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goosewriting · 4 months ago

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The Aftermath

summary: reader visits Joaquín at the hospital as he wakes up from surgery.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, mention and description of injuries and medical procedures, mention of accident and explosions, brief mentions of PTSD from events in Infinity War/Endgame, self-doubts and guilt

word count: 2.2k

A/N: i started writing this the moment i came home from watching BNW. can't believe it took me this long to write for him,, he's been rotating in my mind ever since tfantws <3 we really need more fics for joaquín, he’s so blorbo coded like cmon!! 🥹🥹 if you have any recs pls send them my way!

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(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Sitting by Joaquín’s hospital bed, you bring your hands to your face as you remember his accident on the Indian Ocean. You had watched the broadcast in horror, your heart in your throat as his figure fell from the sky into the open water.

At that moment, you couldn’t help but remember the video from all those years ago, where you saw how Rhodey had fallen as well, like a rock, everyone watching, unable to do anything to stop him. Just like War Machine, Joaquín had turned uncontrollably on his descent, one of his wings ripped from the suit by the missile exploding right in his face.

You’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit since a little before the battle against Thanos on Wakanda, where you had also fought with everyone, but then got blipped. The transition back to society with a gap of 5 years had been very hard on you, and while you stayed in contact with everyone who remained, helping out whenever you could, you didn’t really have it in you to go back out to the battlefield. Even after all this time, you still have nightmares about the snap and the Battle for Earth.

Bringing your hands back into your lap, you let out a trembling breath, clinging onto the constant soft beeping of the machinery to tether yourself to reality and not fall down a spiral of despair. Every time your eyes roam over Joaquín’s injuries, you close your eyes, pressing the base of your hands over them, then open them again. Your sight is momentarily sprinkled with dots, and as it clears, you hope for everything to have been a horrible nightmare. But once your view clears up, he’s still there. Unconscious. Hurt.

The surgery he’d been in last night had felt like it was never going to end. Still, you had stayed the whole time, and once he got out, you stayed at his side.

It’s been several hours since Joaquín got wheeled into his room, the head medic saying he was still unconscious but stable. You shift in the armchair by the bed where you sit. One of the nurses brought you something to eat earlier since you refused to leave, the wrapper of your sandwich still in your hands as your eyes start feeling heavier and heavier, and you can’t find it in yourself to fight the welcome embrace of sleep, slowly spreading through your limbs. You’ve almost completely dozed off when you hear a groan, and immediately your grogginess dissipates. You straighten up in your seat, the wrapper falling to the floor as you scoot closer to the bed, tears stinging behind your eyes. How you still have tears left, you have no idea, given how much you’ve cried in the past hours, terrified of losing the love of your life.

Joaquín blinks several times, scrunching his face, eyes trying to adapt to the light. He lifts his good arm, looking at the tubes attached to it, and his gaze roams the room and down his body, face contorting in pain lightly. Then his eyes land on you, and his face immediately softens.

“Hey, there,” he croaks out.

“You’re awake,” you whisper, holding his hand in your trembling ones. “I was scared you wouldn’t.”

“Pfft, it’ll take more than a meagre explosion to defeat the Falcon,” he retorts with a pained smile.

Normally you’d laugh at his jokes, enjoying his silly side, but right now you have no humour left in you. Another wave of tears rolls down your cheeks, and his smile vanishes.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you plead, giving his hand a squeeze. “You were hit by a freaking missile. From a fighter jet. While up in the air between two armies about to start a war with each other.”

“Well, if you put it like that…” He sighs.

There’s a moment of silence where you again study his bruised face, your gaze landing on the massive burn covering his whole shoulder, streaks of red raw skin visible on his jaw and throat. Your brows furrow in frustration.

“I should have been there,” you mumble, angry at yourself for letting this happen.

“What?” he asks, craning his neck to fully look at you.

“I should have gone with you,” you say, bringing your eyes to look up at him. “Then I could have helped and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Joaquín exhales through his nose in disbelief.

“We were in the air, and I went head to head with the missile even after Sam told me to back off,” he retorts, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could have done.”

His tone isn’t scolding; he’s telling the truth and you know it. Still, you can’t help but feel like the outcome could have been different, if you had just been better, braver. You try to choke back a sob, unsuccessful, and his hold tightens around your hand.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He speaks your name softly. “This isn’t on you. Please don’t cry.”

You grimace, biting the inside of your cheek.

“For a moment I thought you died, Joaquín. I was so scared,” you say with a shaky breath, bringing his hand to your face, and he cups your cheek. You place your hand over his, holding onto it and leaning into his touch like it was the last time you could hold him like this.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Your heart shatters at the thought that even after getting hurt, after getting blown up, he’s the one apologising to you. He’s about to add something when the door opens and a nurse comes in. You back off a bit and hastily wipe your face with the back of your sleeves as she does some check-ups, both on Joaquín and the machines, taking some notes on her clipboard. She then takes one of the tubes attached to his arm, and places a syringe at the other end.

“What’s that?” you ask, suspicious. She gives you a quick look with a raised brow, but when she sees the state you’re in, her face relaxes again.

“Painkillers and antibiotics. He’ll need both of them,” she explains.

It doesn’t take long for the fluids to reach Joaquín’s blood system, and he visibly relaxes against the pillows and closes his eyes.

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s the good stuff,” he sighs, and the nurse chuckles softly. You still can’t get yourself to let go of your worry. Once she’s done with everything, she leaves the way she came, exiting the room. As the door closes behind her, your eyes land on the wrapper on the floor, and you pick it up with a sniffle, crumpling it up further.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?” you ask as you throw the trash into the bin from where you sit, to your surprise making the shot. He doesn't answer, eyes still closed.

“Joaquín?” you ask softly, not wanting to wake him in case he fell asleep again.

“Huh? Wha?” His eyes open and he turns to look at you, his face visibly relaxed now.

“You okay?” You take his hand again, and he gives you a squeeze.

“Hmm-mm,” he hums with a nod, blinking slowly as he tries to focus on your face. “I just think I’m… kinda high right now.”

That’s when you finally break, unable to hold back an endeared chuckle, shaking your head. Joaquín’s eyes are filled with warmth and then concern as they land on your face, brows furrowing as if he just noticed something. His hand comes up to wipe away the remaining streak of tears. He also playfully pinches your cheek for good measure, eliciting another smile of yours.

“That’s better,” he concludes, a smile spreading on his face as well. The smile that could light up any room he’s in, in your humble opinion.

You prop your elbow onto the edge of the bed, head in your hands as you look at him, and he looks back at you with a silly grin. The beeps on the machine speed up a bit, and you look up at the screen, then back at him with a brow raised in amusement.

“Usually you can’t tell because I’m smooth as hell, but it’s true,” he notes, like a huge secret was just uncovered. “You still make my heart race.”

Heat prickles on your cheeks at his words and you avert your gaze with a snort. As long as your heart is still beating, you think, remembering that they had to resuscitate him after the accident, but you shake those thoughts away, preferring to focus on the fact that he’s still here, alive.

“I know that the moment you’re back on your feet, you’ll be out there again, suited up,” you start after a moment, shooting him a serious look. “So I won’t ask you to stop. But promise me to be more careful next time?”

“Pinky promise.” Joaquín lifts his hand, fingers curled except for his pinky, and you can’t help but chuckle as you mirror his gesture, curling your finger around his. He shakes your hand like that side to side for a bit, then drops it back down onto the bed. A strand of hair falls into his face as he leans back, and you brush it back, caressing over his bruised cheekbone gingerly.

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

“Hmm.” You look at the timestamp on the muted TV in the corner, currently playing some movie or other. It’s only then that you realise you’ve been intermittently awake for almost two full days now. “Can’t really remember,” you lie.

“You need to rest. You look exhausted,” he remarks, gesturing to himself. “I’m taken care of.”

“No, I’m not leaving you,” you say, putting as much finality into your voice as you can in your state.

He says your name softly. You look away. He sighs.

“Well, if you insist on staying, then at least I can get pampered a bit, yeah?” he starts, and you narrow your eyes at him in feigned suspicion. He asks with a playful pout, “You know what would make me feel better?”

“Hmm?”

Joaquín turns his head, offering you his cheek. You can’t help but laugh.

“I thought you were high on painkillers already?”

“Even the best medicine holds nothing against your kisses.”

“Pfft, is that so.” Now it’s your heart’s turn to speed up. You two have been together for a while now, but he still makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and gives you butterflies in your stomach, when he isn’t on the brink of death, at least. “Well, in that case, I better get started on your dose.”

You lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he hums pleasedly. He doesn’t move, though, clearly waiting for more. You’re more than happy to oblige, placing kiss after kiss on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, being especially careful around his injuries. Finally, you hold his chin to turn his face towards you, and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his lips. It's chaste but sweet, and he smiles into it. When you lean back, his eyes are filled with love, slightly unfocused because of the meds, a goofy grin on his face. As you hold his face, you consider saying something cheesy, hoping he won’t remember it. But before you can speak, there’s a knock at the door, and someone steps in. It’s Sam. He looks surprised to see you.

“Damn, you’re still here?” he asks with concern, then turns to Joaquín. “How’re you feeling?”

“Splendid, really,” he replies, leaning into your hand still cupping his face.

“He got a decent shot of painkillers,” you explain, looking up at Sam with a tired smile. “He’s high as a kite.”

Sam chuckles, then looks at you worriedly.

“You need to rest. Both of you.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “Go home, I’ll take it from here.”

You hesitate, looking between the two, and Joaquín nods, his eyes pleading for you to also take care of yourself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joaquín says, taking your hand from his face and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Right,” you sigh and rise to your feet with wobbly legs now that the exhaustion is finally kicking in full force, and Sam holds you up when your knees threaten to give in.

“Whoa there. You need a nap, ASAP.”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” you say with a sigh, steadying yourself as he lets you go, his hands still hovering over your arms for a moment in case he has to grab you again, but you manage to stand straight. You grab your jacket from the back of the chair, and turn to Joaquín. “I’ll come back this evening, okay? I’ll bring your favourite snacks too. Don’t tell the nurse, though.” You wink at him with a knowing smile.

“You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” You lean over him to kiss him goodbye, whispering ‘I love you’ against his lips, and pecking him once more for good measure. The machine’s beeps speed up again.

“Love you too. See you later.” Joaquín brings his hand up to caress over your cheek one last time, then you leave the room.

Sam is still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at his friend as the beeps slowly start decreasing back to normal.

“Very cute,” he remarks, unable to bite back a teasing smile.

“Don’t even,” Joaquín says and rolls his eyes playfully, knowing perfectly well that Sam will never let him live that down.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!]

#goose feathers #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #the falcon x reader #marvel x reader #mcu #marvel #brave new world

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goosewriting · 4 months ago

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I just read all your Joaquin stuff!! You write him perfect so great job! I love it so much ! If possible could you do either your both ditching eachother up after a fight (supper fluffy) or something along the lines of reader not being able to breath (either health issue or injury ) and then having to deal with that. No pressure if you don’t have time !!

(Not) Doctor's Orders

summary: Joaquín and reader tend to each other’s wounds after a mission.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: (18+) mention of blood, description of injuries and treating them, kisses, innuendos

word count: 1.7k

A/N: i’m gonna assume instead of “ditching” you meant “stitching” each other up? why, you’ve read my mind dear anon, for that trope is one of my absolute most favouritetest<33 the “super fluffy” aspect kinda got away from me tho and it ended up way more suggestive than intended :’v hope you’ll like it nonetheless!

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• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

After a mission abroad, you’re sent to a safe house nearby instead of flying back to HQ immediately. All in all, the mission went great, except that you got shot. The bullet didn’t fully hit you, luckily; it just nicked your leg. But it still took off a chunk of flesh, and it hurts.

Your arm is around Joaquín’s shoulders as he holds up part of your weight, helping you walk. When you make it through the door, you let your bags fall in the hallway; you’ll take care of it later. The house is pretty small, and you enter into the main room, serving as both the living and dining area, with a kitchenette on the other side. He crosses the space and brings you to the bathroom, setting you down on the edge of the bathtub.

Joaquín takes out the first aid kit from underneath the sink and you both shrug off your jackets and the bulletproof vests you were wearing underneath, tossing everything to the side. You inspect your leg and hiss when you brush over the wound, going straight across your mid-thigh. He kneels down before you, his hands hovering over it, but he stops, looking up at you.

“Can I take it off?” he asks, the slightest tremble in his voice. Heat spreads on your face, and you mentally curse at yourself for the reaction. You’ve been crushing on Joaquín for a while, and you’re pretty sure he feels the same. This is really not how you pictured how undressing for the first time would go. When you don’t immediately respond, he’s quick to add, “Sorry, no need. I’ll just cut them open.”

But you stop him from getting the scissors from the kit by placing your hand on his, and his movements halt instantly, his eyes shooting up to meet yours.

“No, don’t,” you say, quickly retracting your hand. Another wave of heat prickling on your cheeks. “I– I don’t have a change of pants.”

Lifting yourself off the tub with a hiss, you pull down the garment to your knees, and he helps you get them off completely. There’s a slight dust of dark pink on his cheeks and ears, but he tries to mask it with concern and focus at the sight of your wound. Without wasting a second, he starts cleaning it. When he applies the disinfecting spray, you take a sharp breath through your teeth, your whole body tensing at the sting.

“Sorry,” Joaquín mutters, taking out the sterile needle and thread from its packaging. “Ready?”

You nod, and when he pierces through your skin, the pain makes you slump forward slightly, holding onto his shoulder opposite to the stitching hand for support. He works with his brows slightly furrowed, trying his best to get this done as quickly and painless as possible. To distract yourself from the pain, you study his face, the bridge of his nose, the moles sprinkled on his cheeks and chin, the deep chocolate swirls in his eyes. It dawns on you that Joaquín is kneeling in front of you between your legs, and the thoughts that follow make you quickly look away from him, focusing on the generic brand shampoo bottle in the corner instead.

“Done,” he finally announces, cutting the last bit of thread after tying a knot. After putting one final plaster over it, he straightens up a bit, almost rising to your eye level. You let go of his shoulder, intending to hold onto the edge of the tub. However, he gently takes your arm in his hands, inspecting it further for injuries. Then he does the same to your other arm. Finally, he looks around you to check your back. Once he’s satisfied that there are no other big wounds that need his attention, he grabs a clean rag and fully stands up to turn toward the sink. After drenching it and wringing out the extra water, he turns back to you, gingerly holding your face in his hands as he looks down at you, and you can’t help but melt at his touch. He’s handling you with such care, it makes your whole body buzz with warmth, your heart incessantly thumping against your ribcage.

You close your eyes so he can wipe over them, getting rid of all the dust and dried blood from the little cut on your forehead. Over that one he places a small band-aid, then his hand rests under your chin again to make you look up.

“There, that’s better,” he says with a small smile, and his voice is so soft, so intimate, you fear you might pass out right there. When he drops his hand, you immediately miss his touch.

“What about you?” you ask.

Joaquín looks down at himself, placing his hands on different parts of his body as if to check if they hurt.

“I got out unscathed, I think,” he says, and you rise a brow at him. You lean forward slightly and snake your arm around him to softly poke him in the back, and he flinches with an ‘ouch!’

“Unscathed, my ass. You got shot,” you remark, remembering all too well how a stray bullet had found him. Luckily, you were both wearing your bulletproof gear.

Your eyes widen slightly as Joaquín grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and taking it off. You try no to stare too obviously. Really, you try. But then he turns around to look at himself in the mirror, and you spot the dark bruise already forming on his back where the bullet had impacted. Before you can help yourself, your hand reaches out, your fingertips softly tracing over the purplish skin. His eyes meet yours through the mirror.

“Well, my professional medical diagnosis is that you don’t need stitches for that,” you say, and he huffs a laugh. You’re not sure what it is, if it’s the twinkle in Joaquín’s eyes or the amount of exposed skin or the fact that either of you could have died today, but a burst of confidence bubbles up within you, and you intend to take advantage of it. “But you know what they say the best medicine is,” you add as you lean forward, then place a soft kiss to the bruise. You hear him gasp in surprise.

As you lean back again, you don’t dare look at him. Surely by now your whole face is on fire. Your whole body certainly is. In fact, you almost can’t feel your wounds or the ache in your bones, your whole focus on the man in front of you.

For a moment, Joaquín doesn’t move, and the warmth you felt earlier quickly dissipates, replaced by a cold panic that spreads from your gut into your limbs. You’ve overstepped. You’ve ruined everything. He never liked you back, it was all in your head. Your mind reels as you try to find the words to apologise for your actions. But before you can think of anything, he slowly comes back down to his knees in front of you, the deepest and most adorable blush you’ve seen on him yet adorning his cheeks and ears, all the way down to his collarbones.

“Best medicine, you say,” he repeats your words, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes shyly find their way to yours. “I think I could use some more of that.”

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears at his words. The implication sends a flutter through your gut that spreads into your whole body.

“Where?” you ask, breathless.

Joaquín points to a cut on his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours, and you lean in again, your lips ghosting over the spot. Then he points to a scratch on his arm, and you place another featherlight kiss. This goes on for a while, where he wordlessly points to different parts of his body, his chest, his arms, and you kiss it better.

Then one of his hands finds your good leg, staying on the outside of your thigh, and you think you’ll combust on the spot. His skin coming in contact with yours sends a series of sparks through your nerves and up your spine, eliciting a small gasp from you.

“Here,” he whispers, his free hand pointing to his throat, right next to his Adam’s apple. Your own hands come up, a bit shaky, and hold his face as you leave a trail of small kisses from where he pointed, all the way up to his cheekbone. He lets out a shuddering breath, looking at you through half lidded eyes when you pull back.

“Anywhere else?” you ask, but you can’t even finish your question as his lips finally come crashing onto yours, and once the initial surprise is gone, you tilt your head and sigh into the kiss. His lips move with urgency against yours, the hand on your leg sliding to your waist and pulling you to him, the other cradling the back of your head. You reciprocate as best as you can, given you feel like you’ve entirely lost control of your body. When he breaks for air, both of you panting heavily, it's his turn to leave a trail of kisses on your throat.

“The good thing about this medicine,” you say between breaths as he leaves wet kisses on your pulse point. “Is that it works both ways.”

Joaquín snorts, stopping what he’s doing to pull back and look up at you.

“Yeah?” he says, slightly out of breath, then his gaze darkens a bit. “I can think of another… treatment, too. To make you feel better.” Your heart skips several beats at his words.

“Well, it might be a while until we can see a proper doctor,” you say as you softly rake your fingers through his hair, and he hums at the sensation. “Might as well take every precaution.”

Joaquín gets back up to his feet, carefully picking you up under your legs and around your back from the tub, and you hold onto his shoulders. As he brings you to the bedroom, you don’t even look back at the mess you left in the bathroom, completely lost in his eyes. You’ll take care of that tomorrow.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @f1-tennisgirlie @magikdarkholme @tsunchani @Chuchu8923 @bitchy-bi-trash @guynamedaurel @crumbledcastle28 @sarahskywalker-amidala

#goose feathers #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #tfatws joaquin x reader #tfatws joaquin x you #marvel #mcu x reader #mcu #brave new world joquin x you #the falcon x reader

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