#FALCON

[flowersforbucky]

means i care

joaquín torres x reader

"You were dead, Joaquín. Your heart wasn't beating when I pulled you from that water."

He grins, taking your hand in his. He brings it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Well, it’s beating now. Because of you. But what’s new? My heart always beats for you.”

word count: 3.3k

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, idiots in love, pining, enhanced!reader with energy manipulation powers, canon level injuries, some angst, fluff, no use of y/n, reader has she/her pronouns, pov switches

☆☆☆☆☆☆

“You know, if we don't succeed here, we'll be looking at World War III. I could use a little extra good luck. If you know what I'm sayin’.”

You shift your gaze from the Indian Ocean outside of the jet's window to the man sitting beside you. At first, you question whether or not you heard him correctly. Then, you see the sly smirk on his lips and the glimmer of mischief in his brown eyes and you realize that you had, in fact, heard him correctly.

If you had any doubt about what he meant by a little extra good luck, the look on his face makes it abundantly clear.

Your eyes flicker to his lips for a split-second before you look back out to the endless expanse of blue water surrounding you. God knows that if you stare at him for a moment too long, you might just be weak enough to give in.

It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve come dangerously close.

“Good luck, huh? I hope you’ve got a four-leaf clover or a rabbit’s foot stashed somewhere in that suit of yours, then.”

He laughs. The sound fills the jet and for a second, you forget where you are and what all is on the line.

“A thousand four-leaf clovers wouldn’t give me a fraction of the good luck that I’d get from a kis—”

“Landing in five!” Sam calls, effectively breaking the tension in the air. You doubt that it was intentional, but you’re thankful for the interruption nonetheless. As if the list of things on your mind isn’t already a mile long – the last thing you need to add to it right now is kissing Joaquín.

You should be used to it – the flirting and teasing. He hasn’t held back since the moment you met. First, you had assumed it’s just how he is – that he says the same things to any halfway decent looking girl in his age bracket.

Sam had insisted that’s not the case.

Still, past relationship trauma had left you unable to believe that he was being genuine –and unable to believe that any good could come from returning his flirtatious sentiments. Best case scenario, you hook up and relieve the tension that’s been brewing between you for months, things fizzle, and you have to continue to work together while attempting to ignore any awkwardness. Worst case scenario, you let yourself completely fall for him and someone inevitably gets hurt.

This line of work, this lifestyle – it doesn’t mesh well with romantic relationships. You’ve learned that lesson the hard way, a few times over.

So, despite the fact that you think he’s annoyingly attractive, you brush off the compliments and cheesy one-liners. You look for every excuse when he tries to spend time with you outside of work and missions, never letting yourself give in even when every fiber of your being is dying to do so.

Like right now. He sits beside you, his arm and thigh brushing against yours. Even through his thick, heavy gear, it sends a shiver up your spine. You resist the urge to grab his hand in yours and tell him that you and Sam have this handled if he wants to help from the sidelines.

You can hear his response as clear as day in your mind. “Keep to the sidelines? And let you and Sam have all the fun? Pshhh. You wish.”

You bite your tongue, afraid to let him know just how much you care. You might not let it show, but you’re more worried for his safety than you are your own.

There’s no chance of him staying on the base while you and Sam potentially risk your lives. But maybe you can at least give him an incentive to keep himself alive.

Joaquín starts to stand when you place a hand on his arm. He freezes, an almost hopeful expression on his face as he looks at you expectantly.

“Don’t die out there and we’ll see about that kiss. Okay?”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Are you listening to a word I say?”

Sam’s voice snaps you out of your trance. You blink rapidly, lubricating your eyes that had been locked on a beeping monitor for an embarrassing amount of time.

“No,” you answer honestly. You glance at him for a brief moment before your eyes are back on the sleeping body a few feet away from you. “Not really. Sorry. What did you say?”

He sighs. He’s trying his hardest to not let it show, but you know that he’s getting a little annoyed with you.

You can’t really find the energy to care. You’re a little annoyed with him, too. He won’t stop tapping his fucking foot against the linoleum floor and the whole room still smells like the Chinese take-out he’d eaten hours ago.

Your stomach growls. Maybe you’re just hangry.

“I said you need to go home,” Sam says in an even tone. “Get a few hours of sleep, take a shower. Eat something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.”

Over the last four days, you’ve spent more time in this hospital room than your own apartment. You’ve only left to go home long enough to shower every other day, and to get gas stations snacks and coffee on occasion. The longest you’d been away from Joaquín’s bedside was yesterday morning, when you went to the Target down the road to put together a get well soon basket for when he wakes up.

Most guests would be asked to leave after standard visiting hours, but you suppose working with Captain America does come with some perks. You suppose it also helps that you were the one who pulled Joaquín from the ocean, flew him to safety, and restarted his heart with your powers while you waited on the emergency medical team to get to you on Celestial Island.

Maybe the hospital staff pities or – or maybe they’re a little scared of you. Either is fine, as long as you aren’t asked to leave for an extended period of time.

You’re hungry, and you need to shower, and a few hours of sleep in an actual bed certainly wouldn’t hurt. But the thought of not being here when he wakes up…

“I’ll call you,” Sam says, as if reading your mind. “I swear. As soon as he wakes up, I’ll let you know.”

You don’t trust your voice enough to speak, so you just nod. You’ve somehow managed to refrain from crying up until this point, but you’re running on a few hours of sleep and it’s starting to get to you.

Despite the various wounds and bruising across his body, he looks peaceful in his sleep. His chest rises and falls with steady breaths, and you feel yourself relax at the visual reminder that he’s okay. He’s resting, and healing, and he’ll wake when his body is ready.

“Okay,” you whisper as you stand up from the scratchy, old recliner that you have been glued to for the majority of the last few days. “You call me as soon as he opens his eyes.”

Before leaving, you walk to the side of his bed. On the table next to him sits a vase of wildflowers that have already started to wilt, and the basket that you had brought, full of some of his favorite things – beef jerky, Takis, gummy bears – as well as a few personal care items that may be of use for the duration of his hospital stay after waking up – deodorant, a toothbrush and travel sized toothpaste, and the biggest stainless steel tumbler that you could find.

In the middle of the basket sits a small, plush falcon. You hadn’t even been looking for it when it caught your eye in the store, but you immediately knew you had to get it for him. Seeing it had felt like a sign that everything is going to be okay.

You remove the stuffed bird from the basket and tuck it between his side and his arm before leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to the center of his forehead. It’s the first time you’ve touched him since the accident, and you’re reluctant to pull away.

Your eyes sting with all of the emotions that you’ve been holding inside for days. You don’t look back at Sam or say another word as you walk out of the room, hoping with everything in you that the next time you walk into this room, he greets you with one of his obnoxiously perfect smiles and a corny pick-up line.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

The first thing Joaquín hears is the low, repetitive beeping of a monitor. When he opens his eyes, he’s momentarily blinded by violent, early morning sunlight creeping through the blind slats.

“Well, well, well. How nice of you to decide to join the living today, Sleeping Beauty.”

He recognizes Sam’s voice a second before he sees him. Slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, he looks like he could use some sleep, himself.

All at once, images of the moments leading up to him plummeting into the ocean come flooding back. He remembers Sam yelling at him to back off from the last missile, the missile firing right at him, and then nose-diving into the ocean as you shriek his name.

You.

His eyes dart around the room in a panic, looking for any sign of you. His heartrate spikes on the monitor. Sam jumps up, rushing over to his side.

“What – where is she – is she okay?”

God, his throat is painfully dry. How long has he been unconscious?

“Easy, easy,” Sam soothes as he takes a seat at the foot of the hospital bed. “She is fine. She was unharmed and has hardly left your side in five days. It was like pulling teeth just to convince her to go home for the night. Made me promise to call her the second you woke up.”

At first, he assumes Sam is just messing with him. You have hardly left his side? You, the same person who has rejected every one of his advances for nearly a year?

“You’re being serious? She’s been here?” He asks in disbelief.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam exhales. “She’s been a mess, man. I don’t know how much you remember, but…” He trails off, avoiding Joaquín’s gaze.

“She’s the one who pulled you from that water. By the time she flew you somewhere safe, you weren’t breathing. She had to restart your heart with her powers until the medical team got to you.”

He can tell by Sam’s demeanor that he isn’t joking around, but he still struggles to wrap his head around it all. He had fucking died? His heart stopped, and you’re the reason that he’s alive? And you stayed with him while he’s been recovering?

Then, he remembers the last words you said to him before arriving on Celestial Island.

Don’t die out there and we’ll see about that kiss. Okay?

He isn’t sure if you really spoke those words, or if it’s some false memory that his subconscious conjured to keep him holding on while on the brink of death.

If it’s the latter, it worked. If it’s the former, and you really did say that, he supposes that offer is probably off the table since he technically did die.

Damn it.

Joaquín attempts to sit up and becomes aware of two things at once – he feels like he has been repeatedly ran over by a bus, and there's something fuzzy tickling his arm.

“What the hell…”

He picks up the small, stuffed falcon and can’t help but smile at it. “You shouldn’t have,” he chuckles, tossing the bird at Sam.

He catches it, smirking. “Oh, I didn’t.”

Sam gestures towards the table beside Joaquín. He follows his gaze, noticing the dying flowers and basket stuffed full of various snacks and self-care items. Whoever chose the contents of the basket, knows him well. He could live off of beef jerky if he had to, and gummy bears are his favorite.

“Who..?” Joaquín asks, trying not to get his hopes up that it could be from the person he most wants it to be from – the person who apparently saved his life.

“Take a guess,” Sam jabs as he tosses the stuffed animal back to Joaquín.

For a second, he thinks his heart just might stop again. He pictures you picking out the items and he has to shake his head to keep himself from grinning too big.

“Man, if I knew that all I had to do was die to get her attention, I would’ve done it a hell of a lot sooner.”

Sam rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Just don’t go making a habit of it, okay? I don’t know if she would forgive you if you did it again.”

Sam then pulls out his cell phone, excusing himself from the room to give you a call and to get Joaquin’s nurse. Once he’s alone, Joaquín fights against all of the stiffness in his body to reach for the basket sitting on the bedside table. In addition to all of the other goodies, there’s a card tucked between a stick of Old Spice deodorant and a bag of Takis.

It isn’t in an envelope. He instantly snorts at the image on the front of the card – it’s a cartoon dog wearing a cone collar with a dejected expression. In bold print, it reads: At least you don’t have to wear a cone.

He opens the card, and immediately recognizes your handwriting.

I specifically remember asking you to not die. Guess you were right about that good luck kiss, after all. I'll remember that next time.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

The simultaneous dread and relief that you feel when you see Sam’s name pop up on your phone can’t be described in words. Dread at the mere possibility of bad news. Relief that it could be what you’ve been hoping to hear for days.

As soon as you hear him say that Joaquín is awake, you’re jumping out of bed at the ass crack of dawn. You don’t think about taking the time to eat any breakfast or even make yourself a cup of coffee – you just throw on some clean clothes, brush your teeth, and you’re out the door.

The short drive to the hospital is spent talking to yourself about what you're even going to say to him. How are things supposed to just go back to normal between the two of after something like this? After it felt like your heart stopped when his did? Do you even want things to go back to normal?

You knew you’d feel relieved to see him awake, but you don’t expect the overwhelming rush of emotions that comes over you as soon as you hear his voice murmur your name.

He's sitting up in his bed, holding the stuffed falcon that you’d given him and smiling at you like you hung the moon and stars as soon as you walk through the door.

That’s when you know the answer to your question – no, you don’t want things to go back to normal between you. With the way that you feel your heart in your throat, you don't think that’s a possibility, anyway.

“This little guy was a nice surprise to wake up to, you know. Kind of wish it had been you, but he’s cute, too.”

You no longer attempt to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill over for the last five days. You sit on the edge of his bed, directly beside his thigh and meagerly wipe the teardrops that leak down both of your cheeks.

“Hey, hey,” His demeanor completely shifts when he realizes that you’re crying. He leans in closer and pulls you to him. You sob against his chest, and he runs a large hand up and down your back. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m here. It's gonna take more than a missile or two to take me out.”

You nod against his chest, but don’t pull away. He continues to massage your back as you attempt to calm down, focusing on the feeling of him against you. When you finally lean back, he wipes a lingering tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“You were dead, Joaquín. Your heart wasn’t beating when I pulled you from that water.”

He grins, taking your hand in his. He brings it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Well, it’s beating now. Because of you. But what’s new? My heart always beats for you.”

You exhale, finally letting yourself return his cheeky grin. The teasing remark makes you feel the happiest you have in days.

“Leave it to you to find a way to flirt when we are having a conversation about your death.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, his expression suddenly turning more serious. “I do have a question, though.”

You tilt your head in curiosity.

“When you brought me back to life, was it like a mouth to mouth type thing? Or..?”

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him back against his pillows. He cackles, his cheeks turning pink. He pulls you back to him, this time even closer than before. You can smell mint on his breath from the toothpaste you’d put in his get well soon basket.

“No. Thought I’d save that for when you’re awake.”

He places his hands on your sides, the light touches sending a thrill through you. The normally chilly hospital room suddenly feels a whole lot warmer.

“Are you sure?” He murmurs. “I don’t want you to think that you.. owe me anything, or have to kiss me just because of what happened—”

You’re shaking your head before he finishes speaking.

“Joaquín,” you interrupt him softly. “I’ve been stupid. So, so stupid and I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that it took something like this for me to open my eyes to what’s been right in front of me this whole time. I knew that if I let myself want more, if I let myself give in, that’d be it for me. And that terrified me. But I don’t care anymore. I’m more terrified of never getting the chance to—”

Suddenly, his hands move from your hips to either side of your face. He pulls you the remainder of the short distance to him, and then his lips are against yours; effectively ending your rambling.

One of your hands cups the nape of his neck, your fingers intertwined in his soft curls. His tongue ghosts along your bottom lip and you eagerly part them for him. The sounds from various machines and the voices out in the hallway all fade to white noise as he moves his lips with yours.

He's gentle. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still relatively bedridden, but he touches you like he’s touching fine, breakable China. There’s an underlying urgency, like he’s scared he’s dreaming and wants to savor this as much as possible before he opens his eyes.

You pull away with a gentle tug of his bottom lip between your teeth. He doesn’t drop his hands from caressing your face, and your rest your forehead against his, basking in the afterglow of a kiss long overdue.

“Damn,” he breathes. “Please tell me we can do that again, minus all of the months of rejection and the close call with death.”

You laugh. “I can promise you no more rejection, but you have to promise me no more close calls with death.”

A gentle stroke of his thumb across your cheekbone sends goosebumps down your spine. “I promise, mi vida. I’ve been waiting too long for this. There’s no getting rid of me now.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

mi vida: spanish for "my life"

thank you so much for reading!!! as always, comments and reblogs are very appreciated ♡

[lives-in-midgard]

Bucky: So is this whole thing between Joaquin and y/n supposed to be a secret?

Sam: Not really? I mean the only people who don't know are Joaquin and y/n.

[hetaczechia]

John: Bob and Joaquin wanted to go sledding outside, but we didn’t have a sled to use. So we had to find a substitute

Bucky: ok, but that doesn’t explain why Sam is tied to the chair.

Yelena: He didn’t give the shield willingly

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Off the Record [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader x best friend!Joaquín Torres

wc: 4.8k

Summary: After the fallout with the Void and with tensions rising around the New Avengers, all you're really trying to do is hold on to the people who still matter. Joaquín, your best friend, writes from a distance. Bob—unstable but honest—has started to stay close. And before everything breaks for good, you decide it’s time they meet, even if you’re not all on the same side. Even if some wouldn’t approve.

masterlist

The sky was covered in a pale layer of clouds, as if even the atmosphere were holding its breath. From the windshield, the city seemed suspended in the kind of calm that only existed before a storm: not a single horn, not a gust of wind—just the throbbing of the engine and the distant music playing on the stereo.

"Here!"

The sound of the Chevrolet Suburban's horn startled Bob, who had just left his weekly appointment at the clinic. When he recognized you, a smile spread across his face, and he happily climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hi. I didn’t know you were picking me up.”

“I was just passing by and thought I’d give you a ride. How was your day?”

“Fine,” he shrugged as he fastened his seatbelt.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. He was wearing a dark denim jacket, slightly faded around the edges, with the collar slightly turned up and the sleeves wrinkled as if he'd put it on in a hurry or hadn't taken it off all day. Underneath, a navy blue thermal shirt clung naturally to his broad torso.

His pants were straight-cut, olive-green cargo pants with pockets bulging with items he'd collected during the day. His tactical boots, black and discreet, were somewhat dusty.

On his left forearm, a thin bandage peeked out from under his rolled-up sleeve, like a detail he hadn't thought to cover. It didn't seem serious, but it hinted at something recent that you hadn't dared to investigate. His face was clean, expressionless, although the slight swelling under his eyes and his tired expression betrayed him. It had probably been a strenuous therapy session.

His hair was a bit disheveled, not carelessly, but as if the wind had overpowered him that morning. On one of his hands, a dull ring caught the minimal light outside; it had been a gift from Ava so he could fidget with it when he felt a little anxious.

"Do you fancy something to eat? We can hit a drive-thru on the way to the tower."

"Burgers?"

“Excellent choice. Great minds always think alike,” you joked with a smile. He smiled back.

The bond that had been developing between you was quite special. Yelena protected Bob all the time, caring for him almost reverently. Ava took it upon herself to advise him on matters he didn't fully understand yet. Alexei and John were a goddamn headache most of the time, pressuring him with the excuse that he had to be prepared to confront any big boy who bothered him; Bob knew they cared for him, in their own way. Bucky wasn't one to initiate conversations, yet, whenever he wanted to talk, he was willing.

Everyone on the team tried to help Bob, in different ways, and made him feel like he suddenly had a bunch of older brothers. With you, the difference was that you treated him as normally as possible. It wasn't that he wanted others to be carefree, no, but sometimes it felt good to talk to someone he didn't sense pity or condescension from.

You were also wonderful to him and always very good, but he didn't feel like a mentally ill person or a weirdo around you.

And for more than a few people, it was obvious Bob had a little crush on you. It was an open secret in the tower, because whenever the group was laughing, you were the one he'd always look for. If the decision was in his hands, you always had the best seat, the tastiest food, the warmest blanket, and his eternally selfless adoration. He'd never been known for being good with words when expressing feelings, but you only had to notice how his eyes lit up every time you walked in, as if the sun itself were making an appearance on a frosty winter morning.

The air conditioning in the car makes your friend feel nauseous—he'd confessed this to you a few weeks ago—so as soon as you were on the road, you rolled down both windows to let the wind cool you down.

Bob remained silent, staring out the window with his chin resting on the back of his hand. He was most likely reading the billboards along the way, a habit he'd acquired since he was a child.

At one point, your phone announced a text message. You thought you could reply later, so you let it go. One more text. Then another. And another. And another.

You usually ignored notifications, but remembering that Bucky had a congressional meeting that morning made you pay attention, thinking it might be related.

“Bob, will you do me a favor?”

"Yeah?"

"Can you find my phone and tell me who's texting me? I don't want another ticket for using it while driving."

Your friend nodded immediately and then searched through the center console until he found the device.

“Uh, the contact’s name is Jo.”

You let out a mocking chuckle at his response, as if the insistence of the texts suddenly made sense.

“Can you read them to me?”

At first, he looked at you with some confusion. Bob wasn't the kind of person who usually snooped into his friends' private affairs, so the request conflicted him slightly, leading him to ask if you were sure. After seeing you nod, he began:

Jo 🦅 : how's everything going? Jo 🦅 : i miss u but not enough 2 make u feel guilty Jo 🦅 : i hate when mami & papi fight the babies always pay:( Jo 🦅 : (we're the babies btw) Jo 🦅 : Look at this meme lol

“And they, huh… sent an image apparently.”

“Okay, then. I thought it was something more urgent. Could you tell him I'm driving? I'll call him later.”

Bob nodded calmly, then wrote a short text with your explanation. It was sent once you approved it.

Although he didn't mean to, his attention was drawn to the contact's profile picture: it was a man in an odd pose, wearing a pair of roller skates and a flirtatious expression. Curiosity began to bubble inside him.

“You two seem close,” he observed. After a pause, he continued, “Is he something like your… partner? I mean, if it wouldn’t be imprudent of me to ask.”

“Joaquín? Not at all!” you murmured immediately. He felt more relieved than he’d liked. “We’re just good friends. After everything that happened with the Blip and the fall of the Triskelion, we had to work together. It was on one of those relief missions in Latin America. There were evacuations, local conflicts, information that no one was sharing… chaos everywhere.”

You kept your eyes on the road and your voice calm. Bob listened silently, without interrupting you.

“I was already working with Bucky back then. He and Sam were still... close. There was tension, yes, but not as much as now. That's how I ended up on the same team as Joaquin, so to speak. He was new, and he still had that “I want to save the world” vibe, but he had no idea how to do it without breaking down in the process. And I... well, I was already pretty messed up. I was just trying to stay functional. And alive.”

You smiled a little, but it wasn't such a happy smile.

“The operation went wrong. We had to take refuge in a safe house with no communication, no backup, and only enough food to last, if anything, a day. Three of us were trapped. The logical thing would have been to go crazy. But he... he talked to me. I'm not going to lie, at first, all that positive attitude and him trying to start a conversation like we were having a picnic really infuriated me. I wanted to hit him. But then he took it upon himself to take me out of my own head with his nonsense and... I don't know, he made everything more bearable.”

Bob looked at you out of the corner of his eye, a slight curve to his lips.

“It works more than people think”

“From then on, we became closer. We started hanging out more, working together. When Sam became Captain America, he took over as Falcon. Then Bucky got involved in politics, this whole thing with President Ross happened, and Joaquin got hurt badly. It was… it was horrible, to be honest. He's like a brother to me, and seeing him in that position made me feel very worried. They had to perform major surgery on him, and it was fatal.”

You stopped at a red light. Bob watched you intently, listening to your whole story, and when your eyes met, he smiled at you.

“But he’s okay now, right?”

“Yes, he is. It's just that with all this going on about… well, about us, it's been complicated for us. We shouldn't even be in contact, but we're still keeping in touch.”

“Why not?”

“Well, now with this problem over the team name and all that. I mean, he's like Sam's right-hand man, and I'm Bucky's, so since they're at odds, it's assumed we're inevitably at odds too. It's like we're the kids in the middle of a nasty divorce.”

“Oh, is that what he means when he says he doesn't want mami and papi to fight?”

His pronunciation in spanish made you laugh, though not in a mocking tone, and you nodded slightly at the question.

“That's just the way he is. He prefers to take things with humor.”

“I wish we could all do that,” he exclaimed acidly, not quite a reproach. You flashed him a tight-lipped smile.

The city continued to pass slowly by the sides of the car, wrapped in that silent gray that seemed to float above everything. You drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh, lightly moving your fingers to the rhythm of the music softly playing through the stereo.

Bob was no longer looking out the window, but had his head turned slightly toward you, as if waiting for something. There was no rush. Just that shared calm that sometimes appears when two people no longer need to fill the silence.

“I don’t know how wise it is to stay in touch with him,” you murmured after a while, as if thinking out loud would help you organize your emotions. “But I can’t help it. We’ve been through tough times together. I guess that bonds people in weird ways.”

Bob nodded slowly. Then, in that gentle tone he often used when he didn't want to seem intrusive, he asked:

“And do you think… if things got ugly between them, you could stay out of it? Or would you have to choose sides too?”

The silence grew heavier for a moment. You didn't answer immediately, just pursed your lips as you turned onto a less-traveled street. You thought about it. You weighed it. Finally, you exhaled through your nose in resignation.

“I think I've already chosen,” you said without drama. “Not out of loyalty, or sides. There are people you build your home with. Bucky is that for me… he's been there in so many moments that sometimes I don't even need to talk for him to understand. With Joaquín… it's different. But he's there too. And I don't know, sometimes you just know who you want to stay with a little longer.”

Bob didn't reply, but the way he lightly clenched his fists on his knees showed that something in your answer touched him deeply.

Several days passed since that conversation. It wasn't as if you'd forgotten about it; life simply continued to move forward at its brutal and demanding pace. Meetings, reports, training sessions, awkward silences in the tower's hallways whenever someone mentioned Sam out loud.

During that time, Bob didn't insist. But he didn't forget either.

Until one afternoon, when you were both reviewing a field report in the common room, you decided to speak up:

“I’m going to see Joaquín tonight,” you said suddenly, without raising your voice.

You said it like someone mentioning they're meeting someone for dinner, not as a confession or a warning. Bob tilted his head slightly, curious.

"Yeah?"

You nodded.

“I thought you should know.”

He suddenly wondered what had prompted you to tell him, as if there was an ulterior motive. After all, you could come and go wherever you wanted; it wasn't like you needed his advice or permission.

“And everything is okay?”

“Yep,” you replied with a slight smile. “Actually… I would like you to come with me.”

He was surprised, though not uncomfortably so. He just raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn't expected that part.

“To meet with Joaquín?”

“Uh-huh,” you exclaimed nonchalantly. You spoke in low voices, though there was no real need to. “I don’t know, I’d like you to meet him. He’s important to me. And so are you.”

Bob was even more surprised to hear you say that. Not because he thought your request was strange, but because you were telling him directly that he was a meaningful person to you.

“Only if you want to,” you added, somewhat shyly. Bob quickly shook his head.

“No, no, I didn't stay quiet because I didn't want to go. It's just... I don't know, it's something I didn't expect. But I love the idea.”

"Oh, really?"

“Yes. I mean, if he's your friend, I'm sure he's a good person. I trust your judgment.”

Then it was your turn to smile nervously, happy that he was so open to the proposal. You explained that you would meet at a safe house, one that—according to Joaquín's information—had been unused for some time. It wasn't as if you were doing anything illegal, but it was better to take those measures if you didn't want to run into any surprises.

You had agreed on a time in advance, and you picked Bob up at his room after dark. The subway was the most discreet and safest way to get there, so you left the Watchtower together, using the excuse that they were going to dinner, and set off.

The night, though cool, was pleasant. Once in the car, you were able to pay more attention to your friend. He had put on a thick beige shirt, tighter than he normally wore, and this time his hair was slicked back, different, but still making him look handsome. In his hands, he held a loop-handle plastic bag somewhat timidly.

“What’s that, honey?”

“Food,” he replied, looking at the bag for a second, as if he barely remembered he was holding it. “I thought I might take something… just in case.”

He shrugged after saying it, trying to downplay it. But you noticed the way his fingers played with one of the bag's handles, nervously clenching and unclenching it. You knew it wasn't just a precaution: it was his way of being careful, of anticipating.

“Just in case what?” you asked softly, leaning slightly towards him, amused.

Bob smiled, tilting his head.

“In case we get hungry later”

That touched you. It wasn't the food. It was the intention behind it. The anticipated comfort, carefully packaged in a plastic bag.

“You’re the cutest thing in the world, did you know that?”

Bob gave a small laugh, looking down as if such statements disarmed him.

“Don’t say it too loudly,” he joked. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

You were about to comment—probably something joking, maybe something sweet—but the subway slammed to a stop, pulling into one of the adjacent stations. The movement forced you to hold onto the metal pole, and he almost dropped his bag to steady you, to keep you from falling.

"You okay?"

“Yes,” you replied, laughing softly. “I just got distracted...”

A comfortable pause settled between you. The car briefly filled with new people, and you took advantage of the opportunity to settle closer to him, sharing the narrow space. His free hand gripped the handrail, and the other slipped behind your back, ready in case of another accident.

“Did you bring anything special?”

“Bread. And dried fruit. And…” he paused, “some cookies I made yesterday. I wasn’t sure you’d still like them.”

Your smile softened.

“I always like them”

The two of you looked at each other happily, then fell silent. In less than an hour, you had reached your destination, one of the last stations along that route.

The safe house didn't look like much from the outside, and that was exactly what made it perfect. A single-story building with plain gray walls, no signs, no lights, no attention-grabbing details. It was wedged between a vacant lot and an abandoned auto repair shop, as if time had forgotten that block entirely.

The windows were covered with metal plates from the inside, visible only by the worn edges that peeped out. The front door, painted a dull shade of dark blue, had cracked paint at the corners and a reinforced deadbolt that seemed more symbolic than functional.

There was no garden, no mailbox, no sign of everyday life. Just a cracked sidewalk, an old streetlight that flickered occasionally, and the distant sound of the city breathing behind it. It was the kind of place you didn't give a second glance.

“Are you sure it’s here?”

“Very sure,” you smiled slightly.

The place was terrifying, so you didn't complain when his hand sought your arm as we walked through the darkness. When you reached the porch, you knocked on the door in a specific sequence, as if it were the signal to let your friend know it was you and not someone else. You had to wait a minute, until you heard footsteps and jingling keys that unlocked the lock.

A dark-haired boy with a bright smile appeared in front of you, who almost immediately grabbed your arm, which Bob was still holding, and pulled you inside. As soon as the door closed, he lunged toward you, wrapping you in a tight hug.

“You’re here! I missed you so much, shorty.”

“Hey, Jo,” you chuckled, his grip so strong it was hard to breathe. “Nice to see you too.”

The way you greeted each other left Bob a little off-balance. Not out of jealousy or awkwardness, but because of how unusual it was to see such intense, natural familiarity between two people. For him, who rarely touched someone without a second thought, that level of affection was like witnessing another language. One you were clearly both fluent in.

Joaquín, noticing your companion, composed himself slightly and craned his neck over your shoulder to get a better look, but still smiling. Bob, still standing in the doorway, simply observed in silence, taking in everything from a distance: the atmosphere, the energy, the unexpected closeness.

“And who is this hunk?”

“This is Bob. The friend I told you to meet, remember?”

“Oh, that Bob,” he exclaimed, raising his eyebrows in a way Bob couldn’t interpret. You were thankful he was distracted enough to miss the glare you gave him. “Nice to meet you, buddy. I'm Joaquín Torres, Lieutenant, United States Air Force.”

“Huh, I’m… Robert Reynolds. Just like that,” he replied with a half-shrug, as if he didn’t know exactly how to define himself in that context.

Then you intervened:

“Don't believe him, has a lot of superpowers. He's just being modest.”

Joaquín and you laughed, and Bob, although shyer, soon followed suit. That first interaction seemed to determine the course the evening would take.

Once you'd introduced them to each other, Joaquín invited you to a simple table that was there. Everything was old and more practical than aesthetic, but it worked perfectly for your purpose of having a few hours of peace.

Bob hadn't expected the lieutenant to sit next to him so naturally, appearing much more approachable and affable than he'd imagined... but, to his surprise, he found it pleasant. You took your place across from them, practically glowing with gaze.

The conversation between them began naturally, effortlessly, as if they were old acquaintances. Joaquín asked about Bob's everyday details, curious to understand who this friend so important to you really was. Bob, for his part, seemed a little more relaxed than usual, making humorous comments and unexpected anecdotes that made both of you laugh.

The two of you talked about the oddities of everyday life in the tower: the awkward maneuvers with the team, the internal dynamics that sometimes felt more like a circus than a family, and the tense moments that were always dispelled with a joke or sincere advice. Stories from past missions also came up, without going into too many compromising details, but with enough context for Bob to understand the camaraderie that bound Joaquín and you.

You watched them laugh, exchange knowing glances, and seemed to enjoy the unexpected calm that emerged between them. From time to time, they glanced at you, as if waiting for your approval of their behavior or a sign to stop.

The rickety table, the simple setting, and the hours ahead created a safe space for the three of you to simply be who you were, without masks or expectations. At one point, Bob laid out the contents of his bag in front of you, and Joaquín almost let out a squeal of joy. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and at least with your friend, that was the case. So, if Bob already liked you, he had sealed his fate with that act.

"I saw there are some cups in the kitchen or something. We could make some coffee..."

“Don’t worry,” you interrupted your friend, holding out your hand as if to ask him to stay seated. “I’ll take care of it.”

From the kitchen—too close to the dining room, given the tiny house—you could clearly see your friends chatting. Bob didn't seem uncomfortable at all, although you noticed he was having a little trouble keeping up with Joaquín.

A tender smile appeared on your lips at the thought that the two of them could become good friends, especially since they were –perhaps– the two men you cared about the most in the world.

It took a few minutes for the coffee to be ready, and then you placed three small bronze cups on the table, the liquid steaming into the equally cozy atmosphere.

They looked so good together, so natural in that mix of complicity and calm, that you couldn't help but want to capture that moment. Without saying anything, you took out your phone and took a picture. Bob, with a serious expression, raised his cup as if making a silent toast, while Joaquín let out a light laugh, amused by the scene and your friend's feigned solemnity. That image was saved, a small memory of a night when everything seemed to fit, if only for a moment.

When you showed them the photo, you couldn't help but laugh.

“Seriously, how come I have the two prettiest guys on the planet at the same table?” you said in a mocking, exaggerated tone.

Joaquin burst out laughing and nudged Bob, who tried not to look affected, but ended up cracking a crooked smile.

However, in a second, the moment shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, as Joaquín stared into his cup. Something in his expression grew still, as if a thought had crept in without permission. Then he decided to speak:

“Don’t you feel like this is going to break at any moment?”

The question fell softly, but not lightly. You looked at him, confused.

“The house?”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I mean… you know, the vibe. The friendships and all that. I mean, Bucky and Sam were good friends. And now look at them.”

The comment had no venom, just a resigned sadness.

Joaquín wasn't speaking from gossip or criticism, but from a genuine fear that the good things wouldn't last. You joined his silence with a similar expression, feeling how the lightness of a few minutes ago was turning into something denser, more intimate.

“I wouldn’t want that to happen to us,” he added, softly.

“I worry about it too,” you admitted after a pause. “But sometimes I think if I don’t say it out loud, maybe I’ll hold on a little longer.”

“It’s not bad to talk about it,” Bob chimed in then, with a calmness that felt earned, not improvised. His voice was gentle but firm. “I’ve learned it doesn’t make it more real. Just… more shared.”

Joaquín and you exchanged glances, equally surprised and comforted by what he had just said. Then the three of you looked at each other, forming a strange silent agreement.

“It’s great. I’m sad now, but I’m in company.”

“That’s what having friends is all about, isn’t it?” you mumbled with a chuckle, sounding barely amused, but sincere at the same time. “Being screwed, but together.”

“And now this includes you too, Bob,” Joaquin added, looking at him out of the corner of his eye “I’m sorry to tell you, you’re already beyond escape.”

Bob gave a small laugh, looked down for a second, and then nodded.

“That sounds good to me.”

“That’s good to know,” you said, crossing your arms on the table as you looked at both of them. “Because I like this. I don’t know how long it will last, or how things will turn out… but right now, I like it.”

"How cheesy everything suddenly became. Is this like a triple date or something? Be honest with me."

The lieutenant's joke caused the three of you to burst out laughing, restoring the atmosphere to the lightness it had previously possessed, which – ironically – he himself had been responsible for shattering.

The moon was already too high in the sky when you decided it was time to leave. Not by choice, but because the dangers of the city would only increase with each passing hour, and you didn't want to ruin the evening with an unfortunate incident.

“Don’t forget to call, okay? Anything that happens, let me know.”

“I will,” you responded affectionately, as your best friend bid you farewell “See you soon.”

“I hope so.” He then turned to your friend, extending his arms around him in a gesture that didn’t ask for permission or leave any room for refusal. “It was good meeting you, Bob. I hope this becomes a recurring thing.”

“I feel the same”

The gesture was simple, but between the three of you, it carried more meaning than you had said all night. You weren't the same; you didn't share the same history or the same codes. But you had managed to meet at the same point, even if it was just for one night, and in that small intersection lay the beginning of something more.

As you walked slowly down the steps with Bob, you cast one last glance over your shoulder. Joaquín was still there, leaning against the doorframe, watching you leave with that calm expression. You gave a small gesture with your hand, and he nodded back.

Bob didn't say anything for the first few minutes. He just walked beside you, his hands in his pockets, his gaze lost in the silent street. But you knew something in him had settled that night, too. You saw it in the way he breathed more deeply, in the way his stride became less tense.

It wasn't until you boarded the subway, considerably emptier than it was earlier, and took your seats that Bob spoke.

“Thanks for inviting me. I had a great time.”

"Really? I know the place was awful and all, I would have liked you to see it under different circumstances, but..."

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted. “It was fine. I don’t like too many people, so it turned out to be the perfect spot.”

A small smile spread across your face, and you leaned closer to him, practically curling up against his side. He welcomed you happily, wrapping one of his arms around you, infusing your senses with the scent of his clothes.

“Are you tired?”

"A bit"

“You can sleep on the way, if you want. I'll wake you up when we arrive.”

“What if the sleep is too deep?”

“I could always carry you. I’m super strong, you know?”

The laughter that vibrated in your chest was like music to his ears, and the way you shifted made him think you were going to take him up on his offer. A few minutes later, you were unconscious, and he, eager to take care of you, gently held you until you got home.

taglist (tysm!): @uracowboylikemee @x3zerochanx3 @littlemsbumblebee @qardasngan

[vamplvs]

love a man in a superhero suit and no cowl

[v1trum]

The acronym is getting long as hell but I had this thought like a few weeks ago

[itzsephig5]

Peter: I want to be like a caterpillar. Bucky: Explain. Peter: Eat a lot, sleep for a while, wake up beautiful. Sam: You know they have a lifespan of a week, right? Peter: Peter: That's just another highlight!

[futuregws]

I haven't been paying a lot of attention to the filming of avengers doomsday, or anything really, so if anyone could help me catch up I know Sam is supposed to be the main character from what I read(?) but who besides him will be at the center who will have more focus, do we know that?? Bc the cast is huge, looks bigger than endgame even, and also what actors are currently filming do we even know that??

[teauoy]

Zane and the Falcon :]

(Don't ask me why Zayn is wearing a pink kimono-)

[voodoo-tofu]

Sam Wilson made me proud to be working class from Louisiana, with a family with financial troubles, who has achieved something amazing just because he gave it his all and didn't let his history dictate his future.

Joaquín Torres made me realize I'm not the only half-Mexican, always striving to be better with dreams to be someone other than myself; someone who felt important, someone who could help others the way those I look up to do.

Marc Specter/Steven Grant made me feel less ashamed to be mentally ill, or feel out of control of my own life; and like someone could still love and care about me despite it.

Wade Wilson made me realize it's okay to be a little quirky and flirty and taboo, and that you shouldn't see yourself as anything less no matter what people say and think about you.

These five guys are my heroes. Representation matters, even in the littlest of ways. They made me realize what I thought were my faults, were really just making me the person I am today. Someone non-judgmental, empathetic, and compassionate. Something I unfortunately don't see a lot of.

My bad days are bad, but my good days are a whole lot better.

[yashimaaaaa]

[fairylatte7]

HELLO?!

[peachmilkshake466]

Idk what Marvel is doing recently but they are doing it right. I have never been so in love with characters like I am with John Walker, Bob Reynolds and Joaquin Torres. (I need all three RIGHT NOW)

I feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle every time I see them...

[bobby-the-queer-artist]

CAPTAIN AMERICAS. STOP GIVING ME GENDER ENVY. STEVE AND SAM BOTH OF YOU. STOP THAT PLEA-

[kasmirkozel]

I made them uh furries. I drew Zemo as a rat but I could see him as a cat anthro, he's pretty cat coded