Joaquin Torres X Reader - Blog Posts

We need more reader inserts with a chronically ill reader. That’s it. That’s the post.

i've been thinking abt joaquin's smile all day. he has these small little canines that drive me insane he has such a blinding smile i need him to bite me NEOWWWW

well yes!!! i wanna have his bite marks all over me!!

it starts with his smile. it always does. the one that makes your stomach flip before your brain can even catch up.

joaquín torres grins like he’s never known a bad day in his life, like the whole world is just one big inside joke that only he gets, and for some reason, he’s decided to let you in on it. it’s bright and easy, a little lopsided, all teeth—all easy charm and boyish.

it should not affect you the way it does.

joaquín grins with his whole face, like he can’t help himself, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his dimples cutting deep. but it’s the way his lips curl just a little wider, letting those sharp little canines peek through—that’s what does it for you.

and he knows it.

he sees the way you hesitate. how your gaze flickers, just for a second, a fraction too long on his mouth before you catch yourself.

the second he notices, it’s over.

“you’re staring,” joaquín sing-songs, swaying slightly as he leans into your space, his grin widening.

“i’m not.”

“you so are.” his head tilts, studying you, his grin taking on that smug little edge. and then—then his brows raise, realization dawning. “wait, wait—are you looking at my teeth?”

“no.”

“oh my god,” Joaquín laughs, voice a little breathless, like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. “you are. you like them.”

he sounds so delighted by the discovery that it makes you mad.

“no, i don’t—”

he gasps “you so do.”

“i literally never said that.”

“but you didn’t deny it.”

you open your mouth, ready to argue, but the way he smiles at you? it knocks the words right out of your throat.

because it’s different now.

not just playful—calculated. there’s a slow kind of teasing in the way his lips pull back, like he’s showing you on purpose, like he’s letting you look.

and that—that is what does it.

you panic.

“what, you think i have some weird vampire kink or something?”

joaquín snorts, shaking his head. “nah, i just think you like when I do this—”

before you can react, he dips down, nosing against your shoulder before he bites.

it’s not a real bite—just a quick, teasing nip against your shoulder, nothing more than the press of his teeth against your skin. but it lingers—just enough to send a sharp little shiver rolling through you, to make your breath hitch.

he laughs when he feels it.

it’s quiet, breathy, a little pleased, his lips brushing against the spot where his teeth just were, like he’s savoring the reaction.

when he finally pulls back, there’s nothing but mischief in his gaze. his hands stuffed in his pockets, head tilting just slightly to the side as he watches you with something too smug, too knowing.

“see?” joaquín murmurs, voice warm, teasing. “shut you up real quick, didn’t i?”

and you should be annoyed. you should push him off and roll your eyes and tell him to stop being so full of himself.

but instead, your fingers tighten in his shirt, and the only thing you can think about is how much you wouldn’t mind if he did it again.

come into my bedroom

description. you and JOAQUÍN TORRES take a week long vacation to the beach together. just a week on the coast, spending time in each other's bubble, without falling for each other ... probably. visuals

includes. coworkers to friends to lovers, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader has been kept as ambiguous as possible (hair type, skin color, body type, place of birth, etc), reader is able to tan, the location is ambiguous, slight spoilers for brave new world, takes place after bnw, protected p n v sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom! joaquín, reader is called "baby" a couple of times

wc. 12.3k+

a/n: title from champagne coast by blood orange. i tried to keep where they vacationed as ambiguous as possible, but it's definitely at least a little bit obvious. for my bsf who recently got back from miami. thanks to @luckypunklemonade for beta reading :D

You’re drunk. 

No, you’re not drunk. You’re too drunk, inching towards shitfaced. You’re still here, at least here enough to walk beside Joaquín down the street towards your hotel, but you’re not really here. You know you’re not exactly walking in a straight line, and you know where you’re heading, but you don’t know how long you’ve been walking. You could’ve left the club five minutes or 50 minutes ago. 

You weren’t going to get this drunk. Honest. You and Joaquín were just going to go out, have a few drinks, and go back to your separate rooms. 

But the music was good, and the drinks were good, and the people were good, and suddenly you and Joaquín are drunk and navigating your way down the street. Well, he’s navigating your way. You’re just trying to keep up with his long strides. 

He walks a little in front of you the entire time, slightly more rigid, and a little less drunk than you are. You’ll probably be at his level in another half hour, that is if you get something in your stomach by then. Every so often, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there. You thought about hooking a hand around his elbow to keep him close, but the thought entered your mind and left before you could act on it. 

There’s not much small talk happening, but you don’t mind it that way. You’re focused on making your feet pick up and land one (mostly) in front of the other. Actually, you’re focused on walking and finding an open food spot on the way. 

One part is going fine, the walking part, but you’re still blearily searching for something to eat. You pass bars and closed businesses, restaurants that require reservations weeks in advance, one of them you think you and Joaquín actually have a table at later this week, but nothing quick and greasy. Which is exactly what you need before calling it a night. 

Joaquín calls your name and you hum. 

“You up for stopping in right here?” He points to the side and you look around his wide shoulders to find your saving grace. It’s like he read your mind, or maybe you’d been audible harping on about wanting something to eat the entire time. Right now, either seems plausible. 

Either way, you nod and let Joaquín hold the door open for you. 

You and Joaquín end up sitting across from each other at a tiny outdoor metal table. With the wind blowing against your skin as you’re sipping freezing cold water from a to-go cup, you finally realize how hot you’ve been this entire time. You lift your skirt up a bit to press your thigh against the cool metal and a sigh pushes out front your lips. Your eyes fall shut as you just sit in the moment. 

“You still drunk?” Joaquín speaks from across the table. 

You open your eyes and destroy your brief peace to glare at him as you wrap your lips around your straw. “What do you think?” you ask him only when the cool liquid has slid down your throat. 

He laughs. “First night here and you’ve already gotten shitfaced.” He shakes his head as if he’s ashamed of you, but the playful glint in his eyes keeps you at ease. 

“It’s your fault!” you accuse. “You’re the one who made friends with that couple. They kept buying us drinks.” 

Joaquín throws his hands out to the side in a surrender. “I’m not going to say no to free drinks. Don’t blame me!”

He’s right. Even if he wasn’t, you aren’t in the arguing mood anymore. You would rather finish the greasy taco sitting limp in your hands. And you do.  

You’re not being very attractive about it, though, you can tell from the way the juice slides down your fingers and around your mouth, but that’s not really the point to all of this. 

Besides, you and Joaquín are just coworkers and friends. Just two coworkers/friends on vacation together. Sitting across from each other in front of a taco spot, fighting for sobriety as you occasionally lock eyes between large bites. There’s no reason for you to be attractively drunk eating when you’re only with your coworker/friend. 

You finish the last bite, wipe around your mouth with a crumpled napkin and throw it onto your empty tray, looking up to find Joaquín already looking at you. He has this look on his face, nothing different from the one he usually wears—soft eyes and a softer smile—but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the city lighting and your drunkenness that’s skewing the meaning. You’re going to blame both factors for the flutter in your heart, too.

Neither of you say anything for a moment and in that moment, a thought flashes across your mind. It’s quick and fleeting, but still strong enough to evoke a reaction. Just a thought of you leaning over this small table and pressing your lips to Joaquín’s. And the thought was truly fleeting, but you bring it back and sit in it to imagine how he would reciprocate with his hands on your lower back, big palms resting on the strip of skin between your top and skirt, and he would taste like lime and alcohol and when you pulled away he would have a look almost identical to this one on his face. 

Joaquín’s eyebrows push together, skewing the soft look he wore before and knocking you out of your drunken trance. 

“What’s that look?” he asks. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”

His gaze lingers for a moment, but then he licks his lips and cleans up his area. “You think you’re sober enough to walk back now?” 

You scoff and attempt to make a point by quickly standing to your feet. When you wobble, it’s because your shoe didn’t land right on the concrete. Honest!

You have a crush on Joaquín. 

You don’t know why you’re realizing it here and now—laying in a hotel bed on vacation first thing in the morning. You don’t even know how long this crush has been here, but you know for sure you have a crush on Joaquín Torres, your partner/coworker/friend. 

You thought your little image from last night was fleeting, nothing but a drunken thought that you let yourself imagine for less than a minute, but it proved to be way more than that because when you got back to your room, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

As you took your makeup off, you thought about Joaquín waiting in your room for you to finish, snuggled under the blankets and scrolling through the channels on the TV until you came out of the bathroom in his shirt. As you climbed in the shower you imagined him standing at the sink brushing his teeth and humming that song he’s always singing but you never ask the name of. As you finally climbed into bed and clicked the lights off, you imagined fighting for covers with him and sleepily talking about your plans for the next day. 

It was so domestic and loving and absolutely sickening and unexpected. 

Well, maybe you should have expected it. At least a little. 

Joaquín is kind of the perfect guy. Everyone in your life made sure you were aware of it. He was funny, attractive, hard working, and easy to get along with. Even his flaws—his incessant nature and occasional annoyance for one—was quickly reworked as lovable in your head. 

You struggled with falling asleep for at least a half hour last night, and as soon as you knocked out, you were out. You might not have remembered your dreams but you knew deep in your mind and body that he was there. 

Just as he is here now, standing in front of you early  in the morning, wearing a bright smile and an athletic set. 

“No,” you sternly shut him down before he can even say anything. 

Joaquín’s jaw drops and he wears a mixture of shock and humor. “C’mon, you didn’t even let me say anything.”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Torres. I’m not going to some ‘sick workout class’ when we’re supposed to be on vacation.” 

“Oh, so we’re on last name basis again?” He crosses his arms over his chests and widens his stance. “I thought we moved past that.” 

“If you ask me to come with you then we’re back to last name basis, yeah.” 

He pouts and it’s so stupidly cute that you want to slam the door in his face. “Don’t let the hangover speak for you. I know you secretly wanna come workout with me.” 

You squint at him accusingly, leaning into the doorframe. “‘m not hungover.” 

“Uh-huh. How’s the headache?” He’s obviously not buying your shit.

“I don’t have a headache.” Bullshit and you both know it. 

“How’d you sleep?” He asks you instead, this time lacking any suspense. For a moment, he seems like he’s actually wondering how you slept. 

“Like a baby.”

“Then that means you should be energized enough to go for a workout. It won’t be bad. It’s only an hour.” 

You shake your head. “That’s an hour that I could be sleeping.” 

“And basically waste the whole day away? That doesn’t sound like the partner I know and love.”

You don’t let your mind linger on that word, especially when you know he doesn’t mean it like that. But still, knowing that Joaquín has some sort of love for you makes your chest feel all airy and glittery. 

“Yeah because that partner isn’t here right now. We’re on vacation.” 

Joaquín doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. Instead, he tilts his head and fully pouts, lips pushed out and eyes big. He’s not backing down and truthfully, it might be better for you just to say yes and halfass the entire session. 

Finally, he reasons with you. “I’ll buy you a smoothie afterwards. Whatever overpriced shit you want. Fair?” 

Fair enough. 

Compared to what you’re used to, the workout is quick, but it’s certainly not painless. The instructor, some woman with much more energy than you’re willing to exert on vacation, seemed to find pleasure in kicking your asses. For a brief moment there when you were catching your breath and wiping your forehead on a towel, you wondered if she could be some big and bad super villain hiding in plain sight. That would explain the inhuman stamina, and the almost eerie cheery personality, but other than that your theory didn’t make much sense. And even if it did, you were on vacation. Now wasn’t the time to seek out trouble that wasn’t presenting itself. 

The only thing that pushed you through the entire thing was looking over at Joaquín, one because of how attractive he looked with sweat glistening along his tanned skin, and two because you refused to let him show you up, even if the workout was his idea. 

You will admit, though, that every time he lifted his shirt to wipe his forehead, your knees did feel just a little weaker and your last rep in a set was not nearly as strong as it could’ve been when you heard him grunting beside you. 

You couldn’t understand it. You and Joaquín workout together all the time. You train together, sometimes with Isaiah and Sam, sometimes with friends of friends, sometimes with just each other. You’re used to seeing him sweat, you’re used to hearing his grunts and breaths, you’re used to all of it. But something about all of this happening now is making you lose your mind. 

As soon as the class ended, relief entered your entire body. 

The relief certainly didn’t last for long, though. 

Since you did what Joaquín wanted to do that morning, he did what you wanted to do right after. Before you could even really think about it, you happily suggested sunbathing on the beach until you were too hot or hungry to continue, whichever came first. 

It wasn’t until Joaquín slyly grinned and sang your name that you realized what you signed up for. 

“You tryna see me shirtless?” he teased at the time. And you rolled your eyes and called him a freak and continued walking down the hall towards your rooms, but as soon as you were behind the closed door you were digging into your suitcase to find the cutest swimsuit you brought. 

Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything. 

As soon as your bare toes are sinking into warm sand, you slowly feel yourself relax. Slowly. 

Laying on your back in a swimsuit that was a nice mix between cute and attractive, your eyes closed, your ears full of a playlist you made just for this occasion, the sun radiating down on your skin. It’s easy to forget everything laying just like that. The breeze cools your skin as soon as you get too warm, the sun heats you back up as soon as you get too cold. Absolutely nothing to worry about except how long you’ve been laying on one side and when you should flip over. 

Absolutely no stressors. 

Until Joaquín speaks. 

“Do me a favor and get my back?” 

You peek an eye open and lift your sunglasses up to see Joaquín standing next to you, holding out a bottle of sunscreen. 

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you still do. It takes a moment to process his question, and it takes another moment to find an answer, even though the clear one is yes. If he wasn’t standing there without a shirt, wearing forest green trunks that hung low on his hips, and his skin wasn’t glistening in the daylight, it wouldn’t have taken nearly half the time to help him out. 

“What would you do without me?” You try not to let your voice falter while you watch him massage sunscreen onto his chest, but you’re sure the little dip at the end of your sentence was noticeable. 

Joaquín just tilts his head and tosses the bottle into your lap.  

It’s not awkward. At least you don’t think it’s awkward. You rub the sunscreen on Joaquín’s skin as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sturdiness of his muscles beneath your hand. You know how fit he is, it’s impossible for you not to know since you’ve been working with him for a while now. But knowing and knowing are two different things. 

Seeing is not the same as feeling. 

Feeling his muscles as you work them beneath your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, grazing your hand lightly over the scars littering his skin, only lingering for a second on the life altering scar that trails down from the side of his neck to his shoulder. You try not to touch it too much. He hasn’t talked to you much about the accident, not since you visited the hospital with high quality food instead of flowers for him. Even then, he joked around it, even if you saw sorrow in his eyes like you’d never seen Joaquín wear before. 

You rubbed the sunscreen down his back and finished above the waistband of his trunks. Not even a second later did he look over his shoulder and down at you through a squint. “Now let me do you,” he urged without leaving much room for argument. 

Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room. 

You shook your head. “‘m okay, I already got it.” 

Joaquín turns around to face you completely. He laughs through a quick puff of air, his lips pulled up at the corners. “Barely. I saw you struggling over there. C’mon, let me top it off for you.” 

His hands take the sunscreen bottle from you, but he doesn’t put any in his palm. Not yet. For now, he stares at you, eyebrows lifted, waiting for you to give him the final answer. 

You turn around, moving whatever needs to be moved to give him basically full reign over your back. 

The first touch makes you jump, even if you were expecting it. You hear him quietly apologize under his breath, and you quietly brush it off, but you aren’t sure if your response was heard or if it was carried off with the wind. 

He continues in silence. 

You’ve had Joaquín’s hands on you before. A hand clasped in yours to pull you up, a touch fixing your posture when he was showing you a new trick Isaiah taught him before, a finger jabbed into your side when he walked past you. But again, this is much different. 

Having Joaquín’s bare hands on your bare back makes you tense up, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He rubs with a lot more attention to detail than you did; he reaches beneath the straps of your top with curt permission, and even asks if he can get the backs of your arms too. 

By the time he finishes, you’ve started to relax just a bit, to the point where the expected disappearance of his hand on your back feels unwanted. Joaquín’s hands are big and soothing, you could do with them on your skin for the rest of your life. 

Of course, you don’t tell him that. Not just because it would be completely inappropriate, but because he would never let you live it down. He would go the lengths to change his phone contact to Joaquín “best hands there ever were” Torres. 

Which is just a step below Joaquín “best co-worker there ever was” Torres. 

Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the beach day without much trouble. You tan until you don’t think you could tan anymore. Joaquín lays next to you most of the time, besides when he began to feel fidgety and he ran to grab both of you drinks, and pre-cut fruit for you, as an excuse to stretch his legs. You used the few minutes of solitude to text your group chat about the agony you accidentally put yourself into. Agony that was only made worse by Joaquín coming back with two drinks in one hand, fruit still in its rind in the other, and his newly tanned skin glistening from sweat in the sunlight. 

Shortly after, you had to leave and take a cold shower to get your head on straight. 

You think you’re doing pretty good at ignoring your feelings. You know you have a crush on him, but acting on it would change nearly too much, and a lot in your lives—his especially—has already changed. It’s not a leap you think you’re ready to make yet, so you’ve been ignoring your feelings. 

Over the course of the past couple of days, you and Joaquín have been spending your time doing every relaxing thing you could think of. Decompressing at that same club from the first night, but leaving as soon as the crowd proved to be very different from before—more rowdy for the hell of it and less generous in general. Eating at trendy, overrated lunch spots, or underrated hole-in-the-wall dinner spots. Spending a little too much money on new clothes but enabling each other anyway, because the shirt might look similar to another one that you already have but that shirt back home wasn’t that shirt there in your hands, so you needed it. 

There were just two nights left and then you would have to pack all your stuff, somehow fit in more new clothes than you anticipated, and return to the real world. One that entailed mission debriefs and learning how to work new tech. The only thing you were looking forward to about the real world was Sam, since he happened to be a natural barrier between you and Joaquín. It’ll be hard to focus on how badly you wanted to be underneath the Falcon whenever Captain America was in the vicinity providing tasks that required your full attention. 

But that is days away. For now, you’re going to try and enjoy the remainder of your all too quick vacation as much as possible. Even though you’re becoming more and more tense as you go on, a tension that your fingers beneath your panties hasn’t been able to fix yet. 

You didn’t think your behavior was noticeable, but Joaquín notices more than you thought. 

The two of you are walking side by side down the boardwalk. You’ve been fairly silent throughout, but not for any particular reason. Silence made sense to you, there wasn’t much to talk about right now. 

Apparently, Joaquín felt different. 

“What’s up with you?”

You furrow your eyebrows, quickly trying to figure out if you did something wrong between the walk from your hotel to the walk at the start of the boardwalk. Coming up short, you ask for clarification. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean why’re you so tense? Isn’t this relaxing for you?”

Yeah, this is relaxing for you. Walking side by side, letting the beach breeze blow your dress in the wind. Showered, fed, at the end of your vacation, this moment you exist in is like heaven. It’s a little too much like heaven, a perfect plane where the guy you’ve been crushing on is wearing a button up with the first two buttons undone so you can see the fresh tan he has and the gold glint of the chain he wears instead of his dog tags. 

It’s hard to relax when right beside you is someone you’ve wanted so badly, and he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“I’m not tense,” you finally respond. Although it’s a lie. 

“You so are,” Joaquín counters, “let me show you what you look like walking around here.” He takes a few quick strides ahead of you, and then pulls his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his spine, and walks with a little too much purpose. He looks odd and menacing. And definitely not like you. 

You tell him as such. 

He turns around to face you, grinning and walking backwards. “Okay I did take some creative liberties there, but you do look tense.” He turns back around and slows until he returns to a stride right beside you again. “What’s wrong? Do you wanna do something else?”

You shake your head. “No. This is fine. I like doing this.” 

Joaquín takes a moment and you see him look down at you from the corner of your eye. “Then what’s up? Anything you wanna get off your chest?” 

God, you should just tell him the truth. Well, not the full truth. 

Joaquín is chill personified. If you told him that you’re wound up sexually, he would likely make a joke about it, then brush it off and avoid asking you about it again. Friend to friend, you could just let off some steam—verbally!, although the other option is much more preferable—and then hopefully feel better. 

But just imagining yourself saying those words makes you tense even more and you have nothing to do but shake the thought out of your mind completely. 

“No. ‘m okay. I was just … thinking. But not anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second and you don’t know if he believes your lie. But he moves past it. He points to an ice cream shop to your right, and you swerve for the window. 

You and Joaquín end up sitting side by side on the beach, willingly letting sand press into your nice clothes but neither of you care much. You have a dinner reservation soon, and you’ve just been killing time—and also your appetite, but you and Joaquín both swore to eat dinner. Even if you’re devouring ice cream cones. Truthfully, this is a perfect way to end your night, sitting by your partner's side, letting the world exist around you both. 

The breeze blows against your skin. You and Joaquín sit with your bare toes digging into the sand, shoes having been discarded to the side, your shoulders close enough to brush against the other if either of you move. You’re looking off at the ocean, watching people enjoy the evening air around you both as you sit in a moment of stillness. There’s paragliders, a few jet skis, some boats, and a large cruise ship sailing into the port. 

Joaquín points off at the ship with the hand not holding his waffle cone.

“We should cruise for our next vacation.”

You turn to face him, tilting your head to the side. “Our next vacation?”

Joaquín nods. “Yeah. We should make this a regular thing. You know we work well together.” 

That you do. You grin and knock your shoulder into his.  “Let’s hope Sam doesn’t start feeling left out.”

Joaquín laughs with a quick exhale through his nose. “He’s definitely having the time of his life back home.” 

You’re unable to stop yourself from grinning as you imagine it—Sam working back home, likely enjoying the rare lull in the terror that the three of you have been fighting and will continue fighting. “He’s probably blasting Marvin Gaye over the speakers in the office.” 

This gets a real laugh from Joaquín, likely because he, too, can see it perfectly. 

Your laughter dies down and for a few moments, you and Joaquín sit in comfortable silence. 

Then, “You been having fun?” 

You hum. “Yeah. It’s nice not having to deal with—” you gesture vaguely in the air and Joaquín nods beside you. “Especially after everything.” You don’t say it exactly, but you know Joaquín still understands you. He knows you’re talking about his accident. 

You weren’t even the one in danger, having stayed grounded on the ship, but the horrors still settle deep in your heart some nights. Things are repaired, or currently being repaired in the case of D.C, but everything still feels so fragile to you sometimes. 

Which is why you’re so glad to be here with him at your side, reminding you that he’s okay. Everything’s okay. 

Joaquín takes a breath as if he’s about to speak. You turn to look at him. He’s staring off at the sunset, his face mostly stoic except for a slight twitch in his eyes, a flare of his nostrils, and his jaw clenching. “For a moment there when I was falling out of the sky, and when I could barely move my body on my own in the hospital I was worried that I wouldn’t get the chance to see places like this again. To … you know…” he hesitates and you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep going if he doesn’t want to. You and Joaquín have avoided talking about the day his heart stopped, and you don’t have to start now. But then he inhales through his teeth and continues. “To see home.” 

Your breath hitches and your eyes sting. Without thinking too much about it, you scoot closer into Joaquín’s side, tilting your head and resting it on his shoulder. Immediately upon contact, Joaquín wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you fully into his side. 

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Joaquín.” 

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says your name at the end, echoing you but somehow sounding more earnest. More meaningful. 

He places a kiss on the top of your head and in that moment you decide you could stay here just like this for the rest of your life. It all settles in your body at one time, the realization that you want Joaquín, you’ve known that for a while, but you want more than his body. 

You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety. 

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” he continues, “Is that why you’ve been tense? Because I promise I’m okay. It was scary for a bit but my heart’s fine and I feel fine physically—”

“No. It’s not that, Joaquín. I promise I was just a little tense but I’m good now, too.”

He nods once. “Okay.” He pulls his phone out and checks the time. He doesn’t say anything for a while as if he doesn’t want to disrupt the energy, but he speaks eventually. “If we wanna make our reservation we gotta leave now.” 

He stands to his feet and puts a hand out for you to grab. You take a moment to look at the sun setting and to finish the rest of your ice cream in one bite, then you take another moment to look at him. With resolution, you place your hand in Joaquín’s and let him pull you to your feet. 

Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore. 

It’s not like you’re exactly able to ignore how bad you want Joaquín when you’re at dinner with him, sitting in such an intimate setting—sat at a small table tucked in the corner of the restaurant next to a window looking out on the street, his tan skin lit by candlelight and ambient low lighting around the both of you. 

Having just come from the beach, the two of you are still wearing the same outfits (now without as many grains of sand as possible), meaning you have an even better view of Joaquín’s chest and the chain sitting right below his collarbones. He looks so nice and put together—his curls out more than you’ve ever seen them before, his face a little unshaven and adding an older look to him. 

God, he’s so pretty, it’s impossible for you not to think so. Not when you’re faced with him like this. 

Joaquín’s looking at the menu, acting like he didn’t look at it on his phone two hours ago. You’re holding the menu open, acting like you’re still deciding between two options, when really you’re just trying to decide if you should make a move or not. 

When Joaquín looks up, you quickly look down, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting as you stare at words that aren’t processing.  

Joaquín calls your name and you hum without lifting your eyes. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you glance up. Not only is he already looking at you, but he’s looking at you with a certain look in his eyes. Infatuation, admiration, something else that you don’t wanna name, for it feels like too much of a jump.

“What?” you ask, a shy grin splitting your face open as your skin starts to warm. 

Joaquín shrugs like he’s going to say the most casual thing ever. Instead, he tells you, “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you how pretty you look.”

Oh my godddd. 

What are you supposed to say to that? Everything thus far on this vacation has been widely platonic, and anything crossing that barrier has been nothing but a hopeful figment of your imagination. But his words, paired with the way they were delivered, feels like a step towards a future you want to live in. 

But maybe you’re overthinking it. Joaquín is honest and earnest when he wants to be and maybe now is one of those moments. 

You wrap your hand around your glass of ice water and bring it to your lips, pausing just long enough to respond. “What is it? The tan?”

Joaquín nods but that look in his eyes is still there. Chocolate brown dances across your figure before settling back on your own eyes. “Yeah … among other things. The tan and the color of your dress,” a bright colored fabric that hung loosely over your body and dipped around your back, you chose it especially because you knew it would look good on your skin, “and just you.” 

You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself. 

“Thanks, Joaquín,” you finally respond, trying to remain as casual as possible. “You look good, too.” 

Joaquín grins and you can see the man you’re used to coming back to himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and dusts off invisible particles. “I clean up well don’t I?”

You halfheartedly roll your eyes and return back to the menu. That interaction has already been catalogued for you to hyper analyze in the shower later. 

You thought that interaction was mind boggling, but the one you find yourself in later is ten times worse. 

You’ve both steadily worked through your plates, giggling and laughing about any and everything you could think of. The waiter mentioned the option of drinks at one point, and you looked to Joaquín for his reaction, wanting to see if that’s how the night was going to go. Not exactly as drunk as you were the first night, but at least a little buzz. When Joaquín politely shook his head, you did the same, and continued to sip your water instead. 

You do, however, decide to split two desserts. 

“Can I say something?” Joaquín speaks whenever he scrapes his fork across the decadent chocolate dessert sitting in the center of the table. 

You hum, grabbing a forkful of the fresher, citrus dessert instead. “Depends. How stupid is it gonna be?”

“Um … let me say it and then we can decide.”

You sit back in your seat, thereby giving him the floor. 

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he goes to respond. “I’m shocked that we’ve been together every day and night of this trip.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What d’you mean?”

“Like we haven’t … been with other people.”

His words shock you. “Is that what you think of me, Joaquín?” 

You don’t feel upset, or particularly offended. You’re just a little confused on why Joaquín has been thinking about your sex life while the two of you have been on vacation together. Sure, you’ve been thinking of the same thing, but his sex life hasn’t exactly crossed your mind. Besides whenever you pictured the two of your sex lives merging into one. 

But now that he’s presented the idea, you, too, are shocked that things have been contained to just the two of you this entire week. It’s not that you expected Joaquín to sleep around, you actually didn’t know what to expect when it came to his dating life. You did know that Joaquín was attractive and people other than yourself thought so, and he obviously knew it as well, but it’s unexpected that you didn’t see him intentionally ogling at least one other person on your nights out. 

You don’t know why he would think the same of you, though. 

“No!” he’s quick to defend himself, “But I wouldn’t judge you if that’s how you wanted to spend your vacation. I mean I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You’re digging yourself further and further into a hole, Torres.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”

A moment goes by and you sip your water. The air here feels open, but certainly not casual. You feel like you can tell the truth in this intimate atmosphere, and your words would hold intentional weight. 

You take the jump. “I didn’t wanna be with anyone else. I liked being with you.”

Joaquín looks surprised. “Really? So you preferred beach trips and coffee shops and working out over a hot hookup?”

You shrug. “I haven’t been interested in hooking up with anyone else.” 

His eyebrows lift in the center. “Anyone else?”

Fuck. 

It seems you have joined Joaquín in that hole, but you don’t mind being here. It’s about time you did something, right? You don’t bother responding, at least not verbally. Instead, you just look at Joaquín over the rim of your glass, sincerely hoping that he’s starting to understand. 

Before any more progress can be made the waiter comes back with the check and you’re already reaching into your bag for your wallet, verbally chastising Joaquín before he can even reach for the bill. 

Quiet returns to you both during the walk back to your hotel. It feels natural this time, likely because you’re not speaking, but it isn’t silent. Cars against asphalt as they drive down the street beside you, music spilling out of establishments that line the way, the automated voice of the pedestrian crossing pole when Joaquín presses the button for the both of you. There’s not anything being said, but there doesn’t need to be; much is being communicated through the energy radiating off of your body. 

Walking closer to each other than you had ever before, elbows grazing, a lightness to your bodies even if you both indulged a little too much over dinner. Everything just feels so right, even if there’s still an emptiness inside of you. Even if you leave this trip without getting laid, you’ll still feel fulfilled because you and your partner are closer than you’ve ever been before. Though, after existing in this bubble with only him, it’s going to be hard to return to your normal life and let other people in. 

A car honks and skirts to a stop. Before you can even realize what just happened, Joaquín’s already throwing an arm over the front of your torso, his face turned to the car that almost (wrongfully) hit the two of you. He yells something at them and blindly grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him and pushing you to the sidewalk and out of the street. 

He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. “You good?” he asks at full volume. He stands next to you but still holds onto your hand. 

“Yeah. We’ve been through worse than almost getting floored by a Benz, right?”

He laughs and continues leading the way back to the hotel. 

Your hand stays in his the entire time.

You and Joaquín make it all the way inside of the hotel with your hands still clasped together. They don’t part until an unattended child runs between your bodies, forcing you to separate. 

You end up standing in front of the elevator with the up button pushed. It dings every few seconds, an indicator of its steady descent, but it makes a few stops along the way. While you wait, you lean your shoulder into the wall next to it, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankle as you look at Joaquín standing across from you. 

He speaks first. “You wanna go out again tonight?  End the week with a bang?”

You shake your head. Your eyes are big, your lips are pulled into a soft smile, your entire expression is soft. Fuck hiding it, you’re done pretending. 

“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”

Joaquín nods and tucks his hands in his front pockets. “Alright. Together or separate?”

“Together.”

His eyebrows lift as if he’s shocked, but there’s a little glint in his eyes. You think he’s starting to catch on. 

“Okay,” he drags the last syllable out and shifts his stance. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “What d’you wanna do?”

The elevator door opens and you and Joaquín stand out of the way to let people come out. As soon as everyone has cleared out, the two of you enter the elevator alone and you push the button to shut the door before anyone else can come around the corner. With the doors closing you turn to face Joaquín to see him already looking at you. 

You smile up at him and he smiles down at you. 

You take a step closer to him and he takes a step closer to you. 

You reach a hand out to his face, hesitating, and then he nods just before he reaches a hand out and places it on your waist. 

And then finally, your lips press against his. 

The first kiss is tentative. It’s testing. Your lips press together, you stay like that for a moment, and then you pull away. The two of you stare at each other, Joaquín’s expression as soft and docile as it always is. You think you’re mirroring him in this moment. 

Then, without any words exchanged, you both move towards each other again. Your heads are tilted and without much trouble at all, your faces slot together nearly perfectly. This kiss is more exploratory. It’s open mouthed, teetering towards a messiness that you’re sure you’ll both fully succumb to by the end of the night. At least, you hope so. 

You don’t have much time, you’ve realized that as soon as the elevator dings the first time to indicate its ascent, therefore you’re trying to get what you can while you can. You throw your arms over Joaquín’s shoulders and hook them around his neck, pulling him down towards you as you tilt yourself up into him. His body curves to engulf yours in his warmth, but he kisses you like he has all the time in the world. 

He kisses you like he means it, like there’s more than one mutually shared goal at the end of this motivating him. 

It’s hard not to give in to the slow and longing way Joaquín kisses you. You don’t even try resisting it at a certain point. Instead, you press your chest up into his and lean up on your toes to get more of him, yet not initiating a change in the pace at all. You like the slow way Joaquín’s lips move against yours. You feel much more this way. 

Your fingers lay across the back of his neck and just as they start to inch up into the faded part of his haircut, the elevator dings and announces your floor. 

You and Joaquín separate with clear hesitance in the movement. The two of you stare at each other, unmoving, just looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes look darker than you’ve ever seen them before. If you got closer, you think you would see his pupils blown out. From here, though, you see his desire in other ways—the flush on his cheeks, the prominence of his chest rising and falling, the hint of your lip products that have rubbed off on his lips. 

The elevator door starts to shut and Joaquín is forced into making the first move. He slots his arm between the doors just before they close and he stays there when they open. He turns to look at you, tilts his head in a beckon, and holds his hand out for you to grab.

The walk to your rooms feels much longer than it usually does. You try to make it go as fast as possible, skittering ahead of Joaquín as fast as your impractical sandals would allow, but you’re trying not to look too eager all the while. Still, when you reach the number you’ve memorized for the week and turn around to look at him, he has a slight smile of amusement on his face. 

You’re already searching into your bag for your key when you ask, “Yours or mine?”

Joaquín reaches around you for the handle to the door without speaking. You watch him press the key card to the sensor and push the door handle down just as you feel your fingers find the piece of plastic. 

“We gave each other one of each when we checked in, remember? Just in case.” comes his unprompted explanation. And now that you’ve been reminded, you do remember. Your key to Joaquín’s room has been sitting on the dresser forgotten the entire week. You know he wouldn’t have done it, not without your explicit consent, but you wish Joaquín had used the key to his advantage once this week. You wish he would have acted on the tension between you both, the tension that you’re finally realizing has been reciprocated this entire time. 

But now it’s happening. There’s no reason to complain when you’re getting what you wanted. 

His hands are on your hips as he leads you into the room, your bag is thrown to the floor and your shoes are kicked off of your feet. Your body is turned at his will, your eyes meet his as he lazily grins  down at you. His tongue flicks out over his lips in a quick and smooth movement, and at a much slower pace, you lean back in to press your lips back to his. 

Joaquín’s hands automatically latch onto your lower back, one warm palm pressed into the thin fabric of your dress and the other settling right on your bare skin in the opening. Meanwhile, you start working on his shirt, popping button after button through the holes. You stop when you’re halfway down, not on your own accord. 

You’re forced to stop when Joaquín slots his hands behind your thighs and he easily lifts you up. You squeal into the kiss on instinct. 

There’s a moment where both of you are grinning against each other’s lips and it just feels so right. It feels incredibly natural to be doing this, to be smiling when you’re kissing Joaquín, even though nearly everything else about this situation isn’t natural for the two of you (your erect nipples rubbing against his chest, your panties stuck to your cunt, the very faint brush of his cock stiff in his pants that you get on the journey up). 

“You’re just showing off,” you half-heartedly chide. 

Joaquín shrugs and walks you back to the bed. “Maybe just a little.” He places you down, kneeling between your legs and finishing off the remaining buttons on his shirt. “You love it, though.”

You don’t admit it verbally, but the way you shamelessly ogle his chest when he pulls the shirt off says everything. 

As soon as his shirt is gone, he places a hand on your ankle, slowly inching your dress up a few inches before he stops and looks at you. His expression is open, you can tell what he’s asking without words. But for good measure, he includes them. 

“Can I keep going?”

You nod, eager and unashamed. “Yeah. Keep going.”

He starts to push the bright fabric further and further up your legs, speaking to you as he continues. “You gotta let me know if …” his words taper off when he sees the first hint of your panties, and you don’t know exactly what he’s seeing, but it makes him speechless for a moment and your ego inflates. 

“I’ll let you know if …?” Cockiness is audible in your words but he doesn’t comment on it. 

Joaquín blinks and comes back to himself. “If you wanna stop, or if you want something changed. We gotta communicate.” 

“M’kay.” 

And with that, Joaquín pushes the fabric completely over your hips and he’s met with your panties. They’re a bright color that compliments the color of your dress, and, consequently, your tanned skin. He swears under his breath and although you don’t hear him clearly at all, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t in English. 

You sit up fully and slip your dress over your torso with Joaquín’s help. He lets the fabric drop to the floor without looking, his eyes are focused solely on your chest. 

You’re laying back on your elbows, elevated just enough to look at him. You stare at his eyes, even if you aren’t making eye contact, while he leans up to hover over you. His head dips and he presses a single kiss in the center of your chest and repeats the action right over each side of your ribcage. The tip of his nose grazes your breast and instinctively you arch up towards him. When he pulls away just enough to look up at you, you see him smiling.

You could beg, but the night has only begun. You decide to save that for later. For now, you huff and stick your spine back to the mattress. 

Joaquín places a hand around your side and dips his head back down, this time higher than before. When he latches his lips around your nipple, a little gasp breaks from between your lips. He lets his teeth scrape against the bud, alternating between giving you pressure and giving you wet heat from his tongue. By the time he switches to your other nipple, you’re already desperate for a true relief focused on your cunt. His lips travel upwards, brushing against your skin throughout the journey, until he’s pressing them into the side of your neck and under your jaw. You let him continue upwards, you let him kiss you a bit more, but you can only go so long without real, fruitful stimulation. And maybe another time after this (circumstances willing) you would love to prolong everything. 

But right now you need to get fucked, whatever that could entail. 

You buck your hips up and end up catching the bulge in Joaquín’s pants where his zipper lies. You think he’ll catch on that way, and maybe he does, but he just chooses to ignore it. Either way, you send him a hint and Joaquín doesn’t do anything about it. He continues kissing you, he tweaks your nipples and slots a knee between your legs, all of which you’re grateful for since it is a stepping stone in the right direction. But you need stimulation, you need to get off, and the slow crawl is slowly driving you crazy. 

You pull away from Joaquín to call his name. He responds with a gruff yeah that immediately settles deep in your gut. 

“I need more. Please.” 

He grins right in your face. The expression almost looks wicked on him for the first time ever. He has the power here right now and he’s obviously letting it go to his head. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks while his hand slides down between your bodies until his thick fingers can slip between your clothed folds. 

His question was rhetorical (and smug but that’s besides the point), yet you still find yourself going to respond. Your lips part, you can feel the corners turning down as you prepare to say something just as smug back to him, but then he presses down and quickly finds your clit after a moment of fumbling. As far as words go, you’re silent. Nothing but sounds slip from your mouth from that point onwards. 

Joaquín toys with your clit. He starts with one finger, just the pad of what you think might be his middle finger, and when that has you forcing your hips up into his touch, he adds a second finger. With two fingers, he has more space to work with, resulting in larger circles right over the most sensitive part of you. He speeds up, too. 

Your back arches and you dig your nails into the sheets. You know what you want to ask for, it's simple and you’d already said the word in this space, but it gets trapped in your throat this time. You’re close already. Yeah, you’d been getting yourself off throughout the week, but finally having Joaquín do it for you has made you so much more responsive. 

You get the first syllable out, the ‘M’ vibrating in your throat before you open your mouth to round it out in an ‘O’. 

Joaquín picks up where you left off. 

“More?” he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds your heavy gaze. Before you even respond with a nod, he’s already sitting back far enough to slip his hand in your panties and repeat his emotions. 

The first real touch dizzies you for a moment. You pinch your eyes shut with the pure intention of orienting yourself, but then Joaquín chastises you in a soft, but firm voice. 

“Look at me. I wanna see you.” 

You do as told, of course. 

He nods. “There we go.” His fingers get just a little faster, the circles tighter. You’re so wet that there isn’t any uncomfortable friction at all, his skin easily glides against yours. 

“You close?” he asks after a moment. When you nod, he continues, “If I give you this one, you’ll be able to give me another, right? You can give me more?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You’re breathless when you speak, and it certainly doesn’t help that it’s then when Joaquín decides to pull his fingers away completely, pull your panties to the side, and sink down completely until his face is level with your cunt. 

Just the image below you is enough to twist that section deep into your stomach into a knot. He’s barely able to give you anything before your back is arching off of the bed and everything in you mounts to a peak. 

When you come, it’s from the controlled and effective licks Joaquín delivers to your cunt. You don’t know when your hand moves on its own, but you feel silk-like strands between your fingers. It helps anchor you, gripping his hair helps keep you sane, especially when Joaquín keeps going. 

He broadens his reach this time. His mouth opens wide enough to slide his tongue down from your entrance and back up towards your clit. And he doesn’t just lick this time, you hear the audible suck from him. He’s slurping that shit, and you can already feel the introduction of another orgasm. 

If you were with anyone else, you’d be shocked at how soon another is on the precipice. But it’s Joaquín, and aside from the fact that you’ve wanted him for a while, you’re not exactly shocked that he knows what he’s doing. 

He slowly sinks one finger into you, pumping the digit in and out of you with meticulous ease. It’s a stark contrast from the almost sloppy way he’s eating you out. But it works. 

One finger is nice, it’s thicker than your own, rougher, too. You could get off just like that. And then, he adds a second. 

“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention. 

Joaquín comes up for air, releasing you with an audible smack. “Yeah?” he asks, the word coming from right in his throat. 

You nod as you take in the way he looks—cheeks flushed, hair tousled and hanging over his forehead, pink lips shining, his eyes wide and nearly doe-like. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. You see a look flash in Joaquín’s eyes then. It’s a look similar to the one he has whenever Sam affirms his work with a clap on the back—self-satisfied, delighted, proud. It occurs to you then that he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. He can read your body language, sure. It’s obvious from your cunt, along how good he’s making you feel, but you know verbal affirmation is different. It’s better, especially for Joaquín. 

As he goes back in to finish you off, you speak to him.

“Just like that,” you tell him. Just this little bit encourages him, you can feel it in his movements.  “Keep going. ‘M close, so close, Joaquín. Please, don’t stop. You’re so … you’re so—” Before you can even get it out, all noise dies completely from you. Your mouth uselessly hangs open, not even air comes out as your entire body stiffens. Nothing happens for a moment, Joaquín continues, you’re stuck, and then a nanosecond later everything knocks into you. 

Sound emits from you, moans and groans and breaths. You’re digging into whatever you can find—the heel of your foot into Joaquín’s back, your hands in his hair, the rest of your body into the twisted sheets beneath you. You’re simultaneously trying to escape and trying to keep Joaquín from parting with you for even a moment. It’s hard to decide which you prefer, you don’t even think your mind has any say in the dilemma, your body is in control at this point. 

Ultimately, your body decides to let go, releasing both of you at the same time. Still, Joaquín takes a moment to pull from you. He continues licking and sucking, but his fingers slowing down indicates his intent to free you. It comes after a few drawn out moments where you’re stuck twitching beneath him until finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses one final kiss right onto your clit. 

His head lifts and the evidence is more obvious than you expected. It’s gathered all over his chin, stuck along the beginnings of facial hair that will likely be gone first thing Monday morning. It’s gathered on his lips and along his tongue when he uses the muscle to pull the remnants of your arousal into his mouth. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only then does he realize how much of a mess you’ve made of him. He pulls his hand back, brown eyes big as he stares at the evidence. 

“Shit,” he laughs. 

All you can do is agree through labored breaths. 

He tries to clean you off of his mouth, but not much is done. He leans in tentatively after that, as if you’re going to shy away from him. You don’t. 

You kiss him back eagerly, although a bit lethargically. You’re trying to hide it from fear that Joaquín could think that you’re done. But your body needs a moment to recover from that. 

When Joaquín pulls away from you with a small smile on his face, you know he’s onto you. 

“You need a minute?” The way he says it isn’t much different from the way he asks you those same words when he’s kicking your ass in the gym. 

And just like when you’re in the gym, you shamefully nod. 

Joaquín chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead. “That’s okay. You want anything? Water maybe?” 

“Water sounds good.” 

You watch him leave and then your eyes are focused solely on the ceiling. You can’t even let what’s happening sink in when you’re still a little spacey. But you can handle more. You want more from him. 

Joaquín comes back with a glass of water. He stands next to the bed and passes the full glass to you. You don’t question the source, you just drink until there’s half left. You offer it to him and he gladly takes it from you. 

“Are you … do you wanna stop?” He speaks when the glass has been emptied and placed on the nightstand. For the most part he looks like he would be unaffected by whatever answer you gave, but you think you can detect some premature dejection in his features. Quickly, he adds, “Because it’s fine if you do. I’m okay with that.” And he’s being honest. You don’t feel any pressure coming from Joaquín at all. 

It’s what you truly mean and want when you immediately shake your head. “No. Let’s keep going.” 

He nods once to himself. “Alright. Cool. Yeah.” 

Excitement leaks from his pores but you don’t comment on it. You felt just as he did not long ago. You still feel like that, but you’re under a haze right now and that’s what your emotions are being led with. 

Joaquín hooks his thumbs into his already-loosened jeans and goes to pull them down. First, though, he pats at his pockets. When he doesn’t feel what he’s looking for, he swears. 

“One second.”

You watch his form retreat until the door of your room is pulled open. Not even a minute later he comes back in with a foil pocket brandished between his fingers, the same fingers that were in you not long ago. 

“You came prepared?” The question comes out more judgemental than you meant it to. 

Joaquín shrugs. “I keep an emergency bag full of … stuff. You know, in case of an emergency.” 

“Freak.” You don’t mean it. 

“You’re about to get fucked by a freak so, wouldn’t that make you a freak by association?” He seems to mean it. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

He holds the packet between his teeth while he slides his jeans off of his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He comes back around to the side, pulling the packet out from his teeth and staring down at you. Like this he looks more imposing than he ever has before. 

When he’s been out in the field, when he’s training, when he yelled at the car earlier tonight, he didn’t look as imposing as he does now—staring down at you over the bridge of his nose, hair tousled, cock tenting in his black briefs. 

“That’s definitely how that works,” he claims as he leans down. He presses his hands into the bed beneath you to leverage himself as he kisses you, slow and passionate. You wonder if he’ll fuck you like that too. 

You reach a hand up and pull the elastic away from his waist. When he doesn’t react, you tug the fabric down. You feel it get stuck around his cock just before you feel his cock spring free. It brushes against your wrist and you make a little noise into the kiss. 

As soon as Joaquín’s briefs are laying at his feet he assumes his previous position, this time sitting right on his haunches. You avoid looking at his cock for a moment, but when you watch him tear the condom packet open, you get the first glimpse at him. 

Even this part of him is attractive. He’s thick, that’s the first thing you notice. Thick and heavy, if the way he hangs to the side is any indicator. There’s a vein leading from his taut stomach down towards the dark and trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You hadn’t noticed the vein ever before, not when you had been too busy ogling the v-line chiseled into his torso instead. 

Now that you’ve seen all of Joaquín, you can easily conclude that he’s perfect. Just as you have that thought, Joaquín takes an inhale as he prepares to speak. 

“You’re so perfect,” he says. 

The warmth instantly floods your body. 

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” you tell him. 

He dips his head almost shyly and doesn’t say anything. Instead, Joaquín pulls the condom out of the packet. 

“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?” 

He looks momentarily surprised at your request, but he passes you the condom and politely places his hands on top of his thighs. 

It’s truly an excuse to feel him beneath your palm as you glide the latex barrier down his length. You revel in the warmth beneath your hand, because as soon as you’ve secured the barrier around the base of his shaft, Joaquín's leading you back without even having to touch you. He leans forward and in response, you lean all the way back until you’re nestled amongst the pillows at the head of the bed. 

“Ready?” 

You nod, letting your legs fall open for him. 

One warm hand falls to the inside of your thigh while the other disappears between your legs to line up his dick. Then, slowly, Joaquín pushes forward. The stretch is instant, you can feel yourself opening up wider and wider to fully fit him in. If you weren’t as soaked and prepped as you were, you’re sure the burn would’ve been way worse. 

For a few moments it’s like the length of him keeps going and going, but then you feel his thighs press up against the back of yours and there’s the faint feeling of his balls resting against your ass and you know he’s bottomed out. He looks at you, gauging your reaction, and your response comes in the form of linking a leg around his back.

Joaquín smiles through nothing but the twitch of the corner of his mouth upwards, and then he wastes no more time. He rests his weight on his hands at either side of your head, and pulls his hips back just to roll them forward and slide his cock back into you. 

And for a bit, Joaquín does fuck you slow and passionate. He fucks you in full strokes, a nice tempo that doesn’t overwhelm you too quickly. There’s punctuation at the end of each thrust, followed by a nearly agonizing pull back out. Whether intentional or not, Joaquín’s introducing you to the feeling of his cock filling you up, just as he’s introducing the concept of another release to you. 

But you’ve had your fill, it’s his turn now. 

You press your hands into his shoulders. They glide back, one hand grazing over the raised skin of the scar that leads down his back, the other following a smooth path, but they meet in the same place—back around the front to where his chain hangs. You hook one finger into the gold link, the other going behind his head. You pull him closer until you can nudge your noses together. 

His eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows pinch together in the center. You kiss him once and pull back to tell him, “You can use me, Joaquín. Take what you want.”

His eyes open to stare at you with confusion written on his face, bordering on hope, as if he already has an idea formed in his head of what he really wants to do to you. 

You nod assuredly. “It’s what I want.” Just as you’re about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, Joaquín adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you. 

The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but they’re shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like he’s reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again. 

You’re forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around Joaquín’s hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for Joaquín to rest his forehead on. 

You can’t hear his sounds over yours, but you feel them—quick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Luckily, though, Joaquín lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear. 

You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later Joaquín swears and it’s a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. He’s affecting you, and you’re affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.

“Are you close?” you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask. 

You feel Joaquín nod against your neck. “Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, baby, ‘m almost there.” 

Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you weren’t having your guts completely rearranged right now. 

He chuckles deeply against your skin. “What? What’s up?”

“C…Call me that again.”

“What? ‘Baby’? You like when I call you baby?” 

You hum affirmatively. 

Joaquín lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. “You’re my baby? Hm? Are you?” 

You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”. 

“Yeah?” he grins as he says it, as if he’s shocked that you agreed. You don’t know if he’s serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if you’re a little dumb right now, but you do mean it. 

He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. “You gonna be good for me, too?” When you nod, he continues. “Be good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?”

He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, Joaquín nods. 

“That’s right. Just like that.” 

He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you. 

You’re close, you’re almost there, and the erratic way Joaquín practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after Joaquín buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as Joaquín’s body melts on top of yours. 

He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until he’s clearly making them ridiculous on purpose. 

His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. “You think you’ll be up for a shower?”

You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. “In about ten minutes, yeah.” 

“Take your time.”

In the meantime, Joaquín slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all you’ve been through since getting back to your room, you don’t exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout. 

The feeling of Joaquín kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s wearing that same soft look on his features.

You’re so pampered there that you don’t force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running. 

Joaquín’s already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if he’s shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you. 

You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you. 

“I got it,” is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of Joaquín dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songs—some that you recognize, some that you don’t. There’s a familiarity now that you’ve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders. 

Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.

“You know what I realized like a few minutes ago?” he says when he’s rinsing the soap off of his body. 

“What?”

“Remember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?”

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

“Yeah well I’m pretty sure they thought we were like … swingers or some shit.”

You’re startled awake. “Huh? Why do you think that?”

“Oh I don’t think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.”

You frown. “I thought she was just drunk or friendly.”

“She definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.” 

You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”

Joaquín shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. “She probably did. That’s sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isn’t it?”

You laugh through a quick exhale of air. “Come on, Joaquín, let’s go to bed.” 

You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. Joaquín follows after you. 

“Oh, I get to sleep with you tonight?” He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasn’t just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head. 

You end up getting exactly what you wanted. Joaquín leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as you’re finished, he’s trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room. 

You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes. 

The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and you’re snuggled up next to Joaquín, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation. 

Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. Joaquín ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage. 

thank you SO much for reading and reblogging baby, I LOVE feeding dark fics to my people ♡

FRIGHTENING NEW WORLD

WE DRANK LOYALTY IN VINES...

...BUT YOURS TURNED TO BLOOD IN MY MOUTH.

⇀ word count: 1.1 K

⇀ pairings: dark! Sam Wilson x reader | dark! Bucky Barnes x reader (implied) | Joaquin Torres x reader | ✶✶✶

⇀ warnings: dark dark dark content, 18+ MDNI | violence; power imbalance; phsychological horror; blood: restraints; threats; mentions of rape; mentions of domestic violence; mentions of forced infertility; dacryphilia; swear words, my work is dark and triggering. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

⇀ author's note: i've finished this in ONE sitting, wow. I loved CABNW and this occured in my mind as soon as I finished watching it. Reblogs, comments, and more REQUESTS are appreciated. BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

⇁ tags: my soul sister @highonmarvel xxx | If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know. I love you all so so much! Thank you for reading!

Oaxaca, Mexico

You had never believed that the sun might shine over you again, but here you were, strolling peacefully through the bustling market, a woven basket nestled in the crook of your arm, its handle tangled in your fingers. Your gaze lingered on the ripe, sun-kissed fruit— apricots, blushing peaches, nectarines, and ruby-red strawberries—while the air swelled with their honeyed fragrance, laced with the mellow sweetness of…plums.

Even after almost one year, the scent rose stripes of terror up your spine, and whenever you saw their blue–burgundy color, the broken ribs, the slaps, the punches, even his gaze flooded your mind altogether.

The anxiety attacks were fewer, shorter and less frightening every week, but your previous life still lingered in the back of your head. The wounds were long healed, but small scars were visible here and there—up your arms towards your shoulders, on your thighs, littlest ones on the crook of your neck and up your jaw and one people were…not able to see. After he took your freedom, broke your will, terrorized you even of your own shadow, he took your right and your ability of…ever having a family of your own. Your pained gaze often fell upon children around your house, in the village and it was like his reminder that said ‘I did this to you. You’ll never have one of your own.’, and it always made you turn your head away from them nauseously.

You never thought you'd be able to flee James Barnes, you thought it was impossible and it truly was. But some divine force must have helped you gain the bravery you never knew was inside you, and guided you all the way here, in this forgotten speck on the map.

The bells of the wide church —the only major social point in the town, situated right next to the market— rang loudly, in an oddly comforting way and you inhaled deeply as you adjusted the long skirts of your summer dress.

A loud explosion interrupted your beautiful life, and you fell on the road. Dust, mud and pulp of crushed, rotten fruit from the ground stained your new dress and you let out a broken sob when you also saw blood on your palms. Small cuts lingered on the raw skin, and you struggled to get up. The freshly bought fruit were long forgotten in the dirt as you looked disorientated around and your teary eyes caught a pair of coal black ones.

Your heart leapt out of your ribcage when you remembered the face. Sam Wilson, a shadow from your past, was James’ best friend. His eyes glinted when he recognized you. He was like a falcon—you never doubted his superhero name—and you were most afraid to hide away from him back then when you ran.

You never got the chance to see the smirk that planted on his face because of how swift you turned your head away, somehow pleading to the divine force to help you again and make him forget your features. But a man about your age already got his orders about you.

Joaquin Torres furrowed his brows in confusion when he heard Captain America's orders.

"So let me get this straight— you want me to gather all the bad guys and jus' throw them in the cars myself, man? Are-are you sure 'bout this?", the young man asked, looking around him.

"Do you think you can handle them?", came the voice from the other side of the phone to which Joaquin nodded vigorously to himself, then replied affirmatively and maybe too excitedly.

"Good, we'll meet at the agreed location in short time. I—", finished the older man, looking at the tiny, cozy cottage before his eyes, "—have some business to take care of."

You were stuffing clothing items in a bag with one hand and with the other you were looking through the bedside cabinet for your passport and cash. Tears ran down your face ever since you arrived home from the market and you simply couldn't stop them, despite the will to do so.

You zipped up the bag and you pulled on a pair of clean shorts and a large tee with leafy hands and then you climbed down the stairs. Regret, anger, fear, all these ate at you.

"It's good to see you again, honeybee!"

You almost stumbled across the last stair when the words hit you. Your lungs were rejecting the oxygen as more tears fell when your eyes caught the ones you knew so well.

His hands were carelessly caressing the chair before him, his gaze sticked on your trembling figure.

"You know, I really hoped to catch a glimpse of the pretty sight standing in front of me now earlier, it would've spared my pal of much suffering."

"Suffering?", you whispered, finding the voice under all the bitterness in your throat. "H-he suffered? He was the one t-that suffered?"

"Oh, and how he did. He refused to eat the week you left, he barely slept for months, he spent millions on men, private detectives, all types of shit just to find you. I also highly doubt he fucked since you decided to disappear into thin air."

Your face contorted into a disgusted grimace as you took a small step back.

"Honeybee—", Sam growled as he started approaching you, "—I'd reallyyy like to give you a nice, lil' chance to get the fuck outta this house and go back with me, but I'm afraid you lost that right looong ago."

You couldn't even resist when his rough, confident grip fell over your freshly healed wrists, and when you felt your back pressed into his broad, sculpted chest, a whimper escaped your lips.

Sam bent you on the counter and your face fell into the flowers you picked from your garden in the morning and you tried to block everything, simply not wanting to believe this was happening. You really believed you would be free and at peace, protected and joyful for the rest of your life. How pathetic and far away those hopes sounded. Scratchy plastic secured your hands together as Sam grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up against him again. He knocked the door open with his foot and started pulling you out of your comforting shelter.

"Sam, I am begging you, don't t-take me back to him, pleaseeee.", you started crying as he forced you outside your home. "You can't d-do this t-to me, Sam, you can't! Y-you were my...my friend, too."

Sam slapped his palm across your mouth to muffle the screams, or maybe to stop the words that made him feel so guilty from coming. "I am James' friend, not yours. My loyalty is his, and everything you've done hurt him. Now it's jus' fair you suffer too, ain't it?". These words hurt more than anything he did until now. Sam knew what Bucky did, he had seen the bruises, he had heard the cries, yet he had done nothing against it. And maybe that unsettled you, but now? Now he was forcing you into the wolf's fangs, and it felt completely different.

Your lost eyes caught one of your neighbors, Ms. Solís , at the window. Another whimper escaped you pleadingly, directed to her, but she did not dare to do anything. Nobody ever did.

Your knees buckled under your own weight, and you collapsed in the dust despite Sam's grip. You heard him scowl and his hand came to the back of your shirt. He gripped it and pulled you up against his body again. You sobbed and you tried to elbow him but Sam was swifter. He caught your tied limbs and grasped. "Fuckin' walk, bitch. Bucky would want to teach you to behave first, but I don't mind starting myself right now, you hear me?". The threat made you cry harder and when Sam gripped your arms even harsher you nodded weakly. What Sam was doing to you felt like a short training considering what would wait for you back in New York.

A black SUV was parked there, behind some wide Madrone bushes. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just burst right there. You hoped that, if you were to be honest.

"S-sam, just know th-that if you're taking me back....he'll k-kill me—", you tried calling Sam's mercy out one last time. He just turned his head away, letting your words fall into the abyss of desperation and nothingness.

A younger man peeked from behind the vehicle. His smile dropped when he saw your trembling form. His eyes darted from the blood on your chin to your restrained and bruised arms. Hair was cascading over your face and your lower lip trembled as you fought with yourself to stop the sobs and whimpers. Joaquin thought you were so beautiful. So, why were you here in this state?

"Whoa, man, what's happening? What did she do?" Joaquin started, coming closer to you with raised hands, showing you you don't have to be afraid of him. You still flinched when his caring hands came in contact with your pained limbs.

"Leave her as she is, Joaquin...", said Sam and you looked desperately at the man your age. He furrowed his brows and looked at his superior. "B-but—"

"You wanna be the next Falcon, don't you?" Sam asked, patting the younger man on the shoulder.

"Yes, of course I do!"

"Then—", Sam started again, looking into the boys' eyes, "—you gotta learn to close your eyes at certain things. These are the stories media don't care about, you hear me? The majority of people get saved, everybody's happy, but you should know there are...collateral victims. And she's one of 'em. Now, buddy, if you really wanna be an Avenger...put her in the car."

Joaquin took a big step back, accidentally bumping into you. He quickly caught you, preventing your body from falling again, and then looked back at Sam, which raised his brows and his hands, as if he was giving Joaquin an offer he couldn't refuse. And Joaquin didn't refuse it.

He opened the car door and he tried to carefully place you in the backseat. " 'm sorry, so sorry...", he mumbled as he gave you the pill Sam told him to. "This'll help ya sleep, okay?"

"P-please, please help me—', you cried, looking into his regretful eyes as he forced the drug past your lips.

"Shh, shhh...you'll be jus' fine, 'kay? Be good now, please—".

You knew you will be anything but fine. Sam and Joaquin both entered the car and as Joaquin was starting it, Sam dialed a number and put the phone on speaker.

"Buck, I think I've found somethin' that's yours, buddy. And you'll be really thrilled to see it...", Sam laughed, smirking at you in the reviewing mirror.

The quietness that followed the sentence was short, but dense.

"Hello, doll...", came the voice from the other side of the phone, and its maliciousness and calmness made your whole body shiver. He knew you were there. He was sure of it somehow. You felt his presence right there, in Sam's deeds, in the dark sky, in your rapid, choked sobs, in your heavy lids.

That fucking nickname wrote right then, right there the end of your world and marked the beginning of the Frightening New World.

FRIGHTENING NEW WORLD

WE DRANK LOYALTY IN VINES...

...BUT YOURS TURNED TO BLOOD IN MY MOUTH.

⇀ word count: 1.1 K

⇀ pairings: dark! Sam Wilson x reader | dark! Bucky Barnes x reader (implied) | Joaquin Torres x reader | ✶✶✶

⇀ warnings: dark dark dark content, 18+ MDNI | violence; power imbalance; phsychological horror; blood: restraints; threats; mentions of rape; mentions of domestic violence; mentions of forced infertility; dacryphilia; swear words, my work is dark and triggering. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

⇀ author's note: i've finished this in ONE sitting, wow. I loved CABNW and this occured in my mind as soon as I finished watching it. Reblogs, comments, and more REQUESTS are appreciated. BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

⇁ tags: my soul sister @highonmarvel xxx | If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know. I love you all so so much! Thank you for reading!

Oaxaca, Mexico

You had never believed that the sun might shine over you again, but here you were, strolling peacefully through the bustling market, a woven basket nestled in the crook of your arm, its handle tangled in your fingers. Your gaze lingered on the ripe, sun-kissed fruit— apricots, blushing peaches, nectarines, and ruby-red strawberries—while the air swelled with their honeyed fragrance, laced with the mellow sweetness of…plums.

Even after almost one year, the scent rose stripes of terror up your spine, and whenever you saw their blue–burgundy color, the broken ribs, the slaps, the punches, even his gaze flooded your mind altogether.

The anxiety attacks were fewer, shorter and less frightening every week, but your previous life still lingered in the back of your head. The wounds were long healed, but small scars were visible here and there—up your arms towards your shoulders, on your thighs, littlest ones on the crook of your neck and up your jaw and one people were…not able to see. After he took your freedom, broke your will, terrorized you even of your own shadow, he took your right and your ability of…ever having a family of your own. Your pained gaze often fell upon children around your house, in the village and it was like his reminder that said ‘I did this to you. You’ll never have one of your own.’, and it always made you turn your head away from them nauseously.

You never thought you'd be able to flee James Barnes, you thought it was impossible and it truly was. But some divine force must have helped you gain the bravery you never knew was inside you, and guided you all the way here, in this forgotten speck on the map.

The bells of the wide church —the only major social point in the town, situated right next to the market— rang loudly, in an oddly comforting way and you inhaled deeply as you adjusted the long skirts of your summer dress.

A loud explosion interrupted your beautiful life, and you fell on the road. Dust, mud and pulp of crushed, rotten fruit from the ground stained your new dress and you let out a broken sob when you also saw blood on your palms. Small cuts lingered on the raw skin, and you struggled to get up. The freshly bought fruit were long forgotten in the dirt as you looked disorientated around and your teary eyes caught a pair of coal black ones.

Your heart leapt out of your ribcage when you remembered the face. Sam Wilson, a shadow from your past, was James’ best friend. His eyes glinted when he recognized you. He was like a falcon—you never doubted his superhero name—and you were most afraid to hide away from him back then when you ran.

You never got the chance to see the smirk that planted on his face because of how swift you turned your head away, somehow pleading to the divine force to help you again and make him forget your features. But a man about your age already got his orders about you.

Joaquin Torres furrowed his brows in confusion when he heard Captain America's orders.

"So let me get this straight— you want me to gather all the bad guys and jus' throw them in the cars myself, man? Are-are you sure 'bout this?", the young man asked, looking around him.

"Do you think you can handle them?", came the voice from the other side of the phone to which Joaquin nodded vigorously to himself, then replied affirmatively and maybe too excitedly.

"Good, we'll meet at the agreed location in short time. I—", finished the older man, looking at the tiny, cozy cottage before his eyes, "—have some business to take care of."

You were stuffing clothing items in a bag with one hand and with the other you were looking through the bedside cabinet for your passport and cash. Tears ran down your face ever since you arrived home from the market and you simply couldn't stop them, despite the will to do so.

You zipped up the bag and you pulled on a pair of clean shorts and a large tee with leafy hands and then you climbed down the stairs. Regret, anger, fear, all these ate at you.

"It's good to see you again, honeybee!"

You almost stumbled across the last stair when the words hit you. Your lungs were rejecting the oxygen as more tears fell when your eyes caught the ones you knew so well.

His hands were carelessly caressing the chair before him, his gaze sticked on your trembling figure.

"You know, I really hoped to catch a glimpse of the pretty sight standing in front of me now earlier, it would've spared my pal of much suffering."

"Suffering?", you whispered, finding the voice under all the bitterness in your throat. "H-he suffered? He was the one t-that suffered?"

"Oh, and how he did. He refused to eat the week you left, he barely slept for months, he spent millions on men, private detectives, all types of shit just to find you. I also highly doubt he fucked since you decided to disappear into thin air."

Your face contorted into a disgusted grimace as you took a small step back.

"Honeybee—", Sam growled as he started approaching you, "—I'd reallyyy like to give you a nice, lil' chance to get the fuck outta this house and go back with me, but I'm afraid you lost that right looong ago."

You couldn't even resist when his rough, confident grip fell over your freshly healed wrists, and when you felt your back pressed into his broad, sculpted chest, a whimper escaped your lips.

Sam bent you on the counter and your face fell into the flowers you picked from your garden in the morning and you tried to block everything, simply not wanting to believe this was happening. You really believed you would be free and at peace, protected and joyful for the rest of your life. How pathetic and far away those hopes sounded. Scratchy plastic secured your hands together as Sam grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up against him again. He knocked the door open with his foot and started pulling you out of your comforting shelter.

"Sam, I am begging you, don't t-take me back to him, pleaseeee.", you started crying as he forced you outside your home. "You can't d-do this t-to me, Sam, you can't! Y-you were my...my friend, too."

Sam slapped his palm across your mouth to muffle the screams, or maybe to stop the words that made him feel so guilty from coming. "I am James' friend, not yours. My loyalty is his, and everything you've done hurt him. Now it's jus' fair you suffer too, ain't it?". These words hurt more than anything he did until now. Sam knew what Bucky did, he had seen the bruises, he had heard the cries, yet he had done nothing against it. And maybe that unsettled you, but now? Now he was forcing you into the wolf's fangs, and it felt completely different.

Your lost eyes caught one of your neighbors, Ms. Solís , at the window. Another whimper escaped you pleadingly, directed to her, but she did not dare to do anything. Nobody ever did.

Your knees buckled under your own weight, and you collapsed in the dust despite Sam's grip. You heard him scowl and his hand came to the back of your shirt. He gripped it and pulled you up against his body again. You sobbed and you tried to elbow him but Sam was swifter. He caught your tied limbs and grasped. "Fuckin' walk, bitch. Bucky would want to teach you to behave first, but I don't mind starting myself right now, you hear me?". The threat made you cry harder and when Sam gripped your arms even harsher you nodded weakly. What Sam was doing to you felt like a short training considering what would wait for you back in New York.

A black SUV was parked there, behind some wide Madrone bushes. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just burst right there. You hoped that, if you were to be honest.

"S-sam, just know th-that if you're taking me back....he'll k-kill me—", you tried calling Sam's mercy out one last time. He just turned his head away, letting your words fall into the abyss of desperation and nothingness.

A younger man peeked from behind the vehicle. His smile dropped when he saw your trembling form. His eyes darted from the blood on your chin to your restrained and bruised arms. Hair was cascading over your face and your lower lip trembled as you fought with yourself to stop the sobs and whimpers. Joaquin thought you were so beautiful. So, why were you here in this state?

"Whoa, man, what's happening? What did she do?" Joaquin started, coming closer to you with raised hands, showing you you don't have to be afraid of him. You still flinched when his caring hands came in contact with your pained limbs.

"Leave her as she is, Joaquin...", said Sam and you looked desperately at the man your age. He furrowed his brows and looked at his superior. "B-but—"

"You wanna be the next Falcon, don't you?" Sam asked, patting the younger man on the shoulder.

"Yes, of course I do!"

"Then—", Sam started again, looking into the boys' eyes, "—you gotta learn to close your eyes at certain things. These are the stories media don't care about, you hear me? The majority of people get saved, everybody's happy, but you should know there are...collateral victims. And she's one of 'em. Now, buddy, if you really wanna be an Avenger...put her in the car."

Joaquin took a big step back, accidentally bumping into you. He quickly caught you, preventing your body from falling again, and then looked back at Sam, which raised his brows and his hands, as if he was giving Joaquin an offer he couldn't refuse. And Joaquin didn't refuse it.

He opened the car door and he tried to carefully place you in the backseat. " 'm sorry, so sorry...", he mumbled as he gave you the pill Sam told him to. "This'll help ya sleep, okay?"

"P-please, please help me—', you cried, looking into his regretful eyes as he forced the drug past your lips.

"Shh, shhh...you'll be jus' fine, 'kay? Be good now, please—".

You knew you will be anything but fine. Sam and Joaquin both entered the car and as Joaquin was starting it, Sam dialed a number and put the phone on speaker.

"Buck, I think I've found somethin' that's yours, buddy. And you'll be really thrilled to see it...", Sam laughed, smirking at you in the reviewing mirror.

The quietness that followed the sentence was short, but dense.

"Hello, doll...", came the voice from the other side of the phone, and its maliciousness and calmness made your whole body shiver. He knew you were there. He was sure of it somehow. You felt his presence right there, in Sam's deeds, in the dark sky, in your rapid, choked sobs, in your heavy lids.

That fucking nickname wrote right then, right there the end of your world and marked the beginning of the Frightening New World.

Yo I wrote this in like the middle of the night when I was delirious, did NOT expect it to be so fire omg 🔥🔥

you were on the floor.

your knees were to your chest and your tears flowing nonstop.

joaquín gently rattled his key in the lock and opened the door. he was drenched. his boots squeaked as he shuffled in as quietly as he could. he scoped around the kitchen and living room, looking for a box. the box that was the cause of all of your tears. all of your pain.

it held so many of the items you held close to your chest for the last five years. the hoodies and sweats that always kept you warm in lack of joaquín’s presence, his little trinkets he found at random shops while deployed or on missions, gadgets he’d made when he had too much free time. what hurt most was the ring you’d grown to love so much for the last two years of your relationship.

joaquín had to go on an emergency mission right after the break up. it gave you enough time to pack up and isolate his belongings from yours. you’d saved your favorite items of his for last, too attached to them. only when you’d taped that cursed box did you realize what your life was now. no more of joaquín’s warm and protective arms holding you anymore, no more of his loving kisses that you were obsessed with, but most importantly, no more of the person who loved and knew you most.

your confidant. almost life partner. you’d planned your entire future together. he’d said “i don’t care how many kids we have, as long as i have you with me.”, all you could do was smile at him. you’d wanted a quiet life away from commotion. he’d promised it to you, as if it’d kill him if he didn’t get you everything you wanted. he wanted two dogs and a cat, and an alpaca. he never explained why and you giggled at his nonchalance on it.

the two of you had minimal contact while he was on this mysterious mission. he came back after two weeks. you didn’t leave your apartment once. just stayed watching the wall. sometimes moving to the balcony to look at the bustling city of Washington D.C. you only started packing his things after the third day. first his clothes and shoes, leaving a pair of pajamas and a decent outfit, then his electronics, then everything else, and then the box.

his sister had came by with two of their other cousins to collect the boxes. they’d stuck around for a bit after hauling all of the boxes onto the moving truck that they’d rented. you were close. of course you were close. you were basically family. you’d been at countless birthdays, baby showers, weddings, and gatherings alike. of course they were worried. you shook off their worries with a forced bright smile and affirming words, promising them you were alright. with much reluctance, they left, only after giving you one last bone crushing hug.

he rounded the corner to the room you were basically hiding in. hiding from what? you had no idea. maybe if you didn’t leave, joaquín wouldn’t either. that way you wouldn’t lose each other. he twisted the door handle but didn’t open the door. he left it closed. scared of seeing the bedroom stripped of him. every bit of himself that he’d brought to your life and home taped in a box, on its way back to Miami. “you okay in there?”

you stayed quiet.

“i’m coming in.”

you made no attempt to hide your tears. this was not the worst joaquín had seen you. he’d seen you through everything. nonetheless, no feeling could compare to the sight before him. your eyes were bloodshot—almost as if someone had poked your eyes—and snot was running down your nose. your lips quivered and you breathed little ragged breaths to calm yourself. you were a mess, you both could see it, you just didn’t want it to be too obvious.

“there’s the last of your stuff,” you nodded your head to point towards the box.

“I washed all of the clothes and cleaned everything else in the box, don’t worry.”

your voice was quiet. broken. as if someone had peeled away at the joy from you like paint on a wall. that someone was joaquín, and he did it without even realizing. guilt spread through his body like water to paper and he too could feel tears. “i’m sorry.”

you looked up.

“sorry for what? for saving people? for being a hero?”

“for not being able to keep my promises to you.”

he walks towards you and crouches to your level.

“i promised you a quiet life. far far from here, from the villains and the monsters. i promised you our cat and dogs. a future.”

“don’t beat yourself up, hero life follows you around like a tail.” you let out a broken chuckle.

“it was no excuse for me to not uphold my promise.”

for a moment everything went still. all the resentment and anger that you’d built up against him during his absence seemed to disappear. he was so certain that he was going to marry you. he’d wanted peace and quiet with you. you’d wanted it back with him.

“I’d beg you to stay but i know this is what’s best for us. that no matter how many promises we make to each other, there’ll never be a guarantee. you’re busy falcon-ing and i’m busy not. i need you quino, but i want you to myself, and unfortunately, the world needs you. so you go out there and you kick some bad guy ass, when you decide that you’ve had enough, i’ll be right here. that’s one thing i can guarantee you.” you cup his face with both of your hands and give him a smile. weak, but there.

you rest your foreheads together, your tears starting to slow. you breath in sync, feeling each other for the last time. not feeling physically but emotionally. sharing one last intimate moment.

his face starts to angle closer and closer to yours. you know what he’s doing, you desperately need him to do it. his mouth is a breath away, your heart is beating in anticipation. he pauses just before you make contact, an unsure pause, as if he thought you didn’t want it. you close the gap between you two, assuring him that you do want it. that you do want him.

his movements are slow and shaky. your hands remain on his cheeks and his come to cup yours too. it’s raw. no hurry, no anger, no hard feelings. just two lovers saying their last goodbyes without words. neither of you move. his taste is so sweet, you could be hung on his lips forever. his lips were slightly chapped, nothing you couldn’t handle. they were something you’d grown quite fond of throughout your relationship. he was unlike anyone else you’d ever been with. his kisses were definitely unlike anything you’d ever felt.

it almost killed you to pull away. he opened his eyes to look at you but you kept yours closed. you knew if you opened them you’d see the tears flowing down his face. you’d see the pure dejected look on his eyes that always held joy in them. of course you wanted to see him for the last time, it’s the face of your true love looking at you with pure devotion. joaquín torres is known for being a joyful. his happy go lucky attitude and positivity is basically his trademark. so you almost felt special knowing that you were the only person to see him like this. teary eyed and broken.



you were on the floor.

your knees were to your chest and your tears flowing nonstop.

joaquín gently rattled his key in the lock and opened the door. he was drenched. his boots squeaked as he shuffled in as quietly as he could. he scoped around the kitchen and living room, looking for a box. the box that was the cause of all of your tears. all of your pain.

it held so many of the items you held close to your chest for the last five years. the hoodies and sweats that always kept you warm in lack of joaquín’s presence, his little trinkets he found at random shops while deployed or on missions, gadgets he’d made when he had too much free time. what hurt most was the ring you’d grown to love so much for the last two years of your relationship.

joaquín had to go on an emergency mission right after the break up. it gave you enough time to pack up and isolate his belongings from yours. you’d saved your favorite items of his for last, too attached to them. only when you’d taped that cursed box did you realize what your life was now. no more of joaquín’s warm and protective arms holding you anymore, no more of his loving kisses that you were obsessed with, but most importantly, no more of the person who loved and knew you most.

your confidant. almost life partner. you’d planned your entire future together. he’d said “i don’t care how many kids we have, as long as i have you with me.”, all you could do was smile at him. you’d wanted a quiet life away from commotion. he’d promised it to you, as if it’d kill him if he didn’t get you everything you wanted. he wanted two dogs and a cat, and an alpaca. he never explained why and you giggled at his nonchalance on it.

the two of you had minimal contact while he was on this mysterious mission. he came back after two weeks. you didn’t leave your apartment once. just stayed watching the wall. sometimes moving to the balcony to look at the bustling city of Washington D.C. you only started packing his things after the third day. first his clothes and shoes, leaving a pair of pajamas and a decent outfit, then his electronics, then everything else, and then the box.

his sister had came by with two of their other cousins to collect the boxes. they’d stuck around for a bit after hauling all of the boxes onto the moving truck that they’d rented. you were close. of course you were close. you were basically family. you’d been at countless birthdays, baby showers, weddings, and gatherings alike. of course they were worried. you shook off their worries with a forced bright smile and affirming words, promising them you were alright. with much reluctance, they left, only after giving you one last bone crushing hug.

he rounded the corner to the room you were basically hiding in. hiding from what? you had no idea. maybe if you didn’t leave, joaquín wouldn’t either. that way you wouldn’t lose each other. he twisted the door handle but didn’t open the door. he left it closed. scared of seeing the bedroom stripped of him. every bit of himself that he’d brought to your life and home taped in a box, on its way back to Miami. “you okay in there?”

you stayed quiet.

“i’m coming in.”

you made no attempt to hide your tears. this was not the worst joaquín had seen you. he’d seen you through everything. nonetheless, no feeling could compare to the sight before him. your eyes were bloodshot—almost as if someone had poked your eyes—and snot was running down your nose. your lips quivered and you breathed little ragged breaths to calm yourself. you were a mess, you both could see it, you just didn’t want it to be too obvious.

“there’s the last of your stuff,” you nodded your head to point towards the box.

“I washed all of the clothes and cleaned everything else in the box, don’t worry.”

your voice was quiet. broken. as if someone had peeled away at the joy from you like paint on a wall. that someone was joaquín, and he did it without even realizing. guilt spread through his body like water to paper and he too could feel tears. “i’m sorry.”

you looked up.

“sorry for what? for saving people? for being a hero?”

“for not being able to keep my promises to you.”

he walks towards you and crouches to your level.

“i promised you a quiet life. far far from here, from the villains and the monsters. i promised you our cat and dogs. a future.”

“don’t beat yourself up, hero life follows you around like a tail.” you let out a broken chuckle.

“it was no excuse for me to not uphold my promise.”

for a moment everything went still. all the resentment and anger that you’d built up against him during his absence seemed to disappear. he was so certain that he was going to marry you. he’d wanted peace and quiet with you. you’d wanted it back with him.

“I’d beg you to stay but i know this is what’s best for us. that no matter how many promises we make to each other, there’ll never be a guarantee. you’re busy falcon-ing and i’m busy not. i need you quino, but i want you to myself, and unfortunately, the world needs you. so you go out there and you kick some bad guy ass, when you decide that you’ve had enough, i’ll be right here. that’s one thing i can guarantee you.” you cup his face with both of your hands and give him a smile. weak, but there.

you rest your foreheads together, your tears starting to slow. you breath in sync, feeling each other for the last time. not feeling physically but emotionally. sharing one last intimate moment.

his face starts to angle closer and closer to yours. you know what he’s doing, you desperately need him to do it. his mouth is a breath away, your heart is beating in anticipation. he pauses just before you make contact, an unsure pause, as if he thought you didn’t want it. you close the gap between you two, assuring him that you do want it. that you do want him.

his movements are slow and shaky. your hands remain on his cheeks and his come to cup yours too. it’s raw. no hurry, no anger, no hard feelings. just two lovers saying their last goodbyes without words. neither of you move. his taste is so sweet, you could be hung on his lips forever. his lips were slightly chapped, nothing you couldn’t handle. they were something you’d grown quite fond of throughout your relationship. he was unlike anyone else you’d ever been with. his kisses were definitely unlike anything you’d ever felt.

it almost killed you to pull away. he opened his eyes to look at you but you kept yours closed. you knew if you opened them you’d see the tears flowing down his face. you’d see the pure dejected look on his eyes that always held joy in them. of course you wanted to see him for the last time, it’s the face of your true love looking at you with pure devotion. joaquín torres is known for being a joyful. his happy go lucky attitude and positivity is basically his trademark. so you almost felt special knowing that you were the only person to see him like this. teary eyed and broken.



SOCCER PLAYER JOAQUIN PLEASEEEEE i am Seated and waiting

you and joaquín have a one on one match after his game

pairing: soccerplayer!joaquín x gn!reader

wc: 1.4k

authors note: hi anon hope this was to your liking! sorry this took so long, i was out for so long and forgot to post it :( i have my other soccerplayer!joaquín fic brewing at the moment so I hope this will suffice until then!! (also this was supposed to be a short blurb, idk what happened…) ENJOY!!!

Joaquín’s match had been over. All of his teammates were either in the locker room or already on their way home. All except for him. It was the last match of the season, obviously they’d came out victorious. The shiny gold medal weighed down on the yellow ribbon it was hung on and Joaquín looked damn good wearing it. His curls were slightly damp and sticking to his forehead, there was still a slight pink tint to his cheeks, and his jersey was latching onto just the right places. You could see the surface of his abs through the white jersey and it drove you wild.

Joaquín had scored the winning goal. The crowd had erupted in deafening cheers and his teammates were all bundled together chasing him. None of that mattered though. Not to him. As soon as he saw the ball push the net back on the old and rusty goalpost, he was booking it. It was as if you blinked and he had teleported in front of you. There was a bit of a height difference between the two of you because of the leverage the large bleacher of the stadium gave you but that didn’t stop him from kissing you. His arms reached up to cup both sides of your face and leaned you down. The kiss was passionate and heated, fueled by the adrenaline still pumping through Joaquin’s veins. His breath huffed into your mouth as he deepened the kiss. He lowered you just barely and his left hand slithered to push the back of your head towards him. You tilted your head to the side and embraced his shoulders. He softly bit your bottom lip—silently asking permission— and you make a little gap, allowing him to enter. His tongue explored every part of your mouth, as if trying to learn every ridge within you. All of your senses were filled with him and you felt a smile creep up your face. Your tongue’s fighting for dominance but you stood no chance to Joaquín’s ferocity.

Much to his dismay, his teammates finally caught up and crowded the both of you. You were the one to break the kiss, giggling as you did. You felt a string of saliva lingering on your chin and wiped it away immediately, scared his teammates might see. The center midfielder, Johnny, had hoisted Joaquín on his shoulders and made his way back towards the field. You could feel your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling, they got warmer the more you looked at him. You felt like a teenager all over again, giggling in secret about your boyfriend while he was surrounded by all of his friends. That was basically the last you had seen of him before it was time to pack up and leave.

He finally found his way back to you and ran up to basically tackle you in a bear hug, littering kisses all over your face. You couldn’t help the laughs that escaped your mouth at the feeling of his lips on you.

“I feel like I should be the one doing all of the kissing and doting,” you managed to escape out while catching your breath.

A low groan was all Joaquín could let out as he shifted his head off your face and onto the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his torso tightly and let him stay in that position for a moment. He breaths in a heavy breath, taking in your scent, and finally looks at you.

Your hair was disheveled and slightly messy, you were in his old jersey from high school—Torres #1–it was white with green lettering, you also had on his grey sweats that hung a little loose on you. The more he took you in the bigger the hearts in his eyes got, it melted your heart. “Okay c’mon, Quino. Let’s get home.” You took his hand in yours and led him from your spot by the home goalpost.

You felt him resist behind you and turned in curiosity, giving him a questioning look. The field was empty, even the refs and coach’s gone. “What’s wrong?” You asked.

“Let’s play.” A cheeky grin sat on his face.

“What?”

“C’mon! You and me, one on one!” He walked off to the side where there were extra balls and picked up the first one he saw.

He dropped it by his feet and looked up at you and kicked it just enough. You stared down at the ball and back at him, it was at the tips of your feet. You pushed your leg back slightly and kicked towards him. “Game on.” You smirked at him.

With that, Joaquín takes off towards the goalpost at the opposite end of the field and it takes you a bit to catch up. By the time you’re on his tail, you’re already at the center circle and sweat is starting to prickle out of your pores. You push the bottoms of your feet quicker to catch up to him and can see the ball is just barely in front of you. You reach out your left leg and can feel the ball against your foot. As soon as your foot makes contact with the ball, it pushes farther than the both of you and you catch up to it with ease. You stop it with the side of your foot and turn around to face Joaquín. He was only two feet away from you and charging towards you at light speed. You dribble the ball towards him and kick it right between the gap of his legs. He looks down and back up at you, with a stunned look on his face. You just laugh at him and run past him. You’d caught up with the ball so quickly he didn’t even notice you at the penalty arc in front of your goalpost. You kick a powerful kick and the ball flings against the loose and aged net.

You cheer while running to where he is, your face holding a sheen of sweat. All Joaquín does is stares at you like you hung the stars and keeps his hands on his hips. “First one to get three points wins?” He asks.

“Okay,” you smile at him and pick the ball back up from the net.

___

It’s the last round now. Joaquín took his shirt off after scoring his first score—you scoring two in a row and he scoring two in a row—and the sweat was making his abs glisten in the Sun. It was almost as if there was glitter on them. You saw the full sight of his flexed thighs as he held his shorts up slightly, you could’ve almost fainted at the sight. His curls were covering his eyes slightly due to the sweat weighing them down and you used that to your advantage.

The ball was in your possession, you were running to your end of the field and Joaquín was right behind you. His legs were reaching in between the gap of yours every time you ran forward and you could see his feet getting closer to the ball. The post was still a mere fifteen feet away and you kicked the ball to your right side, where he couldn’t see from his peripheral vision. Joaquín jerked his head up to clear his hair from his sight just to have it covering his face again when he looked down. Unfortunately that small maneuver was what cost him the goal as you kicked the ball into net—at a six feet distance—and watched it fall directly into the net.

“Booyah! Get owned babe!” You flaunted by raising your arms and as you slowed your running.

“Oh what! That’s not fair! You tricked me!”

“Nope! I used your disadvantage to my advantage.”

You were both slightly hunched over at the post, clutching your knees for support. You looked over at Joaquín, who was on your right, and saw the sweat beads roll off his abdomen. You were gawking, like hardcore. He looks over at you and notices you gawking and breaks a smile. “I should’ve went shirtless while playing earlier on, I would’ve won so much quicker,” he straightened and walks over to you.

“Yeah well you didn’t and now you lost.” You shrugged your shoulders, both of you fighting your laughter.

“You got lucky!” He picks you up and slings you over his shoulders.

“Ew Joaquín let me down! You’re really really sweaty!”

“Well you like me like that, cariño.”

Sigh…

I need a part two where they hug and kiss now 🥀🥀

Nobody Gets Me | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Heyyyyy sexies...so don't be mad but I'm in my angst bag, this is giving Hurt/no comfort and I'm not sorry! I've been in my emo era so EVERYONE SHOULD SUFFER TOO!!! ugh anyways, i might do a pt 2 with a happy ending eventually, but I present: Divorced exes to something hopeful?? HURT!! WOOO HOO! Also, I did give Joaquin a sister for this universe specifically (hopefully i continue it </3) Everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing this and apologize to her for not having a happy ending <3

Summary: Getting married young had it's risks, unfortunately for you and Joaquin, that marriage didn't work out, it's been years since you've been in contact, so why do your hearts still ache?

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort NO HAPPY ENDING!, OOC joaquin (he's mean, jealous, exhausted fr), the Blip </3, john walker jump scare!, SAM BUCKY SUPREMACY!, heartbreak, angst, failed relationships, divorce, mentions of joaquin's accident, spelling and grammar errors (we all know who I am atp), a lot of crying, mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of sex (no smut/sex depicted). dual perspectives? switching b/w joaquin and reader??? idk im sorry if its all over the place

Word Count: 10.4k (of sadness)

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader (THEY'RE DIVORCED GOD DAMNIT! Reader also has long-ish hair/hair long enough to braid with 2 white stripes by her ears (this holds a future plot purpose </3)

Joaquin baby I'm so sorry for the angst i put you thru in this but maybe next time, do better! </3

Joaquin Torres is amazing at his job, he easily worked his way up in rank during his time in the Air Force, as a Lieutenant he met Sam Wilson, who he would eventually work very closely with and even consider family. It was a no-brainer when Joaquin had become a Captain, and while working side-by-side with Captain America, he was also able to take on the mantle of the Falcon.

He poured his all into his job, and from the outside looking in, he loved every second of every day. Joaquin was always positive, always putting on a happy face, always committed to making sure everything was going smoothly and that everyone was alright at all times. 

He truly was a hero in every sense of the word—at least to the public.

After his accident in the Indian Ocean near Celestial Island, he’d spent months in physical therapy and rehab, pushing himself past his limits, working harder and harder with the end-goal of getting back into the sky. 

It was accomplished after one year and three months.

One year of long days and even longer nights. A year and three months of being on the ground and being reminded of everything he’d swallowed down, all of the pain, all of the hurt, he did his best to ignore the ache and emptiness in his heart. But when he couldn’t drown himself in work and distract himself with the literal thrill of the skies, all of that bottled up emotion was bound to overflow.

That’s also around the time that he resorted to one night stands. He’d always hated one night stands, not because he didn’t enjoy the sex, but because sex without a genuine emotional connection was never enough for him. If anything, the random hookups had him spiralling even more.

His physical therapist had also told him several times that he shouldn’t have been partaking in any ‘strenuous activity’ which happened to include sex—or at least the kind of frustration fueled sex he was having.

She’d eventually referred him to an actual therapist, who he avoided like the plague, purposefully missing meetings every other week to force the therapist to schedule him bi-weekly. Opening up to a complete stranger was hard enough, but having to provide a co-pay to be questioned about his lackluster decision making and emotional trauma was a lot on him. 

Especially after the incident in the ocean.

The therapist had recommended he spend more time with his friends, which he did for a while, and it worked the first few months. Catching up with friends on and off base, but traveling back home to Miami was what had sent him into a downward spiral in the fourth month of his recovery.

Joaquin Torres has always been a family man, he spent his childhood telling his abuela about how excited he was to grow up one day, get a beautiful wife, and have his own little family. As a teenager, he admittedly did have two pregnancy scares with his then girlfriends, except each time he was fully committed to being a father, even at sixteen. 

He didn’t exactly love his exes, but he loved the idea of being a father, and he knew that one day, he would be. At seventeen Joaquin had only hoped he’d be married and not screwing anything on legs before having a kid.

The day he’d flown back to Miami he expected his sister to pick him up from the airport. It wasn’t a shock to see Ximena there, clearly on the phone with someone, however when he heard his ex-wife’s name slip past her lips, he was overcome with a sense of nausea that he hadn’t felt since the day in court when his divorce had been finalized.

Joaquin Torres hated telling people that he was divorced, being a divorcee at the age of twenty-nine wasn’t exactly the biggest green flag in the world. Nor was it something he was proud of. It’d been three years since the divorce was finalized, three years that he’d been drowning himself in work and a faux sense of positivity to ignore the rage and hurt he felt deep down.

She’d muttered a series of apologies for being there, stating that her husband couldn’t make it, before mumbling some excuse to Joaquin while simultaneously hanging up the phone.

He couldn’t be mad at his sister, not for having a best friend, even if that best friend was his ex-wife.

You and Ximena Torres met in the fourth grade, quickly bonding over a shared love of seashells. That bond quickly spiraled into running around the playground hand-in-hand while scaring the fifth grade boys—one of which being her older brother Joaquin.

The two of you hadn’t gotten along until your sophomore year of high school, when your then-boyfriend cheated on you and left you sobbing under the bleachers as if it was the end of the world. (To your fifteen year old self, it was the end of the world). Ximena was comforting you, and eventually, she managed to convince Joaquin and his friends to ‘go scare’ your ex-boyfriend and the group of guys he hung around with.

Joaquin was on the soccer team at that point, and he also knew several of the football players as they all did winter track and field together, so the fist fight that broke out two days later was a no-brainer.

The day you’d stormed into his house, quickly greeting his Abuela before rushing up to his room, slamming the door open and kicking his then-girlfriend out before cursing him out for thirty minutes while ranting about how ‘wildly wrong’ it was to ‘organize a fucking royal rumble’—your words not his—had marked the beginning of your friendship.

That friendship would later develop into something else when you complained about lacking a date to your senior prom. He’d been home from bootcamp and had a month before getting deployed overseas, so he simply shrugged and said he would take you.

Prom night Joaquin had taken your virginity, or rather, you’d given it to him on a silver platter.

From there, things just flowed naturally. He’d taken you on a few dates the month before deployment. During his first eight month deployment you’d written to him constantly, and those letters, plus photos, and occasional phone calls, gave him something to look forward to when he got back home.

He left for deployment in June, then came back in January of the following year. He was actually stationed in Florida, closer to Florida State University where you went to college. Although he hated FSU on the principle that he would always be a Miami fan, he had no issue in visiting you on campus. The both of you were casual for the latter half of your freshman year.

Then that summer he asked you to be his girlfriend, ‘in the official sense’—his exact words being ‘well, we’re always together, and I really like you, and you really like me, so will you be my girlfriend in the official sense because you’re already my non-official girlfriend’.

At that point he was twenty and you were around nineteen. The both of you dated consistently for two years before he proposed to you the week before Christmas on the beach. You’d obviously said yes, squealing in excitement as he slid the ring on your left finger.

The wedding happened four months later, it wasn’t anything major, something small on a private beach, but at the time, in 2016, it was the best day of both of your lives. 

The following two years were amazing, at least until the Blip happened and Thanos had managed to snap half of the universe’s population away. Joaquin was lucky that he and his wife hadn’t disappeared off of the face of the Earth. But life got harder much faster than expected.

Work was difficult, the sense of impending doom never really disappeared, not when dread was so common amongst global leaders. There were a few positives of the Blip—well, positives if you ignore the long lasting repercussions after the Avengers had reversed the Blip. Homelessness had found some sense of a ‘cure’, politicians using the available resources to make themselves look better, and to finally do something about the hundreds of thousands of people living on the streets and starving worldwide.

The first year of the Blip, things weren’t horrible. Not between you and Joaquin, or on a global scale. The sudden surge of resources did have some positive outcomes, however, the resources also led to a growth in greed. The greed led to a downward spiral on a global scale.

Sure, the global economy might’ve been great from a corporation-based standpoint, but day-to-day life for regular people wasn't.

Job hours got longer, the price of items did increase, inflation was actually an unpredicted issue for a lot of nations, then of course was the need to expand and grow militaries to account for the loss in actual soldiers and enlistments. That directly impacted you and Joaquin, to the point that you had to uproot your life in Florida and move to the West Coast.

Prior to the Blip, Joaquin had been deployed two additional times, one before you were married for six months, and a second for eight months the year after you’d gotten married. Both deployments were overseas, and each time he’d come home, he wouldn’t leave your side for days. 

Following the Blip, Joaquin was never home, or never at the house that you’d purchased off base in California. It wasn’t a bad house per-say, it just wasn’t home. It lacked any real warmth, and it felt like it was draining you. It was difficult to find work as a journalist and publicist, not because there wasn’t anything to be done, but because you freelanced, and during the Blip, major news outlets and magazines weren’t looking for freelance writers.

That also led you to working on base, which should’ve brought you and Joaquin closer together, but it did the exact opposite. Especially when he’d see other Lieutenants flirting with the ‘pretty new media relations’ girl, you usually smiled and laughed it off, doing your best to keep your job.

However, Joaquin Torres was the jealous type, and when you’d both get in fights at home about it, he’d constantly say that you were flirting, that you were feeding into it, as if you had asked for men to flirt with you during your day job.

His job was beyond stressful, which also led to him always being irritable, that combined with the grief that both of you were feeling over the loss of family and friends following the snap. 

You and him both were shells of who you once were before the Blip.

The blip had lasted five years, your marriage was over by the third. It wasn’t until the Blip was reversed that you’d both finished fighting one another in court.

Prior to that, you’d been sleeping in different rooms, and acted more like roommates that tolerated one another rather than husband and wife.

Once the divorce was finalized, Joaquin stayed in California while you went home to Miami. He hadn’t heard from you since, and he had no idea where you actually had been, considering you were never big on social media, and now it was like you were nothing but a ghost from his past.

He did his best to ignore the nausea in his stomach after hearing your name, it wasn’t just your first name, no it was your full name, as if you’d said something so outrageous that Ximena was yelling at you over the phone while laughing.

Joaquin knew you were still friends with his sister. He’d never hold that against you, but it did hurt.

During his time in Miami, he did his best to ignore his intrusive thoughts, telling him to call you, or to reach out to your family, or to figure out where the hell you’d actually gone, or who you were now. It’d been three years, three years since he’d seen you, three years since he’d heard your real actual voice, not just the recordings and videos on his phone and laptop.

With his skillset, he knew he could’ve found you, but you didn’t want to be found, that much was clear to him.

Whenever people would ask about you, he’d just laugh it off, shrug, and force a smile. He was so used to being positive all the time that he easily slipped into that persona, most people had never seen him irritated, and he liked it that way. 

Then he ran into your mother at the grocery store, she pulled him into a hug with a wide smile and started talking his ear off, asking how he was, congratulating him on becoming a ‘real superhero!’, then she’d gone on a tangent about you. That’s how he found out you were in Washington D.C. working directly under James Buchanan Barnes.

The same James Buchanan Barnes that Sam Wilson was best friends with, and the same person that he’d assisted in taking down the Flagsmashers. He’d seen Bucky several times over the past few years, and never, not once, did he see you.

So he knew you were avoiding him. It wasn’t just a weird sense of paranoia, no, Joaquin knew you. He knew you like the back of his hand, he knew the best parts of you and the worst, and he was absolutely positively sure that you’d been avoiding him.

He also knew that both Sam and Bucky most likely had no knowledge of you being his ex-wife, or even of Joaquin himself being married at one point. It was more likely than Bucky knew, mostly because getting the level of security clearances needed to work for a Congressman required several in-depth background checks.

Joaquin feigned happiness as your mother spoke to him, and as soon as he could, he got the hell out of there.

Slowly, but surely, his composure cracked. He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky guy anymore with nothing but optimism. The thread of pessimism within him was unraveling, and he found himself slipping into a never-ending anger.

He used that anger to push through the next few months of his recovery once he was back in Washington. He went on a strict diet, stuck to his training plans, and started pushing himself even more, striving to go back to being the Falcon, to find some sense of purpose, and something to drown himself in.

The only vice he truly had was the lackluster one night stands. It was never enjoyable, but he needed to let off some steam, so he’d go to some of the bars in D.C., flirt a little bit, and go back to someone’s place with them, slipping out in the early hours of the morning without a word. It worked for him, or at least, he told himself it worked for him. 

He also told himself he wasn’t going for women that reminded him of you—which was a definitive lie.

Eventually, once he was back in the sky, back running drills, back working on his flips, kicks, and spins he stopped with the unhealthy coping habits. He’d even gotten a new suit from the Wakandans, a gift from M’baku himself after Sam had told him about Joaquin’s accident. The suit was carbon black, had some green detailing, and it was constructed from vibranium, the same vibranium that absorbed kinetic energy and released it.

Joaquin had never felt more unstoppable with the mantle and new suit.

But with the whole ‘New Avengers’ fiasco occurring in New York, Sam had been stressed, and he’d been doing his best to work with Bucky, trying to find some kind of work-around to the ever-present legal issues associated with there being two Avengers groups.

When he got the call that they were headed to the renovated Avengers compound in Manhattan, part of him was excited to finally see the place, but the other part of him was dreading the possibility of seeing his ex-wife. He didn’t know if she still worked for Bucky, and he never bothered to ask, he hadn’t even brought it up again after speaking with your mother.

He was tense on the flight to New York, and when Sam tried to pry it out of him, he lied about having a stomach bug.

By the time that Joaquin and Sam had arrived at the tower, it was nearly seven and the sun was setting. Admittedly, the place was nice, a bit too modern for him, but nice either way. 

He followed Sam’s lead, mostly because he had no idea how to navigate the tower and getting lost wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do. But the second the elevator doors opened, he heard your laughter, a series of loud, high pitched, wheezy laughs and giggles that he’d fallen in love with a lifetime ago.

Sam’s brows knit together as he looked at Joaquin, then he looked around the elevator and into the large common space. “You alright kid?” 

Joaquin blinked a few times, nodding his head, snapping out of his daze as he looked at Sam. “Uh-uh yeah sorry, I just, zoned out—nothing to worry about. Anyways, where's Bucky?” he was talking too fast, the composure he’d worked so hard on building up easily crumbled. Then he heard your laugh again followed by ‘Wait! Stop—put me down Parker!’. 

He must’ve been on fire, that would explain the heat raging throughout his body.

Sam shrugged him off, motioning for Joaquin to follow him as he made his way towards the commotion, Bucky easily spotting them, standing from his front row seat to your ‘fight’ with Peter. 

Joaquin quickly followed, jaw clenched as he finally spotted you. You looked so different while also looking just like yourself. Your hair was longer now, pulled into two thick braids trailing from the top of your head, down your back. It also had two large white streaks near your ears, which was different—but then again, Joaquin had been shaving his face religiously because the thought of your compliments on it left a sour taste in his mouth.

He noticed the way you smiled, wide and full of life. A look he hadn’t seen in so long, a look he missed desperately, every single day.

When Peter Parker finally put you down, you laughed again, shaking your head as you sat up, still not noticing Joaquin’s presence. But Joaquin couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It was clear that you’d been much happier and healthier, having put on some weight—but it wasn’t bad—the opposite really.

The last time he’d seen you, you were stressed, exhausted, and that reflected in your features and body. You’d never been super skinny, and he loved that about you—at one point he loved everything about you—but the years leading to your divorce, you’d dropped weight at an unhealthy pace from the long days and even longer nights. 

His eyes traced your entire figure from top to bottom, noticing the small things you’d changed as well. The few new tattoos and piercings stuck out to him, the small gold rings on both sides of your nostrils, and the alligator tattoo on your leg were very apparent. Joaquin also tried to ignore the faded Air Force t-shirt you had on, it was clearly his, and he remembered the shirt well.

Then you finally turned and noticed him. Eyes widening at the sight of Joaquin, and he kept his eyes on you the entire time.

Everyone seemed to notice the shift in the room, well everyone except for Sam and Bucky who were too busy talking amongst one another about a few legal documents, and Sam throwing in several of his typical ‘anti-government’ remarks.

It was as if time was frozen.

You blinked a few times, eyes on Joaquin—your Joaquin. 

The same man that you’d loved and hated at one point in your life, you weren’t even sure how you’d felt about him now, but you did know one thing, you had done your very best to avoid him at all costs. Sure, you knew one day it would probably bite you in the ass, but you hoped that was years from now.

Then again, you knew there was a risk when you’d taken the job as Bucky Barnes’s media relations secretary. This was your wheelhouse, you specialized in media relations and journalism, you would’ve been a complete idiot to decline the job.

But now, it was as if karma was coming to kick your ass.

You stared at him, unmoving as you processed seeing him again for the first time in almost four years. He looked different, more mature in a way that you hadn’t expected. He still had that boy-ish charm, but he looked older, stronger, and sturdier.

He still shaved his face, something you always told him to stop doing. Constantly telling him he looked good with facial hair, making sly comments and innuendos in public, giggling whenever he’d pull you into him, burying his face into your shoulder, covering any inch of exposed skin in gentle kisses as you laughed trying to shove him away.

But now he had a very visible burn scar along the right side of his neck, clearly stretching to his shoulder. You knew about his accident, and you’d been traveling with Bucky during that time, having sat in the waiting room while he spoke with Sam. 

Part of you wanted to see him, desperately, but you couldn’t do it.

Bucky had asked you several times, stating that he ‘just wanted to make sure’, but each time you politely declined, shaking your head.

The Joaquin you were seeing now wasn’t your Joaquin, not anymore at least.

You knew something was off about him, his eyes weren’t as bright anymore. Then again, neither were yours. Heartbreak and grief had the tendency to suck the joy out of things.

“You alright Lightning?” you blinked a few times, registering Peter’s voice, nodding your head as you finally glanced back at him, then after clearing your throat, you gave everyone an awkward smile before muttering some half-assed excuses and making a beeline out of the room, towards the other set of doors, far from Joaquin.

He watched you leave, scoffing while shaking his head.

Everyone made their introductions, but Joaquin didn’t have it in him to keep up his faux positivity, giving everyone tight lipped smiles and head nods. Mentioning his name and rank a few times, forcing a laugh when Sam made a joke about being the ‘Falcon’. When Peter tried to talk to him about the mechanics of the new Falcon suit, Joaquin brushed him off.

Sure you two weren’t together anymore, but he had every right to be jealous. Even if Joaquin was just your ex-husband. Peter had a nickname for you! That was enough to piss Joaquin off and make him dislike the kid.

When John Walker tried to question the entire interaction prior to the introductions, Bucky shushed him, giving him a pointed look which was received with a small head nod, and a loud sigh. Followed by Yelena elbowing him. 

It was clearly a touchy subject.

That night Joaquin couldn’t sleep.

Neither could you.

For the first time in years, you found yourself fishing your old phone and it’s charger out of the small lockbox below your bed, the box filled with some of your most prized mementos, photos of friends, family, birthday cards, small trinkets, a few necklaces, an old camera, the phone in hand, and most importantly, your engagement ring and wedding band.

It had taken a few minutes for the phone to turn on after connecting it to the charger. Then you sat on the floor, leaning against your bed in the darkness, eyes focused on the screen as you unlocked it—your old anniversary being the password.

Your bottom lip quivered as you opened the photos app, the most recent photo being of you and Joaquin at the zoo three months into the Blip, when you were still trying to find a sense of normalcy. Back when the both of you would still go on dates and try to cheer one another up, when you still fought the grief instead of wallowing in it.

He looked terrified while you had a wide smile on your face, three parrots on you, one perched in each hand and the other on the top of your head. 

Then you started scrolling, eyes burning with unshed tears as you went through the photos, happy moments forever frozen in time. Moments you wish you could relive, just for a day.

Finally you found it, the wedding video. You turned your phone horizontally, playing the ten minute video, a perfectly edited version of your wedding ceremony and reception, with a few blooper pieces of your family members giving their commentary on the wedding. Ximena put it together for you and Joaquin.

You looked so happy as he held you in his arms, both of you laughing and smiling, embracing the newly-weds title. 

The choked sob that slipped past your lips at the sight of your first dance unleashed the floodgates, you were full on sobbing now, watching the video with your knees to your chest, hand perched atop them. 

Joaquin used to look at you as if you hung the moon and stars. 

You remember that look, the look of unconditional love. 

You might’ve had a crush on Joaquin in high school, but he was the one who fell the hardest. He was the first to say ‘I love you’ and the day he proposed to you, he couldn’t stop himself, it was such a candid moment. He had a whole day planned for it, but then you two had gone to the beach, and the sunset painted you like an angel sent from above, the second you’d turn around, squatting to pick up seashells, he knew it was time.

He’d tapped your shoulder that day, as if he was showing you a shell, then you turned around—laughing at the awkward movement while still squatting, then you practically fell backwards onto the sand at the sight of him on one knee with an open engagement ring box.

Ximena had a thing for dramatics, so at the end of your wedding video, she also added in the video of your proposal, which was shakily taken from his phone, propped up against his water bottle in the sand, the angle a little crooked, but it captured the moment nonetheless. 

Three knocks on your door interrupted your sobbing sessions. You were quick to wipe your tears away, hoping you’d have enough time to tuck the phone away and climb into bed, pretending to be asleep.

But then Yelena opened the door with Bob at her side while you were trying to grab the box from below the bed, still on the floor. The two squinting into the darkness, letting their eyes adjust to the room with the helpful aid of the hall-way light streaming in.

Bob noticed you first.

“McQueen? Why’re you on the floor—wait, are you crying? Shit, Yelena she’s upset about something.” 

You laughed at him, shaking your head as you finally looked over at them, tear stained cheeks, red eyes, and a quivering bottom lip. Not to mention your frizzy hair, and tear soaked sweater sleeves.

They easily entered the room, Yelena turning on your desk lamp as Bob shut the door behind him. Then Yelena was sliding onto the floor beside you, and Bob in front of the both of you. 

The both of them were an oddly comforting duo, they were the best of friends, and honestly, after helping Bob start working through a lot of his issues, he had helpful input on most emotional situations. Plus, the fact that he cared was enough for you to let him in, and that went for Yelena as well.

Yelena noticed the phone, picking it up and looking at it, her brows knit together at the sight of the paused video, seeing a younger version of you in the arms of Joaquin Torres, smiles on your face while you flashed your wedding ring. Then she noticed that you were in a wedding dress, and he was in a full suit.

She squinted slightly, using two fingers to zoom into the paused video, eyes widening at the realization that the Air Force Captain she’d met today, was the same man in the video that you were very clearly marrying.

“We got married young. Like idiots. Then the Blip happened and I dunno, we just hated each other after a while, there wasn’t anything to fix. Then we went to court—spent almost a year going back and forth for the sake of arguing. Honestly, I only prolonged the divorce because fighting with him was better than not speaking to him.”

You sighed, now leaning your head on Yelena’s shoulder while the two listened and nodded.

“I don’t think it was idiotic to marry him if you loved him—did you?” 

You blinked a few times, glancing at Bob, then down at your hands again. “I do—I did. He used to make me feel like nothing could ever go wrong. Then suddenly, the fantasy all came crashing down.” You sniffled a few times, shrugging.

He nodded, looking at Yelena who was swiping through the different photos and videos, then her eyes widened as she let out a loud gasp, throwing the phone to the side, where it now sat face-up, a video of you and Joaquin in a very intimate position on the screen.

Your eyes widened as you rushed to flip the phone. It wasn’t like a full blown sex tape, but you were half-naked on top of him.

“So I take it you had a healthy marriage at first? Based on that-” Yelena pointed to the phone. Then she finally broke, loud boisterous laughter filling the room. Her laugh was always contagious, and it led to the three of you laughing amongst each other.

They’d managed to cheer you up in minutes, and that reminded you of how lonely you’d felt before meeting them. How mundane life felt, how every single task was draining. It reminded you of how draining life really used to be, when you’d always feel so alone in a room full of people.

When you’d seek comfort in the one person that couldn’t provide it anymore. 

“I really do love you guys.” 

Yelena smiled, nodding her head. “I love you too, in a completely platonic way, don’t try to mount me the way you mounted him—wait what's his name again?” Her brows knit together as she thought hard to remember Joaquin’s name, but she was drawing a blank.

Bob finally stopped laughing, shaking his head. “Joaquin—I think? Yeah, that sounds right.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s Joaquin, Captain Joaquin Torres. Y’know when we were married he wasn’t a captain yet—” you stopped mid sentence, afraid of the potential word vomit or tears that might come out of this conversation.

On the opposite end of the tower Joaquin was pacing back and forth in one of the guest bedrooms. Not only was he angry, he was hurt, so hurt, in fact, that he’d spent thirty minutes crying silently in the shower, hoping the scalding hot water would numb some of the pain he was feeling.

It usually worked for physical pain, but emotional pain? It did little to nothing.

Seeing you was like opening Pandora's box. Joaquin always knew he was angry, angry at you yes, but he was angrier at himself. He’d never really forgiven himself for letting you slip through the cracks, for taking his frustrations out on you, for being overly jealous and never understanding, and for pushing you away. Constantly.

The Blip had taken a lot out of him, he was hurting, but so were you.

He forgot about that, about the pain that you’d been in. 

Your mother was blipped, and she meant the world to you. Anytime you’d call your father, you’d lock yourself in the bedroom after, sobbing for hours, holding a pillow against your chest, trying to find some kind of comfort. 

In the beginning, he’d slip into bed behind you, arms wrapped around your torso while you silently cried and mourned your mother. You were never really the blind hope type—he was. Joaquin had been there for you, there to comfort you, to bring you a sense of reassurance, and most importantly, to ground you.

His abuela had been blipped, he knew how it felt, the grief, but it wasn’t nearly as substantial as yours was. He loved his abuela, but he also knew she was an older woman who lived an entire life, and anytime they spoke, she’d always say ‘I love you Quino, if this is the last time we talk, just know i’ll always be there in spirit! Make sure you tell my princessa I love her too!’—or something along those lines.

He used to tell her not to talk like that, but his mother said it came from a place of love and of understanding. Every moment with someone was precious and needed to be valued, life was really too short to leave things unspoken.

So how he managed to leave so much? He didn’t understand. 

He blamed himself for the divorce, Joaquin knew that he was pushing you away. Then you’d gotten that job on base, and at first he was excited to visit his pretty wife during lunch. But then his jealousy took over, jealousy mixed with pessimism and all of the negative emotions he’d been swallowing down started surfacing.

It wasn’t like you didn’t try. You were constantly talking to him, constantly checking on him, spending nights with your hands in his hair while you asked if he was alright, telling him you were always there to talk. 

His job was stressing him out, he was under so much pressure, constantly. Tensions were rising at work, there were deadlines that needed to be met, tasks he didn’t have the time to do, and yet he still had to.

So he’d come home late, and he was bitter about it. Then you’d show up with a small smile on your tired face, mumbling something about making dinner, but he was tired, too tired to eat. He just wanted to sleep.

Some days he’d snap at you, and you were never one to sit and take it. 

That’s when the fighting would start, and the screaming for hours on end. You two would go back and forth until eventually you’d slam a door in his face and tell him to sleep on the sofa. 

Even now, as he paced back and forth, he remembers the sound of your muffled sobs, the way you’d cry after every fight. Then you’d pad out of the room in the middle of the night with a blanket for him, he’d pretend to be asleep as you covered him, kissing the top of his head, mumbling a rushed ‘I’m sorry’. 

You always cared, you did your best. 

He didn’t. 

He stopped trying, and he knew that. He was just so tired, so angry, so jealous, so frustrated. The world didn’t stop spinning, tomorrow would always come, but he was so angry as he focused on each individual day, then he couldn’t find comfort in you anymore.

At one point, you were able to calm him down within seconds, you’d wrap your arms around him and tell him you loved him, then ask to talk. He’d melt against you, an entire breakdown of his day would follow. Sometimes you’d comment, other times you’d nod your head while he spoke.

But eventually, the hugs, kisses, and gentle gestures stopped. Even the sex didn’t solve anything. It was just another way for the both of you to let go of tension, then he was grabbing a pillow and leaving the room, going to the sofa, and eventually, to the guest bedroom that had turned into his personal bedroom.

What made things worse was that you were both so young when you’d gotten married, young and naive. In a world where alien invasions were common, jumping the gun on marriage wasn’t that irrational, not  when you were truly in love with someone.

But sometimes love isn’t enough. 

That’s what had truly broken Joaquin, the realization that love wasn’t enough. 

Joaquin was twenty-six when the divorce was finalized, you were twenty-five. 

When he was twenty-two people told him it was idiotic to get married that young, that it was a mistake. So many people doubted you and Joaquin’s marriage, and now, he had to admit that they were right. 

He wanted to hate you, the last year of your marriage was the hardest. It was as if neither of you wanted to let go while simultaneously making one another’s lives a living hell. Buying a house together made it much harder to separate from one another, which also presented its own legal issues in terms of needing to be separated prior to divorcing one another.

Then there was the fact that you’d been married in Florida, seeking a divorce in California, while Joaquin was actively in the Air Force, and you also worked on base. It wasn’t like either of you would’ve been able to avoid one another, and truthfully, neither of you wanted to avoid each other.

The arguments and fights were never ending during that last month. Anytime he’d see you or you’d see him before a meeting with your attorneys, a screaming fest would start. Most of the fights had nothing to do with any divisions of assets, and you’d both already agreed to sell the house.

But Joaquin knew that he preferred fighting with you over never speaking to you.

The sound of his door slamming open caught his attention, his pacing stopped while he turned to look at the door. 

Sam stood here with Bucky by his side, a singular brow raised as he shook his head, the two men inviting themselves into the room.

“So you mean to tell me, this entire time, you had an ex-wife? Kid, you were married?” Sam was loud as he spoke, shock evident in his tone as he entered the rooms, hands moving as he spoke. “I had to find out from Buck! Of all people!”

“Hey—what’s that supposed to mean!” Bucky sounded offended while he leaned against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest, shaking his head at Sam’s comment.

“It means, I’ve been working with the kid for almost four years—wait! When we first met, you’d barely been divorced? Is that why you were in Tunisia?! On some finding yourself through work journey?” 

Joaquin was frozen in place, eyes wide as he looked from Sam to Bucky, then back to Sam. He didn’t know the best way to approach this situation. Sure, he knew that eventually he would’ve had to come clean to Sam about you, but that wasn’t ever a priority of his, mainly because he preferred to act as if nothing was ever wrong and swallow all of his feelings down.

“Yeah, when you introduced me to the kid, they’d only been divorced for around four months? I found that out from McQueen. Honestly, I’m surprised Joaquin held it in for so long, five drinks in and she was crying on my living room sofa.”

Bucky sounded so nonchalant as he spoke, which only irritated Joaquin. It made sense that you’d be spending time with him, he was your boss. But, you? Drinking with him? Then spending time at his place? 

Joaquin’s jaw was clenched so tight he was afraid his teeth would crack.

“Buck, why were you drinking with her—you don’t drink often.” Sam paused, looking over at Bucky. 

“I wasn’t drinking, we were at a fundraiser, y’know they’re boring as hell. People kept passing her drinks, she didn’t want to be rude when she was technically working, I told her to just chuck the drinks into some plants—then she started rambling about plants and their root health. Anyways, long story short, she’s an emotional drunk.”

Joaquin stifled a laugh, a sad smile on his face at the story. 

You’d always been an emotional drunk, even as a teenager when you and Ximena would sneak into his mother’s liquor cabinet, sneaking out to drink in random parking lots or at the beach. Then someone would inevitably call him to pick you both up, he’d always feign reluctance, but he never had an issue getting the two of you, and whatever other friend was there.

That’s also one of the first times you’d kissed him. He remembers the day as if it was yesterday, you were a junior in high school, he was a senior, it was after the big homecoming game. You were clearly plastered, laughing and shrugging with Ximena, both of you practically falling over with wide smiles on your faces as you stumbled into Joaquin in the parking lot.

He lectured you both that night, Ximena had fallen asleep in the front seat, so you opted to help haul her out of the car with him, giggling as you backed into him a few times. Joaquin kept shushing you, and after you both managed to get his sister into the house, you smiled at him in the dimly lit hallway.

Then you kissed him. It was quick, as if the moment you realized your lips were on his, you were immediately reeling back. Apologizing while giggling, then you’d gone into Ximena’s room, waving at him before closing the door.

“Hey stop daydreaming over there! You’ve got some serious explaining to do!” Sam’s snapping caught Joaquin’s attention as he slowly nodded his head, acting as if he was listening—he very clearly was not.

“Start from the beginning, let’s hear it.”

Joaquin nodded at Bucky, letting out a deep sigh as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He’d spent the next two hours explaining everything to them both, from the start of your relationship, to getting engaged, then to the Blip, and of course, the end of it all. The divorce, the fights, the anger, all of it.

In a way, Joaquin felt like a weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He’d spent so long bottling everything up that it had just become normal to him. 

“So you’re still in love with her and from what Bucky’s told me—she’s still in love with you. So what’s the issue here? Clearly you’ve both grown up, and Ray Charles once said, time heals a broken heart but time has clearly sat still while you two have been apart—”

Bucky cut him off, “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes, Sam.”

“You shut the hell up, I’m giving the kid some emotional motivation to win his woman back! Sure, they’re divorced, but they’re young and clearly stupid!—no offense Joaquin. It’s been years since they’ve seen each other! You’ve heard her side, Buck, now we’ve heard his! They’re in love!” Sam’s hands moved rapidly as he spoke, constantly motioning in Joaquin’s direction and the opposite direction, most likely where you metaphorically would be.

Bucky sighed, shrugging. “Okay, you’re right—” he turned to look at Joaquin. “I get you two went through a rough patch during the Blip, but I can guarantee, things’ll be better now. At the very least, you should try. Lightning McQueen’s not gonna reject you outright.” 

Sam and Joaquin shared a confused look before Sam spoke up. “Why the hell is everyone calling her Lightning McQueen?”

Bucky shrugged. “She wears Lightning McQueen slippers around the tower, sometimes she’ll stop mid sentence and say ‘kachow’. At first I didn’t get it, then she forced me to watch the entire Cars franchise with her. She cried during the last two movies.”

Sam blinked a few times, meanwhile Joaquin couldn’t hold his laughter in.

“That’s one of her favorite movies, something about a coming of age story—I dunno, she’s loved it forever.” 

Sam and Bucky looked at one another, then back at him, speaking at the same time, the mixture of “you’re both idiots” and “idiots in love” sounded a bit jumbled and confusing, but Joaquin got the point.

The next few days Joaquin’s only goal was to actually talk to you. It was easy in theory, there were only so many places that you could run off to. However, you knew the compound much better than he did, and anytime he finally caught sight of you, you were gone in seconds.

It was obvious you’d been avoiding him, and that was only irritating him more and more. He’d gone from being slightly hopeful that maybe you two could start over, to feeling himself slipping into that same pessimistic mindset he’d tried to swallow down and drown out with work.

He was hanging on by a thin thread. 

That thread snapped the moment he walked into the lab in search of some data on a few samples of adamantium that was recovered near a small island neighboring the Celestial mass in the Indian Ocean. 

He still had a job to do, even if he was also simultaneously trying to win his ex-wife back.

The moment Joaquin stepped foot into the lab, you were there, standing beside a large metal table where Bob was laying flat. Not only was the man laying down, he was fully shirtless and your hands were on his abdomen. From Joaquin’s angle he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he did hear your laughter.

Yelena leaned against one of the tables behind you, her arms crossed as she questioned your motions, pointing down at Bob where you’d been stitching him up, “If you go any slower, it’ll prolong the pain.”

You scoffed, glancing at her over your shoulder. “Well, if you hadn’t been sparring with knives, none of us would be here right now. This is the closest thing we have to a med bay, besides, if I go faster, I’ll fuck up the stiching and unfortunately for you, you don’t exactly have health insurance in the state of New York. Actually, I don’t think any of you do outside of Bucky and Walker.”

Bob winced slightly as you pulled the thread through his skin, teeth clenched, one hand over his eyes. “Why couldn’t I have a drink or something again? No offense Lightning, but this hurts.”

You sighed. “Remember your whole addictive personality thing? Sorry, but the best I can do is get Yelena to knock you out cold. But I think that would be another issue. Besides, aren't you supposed to be like a God or something? You’ll heal just fine! Don’t be such a baby!” Then you started laughing.

He groaned, wincing as he laughed as well, which made Yelena laugh too.

Joaquin finally walked into the lab, jaw clenched as he walked right past the three of you, his own metaphorical storm cloud following him. Except this time, you couldn’t run away from him, which he was grateful for, but he didn’t really feel like discussing your past relationship with people he hardly knew.

“Good afternoon to you too, Captain Torres!” Your eyes widened at Yelena’s words, fingers pressing a bit too harshly into Bob’s skin—earning a loud groan.

Joaquin scoffed, nodding his head to acknowledge Yelena while mumbling. “Yeah—afternoon.” 

He found a more secluded area of the lab, but it still had a direct line-of-sight to you. So Joaquin sat, stewing in his own jealousy for thirty minutes while you stitched up some gash on Bob's side.

Then Yelena was helping Bob get back up, stating that she’d be back shortly, but once she was out of the lab, the lights dimmed, then flashed red for a few seconds, before settling on a blue-ish hue. That was followed by Yelena’s voice over the intercom. “Sorry Lightning! But you two need to talk it out, or sex it out, whichever you prefer! I’ll shut down the cameras! Oh and don’t try to do any other work, Peter’s shutting down the systems externally.” 

Once she finished speaking, you were left in a tense silence as you cleaned up the area. The sounds of metal clinking, plastic shifting, spraying from the disinfectants, and the sounds of your frustrated sighing practically echoed in the room.

“Are you gonna say something to me? Or just be angry and clean the whole time. Not that I’m not used to that.” 

You blinked a few times, pausing your motions before practically slamming the metal tray in your hands against the countertop as you slowly turned to face him. He was still several feet away, but now Joaquin was standing up, leaning against one of the larger free-standing countertops that you typically examined samples on.

“I have nothing to say to you Joaquin.”

He shook his head at that. “Well, I have everything to say to you Ms. Torres.” He noticed the way your eyes widened as he shook his head, then he ran his tongue along his top teeth. “Y’know what’s absolutely insane, that I had to find out from Bucky—your boss—that you hadn’t ever gone through with changing your name. So you’ve been walking around with my last name, while fucking whoever the hell you want.”

You scoffed at that, there it was, the jealousy. “Excuse me? I’m sorry that I didn’t feel the need to go through another extensive legal process to change my goddamn name, when I already made a name for myself with the last name Torres. And seriously? Fucking whoever I want? I’ve gone on dates—I’ve had sex with other people. Oh well! Do you want flowers and a fuckin handwritten apology? Like oh I’m so sorry Joaquin that I kept your last name after being married to you for five years! My bad!”

Joaquin let out a sardonic laugh, followed by a scoff before speaking again. “Well, if you hadn’t disappeared off of the face of the earth, maybe I wouldn’t care that much. It’s like the second we were over, you were gone!” 

“What the hell was I supposed to do?! Stick around? Fight with you some more?! As if it was ever fucking enjoyable? I choose to leave, I’m not mad about it! I had to get the hell away from you, I had to remember who the hell I was—who I am! I didn’t even know who I was outside of being with you! So sorry if I choose to put myself first and go live my life Joaquin!” 

Your voice got louder and louder as you spoke, chest rapidly rising and falling, feeling the waves of irritation and anger rolling through your entire body.

He shook his head. “Did you ever think that maybe—just maybe I didn’t want the divorce. That sure we could’ve used some space and time apart but that I still loved you?! Did you ever consider that! Or maybe I still love you! That I was never able to move on?!”

You paused, lips slightly parted, brows knit together at the confession.

Joaquin scoffed, rolling his eyes, leaning his head back slightly as he looked up, silently praying to whatever God truly existed, that this wasn’t a mistake. Then his eyes were back on you.

“There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t thought about you. Every single worthless hookup I had, I thought about you, I purposefully went after women that reminded me of you just so I could fucking feel something—anything! But they were never you!” 

He ran his hands through his hair. “I swallowed down every shitty emotion I’ve felt for years, drowning myself in even more work, I mean I guess it paid off-or at least it had paid off until I fucking crash landed into the Indian Ocean!”

Joaquin laughed again, sniffling slightly, doing his best to ignore the burning in his eyes “The worst part was, when I woke up from a week long coma, I was delirious and high on whatever the fuck they were giving me for the pain—and I asked for you. I asked every single nurse for you. I get it, you wanted to go off and live your life without me—but you didn’t call, you didn’t text. Hell, I even asked Ximena if you knew and she avoided the subject.” 

You cut him off. “Shut the hell up Joaquin.”

He shook his head “No, I’m tired of holding this shit in, and if this is the only chance I’ll ever get to talk to you—then so be it! I waited for you, I waited in that goddamn hospital hoping and praying that maybe you’d show up with your sad smile and concerned eyes and tell me that I was an idiot and things would all be okay. But you didn’t, come to find out, you were there that day—the day they rushed me in.” 

You shook your head, jaw clenched, eyes watering. “Joaquin, stop.” 

Joaquin laughed again, shrugging. “Bucky told me you were there with him, that you hounded all of the nurses and the receptionists, but you never once went to see me. What? Hate me that bad you couldn’t even spare me five fucking minutes when I’m unconscious after nearly dying?!—” 

“Jesus Christ! Shut the fuck up, Joaquin! You don’t know what you’re talking about. For once in your life, shut your big fucking mouth! I’m sorry I didn’t go—you think I didn’t wanna see you?! I was fucking terrified! Terrified that you were gonna die on that table when they were operating on you! I was sobbing the entire time, I was so afraid of losing you—” 

You wiped your tears away, brows knit together, bottom lip quivering as you stared at him. “I’d already lost you once. I didn’t have it in me to lose you again. I couldn’t see you like that, I tried—I wanted to. I couldn’t do it. You don’t get to hold that against me—” 

You pointed at him as you spoke. “You don’t have the fucking right to hold that against me.”

Joaquin blinked a few times, watching as your walls were crumbling. He knew you were still hurt, that much was obvious in the way you’d been avoiding him—but to know you were hurting like this? 

It broke part of him, and for a second he felt like his nineteen year old self again on the night he’d taken your virginity. He remembered the way you tried not to cry, word vomiting your insecurities and vulnerabilities to him while the two of you sat in his childhood bedroom. Joaquin remembered the way you looked, the way you couldn’t meet his stare, the way you held the blanket to your body to shield yourself from him, even if you were still in your dress.

He knew you so well, he used to know exactly how to comfort you, exactly how to make your worries disappear.

Now he didn’t.

Now he was the cause of them.

“I loved you until the very end of our relationship. Don’t ever sit and act like I didn’t—like I don’t care about you. Joaquin, you were my first love, you meant everything to me. I married you when I was twenty-one like an idiot because I had so much faith and hope in our relationship—in our love. I know I was wrong to up and leave once the divorce was finalized, but I didn’t want to work through things just to be your friend. I could never in my life be your friend Joaquin—not when you knew everything about me—every single insecurity, every hope, every dream.”

You weren’t wiping the tears away anymore, a sad smile on your face as you looked down at your hands, then back to him. 

“If I could do it all over again, I would. Just to get the chance to love you like that again. That’s why I left, because I knew if I stayed, I would’ve been right back with you—right back to wanting to hate you, knowing I never could and I couldn’t take it.”

He was at a loss for words, tears finally flowing along his cheeks while he looked at you. Joaquin finally processed how he’d broken your heart—broken you. He’d broken you down time and time again, letting his own insecurities, exhaustion, and pessimism get to him. 

He’d hurt the one person he never wanted to hurt—you.

“Everyday I think about you. I think about how you’re doing, I wonder what Sam’s got you wrapped up in, I laugh at the stupid jokes you make during press releases and media statements as the Falcon. Hell, I even pray for you, which is crazy because I don’t even know if there’s even a higher power—but the faith that you’ll be okay each and every day is enough for me. I ask Ximena about you all the time. Whenever I go back to Miami, I make sure to go see your family.”

Joaquin was genuinely speechless. This entire time, he thought you just didn’t care. That you wanted as much distance between the both of you as possible. He’d been so angry for years, angry at you, and angrier at himself.

“I don’t think I’ll ever not love you Joaquin, and that in itself, is enough to make me avoid you. I don’t want what we had, I hated it. I hated every fight, I hated watching you leave after we had sex, I hated the sight of you sleeping on our sofa. I hated all of it. I know life was really hard at that point, I know I wasn’t the best wife or partner, but I tried. I tried everyday but you held everything against me, constantly.”

You sniffled, biting your bottom lip while trying to recollect yourself. The tears were flowing, and you couldn’t stop them.

“You were so mean, all the time. You weren’t the Joaquin I had fallen in love with, honestly, I know I was a shell of myself, but you—you were so much worse. You never let me back in—” a short sob slipped past your lips while you cried, looking down at the ground, taking a few deep breaths. “I wanted you to let me in again. I remember purposefully forgetting documents and prolonging our entire attorney experience, just so I could spend more time with you. Because I knew the second it was over, I was leaving.”

The silence was suffocating.

You were doing your best not to sob. Joaquin was processing everything—he’d never truly known how it all affected you. He’d never seen you sob at night, sure he knew you cried, but he didn’t see it, he didn’t notice how broken you truly were.

“I’m sorry.” Joaquin spoke softly “I’m so sorry—baby—I didn’t know. I just—I didn’t realize how bad things were until it was all over. And I was just so angry all the time, everything made me so mad. Then I’d see you, but everyone was always gravitating towards you, and it makes sense because you’re beautiful, funny and so intelligent, but it bothered me.”

He paused, now stepping closer to you, hesitating before gently caressing your face, angling it towards him, away from the ground. His thumbs softly wiping your tears away.

“I was so insecure and jealous and downright mean, and I’m sorry for putting you through hell. You meant the world to me—hell you still mean the world to me. I’ve been so angry this whole time, I thought I was mad at you, but I was mad at me. Mad that I’d fucked up so bad, mad that things hadn’t worked out, that I stopped trying.”

You leaned into his hand, teary eyes now looking into his.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. I want you to know that, even if nothing comes from it. I’ll always love you, there’s nobody in this universe that gets me the way you do, I know it’s been years, but I don’t think I’m ready to just let you go again.”

Joaquin’s vulnerability shocked you, not because you didn’t think he was capable, but because this Joaquin, this was your Joaquin. This is the man that you’d fallen in love with.

“I never wanted you to let me go, Joaquin.” 

He’d been the one to suggest the divorce, and it had taken a few months of fights before you’d actually considered it. 

By that point, Joaquin was rarely sleeping with you, and the only time the two of you weren’t fighting was when you were both on base at work. Outside of that, the fights and arguments were constant, an unrelenting cycle, and you had finally hit your breaking point.

The last major fight before the divorce ended in you screaming at him before tossing a large yellow envelope on the kitchen island.

You both signed the papers that night. Then the filing process started.

That night you cried into the stuffed bear that he’d won for you at a carnival when you were nineteen. It was one of your first real dates, and you’d been so excited when he’d managed to actually win the ring toss three times in a row, scoring the large panda bear, giving it to you with a dopey smile on his face.

“Please—give me a second chance, I’ll do everything right this time—I won’t fall back into old shitty habits—I promise baby” his voice was strained as he tried not to cry. It took everything in him to not fall to his knees to beg for you back.

You sighed, pulling away from him as you shook your head.

“Joaquin, I think time apart might’ve been what we needed. But I still see the way you look at people around me, I still see the same shitty habits, and honestly, I think we might be better apart for now. We both have stuff to work through, but I won’t up and disappear from your life again”

He nodded as you spoke, biting his bottom lip, watching as you shrugged, sadness pooling in your teary eyes.

“I can’t be your wife again—not now at least. But maybe one day when we’re in a better spot.”

Joaquin sniffled a bit, looking up at the roof, then back at you. “One day for sure.” 

Then you kissed him, it was soft, hesitant, but he knew it wasn’t a welcoming kiss. It was similar to the last kiss you’d given him the day your divorce finalized. As if you were saying goodbye again.

Joaquin only hoped that the goodbye would be temporary.

-

Thanks for reading my lovers <3 as always feedback is appreciated!!!

Not to be the weird military party pooper but I’ve read many fics were Joaquín went to bmt straight out of high school but that straight wouldn’t make sense. He’s a Captain in BNW and a Lieutenant in TFATWS and those are officer ranks and he’s an Intelligence Officer which requires a bachelors degree. In my mind, he went to the Air Force Academy cus he’s a smart lil cookie 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. Again, don’t mean to be the weird military party pooper, js wanted to share a lil thing cus it’s a detail in my upcoming fic 💔💔💔

—SPU’S MASTERLIST

MARVEL

Joaquín Torres-

— PHOTOGRAPH

— STAY FOR BREAKFAST

— NO NEED TO BE DRUNK

— CANT HANDLE IT

soccer player Joaquín

Joaquín angsty “blurb”

— SPARSHA SANGEET

Steve Rogers-

— THIRD AMENDMENT

James “Bucky” Barnes-

— THIRD AMENDMENT

— TOO HOT TO HANDLE

Tony Stark-

— SEVEN MINUTES

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)-

— SEVEN MINUTES

Robert “Bob” Reynolds-

TBD

TOP GUN: MAVERICK

Jake “Hangman” Seresin-

— Hangman’s tapping out ceremony

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw-

— Rooster’s tapping out ceremony

Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia-

— IS THAT X-MEN?

THERES MORE 😛😛

Me when I have been lowkey too demotivated to write 🥀🥀🥀

I need to make this a Joaquin fic now…

— CANT HANDLE IT

You can’t bear to see Joaquín injured

Joaquín Torres x med student!gn!reader

wc: 1.1k

warnings: hurt no comfort, mentions of injuries, cursing, mention of finals (sigh)

authors note:My next fic is gonna be a cute lil Iron!dad and Spider!son one and it’s alr at 1.2k words at like the beginning of the climax so I can’t wait to share that too! (no promises that it won’t hurt feelings though) ENJOY! (I was gonna wait till Wednesday to post this but I got too excited💔💔)

You and Joaquín were stood adjacent to each other. Your glossy eyes only staring at the scars on his neck and shoulder. He was staring at you. You could feel it. His beautiful, warm, always held joy in them eyes filled with nothing but pain. He was just discharged from the hospital and was so excited to finally come home and feel your love in the comfort of his home. Instead he was faced with a cold shoulder and ignorance.

“What’s wrong, Angel?” He spoke softly.

You finally looked up at his face. You could really see the concern and slight pain in is face.

“What’s wrong? Are you kidding me?”

He just looked at you confused.

“You were dead for two whole minutes is what’s wrong!”

“It was only two minutes, I’m all better now. See?” He approached you slowly trying to hold your hands. You back away and snatched your hands off of his. His brows furrowed as his heart dropped. You’d never backed away from his touch let alone yelled at him.

“That’s not the point Joaquín! I can’t handle this anymore…” tears formed in your eyes “…the bruises, the cuts, the secrecy. I’ll go to sleep one night with you next to me and in the morning you’ll be gone! I don’t get a heads up, or a text, not even a damn letter!”

“Angel…”

“Don’t ’Angel’ me, Joaquín. All I ask is for a heads up or a warning. You go on these dangerous missions and you don’t even show back up until days, sometimes weeks, later!” Now your volume is starting to raise.

“You know I can’t tell you! If I tell you then the safety of the mission is at risk!” Now he’s starting to get frustrated too.

“Yeah that’s what you tell me every single fucking time! That shit isn’t going to work for you every time!”

“What does that mean?” He can’t believe what you’re implying. “You’re wearing that ring aren’t you? Why would I cheat if I proposed!”

“Who said I was talking about cheating?”

“Oh you know what you were saying.” He rests his hands on his hips and turns slightly away from you.

A moment passes before you speak again.

“You know I missed a final? I’d stayed up for three nights in a row studying for it and the call about you went off right as I started it.” Your tears are escaping faster and faster now.

Joaquín’s head turned to face you at your statement. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” He tried holding you, out of habit, but you backed away again. His heart was starting to hurt more and more.

“And make you bear that guilt at that state? You would’ve been dead permanently.” You let out a bitter chuckle.

“W-well maybe your professor would let you take it now! I’m sure you can send an email!”

“I got a zero. There’s no do-overs with this Joaquín! I’m sick of his lifestyle you have me living! I’m sick of you!” And that’s when his heart fully shattered.

“No you don’t mean that, you’re just tired, Amor…” he was crying now.

“I mean every word. I’ve lost hours and hours of sleep worrying about you, I’ve missed too many deadlines because you decide to get hurt and come home for me to fix you, and you want me to be okay with you being an Avenger?!”

He was stunned at your last statement. When Sam had made him an Avenger you were the first person he told. You smiled so hard and squeezed him so tight, people would’ve thought he achieved world peace if they saw the two of you. The two of you had went out the fanciest restaurant and you’d bought him dinner (much to his objection). You’d made it seem like you were over the Moon. He was so confused.

“What do you mean? I thought you were happy about me being an Avenger?”

“Being an Avenger is what killed Tony Stark and left his wife widowed! Along with that robot and Black Widow! I don’t want to be the next Avenger widow!”

He was honestly just hurt you didn’t have more faith in him and his abilities.

“What you think I’m not strong enough to be an Avenger?”

“Tell me how you plan to fight a genocidal alien or robot, how about an evil god from outer space with your guns and a jet pack with wings!”

You were hyperventilating at this point and the walls seemed like they were closing in on you. You could see Joaquín’s stiff figure also crying through your tears. None of you spoke a word for bit after your sentence.

“Here take this” you snatched the beautiful ring that adorned your ring finger and shoved it on his chest. He held his hand over your hand that pressed into his chest. “Wait no please…” He begged while wrapping his other hand around your arm and held you in place.

“Don’t leave. I’ll tell Sam I changed my mind! I’ll never put the wings back on! Just please don’t do this!” He yelled out through his heavy sobs.

“That’s our problem Joaquín! This! Your job is so important, not just that, it’s your dream! I can’t hold you back from doing what you love and you can’t hold me back either! People need you, the world needs you! You can’t hold me in front of the world…” and that’s when you snatch away your hand and walk to your shared room with Joaquín.

You grabbed your two suitcases and bag that you had asked your friend to pack for you and made your way to the front door. Joaquín followed you the entire time, begging you to not do this. You just ignored him and grabbed the door handle. As you were twisting the door handle Joaquín speaks for the last time.

“You are my world. How am I supposed to save billions of random people if I can’t save us?”

You turn back and see that his eyes are red and starting to puff.

“Maybe when you finally learn that you’re not indestructible and that you’re human like the rest of us.”

You twisted the door open and walked out, shutting it gently behind you. You could hear Joaquín’s from behind the door and your heart broke at the sound of it.

You didn’t know if you’d ever make up, but you were sure as hell that you would never find a love as pure or strong as Joaquín’s. Maybe you’d reconcile one day, if he doesn’t get killed.

— NO NEED TO BE DRUNK

it was never about how drunk you were

pt.2 to stay for breakfast but can be read as a standalone

pairing: Joaquín x fem!reader

wc: 1.4k

authors note: wrote basically the entire thing in one whole night…domestic Joaquín save me 💔💔 also I need to start posting in a timely manner…why is it midnight right now 😞😞 LAST THING don’t mind the format change, I write and edit on my notes app THEN copy and paste onto here and I js got too lazy to make the font smaller and space it out 💀💀

You wake up to warm rays of Sunlight kissing your face and a heavy arm holding you close. You bask in the comfort of the situation, disregarding the pounding in your head. The last thing you remembered from your night out was asking Joaquín to stay the night, remembering you’d promised him breakfast. You slip his muscular arm off your body and slither out of bed. As you stretch, you notice the pills and water on your night stand. “Joaquín you old softy.” You grin to yourself as you gulp down the pills.

You’re flipping the last pancake when the sound of the floor creaking makes you look up from your stove.

“Rise and shine sleepy bird.”

“Good morning to you too, Angel.”

He inches closer to where you stand at the stove, leaning next to you. That’s when you take a look at him. His hair is disheveled, his face is lightly puffy (making him look sooo much cuter), and…he’s…shirtless..? You can’t help but glance down his body. His abs may be attractive but it’s his moles that really grab your attention. They looked like mini chocolate chips on his tan skin…

“Angel, the pancake is burning.” Joaquín takes the flipper from your hand and flips the pancake himself.

“Don’t worry I’ll take that one…” he notices you’re still staring “…you okay..?”

“Huh? Oh uh yeah. My head is killing me.” You rub your forehead.

“Well you quite an eventful night, and also, you did not have to make all this food.” He takes the mildly burnt pancake and plops it on a plate.

He slides your plate to you after adding all the toppings you loved. “C’mere, Angel.” He beckons you over with his arms wide open.

You melt in his strong hold, his scent filling your nose, you almost never want to pull away. He rubs his hand over your back in a circular motion while the other holds your waist tight. Your mind stops all the noise and commotion and falls silent in his touch. He creeps his hand up into your scalp and scratches the back of your head softly. You breathe out a sigh into the crook of his neck and he giggles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just ticklish.”

“Just your neck or anywhere else?” You two are now bobbing side to side softly to the tune of only your affection.

“Nowhere you need to know nosey pants.”

His hand stays massaging your head as you bury your head back onto him. This all felt so…perfect. The sunny morning, yummy breakfast, your crush holding you, maybe you were still under your drunken dream. You slide your arms from your side to his waist. He flinches away at your touch fully giggling now.

“Oh my god! How ticklish are you?!” You laugh out.

“I told you! Now c’mon, breakfast is getting cold.”

He pulls a chair out and looks at you. You struggle to dilute your smile as you walk back over to him. Once you’re sat comfortably in your seat, he brings over your plates from the counter and over to the dinner table. Once sat, he looks at you, waiting for you.

“What.”

“Nothing, just waiting for you to eat first.”

You chuckle “Why?”

“I mean…you cooked it all, you deserve first bites.”

You just smile at him as you eat a piece of your pancake. Once you take the first bite, Joaquín digs in like he’s never been fed before. He barely chews his food, basically just inhaling it. You can only sit bewildered as you eat. “Sam not feed you or something?” You joke, cutting the last bits of your first pancake.

“Not food this good. It’s all granola bars and sad salads. Sometimes, Bucky will bring him lunch and he’ll tell me to take some but…” all he has left is the last piece of bacon “…it’s all even more depressing forties food.” You let out an amused laugh.

He looks at you so happily. He’d made you giggle and whatnot before but never laugh this hard. He’s basically beaming at this point and starts to laugh with you. The laughter only dies down when you transition back to eating your breakfast and silence falls on the two of you. You don’t mind though, you’re both thinking, maybe about the same things, maybe not. You can’t stop thinking about his touch. So gentle yet so firm. The way he comforted you without even having to be asked. God he’d be such a perfect boyfriend.

Joaquín on the other hand was still thinking about your laugh. Your eyes squinting into cute little crescents and your bright smile emitting light from how bright it was. The sound of your laugh, he would listen to it all day if he could. Without even realizing it, you’re both staring at each other. It’s almost as if time froze, you both basically have heart eyes beating out of your eye sockets for each other. It’s the sound of a grating squeaking that snaps you two back to Earth. You’d sliced through your pancake and were basically about to slice through your plate. You two can’t help but laugh again at the whole situation.

“You know what? I was full anyway.” You stand and throw your scraps into the trash.

Only when you stand before the sink Joaquín stops you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You at him and then the sink full of dishes “…the dishes…?”

“Not after you cooked it too.”

“No that’s exactly why actually, also you’re my guest, it’s my job.”

“No it’s fine, I’m basically here every weekend anyway. If anything, I’m a regular.”

“Okay how about we compromise hm? You wash and I’ll dry? Sound like a fair trade, cutie?”

It takes a few seconds for him to reply “Fine.”

You two work together like a machine. He scrubs and rinses, you dry and stow. The air is filled with the hiss of the sink and the squeak coming from the towel on the plate.

“Hey thanks for taking care of me last night, I know I can be a difficult drunk.” You break the silence after putting away the last pan.

“Ah it was no big deal, plus you’re kind of cute when you’re drunk.”

“I didn’t talk about any conspiracy theories did I?”

“He’s totally like watching over us from the Moon!” He mocks your voice.

You can’t do anything but slap his shoulder and act annoyed. It’s him grabbing your arms and wrapping them around his neck that makes you break your act. His arms hug your waist tight and he seems as surprised that he did this as you are. “You know…it uh…it kind of felt like a…d…date…” you just stare at him, dumbfounded. “…in a sense…not just last night but…also now…?” The last part felt more like a question than a statement.

“What are you getting at Joaquín?”

“Do you wanna date?”

Your eyes widen.

“No no like go on a date. We can date after! Or after a few dates! Or not at all! I don’t know, it’s all really up to yo-“

Only when you press your lips against his does he stop talking. It’s not a long kiss, just enough to serve the both of you for now. You pull away and his face goes towards yours like a magnet. Now it was your turn to slightly scratched back of his head.

“Yes Joaquín, I’ll go on a date with you. We can only talk about the actual dating part if you can take me to some really fun dates though.” You smile.

“I can do that.” Then he crashes his lips to yours.

Now it’s deeper, more intimate. He lowers his left hand lower down your back and his right hand higher up. He feels your embrace so warm and soft against him, he needs to be closer. He pushes you further against him, deepening the kiss. You respond by grabbing a handful of his hair and gently tugging at his soft curls. He groans against your lips and you can feel your pulse quickening. It’s only when you start to lose your breath you pull away. He reluctantly pulls back too and has the cutest hazy look on his face.

“I should get drunk more often so you can always kiss me like this.”

“Trust me, Angel. You never needed to be drunk for me to kiss you.”

You giggled and pulled him into a hug.

You should’ve done this way earlier.

— STAY FOR BREAKFAST

You enjoy his company for a bit longer

pairing: Joaquín x fem!reader

pt.2 here

wc: 1.4k

warning: mentions of alcohol, watching people while they sleep (?), reader is wearing a skirt and a baby tee of some sort.

authors note: I literally JUST finished this fic like ten minutes ago after holding off on it for like two months…she’s here now so yay! I’ve read all the new Joaquín fics so that really gave me a motivation to finish this…BUT honestly if yall want (if YALL want) I have an idea for a part two so if you’d like more then please comment so!!

The sound of banter fills your ears as Sam and Bucky start with their quips once more. You and Joaquín sat next to each other giggling at their antics, the alcohol in your blood streams amplifying the humor. You slowly start to calm your breath once more but one quick glance at Joaquín and you start to giggle again.

“I’m just saying, it’s kind of stupid that you always rip your sleeve off! What if someone asks to borrow your jacket one day? What you’re just gonna let them walk around with their bare left arm out?”

“It’s more practical! I can move it better without the sleeve!”

“What kind of clothes do you wear that makes it uncomfortable for you to move your arm!”

“There are some you know.”

“What you buy clothes made out of latex or something?”

You keep laughing.

“What do you guys think? Is it stupid or not?” Sam asks you and Joaquín.

“Uh…I mean I don’t think it’s stupid but it is kinda silly you know. Imagine you get into a fight on a mundane day and you go; “Hold up guys my sleeve is on too tight!” You reply, sipping your beer after letting out an airy chuckle after doing so.

“Whatever.” Bucky say rolling his eyes and taking a sip from his beer.

“C’mon man we’re just messing with you! We love you no matter the amount of sleeves you’ve got! Ain’t that right guys?”

“Yeah!” You and Joaquín reply simultaneously.

“Uh huh.” Bucky says while finishing his drink.

“Aw don’t be grumpy, Buck. What if I brought the next round? Hm?” You say poking him lightly.

“Nah I have to leave, it’s getting late.” Bucky replied getting up.

“Sam?”

“Ah I have to go too, early mission tomorrow.” Sam said, getting up and leaving with Bucky.

“Guess it’s just us now, Joaquín.” You smiled clinking your beer bottles together.

“Guess so.” He replied giving you a bright smile.

You both then moved to the bar after finishing your drinks quickly to make space for other guests entering as the night deepened. You and Joaquín spent the rest of the night talking and drinking without a care in the world. Except you drank a few drinks too many so now drunk you was rambling on and on to barely tipsy Joaquín about anything and everything.

“No that theory is so stupid! There’s no way Steve Rogers would ever actually leave his best friends. And for what? To time travel and live a whole different life with an already married woman? While knowing bad things are happening? Pfff he’s totally like watching over us from the Moon!” You blather.

“Conspiracy theories, especially about our friends’ friend, is our sign to leave. C’mon, Angel.” Joaquín slightly jokes while closing out your guys’ tab.

He takes your hand in his and makes it rest on his shoulder as he grabs your waist. He guides you out of the somewhat busy bar, dodging the drunk men and dancing women and pushes the door out of the bar open and the chilly air immediately flys against your skin. The cold doesn’t affect you much with the alcohol still freshly in your stream, but, it does seem to affect Joaquín. You hear him suck a sharp breath in and feel him shiver slightly against you. Still, disregarding his discomfort in the cold, he takes is jacket off and puts it over your shoulders.

“Mm don’t need to give it to me Joaquín. You clearly need it more than me.” You slur out while taking it off your shoulders.

“You’re in a skirt and oddly tiny shirt, how are you not cold?” He says while opening the passenger side door for you.

“Alcohol tends to keep you warm.” You mumble out before Joaquín chuckles and closes the door.

He finally sits in the driver seat and starts the engine, he waits a beat for the car to heat up a bit more before typing in your address to the gps and backing out of the parking lot.

The drive back to your house is quiet, the only source of sound being your snores hanging in the air and Joaquin’s hums. Joaquín hums to himself out of habit and turns his head to look at you at a red light. Your hair is a bit array with loose strands covering your face, your lips parted with your drunk snores escaping them, and your head leaning back on the area where the head rests base lays. He chuckles at himself when he sees the sight beside him, finding you absolutely endearing, he only gets pulled out of the trance you pulled him into when the light changes to a blinding green before him.

He accelerated carefully, hoping to not interrupt your sleep not realizing he was already almost in your neighborhood. The gps lets him know that he’d arrived at his destination as he drove closer and closer to your house. He pulls into your driveway and sits there for a moment, finally fully taking your beauty in, with no interruptions. At that moment he’d realized, you weren’t wearing a single ounce of makeup. Your face looked bare, the same face he’d spar with in the evenings, the same face he’d plan missions with late at night, and the same face he was absolutely in love with. He’d had feelings for you since the day Bucky’d introduced you as a new recruit to him and Sam. You were so charismatic and charming and so incredibly funny that he couldn’t help but fall for you. Ever since, he just let his crush on you simmer, scared of scaring you away with his feelings and ruining your friendship

He reluctantly teared his gaze off of you and got out of his car and made his way over to your front door. He got out your extra key from underneath your porch swing cushion and opened your front door. He then makes his way back to the car and picks you up bridal style, slamming the car door closed with his hip. He carries you through your door, into your house, and makes his way up to your room. He’d came over a few times, for game nights and mission debriefs alike, and you’d given him a house tour at some point.

He opened up your bedroom door, greeted with clothes leaking out of your closet (from changing your outfit so much). He grinned seeing the sight of it, slightly endearing him. It all felt so domestic. He imagined what it’d be like, watching you do your makeup, cuddling during the cold nights like this, cooking together, being domestic with him. Only when you let out anther soft snore is when he stops staring. He sits you up on your bed gently, waking you up.

“Where are we?” You mumble groggily.

“Back at your place, Angel.”

“Mmm” Is all you force out while hugging his waist, the side of your face pressing against his abs.

“Why don’t you change and drink some water hmm? That’ll make you feel better.”

At his words you remove your arms from around him and get up slowly. You stumble on your feet a little, alcohol still kicking in your system. Joaquín catches you as you stumble, his hands falling to your waist out of instinct.

“Woah whatcha tryna do there.” He says, still holding you.

“Getting my pjs dummy.”

“Okay sit down…” he guides you back down on the bed “now where are your pjs…?” He looks around the room.

“Top of the dresser.”

He steps over and picks up the silly yellow and white striped sleep shorts and shirt atop your dresser. He looks over at you as your eyes struggle to stay open, feeling like there’s weights attached to them. “Here, I’ll get you some water and pain killers.” All you can do is nod lazily.

By the time he’s back with what you need, you’re knocked out in bed. He can hear the same snores you let out in the car resume but somehow, you look much more beautiful now. He softly walks over to your bedside table and rests the Advil and water bottle on it. He analyzes your chest moving up and down so calmly and he feels another smile creep up his face.

“Goodnight, Angel.” He presses a soft kiss on your temple. As he’s rising back up, he feels a force holding him in place.

“Stay for breakfast.” Is all you let out, your eyes still closed.

If you ask so politely, how can he deny you?

- PHOTOGRAPH

you can’t sleep

pairing: Joaquín x gn!reader

wc: idk somewhere in the 500 range maybe

authors note: chat I need to move to D.C. like rn!!! I went there once like two years ago almost and I still think about it💔💔 also why does no one talk about how difficult it is to find bf material pics of Danny 😞😞

“Babe I can’t fall asleep”, you mumbled in a low tone to your boyfriend sleeping right next to you.

Joaquín had just came back from a “long day of training” so he was out, but a part of you was still hoping maybe he’d wake up and talk to you or something of that sort. Instead, he just hummed lowly and went back to sleep. You tossed and turned for another fifteen minutes trying to find the best position. You took the blanket completely off you, took all of the blanket, even pushed Joaquín all the way to the edge of the bed trying to fall asleep. Eventually, you give up trying and got up to go get a glass of water and some fresh air.

You slowly rolled out of bed and lightly patted your feet across your cold floor and walked out of your shared room. You cracked the door open enough to fit you and slipped out as quiet as you could. You looked out the large glass sliding door which let in the dim Moonlight and walked to your cupboard. You got out your favorite mug and turned to your sink and twisted handle to the cooler side and filled up your mug with the cold water.

You took a quick sip before you walked over to the corner of your couch and slipped your slippers on and went out to the balcony of your and Joaquín’s shared apartment. You took in the view for a bit, then and sat on the lounging chair and set your mug on the coffee table not too far from you. As you sat on the chair with your legs crossed and overlooking the D.C skyline, you heard the glass door slide open behind you. You turned around already knowing who it would be ,and still grinned seeing Joaquín’s tired frame standing against the sliding door.

“Anything on your mind?” he questioned as he took a seat on the second chair.

“Not that I can think of. I just can’t fall asleep for some reason”, you replied.

“Are you sure? You’ve been sorta antsy lately.”

You opened your mouth to speak but quieted down once you realized what your problem was. It’d been six months since his accident, there were still remnants of his burns sitting on his neck, chest, and back. You remember feeling nothing but absolute horror when the hospital called you about his injuries. For nights you couldn’t sleep without nightmares haunting you. Ones where he’d died on the table and after moving on from his death, his ghost would guilt you. Ones where he’d been left permanently injured and in a coma for the rest of his life. They all plagued you like the Black Death, you just couldn’t seem to escape the horr-

“Hellooo? You with me, Angel?” Joaquín pulls you out of your trance.

“C’mon talk to me. What’s bugging you?” He speaks in a gentle tone, scooping you up in the lounging chair so he could sit next to you. Your legs draped over his as you rested your back on the arm rest.

“I…I think it’s because of your accident. I remember, back at the hospital and even when you first returned back home, I’d have these horrible horrible nightmares where you’d be stuck in a coma for the rest of your life or died on the table…” your eyes started to water.

“Hey hey hey look at me, baby.” Joaquín tilts your head up. “I’m fine now , it’s okay. I survived, I’m alright.” He embraced you in his warm and strong arms.

“Your heart stoped Joaquín! They had to restart it!” You sobbed into his chest.

He held you in his arms until all of your tears were spent and your breath was stable. You closed your eyes, really soaking in his presence and love. His heartbeat echoing in your ears letting you know that he’s still here, his heartbeat beating for you.

“You checking to see if it’s still pumping? Trust me baby, you’re the only one it beats for.”

You lightly giggled and hummed in response, feeling the warm fall breeze against your skin. You removed yourself from him and now rested your back on the back rest. Your eyes were starting to get heavy when you saw Joaquín move out of the corner of your eye. He slowly took out his phone and angled it towards you.

“What are you doing?” you questioned squinting your eyes.

“Oh you’re still awake. Uh I was just uh you know, taking a picture of the night sky yeah, the…the…moon looks amazing tonight ”, Joaquín quickly stumbled out his words, trying to cover up the fact that he was, indeed, taking a picture of you.

“Whatever you say, cutie.” You say crossing your arms and closing your eyes again.

“Mm I love you, Angel.” You smile softly and hear a shutter come from his phone.

“Damn you look good!” And with that, you can’t help but let out a laugh.

Writing fanfiction in school is the most stressful thing I’ve ever done in school 💔💔