summary: best friends turned unstoppable partners finally cross the line—and in the quiet morning after, they realize nothing between them is broken… only deeper, softer, and long overdue.
The first thing she noticed when she woke up was the quiet. Not the usual base quiet—metal bunks creaking, distant chatter bleeding through thin walls, the low, constant hum of aircraft somewhere beyond the horizon—but something softer, something closer. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty. The kind that felt … full. Then she noticed the warmth.
Joaquin. His arm was draped over her waist like it had always belonged there, solid and steady, his hand resting just beneath her ribs, fingers curled loosely like even in sleep he refused to let go. His chest rose and fell slowly against her back, breath warm against her shoulder.For a long moment, she didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Because if she stayed still enough, maybe she could sit in this moment just a little longer before reality—before everything—shifted.
Her fingers hovered over his arm, tracing lightly along the familiar lines of muscle and old scars. She knew every one of them: knew where they came from; knew which ones he joked about and which ones he never mentioned. Recalling years of training, deployments, close calls, years of him. Her mind drifted backward like it always did when it came to Joaquin...
In primary school, he’d been the loud kid. The fearless one. The one who didn’t think twice about stepping between her and anyone who even looked like they might give her a hard time. She’d been quieter then, smaller but not weak. She was never weak, just … selective; and he’d figured that out before anyone else did.
“Say something,” he’d told her once, after she’d calmly outsmarted a kid twice her size into backing off without lifting a finger.
“I did,” she’d said simply with a shrug.
He’d grinned like she’d just handed him the answer to a question he’d been asking his whole life. From then on, they’d been inseparable. By the time they were teenagers, the lines had already started to blur. Sleepovers that turned into sharing beds without a second thought. Borrowed hoodies that never quite made it back to their original owner. Late-night conversations that dipped into something softer, something almost dangerous—before one of them inevitably cracked a joke and pulled them back. They never talked about it, but they didn’t have to.
And then came the Air Force.Same enlistment day. Same bus. Same knowing look when reality hit and neither of them backed out. Training had been where it really solidified in a way they’d never recover from. Training is where they stopped being just best friends and became something else entirely: a unit. They moved together like they shared a brain—no, like they shared instinct. They covered each other without thinking. They anticipated movements before they happened and adjusted mid-fight without a word.
Their instructors noticed. Their squadmates definitely noticed. It was eerie, the way they worked. Efficient. Precise. Lethal when they needed to be. There were jokes, of course.
“Just kiss already.”
“Are we interrupting something?”
“How much you wanna bet they’re together before deployment?”
They always laughed it off because it was easier than answering the question neither of them wanted to risk. Then deployment came … and nothing changed.Or maybe everything did—but so gradually neither of them could pinpoint when. They still shared space. They still gravitated toward each other in every room, every mission, every quiet moment in between. They still chose each other every time. Nothing ever changed.
Until last night.
Her breath caught slightly at the memory, heat rising to her cheeks even now. It hadn’t been rushed; it hadn’t been messy or uncertain. It had been inevitable, like stepping into something they’d been orbiting for years. And now—now she was here in his arms and it was somehow the most natural thing in the world. Behind her, Joaquin stirred. His grip tightened instinctively, pulling her closer like his body had already decided she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Mm… don’t move,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, face pressing into her shoulder.
A small smile tugged at her lips. There he was: his usual self.
“Didn’t realize I needed permission,” she murmured.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, barely awake, “you do.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. God, nothing about him had changed. But when she shifted slightly to turn toward him, everything had. His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting, searching—and then landing on her like they always did. Like they always would. For a moment, neither of them spoke; they simply looked. And in that look was everything: years of history, trust, almosts and almost-didn’ts, the weight of last night settling between them without breaking anything.
Joaquin exhaled softly, something easing in his expression.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she whispered. Her voice was quieter than usual, but steady. Because this was still him. Still them.
“You okay?” he asked after a beat, studying her face like he was looking for cracks.
She raised an eyebrow, a hint of her usual spark slipping through.
“You asking as my best friend or—” she gestured faintly between them, “—this new development?”
His mouth twitched and he slyly replied, “Both.”
She softened.
“I’m okay,” she said honestly. “Are you?”
Joaquin let out a breath, nodding once.
“Yeah. I just—” He shook his head slightly, a small laugh escaping. “Didn’t wanna wake up and find out I imagined it.”
Her lips curved. “You didn’t.”
“Good,” he said quickly, like he needed that confirmed.
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t awkward. It never was with them. Instead, it was just full, comfortable, and real. Joaquin’s expression shifted then, something more serious threading through his features.
“Hey,” he murmured again, causing her to still slightly at the tone.
“Before you go…” he started, then hesitated.
That alone made her chest tighten. Joaquin didn’t hesitate; not like this. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, looking down at her like this mattered—like she mattered in a way that made him a little unsteady.
“Please call me,” he said slowly. “Or text. Or send a damn letter via pigeon, just…” His jaw tightened slightly. “Don’t give up on us.”
And there it was: not regret, not fear of what they’d done. Rather it was the fear of losing her. Joaquin’s voice sounded like this—finally crossing that line—might somehow break the one thing in his life that had never failed him. Her heart ached at that because if there was one thing she was sure of more than anything else it was them. She reached up, her hand resting against his cheek, thumb brushing lightly along his jaw.
“You’re preaching to the choir,” she said softly, a small, reassuring smile forming. “I’ll text you before I get home.”
He searched her face for a second longer, like he needed to be absolutely sure.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly, seeking confirmation.
“Yeah,” she nodded. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, added, “Might even call if you behave.”
Relief broke across his face in the form of a grin.
“Wow,” Joaquin snorted. “I’m honored.”
“Don’t be.”
“Too late.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. They lingered there, close enough to feel each other’s breath, the space between them charged with something new—but built on something old and unshakable.
“Still my best friend?” he asked after a moment, softer now.
Her expression melted and she leaned in just slightly, their foreheads brushing.
“Always,” she assured. Then, quieter, “That was never up for negotiation.”
Something in him settled completely at that.
“Good,” he murmured.
“And you?” she asked, eyes flicking across his face.
Joaquin didn’t hesitate this time: “Always.”
The word sat between them like a promise. Then he leaned in slowly, careful, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. Their lips met soft and certain, like everything else between them—like instinct, like muscle memory, like something that had always been theirs even before they named it. When they pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, a quiet laugh escaping him.
“Took us long enough,” he said.
She giggled lightly. “Speak for yourself. I was waiting on you.”
“Me?” Joaquin gasped, his eyes widened.
“Yeah, you!”
“I was being respectful!”
“You were being oblivious.”
“Unbelievable!” he huffed
She grinned. “Admit it.”
“Never.”
They fell into easy laughter, the sound familiar and grounding. It was proof that whatever this was, it hadn’t taken anything from them. If anything, it had only added to it. Outside, the world would keep moving. Missions, responsibilities, expectations were waiting for them, but here—in this quiet, in this moment—they were still the same two people who had found each other years ago and never let go. Only now, they didn’t have to pretend there wasn’t something more.
I thought about this earlier and I wanted to share for a request 🤗
Joel Miller and reader have very draining and difficult jobs so at the end of the day, they come home and take care of each other (doesn’t haven’t to be sexual). Massages, cooking dinner, cuddling etc.
Sorry this took so long, Sid!! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
ᴅᴏᴍᴇsᴛɪᴄ!ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴘʀᴇ-ᴏᴜᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ
The door shuts with a weight that rattles the frame, and the sound tells you everything before you even turn around. He’s exhausted. You hear the thud of boots on the floor, the scrape of keys against the ceramic bowl, the sigh that drags through his chest.
“Smells good,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
“Don’t get too excited, baby,” you answer softly, glancing over your shoulder from the stove. “It’s just spaghetti.”
“After today?” His steps are heavy as he moves closer. “You could burn toast and I’d still thank you for it.”
His lips brush your temple before he reaches for the plates. You stir the sauce while he sets the table, your hips brushing in that small, familiar way that feels more like a language than an accident. Dinner is quick, simple, but the act of eating together steadies you both.
Later, when the dishes are done and the TV hums low in the background, he lets you tug him onto the couch. You settle behind him, pushing at the solid weight of his shoulders.
“You’re carrying half the city on your back,” you murmur, kneading the tight knots until he groans and lets his head drop forward.
“Not the whole city,” he corrects quietly. “Just makin’ sure mine’s okay.”
The words catch you off guard. You pause, then press your cheek to his back, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing. The world can be relentless, but here, in this small space you’ve carved out together, you both allow yourselves to stop.
ᴅᴏᴍᴇsᴛɪᴄ!ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴘᴏsᴛ-ᴏᴜᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ
The cabin door groans shut, and the sound is the same kind of heavy, but now for different reasons. There are no keys, no bowl—just the scrape of a rifle against the floor as he sets it down.
The fire flickers weakly, its smoke curling up into the cracked chimney. You’re already close to it, trying to draw heat into your bones. He kneels in front of you, silent, pulling your boots off one by one. They land softly near the fire, and then a blanket wraps over your shoulders.
“Eat first,” you insist, pushing the dented tin of beans toward him.
His eyes flick to yours. Joel hesitates for a moment as he studies you, but he finally mutters, “We’ll split it.”
So you do, shoulder to shoulder, trading bites in silence while the fire pops and hisses. When it’s gone, you curl into him under the blanket. His arm wraps tight around you, hand moving in slow circles down your arm.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against your hair.
“You’re not,” you counter.
“I’m workin’ on it,” he admits, a ghost of something like humor in his voice. His fingers thread through your hair, steady and soothing.
Your hand traces lazy patterns along his ribs, grounding yourself in the heat of him. “Remember when the worst thing we complained about was bad takeout?”
He huffs softly. “I remember you makin’ me eat that overcooked pasta.”
“That was one time.”
“Mmm ... two.”
You laugh into his shirt, muffled but real. The sound warms the space more than the fire does. Out here, there’s no house, no couch, no comfort beyond what you can build out of scraps. But this—his hand in your hair, your head against his chest, the quiet rhythm of being alive together—is still yours.
The world ended, but some things didn’t change. The world demanded everything of them. And yet, at the end of each day, you still found a way to give each other enough.
hiii do u think joaquin would get turned on when ure like ranting and mad HHAHHHHAHA likeee literally has u on his lap and looking up at u and u realize halfway ure feeling something poking uHM “and then— this isnt turning you on is it?” 😭😭😭
u could write this as a scene if u want to! 🫶
omg I looooove this request! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! 😝
Hot, Bothered, and Tactical
content warnings: mdni - soft smut with heart; sexual tension turned comedy/fluff; dry humping; making out; praise kink / partner worship vibes; light dom/sub undertones (consensual); post-mission frustration; comfort & emotional reassurance; established relationship
You were halfway through your rant, pacing across the kitchen tiles in a threadbare t-shirt and a pair of his old gym shorts, absolutely fuming. Your hair was still damp from the shower you'd taken to cool off, but it hadn’t worked. Not even a little.
“I specifically told them the intel was garbage,” you snapped, waving a spoon you hadn't realized you'd grabbed from the dish rack. “But did anyone listen to me? No. Because apparently, being the only one with a functioning brain disqualifies you from making decisions!”
Across the room, Joaquin was slouched in one of the kitchen chairs, his arms folded behind his head, lips twitching, just watching you with that same easy smirk he always wore when he was enjoying himself way too much. You paused just long enough to glare at him.
“Don’t look at me like that!” you hissed.
“Like what?” he asked, entirely unbothered, eyes glinting. “I’m listening.”
“You’re smiling!” you accused, pointing the spoon at him. “This is serious, Joaquin. We could’ve walked right into a trap! Lee pulled some real cowboy sh—”
“Language,” he teased, grin growing.
You groaned, stomping past him again, too full of adrenaline to sit still.
“And then! Then! After everything went sideways—guess who they asked to clean it up? Me! Me, Quino! The assholes asked me! The one they ignored in the first place!”
He hummed in mock sympathy, eyes trailing you like you were a tennis match and he was having the time of his life.
“Honestly,” you continued, breathless, “I should just let them eat it next time. See how they like it when—Joaquin?”
You stopped short because, mid-pace, he’d reached out and caught your wrist. He tugged gently.
“What?” you asked, voice low and out of breath.
“Come here,” he said with a small smile.
“I’m not done—”
“You’re sexy when you’re mad.”
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out as he guided you between his legs and pulled you down into his lap like you weighed nothing. Your spoon clattered to the floor. He leaned back, looking up at you like you were the most mesmerizing thing in the world. A little dreamy. A little reverent. A little too quiet.
“Keep going,” he said, voice low and smooth as warm honey. “I’m all ears.”
“You’re insane,” you muttered, flustered now, cheeks hot. “You are literally turned on right now, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. Just gave a little shrug and tilted his head, as if to say what can I say? — and that’s when you felt it. Your whole face went red.
“Oh my god,” you said slowly. “This is turning you on?”
Joaquin’s grin stretched even wider.
“A little,” he admitted, completely shameless.
“You’ve got a hard-on because I was yelling about Lee and tactical incompetence?”
“More like because you were waving that spoon around like a dagger and looking like you were about to set the world on fire,” he said, voice thick with amusement and something else entirely. “I’m not made of stone.”
You stared at him in awe. He gave your hips a squeeze and said, very gently, “Please keep going.”
You narrowed your eyes and mumbled, “You want me to keep yelling?”
“Absolutely, mi amor.”
“You’re a menace, Quino.”
“And you’re so hot when you’re furious.”
There was a pause as you contemplated. Something about the way he looked up at you—smirking but reverent, cocky but needing—flipped a switch. The adrenaline hadn’t gone anywhere; it just… changed direction.
You gave him a look—equal parts exasperated and flattered—but your weight shifted slightly in his lap, and the unmistakable shape of him pressed hard between your thighs made you falter. Your breath hitched. His fingers gripped a little tighter.
“... can I still be mad while I make out with you?”
“Definitely encouraged,” he said, before pulling you down into a kiss that absolutely made you forget why you were angry in the first place.
Well, almost. You’d find that spoon later stuck under the fridge and realize you'd never even finished your rant, but you had gotten something better.
You leaned in, lips barely brushing his when you quietly asked, “You really wanna do this here? In the kitchen?”
Joaquin pulled you down until your chests were flush. His hand was cradling the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair.
“I want you”—he said in between kisses on your neck—“wherever you’re gonna take out that righteous fury on me.”
You kissed him hard then—fast and a little messy, all teeth and heat, fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt. His hands roamed, slipping beneath your t-shirt and skimming the bare skin of your back. You rolled your hips on instinct and he groaned into your mouth, the sound rough and desperate.
“Fuck,” he murmured. “Keep doing that.”
You did. Through fervent kisses, you rolled your hips slowly, deliberately, letting the friction build. The fabric between you was a frustrating barrier, but the tension was delicious. You broke the kiss just long enough to yank your shirt over your head and toss it somewhere on the floor. Joaquin's eyes dragged down your body like he was memorizing every inch.
“You’re unreal,” he said, breathless. “Swear to God.”
You grinned and leaned in to whisper, “Still mad, you know.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.”
You rocked your hips again—harder this time—and his head tipped back with a groan. He looked up at you like you were a storm he wanted to be swept away in.
“I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that.”
You leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Then shut up and take me to bed.”
Joaquin didn’t need to be told twice. He picked you up swiftly and locked you in close to him with another quick kiss. His hands squeezed your ass, and you giggled as he jogged to the bedroom.
A few hours later the bedroom was dim, lit only by the golden spill of light from the hallway. Sheets tangled around your legs, the air heavy with warmth and the kind of slow, buzzing satisfaction that only came after being thoroughly and lovingly wrecked.
Joaquin lay beside you, half on his side, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder. His hair was a mess. His chest was still rising and falling a little fast. But his smile? That soft, ruined thing? It was all yours. You let out a long sigh and flopped your hand across his chest, eyes closed.
“Just for the record,” you mumbled, “I’m still mad at Lee.”
Joaquin laughed, low and husky.
“You tore my soul out and rode it into the void, and you’re still thinking about Lee?”
You cracked one eye open. “Tactical rage doesn’t just go away because I got laid.”
“Laid?” he echoed, mock-offended. “Babe, seriously? That—that was a transcendental experience.”
“God, shut up,” you snorted, turning to bury your face into his chest.
He kissed the crown of your head, his hand finding yours beneath the sheets.
“Seriously, though,” Joaquin murmured, “I love how fired up you get. You’ve got a look like you’re ready to fight God and win.”
You went quiet for a beat, fingers curling with his.
“Sometimes I don’t think they really listen to me,” you admitted finally, voice smaller now. “I can prove them wrong a hundred times … and no matter what ... they still hesitate.”
“I know,” he mumbled, soft and serious now, “but I don’t. Not once. Not ever.”
You looked up at him, and he met your gaze with nothing but truth.
“You’re not just someone I believe in,” Joaquin said, “you’re the standard I measure everyone else against. You’re it.”
You didn’t answer right away, didn’t need to. You just pulled him closer and let your forehead rest against his. And when he whispered, “Still mad?” with a teasing smile, you hummed.
“A little,” you said, “but it’s manageable.”
“Guess I’ll have to keep managing it,” he said, voice dipping low again.
You smirked, shifting closer. “Better keep the kitchen chair ready.”
“Shit,” he laughed, tightening his arms around you. “I knew I should’ve reinforced it.”
You stayed like that for a while—limbs tangled, laughter fading into lazy kisses and soft murmurs. Eventually, sleep pulled you both under, wrapped in heat and something gentler, something unspoken but understood.
By the time morning crept in, the chaos of the night had stilled. The kitchen was quiet—sunlight slanting in across the counters, soft music playing low from someone’s forgotten playlist. You padded in barefoot, hair a little wild, one of Joaquin’s shirts hanging off your shoulder. The spoon from last night was under the fridge, just like you’d suspected.
You knelt down to grab it, only for a pair of warm arms to slide around your waist.
“Morning, rage demon,” Joaquin murmured against your neck, stubble scratching gently.
You rolled your eyes, straightened, and turned in his arms.
“You really wanna start with that before coffee?” you asked, smiling when you kissed him softly.
“Just trying to gauge your mood…” He just grinned at you, unapologetic. “You know … for tactical purposes.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Tactical, huh?”
“Absolutely. Gotta know if I need protective gear or the chair again.”
That made you laugh—really laugh—and the sound echoed warmly in the small space between you. He looked at you like he was memorizing it, just like last night. Just like always.
“Ass,” you muttered fondly, kissing his jaw.
“Boss,” he corrected, hands sliding down to your hips. “Battle goddess … authority I fear and adore.”
“You’re such a dumbass,” you said, but you didn’t pull away. You rested your forehead to his chest, breathing him in. He made you feel calm, steady, and safe.
The mission, the frustration, the doubt—you knew it wasn’t over—but in this moment, tangled up in his arms and that smile that said you are everything, it felt manageable.
He nuzzled your hair and whispered, “Still mad?”
You sighed, letting it all out with one long breath, and then said softly: “Only at everyone who isn’t you.”
Joaquin chuckled, kissed your temple, and murmured, “Good. Let them try you again. I’ll be right here with the fire extinguisher. And maybe a helmet.”
“Idiot,” you laughed. You shook your head, grinning.
“Yours,” he said, holding you tighter.
And in the quiet that followed, you believed it—deep in your bones. Joaquin wasn’t just someone to lean on. He was someone who saw you, even when the rest of the world refused to look. And that? That was enough to face anything. Even Lee.
✭ brushing your thumb over their knuckles while you're both not saying a word, just existing quietly in the same space like it's the most sacred thing.
✭ them absentmindedly playing with the hem of your sleeve because they want to touch you but aren’t ready to say it yet.
✭ “can i kiss you?” whispered like they’re afraid the moment might shatter if they speak too loud.
✭ their voice cracking just a little when they say your name for the first time in a long time.
✭ them resting their forehead against yours and just… staying there. No words. No movement. Just breath. Just nearness.
✭ sharing headphones and they keep looking at you during the best part of the song. you don’t even know what the song means to them but suddenly it means everything to you.
✭ "stay the night?" said so soft it might’ve been a wish.
✭ dragging their fingers gently down your back like they’re trying to memorize the map of your spine.
✭ tracing your features with their fingertip like you're a sculpture in a museum and they were not supposed to touch you, but god, they can’t help it.
✭ “don’t leave yet.” not because you’re going somewhere. but because being with you is the safest they’ve felt all day.
✭ their voice in the dark. low. quiet. like the night is just for you two.
✭ "this reminded me of you" and it’s just a stupid rock or a weird leaf but you hold onto it like it's a diamond because it's you to them.
✭ laying in bed, face smushed into the pillow, sleep-drunk and murmuring, “you make me feel like i’m home.”
✭ them looking at you like you're not just a person, but their favorite story. one they’ve been rereading since forever and still keep finding new parts to fall in love with.
sexy september scribbles' prompt two: "don't hide your face"
note: this is not my best work, but this is for the other two joaquin torres fans out there
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open wide. Every flick, stroke, and swipe of his tongue has you keening for more. The sounds falling from your lips are music to his ears, encouraging him to continue.
Joaquin only pauses when your fingers leave his curls, and his eyes flick open to gaze up at you. And when he finds you, arm slung over your face and fist clenched beside your head, he smirks.
"Oh, no," he coos, thumb digging harder into your thigh to grab your attention again. "Don't hide that pretty face."
A broken whimper escapes your throat, "Quino —"
"No, mi amor," he teases, thumb stroking your skin now. He nips at the crease of your thigh once before soothing it with a gentle kiss. "I want to see how you fall apart for me," he whispers.
And you don't get another chance to reply before he dives back in. He holds your gaze, even as his tongue, thick and slow, laps at your clit. He could come then and there, watching your hooded eyes flutter against your attempt to keep them open with only the taste of you on his lips.
Instead, he murmurs a soft, "So good for me, cariño." And when you break away from his gaze — his name, high and breathless, on your lips — he doesn't pull away again. He holds you through it, tongue greedy and hands firm as you shiver.
Johnny in modern day New York after they land in the thunderbolts post credits scene and he meets a waitress at a restaurant and keeps going back and she helps him adjust to a different world. Think the abandoned Steve and the waitress storyline in the first avengers movie
Across the Multiverse
Johnny Storm x fem!reader
Wordcount: ~3.5k
Authors Note: woooahhh there could be a real angsty part two to this but I had a lot of fun writing this so thank you(:
Masterlist PART2! PART3!
The door opened, and the bell above it rang lightly. The place had old, cracked leather booths, a long counter, a jukebox in the corner that probably didn’t even work, and people who looked like they came here every day at the same time just for the company. That’s why Johnny liked it the first time he came. Everyone called it the “old-fashioned diner” on Mott Street, but to him, it was a glimpse of home.
That was what drew him in at first. He was looking for a break from the team and the chaos, but what kept him coming back was the waitress who was always there, every Sunday at 3:00 when he showed up.
It had been three weeks since the Fantastic Four made the journey from Earth-828 to Earth-616. Luckily, the New Avengers—or the Thunderbolts, who still couldn’t agree on a name—had let the Fantastic Four stay with them while they devised a plan to find Franklin within the multiverse.
The world had been gray since Franklin was taken from the Baxter Building living room by the masked man. Sue had been beating herself up non-stop. All Reed could do was try to find a solution—hence how they ended up here, in this strange and dirtier version of their city. Neither of them have even slept since Franklin was taken, and Johnny didn’t blame them. Ben was doing his best to keep everyone together. Johnny could barely find it in himself to crack a joke, or lighten the mood, everything felt heavy.
That first Sunday here, Bucky saw the look of exhaustion in Johnny’s eyes amidst everyone’s bickering and recommended a diner downtown.
“It’s pretty shitty, but the people are kind and it’s quiet, the quietest I’ve been able to find in this decade,” he had said—and he was right.
Now, it was Johnny’s third Sunday in a row there, promptly at 3:00. Not because of the quiet or the shitty coffee, but because of you.
“Hi Johnny, back again?” you smiled sweetly and slid into the booth across from him.
The reason he came at that time repeatedly was because he learned on his first Sunday there that you got off work at 3:00, and you were more than willing to sit across from him and chat while he sipped on his coffee. You made him feel normal, like his world wasn’t constantly collapsing in on itself. You quieted the noise and the voices. With one look into your eyes and that beautiful, genuine smile, the tension in his shoulders would release.
“I can’t stay long. I’ve got some errands to run uptown before meeting some friends for dinner,” you said. He nodded, trying not to show his disappointment.
“I don’t know what you’re up to today, but I’d hate to miss our weekly get-together,” you joked. “Wanna tag along? I know you said you’re new to the city, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bummed I can’t stick around today…” you asked shyly.
Johnny’s eyes shot up to yours, trying not to look too eager. He nodded. “I’d love that.”
You both smiled.
“Alright, well let’s stop wasting time—and you can stop pretending to enjoy that coffee,” you teased, sliding out of the booth. He smiled, following you blindly.
Down the subway stairs you went. You tapped your phone to enter the station. Johnny looked perplexed.
“It’s just tap-to-pay, Johnny,” you said casually, but he was still staring at the little box you pressed your phone against.
You reached over the turnstile and tapped your phone again for him. He pushed through and stood beside you to wait for the next 6 train uptown, trying not to show how hard he was thinking about the tap thing you just did with your phone.
“Where did you say you’re from again?” you asked, trying to figure him out.
“Oh, you know... the Midwest,” he said unconvincingly—but it was good enough for you to drop it.
You spent the afternoon getting groceries, picking out flowers, and finding a birthday gift for your friend. As the sun began to set, you walked up to your apartment, sad that the day with Johnny was coming to an end.
“This is me,” you said, taking the bags Johnny had been carrying for you. “Thanks for doing all this with me today. It was really nice to have company. I’m sure it wasn’t the most exciting day...” you added shyly, almost embarrassed.
“I really liked today. I haven’t laughed like that in… well, since I got here. I know our get-togethers are usually reserved for Sunday afternoons, but—if you’ll let me—I’d love to take you out on a real date, somewhere with less shitty food” he said, avoiding your gaze and rubbing the back of his neck.
You immediately blushed. “Give me your phone. Let me give you my number,” you said, placing your bag on the stoop and holding out your hand.
He pulled out the iPhone Bucky had given him. He barely knew how to do anything besides call, but he was about to learn—for you.
You typed in your name and number and handed the phone back. His fingers brushed over yours, and goosebumps covered your arms. You still felt the blush from his question before.
“I’ll text you,” he said with a boyish grin before turning back toward the tower.
“You better!” you called out with a laugh. You could see his shoulders shake from the chuckle you caused.
You smiled all the way up to your apartment. At dinner, all you could think about was Johnny—and the text you hoped would come soon.
Back at the tower, Johnny stepped into the elevator and pressed “PH.” It was nearly 8:30 by the time he returned, but he finally felt like himself.
“What’s got you so perky?” Ben asked as Johnny walked in, sucking Johnny out of the daze you had him in, he didn’t even realize he’d been smiling.
Bucky shifted, a knowing smirk on his face. Sue and Reed looked up from their tablets, both with dark circles under their eyes.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Johnny said playfully, plopping down next to Bucky and Bob, stretching his arms across the back of the couch and placing his feet on the table in front of them.
Ben shrugged. Sue and Reed returned to their screens. Bob buried his nose in his book. Bucky, though, kept watching Johnny, who was now staring at your contact on his phone in his lap.
“It’s that sweetheart from the diner, isn’t it?” Bucky said knowingly.
Johnny’s head shot up. “How did you guess that, Barnes?”
Bucky chuckled. “So I’m right? I used to go to that diner a lot when I was trying to come to terms with... all this. She’s a sweet girl. When I recommended the diner, I thought you might make a friend out of her. I noticed the change in you after your first visit. You seemed lighter.”
Johnny stared in disbelief. Was he really that easy to read?
“Well, since the cat’s out of the bag... can you help me text?” Johnny asked, holding out his phone.
“In just three weeks, you managed to snag her digits?” Bucky shook his head.
“Yeah, well, back home I’m known for my pizzazz and charm. The ladies love me,” Johnny said with a grin. “And since we’re sticking around, why not see what the ladies here have to offer?” Reed cringed at his words, and left the room with Sue, making Johnny regret joking about sticking around.
“Except it seems like you’re only interested in one dame…” Bucky replied. He opened Johnny’s messages. “Step one: this is how you text. Don’t worry, it’s pretty easy. If Yelena can teach me, anyone can learn.”
Just then, Ben stomped over.
“I love where this is going. What the hell will Johnny be emailing to the cute waitress girl?” he said, feigning interest.
“First of all, Benjamin—it’s texting, not emailing. Second, what do you know about flirting?” Johnny shot back.
Before Ben could reply, the elevator dinged. Yelena and Alexei entered, bags of fast food in all of their hands.
“Hello, my lovely teammates and extended teammates! I bring you cheeseburgers,” she said with a thick accent, plopping the bags onto the table, “his are not so much to share, but I felt kind today,” she motioned towards Alexie who sat in a big recliner, beginning to work on the food he bought for himself.
Bucky quickly added, “We’re helping Johnny text his new crush.”
Yelena’s eyes widened. “Oh yes. Hand me the phone, Fire Boy.”
Bucky smirked and tilted the phone toward her, and she took it happily. The men watched her type and heard a faint swoosh indicating the message had been sent.
“What did you do??” Johnny said, trying to figure out how to undo the message.
Before anyone could answer, a small ding echoed through the room. He froze.
“She must like you. That was fast,” Yelena said with her mouth full.
He was pressing the phone with his pointer finger aggressively, when Yelena put her cheeseburger in her mouth, holding it, she motioned how to open and send the text messages to Johnny, who seemingly understood.
He unlocked the phone, now seeing two texts from you and Yelena’s “hey” … he definitely didn’t need her to come up with that one, but nonetheless he was grateful for the push.
Y: Hi… is this my Sunday, 3:00?
As Johnny was staring at his phone perplexed, another ding rang through the air, causing everyone to turn to him. “Wooooowww another one Fire boy, you go!” Yelena said with her mouth full. He rolled his eyes and looked at your next text.
Y: I’m taking the silence as a no... Who is this?
He chuckled and quickly responded.
J: You nailed it. It’s Johnny. How did your dinner go?
He locked the phone, smiling—and then it dinged again.
Y: Would you believe me if I said I’m still here ):
J: Well, I hope you’re having fun!
J: You free tomorrow?
Y: Lucky for you, I’m off tomorrow night.
J: Great, I’ll be by at 7 to pick you up.
Y: Pick me up? You really know how to woo a girl. See you then!
So, it was set—his first date.
Bucky helped him plan dinner at a small restaurant on the Upper East Side, not far from your apartment. As Johnny was getting ready to leave, he walked over to Bucky.
“Barnes… would you tell her?” Johnny asked.
Bucky looked up from his book, brow furrowed.
“Would you tell her the truth about this situation—if you were me?”
He nodded slowly, seemingly understanding what Johnny was really asking.
“Listen, Johnny, I can’t tell you what to do. Maybe just see how it’s going. The world’s been crazy for a while, especially here in New York. It might not be as outlandish to her as you think. I mean, considering she’s witnessed a Norse god’s alien invasion, killer robots, the Hulk, some super soldiers—I don’t know, maybe she’ll choose to understand. Bu when you break the news to her, that’s up to you, my friend.”
He stood up and patted Johnny on the shoulder. “Good luck out there, tiger.”
Johnny smiled and turned to make his way to your apartment.
When he turned the corner, he saw you sitting on the stoop—hair down and curly, lips painted red, wearing a black sweater, jeans, and heeled boots. You looked beautiful.
You stood as you saw him approaching in his maroon jacket and white t-shirt, effortlessly handsome.
“Hi,” you said breathlessly, hopping down the steps to meet him on the sidewalk.
“You look great,” he said, offering you his arm. “This-a-way,” he said dramatically, gesturing down the street.
You slipped your hand onto his arm, and your first date began.
The restaurant Bucky helped him choose was a small, dimly lit Italian spot. Johnny’s heart lit up when you said you’d always wanted to try it.
He learned that the diner wasn’t your full-time job. You were an aspiring writer, working as a magazine editor during the week. You just worked at the diner because you liked it—and the extra cash didn’t hurt in a city like this.
After you told him about your work, you asked about his.
That’s when he froze.
He vaguely mentioned being a scientist and coming to New York for research—not a total lie. He dodged your deeper questions, carefully, without completely lying to you.
The night carried on, filled with laughter, shared stories, stolen glances.
At the end of the date, he walked you home.
“I really enjoyed tonight,” you said, letting go of his hand. “And thank you for walking me home. That’s definitely not something you get from Hinge these days.”
You laughed, and so did he—even though he had no idea what kind of hinges you were referring to.
“I had fun tonight too,” he said, leaning in and meeting your lips with a sweet, slow kiss.
You smiled into it before pulling away to look into his deep blue eyes.
“Goodnight, Johnny.”
You turned and walked up the stoop. He watched you until you closed the door behind you—and you nearly squealed with excitement.
By the third date in two weeks, not including your Sunday at the diner, you were sitting across from each other at a quaint Mediterranean spot in the West Village.
You looked up at him and said, “Johnny, I feel like I barely know anything about where you come from. I do most of the talking. As much as I love that you’re an attentive listener… can you tell me more about you?”
You looked at him eagerly, eyes wide and curious.
He took a long sip of wine and stared at you blankly.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you added quickly, worried at his reaction. “I just… want to get to know you too.”
“No, no, no—um, that’s not what’s happening here.” He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his napkin. “Listen… can I come clean about something?”
You looked nervous but nodded, encouraging him to continue.
He took a deep breath.
“So… I’m not actually from the Midwest like I said that day on the subway. I’m definitely not from here, though, not this New York. I guess... in a sense, I am from New York. But not your version of it.”
You blinked.
“I’m living at the New Avengers Tower right now because, well—” he glanced up at you to check your reaction. Your eyes were wide, brows furrowed. You reached out and took a long sip of wine.
“Johnny… what are you talking about?”
The waiter came by with the check. Johnny paid quickly. “Let’s go back to your place and talk, yeah? This isn’t something I want to explain here.”
You looked at him hesitantly but nodded. You wanted to trust him. You hoped you were making the right decision—and not ending up as the next Dateline special.
The commute back to your apartment felt long—much longer than the 30 minutes it actually was.
Once inside, you poured two glasses of wine and sat down beside him on the couch.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been there—your second date had been a movie night on that very couch, which turned into a long, magnetic make-out session, and not a lot of movie watching.
Now, you curled your feet underneath you and looked at him expectantly.
And Johnny… basically word vomited for the next 30 minutes.
He told you everything: about his Earth, Galactus, Franklin, who he truly was back home, how they got here, what they were doing here, and how he didn’t know when they were leaving.
By the time he finished, you’d finished your wine—and then some. Your mouth hung slightly open. You stared ahead, deep in thought, trying to process everything.
He watched you, anxious.
“I see your wheels turning,” he said gently. “Would you be willing to come on a little walk with me? Maybe I can show you?”
“Holy shit,” you finally said barely letting him finish his sentence. “About a month ago, I was at the diner when that alien spacecraft or whatever it was showed up near New York… I remember the panic. Everyone thought it was another invasion—but then the New Avengers were on TV saying they were ‘monitoring the situation,’ and the news cycle just… moved on.”
Johnny's eyes softened. “Yeah. That was us. I’m assuming.”
You stared at him. “So… you’re telling me you and your family came through a hole in the multiverse and you’ve been crashing with the Avengers this whole time?”
“I can take you to the tower. They’ll vouch for me—”
Before he could finish, you kissed him.
“I believe you,” you said softly. “I’m choosing to believe you. And to accept that you’re not a crazy person—that you’re here for whatever weird twist of fate brought you here. Maybe… maybe we were just meant to meet.”
He smiled, relief flooding his features.
“And I don’t think I’m in any shape to meet your superpowered friends tonight, considering I’ve basically had a whole bottle of wine in the last thirty minutes,” you added with a laugh.
He laughed too, pulling you into his chest. You gladly leaned into him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
“But… if what you’re saying is true,” you said, pulling back just slightly, “we need to teach you how to survive on this Earth. And I totally need to see this fire thing. And the rock guy?? What about the stretchy dude? The invisible one is your sister? And oh my god I am so sorry about your nephew… Okay—maybe this is a lot to take in.”
You buried your face in his chest, embarrassed by your rambling.
“In due time,” Johnny whispered. “I’ll show you every piece of my life—if you’ll let me.”
And he did. And you showed him yours.
You taught him how to actually use his phone. How to tap-to-pay. How to use the subway without looking like a time traveler from one of those movies.
You took him to the movies. Showed him how theaters worked here. You brought him to karaoke night in Koreatown with your friends (he was surprisingly good at Queen). You taught him how to use GPS. And every week, you showed him something new.
And Johnny… was falling for you—fast.
He could feel it every time you said his name and his stomach flipped. Every time he made you laugh and couldn’t stop smiling. When you visited the tower and immediately hugged Sue and Reed, apologizing for everything they’d gone through.
You were thoughtful. Empathetic. Beautiful. And so smart.
Johnny couldn’t help but feel guilty for enjoying himself while everything was still so uncertain. It had been almost three months—and they were no closer to finding the man in the green cloak or Franklin, whom he missed dearly.
But at least… he had you.
When he wasn’t in the lab trying to help, he was with you—basking in your light. Through all the chaos, you were grounding him, and he was so thankful.
One night you lazily laid in his bed at the tower, luckily it was closer to your office than your apartment, when you interrupted the silence, “Johnny, what’re we going to do when you have to leave?” The question had been picking at you for a while now, it had been months of going out together and you were blatantly falling just as fast as Johnny. He sighed at your question, knowing there had been some findings on their journey to find Franklin, but not enough to be worried about leaving you. He swallowed the guilt he felt for those thoughts, he missed Franklin more than he thought humanly possible, but he didn’t want to leave you either.
“I don’t know love,” he shifted and sat up, looking away from the television, “and I don't know what’s going to happen, but I know no matter what I am so glad I met you,” he spoke barely above a whisper, “and I know that I’m falling in love with you. So if this is too much if the impending end of this all is too much to carry, I want to give you an out.”
You sat up and looked at him, he was being dead serious.
“Johnny, I am falling in love with you too. And I don’t care about any of that, I just want to enjoy the time I have with you.”
He kissed you then, deeply, and passionately, like you might turn to dust. “I want to just enjoy every moment we have left together,” he said sweetly. You nodded in agreement, “then that’s what we will do, Johnny.”
You and Joaquin Torres had known each other your entire lives. From kindergarten scraped knees to shared secrets in high school hallways, you’d grown up side by side. Lately, though, the line between best friends and something more had begun to blur. It was subtle at first—a lingering glance, a touch that lingered too long—but now, with the quiet tension in the air every time you were together, it had become impossible to ignore.
Tonight, the training room was empty except for the two of you. The hum of the lights above and the faint squeak of the mats underfoot were the only sounds as you tightened your gloves, squaring off across from him.
“You’re reckless,” you teased, circling him. “Sometimes I feel like you want to get hit.”
“By you for sure,” Joaquin retorted.
His grin was infuriating, cocky but warm, the kind that made your heart skip a beat even after all these years.
“By me?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Most certainly,” he said, taking a step closer, hands up but clearly daring you to do something about it.
You shook your head, laughing despite the tension, and launched a light jab toward his shoulder. He caught it, letting it brush against him with a teasing smirk.
“Careful,” he murmured, stepping in just enough to close the distance. “I might actually enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it?” you repeated, mock-scolding, but your chest was racing, and your eyes followed every movement he made.
“Yes,” he said, tone low, eyes glinting with mischief and something softer. “Every little thing I do around you is intentional.”
You feinted left, then swung right, but he read it instantly, catching your wrist and spinning you just enough that your glove tapped his chest. He grinned, eyes locking on yours.
“Not bad, babe,” he says softly, “you’re improving.”
“I’ve had a lifetime of practice,” you shot back, smirking. “Against you.”
He laughed, that rich, warm laugh that had always made your knees go weak. “Yeah, and yet you still let me get under your skin.”
You paused mid-movement, heart fluttering.
“Maybe I like it,” you admitted quietly, almost to yourself.
“Maybe you do,” he said softly, closing the gap between you until you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His hands hovered near yours, not touching, just daring, teasing. “Maybe you’ve wanted this for a while.”
You swallowed, words catching in your throat.
“Don’t—don’t make me hit you,” you said, half-warning, half-laughing, your gloves trembling slightly as your hands hovered near him.
“Go ahead,” he challenged lightheartedly. He tilted his head, grinning, eyes teasing, heart-melting all at once. “I wouldn’t mind at all, cariño.”
The tension broke when you finally laughed, a sharp, breathless sound, and lightly tapped him on the chest with your glove. His hand went to your shoulder, steadying you, but he didn’t pull back. In fact, he trailed his fingers up and down your arm while his free handled settled on your waist, his thumb sliding through the belt loop.
“You really are something,” he said softly.
“Something good or something bad?” you asked, leaning just a little closer.
“Both,” he said, voice low, warm. “Exactly the right amount of both.”
You stared at each other for a long moment, the room quiet except for your ragged breaths. And then, without thinking, you leaned in, letting your foreheads touch. His hands brushed up your arms, gentle, steady, grounding. One hand grazed up the back of your neck, settling in the hair at the nape of your neck. His other hand traced your jaw and his fingers danced across your lips.
“You know,” he murmured, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, “we could spar all night, or … we could just … do this.”
You laughed softly, heart racing, closing your eyes as you leaned into him.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I like this better.”
His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, then deepening as the rest of the world faded away. The missions, the training, the endless expectations—all of it disappeared until it was just you two, breathless and laughing quietly against each other, wrapped in the comfort and heat of familiarity turned into something undeniably more.
When you finally pulled back, both of you smiling and catching your breath, he murmured, “By the way, I’ve wanted this for months.”
You pressed a hand against his chest, grinning as you teased, “Yeah, I guessed.”
“And now?” he asked, that familiar glint in his eye.
“Now,” you said, tilting your head to rest it on his shoulder, “I think I’m exactly where I want to be.”
And Joaquin, of course, just grinned, wrapping his arm around you, holding you close, and whispered, “Good. Because I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”
The training room was quiet now. The mats were still damp from earlier drills, and the hum of the overhead lights seemed softer somehow, almost private. Joaquin leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips. You lingered a few feet away, glancing at him, feeling the weight of all the unspoken months between you.
“You know,” he said, voice low, teasing but soft, “we didn’t really have to spar to figure out what’s been happening.”
“Oh?” you asked, tilting your head, a smile tugging at yours. “And how’s that?”
He stepped closer, eyes locking on yours, serious for a change. “Every look. Every touch. Every time you laughed at something I said—even when you acted like you didn’t notice me staring—you’ve been telling me the same thing all along.”
Heat rose to your cheeks as you softly asked, “And what exactly am I telling you?”
“That you want this,” Joaquin whispered. He crouched slightly, coming level with you, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “That you want us—as ridiculous as it is.”
“Ridiculous?” you echoed, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm on your cheek. You giggled at his choice of words and you loved the way his eyes softened.
“Perfectly ridiculous,” he murmured. “Exactly what we are together.”
“So Quino,” you laughed, quiet and breathless, “does this mean we’re … official?”
Joaquin smiled, a little gentler now, and pulled you close into a hug.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “Officially us.”
You rested your forehead against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I like that,” you whispered.
“Good,” he said, tilting his head down to meet yours, “because I plan on showing you every day how much I do.”
And then, finally, his lips found yours—soft at first, then deepening, warm and familiar. You laughed softly against him, heart racing, letting the tension, the teasing, and all the months of unspoken feelings melt away. Here, in this quiet room, it was just the two of you—partners, teammates, lovers. Officially, undeniably together.
