling the way his tongue begins to circle your nipple.

This is so not how you expected this evening to go, but you let yourself enjoy it anyway. Joaquin makes his way over to your other breast, giving it the same attention and reverence as the former.

As he pulls away, you’re practically tearing the bralette over your head and onto the floor, tossed somewhere you won’t worry about till tomorrow morning. Joaquin’s mouth is on yours for a brief, smacking kiss, then he’s making his way down your body again, allowing your mind to wonder what else he can do with his mouth.

You don’t have to wait long to find out.

Before you know it, he’s removing your PJ shorts and panties, and leaving teasing kisses along your inner thighs.

“Fuck, you’re wet, baby,” he practically moans as he gets closer to where you need him.

“Hmmmm, yeah. Well, someone likes to tease,” you let out on an exhale, unsure of how you’re able to make a joke at a time like this. “You want my mouth? That it?” he asks you, nibbling on the soft skin.

You moan, your hands tangling themselves in the thick locks at the back of his head.

“Yes, baby. I want your mouth. Please.”

Please.

He never thought a word could sound so sweet, but coming from you, here, between your legs, as he’s wound you up enough to make you beg him? He’s lost all shreds of self-control he has left, unable to deny you nor him any longer.

You cry out as soon as you feel the warmth of his mouth on you, parting you open with his tongue.

“So wet,” you hear him groan into you before beginning to devour you.

His tongue is everywhere, licking broad stripes up to your clit, drawing abstract shapes like he’s Matisse, then dipping into you over and over again. It’s not until he slides a finger, and then two into you, his tongue focusing on your clit, that your pants of pleasure have turned into a string of moans.

“Holy fuck, Joaquin!” you cry out.

“I think I’m gonna-,” you stammer out, feeling the coil inside of you ready to snap. “Don’t stop, babe. Please. Fuck. I’m gonna come.”

He’s relentless, his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside of you, bringing you up and over your peak till you break like a wave. Joaquin takes his time, slowing down the ministrations of his mouth while he cleans you up with his tongue.

“How was that?” Joaquin asks, a mischievous smirk on his face as he stares up at you from between your legs. You look just as wrecked as you sound, and he can’t help but feel accomplished.

You let out a laugh, “Holy shit. Was the screaming of your name not enough?”

His smirk turns into a grin, and he’s moving up to kiss you as he answers, “I think I could hear it again.” You can taste yourself on his lips as you kiss him back.

“Then you’re gonna have to make me come like that again,” you’re quick to parry back, as if it’s a challenge.

“I think that can be arranged,” he replies. “You have condoms?” “Mhm,” you reply, before sitting up.

You promise you’ll be right back, and anything said after that is lost on him as he watches your naked body move around the room. As you return to him from your quick trip to your nightstand, condom in hand, he can’t get over how beautiful you are.

“Looks we still gotta get you naked. And do not bring up your personal trainer again, my God,” you groan, earning a laugh from him. You place the condom down on the bed beside you, before pulling Joaquin towards you.

He kneels on the bed, his knees on either side of your legs as he begins to pull his sweatpants down. You’re not sure if you’re nervous or excited to see him completely naked as your heart flutters. Joaquin clumsily makes his way out of his sweatpants, the two of you exchanging nervous laughs, before he’s kneeling over you again, completely naked.

He’s thick, and just long enough that you’re glad you’ve had a solid night of foreplay so far. You reach for the condom, handing it to him. Freeing up your hands, he takes it, and you slide one hand around his cock because you just have to feel it.

Joaquin hisses in response, shooting you a warning look.

You giggle, allowing him to slide the condom on first, before returning to you.

“We don’t have to-, you know. Right away. We can do some more of this,” he says, as he kisses you, slipping a hand between your legs.

It’s insane how your legs fall open for him without hesitation. You moan as he drags his index finger along your heat, earning a soft moan from. You allow him to tease you for just a little longer, the kisses shared between the two of you are long, patient, and passionate.

This is it. The point of no return.

As if he can read your mind, he slots himself between your legs, and you’re making room for him instinctively.

“You sure?” he asks you, almost as if he’s giving you one last time to back out.

“I’m sure,” you answer confidently, this time, reaching down between your bodies to line him up with you.

Joaquin hisses once more, the feeling too good as you drag the tip of his latex-covered cock up and down your sex.

“Baby, please,” you say, as if you know they’re the magic words.

“Oh my god,” Joaquin groans, because he can’t take it anymore.

Slowly, he pushes just the tip in, the two of you moan at first contact. He pulls away just enough, before pushing in again, deeper this time. It goes on like this, each thrust bringing him deeper into you till he’s full seated inside of you. Joaquin pauses, allowing the two of you just to feel. You breathe each other in before he kisses you with a passion and fervor that takes your breath away.

Joaquin begins to move his hips, giving you a few experimental thrusts.

“Feels so good. You feel so fucking good,” he whispers in between kisses.

“You feel good too, ‘Quin,” you whine, as he begins to pick up the pace.

You cry out, because you can feel him so deep, and because he feels so goddamn hard and so goddamn good inside of you. It’s as if your bodies take over, and before you know it, Joaquin’s fucking you into the mattress, pressing your hands above your head, tangling his fingers with yours, and making you come on his cock for the very first time.

He watches you come down from your high, and he thinks he could do this forever, because you’re so damn beautiful when you come. There’s something about it—knowing it’s him that’s making you feel this way—that makes you feel this good.

“Switch with me,” you order, pulling him from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Let me get on top.”

He must have the dopiest smile on his face as he does, laying back against the mattress and watching you crawl on top of him.

This can’t be real.

Could this be real?

It feels really fucking real as he feels you slide down over him, your head thrown back in pleasure, taking him inch by inch.

“Dios mio, baby,” he sighs, his hands moving instinctively to your hips as you ride him.

He lets you set the pace, moving your hips slowly at first, settling into a rhythm as he admires your naked body. From the way you tangle your hands in your hair, the way your breasts bounce as you ride him, the way your hips swivel every few thrusts, he’s never seen a more magnificent sight. You take your time, just enjoying this, enjoying each other, with no rush or care in the world.

Joaquin can’t take his eyes off of you.

It’s just you and him and the way you feel.

With one hand on his chest, your back arched, your hips working up to a feverish pace, you can feel yourself on the verge again. He feels too good: Joaquin, your childhood best friend, the one that, just hours earlier, you thought would forever just be your friend. But now that you know how he kisses, what his tongue feels like, what his cock feels like, there’s absolutely not going back.

You let out another moan, an offering to the gods, because all you want is more, more, more.

“Holy shit! Why didn’t we do this sooner?” you gasp, the pace of your hips quick, chasing your high. “You said you didn’t want to be an army wife,” he pants in return, his thrusts meeting yours.

“Well, I’m currently reconsidering because-. Oh fuck!” you cry out, and you know you’ll have to bake apology muffins for your neighbors later this week.

There it is. It’s there.

You’re so close.

You can feel it.

“If you’re still talking, I don’t think I’m fucking you good enough,” Joaquin teases you.

“Well then, put your money where your mouth is, Torres, and make me cum.”

It’s meant to sound like a challenge, but you wonder if it just comes out as desperate as you feel.

Joaquin pauses, and before you can complain, you feel him shift so that he’s sitting upright. You both moan as she sinks just a little deeper. He kisses you deeply, his thrusts starting out slow before quickly moving to something with much more intention. He knows exactly what he wants from you.

With your face buried in his neck, he’s set a blistering pace, and you’re meeting him thrust for thrust. He really meant it when he said he’s fuck you even better.

“Fuck. Yes. Right there, right there, right there. Oh my god,” you shout into his neck as he hits that spot inside of you.

“I’m not gonna last long,” Joaquin grits out, and you can tell how much he’s holding back. “With you squeezing me like that. Fuck.”

“Then don’t,” you beg him, before your orgasm takes over you one last time. “I want you to come, baby.”

All you can do is hold on, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, moaning into his neck as you come again. He fucks you through it, his thrusts getting more erratic and sloppy with each one. It’s the way you pulse around him, how tight you’re squeezing him, milking all remnants of self control he has left that brings him to his high. Joaquin follows shortly after, because you just feel too good coming on his cock.

He comes with a strangled moan, stars exploding behind his eyes, followed by sharp pants as he tries to catch his breath.

You stay like this for what feels like forever, and not long enough.

“Holy shit,” you say, lifting your head to look at him.

“Uh… yeah,” Joaquin breathes, as the two of you share a smile. You leave gentle kisses along his shoulder as the two of you breathe together, enjoying your last moments like this. “Just uh, give me a second.”

You nod, careful as you let him slip out of you, allowing the both of you to collapse on your backs.

“So…” Joaquin drags out, looking over at you. “Still think we should share the bed?”

You laugh, pressing your lips together before answering with:

“You’ll be lucky if I let you out of this bed this weekend, Torres.”

“Mmmm I think I like the sound of that,” he grins, rolling over onto his side.

“Me too.”

part three

#joaquin torres x reader #captain america brave new world #danny ramirez #joaquin torres #marvel mcu #mcu fandom #marvel fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #the falcon #the new falcon #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres smut

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marvelwitchergilmore · 2 months ago

Text

There For You

Summary: Joaquin Torres x fe!Reader -> All your life you've told people you're 'fine'. So what happens when Joaquin sees through the mask?

Disclaimer: A lot of angst with a splash of fluff here and there. Dealing with feelings of guilt and high walls, Joaquin shows up for the reader, homemade meals, hurt/comfort fluff, Joaquin sees reader, happy ending.

I’m fine.

That was a sentence you were used to saying. If there was a book published after everyone had died, listing the amount of times you’d said a word or a phrase; I’m fine would be a top contender.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Well…”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” you laugh.ed. “Honestly, it’s okay.”

“How’s your day been?”

“It’s been-”

“Well, I’m just about to…”

Fine was something you’d always been. Mostly because you had to be. You couldn’t really remember when it all started, just that it did. And now it couldn’t change. You’d tried once, not being fine. It didn’t go so well.

“How’ve you been?”

Silence. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve been good. Yeah, it’s kinda been-”

“Can I ask your advice on something real quick? It-It’ll only take like a second.”

That second took three days. And it was still a conversation talked about months later.

So, after that, you put the smile back on. You’d tried to sit up, only to slouch again a few seconds later, and you plastered on your smile. If anyone asked, you were fine. At the very least, you were a variation. Okay. Good. Well.

And them? They needed your help. Or advice. Or needed you to just listen. You needed to take in their information so they could get it off their chest and you were to keep your own to yourself. Once they’d actually asked you to.

“How was work?” They asked you as you sat down, your entire body ready to just cry itself to sleep.

“Not great.”

They shook their head and sat back. “Oh, no. Actually.” They’d heard the tone in your voice. The last time they heard that tone, it hadn’t been something great. “Can you not tell me? It’s just, I don’t like hearing about that kinda stuff.” They meant you work. So, pulling your feelings back in, you turned your head away and looked back towards the window. “But, I have a new update. So…”

Again, you’d plastered on a smile. You didn’t have the energy for the argument that would come if you shook your head and said no. You also didn’t want to be alone at that moment. So, if sitting through a variation of the same conversation you’d heard more than a thousand times was what you had to go through to avoid an argument where inevitably you’d apologise, then you’d sit through it.

Some days it felt like if someone asked more than once…maybe even pushed you for the truth, you’d collapse right there. You’d cry and tell them everything. And feel completely guilty about it afterwards. People didn’t need your troubles burdening them. People needed you. As a friend, as a shoulder to cry on, as an advice service, as a soundboard. They needed you.

Even when your voice notes went unheard, when your texts were skimmed over and left behind in favour of someone else's conversation. It was in the small hours of the night the guilt would creep up on you. What if they’d been dying to get it off their chest all day and you’d just interrupted them. Maybe they’d skipped over it, but it still interrupted them. They’d already said they didn’t want to know.

They didn’t need to know.

Because you were fine.

So, you got up. You answered the text messages, you listened to the voice notes, you found time in your busy schedule to go to lunch or grab a drink with them. And each time, you’d come back home, your words still with you.

“Alone again,” you sighed as you sank into your sofa. “Alone again.”

Sometimes, you were glad to be alone. It meant the weight on your chest was a little less full of guilt. That you’d still wanted to tell them things when you knew they didn’t really want to listen. That, deep down, you just wanted to leave and let them keep talking. It was a lot to take on sometimes. Thankfully, some days, you didn’t really notice the weight. Not until weeks later when it would crash back over you.

In your own way, you’d screamed for help before. You’d been drowning. But nobody had heard you. They’d pointed out that you weren’t you and that you needed to apologise. So you had done. If more than one person was saying it, it meant it had to be true, right?

It took a while, but you’d succeeded. You’d finally become the person they wanted again. Inside, most days, it was like being held together by glue and duct tape. You kept the mask up, for as long as you could, to give you time to replace it with stronger stuff; wood, nails, bricks, metal. If they didn’t see you still fixing it, they wouldn’t make such a big deal about it. They wouldn’t blame you for being the person you’d become who wasn’t you.

And eventually, they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the wood and metal and the mask you’d been wearing.

Everything would be normal for them. And you’d be able to still keep everything in, without the walls bending and breaking like cardboard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Morning, Y/n.”

You looked up and smiled from your desk. “Morning, Cap.”

“Hey, Y/n.” Joaquin followed Sam.

“Morning. You guys okay?”

They both nodded. “Hill just gave us our debrief. Told us to come and find you.”

You nodded. “Yes.” From your desk, you pulled out two files and handed them over. “The mission is on a little island, just south of the European continent. We’ve had confirmation of sightings of ex-hydra agents in local areas.”

You pushed the diagram from your tablet onto the projector screen. “They have been here, here and here.” The spots formed a triangle on a nearby coast. “We also know one is confirmed to have once been affiliated with the flag-smashers.”

You gave them both the rest of the debrief. “Barton will be flying you out tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? Why tomorrow?”

“Because our sources tell us their secret shipment isn’t going to arrive until then and if we don’t catch them with it, then there is a chance our case may not hold well enough. Hill doesn’t want to take the risk of it falling through.”

After thirty minutes, they both had everything they needed to know.

“Get your rest now, Torres. We’re gonna need it for tomorrow.”

“Aye, aye, Cap. Where you headed?”

Sam turned around as he walked out of the door. “Got a date.”

You leaned over the desk. “Bucky and your sister have a date!”

“Same thing!”

“Sam! Leave them alone!”

“Hey, they brought this on themselves. I’m just making sure nothing…untoward is gonna happen.”

You sighed. “Bucky is over a hundred years old. His flirting skills remain in the 40s.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

As Sam left leaving both you and Joaquin with laughing smiles on your faces, Torres turned around to you.

“You got much on tonight?”

You shrugged. “Not a lot. Why?”

“Wanted to see if you’d like to come with me later.”

“Do you need my help?”

Even for Joaquin, that question fell off your lips far too quickly.

He shook his head. “No. Just me and the others were gonna catch a film and some dinner. Wanted to see if you’d like to come?”

“Oh…” The all too familiar guilt crushed your lungs. They didn’t need your help. “No, no. It’s okay. You guys have fun, though.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, your smile feeling a little forced even for you. “Yes. Of course. You…go and have fun.”

“Okay. But the invitation is still there so if you change your mind…”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

Joaquin didn’t know what it was, but something made him stay right where he was. He could have left. Gone home, napped, got ready to go out. But something made him stay.

“Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

He shrugged a little. “It’s nothing. Just…have you been sleeping?”

“Have I…” His question took you by surprise. “Y..yes. I’m sleeping.”

“Properly? Like…eight hours, REM sleep, all that jazz?”

You tilted your head a little, looking at him as if he had just grown a second head. “Not…not all the time, but that’s mostly down to my neighbours. Is there something you want to tell me? Are you okay?”

Joaquin nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. But you’re sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Okay. Alright then.”

“Alright.”

“See you later?”

You nodded. “Maybe.”

He didn’t see you later. But by the looks of it, he had a good time anyway. Kate’s instagram story showed you as much. But he did see you the day after. You were there, readying the jet and some of the equipment before him and Sam were about to jet off.

“Keep your earpiece in-”

“At all times. I know.” Joaquin and Sam repeated after you.

“I’ll be tracking you guys every step of the way. If you need my help, just call out. I’ll be able to hear you. And remember, we need confirmation of the shipment before you start bringing people in.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck, guys.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Almost twenty four hours later, they were back along with confirmation of the shipments and a dozen people in custody.

Thankfully, the paperwork after it kept you busy for a couple of weeks. For as much as you wanted to say yes each time you were asked to attend something, the paperwork gave you a real excuse so they didn’t think you were avoiding them. Because you would have loved to have said yes. But after years and years of only ever being needed, it was hard to grasp the concept of being wanted. Which part of you still didn’t believe.

But, as the months and missions went on, things started to slip. Not by much but you could feel it. Yet, somehow, the mask managed to stay up.

Unknown to you, however, Joaquin saw right through it. He saw through it all. The masks, the reassurance, the mystery. He knew you cared. A lot. People always knew they could go to you. They always did. Joaquin also knew Sam had tried to talk to you a few times.

He’d seen something in you. Something that he saw in a lot of people he’d helped. But after his third attempt, he decided to let you come to him when you were ready.

“You know, if you ever want to talk-”

You smiled, laying a hand on his upper arm as you passed him. “Sam. I promise you, I’m okay. If I ever need someone to talk to, I’ll come to you. But, seriously, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay. I promise.”

Joaquin, however, wasn’t as patient. Maybe with everyone else, he could be. But not with you.

Not when he was visibly seeing the changes in you that you were somehow managing to hide from everyone.

It had started with the first sleepless night you’d all seen for the first time in a while. A level seven threat just on the outskirts of the city. Almost everyone was called in to help. It had been a lot. You’d been put through a lot.

Despite working mostly on the tech side of things, you were still a fully qualified field agent.

When everything had finally died down and people could head home before the six o’clock news briefing later that day, you’d stayed awake. You’d combed through everything you could, you’d brought up every piece of CCTV footage, you’d gone through every statement you could in order to piece together a coherent explanation that wouldn’t scare the rest of the country into a coma.

“Have you even gone home?” Joaquin asked you just as the clock turned to read 21:03.

You swivelled in your chair, a little quieter than usual. “Not yet.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

That was the first time you hadn’t fought someone who was trying to help you. Joaquin drove you home and when you got inside, your phone started ringing. And you just let it ring, and ring and ring. For a moment, your heart held out hope. Maybe your friend was calling in to check on you. But from the texts that followed…they weren’t.

You’ll never guess what’s just happened…

Over the next six weeks, Joaquin saw the changes. They were subtle. He had to hand it to you. You were clever at hiding it.

“From the amount of coffee you’d been drinking, you shouldn’t still be yawning.”

You chuckled. “Must be decaf.”

There was a drop in your expression from the happy smile it had held a few seconds earlier. Then it was quickly replaced with a defeated, yet somehow accepted, expression. Whoever you were texting, you were happy to help. But wishful of something else nonetheless.

Then he saw it in the way he made you jump. Or how anyone made you jump.

It was rare someone ever managed to scare you. You were observant. Saw things way before other people did. So when he walked up to your desk, with you facing him, and he saw you jump when you finally looked up, something else flicked inside of him.

It was like each individual light switch was slowly turning on one by one each time he saw you. You were tired. It wasn’t decaf because he saw you pour directly from the pot of regular he’d just made. The hopeful then saddened expressions when looking at your phone. The distant look in your eyes. He didn’t know where you’d go, but sometimes you’d just completely disappear. The tired pull of your body into and out of work. The declined invitations. The reassurance that they wouldn’t want you there. The true acceptance of your own statement, no matter how many times he’d tell you it was wrong. The glassy look in your eyes when someone asked for a second time if you were okay. The even brighter glassy look in your eyes when your friend surprised you at work and ate lunch with you.

She’d asked you how you were and you’d told her some things. It hadn’t been much. Just paperwork and research. She’d asked questions to know more, but before you could get to any kind of topic that didn’t come with a generic answer, she’d moved on. Brushed it off and the brief thankful look in your eyes that you’d finally be able to tell someone something was gone.

He’d watched you help others, talk to them, be their soundboard, look out for them, take their comments that even you had noticed had been a subtle dig at you. So, when the day came that you stepped away for a small break, Joaquin went in search of you.

You were ten seconds away from crying for eight hours straight. You were exhausted. Anytime anyone said anything to you, nothing seemed to register. You could hear the voice in the back of your mind of people telling you that you needed to apologise. But that just frustrated you more because you didn’t know who to and for what. Just that you needed to. You’d been trying to sleep at night and you knew others could see it. You were just grateful that they accepted you had noisy neighbours. Only, in the three years that you had new neighbours, they’d never once woken you up.

The image of the unplayed voice notes kept flashing through your head. But they needed you. They needed someone to vent to, or someone to get advice from, or someone to brag to. They didn’t like doing the same, but it was okay. It had to be okay.

Some people could have full lives, but lonely existences? You had friends, you had family. There shouldn’t be any reason why you should feel like this. Maybe that’s what you had to apologise for? They knew you were grateful for their help when it was given. And, despite the times their promise you could always come to them felt empty, they knew you were grateful for their offer, right?

A knock came to the single bathroom door. “Y/n? You okay in-”

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second,” you called out from inside. Your eyes shut tight and your fist was against your forehead. Quickly, you turned around and ran the tap, splashing your face a few times, trying to ignore the dizziness inside your head.

“Hey, I was getting worried-”

Joaquin saw your legs buckle just before you caught yourself on the frame of the door. “S-Sorry. Lost my footing. I just needed a second to-”

From your grip on the door and the tremble in your legs, you were finding the energy to move forwards without completely falling over. Then he saw your face. The tired eyes, the wetness to your lashes, the tear stains at the bottom of your cheek.

Then it was the shaking in your fingers as you lifted your hand for a moment but quickly replaced it. Your chest was moving at an uneven rate and finally, your hand slipped.

“Whoa, hey, okay, okay. Come with me.”

With one arm around your back, Joaquin helped carry you over to a nearby chair before he crouched down in front of you. “Hey, look at me. How are you feeling?”

“I…I’ll be fine.”

Your eyes were still closed but Joaquin shook his head. “Okay, no. I’m taking you home.”

“Honestly-”

“No buts. I’m taking you home. When was the last time you got any decent sleep?”

You were trying to think of when but just as you did, you were finding it difficult to find the words. The voice in your head was too loud; you’re fine, you’ll get better, this shouldn’t be happening, get over yourself, people have it worse, others need your help, others need his help.

“I-I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to worry about me. You-you should go. I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll call a cab-”

“Don’t try and fight me on it. I’m going with you.”

If you had the breath or the energy to, you would have done. But you didn’t. So, two hours later you were freshly showered with your hair washed since the smell of anti-bac from the doctor Joaquin had called had been knocking you even more dizzy and nauseous.

It had surprised you when you’d come out of your bathroom to find warm and fresh clothes laid out on your bed. A pair of shorts and a t-shirt – fresh from the dryer, despite you having picked them out of your dresser before you went for a shower. And a sweater. It wasn’t yours. But the familiar warm scent of it let you know it was Joaquin’s.

Put it on to keep you warm

You did as the note said and by the time you pulled it over your head, another smell drifted through your home. Downstairs, you found Joaquin cooking.

“You really don’t have to stay-”

“I’m staying. You’re run down and you need someone to look after you.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ve looked after myself before-”

“And now you don’t need to.”

“Joaquin.”

He just stopped and looked at you. “You do everything for everyone else. And in the last six weeks alone you’ve done that on minimal sleep. You need someone to take care of you, and I want to. You can keep fighting me on it, but I’m staying. And before you say anything – you do not need to apologise. Not to me, not to anyone else. People get sick and people let others take care of them, it’s just how it works.”

That had been the sixth time he’d told you you didn’t need to apologise. So, to avoid saying it again, you changed the subject.

“What are you making?”

You came to find out Joaquin had ran down to the corner store whilst your clothes were warming in the dryer. He’d made you one of his family’s recipes. A full meal – one that his mother swore could cure everything. A bad tummy, a bad day, a broken heart. It was a cure to everything.

“Thank you.”

Joaquin smiled and for the most part, you both ate in silence. But you could feel his eyes on you. Watching your movements, probably noticing the slight shakiness still in your hands.

“I’m gonna stay the night.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I want to know. See it with my own eyes that you’re sleeping.”

“You do realise how creepy that sounds right?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, that does kinda sound- you know what I mean. I want to know if you've actually had a decent night's sleep.”

“I’ve only got the one bed at the minute-”

“I can take a couch-”

“Or you could stay with me.”

A slightly awkward silence replaced the once slightly comfortable one.

“Sorry. I…you probably…I should have- I’m sor-”

“Do you want me to stay with you?” The look on Joaquin’s face was nothing but complete softness. There was no harsh judgement in his eyes or his voice. There was no mockery or fakeness. It was nothing but just pure…

Care.

And somewhere between the awkward silence and the caring gaze, your voice answered before your brain even had a chance to drag you back under the water and raise the mask.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Okay. Such a tiny word with such a heavy meaning.

Ninety minutes, a full meal that hadn’t been microwaved, a loaded dishwasher and two sitcom episodes later, you were brushing your teeth before finally getting into bed.

Joaquin lay beside you. At first he’d offered to remain on the outside of the covers. But you didn’t want him to get cold. So, with a quiet smile, he’d pulled the other side of the covers back. Your phone had started blowing up with different text messages from different people but one in particular was more incessant than the rest.

And once Joaquin knew the texts weren’t important – mostly from your reaction after you’d read them as they came up as notifications, he’d taken your phone from you and turned it off completely.

It was the first time he’d seen you relax in ages.

Not by much, but it was a start. Besides, if there was a real emergency, they’d call him, too. Not that he’d let you anywhere near work for the next few days at the very least. You needed a break.

Finally, you got into bed and felt your body, despite how stiff it felt, relax into the mattress.

“I don’t know if I can fall asleep.”

Joaquin didn’t say anything. All he did was move a little closer to you before taking your hand in his and resting two of your fingers against his wrist.

“Count my pulse.”

“Does that work?”

Joaquin nodded. “Whenever I was on deployment and couldn’t sleep, this is what I would do.”

You took his word for it. And for the first time in almost six weeks, you fell asleep long before the clocks touched midnight. And somewhere in the night, your fingers had gone from holding his wrist, to his hand to suddenly being held completely by him.

When you finally woke up in the morning, the day before was slow to come back to you. The panic, the dizziness, the sickness, Joaquin, the doctor, the sweater, the meal, and…the pulse. You felt warm. And when you finally opened your eyes, you found yourself tangled with the very man who had helped you.

The very man who had stayed.

And for a short moment, you closed your eyes and leaned into him again. And, almost as if he did it all the time, Joaquin’s arms held you closer before you felt his lips brush the top of your head. And you both stayed like that for a long time. You were certain you’d fallen asleep again.

But Joaquin stayed. He didn’t try to move, he didn’t attempt to leave or wake you up.

He stayed and held you.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have done in a while.”

Lifting his hand, he carefully brushed the stray hairs from the front of your face to behind your ear. “Good.” Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead. “Good.”

After a few beats of silence, you spoke again. “I know you told me not to fight you on it-”

“Y/n.”

You held onto his arm as you looked up at him. “No, no. I’m not gonna…I just wanted to say thank you.”

Joaquin was quiet as he looked at you, studied you. “You’re welcome, but you never have to thank me for staying.”

“Not many people have. Not many people noticed I needed someone to stay.” The true answer was that before Joaquin, nobody had stayed. But that seemed too sad to say out loud. And you had a feeling he already knew the true answer.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay-” It was almost like the tears before the tears. That feeling of your chest catching onto itself and the rush of blood to your heart to try and keep it at a normal pace.

Joaquin shook his head. “No, it’s not. You’ve done everything for everyone. They should have noticed. And I’m sorry for not noticing sooner.”

You just shook your head lightly, “It’s not your fault. I kept it hidden.”

“Why did you?”

You swallowed, looking down at his chest, your fingers tracing the letters on his t-shirt. “S’ easier, I guess. You get so used to being jumped over that eventually you stop being a hurdle.”

You could feel Joaquin’s hands on your back, his thumbs slowly tracing back and forth.

“I have tried…before. I’ve tried talking to people, telling them about my day but then they’ve asked me to not tell them. Sometimes they’ll say they can’t handle it and that’s not their fault. So, I’ve kept it all to myself. And I know I can handle a lot. It’s not like other people’s problems are as big as what I’ve faced at work…it kinda just adds up. And I don’t know what to do after that.”

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I know Sam’s asked me a few times to talk to him but I can’t seem to shake the guilt. He spends his entire time helping the world. You, too. I should be able to handle…all this. I know I’m only human but it just feels like…it feels like I’ve gotten this far. Why can’t I keep going?”

Joaquin was quiet when he spoke to you, his voice soft and without abruptness or judgement.

“Because even the strongest humans need a break.” Joaquin pulled you a little closer to him. “You are extraordinary, and you’ve been there for everyone who has ever needed you. But you also need to take time for yourself. Your job is stressful enough without adding everyone else’s problems on top. And the fact that people have told not to talk…I am begging you, Y/n. Talk. Tell someone what’s going on. Talk to Sam, talk to me. I want to hear you. The good, the bad, the ugly, all of it.”

For the first time, not only were you hearing someone say those words, but you were also hearing them mean it.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Looking at him, you felt the tears come forward. And for the first time you didn’t fight them. Leaning up, you held onto Joaquin and he held you right back, tight to his chest.

Joaquin felt the panic pass through you and eventually leave, he felt the tears falling onto his shirt and he just held you closer. You both knew you wouldn’t be ‘fixed’ at the end of the day, but that was something that helped.

You’d felt yourself break once before and your family had noticed, but from their words and their hugs and their actions when you finally moved again, they expected you to be right back to normal. So you’d put the mask back on.

But not now.

You didn’t have to.

And for as scary as that was, it was also freeing.

You and Joaquin talked some more after the tears had slowed and a silence had passed. And then he listened some more over breakfast. Eventually, he decided to stay a while longer.

A week later, you finally got back into work. You had said you wanted to go back after three days but Joaquin had nearly tackled you back from the door.

The first person you went to see was Sam.

It was a long conversation but not a single ounce of it was judgemental. No words out of his mouth were telling you that you needed to apologise or that you needed to go back to ‘normal’. With a gentle hand on your back, he handed you a phone number of one of the veterans he used to help. They were now a licensed counsellor and therapist.

“...and if you ever want to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, give ‘em a call. Sometimes it can be easier talking to a stranger.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

It was a process. Talking, dealing with the guilt, learning when to walk away. But it was helpful. Eventually your anxiety stopped spiking as high each time the phone rang, or it flashed with a notification. You didn’t feel like you needed to go someplace because someone needed you to.

It was nice to feel wanted.

“You okay?”

You looked up over the desk at Joaquin. Sam had left the room a few seconds ago, both of you shouting at him to leave Bucky and Sarah alone. He’d been caught stalking them at the grocery store the last time. But, like usual, he ignored you both.

You smiled with a short nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“You mean it?”

The true smile remained on your face. “Yeah, I mean it.”

In the last few months, you’d come to find you couldn’t hide anything from Joaquin. Even if you lied, he’d know the truth. And he’d stop at nothing until you’d finally tell him as much.

But you weren’t lying. You were really okay.

“Wanna join me after work?”

“Where are you headed?”

“The Park. They’re showing a movie tonight. Thought you might wanna come with me.”

“Is anyone else going?”

Joaquin paused. “Not exactly.”

You just looked at him confused.

“Kate’s probably gonna already be there and some of the others but I’m asking because I thought we could go…together.”

“Together?”

Joaquin nodded. “Kinda like a date. Or not a date, if you don’t want it to be. But it could be. Again, if you don’t want-”

You smiled, a little amused at his nervousness. The Falcon – a Captain in the Air Force and one of Captain America’s closest allies – Joaquin Torres rarely ever seemed nervous. But you found it cute.

“I don’t mind it being a date.”

He looked up, a little like a deer caught in headlights. “You don’t?”

You shook your head. “I don’t.”

“So, it’s a date?” Joaquin smiled.

You nodded with a smile of your own. “It’s a date.”

“Great.” Joaquin was trying his best to not let his excitement jump out of his skin. “I will pick you up at six.”

“Okay.”

Joaquin was walking out the door backwards, his eyes still on you. Which meant he crashed into the wall before looking behind him to step out of the door. You giggled a little, watching the embarrassment flood on his cheeks as he apologised to the wall before he disappeared down the hallway.

And just as he had said, he knocked on your apartment door at six o’clock. You were just in casual clothes but he looked at you as if you were some kind of model.

“You look beautiful.”

You felt yourself blush. “Thanks.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

Without a second thought, he took your hand in his as you headed down the hallway and into the elevator. And where it should have been awkward silence, it wasn’t. Because you talked.

By the time you both got to the park, you were in a fit of laughter. You and Joaquin had found a spot just in front of a tree to lean against before you helped him flatten out the picnic blanket he’d brought with him.

“My lady,” he presented you with the blanket fresh on the floor.

“Why, thank you, kind Sir.”

And the movie played.

By the time the credits rolled, you were slowly falling asleep on his shoulder. And by the time you’d both made it back to your apartment, collapsing on the sofa, you’d both fallen asleep together watching an old re-run.

Maybe people hadn’t stayed before. Maybe people hadn’t listened before.

But Joaquin did.

And would forever.

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