[codenamefalcon]

ᯓ LYNN ! twenty-four. she/her. pisces. danny ramirez enthusiast. lover of men with a troubled past.

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[codenamefalcon]

PICTURE THIS | JOAQUÍN TORRES

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.6k Summary: The 4 times Joaquin knew he could treat you better and the 1 time you were ready to let him. Warnings: reader has a shitty bf (no harm is done to reader he just sucks), reader is allergic to lilies and wears silver jewelry, Joaquin is lowkey playing the long game, cussing, angst maybe if you squint, feelings that could be classified as emotional cheating but also not really, slight PDA (kissing in photobooth) not edited

1.

You were in the middle of tidying up your apartment when Joaquín walks through the door like he lives there. Though you do always tell him you’ll leave the door unlocked for him, so you can’t really blame him too much for that. Before he even has two feet in the door, he begins spouting off random facts about his day or how many times Sam said something nice to him or how cool the stuff he had gotten to do was. You stop mid-dust to turn on your heels, watching as he shrugs his jacket off and steps out of his shoes. A small smile toys on your lips after you discard the duster on the side table and make your way towards him.

“And then he sa—,” He freezes, eyes zeroing in on the flower vase placed in the center of your small dining room table, “What are you doing with those? Those are lilies.”

“Yes, they are,” You curtly nod, gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you resist the urge to rub your irritated eyes.

You watch as something flickers in Joaquín’s eyes, something you can’t quite place, before he squints at you in disbelief. He drops his jaw to say something, but cuts himself off with a shake of the head. You can tell that he’s censoring himself, that he’s fighting off the urge to say what he truly wants to say. It seems to be a recurring theme in recent days. 

“You’re allergic to lilies,” He deadpans as he crosses his arms against his chest, “And so is Steve.”

“Tyler bought them for me,” You weakly sigh, casting your eyes to the ground in slight embarrassment, “He said he forgot I was allergic. I can’t throw them away, I’ll feel bad.”

Joaquín’s quiet scoff makes your face heat up because you knew ‘forgetting’ wasn’t a real excuse, but it was all you had. You tell yourself that it’s an honest mistake, and you believe him when he tells you he will remember next time. You give him grace and hope for improvement despite the subtle comments from all of your friends telling you that he wasn’t worth it and how you deserved so much better. However, when it was Joaquín on the other side of the conversation, it felt different. It felt worse, and you couldn’t quite figure out why. 

“Right,” He purses his lips and kisses his teeth, “If you say so.”

Silence fills the space around you, sticking to you as you chew on your bottom lip and attempt to segway the conversation into something less strenuous. The sound of soft thuds bounding near you breaks your concentration, your cat rounding the corner before he‘s gearing back to jump on the table. You were about to call out and stop him, but you were stopped by a tickle in your nose and, before you knew it, you were thrown into a burst of sneezes. You fold your elbow around your nose to keep yourself from sneezing all over the place before the palm of your other hand is rubbing at your eyes for relief. 

“Okay,” Joaquín calls out over your sniffling, and you can hear him gently shoving Steve off the table, followed by the glass scraping against the wood, “That’s it. I’m throwing these away, and you can tell him it was me who did it. If he even notices it.” 

You were blinking away the stars dotting your vision while he yanks the flowers out of the vase, throws them into the trash bag, ties it up, and places it right outside your door for him to take when he leaves. The entire time, you can hear him incoherently mumbling under his breath, but you don’t ask him what he was saying. The bits and pieces you think you’re able to make out were enough to tell you that he was far from impressed with your new boyfriend, and the last thing you wanted to face was his blatant disapproval head on.

However, little did you know, there was a much more prominent thought running amok in his mind. One that would change everything if you found out.

2.

The cafe was calm. A gentle hum of conversation filtering through the air, soft light decorating the space, comely art scattered on the walls. It had always brought you a sense of serenity you couldn’t find anywhere else. Well, almost anywhere else. Joaquín had a knack for bringing out the same tranquil feeling whenever he was around, but you didn’t dare admit that out loud. Not to yourself, and most certainly not to him.

“So, what did he get you for the big six months,” He asks, adjusting in the seat across from you as his knee almost brushes the inside of your thigh. 

It was innocent. A fleeting rush of air against the skin, but it makes your breathing falter. It makes a wave of heat rush to your cheeks, and a cloud of fog roll over your thoughts, but you shake it off like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t the exact feeling you’d been waiting for the aforementioned He to give you since you’d met. You distract yourself by grabbing at the cup in front of you, twisting it on the table as you nip at the skin of your bottom lip and force the words to come out of your mouth. 

“Concert tickets,” You mumble without meeting his stare.

“What concert,” He presses with a quirk of his brow, mentally going over the list of all the artists he knew would be visiting D.C. soon. He couldn’t think of any you were interested in.

You sheepishly tell him the name of the rapper Tyler liked, and you have to busy yourself with aimlessly searching through your bag to spare yourself from the look that had undoubtedly twisted on his face. You’d already heard a long enough speech from your best friend and neighbor about how selfish the gift was, and you were praying that Joaquín was kind enough to spare you from his own. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to handle it from him. A few beats of silence pass, and you know you wouldn’t be able to avoid his gaze for too long, so, with your tube of lip balm between your fingers, you straighten your back and find his eyes.

“But you don’t like that kind of music,” He finally speaks up, voice strained with something terse and wired.

“I know,” You shrug, dragging the chapstick across your lips, “But he does.”

Joaquín’s focus briefly shifts to your mouth, but he’s quick to bring them back to your eyes so you don’t notice, his own lips pressed into a thin line before a deep breath passes through them, “Don’t you think an anniversary gift should be something you like? Or something you both like?”

Your body tenses as his words settle in your chest. He’s right, and you know he’s right, but you had already convinced yourself that it didn’t matter. That part of being in a relationship came with the obligatory notion of doing something for your partner that you didn’t necessarily like. Even if you had yet to do something with him that was just for you. It would happen eventually, right?

“It’s not a big deal,” You brush him off with a forced chuckle, “I’m sure it’ll still be fun.”

Joaquín doesn’t say anything else on the matter, choosing to let it drop because your words were painfully unconvincing, even to yourself, but there was nothing he could do. He knew the lingering comments he had been leaving were starting to irritate you, and he didn’t want to overstep in fear that all it would do was drive you away, because that was the last thing he wanted to do. All he can do is hope that you’ll see it yourself one day.

3.

When Joaquín had texted you and asked if you were free to come over to his place so that he could give you your birthday present, you were more than happy to agree. Mostly because it’s been a few weeks since you had last seen him, and you missed being around him, but also because you were curious to see what he had gotten you. He had always been a phenomenal gift-giver, and the fact that he knew you better than you knew yourself at times left you clueless as to what it could even be. 

“Who are you,” Joaquín forces his face to fall flat when he pulls the door open, “You look like someone I used to know, but I haven’t seen her in a year.”

“Okay,” You draw out with a feigned eye roll, “Tone down the dramatics, Torres. It’s been less than a month, and that’s no way to treat the birthday girl.”

“Your birthday was two weeks ago,” He playfully shouts as you push past him and into his apartment. 

“Semantics,” You wave him off, eyes darting around the kitchen and living room to see if he’d

left the box or bag lying around.

“Calm down,” He chuckles, letting the door fall shut behind him before he strides to you, knocking his shoulder against yours,  “It’s in my room. I’ll go get it before you pop a blood vessel.”

He shouts at you to get comfortable while he retreats down the hall, and you do just that. You had already kicked your shoes off by the door, which made it easy to fall onto the couch and pull one of your feet under your thigh as you wait for him to come back. Your gaze flutters around, taking everything in as if you hadn’t seen it a hundred times before. Pictures of his family littered the walls along with pictures of the two of you, and you can’t help but smile at that. Some of them are your most cherished memories, and the fact that Joaquín values them enough to display them makes something inside your chest swell.

Your peek into his choice of home decor comes to a stop when his voice echoes from his bedroom, shouting about how you need to close your eyes before he comes out. You do as he says, but not without a little complaining first, and wait for him to find his way into the living room. You can hear his footsteps slow when he nears the end of the hall, and you know he’s peeking around the corner to make sure your eyes are actually closed.

“Don’t open your eyes yet,” His voice is closer now, only a few feet away.

You feel the dip of the cushion next to you, followed by the soft crinkle of paper as he sets the bag on the coffee table. His shaky breath was so quiet you almost miss it, but you don’t say anything about it. You were growing impatient, the curiosity of the gift gnawing at you, and you were ready to see what he had gotten you. The teasing could always come later.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Your eyes fly open, immediately finding the light purple bag that was stuffed to the brim with white tissue paper. Joaquín lets out a light laugh as he gestures for you to open it before he goes on a spiel about how hard it was to find. As you grab the bag, you realize it’s got some weight to it, which surprises you a little, though you don’t dwell on it for too long. You’re making sure to place the excessive amount of stuffing to the side, but you freeze when you catch a glimpse of what was underneath it all. 

“Joaquín, what the fuck,” You gasp, fingers tracing the stitching of the bag, “How much was this?”

“We both know I’m not going to tell you that,” He flatly says, his hands grasping the edge of the cushion as he leans forward to drag his eyes across your face, “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it,” You murmur, pulling the bag out so you can look at it in its entirety, “I’ve been looking at this for months, but haven’t been able to find one anywhere.”

“I know,” His voice is gentle and hesitant, “I remember you talked about it a while ago, so I pulled a few strings and managed to find one.”

You toss the bag to the side, instantly throwing your arms around Joaquín and pulling him into your hold. Without missing a beat, he winds his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest wasn’t uncommon when you found yourself in his embrace, but this time it felt like there was something more. Something that someone in a relationship shouldn’t be feeling with someone else, and it made your stomach twist with guilt.

You hastily pull away, giving him a sheepish smile before Joaquín’s gaze locks onto the chain around your neck, his eyes quickly narrowing into a glare. You already know what he’s looking at, so you don’t ask. You let him find the words he wants to say as you uncomfortably sink into your seat, waiting for the unavoidable to come. 

“That’s a gold necklace,” He states, finally dragging his eyes away from your chest, "You don’t wear gold.”

“No, but it’s cute,” You pipe up, though the squeak in your voice gives way to the cracks in your facade, “Tyler got it for my birthday.”

The silence that follows makes you want to vomit.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I’m about to say,” He straightens in his seat, his chest tightening when your face visibly twists in discomfort, “But the two of you have been dating for almost a year and he doesn’t know all your jewelry is silver? He still seems to “forget” you’re allergic to lilies and that you hate rap music? He cancels on you last minute to hang out with his friends, which is really shitty. He’s shitty and you deserve so much better than that.”

Someone like me, he wants to say. Someone who knows you inside and out. Someone who would get rid of all the lilies in the world if it meant you could walk around without sneezing. Someone who would shamelessly ask Sam to pull any strings necessary to find a purse that had been sold out for over a year. Someone who wouldn’t even look at gold jewelry when shopping for you. Someone who saw you. 

“I—,” You cut yourself off, jaw going slack and shoulders falling as his words settle in your chest.

Any words you were going to say die in your throat as you nervously wring your hands together and chew on the inside of your cheek. The tension that fills the room around you doesn’t bother you all that much because you know that he’s right, and there’s nothing left for you to say.

4.

When you woke up with a scratchy throat and a runny nose, you told yourself that it would go away. That if you took enough allergy medicine and drank enough tea, you would be able to drug yourself up enough to be fine, but you were wrong. Two o’clock came, and you felt considerably worse than you had when you woke up. Now, you’re toying with your phone as you try to find the right way to tell Tyler that you can’t make it to the concert. A few rehearsed conversations later, you’re clicking the call button under his name.

“Sup,” He mumbles into the receiver, making you outwardly cringe.

Who greets their girlfriend they haven’t talked to all day with ‘sup’? 

“Hey,” You harshly rasp, “I don’t think I’m going to make it tonight. I’ve been feeling pretty bad all day, and I don’t want to get anyone sick.”

“Damn, babe, that sucks,” He plainly groans, and you can practically see his head being thrown back, “I think Garrett wants to come, so I’ll ask him right now.”

Before you even get the chance to open your mouth, the line disconnects. Slowly blinking, you pull the phone away from your ear, stunned and in disbelief. 

What the fuck?

Sure, you were going to tell him to find someone to go in your place anyway, but he didn’t even ask if you were okay. If you needed anything. He just hung up like nothing else except his stupid concert mattered, but the worst part is, is that you’re not even upset about that. You’re mad.

Mad that you’ve been wasting so much time on him. Mad that you haven’t been paying attention to the dozens of red flags being waved in your face. Mad that you’ve been making excuses for a man who considered swimming in a pool a replacement for a shower. Everything you’ve been brushing off as ‘not a big deal’ came rushing to the surface at once, and it made your head throb.

You knew that you wanted to break up with him, which was something you should have done a long time ago, but you also knew couldn’t do it yet. You were civilized enough not to do it over a text, and had enough human decency not to do it before a concert he was excited for. Not that he would care either way, but unfortunately, you still had morals. Instead, you decided to call the one person you knew you could always count on, no matter what.

“What’s up stranger,” Joaquín brightly greets, a quiet buzz of people in the background.

“Whatcha doin’,” You cooly ask, clearing the obnoxious tickle in your throat.

“I’m not doing anything,” You can hear a familiar deep voice protest in the background, “Are you feeling okay? You sound sick.”

“It’s nothing bad,” You try and play it off despite knowing he would be able to see right through you, “Just a sore throat and a headache. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll let you get back to your date with Sam.”

“No,” He rushes out, still ignoring Sam’s teasing comments beside him, “No, it’s okay. We were just finishing up. I actually have some sopita left in the fridge, so I’ll bring that to you, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

While you wait for Joaquín, you get comfortable on the couch and let your mind wander. You begin asking yourself the question you’ve been trying to ignore: Why stay with Tyler for so long? When you really thought about everything you looked for in a partner, he lacked almost every single one of those attributes. He wasn’t necessarily your type on paper, either. What he was, was close and low maintenance, and you thought if you were able to convince yourself that it was working, that maybe one day it would.

You couldn’t have been more wrong about something if you tried. 

By the time Joaquín was walking through the door, you had rolled yourself up in your blanket and dozed off into a short nap. You only roused when he was delicately shaking your shoulder, his small smile and soft eyes being the first things you see when you flutter your eyes open. He gently guides your body into a more upright position before turning to the coffee table, and as he pulls everything you’ve ever asked for when you were sick out of the bag, you realize that maybe everything you had been looking for had been in front of you the whole time.

+1.

A few months have passed since you broke up with Tyler, who took it a lot harder than you expected, and things in your life seemed to fall back into place afterwards Work seemed to be going smoother, you seemed to be in an overall better mood, the stubborn acne on your forehead, seemed to disappear, and you were back to spending all of your spare time with Joaquín. You felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be, yet there was one constant thought nagging at the back of your mind. 

Maybe you felt something more for Joaquín than you had ever let on. Scratch that, you know you do. 

The more time you spent with him, the harder your feelings got to ignore, which, in turn, meant that your loose lips and uncontrollable facial expressions got the best of you every once in a while. You would leave passing comments that made his brow quirk in curiosity, you would sit a little closer to him than necessary, which didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, you would uncomfortably grimace when girls made obvious passes at him right in front of you. Not that you had a right to feel any sort of way about that, which you knew, but it served as a consistent reminder that even though he was right in front of you, he was still out of reach. 

Well, you thought so, at least.

When Joaquín got back home from some sort of mission with Sam, the first thing he did when he landed was call you and ask if you wanted to go to the state fair that was in town for the week. The speed at which you had said yes was slightly embarrassing, but he didn’t seem to mind it one bit. In fact, he matched your eagerness with his own and began spouting off a list of plans he had for the evening. All of which made it sound like a date, but you didn’t dare point that out. 

The two of you have only been there for an hour, and Joaquín has already managed to beat six of the seven rigged games he wanted to try. After the last prize he asked you to pick out for him, you playfully ask him to slow it down a tiny bit because you weren’t going to be able to carry that many cheap stuffed animals all night. Through feigned reluctance, he agrees to give them a break and guides you through the crowd in search of something else to do that wasn’t the ferris wheel. He wants to wait until the sun sets to do that. 

“C’mon,” He gently urges, palm splayed against your lower back as he applies the slightest bit of pressure, “Let’s go to the photobooth.”

You wordlessly nod, letting him usher you towards the empty booth with a small sign that said ‘Picture this!’ above it and was tucked in a quieter part of the lot. He doesn’t move his hand away, and it was taking everything in you to concentrate on what was in front of you rather than the way his touch made your skin burn even through the material of your shirt. It was a simple touch, something he’s done a thousand times before, but this time it was making your head spin and your heart race. It was making it harder to focus, harder to act like you aren’t about to run headfirst into the wall of feelings you’d been trying to dodge. 

Joaquín pulls the curtain back, head slightly jerking towards the inside before he’s gently shoving you in before him. You place the bag he had conned one of the workers into giving you for the prizes between your feet and move over in an attempt to give him as much room as possible, but the space was small. Even with your body at an angle and a shoulder pressed against the wall, there was still virtually no space between you. You weren’t sure where you ended and he began. Without a second thought, he throws his arm over your shoulder and pulls you even closer to his side while he clicks through the various backdrops. 

“What are we thinking,” His fingers brush against your collarbone, making your breath catch in your throat and a shiver run down your spine. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice, or he’s just really good at hiding it. “Old school Captain America layout, some weird safari one, or…”

His voice trails off while he shifts his gaze to you, dark brown eyes finding your own as his brow twitches. The subtle tilt of the head lets you know that he can tell something is off, but he can’t quite figure out what it is. The way he’s looking at you, like he was peering into the deepest parts of your soul, was making you breathless. It was making you forget how to speak. How to think. You force yourself to look away, instead leaning forward to select the ‘random’ button in the corner of the screen. You can hear Joaquín’s amused chuckle behind you, but you ignore it as you settle back into the seat and watch the numbers count down from ten.

“Smiles first,” You firmly nod, adjusting under his arm and focusing on the screen in front of you.

With a nod of his head, Joaquín tightens his grip on your shoulder and his lips tug into a bright smile that outshines your own. After the first one, he suggests that the two of you take a less serious picture, so you poke your tongue out of the corner of your mouth and wait for the second shutter click to go off. However, just as the number two rolls across the screen, he reaches over his torso and begins prodding your side, bringing out a round of involuntary giggles and shouts of mangled protests.

“I hate you,” You breathlessly call out, lightly slapping his chest while you attempt to squirm away from him despite there being nowhere for you to go.

“No you don’t,” His voice lowly rumbles, making warmth spread from your chest to your stomach until your entire body is on fire. 

When your nervous, yet curious gaze begins to slide up to his, everything that follows seemingly happens in slow motion. You meet his piercing stare. Your eyes flicker all across his face. He’s mirroring your every movement, but he lingers on your lips for a beat longer than you did. You swallow hard. The flash of the camera goes off. He brings his hand to cradle your jaw and his thumb caresses the apex of your check. Slowly, agonizingly so, the space between you becomes nonexistent. His lips are on yours. 

It wasn’t rushed, desperate, or hungry. It was soft, tentative, and quietly needy in a way that made it feel like you were being kissed for the first time all over again. He’s kissing you like you were anchoring him to earth, keeping him grounded and tethered to something that was raw and real. He slides his other hand down your spine, goosebumps forming in the wake of its path, until he reaches your lower back, and he’s pulling you closer into him than you thought possible. The loud hum of fair goers fade into nothing as your lips mold against his like you were made for each other. Though if you ask Joaquín, he would say that the two of you were made for one another. 

Neither of you register the last flash of the camera, both too lost in the feeling of each other, and it wasn’t until you hear a faint knocking on the outside that you reluctantly pull away. Your lips are parted as you try to catch your breath, blood pounding in your ears and your mind hazy from the feeling of his lips. Joaquín’s palm remains cradling your cheek, the skin underneath tingling from the touch alone, and he’s peering down at you with a look you’d seen on his face far too many times to count, but this time you aren’t afraid to face what it truly meant. 

“Told you you didn’t hate me,” He cheekily mumbles, thumb ghosting over your lips. 

“I guess not,” You bashfully hum, averting your gaze away from him before you weren’t able to resist the aching desire to kiss him again, “We should probably get out before the people in line hate both of us.” 

With an amused shake of the head, Joaquín places a quick and delicate kiss to your lips before he reaches to grab the bag from the floor and pulls the curtain back. You ignore the knowing looks the small group of people outside are tossing your way, choosing to quickly grab the printed pictures and tug him away from the photobooth. You don’t bother to drop his hand when you feel you’re a safe distance from the crowd, not that he would’ve let you if you tried, and it makes a certain feeling blossom in your chest. A feeling you’d been wasting your time trying to replicate with others for so long when it had been right in front of you all along.

“Let me see the pictures,” Joaquín softly demands, pulling you to a quick stop at one of the benches. 

You hand him one of the strips while you keep the other, eyes scanning each picture like you wanted to commit them to memory. They were all in black and white with various shaped green hearts decorating the edges. The first one is simple and cute. Smiles on both your faces, gentle twinkle in your eyes. The second one makes you playfully roll your eyes. Joaquín was poking at your side and your hands were pushing at his forearm, faces scrunched up with laughter. 

The third one might be your favorite of the four. You're both looking at each other with the same look in your eyes, the look of two people who are totally and entirely entranced with one another. It was the kind of look you would see couples give each other when they thought no one was looking. The fourth one makes you blush. Joaquín’s hand was cradling your face and his lips were pressed against yours, your visible hand clinging to his shirt like you were afraid he might disappear. It was a kiss straight out of a movie.

“We look hot,” He speaks up, nudging you with his shoulder, “I like them all, but the second one is my favorite.”

“That’s the worst one of me,” You throw your head back with a groan, “I look crazy.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my girl like that,” He mockingly protests, hand clutching at his chest, “I happen to like that crazy look, and think it’s the most beautiful sight in the world.”

You falter for a moment, two of his words ringing in your ears as you try to compose yourself. “Your girl, huh,” You quirk one of your brows, fighting off the urge to smile.

Joaquín’s entire body freezes before he sputters, “I mean, only if you want to be. Obviously if you don’t that’s okay. It is totally fine if you’re not into that. Just pretend I didn’t say anything.” 

You’ve seen him get flustered before, but this was a whole different level. His eyes are cast to the ground, his entire face to his ears are flushing a deep crimson color, garbled words are  tumbling from his lips and he’s shifting his weight on his feet. You curl your fingers around his bicep, forcing his attention back to you and you can visibly see him relax once he notices the teasing glint in your eyes.

“Obviously I’m totally into that,” You lightheartedly retort, “But you’ve got to take me on a proper date.”

His entire face lights up at your admission before he’s surging forward and peppering your mouth, cheeks, forehead, and nose with small kisses. “I’m going,” Kiss, “To take you,” Kiss, “On all the dates,” Kiss, “I’ll never stop taking you on dates.”

He kissed you a little longer this last time, not bothered by the blur of people crossing by you or the random comments from people who think they might recognize him. When he pulls away, it was only just enough for your lips to not be touching. He places his forehead against yours and pulls you into his warm embrace by your hips, your arms winding around his torso as you try and stifle a nervous giggle from being so close to him.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this,” He mumbles, his breath fanning across your face, “How long I’ve wanted you.”

You let your head fall to the side as you pretend to think about it. “I’m guessing since you almost hit me with your oversized backpack three years ago.”

“Close,” He chuckles at the memory of your first meeting, his hands squeezing at your hips, “It was a few days before that, actually. I was leaving the sandwich shop and I saw you trying to shoo these pigeons off the sidewalk because a group of cyclists were coming. The second I saw you, I swear it was like everyone else disappeared except for you.”

His confession catches you a little off guard. You have a vague memory of that day, but you can’t recall seeing Joaquín anywhere near there. Although, you didn’t know him yet so you weren’t exactly looking for him then. Even then, you never would have assumed Joaquín saw you like that this whole time. 

“Well, it seems like we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, yeah?”

[yoko-onos-biggest-fan-deactivat]

Anybody who hates on Sam Wilson is not a true Marvel fan.

[gifmarvel]

Thunderbolts (2025) | dir. Jake Schreier

[pucci]

danny ramirez , instagram .

[codenamefalcon]

01. PLACES WE WERE MADE

Pairing: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1.6k Chapter Summary: No matter the distance, no matter the amount of time, no matter the stream of connection, you could never forget Clark even if you wanted to. But now he’s back, and he’s picking you up for dinner with his parents. Warnings: a little unedited, I used the Beanery from Smallville the show but in this series it doesn't suck, lmk if I missed anything! Note: I am of the many who saw Superman last week and immediately started writing. this is going to be a mini series of sorts so i hope you like it :)

Most people your age dreamt of getting out of Smallville, of finding their way to a big city where they could live their life to the fullest, but you? You loved it here. It was your home, your safety, the place you’d grown up, the source of all of your happiest memories. While others detested the closeness of the small town, you saw the beauty in how tight-knit everyone was. While they dreamt of skyscrapers and chain coffee shops, you reveled in the open sky and familiarity of the Beanery.

Though if you were being honest, the one downside to staying in the rural town was how limited the dating pool was. Everyone your age was either already married, had dated one of your friends, or was someone you had already gone on a failed date or two with. It didn’t help that any guy you crossed paths with was always unknowingly in competition with someone who had left Smallville years ago, and no one ever came even remotely close to him.

“Mornin’ sweetpea,” Martha sweetly greets you as she hovers near your seat, coffee cup and to-go sack in hand, “You workin’ today?”

“No, ma’am,” You give her a polite and warm smile, “I’m off for the next week.”

“Oh, are you goin’ on a little vacation,” She asks, nothing but sincerity and gentle kindness in her voice, “You deserve one after all those hours you work.”

“No vacation,” You shake your head with an light chuckle, “I’m just going to stay home and relax. Might try and fix up some things around the house that need to be done.”

You watch as something flickers in her eyes, almost like you can see the lightbulb lighting up with an idea so bright it shines throughout the entire shop. The coy smile that tugs at the corners of her lips is enough to tell you that she had thought of something, and whatever it was, you knew you wouldn’t be able to say no. You could never say to the Kent’s, not after everything they’ve done for you.

“If you aren’t busy this evenin’, you should come to the house for supper,” She starts off, though you can sense the subtle traces of some unspoken agenda, “Clark is in town, and I know he’d like to see ya.”

There it is.

The mention of her son sends an instant wave of warmth to your cheeks, a feeling of familiarity and comfort blossoming in your chest at the idea of seeing Clark again. It’s been so long since the two of you had last spoken, and even longer since you had last seen him, but the way you felt whenever he was brought up never swayed. Ever since the two of you were young, he brought out a feeling that you’d spent the better part of your days chasing after, yet you’ve never been able to replicate it with anyone else.

“I’ll be there,” You nod with finality, hoping she doesn’t notice the way your voice nearly trembles with nerves.

“Oh, good,” She gushes, delicately grasping your hand that’s on the table and giving it a squeeze, “I’ll send one of the boys to come pick ya up at five.”

You knew better than to argue against her, so you nod in agreement before she bids you goodbye and is out the door. The second she leaves, your nerves hit you in full force, and you’re sending panicked texts to your friends that they were having to decode as they fly in. They were trying to calm you down, telling you that you still had an entire day ahead of you to fill with distractions until the time came, but their attempts were practically fruitless. You were freaking out.

When you make it back to your house, you quickly began tearing through your closet in search of the appropriate outfit for dinner at the Kent’s. Of course, you weren’t going to wear anything too over the top, but you didn’t want to dress too plainly, either. Not if Clark was going to be there. With the help of your friends and a two hour long group FaceTime, you finally settled on something that was suitable and checked off your boxes. However, that still left you with nearly five hours to yourself, and a room full of clothes to put back on hangers.

“Are you sure this looks okay,” You ask as you twirl in front of the camera, “It’s not too boring?”

“Girl, you look great,” Mandy, the unfortunate recipient of yet another panicked call, reassures with a playful eye roll, “Those jeans make your ass look phenomenal. I wouldn’t be surprised if Clark took you up to his teenage boy bedroom and fu–”

“Oh my god,” You cut her off with a shriek, “Calm down, Amanda! That’s his parents' house.”

“So, you’re saying if his parents weren’t there,” She trails off into an amused laugh, ignoring the pointed glare you’re throwing her way, “All jokes, all jokes. My point is, you look fuckin’ good, you always do. That farm boy won’t know what hit him.”

“He’s been living in Metropolis for a while now,” You casually remind her, “He’s not really a farm boy anymore, is he?”

“Oh, please,” She lightly scoffs, “Clark Kent will always be a farm boy.”

You were trying to make sure that you had all of your stuff gathered in your bag, and the pie you had made was still warm and ready to take with you. It was nearing five, and you wanted to be sure that you were ready to go out the door the moment you heard the noticeable rumble of their truck. Of course, it was because you wanted to be punctual, and not because you wanted to see the Kent’s only son. That wasn’t it at all…

The sound of your doorbell ringing breaks your string of focus, which was you picking at your fingernails, and it makes your throat dry from nerves. You wipe your shaky hands off on the material of your jeans before you rise to your feet and make your way to the door. You contemplate peeking through the small hole in the door, but ultimately decide not to let yourself have the few extra seconds to stew in your own thoughts before you tug the door open.

“Clark,” You squeakily greet, ears burning and heat crawling up your neck at the sight of him.

Deep down, you knew it was him Martha was going to send to pick you up, but there wasn’t enough mental preparation in the world to ready you for the man in front of you. Clark had always been a taller, muscular boy, even in his youth, but now? Now he was huge. Not even with the large flannel covering his frame could hide how broad his shoulders were, how big his arms had gotten, how toned his chest was. And his hair? His curls were slightly mussed, almost as if he had run his hands through them over and over, but it looked good. He looked good.

If it weren’t for your grip on the frame of the door, you’re certain your knees might have given out.

“Hi,” He calls out, the sound of your name falling from his lips making your head spin, “Long time, no see.”

Deep dimples indented his cheeks in a way that throws you back to senior prom, Clark’s hands covering the expanse of your hips as he carefully sways to the music and listens to you ramble on about your dreams after high school. He didn’t stop smiling at you the entire night, and that was the first time you realized that maybe you felt something stronger for him. Maybe that feeling you’d spent years trying to tell yourself was normal was something much bigger than you thought. 

“Yeah, it has been a while,” You let out an airy chuckle, briefly glancing to the side to collect yourself, “Downsides of living in two completely different cities, you know?”

You don't miss the subtle downward twitch on his lips, or the way his shoulders fall just enough to be noticeable to you. No amount of separation would rid you of the ability to read Clark like you were always able to when you were in school. It was like second nature to you at this point. However, just because you could read him doesn’t mean you understood him, and you considered that to be one of your biggest faults.

“Yeah, I guess I should come back home more,” He sheepishly mumbles, his hand anxiously rubbing at the back of his neck as his ears turned a deep shade of red.

“Hey,” You instinctively reach out to take his hand in your own, sending a warm jolt from your fingertips to your toes, “The Daily Planet needs their best journalist, and Lord knows there's enough to cover up there. We’ll all be here waiting for you whenever you can make it back.”

The way Clark’s gaze softens as it slides between your eyes and your hands makes your stomach flip and your heart slam into your ribs. For as long as you can remember, he’s looked at you like that; Like you were the moon and he was the tide, ebbing and flowing at your will and call. For as long as you can remember, it confused you. It confused you because he’s always been the one to draw the line, to remind you how you were one of his most cherished friends, but friends don’t look at friends that way, do they?

“Ready to head to dinner?”

[orchidame]

There is no stronger force than that of a girl’s desperation to write about her male hyperfixation.

[laumelb]

[potoh]

Two stunning winners ✨️

[pentabulge]

im basically normal if you really dont think about it

[gloomyraincloud-deactivated2022]

welcome to my blog im annoying

[codenamefalcon]

UNTITLED / JOAQUÍN TORRES

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Word count: 498 Warnings: Kissing and NSFW insinuations ahead!! Note: enjoy this random blurb i wrote inspired by several of those ‘incorrect quote’ pages lol.

Joaquin’s hands were splayed across your hips, fingertips pressing into the skin as he drags you against him, his groans vibrating against your mouth. Your arms were looped behind his neck, your lips moving in tandem with his in a way that was making you dizzy and breathless, but you weren’t ready to pull away for a breath just yet. Not when you could feel him beneath you, could feel the pressure on the inside of your thigh. However, the two of you had gotten so wrapped up in the feeling of each other that you had forgotten you ordered food until you could hear the sound of someone knocking on the door.

At first, Joaquin doesn’t let you pull away. He slides his hand to the middle of your lower back and keeps you in his hold. You let him, for a few moments, but you didn’t want to keep the poor delivery guy waiting, and you definitely didn’t want your food to get cold. When you feel him relax underneath you, that's when you made your move to slip off of him. His protests echo around the room as you walk towards the door, quietly chuckling at him as you tug the door open.

Once you exchanged the food he had in his hand with the ten dollar bill in yours, you let the door shut behind you before eyeing Joaquin. He was still on the couch, the back of his bicep pressed against the cushion as he used his hand to prop up his head, and he had an overemphasized pout on his face. You shook your head in amusement while you walked right past him and into the kitchen. 

“Bro, come get your food,” You called out over your shoulder, pulling the boxes out of the paper bag while he forced himself off the couch.

“Don’t call me ‘bro’ after you had my tongue down your throat,” He playfully scoffs before he’s caging your body against the counter, his chin settling on your shoulder and his body flush against your own, “Take it back.”

Joaquin’s hand finds its way to your hip, his fingers slipping under the material of your shirt and toying with the waistband of your shorts. Your body shudders against his, soft breaths passing through your lips as goosebumps begin to rise on your skin. If it were any other time, you’d let yourself succumb to your desires, but the smell of your takeout was clouding your judgment. 

“Joaquin,” You whine, pressing your cheek against his as you shove his hand away, “Can we please eat first?”

In one swift movement, he turns you around so your back is pressed against the counter, and he’s grasping at your waist. A startled yelp bounces off the tiled floor, your eyes wide and pliant as he looks down at you with a look so intense it makes any coherent thought in your mind fly out the window.

“Oh, trust me. I plan to.”

[codenamefalcon]

who hasn’t this man hung out with 😭

[goddesspharo]

Glen Powell and Danny Ramirez at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships - 07.05.25 - 📸 Karwai Tang

[lumons]

ROBERT 'BOB' REYNOLDS THUNDERBOLTS (2025)

[codenamefalcon]

SPARK TO FLAME / JOAQUIN TORRES

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Word count: 1.2k Summary: You’d been toeing the line between friendship and something more with Joaquin since you’d met him, but neither of you ever acted on it. However, all that tension's gotta come out eventually... Warnings: alcohol mentioned, unresolved tension for now, unedited Note: This is my intro back into the marvel side of tumblr after being on hockey tumblr for two years so I hope it’s okay!! I’m excited to get back into this world though. I’ve missed it <3

“Dude. Are you going to stare at her all night, or are you going to go over there,” Sam groans before he takes a sip of the beer in his hand. 

He’s been watching Joaquin watch you for the last twenty minutes, and he’s honestly starting to feel a little bad for the kid. He knows that the two of you have some weird, unspoken tension between you, but he also knows that both of you have been too scared to act on it. What he doesn’t know is why. Anyone with eyes or ears can tell that you’re both into each other, so why can’t either of you figure it out?

The second Joaquin and Sam walked into the bar, his eyes were pulled in your direction, and he hated what he saw. You were tucked into one of the booths with a guy he recognized from your apartment building, only an inch of space between you as you laughed at whatever he said. It made a certain uneasy feeling settle in his stomach, but he didn’t alert you to his presence. Instead, he chooses to stew at one of the other tables and tune out whatever Sam was trying to say to him.

Joaquin’s eyes only leave you for a second to give Sam a pointed look, “I’m not staring.”

“Yeah, okay,” He snorts with a shake of his head, “But seriously, man. Just go talk to her.”

“I can’t,” Joaquin swirls the warm cup of beer with a shrug, “It’d be weird.”

“Oh, so watching her like David McCall isn’t weird, but going up to talk to her is,” Sam’s voice is light and teasing.

He opens his mouth to respond, but he cuts himself off when he notices the guy next to you crowding into your space. His arm sliding behind you, and his face getting closer to yours. Before Joaquin realizes what he’s doing, he’s on his feet and rushing towards your table without a second thought about Sam. Your giggle is filtering in his ears as he nears you, and the feeling in his stomach twists into something nearly nauseating. 

“Hey guys,” Joaquin overenthusiastically greets, flashing you and your assumed date a smile so bright it was almost blinding, “How’s it going?”

Confusion blinks on your face before you realize who is sitting in front of you, and your entire demeanor shifts when you see that it’s Joaquin. The smile on your face grows, your body shifts away from the guy next to you, and your shoulders relax a visible amount.

“Hi, Joaquin! What are you doing here,” You beam, eagerly leaning on your elbows to give him your full attention.

“Sam wanted to come out after training,” He shrugs, eyes briefly drifting to the guy to your left before he jerks his head in the direction of his teammate, “Saw you, though, and wanted to come say hi to you and your friend.”

The mention of another person makes recognition flicker in your eyes, “Oh, right! This is Rylan. He lives a few doors down from me. Rylan, this is Joaquin. We work together, but he’s also one of my closest friends.”

“‘Sup man,” Rylan extends his hand.

You watch as Joaquin stiffly takes his hand, and you can hear the quiet hiss come from Rylan’s mouth before he’s pulling his arm back to his side. You can tell that Joaquin is trying to come off friendly and easy going, but the tic in his jaw gives him away. It was small, something that would go undetected to everyone else, but you did. You always picked up on the small tells he had. However, this time you couldn’t figure out what was getting to him.

“So, what brought you guys here,” He smoothly asks as he leans back against the booth, “Am I interrupting a date?”

“No,” You rush out, shaking your head as you let out a bout of nervous laughter, “Not a date. We’re just hanging out.”

Rylan lets out a hum of agreement before he mumbles something about going to get another drink, which leaves you and Joaquin alone. Just the two of you. Staring at each other like you were the only people in the bar.

“Seemed pretty close for just a hangout,” His brow twitches, his eyes boring into your own in a way that made heat crawl to your cheeks.

There was a hint of something you believe to be jealousy woven in his words, and there was a certain glint in his eyes that you had only ever seen a few times before. Throughout your friendship, you knew the two of you were constantly toeing the line between friends and something more, but neither of you had ever been brave enough to act on it. Maybe this would be the push you needed. Hopefully.

“He was just showing me a video on his phone,” You smugly admit with a careful tilt of your head, “You sure you just got here?”

“I never said I just got here,” He mimics your movements, head tilting and body leaning forward on the table so there was less than a foot between you, “What was the video? Looked like it was pretty funny.”

There was tension bleeding around you, making the blood pound in your ears and your heart slam into your chest so roughly you’re certain it was going to jump out. It was making your head spin, words die in your throat, and your skin crawl with nerves. It didn’t help that Joaquin’s gaze never left your face, and it especially didn’t help that you swear his focus kept flitting to your lips.

“Something about a cat in a motorcycle helmet,” You shrug, forcing your eyes away from his to search for Rylan at the bar. Though you come up empty. Maybe he was the reason your phone was incessantly vibrating against your thigh.

Silence falls over you, and this time, you let yourself really take in the man in front of you. The hoodie he was wearing was something you saw him in quite often, his hair was tucked beneath his hat, and he was wearing the glasses he only wore when his contacts were drying out his eyes too much. It was simple, but he looked good. He always did.

“Want me to take you home,” He abruptly speaks up, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, “Reese slipped out the door already.”

“What about Sam,” Your voice wobbles, suddenly far more nervous than you were before. You don’t even pick up on Joaquin’s blatant choice to call Rylan by the wrong name, but you're not sure it would've mattered if you did.

“Oh, he left as soon as I came over here,” He lightly chuckles as his hand flexes against his forearm.

The air was thick with something far more intense than ever before, something that made a spark of excitement form in your abdomen. It felt like all of the underlying emotions that had been brewing for the last year were finally about to boil over, and you were ready to let them.

“Oh,” You swallow thickly, “Then sure. You can take me home.”

part two…

[sersi]

Anthony Mackie as Sam Wilson/Captain America and Danny Ramirez as Joaquin Torres/Falcon in Captain America: Brave New World (2025) dir. Julius Onah