Joaquin Torres - Blog Posts

Just watch Captain America Brave New World, and here are my thoughts throughout the movie

Spoilers from here on out

The trio friendship is actually the most wholesome thing ever, like my heart couldn't handle the cuteness. Like Isaiah getting hyped up.

Isaiah wearing the suit he got married in, like almost cried when he was asking the officer not to reck his suit.

I can't believe they got an 85 year old man to do exercise on camera

Dude Ross saying that if anyone was to get the animantiom (probs butchered that) it would be them feels like the most American line ever.

Bro, it took me a second to process that the don't die jokes were probably actually Sam's trauma.

Also, like Sam's trauma of losing Riley and then almost losing Joaquin, def wasn't addressed enough in this

The way I silentlyish screamed when Bucky made a cameo like yessssssssssss

I know Bucky probably said, "I'll have your back." But it legit sounded like, "I love you, man." Like winterfalcon, who????????

Honestly, I really liked the idea of bringing the celestial into it like it was something that happened ages ago but never ended up getting addressed until now, and I liked how they did it.

And the foreshadowing in the end credit scene that could mean so many different things.

@official-buckybarnes WHAT DOES IT MEAN THERE’S TWO OF THEM NOW???

Bucky, in his apartment: *drinking his morning coffee while watching the news*

*News broadcast showing Joaquin going after two missiles and Sam surfing on another one while getting shot at*

Bucky, slowly putting down his cup and staring at the TV blankly: ... Oh my god, there's two of them.

sam chilling at home with joaquin, helping him get ready for a date or something i dont know what dads do, and bucky BURSTS through the door, knocking it off its hinges holding all of the thunderbolt members with one arm and yells "WE HAVE NEW KIDS NOW". he also does this with cats. frequently. sam is used to this. bucky broke him.

𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫 | 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐢𝐢.

kinktober masterlist

day seven: cumplay

pairing: joaquín torres x fem!reader

warnings: smut. friends with benefits but there’s feelings involved. jealousy, slight possessiveness. unprotected sex {you let joaquín in bare for the first time and he loses his mind lol}. dirty talk, probably over excessive use of the word baby. cum-swapping/eating. the ending on this sucks ngl.

word count: 1.5k

eighteen plus only — by choosing to ‘keep reading’, you are agreeing that you are eighteen years old and over. do not interact with this story if you are a minor.

The three swift knocks in quick succession to your front door make it known whose behind it. His unanswered text still flashing on your phone as if you were expected to drop everything and accomodate to him.

“Baby!” Joaquín’s voice is soothing, like aloe to a fresh burn. “C’mon, open up please!”

It makes you want to roll your eyes, considering less than twenty-four hours ago, him and his ex being too close for comfort were plasted all over your mutual friends’ socials.

“I’m busy!” Is the only excuse you can think of.

The sound of him snorting has irritation bubbling. “I’m sure whatever you’re doing can wait, c’mon I missed you.”

That’s what does it.

The door swings open, the light coming from inside your apartment causing him to blink before that swoon-worthy smile of his appears. “Hey you.”

“I’m really not in the mood tonight.”

He shrugs. “That’s okay, we can just hang out?” Those sincere brown eyes are the reason for you stepping aside and letting him in.

The two of you sit on the couch, the television playing something you’re hardly paying attention to. All you can focus on, is the simple black tee that tightens over his wide chest. The silver chain dangling from his neck taunting as you remember what it’s like to feel it between your teeth.

A warm, stroking hand to your thigh has your eyes snapping up to meet his. There’s an inquisitive look on his face, but Joaquín knows you well enough to know not to ask.

Instead, he waits patiently for you to open up, and admit what has you so distant.

“Did you have fun last night?”

“It was alright.” He turns to you, a soft smile on his face. “Would’ve been better if you were there.”

The sound you make is noncommittal. “Mm, I’m sure.”

“What does that mean?”

You move away from him. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

A gentle palm cups your jaw, delicately turning you toward him. “Of course it matters,” he murmurs. “If I’ve done something to upset you, I’m sorry.”

“When we started this, we agreed not to see other people.”

His eyebrows shoot up at the accusatory tone in your voice. “And I’m not.”

“Well you sure looked cosy with Anna last night.”

And there it is — the admittance of what’s really troubling you.

Joaquín’s answering laugh has you swatting his hand away from your face. “No, no baby. ‘M sorry, c’mere.” He manages to wrap his arms around your waist as you stand to leave, pulling you down into his lap. “I didn’t mean to laugh, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“We were drunk.” You scoff at his poor excuse but a quick pinch to your side has you keeping quiet. “It was nothing, really. I’d never do anything to jeopardise what we have, baby. I swear.”

Soft kisses are pressed into your neck, the sound of Joaquín’s steady breathing causing you to relax. “I hate you.”

He chuckles. “Okay, baby.”

You turn your head, capturing his mouth with yours as you move to straddle his waist. Joaquín’s hands travel down, getting a firm grip to your ass before squeezing it.

“Can’t believe you think I’d want anyone else.” His tongue flicks against yours. “Not when I have my baby with her perfect ass.”

The smack makes you gasp, rocking your hips against his. You pull back, reaching down to the hem of your shirt before removing it.

“Fuck,” he moans. As soon as your bare breasts are at his disposal, Joaquín is leaning down and takes one of your perky nipples into his mouth.

Your hands tangle themselves in his hair, tugging harshly when you feel his teeth graze you slightly. “Want you, ‘Quín, inside me.”

He shushes you, pulling back as he digs through his pockets but at your refusal, he seems confused. “Need to get a condom.”

“Or…” You bite your lip coyly. “We could skip it, this time ‘round?”

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him gently. “We’re both clean and we’ve only been with each other so yeah, ‘m sure.”

The next few minutes involve the two of you getting naked, before you’re straddling him again. His fingers run along your wet folds, smearing your juices around before entering your entrance with two fingers.

“S’tight,” he groans as he feels you clench down. “Pussy’s so wet, can’t wait to feel her wrapped around my cock.”

You giggle. “Then hurry up and fuck me.”

He playfully bites at your shoulder. “So impatient.”

Once he deems you ready, he’s guiding his cock toward your cunt. Teasingly, he runs the head through your puffy lips, using your arousal for slick.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes as he pushes forward. The feeling of your cunt is snug around his bare length, and he swears he can feel you throbbing as he bottoms out.

“‘Quín,” your voice is a heady whine. “You fill me up so well, oh my god.”

You swear it’s never been this intense, the knowledge that he’s bare inside of you only serving to turn you on even more. It’s why you can’t help but start to bounce up and down on his cock, desperate in your movements.

Joaquín’s hands massage your ass, spreading your cheeks in between the searing spanks he gives. “You’re so good for me baby, fucking this cock like you own it.”

His words cause an urge of possessiveness to flow through your veins, bringing yourself down harder as you ride him.

“You like that?” He chuckles as he watches the lust blow out your pupils. “‘Cause baby, you say the words and it’s all yours,” he says heatedly. “I’m all yours.”

“You’re mine,” you whimper as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix.

“That’s right baby.” He presses his lips into yours. “‘M all yours, this cock is yours. So fuck it like you mean it.”

And you do — circling your hips with a squeal as you feel your orgasm grows. “I’m gonna come!”

With his feet firmly planted on the ground, his hands move to your hips, guiding as he starts thrusting. “Cream my cock, baby.”

It’s blinding, your release gushing around him as you succumb to the pleasure. You hear his choked swallow, feeling his hips stuttering as he feels you clench down.

“Oh fuck, baby, you gotta get off.” Joaquín cries, “I’m gonna shoot, you’ve gotta get off.”

You shake your head. “‘S okay, ‘Quín.” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Don’t have t’pull out, want it in me.”

“Oh fuck, baby.” His voice is raspy, eyes clenching shut at your words. “You can’t —shit— you can’t say that to me if you don’t mean it.”

Still reeling from your orgasm, you lean down and bring him into a filthy kiss. “I mean it, honey.” He whines in response. “Want you to fill me up, want to feel your cum drip out of me.”

It’s those word that do him in, unable to stave off his own release any longer he comes with a shout of your name. “Shit, fuckin’ hell.”

You grind your hips down, milking his cock as the two of you catch your breath.

“C’mere.” Joaquín pulls you in for another heated kiss, pushing his tongue past your lips as he greets yours with a groan.

As you break apart, you feel him get a sturdy grip on your waist before manoeuvring you both on the lounge so that your back is pressed against it with him hovering on top.

Slowly, he pulls out of you, aware of your sensitivity as he looks down at where the two of you were connected. Joaquín moves down your body, an unfamiliar noise coming from the man as he watches his seed leak from your swollen cunt.

It’s not until he hears your squeal of his name does he realise he’s playing with it, using his fingers to scoop up his come. “Open your mouth, baby.”

You do, letting him feed it to you and greedily swallowing it. When he reaches down again, he brings some of it to your stomach, massaging it into your skin.

“‘Quín!”

“Shh, ‘s okay. Just wanna mark you up all nice and pretty.”

You feel him settle between your thighs, and you look down to see his curly hair for a split second before his tongue is licking you clean.

Arching up into his mouth, your hand immediately go to his hair. “Oh my god!”

He pulls back, winking at you before climbing back up your body. Tapping his finger against your bottom lip, you understand what he wants. He leans forward, and it’s only when you taste the familiar bittersweet flavour that you realise what he’s doing.

The two of you swap the mixture of your combined releases, panting into each other’s mouths at the act.

“Quín,” you pant against his lips.

He shushes you sweetly, “I know, baby.”

Then you’re kissing softly, enjoying the feel of each other’s bodies as you slowly come down from the high.

“God baby, you look so pretty like this.”

You can’t help but giggle at his gentle praise. “You’re too cute.”

“Mm, lemme enjoy my girl.” His nose brushes against yours.

“Your girl?” He hums softly at your proposal. “I like it.”

“Good.” Joaquín smiles. “‘Cause ‘m not letting you go.”

i missed Joaquin Torres

also new falcon??

no one:

me and my type:

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

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

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

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

it should not affect you the way it does.

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

and he knows it.

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

the second he notices, it’s over.

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

“i’m not.”

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

“no.”

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

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

“no, i don’t—”

he gasps “you so do.”

“i literally never said that.”

“but you didn’t deny it.”

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

because it’s different now.

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

and that—that is what does it.

you panic.

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

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

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

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

he laughs when he feels it.

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

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

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

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

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

come into my bedroom

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

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

wc. 12.3k+

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

You’re drunk. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joaquín calls your name and you hum. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that look?” he asks. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”

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

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

You have a crush on Joaquín. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like a baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fair enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything. 

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

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

Absolutely no stressors. 

Until Joaquín speaks. 

“Do me a favor and get my back?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing is not the same as feeling. 

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

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

Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room. 

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

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

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

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

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

He continues in silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently, Joaquín felt different. 

“What’s up with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tell him as such. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We should cruise for our next vacation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, “You been having fun?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety. 

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

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

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

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

Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my godddd. 

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

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

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

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

You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself. 

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

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

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

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

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

You do, however, decide to split two desserts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand stays in his the entire time.

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

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

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

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

“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”

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

“Together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then finally, your lips press against his. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I keep going?”

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

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

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

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

“M’kay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need more. Please.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joaquín picks up where you left off. 

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

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

“Look at me. I wanna see you.” 

You do as told, of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” he laughs. 

All you can do is agree through labored breaths. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Water sounds good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One second.”

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

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

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

“Freak.” You don’t mean it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so perfect,” he says. 

The warmth instantly floods your body. 

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

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

“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?” 

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

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

“Ready?” 

You nod, letting your legs fall open for him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C…Call me that again.”

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

You hum affirmatively. 

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

You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”. 

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

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

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

“That’s right. Just like that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Take your time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i think ur oral fixation surprises both you and joaquin when you take his dog tags into ur mouth and suck on them. they're just dangling in your face how could you ever resist

oh my god?? my jaw is on the floor. this is insane. i love it. (18+)

it wasn’t like you could stop yourself.

you were already a little out of it—joaquín had been treating you too good all night. from dinner, where he played footsie with you under the table until your heel slid just a little too high, leaving him red-faced, to the way he kissed you against the door before you could even get your keys out. and now, after everything, after he’s had you gasping and writhing beneath him, you’re both wrecked and breathless, tangled together in the sheets, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his hips roll against yours.

it’s a sweet pace, a little sloppy, his rhythm faltering as his body trembles. he’s close. you can tell by the way his huffs turn into short, needy whines.

joaquín loves missionary, loves looking at you, touching you. but right now, his eyes are squeezed shut, brows furrowed tight as his fingers tangle in your hair, cupping your jaw like he can’t bear to let go.

every thrust rocks you against the mattress, the old frame creaking beneath you both. the headboard knocks against the wall in time with your moans, the wet, desperate sounds between you filling the room. and over it all, there’s the soft, steady clinking of his dog tags.

your gaze drops from his face to the chain hanging around his neck. the tags sway with every movement, catching the faint light from the window, gleaming silver against the tan of his chest. it’s distracting, the way they dangle just above your lips, taunting you. you don’t think—just act—lifting your head as he drives particularly deep, parting your lips so the tags graze your skin, clinking against your teeth before you take them fully into your mouth.

it takes joaquín exactly two seconds to notice.

the slight tug at his neck drags him forward, and his eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first until he sees—

oh.

a shudder wrecks through him, his hips stuttering to a halt as a deep, broken groan spills past his lips. he stares down at you, panting, his dog tags resting on your tongue, your lips wrapped around the cool metal. you stare back, never breaking eye contact as you flatten your tongue against them, tracing over the engraved letters of his name and military rank. captain torres.

the taste is sharp, bitter and metallic, and you moan around it, letting the sound vibrate against the chain. his hand tightens in your hair, fingers flexing.

"qué… qué haces?" joaquín rasps, voice wrecked, thick with something he doesn’t fully understand yet. his brows knit together, but the heat in his gaze betrays him.

you hum around the tags, sucking lightly before letting them drag against your lips as you pull back just enough to murmur, "couldn’t help it. they were just… there."

joaquín lets out a choked noise, somewhere between a curse and a groan, his grip on you tightening. he presses his forehead against yours, exhaling shakily.

"dios mío…"

his breath is hot against your skin, his chest heaving, but you don’t let up. you close your lips around the tags again, sucking, a little filthier this time, pulling him down with you. his chain tugs against the back of his neck, making him swallow hard. his hips jerk forward on instinct, and you sigh through your nose at the way his cock fills you again, deeper than before.

joaquín doesn’t even try to hold back his groan this time. his fingers tighten around your hand beside your head, gripping like it’s the only thing grounding him. then your nails scrape against his scalp, urging him on.

that does it.

he snaps his hips forward, rutting into you with a newfound urgency, his rhythm completely wrecked. the bed creaks louder, his moans slip freer, and you’re right there with him.

he’s never going to be able to wear these without thinking about this moment again.

I just wanna say.. Bob “Sentry” Reynolds and Joaquin Torres and Lt. Robert “Bob” Floyd and Lt. Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia. They’re the same dude I’m ngl. Okay not the exact same. But they’re awful similar. Kinda fucks ngl

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

FRIGHTENING NEW WORLD

WE DRANK LOYALTY IN VINES...

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

⇀ word count: 1.1 K

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

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

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

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

Oaxaca, Mexico

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, of course I do!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FRIGHTENING NEW WORLD

WE DRANK LOYALTY IN VINES...

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

⇀ word count: 1.1 K

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

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

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

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

Oaxaca, Mexico

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, of course I do!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

joaquín torres suffers from a severe case of pretty boy syndrome 🎀

Redamancy

Joaquin Torres x f!reader

The aftermath of sleeping with your best friend is never good—feelings grow where they weren't supposed to, and it drives a wedge in your relationship. Then things change...

warnings: 18+ mdni, fluff, to me joaquin is a very touchy person, little angst(?), overuse of the L word, cocky!Joaquin, mentions of sex, smut, no physical description of reader except being slightly shorter than Joaquin, petnames, mentions of eating and food, mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions/description of reader having a panic attack, platonic sam wilson

wc: 8.3K

━━━

“We should really stop doing this,” you pull your shirt over your head and look at Joaquin. He’s still wrapped up in the sheets, his hair a mess of curls and an amused expression gracing his face. He leans on one elbow, body turned in your direction as he watches you dress yourself. 

“Why?” He almost laughs as he says it, and you feel your chest tighten at the sound. 

“Because-“ you actually can’t think of a reasonable way out of this, other than outwardly telling him you can’t keep doing this. “Because you shouldn’t be so distracted.” The lie slips out so easily, but you can't find it in you to look him in the eye when you say it.

“I felt pretty focused last night.” He smugly spoke, a goofy grin appearing. He really wasn’t making this easy. 

“You have better things to focus on, y'know, like saving the world.” You quip back, turning away from Joaquin, unable to glance in those chestnut eyes any longer. You distract yourself by pulling on your pants, acting as if that’s the reason you turned away and not because he has never looked more attractive than in this moment. 

“I can focus on two things at once, you know? I’m very talented.” You can’t help the chuckle that leaves you; his overconfidence always seems to bring a smile to your face. You remember that shy little kid that you’d always share your lunch with, the one whose confidence grew after puberty when the girls suddenly started flocking to him. You can still see a glimpse of his former self every so often, but you love it when the confident man he’s turned into oozes out. 

There’s a deafening silence after he speaks, and you don’t know how to leave now. You’d convinced yourself it would be easy to break off the whole sleeping with your best friend thing. You thought he’d be fine with going back to being just friends. 

“Hey,” Joaquin’s voice is softer than before, coaxing you into looking around at him. There’s concern etched into his features as he sits upright, “If you don’t want to do this anymore, that’s okay.” You bite down on the inside of your lip and swallow down the lump forming in your throat. 

“I just think you have a lot going on right now, Mr Falcon.” You’re deflecting, trying to play off the hurt in your voice and forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Joaquin smiles at you using his new title, but it fades just as quickly as it appeared. “I should probably go.”

“You don’t have to leave.” His reply comes before you’ve even finished. 

“I have that thing and I have to do some stuff, so I should,” you know that he can see right through you. You’ve been friends long enough to be able to read each other like a book. This isn’t how you usually act around each other; it’s odd and uncomfortable, but since you realised you had growing feelings for him, you haven’t been the same. 

It started simple, you worried about him every time he was on a mission, wondering if he’d come home in one piece or not. Then you felt tingly every time he sent a text to say he missed you. After a drunken night, you two had slipped into bed together, and suddenly you weren’t just friends. That began the craving for his touch. Not even in a sexual way, you just wanted to feel his hand on your back, his presence beside you, his head in your lap. You thought about him all the time, too. What was he doing, where was he, did he think about you? But it wasn’t until one of your friends mentioned the way you always lit up when you spoke about him that it all clicked. Instantly, you knew, after over a decade of friendship—and months of occasionally sleeping together—that you were completely head over heels for Joaquin. 

“I’ll- I- see you later,” you scoop up your remaining belongings that are strewn on the floor, haphazardly moving toward the door. Joaquin is moving behind you, softly calling your name as you beeline for the exit. You don’t even stop to put your shoes on, just grabbing them and swinging the door open. Joaquin’s right behind you, just out of arm's reach, and you know he knows something is wrong. You can’t bring yourself to look at him any longer, knowing every second you look, you fall a little bit deeper. The door shuts before Joaquin can reach you, the solid wood separating you both. You stood with your back against the door, taking deep breaths before snapping yourself back into reality. 

You are so fucked.

━━━

A week goes by, and you’ve barely spoken to Joaquin, let alone seen him. You use the excuse that Sam whisked him away for a few days to go on some scouting mission, but now you have no choice but to face the music. The day after they arrived back, Sam had invited a group of people, you included, to his place for a late afternoon barbecue, and you knew Joaquin would be there. 

As you're out on the deck chatting to this woman you’ve never met before, you see him, he saunters in full of confidence with a smile on his face. You can’t help but think about how much you’ve missed him, and it’s only been a week. Your eyes keep moving between him and the woman you’re desperately trying to focus on as she tells you something about her kids… or her cats? Joaquin is welcomed by a few people as he enters the garden, and he briefly stops to exchange pleasantries before moving on. He grows closer, and now you can’t quite drag your eyes away from him. You fight the urge to excuse yourself and immediately go to him like you usually would, but there’s a hidden tension between you both, and it keeps your feet planted where they are. Your attention snaps back to the woman in front of you when you register the tail end of her question. 

“You know what I mean?” You’re so glad she was too absorbed in her story to realise you weren’t paying attention. 

“Uh Huh, yeah!” You nod enthusiastically. 

“Speaking of my husband, I'd better go check that he’s not drinking all of Sam’s beer. It was nice meeting you!” The woman walks off in the direction of the kitchen, and you find yourself looking out to where you last saw Joaquin, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You sigh and lean against the railing, looking down at the gathering of people below. Knowingly searching for that familiar face. 

“You look exactly like a girl I know!” Suddenly, Joaquin is by your side, startling you as he casually leans his back against the railing. “Unfortunately, she went awol about a week ago, but you… You’re the spitting image.” You feel a heat grow from your chest and move upward to your face. He finally looks at you, a bright smile on his face, and sheepishly, you spin the ring on your finger. You can’t bring yourself to respond or even look at him, feeling terrible for your lack of communication. “Hey,” Joaquin nudges you with his elbow, and your head turns slightly in his direction, “I missed you.” That brings a smile to your face as well as an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. 

“I missed you, too.” Joaquin’s smile grows, and he lifts an arm out, signalling for you to fall into his arms like you always do. “I’m sorry for going awol,” you easily slip your arms around his waist as he tightens his around your shoulders. It’s like you can feel the tension disappear the longer you hold each other. 

“It’s okay, just don’t disappear like that again.” Your whole body shudders when you feel his lips on your temple, it’s almost like he knows what he’s doing to you. You’re convinced he can feel the way your heart is racing, so you pull back, keeping a smile plastered to your face. 

“I’m glad you managed to survive a week without me.” Joaquin laughs at your words, and it seems to relax you. He keeps his arm securely around you and pulls you in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Another few days and I would’ve been a goner.” It’s your turn to laugh, and the sound makes him grin, his hand squeezing your shoulder, “Come on, I need a drink.”

Just like that, you both fall back into stride with one another, laughing and eating, then drinking until the sun goes down. 

“I think he’s had enough,” Sam laughs as you all watch Joaquin stumble into the doorway on his way into the kitchen. 

“You’re the one who bet him $20 that he couldn’t shotgun a beer three times!” You point at Sam, laughing too. 

“It was twice! The kid’s just a lightweight.” Joaquin appears by your side, a goofy grin plastered to his face when he locks eyes with you. You can see just by the look in his eyes that he’s tired. 

“I am not a lightweight!” Joaquin’s mind slowly catches up, and he waves a finger at Sam, causing the few people in the room to chuckle. 

“Okay, well, prove it.” Sam slides another beer across the kitchen island, and your much less impaired reflexes stop it from slipping off the counter entirely. 

“Weren’t you just the one who said he’d had enough?” You quip, raising an eyebrow at Sam. 

“I don’t feel good.” Your head immediately whips around to Joaquin, concerned by his claim. His face scrunches up, and a hand comes up to his head. 

“Why don’t you go lie down?” Your hand reaches out to rub his arm, and he just groans in response. “Come on, I’ll take you.” You help him turn back the way he just came, his body swaying so much that you wrap your arm around him. “If he’s sick, you’re cleaning it up, Wilson!” You call out over your shoulder as you assist Joaquin to Sam’s spare room, a room you’ve crashed in a handful of times before. Sam hollers back a few expletives as you exit, but you choose to ignore him. Instead, your focus is now fully on Joaquin. He’s like a dead weight as he sinks more into you the further you walk. He’s all encompassing; the heaviness of his arm around your shoulders, the heat of his body, the strong scent of his aftershave, it’s almost overwhelming.

“Why did you drink so much?” He’s practically whining when you sit him down on the bed, his body swaying slightly. Cautiously, you remove your hands from him. 

“I had to.” You kneel in front of him and start undoing the laces of his shoes, but he is completely unwilling to assist you. He keeps his feet planted on the floor, making it difficult to get the shoes off. 

“You didn’t have to do anything.” You giggle when you look up to see his brow furrowed and his bottom lip jutted out. 

“I did,” he whines again, “had to forget.” 

“You’re not making sense,” he sounds like a small child who isn’t willing to share all the details of why they’re upset. You do your best to manoeuvre his legs up onto the bed now that you've got his shoes off. 

“I love you,” Joaquin whimpers as he finally helps to move his body to lie down. Meanwhile, now you’re frozen, just blinking at him, unsure what to do. “I love you so much, but I don’t think you love me.” 

You’re about a second away from calling Sam in here to clean up your puke. Joaquin’s words render you speechless while he remains unbothered, just snuggling into the pillow, ready to rest. Your mouth opens as if to talk, but only a shaky breath comes out. You stutter out his name but get no response; the man just voiced a deep, dark secret and then fell dead asleep. A sigh leaves you as you look at him, so peacefully unaware that he’s changed your entire life with one simple sentence. You pull a blanket from the bottom of the bed to cover his body and take another look at his face. For a moment, you allow yourself to indulge, your fingers reaching to brush against his cheek. He rubs his face against the pillow like a cat before letting out a deep sigh and relaxing again. 

“The bird brain must come with the suit.”

━━━

You’re startled awake by a hand on your shoulder, your eyes blinking a few times before Joaquin’s smiling face isn’t blurry. It takes your mind a minute to fully wake up, Joaquin’s words filtering through slowly. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” He crouches down to be eye level with you. A sleepy smile crosses your face. “What are you doing sleeping on a very uncomfortable-looking chair?” You take a second to remember what led up to this moment, memories flooding back. 

“I was keeping an eye on you. I must have fallen asleep.” You straighten your back, feeling new aches as you stretch. “You were pretty drunk last night.” There’s a grin on his face that you mirror. 

“Yeah, I have a headache to prove it,” he chuckles. 

“Did you-“ he cuts you off before you can even finish. 

“Yes, I took the Advil and chugged the water.” You settle back in the chair, although you don’t relax as you feel Joaquin’s hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth. It makes your heart rate spike. “Thank you for taking care of me, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know that’s what makes me so nice,” you say in a cheery tune, and without thinking, your hand reaches up to smooth back some of the hair that had fallen in his eyes. Joaquin lets out a satisfied sigh when your fingertips press against his scalp. 

“Oh, keep doing that,” he manoeuvres his body to sit at your feet, easily making space for himself between your legs and placing his head in your lap. “‘feels good.” You obey his request, combing your fingers through his hair and enjoying the way his eyes shut softly at your touch. You stay locked together like this for a moment before your brain ultimately begins overthinking. Like he can sense it, Joaquin speaks up, “Why didn’t you just sleep in the bed? It’s not like we haven’t done that before.” He keeps his head planted in your lap, his eyes still shut, he looks so relaxed, but your head swims with anxiety. 

“I told you I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You try to keep your voice steady, convincing yourself that you wouldn’t have rather slept right next to him last night instead of this crappy little chair. 

“So you would’ve slept with me given the choice?” You choke on nothing but air, and Joaquin peeks an eye open before a short chuckle escapes him.

You clear your throat and put on a snarky tone, “I like you better when you’re sleeping.”

━━━

“Please come to dinner,” Joaquin whines, clapping his hands together like he’s praying. “You know that my mom loves you, and you can be my buffer.”

“Buffer for what?” You laugh at Joaquin’s dramatic flair, “Actually, no! Your mom has come here to visit you, not me.” 

“Please, you know she’s going to grill me about my personal life and all this new Avengers stuff.” He now waves his hands in the air, making sure to punctuate every word, “plus she’s been asking about you, so it’s a win-win situation.” You look at Joaquin, pretending to think it over, but your facade fades when he gives you a comically wide smile. You can never find it in you to say no to him, especially when he looks at you like that.

“Fine,” you playfully roll your eyes when Joaquin overexcitedly begins celebrating, “but you’re making tamales!”

You’re stunned when Joaquin’s lips come in contact with your cheek, but you play it off with a small chuckle. 

“You got it!” Joaquin starts walking backwards, the biggest grin on his face as he points at you, “I’ll see you tomorrow at 6!”

━━━

“Hey!” Joaquin immediately pulls you over the threshold into a tight hug. You barely manage to breathe out a small hi before he’s dragging you into his apartment and presenting you in front of his mother. You pretty much get the same treatment from her; she squeals your name before rushing out of the kitchen. Her arms are around you in a second, and you giggle at her welcome. Immediately, she begins asking you questions, not even allowing you a second to answer before she’s onto the next. She directs you to sit on the couch next to her, and she keeps your hands cupped in hers. 

Joaquin’s mother has always treated you as if you were one of her own. When you were younger and you’d come over to hang out with Joaquin, she’d ensure you were always fed before leaving. She always included you in family outings or Sunday dinners. She was like a second mother to you, and you were always grateful that she loved you so sincerely. 

“Ma, come on, if you’re gonna ask a question, you’ve got to leave room for an answer.” Joaquin interrupts only for his mother to tut and wave him off. You grin when you see Joaquin roll his eyes and shake his head as he moves back to the kitchen. 

“You look good, cariño.” One of her hands strokes your face before cupping your cheek, “Oh, te he extrañado.” You smile so much that your cheeks hurt. You’ve been around Joaquin and his family long enough to have picked up more than a few words in Spanish, and you’ve become somewhat okay at following a conversation in the language. Joaquin interrupts again, calling for his mom to help in the kitchen. She sighs and mumbles to herself, asking how he manages to survive without her, before she moves off to help. 

Only seconds later, Joaquin comes through the kitchen door, his hands raised in surrender, and you can hear his mom telling him off for something. 

“I am not allowed in the kitchen anymore.” He plops down beside you on the couch, resting an arm behind you. 

“What did you do?” You stifle a giggle because you can still hear his mom muttering loudly. 

“I may have burnt her rice a little.” He winces when he says it, and you laugh, remembering the day his mom made him make multiple pots of rice until he got it right. Joaquin complained for a week straight about his arms aching from all the work. 

“You’re never going to be allowed in the kitchen again,” you both laugh, and your head absentmindedly rests back against his arm as the noise dies out. Your heart thumps in your chest at the way he looks down at you. For a second, it feels like you’re being drawn together, an invisible force pulling you both in. You can’t help it when your eyes flicker to his lips; it’s been too long since you’ve kissed him, and your mind berates you for giving that up. You swear he can read your mind because now he’s looking at your lips, and you're convinced he’s getting closer. 

“Come sit!” You both jump apart like two teenagers caught with the bedroom door shut as his mother's voice sounds through the apartment, “The food’s ready.”

You feel happy, and your appetite is sated. You’ve always enjoyed being around Joaquin and his family. It’s a side of your friend that not many get to see. He’s shyer in his mother’s company, not so cocky and over the top but still very much himself. He tells wild stories, going into great detail, and he manages to command the room whether there are 2 or 200 people. But he’s still just that shy kid at his core, the one who clams up when his mom brings up how unorganised his apartment is or how he needs to visit home more often. 

“Mi corazón, when are you going to find a nice girl and give me grand babies?” Joaquin’s mom suddenly blurts out as he refills your glass. He almost spills the drink all over the table at the shock of his mother's words. 

“Ay mami, not this again!” Joaquin groans, a hand coming up to scrub over his face. 

“What?” She looks at you confused before opening her mouth again, “It doesn’t have to be a girl. You want to meet a nice boy?” 

“Ma!” The pair delve into their native language, arguing about the topic while you sit with a hand covering your mouth. Joaquin takes one look at you and you almost lose it, stifling your giggles behind your hand. 

His mother says your name and instantly stops your amusement. “You would both make beautiful grandchildren.” Your eyes go wide, looking at Joaquin and seeing a look of embarrassment wash over him. It’s not the first time someone has said something like that about you both, insisting that you’d both be a good couple, that you should be together. They even did it one time when Joaquin had just introduced his family to his girlfriend of 6 months years ago. 

Joaquin’s chair scrapes against the floor, and in an instant, he’s on his feet. 

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough!” His hand grabs the almost empty wine glass that sits on the table in front of his mother. He picks up more dishes as she begins to protest, and they argue more. You decide to help with clearing the table, really just trying to avoid being brought into the conversation again. The pair don’t seem to notice you slip away from the table and go towards the kitchen. You can still hear them arguing in the other room as you begin to place the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. 

“She’s going to kill me if she sees you doing dishes.” Joaquin stands in the doorway, holding more dishes in his hands. “It’s the least I can do,” you say while continuing to fill the dishwasher. Joaquin begins assisting you until all of the dishes are put away. 

“Thank you,” Joaquin holds out an arm, hooking it around your shoulders and pulling you into him. You sink into his hold, your arms coming around his waist. It’s almost like you feel his body relax the second you’re pressed together. “You don’t have to thank me for doing the dishes, I told you it’s the least I could do.”

“I’m not talking about that.” His other arm circles around your shoulders, and now he hugs you tightly. His chin comes to rest on the top of your head, “I mean, just thank you. For being here, for everything.” You pull back to look at him, and suddenly you’re hit by an overwhelming feeling. It leaves you frozen, looking up at Joaquin’s bright eyes that stare back at you. There’s a second where his gaze falls downward; had you blinked, you would’ve missed it, but you didn’t, you saw the way he looked at your lips. Now you’re copying him, glancing at his lips, and your breath hitches when you feel his hand come in contact with your cheek. Fingers slowly and deliberately brushing against your skin, your lips part, and a shaky breath escapes you. Joaquin’s eyes keep darting across your face, and your mind races at the close proximity. Your hands slide around to rest on his sides, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor you to him. You both seem to move in slowly, foreheads gently pressing together, and Joaquin nudges his chin towards yours. His lips barely brush yours, breaths mixing for a few seconds. It’s like he’s waiting for you to decide, like he wants to know if you want this too. It would be so easy to kiss him right now, but what would that mean? Guilt begins to wrack through your body. He doesn’t know that you know, you don’t even know if he meant what he said at Sam’s house. 

“I-I,” You stutter out, preparing yourself to ask him if he meant it, but your lack of conviction throws Joaquin. He pulls away from you almost instantly, and you feel a shiver run through your body.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, and you feel your heart splinter. “No, no, I just need to-” You’re cut off when Joaquin’s mom enters the kitchen, and you both instantly act like what just happened didn’t happen. 

“I cannot believe you would leave your precious mami alone at the dinner table.” She remarks, tapping her hand against Joaquin’s cheek. “I left you your wine glass, didn’t I?” Joaquin quips, directing his attention to his mother now. He slips an arm around his mother’s shoulders and turns her back out of the kitchen. They fall into a conversation and leave you standing, lost in your thoughts, alone in the kitchen.

You’ve messed up, and you don’t know how to fix it.

━━━

You waited until his mom returned to Miami to attempt to bring up the topic of that night, but every time you tried, Joaquin seemed to change the subject. He then seemed to be avoiding you; his messages grew further apart, and his reasoning for not hanging out became less believable as the days went on. It soon turned into weeks of not seeing one another, and your heart ached. You wanted things to go back to normal.

“You ready?” Sam’s voice filters through your thoughts, and you look up at him, a half-hearted smile on your face when you see his hand outstretched toward you. Your head nods as you take his hand and stand from your chair.

Sam had been invited to a big fancy charity gala, and he had asked you to be his plus one, something that you cautiously accepted. It was a big deal to be seen alongside the Captain America, and you knew that Sam had asked you because it would be good for his public image. That and people knew you were both close friends, and nothing more, minus a few stray publications that liked to stir up drama at any given moment.

“You look good.” Sam compliments you once you’re both in the car, and the driver takes off for your destination, you turn to smile at your friend. “Thanks, you don’t look half bad yourself.” Sam swipes his hands against his lapels, clearly feeling himself in that moment. 

The rest of the car journey is quiet, just the sounds of the street outside and the radio that quietly lulls through the speakers. It’s completely the opposite when you step out of the car; there’s a carpet to walk on, and photographers line both sides. Nerves creep in when you take in the sea of people and all the flashing lights, but Sam’s there to help you along. You’re glad when his assistant only makes you stand in a handful of photos; you can already see the headlines that those specific tabloids will make up by morning. You mostly get to stand on the sidelines, watching Sam pose for pictures, and you actually begin to enjoy yourself. You get a laugh out of Sam’s natural charisma when he answers questions in interviews or when he tells the cameras to get his good side. You’re almost done with the carpet when you hear commotion behind you, your gaze falls to the source, and you’re surprised by what you see. Joaquin stands tall in a stunning forest green suit, and you’re genuinely left speechless. Cameras snap pictures of him, then there’s a commotion again when he lifts a hand out to the side, and your smile falls when you see a beautiful woman emerge from the crowd of people on the carpet. She stops at Joaquin’s side, tucking herself under his arm, and they look into each other’s eyes a little too longingly. They pose for pictures together, her hand comes to rest on his chest before she tucks away a stray curl from the side of his face. They appear to exchange words before she giggles at whatever was said, and suddenly, you feel sick. You can’t seem to drag your eyes away from the pair as they move up the carpet together. You feel a tightness spread through your chest, and your clothes suddenly feel like they're restricting your ability to breathe. You can feel all the joy drain from your body, and suddenly the ground feels as if it’s crumbling under you. 

“You alright?” Sam’s hand cups your elbow, pulling your attention to him, and you try to open your mouth to say something, but you only manage to take in a stuttered breath. Your hands feel shaky, and your eyes sting. Sam doesn’t wait for an answer when he sees your distressed state. He’s subtle in the way he manoeuvres you inside, out of the paparazzi's beady eyes. You’re not even sure where you’re going, eyes glued to the ground as your head swims with thoughts. 

“Take a deep breath.” You can hear Sam’s voice, but it feels far away. “Hey, eyes on me.” You look up, overwhelmed to see you’re somewhere else, somewhere unknown. Then your eyes find Sam’s, and he instructs you again to take a deep breath. This time, you try. Sam follows suit; you mirror each other, taking deep breaths until Sam sees you coming back to yourself. “What’s going on with you two?” You’re taken aback by the question, your gaze falling downwards. He doesn’t even have to say his name for you to know who he’s talking about.

“It’s nothing.” You mutter quietly, wringing your hands together as if the nervous tick wouldn’t give you away.

“You just had a panic attack at the sight of him. It’s not nothing.” Sam speaks sternly, and when you look up at him again, his eyebrow is raised; there’s no chance you’re leaving here without telling him the truth.

You can’t look at him when you speak, tears welling in your eyes again. “I’m in love with him.” Sam’s the first person you’ve admitted that to, and if you weren’t in your current predicament, you’d maybe feel slightly relieved by the admission. Sam goes to respond, but you cut him off, feeling the need to give him all the information. “And we’ve been sleeping together.” Sam can’t hide his surprise at that confession, and you find yourself tripping over your words, unable to stop the word vomit. “I mean, we were until I told him we should stop. And then you remember your barbecue a few weeks back?” Sam nods, listening to every word. “Well, when I put him to bed, he told me he loved me, but he was drunk, so he didn’t mean it right?” Sam tries to interrupt, but you just keep going. “Then I think we almost kissed the other week, but I stopped him because I felt guilty for not talking to him about what he said at your house. We’ve barely spoken in the last week, now he’s here with-with.” You can’t bring yourself to admit it, to say he’s moved on to someone else, that he looks happy without you. “ I messed up, I messed up so bad, Sam.” Your head falls into your hands, and embarrassment seeps into your mind. This was not the time or place to have such a breakdown.

“Are you done?” Sam waits a beat to ask his question since you interrupted his prior efforts to speak. You can’t even will yourself to speak again, fearing you’ll make this all worse. So, you lift your head, sheepishly looking at Sam before nodding. “You two are the most oblivious people I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of idiots.” His hand rests on your shoulder, and he cranes his neck down to force eye contact. Your brows join together at his words, but he pauses your stream of thoughts. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Sam pats your shoulder before turning away from you and leaving abruptly. 

Now that you’re left alone, your eyes scan the foreign room. It’s just a small side room, close enough to the foyer that you can still hear the roar of people on the carpet and in the building. It’s dimly lit, but you can make out the few pieces of art hanging on the walls and some scattered pieces of furniture. You find a chair tucked into an alcove near the door, and sit, your foot nervously tapping against the marble floor. The wait feels never-ending. You’re not even sure where Sam was going, what he was doing or why he had you wait here. Did he just want you to get yourself together so you could go out there and do what you were here to do?

The clicking of your heel stops the second you hear the door open. “Careful, man, do you know how expensive this suit was?” You swear your heart stops when you hear Joaquin’s voice. You will the ground to open up and eat you whole, the last thing you want is for Joaquin to see you like this. The pair fully enter the room, and Sam closes the door behind him. “What was so important that I couldn’t finish my conversation?” Joaquin’s voice dies out when his eyes lock on yours, and that sick feeling washes over you again. 

“You,” Sam points in your direction, “up.” You listen to his instruction, standing from the chair as they approach you. Sam has a hand wrapped around Joaquin’s bicep, directing him toward you. Joaquin says a few words, but Sam stops him, holding a hand in the air to silence him. He drops both his hands at his sides before he speaks again. “You two need to talk. Figure out whatever is going on here.” Joaquin keeps his eyes on Sam, looking at him with confusion, which makes Sam roll his eyes. “You are in love with him.” Sam gestures at you, then Joaquin. “And you are in love with her.” He does the opposite now. “Now figure your shit out.” Sam immediately turns and begins to step towards the door. “Where the hell are you going?” Joaquin raises his voice. “Well, I’ve got a better chance with your date than with mine. So, I’ll be out there mingling.” He says matter-of-factly before turning away again and leaving the room permanently.

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. It’s so uncomfortable to be like this with your best friend. The silence is eating you alive. Joaquin hasn’t even looked at you since Sam’s proclamation. 

“You two looked good together.” You cringe the second the words leave your mouth, and you look anywhere but at him, even when you know his eyes are finally on you again. “She’s not- She’s just someone from work. I got paired with her for the gala. It’s just a publicity stunt.” Joaquin replies quickly, and you catch him fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. “She’s nice but she’s not…” his sentence trails off, and your eyes finally fall on him. He looks even better this close up; it makes your thoughts falter. “Not what?” You cautiously ask, slightly scared of the answer. There’s a moment's silence before he finishes his thought. “Well, she’s not you.” He breathes out, and with your eyes on him, you see the nervousness written all over his face. 

“Did you mean it?” The words come out before you can fully register them, and your heart races the closer you are to the answer. “Mean what?” Confusion crosses his features at your question, and you have to swallow down your fear. You’re in this now; it’s now or never. “You told me you loved me, and you didn’t think I felt the same.” Joaquin’s eyes widen, but you continue. “You were drunk, and if you didn’t mean it, that’s okay.” 

“I meant it.” He interrupts, not allowing you to finish whatever you were going to say. Silence envelops you both again. Your mind races, never once had you entertained the idea that he would be in love with you. Not even after he had admitted it to your face. Now you’re unsure where to go from here. 

“I have loved you for a long time.” You look at him with wide eyes, Joaquin’s now the one trying to look anywhere but at you. “When you didn’t mention it that morning, I convinced myself it was a dream.” His eyes are glassy, and you can feel your stomach sinking. “I thought when you cut things off, that you didn’t feel the same. I thought-“

“Stop thinking.” You’re rushing toward him before you can convince yourself otherwise. Your hands go to his face, and finally, after so long, your lips are pressed together again. You’re rushing through it, whereas Joaquin’s slow. His hands hesitantly rest on your hips, and you can feel how tense he is just by being near him. 

“Wait.” You pull your face away the second you hear him speak, but your hands stay put on either side of his face. You’re still close enough to feel his breath on your face. “What does this mean?” Joaquin sounds so meek, and if this were any other situation, you might have laughed. Instead, you look at him and try to convey the emotions that you feel for him. When that doesn’t seem enough, you open your mouth to speak. “It means I love you, too.” Joaquin’s the one who surges forward this time, he kisses you with fervour now. It knocks all the air out of your lungs, and you cling to him like never before. His arms slip around your back, pulling you flush against him now. The kiss quickly becomes passionate, your tongues mingling as your chests heave. Your hand slips into his hair, messing up the styled locks immediately. 

“Hold on.” Joaquin retreats again; he sounds out of breath when he speaks, and your hazy brain becomes confused. Was this not what you both wanted? “No, no. Just give me a second.” He kisses you again as if he can see the panic in your eyes, but you’re still confused when Joaquin moves away from you. A chill hits you now that his warmth isn’t encompassing you. You watch as Joaquin goes to the door, opening it just enough for his head to fit, and he looks out as if he’s surveying the area. Then he’s shutting the door again, and there’s an echoed click before he turns back to you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously as he approaches you. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.” The moment he’s close enough, he reaches for you, arms securing around your waist. His hands rest on your back as he dives in for another kiss, this time with the confidence you’re used to. Your hands come up to rest on his chest, under the lapels of his jacket, and you're pushing the clothing off his shoulders somewhat absentmindedly. Joaquin dominates the kiss easily, slipping his tongue into your mouth as he walks you backwards. You bump into the arm of the chair you had perched on earlier, and you break apart momentarily to giggle as Joaquin apologises. His hand comes up to hold the back of your head just before your back comes in contact with a wall. Your lips part once again, both panting as you observe one another. 

“Is this okay?” Joaquin’s confidence falters momentarily, but you don’t allow his doubt to creep in. Immediately, you nod your head before speaking. “This…This is all I’ve thought about for months.” A grin spreads over his face, and his head falls to your shoulder as if he’s suddenly gotten all shy. “Months, really?” His breath hits your neck and causes a shiver to run through your body. Then, as you open your mouth to speak, he presses his lips to your neck, and your breath hitches this time. You make room for him, your head lolling to the side as he continues to kiss along the column of your neck. “Probably since that first night you kissed me.” Your words come out ragged as his hands move along your body with newfound confidence. “Really?” His head raises, and he looks down at you. There’s a dark glint in his eyes, a look you’re somewhat familiar with but haven’t seen in quite some time. You nod your head hastily before you’re dragging him back in. One hand pulls him by the back of the neck while the other tugs on his dress shirt. Your lips are on his once again, you part only for a moment to speak. “I think it’s obvious that I want you. Now, are you going to do anything about it?” It’s Joaquin’s turn to pull you in; he kisses you with passion as his wandering hands attempt to manoeuvre your clothing. Gasps fall past your lips when only moments later, his fingers expertly slip into your underwear. Joaquin pulls his head back, a smirk plastered to his face as he takes in your reaction to his touch. He breathes heavily as he watches the way you keen for him the second he slips a finger into you. Your whole body rises, hands clinging to Joaquin as he finds the perfect rhythm. It’s a blessing and a curse that he already knows all the ways to please you, and he seems to take great joy in that fact. His name slips out of your mouth, mixed with a choked moan. 

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” He kisses your cheek, then along your jaw until he makes his way back to your neck. He slows his hand and eases another digit into you. Your breathing stutters, and instinctively, your leg raises, knee resting against his hip. Joaquin’s free hand moves along your thigh, holding the flesh firmly in place. The new angle has Joaquin’s palm grinding against your clit and the feeling becomes overwhelming when he picks up the pace. His fingers rock into you quicker now, and you pull him closer, your arm now wrapped around the back of his neck. You had tried to muffle your moans, biting down hard on your lip, but eventually they began to slip through the cracks. You had to clasp your hand over your mouth to suppress a particularly loud moan. “Is that it, baby? That feel good?” His voice is muffled, vibrating against your neck. He pulls back after he says it, a dark look in his eyes. An embarrassingly piercing noise escapes you when your eyes fall on his face. A few stray curls fall into his eyes, and impulsively, your hand moves up to push them back. Your fingers barely press against his scalp, but it’s enough for his eyes to flutter shut for just a second, his pace faltering too. 

“I love you.” The words slip out when your eyes lock with his, and you watch a smile grow on his face. Joaquin shifts forward, a chaste kiss pressed to your lips. “I love you.” He reassures before kissing you again, and that’s enough to bring you to the precipice. Your hand grips his shoulder agonisingly tight while the other slips into his hair. The groan he lets out when your fingers accidentally tug on his curls sends you straight over the edge. You tug him forward, pressing your head into his neck as your body is wracked with pleasure. This time feels different to all the times before, something about the confessions of love that made this orgasm feel more intense than the others. Your mind feels dizzy, your fingers ache from how hard you’re gripping onto him, and the blood pumping in your ears is deafening. 

“I got you. I got you, angel.” Your mind had gone blank, but Joaquin’s gentle voice slowly pulled you back. He quietly shushes you when you whine as he gradually slips his fingers from you. “It’s okay, baby. Just hold on for me.” Lazily, you lift your head until it rolls back, thudding against the wall. Immediately, Joaquin’s brows pull together, and the hand that was resting on your leg comes up to the back of your neck. “Hey, careful!” A dopey grin appears on your face as you look up at him. He catches you staring, and the concern that was just etched into his features disappears instantly. 

“You love me.” You’re beaming when you speak, your brain still in a hazy post orgasmic state. His lips curved upwards, and his light chuckle echoed in the room. “Yeah. I really do. And you love me.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, and there are a few seconds where you both just stare into one another’s eyes. “Always.” You both lean in, lips brushing together until a loud banging pulls you apart. You both look at the source before Joaquin turns back to you. “Stay there.” He presses another kiss to your lips before he moves away. The lack of his presence sobers you up instantly, your logical brain kicking in. Your hands move quickly to fix your ruffled clothing as Joaquin unlocks the door and opens it to reveal Sam. Joaquin had tried to only open the door a fraction, but Sam’s able to push it open further without much effort. 

“When I told you to figure your shit out I didn’t mean trigger the security to a possible safety risk.” The colour drains from your face at Sam’s words. “So, you just didn’t want me ruining your fancy suit, is that what it was?” Sam laughs, smoothing out the shoulder of Joaquin’s suit jacket that now has considerable creases in the fabric. Heat creeps up your neck the more Sam teases. “Clean yourselves up and keep it in your pants until you get home.” Sam looks between you both, pointing a finger at Joaquin for the latter part of his statement. “Unless you want SWAT breaking down the door next.” 

Finally, the ridiculousness of the whole situation catches up to you, and you have to cover your mouth as you giggle. Joaquin and Sam look at you for a second before letting out chuckles themselves. Sam slaps a hand down on Joaquin’s shoulder, “I’ll see you out there.” Then he’s gone, and Joaquin clicks the door shut again. 

“Stop laughing, " Joaquin says, chuckling as he approaches you. Joaquin’s words only make you laugh more. It’s only when he stops in front of you once again that they die out. His hands slip onto your waist, and his head falls onto your shoulder. Instinctively, your fingers find their way into his hair again, and he just allows you to hold him tenderly for a moment. 

“I missed you.” His voice is barely a whisper, but you hear it. Your heart aches for just a moment, you had both wasted so much time. You repeat his words back to him before placing a kiss to the side of his head. Joaquin straightens his back, looking down at you again. There’s a look of joy spread across his face, it’s infectious and soon enough, you’re grinning as you look in his eyes. Joaquin leans in to place a single kiss on your lips before he pulls away. You watch with amusement as he adjusts his trousers before he offers his arm to you. Happily, you link your arm through his, and you take a second to look at him again. “Eres tan hermosa,” he smiles softly as his free hand comes up to hold your cheek, and suddenly you feel shy. Your gaze falls away as you lean further into his hand, and Joaquin moves to kiss your slightly pouted lips. He takes his time with the first kiss, then changes to give you a few quick pecks.

“You know my mom’s going to lose her mind when she hears about this.” Joaquin chuckles as he pulls away, his hand falling from your face. You giggle in response before a wave of panic hits you. “Please do not tell her about how this happened!” Your eyes go wide, and it takes a second for Joaquin to register what you mean. Then he’s laughing, “No! No way! Definitely not.” Now you’re laughing, finding his amusement infectious. “Okay, good.” Joaquin takes a step, and you immediately follow, but you halt right as Joaquin’s hand rests on the door handle. You mumble about needing to fix his tie before freeing your arm from his. Your hands delicately flatten the shirt beneath his jacket before adjusting his tie. He keeps his eyes on your relaxed face the whole time, his hands coming to rest on your waist as you fix his collar. 

“I love you.” The words come out of his mouth with ease, a tender smile on his face. Your eyes move up to his, and this time, you feel butterflies in your stomach when you look at him. You push up on your tiptoes so your lips touch his again. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to you saying that.” Your feet rest back on the ground,d and you go back to Joaquin’s side, looping your arm back through his. You reach for the door handle now, slowly swinging the door open before you both step out. 

Suddenly, you feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted. Joaquin’s presence beside you feels so natural, like he was always meant to be there. He looks at you with nothing but love in his eyes. There’s something so precious about the way your heart feels when he looks at you now. You don’t have to second-guess your feelings or the way you act around him. He makes it so easy to feel like this is the way things have always been; his hand in yours, a secret kiss when he thinks no one is watching, or a few whispered compliments, it all feels like it’s meant to be. 

heavy | joaquin torres x reader

summary: you’ve worked with joaquin a lot over the years, from the military to his career as the falcon, as his physical therapist. as easy as joaquin was as a patient, it was hard. hard because he was such a shameless flirt, hard because he was so charming—but you’ve always been friends and nothing more. after the events of the red hulk, joaquin finds himself having a harder time recovering than usual despite having you by his side. a slip of the tongue leads to a fight that leaves the both of you tense, but all is forgiven when you find yourselves in an attack and confessions come to a head. 

warnings: porn with a LOT of plot however the story could be a stand alone without the smut so i added a cut before the smut happens (on that note, reader is anatomically fem), barely proofread by me (everybody say thank you @sortagaysortahigh for reading and giving feedback), post!cabnw, inappropriate doctor patient relationship, pre-established friendship, angsty joaquin, mention of previous injury (reader’s and joaquin’s), cursing, grumpy x sunshine if you squint, they’re under attack at some point ahh, slowburn…?, this story is in second and third pov cus its whatever i feel in the moment i fear, “say my name” trope, they fucked before confessing any real feelings mb, oral fem!receiving, p in v, spit as lube, missionary, doggy, ass slapping, light choking fem!receiving, dirty talk, kind of loser!joaquin?, slight overstimulation, creampie

word count: 12.6k

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You’ve worked with Joaquin countless times over the years. His medical rap sheet cost you more in printer paper than you could truly afford and your computer lags every time you try to pull his chart up electronically…but it was never something you could truly complain about. Afterall, it was Joaquin. Sweet, shameless flirt Joaquin. 

Sometimes it was a quick bounce back, a simple video chat where you outlined instructions for him to follow. “Non-strenuous exercise, Torres,” you’d emphasize hopelessly. You practically watch the words go in one ear and out the other. His eyes clearly averted on another screen, his mouth slightly agape in focus. “Uh-huh. ‘Course, no prob, doc,” before your screen went black. 

Other times, it’d take longer than he wanted, weeks before he was out and onto the next wound-awaiting mission. “Slow down, tough guy,” a gentle hand placed atop his, pushing the resistance band back down. All he does is shoot you a lopsided smile, flashing his dimples at you as he asks, “Yeah? You think I’m tough, doc?” 

Working with Joaquin was easy, so maybe you were a bit naive after the events of the Red Hulk for believing that it would be the same as before. 

“I’m getting kind of tired of seeing your face, Torres,” you step into his hospital room, hands in the pockets of your white coat. “You’re looking a little worse than usual.” 

You watch his jaw shift, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. The faint bulge only did so much to hold back his light chuckle. “Hey doc. It’s good to see you.” 

“Yeah, I wish I could say the same.” Your hand comes up to grip his jaw, turning his head to the side so you could take a closer look at the bruising and stitches on his face. Not your area of expertise in the least, but it doesn’t take a medical degree to know it was a rough battle.  

“Ah, come on. This? I’ve never felt better.” His dimples deep as he bore what only could be described as a shit-eating grin. 

“Mm,” you can only let out a hum of disapproval as you pull the computer station in his room closer to you. The keyboard clacks obnoxiously as you put in your credentials, bypassing any security measure that stands between you and his information. That’s what you get for taking on the Falcon as a patient, you suppose. Friendship be damned—Joaquin was a pain in the ass. You try to ignore his gaze, burning into the side of your face as you work. Without even glancing through your peripherals, you already know what he looks like. Eyes wide, gaze attentive, as he focused all of his attention on you. It made your skin tingle and heart beat faster in a way you didn’t want to think about. 

You unconsciously let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when his scans finally popped up. “Alright, let’s see.” You do your best to keep your expression neutral, but you can’t completely stop the small frown that has the corner of your lips turning downward as you scroll through pages and pages of images. 

Leaning towards you from his bed, Joaquin tries to peek at the screen. “That bad, huh?” 

You pull your lips tight, doing your best to eradicate any sign of displeasure on your face. “Not at all.” 

Joaquin casts you a skeptical look. 

You let out a puff of air, eyes closing for a moment before pushing the computer away. Hands on the railing of his hospital bed, you admit, “I heard about what happened, and considering the fall you took, I expected worse.” Your tone is gentle, maintaining eye contact, “But…it’s not great, either.” 

With his best effort, Joaquin straightens up in the bed. Shifting uncomfortably, he asks, “Alright so what’s that mean for me, then?” 

You hesitate, racking your brain for the right words. His look of impatience prompts you to just be honest. 

“It means you’re not going to be The Falon for a long time.” 

-

He starts off optimistic, business as usual for Joaquin, but you start to read through him soon enough.  

“Torres, stop that,” you hiss, slapping his hand away from the buttons on the treadmill. 

“That was lightwork. Come on, ramp up the speed a bit, doc. I can take it,” he insists, clapping his hands together as he tries to exceed the light jog you set for him. 

You let out a sigh before gradually slowing his speed down to zero. 

“What, that’s it?” he turns to you with his arms outstretched in mock disbelief. He continues to goad you into letting him do a more difficult exercise, insisting that he can handle it. His words hold little bark, though, as he forces them out in between heavy breathes. You place your hands on his waist, over the trainer you have tightened around his torso and help guide him off the machinery. 

He doesn’t put up a fight, and the two of you ignore the droplets of sweat lining his forehead. 

“That was good work,” you murmur, scribbling down some notes. Throwing him a bone, you add, “You went a further distance than I thought your body could handle at this point. That's a positive progression.” 

When you’re greeted with nothing but silence, you cast a look over in his direction. He leans against the railing that lines the wall, his hands resting on the bar. His chest continues to heave, slower now, but not quite steady. You can’t help the ache in your chest when you catch his somber expression, eyes lost in deep thought. 

“I know it’s a lot.” 

He doesn’t answer you at first. You start to think that he didn’t hear you, but then you watch as his jaw clenches. 

“I know it’s different from the last times we’ve gone through this. Taking longer than you want—” 

But just when you think you’ve gotten through to him, he shakes his head and wipes the grim expression of his face, blowing out a puff of air. “What? This?” Joaquin lets out a less than convincing laugh. “No. It’s fine.”

“Torres—” 

“No, really.” With a grunt, he pushes himself off the bar and you hold back a grimace, restraining yourself from stepping forward to help him. It would only make things worse right now. “I’m fine,” he continues. He ignores the look on your face as he steps closer, the drawn in eyebrows and your pouting lips that are almost enough for him to forget the dilemmas he’s in. He hates how worried you look. 

“I’ll see you next session, doc.” He heads for the door before you can get another word in, but not before looking back and throwing a wink in your direction. 

-

It had been a long day. Someone at work finished the last of your creamer and left the empty carton in the fridge, your patients were especially frustrated and took it out on you, and the bottom of your maxi skirt had gotten caught on some equipment, causing a huge tear. 

You’ve just about had it, so you sit in the silence of your car with your eyes closed. It was dark out; you got out of work so late today. You sigh again at yet another reminder of how terrible your day has gone. On any other day, by now, you would’ve been deeply nestled into your bed already, freshly showered and fed. The whine of frustration bubbles past your lips involuntarily. 

Peace is had for all of two minutes before your phone buzzes. Naturally, it’s ignored, your lip twitching in irritation and your eyes stay closed in determination. But then your phone buzzes again. And again. And again. 

You can’t help but curse as you riffle through your bag, praying it’s just some to-do list reminder.  

Notification Center: 5 new messages from Torres

“What the hell?” you whisper to yourself. 

Torres: Hi 

Torres: Need your help 

Torres: Did something bad

Torres: Bring an arm brace. 

Torres: Please…😀

“Oh, Christ,” you curse, rolling your eyes so hard you feel a headache start to form. You take five seconds to pity yourself before your pathetic excuse of a car roars to life and you’re down the road, following your maps to the location Joaquin shared. 

-

“Hello?” you call out, stepping into the entryway of Joaquin’s apartment. The spare key he told you about hangs from your hand and you drop it into what looks like the designated key bowl. “Torres?” 

Your eyes inadvertently take in the space, curiously peering at his decorations. In front of you sits a blue, worn-in couch that seems to be well-loved, adorned with a bunch of throw blankets that aren’t really cohesive in color. 

Spinning around the living room, you find a large TV mounted across from the couch that warranted a small chuckle. Unsurprisingly, it seems to be the fanciest piece of furniture he owns; he’s the biggest sports fan you know. In between the space sits a cute coffee table, an unfinished coffee mug sits on the table alongside a phone charger. 

A warmth blooms in your chest at how human it all was. Before you can move on to any pictures or any other space in the home, a loud voice yells, “In here!”

You snap out of your daze, the weight of the arm brace suddenly reminding you why you were even there in the first place. Rushing past his kitchen, you continue until you bypass a few doors. Unsure which room he’s in, you call out his name again. 

At the end of the hallway, light spills out as Joaquin opens the door to his bedroom. The look on his face is sheepish, and he gives you a boyish, wide smile. “Thanks for coming by.” 

“House calls aren’t really part of my payroll, you know.” 

“Well,” his brow rises and face scrunches into a look of false calculation. “I figured if there was any patient you’d break the rules for, it’d be me. I heard I’m your most charming one, after all.” 

You greet his wink and tongue click with an eye roll, but before you get the chance to reply, Joaquin finds himself trying to lean against his doorframe. A loud hiss fills the air as his left hand comes up to clutch his right shoulder. An embarrassed look is sent your way. “Maybe, uh, not as charming, um, right now…don’t freak out.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath and opens his door further, a silent invitation for you to come in. 

You glare at him as you pass the threshold of his room, maintaining eye contact as you shake your head. “You’re actually the worst of my patients, you know that?” 

“The worst?” he exclaims in genuine shock. “Wow, okay.” His uninjured arm clutches his heart. “Now I’m wounded in more ways than one—” 

You wish you could say you heard the rest of his ramblings, but his words start to trail off as you step into his room. You’re suddenly engulfed by the smell of him and it’s making you…dizzy. The unmade bed, the hoodie draped over the back of his desk chair, the mess on the nightstand, standing there you suddenly realize how intimate it all was. His musky cologne and the scent of fresh laundry invades your senses and you start feeling nervous.

A lump swells in your throat, so you clear it, letting out what you hoped was a subtle cough to shake the feeling. 

By the time you regain focus, you realize how uncharacteristically quiet Joaquin’s being behind you. You force yourself to turn his way. That was when you took in the state of him. Standing by the door, his right arm is cradled in his left as he carries a nervous expression.

“Oh, what did you do!” you chastise, all other thoughts billowing away as you rush towards him. 

“I was doing some light exercise—” he lets out a yelp of pain when you press against his shoulder and you look up at him with another glare. 

“Just a few pushups,” Joaquin’s voice gets higher, already defending his careless actions. “It wasn’t,” he hisses as you adjust him again, “anything I can’t handle.”

You cast him another disparaging look, causing him to shut his mouth. 

“Torres, are you trying to make my job harder?” you let out a groan. “You’re only supposed to do only light movements on non-PT days. Definitely no exercise involving your arm or back muscles.” 

“No pain, no gain, ‘miright?” his laugh turns into a groan of pain when you harshly press an ice pack onto his shoulder. “Hold this,” you harshly instruct. His hand comes up to grab the cold pack tentatively, all while avoiding eye contact. 

“And it’s not funny,” you scowl. “You’re disregarding my advice and look where it’s gotten you.” You guide his arm into the brace. It’s a bit tactless, the way you’re talking to him, but your patience has completely dissipated this late into the day. Maybe tough love is what he needs to hear. “You have to stop pushing yourself like this and just trust me.” Your own frustrations clearly start to bleed through. 

A long stretch of silence fills the space between the two of you, but you’re too focused on patching Joaquin up to truly notice. It seems to eat at him, though, because after a few minutes of velcro tearing and your manhandling, he speaks up. 

“Could do it before.” It’s so quiet, you almost miss it. 

“What?” you ask in exasperation, not truly hearing what he said. 

“Last week.” 

You pause your movements, waiting for him to continue. 

Joaquin’s face scrunches in hesitation, thoughts running amok through his mind as he debates whether or not to keep going. “After physical therapy last week I did fifty. No pain at all,” his brows raise in feign disbelief alongside a humorless chuckle. He purses his lips, turning his face away from you as he whispers, “Couldn’t even get through ten today.” 

Your eyes close, God, how insensitive could you be? Taking a step back from him, you take in how upset he looks. His shoulders ripple with tension as the nails of his right hand clenched and dug into his palm before unclenching, a grounding technique he told you about from his military days. 

Placing a hand on the bicep on his non-injured side in an action quietly asking him to stop, you try to meet his eyes with a tilted head. “Hey, I mean…progress isn’t always linear, Torres. You can’t always—” 

The way he shrugs you off is sudden, he turns his back to you and merely casts a sullen glance at you over his shoulder. With a shake of his head, he begs, “Please, don’t. Don’t start doing that.” 

“Look, PT is always really hard. And we talked about it, this time, you’re not going to come back as fast as you did before. You need to give your body more time—”

“How much more time?” his voice rises. “I mean, at the very,” Joaquin starts to stutter and his eyes scrunch in anger, “At the very least I shouldn’t be going backwards.” 

“I know…it feels like you’re going backwards,” you carefully place your words, “But you are getting better. It’s only seems hard right now—” 

“Yeah, I get that,” he cuts you off, his tone much harsher than you’re used to. “You don’t have to constantly tell me that, I know.” 

“Alright, fine.” You can’t help that your tone, too, takes a bit of an icy turn, too. “Then I shouldn’t have to explain to you how active recovery works and if you just tried to be a little more patient—” 

“I know that too!” he hisses, “I get that it's supposed to be hard but,” he blows out a breath. “It shouldn’t…it shouldn’t be this damn hard.” Joaquin starts pacing, his right hand running through his unkempt curls. “I’m doing your exercises—”

“But you’re not following the rules,” you defend. “If you actually listened instead of pushing yourself for things you aren’t ready for—” 

“Or maybe you just don’t know what the hell you’re doing!” Joaquin shouts as he buries his face into the palm of his right hand before pinching the space above his nose and between his eyes.  

The words strike you harder than you expect, and you can’t help the way your mouth parts in surprise. “‘I don’t...?” Your sentence starts off as a quiet whisper, merely repeating the words Joaquin threw in your face, but soon changes to anger as the meaning behind what he says truly sinks in. “I ‘don’t know what the hell I’m doing?’” you sneer. 

The sound of your outrage fills the air, and Joaquin snaps his head up. It only takes one look at your face for him to shut his eyes and breathe out through his nose. Wetting his lips, he starts speaking before opening his eyes, “Shit. Wait, I didn’t mean—” 

To your mortification, your eyes start to burn. “You know what I do know, Torres,” you cut him off. “I know that you called me here. I know that you called me here and I showed up for you, like I do every single time. I know that it’s hard,” you can’t help the hint of mockery in your voice. “Believe it or not I do get it. The only one here who doesn’t understand is you, because you’re too damn stubborn to admit that you need more time. You’d rather hurt yourself more, just to prove something.” You huff, turning your back to him, “And I’m not just going to stand here, waiting to watch you crash and burn. You can figure it out your damn self, Torres. I’m done.”  

The sound of his bedroom door slams behind you and his front door follows in a similar fashion soon after. Chest heaving, you lean against the entrance to his apartment as the adrenaline flees from you. It leaves you with your head in your hands. “Fuck,” you murmur to yourself. 

-

“I shouldn’t have let her leave,” Joaquin continues his ramble to a less than interested Sam. 

“Uh-huh,” Sam replies, voice monotone. It was his only contribution to the conversation thus far, his attention more-so occupied on polishing some equipment. 

“I didn’t mean what I said. It was something stupid that just slipped out. Heat of the moment, y’know?” Joaquin pauses mid-scrolling, swiveling in his chair to face Sam. “She knows that…right?” he scratches his chin. 

A loud sigh and the clink of metal hitting the table makes Joaquin’s ears perk up. He takes in Sam’s tense back and the way he throws his head back in obvious annoyance.  

“Man, I don’t know what she knows.” Sam finally puts in his two cents. Chin tilting down, Sam looks up at his friend with a deadpan expression. “You talk. A lot.” 

Joaquin’s face scrunches in protest, head jerking back in offense, “I mean—” 

“You’ve been talking for half an hour, dude.” Sam retaliates before Joaquin can argue, left hand pointing up at the clock on the wall. “At some point, you went on about, like, Messi leaving Barca and how that was the same as her walking out on you? I don’t,” Sam sighs loudly, “I don’t know.” 

“Dude, that was a big deal! And it was a metaphor—” 

“Well, she’s not Messi, is she?” Sam places his hands on his hips, face twisted in annoyed disbelief. “And last I checked, you don’t have a billion-dollar contract.” He turns back to the work at hand whilst murmuring, “God knows the government barely pays us to keep this place running,” his hand waves nonchalantly through the air. 

“I don’t need a billion dollar contract,” Joaquin huffs, the wheels of his chair squeaking as he turns back around to face his array of monitors. The sound of keys clacking ensues as Joaquin returns to work, but his mind continues to stray elsewhere as he murmurs absentmindedly to himself, “I just need to figure out how to get her to talk to me again.” 

“Hope you can figure it out soon ‘cause you got about thirty seconds.” Sam’s response surprises Joaquin, not realizing his mentor had even heard him. 

Once the initial shock wears off, Joaquin finds his voice. “Wait, what?” 

“Hello?” The sound of someone so sweetly familiar greets him.

Joaquin’s chair swivels again, but the source of his attention is directed not to Sam this time, but to you. “Hey,” Joaquin laughs breathlessly, “Hi. Uh, what are you doing here?” 

“We fought, Torres. I didn’t die,” you respond sarcastically. 

“Right,” Joaquin laughs obnoxiously. You and Sam share a look. “No, I just, uh, didn’t expect you to see you here…so soon…” 

“Well, despite what you might think of my skills, you’re still my patient.” 

Joaquin winces. 

“You might have been able to skip PT and ghost me for a week, but I can’t let you off the hook for your reassessment.” Your knuckles rap against the iPad you’re holding. “Government orders.” 

“That’s today?” Joaquin squirms in his seat, face going pale. 

“One every month.” You avert your gaze from his, shuffling on your feet as the interaction grows awkward. “I’ll be in the med bay,” your tone softens. “See you in a bit.” 

Joaquin takes a bit too long to respond, shouting after you a beat after you’ve already set to leave. “Yeah, I’ll meet you there!” 

You slowly cast a glance over your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed in confusion before exiting without another word. 

“Smooth.” Sam inserts. 

“Shut up.” 

“Real smooth.” 

-

Joaquin sits quietly on the exam table with his hands clasped between his knees. The crinkly paper tore the second he tried to take a seat and is only now pinned down under the weight of his thighs. Other than the chuckle and head shake from you, the two of you have yet to exchange any real words since he’s walked into the cold, sterile room. 

He’s nervous for more reasons than one, and Joaquin can’t tell what’s killing him more: the reassessment or the unknown between the two of you. 

Hands rubbing against his thigh, Joaquin lets out a big breath before blurting, “I’m sorry about the last week.” 

You look up from the tablet you’ve been scrolling through, but before you can respond, he continues in a rambling tone. “I didn’t mean what I said. It was stupid,” he murmurs. 

The sound of your shoes squeak against the linoleum as you approach him, stopping just before his bed. Looking up at you, his eyes are wide, irises swimming with remorse as he admits, “I was just frustrated, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re angry,” you sigh, your tone carrying a tone that indicates you’re admitting this more for Joaquin’s sake than yours—he needs to hear it more than you do. “I get it.” 

“That doesn’t make it okay.” 

“No.” You admit, but at the sight of his absolute guilt, his top teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as he stares up at you, you can’t help but give him a playful eye roll and smile. “No it doesn’t.” 

At the sight of your cold facade cracking, Joaquin’s face slowly emerges into a smile of his own. It’s hopeful on his end, but you don’t shut it down, and that’s all he needs right now. 

“Now let’s just see if your shoulder is as apologetic as you are.” 

The reminder of what they’re doing there sends a swarm of butterflies through Joaquin’s stomach, but he bears his smile all the same. “Haven’t done anything I’m not ‘spose to.” It’s a lame attempt at appeasing you, but Joaquin considers it a win either way when he catches the tiniest grin slip through on your face. 

You remove his brace, humming in approval as you guide Joaquin through simple shoulder exercises to test his healing process. 

Joaquin catches your gaze through your lashes. “What?” he asks quietly. 

“I’m almost impressed, Torres.” 

Before he can respond, a bright red light begins flashing throughout the room. A shrill alarm blaring makes the both of you jump, and Joaquin instinctively stands at the sound, grabbing your arms as the two of you begin looking around. 

“What the hell is that?” you question, shouting over the alarm. 

The sound of footsteps pound down the hallway, shouts and yells causing a commotion that leaves your head spinning. 

“Come on, we gotta go,” is all Joaquin can offer as he drags you out of the med bay. You have no choice but to follow as his grip remains firm. You don’t question his authority as he pushes you in the opposite direction of the stream of people running for the exits. 

“Cap!” Joaquin draws Sam’s attention from down the hallway. “What’s going on?” 

“Compounds under attack,” Sam barely gets the words out, his speed remaining consistent as he sprints toward the exit. “Stay put, get to the lower levels,” the last of his words fade, barely audible over the sirens. 

“Let’s go.” Joaquin urges, though he doesn’t give you much of a choice. Pushing you ahead of him, he cradles your head as he strongarms the crowd. The two of you force your way through, though you’re not quite sure where you’re going. “Turn here,” you hear him shout over the alarm.

You have only a second to adjust to the new setting before Joaquin shouts, “Keep moving!” 

The corridor hits a deadend and Joaquin reaches past you to shove the stairwell. The two of you rush downward, the dim, flickering lights making your heart beat faster in your chest. You can’t help the scream that escapes when a loud explosion occurs overhead, the ground shaking below you. For a moment, you lose your balance and you close your eyes to brace for impact. Stumbling, you expect to take a turn for the worse when a steady arm wraps around your waist. 

“You okay?” Joaquin’s voice is hushed against your ear, and it grounds you for a moment. 

“Yeah.” You quickly nod, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “You?” 

Joaquin doesn’t answer, instead, he pushes you forward again. “We’re almost there,” he reassures as you two round the last set of stairs. 

-

The alarm sounds distant now, almost acting like background noise in the cold, concrete basement. The sound of some mysterious liquid dripping in the background is much more prominent. It seems only the two of you are down here, and you made a joke about how everyone’s probably bunkered down in some fancy, state of the art basement and not the humid atrocity the two of you are in, and Joaquin just laughed. “There’s only one basement, mi corazón.”

Now, the two of you share a random wooden crate, leaning on each other in silence. 

“It’s been so long.” You break through the silence. “Do you think everything’s okay?” 

You can hear the sound of Joaquin’s rhythmic tapping against the wood, and you sit in contemplation as you await his answer. 

“I don’t know.” He’s honest. A brief pause later and he continues, “But if Sam’s out there, then it’ll be alright. He always figures it out.” 

You let his words settle over you for a bit before the gears in your mind start to turn, leading you down a different pathway. If your lack of response perturbs Joaquin, he doesn’t show it, the tapping continuing in an obscure pattern.

“You…didn’t run out there,” you state, voice laced with hesitation as the words fall through pursed lips. Joaquin’s tapping stops. Again, silence stretches between the two of you and you can hear your blood rushing in your ears. You can’t help but sneak a glance at him through your peripherals, and at the sight of a sharp, clenched jaw and a tense side profile, your lips turn downward into a frown. 

He finally exhales through his nose. “No, I didn’t.” 

Biting your lip, you tread lightly as you continue. “You always run toward the fight.” Throughout physical therapy, during missions, as the Falcon—all the years you and Joaquin have known each other run through your mind. He’s never been one to walk away. 

Joaquin breathes through his nose again, a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Not this time.” 

The two of you fall quiet again, only the sound of breathing fills the space. So much time had passed, you were sure that was all Joaquin had to say. It startles you when he starts again. 

“Before…” he trails off. Now it was his turn to bite his lower lip in hesitation. Joaquin looks down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, “You said something about, um, ‘getting it’?”

It takes your brain a second to register what he means, but once you realize he’s referring to your words during the fight, you lag. The question he’s trying to ask leaves you feeling uncomfortable. Deflecting, you joke, “Oh, are you referring to when I was putting you in place?” 

Joaquin hangs his head, laughing. “Yeah,” he nods. “When you were putting me in my place.” He turns to look at you, wetting his lips before giving you a close-mouthed, dimple-full smile. God, he’s so pretty, it was intoxicating. 

His eyes flicker to your lips for a brief moment and you involuntarily part them. Joaquin’s smile slowly drops, along with his voice as he continues. “It just sounded like you meant something more than just being on the job.” 

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, thumping so loud you can hear it in your ears and you’re scared he can, too. He’s unraveling you, bit by bit, and you don’t have the strength to stop him.  

“Yeah,” you whisper. You shift away from Joaquin, and for a second he panics, thinking that he’s crossed a line. But then the sound of shuffling fabric fills the room, and Joaquin leans back, giving you space as you pull up the sleeve of your pants. 

A soft finger points at your knee. Leaning close again, his eyes close in on a scar—faded, but long and jagged. His eyes lock with yours, and he takes in the way you’ve been watching him. 

“Played soccer when I was a kid,” your confession is quiet. “I loved it. And I was good, too.” Your emphasis on the word ‘good’ cracks a hole in Joaquin’s chest. Even though you’re looking at him, he recognizes that somewhere in your eyes, you’re far away, reminiscing on this past version of yourself. “Got a full ride to my dream school to play on their team. Then boom.”  You pop your lips. “ Tore my ACL two weeks before graduation.”

Joaquin just watches you, hanging on to every word. 

“I tried going to rehab.” You start rolling your pants down again.  “But…I was impatient. Stubborn. Wouldn’t listen to anyone.” Joaquin can’t help but wince at how awfully similar your story was starting to sound. You snap out of your dissociative gaze, locking eyes with Joaquin before earnestly confessing, “I never played again.” 

He can’t even begin to think of what to say, but even if he did, Joaquin never would have been able to get them past the lump in his throat. 

You nod alongside your next statement. “So, yeah. I get it.” There is no malice in your voice, only sincerity. 

Joaquin lets your words sit there for a moment. Eventually, all he can do is let out a groan. “I’m such an ass.” 

It earns a hearty laugh from you, and the sound was sweet enough that it even manages to grace a smile on his face too. It only lasts a second, though, before Joaquin grows somber again. 

“You know, I’ve wanted this for so long.” Joaquin’s hands come up, dragging down his face. “And then I got it. I was The Falcon…for all of five minutes before I screwed it up.” He shakes his head, disappointment in his own actions and failures radiating between the small space between the two of you. “I just thought that if I just pushed harder, worked through it I could…” Joaquin pauses, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know…get back out there and prove that Sam didn’t make a mistake choosing me. That I am The Falcon.” He lets out a breath and when Joaquin looks at you again, his eyes are misty. “But I guess I still have a long way to go, huh?” 

Your brows lower in sympathy, hand resting on Joaquin’s bicep. You offer a comforting smile. “Not that long,” you reassure. “You got me here. Last week’s Torres would’ve gone running after Sam in that hallway.” 

There’s a pause, and you feel the way it's charged with something heavy and unsaid, like something had just shifted.

“Yeah, well,” Joaquin’s eyes fall to your lips again. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking about Sam at that moment.” Slowly, the two of you inch towards each other. You’re not sure what came over you; it was like a gravitational pull that had the two of you falling into each other. His forehead pressed against yours, Joaquin blinks slowly as he confesses, “In that moment I just… wanted to make sure you were safe.” The words are breathless against your lips. 

“Joaquin, I—” 

A loud slam echoes through the basement, making the two of you gasp and jolt apart in panic. Shooting up from where you were sitting, Joaquin stands protectively in front of you. 

“Torres!” a familiar voice shouts out before calling your name as well. “You guys in here?” 

“Oh, my God, Sam,” you let out a sigh of relief, hand clutching your heart. 

Joaquin’s back muscles are tense. It takes him clearing his throat and smoothing his hand over his shirt to gain composure, but once it’s found, Joaquin’s face grows serious, taking Sam in. He helps you off the crate before stepping away, as though putting some distance between the two of you would make him think more rationally. 

The sound of boots hit the concrete floor as Sam makes his way over. “You guys alright?” he calls out. 

“Yeah,” you answer for the both of you, watching as Joaquin steps forward. 

“What happened?” his voice is urgent, shrouded with concern. 

“Everything’s clear for now,” Sam answers, eyes flickering back to you. “We should get back up there, though. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Silently, you step forward, following Sam’s lead, but not before looking back at Joaquin who can’t quite make eye contact with you right now. 

-

You tie your robe hastily, feet struggling to put on your fluffy slippers as you rush towards the door. The incessant knocking was throwing off your nighttime routine, and you tried not to get grumpy about the fact that you were just about ready to slip into bed to begin your British Bake Off binge but were sorely interrupted. 

Peering out of your peephole, you find your annoyance shriveling in your chest. The sight of a disheveled, heavy-breathing Joaquin throws you way more off than the knocking. 

Swinging the door open, you hastily question him, “Torres, are you okay?” You reach out, examining for any cuts or blood. He lets you spin him around to check his backside. “Is it your arm again? Your back?” 

When you spin him back and look up, you’re greeted with nothing but a barely-contained smirk, his enjoyment clear as day. Rolling your eyes, you let him go with a slight shove. 

“No, please,” he raises his hands in surrender. “By all means, please continue.” 

You put one arm up against the doorframe, the other landing on your hip. “What do you want?” 

Joaquin’s eyes flicker down momentarily, and he tries his hardest not to let the sight of your slightly open robe get to him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he tries his best to regain concentration. Clearing his throat, he states, “I didn’t get to see you after the attack on the compound.” 

Once your trio was able to get back up to ground level, you and Sam agreed it would be best if you went to the med bay to help where you can. You assumed Joaquin would be busy debriefing with Sam afterwards, and not knowing the threat level they were facing, you haven't reached out for fear he was working. 

“Came by to check on me?” Something like insulation slips between the lines. 

“Something like that,” he hums. Joaquin raises his brows, quietly asking to be let in. Reluctantly, you open the door wider, but you don’t exactly move from your doorway. 

Stepping towards you, Joaquin leaves you face to face with his chest, his classic scent of cologne and fresh laundry invading your senses. You try not to think about how broad he is as you step aside. His shoulder brushes yours as he passes, and you swear you see a slight mischievous upturn of his lips when you make contact with each other. 

He pauses a few steps in. You close the door. Standing behind him, you just watch him. The way he’s surveying your place makes you nervous; his gaze is so intentional, almost as if he’s taking in every detail. Maybe this is how he felt when you were at his place. 

There was a dim glow in your apartment, a few lamps here and there that you intentionally turned on to create a quiet ambiance after the afternoon’s rattling events. The candle you lit just mere moments before Joaquin came knocking created dancing shadows along the wall, and though you had no idea he was coming, you couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed at how intimate the setting you had created was. 

Joaquin was taking too long to say something, but you refuse to be the first to break the silence, so you continue your observation, watching the rippled chords of his back muscles rise and fall as he takes in slow breaths. The quiet and vanilla scent wafting through the air made your mind start wandering, and you couldn’t help but recall the past times you’ve laid hands on those same muscles—strong and taut under your fingertips. The memory of his skin, sometimes slick with sweat from working out, sends electricity through your body in a way that was inappropriate. 

You’ve admired him previously, sure, but you’ve never been so outright perverted in the way you oggle hm. You’re a professional, you remind yourself, only for the thought to be cut short by the reminder of what almost happened hours before. 

Skin tingling, you pull your robe tighter around your body, but the friction of the silk makes your breath catch in your throat. The sound was loud in your ears, and you pray he didn’t hear you.

Finally, Joaquin moves. His steps are slow as he moves further into your apartment. You’re not sure why he’s being so quiet, you’ve never known him to be such a way. Stopping at your kitchen counter, he turns to look at you as he runs his curls through his hair. Whether it was nerves or habit, you weren’t sure. Either way, it was distracting. 

“I noticed something…earlier,” the last word tacts on to his sentence as though it was an afterthought. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning into your kitchen counter before he crosses his ankles too. The look on his face makes your chest tighten, his jaw clenched as he eyes stay locked with yours. You feel like a fish out of water because this isn’t the Joaquin you’re so used to—shameless, flirty, sweet—all things you could handle, but this? Smoldering, cocky, and all of it so intensively directed at you; you could hardly stand on your own two feet. 

You feel stuck in your place for a second, and it takes every fiber of will in your body to push you forward. The sound of your fluffy slippers slide across the wooden floors, and you try not to focus too much on them for fear of the embarrassment drowning you. Joaquin watches you every step of the way, eyes trained on your body in a way that makes you burn. 

At first, you make your way to stand before him, but then decide to change course at the last second and place yourself on the back of your couch. Making yourself comfortable on the plush furniture, one leg crosses over the other, and you use your left hand to support your body weight. It might be your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear you can feel Joaquin’s eyes trail up your leg, up to your exposed thigh. Instinctively, your thighs squeeze together.

“What did you notice?” you finally ask, voice sounding awfully loud in the dark room. 

His stance is unchanged, only his shift as he averts from your body back to your eyes. Voice considerably lower than before, Joaquin says, “You said my name.” 

Confusion washes over you. “What?” 

Joaquin pushes himself away from the marble countertop. He takes one calculated step towards you, hands still crossed tight across his pecs. Looking at the floor, Joaquin claims, “I’ve known you for five years.” 

Swallowing, you meekly contribute, “That’s a long time.” 

Dimples pressing into his cheek as he smirks, looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Oh, for sure,” his voice is raspy and you hate the effect it has on you. Even more mortifying, his tone is mocking. “Back in Kirtland, post-op in Kandahar, even on that trial mission in White Sand,” for every location he takes a step closer to you. “It’s always been just Torres to you.” His voice cracks, and it almost feels like he’s coming undone by the realization. “You’ve never said my real name once.” He sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, as if he was debating the predicament. 

Standing in front of you, his hands drop from their previously defensive position and instead land on either side of you, trapping you on the couch. Without thought, the hand you were previously using to support your weight finds itself on his right bicep, gripping for both support and a reckless anticipation. Leaning down, he forces you to look him in the eye as he whispers, “Until today.”  

It’s inevitable, the way you shrink under his gaze; you can’t help it, he’s just being so damn intense. But he doesn’t let you. His left index and thumb cups your chin, forcing your gaze back to him. “Why?” he questions. 

Words are fleeting and your brain short circuits. You don’t know that you have an answer to his question. Why did you always call him by his last name? Lips agape in thought, you recall the first time you met Joaquin. 

The suffocatingly hot base in Kirtland could never leave you even if you tried, the dry air and burning concrete haunted your dreams. It wasn’t a pretty place to be. 

You had just finished doing your fourth intake in a row. Rolling through physicals for every soldier on base was going to be the biggest pain in your ass. Sweat was dripping down your temple and you had wiped it away with an angry sigh, internally cursing for subjecting yourself to this role. That was when he walked in. Laughing. 

You remembered being so annoyed when you first heard it ring through the air. ‘Who the hell can laugh in these conditions?’ you bitterly thought to yourself. 

Then you turned around. 

His laughter filled the space and you watched as he threw his head back, shoulders loose with an aura of confidence and carefreeness that you’ve yet to see on the bleak base. Your head roared with the sound of his voice and it felt like the room belonged to just him. 

That’s when he turned to face you, his dimples deep and eyes shining, radiating a sort of charm and charisma that had you swallowing for reasons other than your dry mouth from the weather. 

“Hey, doc. Heard I’m up next.” There was a remnant of laughter still remaining in his voice. He pulled his helmet off, sweaty curls sticking to his sun kissed skin, and you knew you were fucked. 

“Yup. Torres.” Your hand had caught the pen that had started to slip. “Right up here.” 

You drew the line then, between you and him, because you knew he would have drowned you otherwise. 

But he didn’t need to know that. 

- smut warning - 

“I never thought about it.” To others, your sutter would’ve given you away, but Joaquin was watching you so closely you’re sure he didn’t even hear you complete your sentence before interjecting. 

“You’re lying.” All hints of teasing from his voice are gone as he leans in closer to you. 

Your fingers tighten around his bicep, feeling the way it flexes as you dig your nails into his skin. “This is wrong,” you whisper. It’s the last line of defense that you have, and even you can hear how weak your resolve sounds. 

“Say my name,” Joaquin demands, but you hear the hidden plea lying within. 

“Torres—” 

“My actual name.” 

You can feel yourself trembling, thighs clenched in suspense. Your nails dig deeper. His hold on your face tightens, but you don’t feel trapped. Heart beating wildly in your chest, you know that once you cross this line with him, there is no going back. 

“Joaquin—” 

You hear his breath hitch in his throat before his lips slide over yours. Your hand drops from his bicep, instead curling up to the nape of his neck to tug onto his curls. Joaquin’s own hands wrap around you, one circled tightly around your waist, the other curling up your back to hold the nape of your neck. 

The kiss is heated, raw passion from both sides as the two of you push back and forth between one another, trying to assert dominance. 

Joaquin wins in the end, his canines coming down to bite your lower lip, inadvertently making you gasp. He easily slips his tongue into your mouth and you can feel his cocky smirk. It makes you pull his hair, and he lets out a groan followed by a breathless laugh that goes straight to your core. 

His hips press against you and your legs part instinctively. Joaquin wastes no time taking advantage of the access, pulling you closer to him. He’s everywhere. His hands are trailing along your sides, getting knotted in your hair, brushing against your back. Joaquin’s signature scent clings on to you and it makes you unbearably hot, your thin robe suddenly not providing enough ventilation. 

Breaking away, you gasp, the burning in your lungs a strong reminder of the necessities of oxygen. Joaquin doesn’t seem to have the same needs though, as his lips begin trailing downward without hesitation. A pause against your neck and a not-so-gentle bite against the puncture of your shoulder causes you to let out a moan, arching into him. 

“Fuck,” he mutters against your neck, the word drawn. A silent apology is offered in the way he kisses the wound, tongue poking out to soothe the skin, before continuing on his downward path. One large palm grips at your thigh, massaging the tissue. Each press of his mouth, his touch leaves you aching. 

When his kisses move from your shoulder to the center of your chest, you feel Joaquin begin to get down on one knee. 

“Wait,” you grasp at his shoulders. Joaquin stops, all movement halting, and he looks up with you with eyes blown wide. His pupils nearly swallow his honey brown irises. “If we do this, everything changes,” your words are airy, carrying a truth that you’ve been too scared to admit. 

“Baby, we’re long past that.” You see him pause. “But if you’ve changed your mind, we don’t have to do this.” And you know he’s telling the truth. If you say the word now, this all stops.

A beat passes. 

The pressure of your palm hands on Joaquin’s shoulder, pushing him towards the ground. He does a shit job at hiding the enthusiastic smile that breaks out on his face, and he wastes no time in pulling you back into him. His broad, large form forces your legs further apart as he leaves a sequence of kisses from your sternum down to your navel. They’re sloppy, and rushed, as if he couldn’t get enough. You can’t help but throw your head backwards, eyes closing in pleasure. 

Your robe falls open with no resistance, and Joaquin kneels before you. His hands rub both of your thighs, a slight grip to them as he sucks in a breath of admiration. Palms round from the side of your thighs to the plump of your ass, where Joaquin greedily squeezes before pulling you forward in one swift motion. You nearly fall off the back of the couch, but he makes sure it doesn’t happen, strong arms bracketing you in. 

Meeting you halfway, his face is already buried in the junction where your thigh and cunt meet. He’s so bitey you realize, hissing when he sucks yet another mark on your left inner thigh. No apology to be found from him this time though, as he switches his focus to your right thigh, placing sweet kisses along your skin. You’re so aware of his hands, now placed tightly on your waist, clenching and unclenching as he explores you. 

You can’t help but squirm impatiently. He was so close to where you wanted him, you could feel his breath and God if that didn’t make you wet. Oblivious to your predicament, Joaquin just continues to leave marks all over your legs. Your clit begins to throb at the neglect, and you grow frustrated, nails digging into your couch.

“Joaquin…” His name comes out in a sort of a whine. 

“Shh,” he blows into your left thigh, “Ten paciéncia, princesa.” (Be patient, princess). 

You’re about to complain again when you feel him. His tongue, flat and warm, licking a wide strip from your entrance all the way to your clit. The touch is overwhelming, and you let out a gasp, hand coming forward to grip the curls on the crown of Joaquin’s head. It seems that only motivates him though, as after that initial touch, something snaps. 

Joaquin doesn’t hold back, his mouth gently latching onto your clit, tongue flicking the sensitive bud rhythmically. He alternates his attention between there and your hole, his hands moving from your waist to circle around your thighs, palms clenching the inner flesh unyielding, actively preventing you from squirming. 

Your legs dangle helplessly over his shoulders, robe sliding down both your arms. The piece of fabric was merely decorative at this point, sprawled out on either side of you, barely held on by your elbows. But, still, the feel of the silk was such a stark contrast to your burning skin that it sent volts of arousal through you. The hand not gripping Joaquin’s hair moves up to grab your right breast, and the fabric dragging along your skin only makes your nipples tighten more. 

Hungry in a way that was driving you insane, Joaquin’s lapping at any drop of arousal coming out of you, his head buried so deep in your lap you’re confident that his lungs have to be burning. The bridge of his nose nudges against your bundle of nerves with every lick, providing the slightest bit of pressure but not quite enough. It’s driving you insane. 

“Fucking hell, you taste so good, baby.” It’s the only time he’s separated from your cunt since getting on his knees. When he looks up at you, you can’t help the way your hole clenches around nothing. Absolutely debauched, the lower half of his face is covered in your slick, eyes hooded as though he were drunk. They start at your face before dragging down to your chest, where they pin themselves to your hand on your chest. Joaquin can only groan again. 

It’s all he offers before delving back in, his tongue exploring you almost expertly, as if he was trying to memorize your anatomy. Suddenly, you feel the rough pads of his thumb circle your clit, and the added sensation has you panting, your own fingers giving your nipples a pinch. 

He spreads your leg impossibly wider, arranging himself so that his hand can comfortably fit between your thigh and his head. You feel a thick finger press against your hole before sliding in with ease. It was both of you moaning—you in satisfaction and him in appreciation. 

One finger turns to two, Joaquin pushing them in and out, fingers curling inside you. He moves with precision, intention, watching the way you react. Suddenly, your breathing changes, hitching when he hits that spot. Joaquin recognizes it immediately, focusing his fingers on swirling that soft center inside you. Your moans get higher in pitch and your pulsing around his hand. 

You’re getting close, your grip on his hair releasing and instead moving back to grip the couch. He can feel it, the way you’re fluttering around him and he watches as you throw your head back. 

Just when you’re about to cum, all touch is lost. 

“What—” you start, the word tumbling out before you truly even process the loss of sensation. 

You whine his name but are instantly silenced by the feeling of his lip on yours as he whispers, “I know, baby, I know.” Too overstimulated to recognize what’s going on, you focus all of your attention on returning his kiss instead of the emptiness inside you. 

Joaquin’s hands find themselves on your ass again, but this time, instead of groping the flesh, he tucks them underneath to lift you effortlessly off the couch. His lips never leave yours. Instinctively, your hand comes up and wraps themselves around his neck, a finger twirling the hair at the back of his neck. 

Clumsily, he navigates your clashing bodies through your apartment. Your back slams into your photo wall in the hallway leading to your bedroom, but neither of you pay mind to the sound of clattering frames hitting the floor. 

“Joaquin,” you break away from the kiss. He hums in response, landing kisses on the corner of your lips and cheeks. “Your shoulder,” you continue, though your eyes close at the feeling of him finding your neck again. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he rushes out, desperation lacing his tone. “Doesn’t hurt,” he insists. 

It’s all the reassurance you need. You know you should care more, but you simply don’t. You find each other again, his plush lips slotting over yours. The kisses were more teeth than lips now as the two of you pant urgently, barely breathing. 

“Which one’s your room,” Joaquin’s words come out in a slur and you quickly answer, “Left, go left.” He pushes you against the wall beside your bedroom, hastily ripping off your robe before lifting you again. 

Your back is pressed against the door for a split second before it slams against your bedroom wall. For a split second, you worry about the damage, but then Joaquin’s whimpering and all thoughts leave your head. 

The plush comforter is a welcome contrast from the scratchy couch and solid walls as Joaquin lays you down with haste. Climbing over you, you can finally fully appreciate how burly he is, his entire body pressing against yours. But it’s not enough. 

It’s unfair, your hazy mind protests. He has too much on. “Take it off,” you fuss, hands pawing at his fitted Air Force tee. Joaquin can’t help but snicker at how bratty you’re being, but compiles wordlessly. Leaning back on his haunches, Joaquin pulls off the material in one swift movement. You chase after him, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch. 

Chiseled with moonlight gleaming across his chest from your open curtain, your mouth salivates. You’ve seen him shirtless before, plenty of times, but that was different. All those times before, he wasn’t so available for your perusing and he especially wasn’t looking at you like that.

It wasn’t enough, though. 

Your eyes cast themselves downward, growing irate at the sight of the secured belt around his waist, but the sight of the sizable tent in his jeans provided some consolation. Hands latching themselves onto his buckle, you use his steadiness to pull yourself up to him. With your chin tilted upwards, he meets your wordless request halfway, and it distracts him well enough that he can’t feel you unfastening the leather with eager hands. 

Pulling back, the belt comes with you with a smooth whoosh, but the two of you hardly care as you toss it onto the ground with a loud thump. 

Joaquin isn’t off the hook that easily, though, as your hand refinds purchase on the denim of his jeans, palming him through the material. The slight damp patch at the front makes your head spin. He’s big you realize, even though the thick fabric, and it has you clenching again. Your stomach burns at the thought of him inside you. 

Gracelessly, Joaquin settles you back down on the bed and goes to shimmy off the rest of his clothes. He almost faceplants into your tits, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles. He’s still him despite it all and it spreads a sense of reassurance through you. 

Any sense of amusement dissipates once he pulls his briefs off, though. His cock stands tall and is practically weeping, the tip leaking beads of precum in a way that makes you bite your lip. Even in the dark, he’s impressive to look at. 

Still on his haunches, Joaquin’s right hand gives his length a few pumps and the sight has you entranced. 

“Spit on my hand,” he demands. He moves to hunch his body over yours, his skin practically buzzing with energy. Eyes locked with his, you lift up your head. Turning your head to the side, you nuzzle your cheek against the comforting heat of his awaiting palm before parting your mouth, letting it fall, slow and deliberate. 

“Fuck, you’re g’nna ruin me,” he pants, voice ragged. Your saliva pools in his palm and Joaquin watches, transfixed at the thin strand of spit between the corner of your mouth and his hand. Unable to help himself, his thumb finds itself wiping it away, but not without dipping itself into the warmth of your mouth along the way. When you bite down on the appendage before giving it a gentle suck, Joaquin hisses, his jaw clenching. 

It’s your turn to watch him as he takes the liquid and spreads it all along the stretch of his achingly hard cock. Eyes closed, Joaquin moans in your ear and you spread your legs in response. Still stroking himself, Joaquin leans down to capture your lips in another kiss. His forearm rests besides your head, and your own hand comes up to grab it, holding it as an anchor. 

You feel him slip his dick between your legs. The lubrication allows him to easily slide between the folds of pussy, grinding himself against you in a way that has his tip nudging your clit. The friction was enough to make you go delirious and all you can do is moan, lifting your hips up to meet his movements in greed. His other hand goes to constrain you, pushing you back down into the mattress. 

The exasperation you feel is short-lived, your complaint turning into a moan as Joaquin pushes his thick head past your hole. It’s a tight fit, the initial breach, despite the amplitude of preparation. Inch by inch, you feel Joaquin press into you slowly. His fist is clenched beside your head and you feel the muscle of his forearm flex as he restrains himself. 

Buried to the hilt, Joaquin drops his forehead against yours, breath fanning over your face. Your legs burn, the way they’re stretched so wide to accommodate his figure. 

“Give me a sec, baby,” he heaves before rasping, “‘Try’na not to make a fool of myself right now.” 

The confession has you pulsing around him, unable to provide any real response when all you could feel was his thick, hard cock embedded deep inside you. But you needed him to move, it was too much, just feeling him pulse inside of you. Despite his hand on your hip, you roll your waist and pleadingly mewl. 

“Mierda,” Joaquin hisses, you feel his hand beside your head grip the pillow you lay your head on as he snaps. Any restraint he was holding onto slips away as he hikes your leg over his shoulder and begins pounding into you relentlessly. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I can’t,” Joaquin is just rambling, his words all rushing out garbled as his hips snaps against yours again and again and again. You’re not much better, a puddle of whimpers below him, just holding on as his cock hits your pleasure center over and over and over. You feel tears brimming your eyes and you turn your face into his forearm, a babbling mess. 

Joaquin rounds his back as he leans down, but it’s not your face he searches for this time. Instead, his wet lips attach to an achingly hard nipple. If you were a mess before, there were no words to describe you now as your hand fists his curls. You arch into him, forcing more if your tits into his face, to which Joaquin has no complaints. 

Salacious sounds fill your room and the air starts to grow humid, not that you or Joaquin notice. 

His tongue swirls around your sensitive bud, teeth grazing over it before soothing over it with a flat lick. Joaquin can barely contain himself, saliva slipping past his lips, spreading over your chest. Once he’s satisfied with one side, Joaquin effortlessly slips over to your other nipple. His treatment is the same, but you’re growing more sensitive with each touch. With his cock splitting you open and the intense attention on your chest, you were getting close again. 

It was overwhelming, and you can’t help the whine, but Joaquin only shushes you.

“’S okay,” he says in between licks. “Know you can take it,” pinning you down to the mattress. 

Detaching, Joaquin begins to bite marks onto your chest, nips here and there, before he unsheathes himself from you completely. A rough slap against your thigh from one of his calloused hands is all the signal you need. Without a word exchanged, you flip onto your front. Your forearms are flat against the pillow, head face down, as you arch your back for him, his hands guiding you the whole way.

You hear Joaquin mutter something behind you, but it’s too quiet for you to hear. Suddenly, a resounding smack fills the air and the force pushes you forward, moaning his name. You feel a hand on each one of your ass cheeks, Joaquin massaging the skin, before they slide up your back. He asserts pressure on your lower back, all the way up to the side of your breasts, and it feels good. 

Joaquin’s body follows his hands and you feel his broad, firm body press against his back once he’s done. Both his forearms find themselves bracing either side of your head this time, but before settling Joaquin takes the time to move your hair away from your face. Delicately, he places it over your right shoulder, and you turn your head to look at him. A kiss is placed upon your shoulder, then your jaw, before he places a soft one against your lips. 

At the same time, his tip is penetrating you again, and you moan into each others’ mouths. Hips slapping against your ass, your hands grip the pillow below you to brace yourself. His strokes are a stark contrast to his tender acts earlier, persistent in his pursuit of your pleasure, rocking firmly into you. 

In this position, your moans are unrestricted, spilling out of you with no control. 

Joaquin bites your shoulder, gritting and breathless when he admits, “Needed this.” He slaps your ass. Groaning, “Needed you.” 

The words ignite something in you, his words traveling up your spine in a burn. Moaning Joaquin’s name, you interlace your fingers with his beside your head. You needed him just as badly. With his hand in yours, you’re grounded, and it’s all you need to start matching Joaquin halfway. Back arched, you begin to push yourself back onto Joaquin’s cock. You feel his hand clench around your digits. 

The two of you work together, finding a fast and messy pace. Every push of his hips forces a gasp from your lips. Your bodies start to grow slick with sweat, but it only motivates you further. 

Suddenly, Joaquin releases his grip from your hand, sliding his palm over to the base of your neck. 

He doesn’t quite grasp your throat, but the pressure is there, and you swear you couldn’t have gotten any wetter than you already were but somehow you do.he thrusts into you. 

Effortlessly, Joaquin lifts the two of you up. With your back to his chest, arched in the air, you have nothing to ground you, so your hand grips Joaquin’s forearm where his hand is choking you. Your other hand reaches back towards him and grip the tense muscle of his thigh. Joaquin continues thrusting into you, pace unwavering despite the change of position. 

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and he can feel your moans reverberating against the palm of his hand. The other grips your waist as he continues to slam into you. The new arrangement has the head of his cock pressing into you just right and you feel a familiar fiery sensation start to build. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg. “Right there, Joaquin, please.” You’re not sure exactly what you’re begging for, but you hardly have any thoughts right now other than how pleasure absolutely consumes you. 

“You g’nna cum for me?” You don’t answer instantly, only focused on the way his dick absolutely stuffs you. 

Moments later, you’re teetering on the edge. “Yes, yes, yes,” you chant over and over again, mind blankly. Pressure continues to build as Joaquin keeps himself consistent, a lewd noises only spurring you on further. 

When Joaquin’s hand squeezes your throat just right, the coil snaps. Bouncing faster on Joaquin, you chase after your high. 

“Yeah, just like that baby, cream all over my cock,” Joaquin encourages and it only makes you moan louder. Thighs trembling, your fingers dig into his skin and hold on for dear life. Hot, blooming pleasure travels from your core to the rest of your body and you bite down on your lip to hold back a cry. Waves of pleasure roll through you, muscles tightening in the aftermath. 

The way you were clenching so tightly around Joaquin has him whimpering. He was trying, he really, really was, but you were squeezing so damn warm. So damn tight. His brows furrow, mouth parting as he helps you through your orgasm.  

“I’m close. Baby, I’m so close,” he groans. 

“I’m on birth control,” you rush out hastily. You’re not sure what came over you, cock-drunk, surely, but you just needed him so bad. Every part of him. If he pulled out now, you’d die, you were sure of it. 

Joaquin says something in Spanish that you can’t quite hear or understand and before you know it, he has you flipped back around. In the midst of the movement, he’d pull his cock out, but once you were on your back, he thrust himself hip deep into you with no second to spare. 

He’s driving his dick into you, your pussy fluttering over him after your orgasm. Joaquin gives you no time to recover as he finds an impalpably quick speed. As if he can’t get enough, Joaquin desperately ruts himself into you, barely able to hold back his cries of pleasure. With your growing overstimulation, you know your voice is matching his all the same. 

When you clench around him again, he comes undone. Letting out a string of curses, Joaquin throws his head back as he slams into you, hips snapping into yours so strongly you’re sure you’ll ache tomorrow. 

The feeling of his hot, thick cum spurting into you has you clenching again. He fills you so completely and it’s so electrifying, you feel a familiar pressure build in your lower stomach again. 

Steadily, Joaquin begins to slow his thrusts, and you feel the way he pushes his cum further into you with each push. When Joaquin finally pulls out, both of you groan at the loss of sensation. Without looking, you can feel your slick mixed with his starting to spill out of you. 

“Shit,” he curses, hand coming up to push sweaty curls away from his eyes. Letting out a chuckle, Joaquin leans down and gives you a long kiss. 

-

A wet rag, a cup of cold water, and one Air Force t-shirt hanging over your shoulder later, you and Joaquin are tucked cozily under a blanket that you had him pull out from your closet. Your usual comforter is now on a heap on the floor of your bedroom, and you try not to think about the way it might be permanently stained with unspeakable fluids. 

Joaquin’s fingers gently scratch your back, up and down, in a rhythmic fashion as you rest your head on his pecs—your own fingers tracing a pattern on his chest. It’s quiet and dark, save for the glow of the moon and your small TV from across the room. 

“I’ve had a crush on you since the first day we met.” Joaquin’s voice cracks at first as he whispers, breaking the silence. 

The confession makes your fingers halt. Palm flat against his chest, you use the leverage to push yourself up to look at him. 

Blinking lazily, Joaquin’s face is earnest, brows raised as though he’s waiting for you. 

“You did?” 

“Pft,” Joaquin’s head rolls to the side, “Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

Stuttering, you look at him with wide eyes, “I didn’t. I had no idea.” 

Joaquin places his own hand over the one you have over his chest before sitting up straighter. “Mami, I flirted with you every chance I got.” 

“You’re Joaquin,” you insist. “You flirt with everyone.” 

He looks at you with his lower lip jutted outward, shaking his head. “No…not everyone. Just you.” 

You pause. “Huh…” is all you offer before you place your head back down, the two of you settling once more. All Joaquin can do is chuckle as he moves to rub your back. Sleep almost has you in its clutch when Joaquin’s voice breaks you out of your trance. 

“Were you watching British Bake Off?”

-

The smell of coffee is the first thing that greets you before anything else does the next morning. The ache in your body is the second. 

Groaning, you make your way towards your kitchen to what you believe to be the prettiest sight you’ve ever witnessed. 

Shirtless and tan, hair tousled from sleep and…other activities, Joaquin stands so proudly in your kitchen, it was as though he belonged. 

“Good morning, princesa,” a familiar dimpled face turns to you, holding your favorite mug. You take in the marks on his neck when he passes you the cup, and you're grateful for the steam as it provides enough of a cover for your heating face. 

You sip your coffee quietly, watching Joaquin from the rim of your mug. He appreciates the attention, which is a surprise to none. 

After picking up his own cup, he takes a sip before turning to you with raised brow. “Like what you see?” he asks before flexing his muscles. 

“Oh, gag.” You wipe your smile on his face, but it doesn’t deter Joaquin, who can sense your amusement lying beneath. 

“Come on, I put in some serious work last night so I know these bad boys have never looked better.” 

You just walk past him with a head shake and a slap to the shoulder. “It’s nice to know that even after losing a nightful of sleep in favor of sex, you still have enough energy to outrun a golden retriever.” You slide into your breakfast nook, placing the half empty coffee cup on the table with both hands wrapped around it. 

Joaquin slides in next to you, effortlessly. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Your humor fades as you turn to Joaquin. “Okay, what is it?” You try to not let your mind race. 

“Remember our fight?” he asks. You only hum in acknowledgement. “You said something that’s kind of been on my mind.” A pit forms in your stomach at his confrontation. 

“When you said you couldn’t watch me ‘crash and burn’...” Joaquin pauses, and your heart squeezes in your chest. He holds up his pointer and thumb, the space between them miniscule as he asks, “You were being a little on the nose don’t you think?” 

It takes a second for you to process. Once you realize he was only messing with you, you couldn’t stop yourself from slapping his hand away. “Oh my God, you asshole! You scared me!” 

Joaquin’s loud laugh fills your kitchen, and his bubbly demeanor makes your armor crack, unable to stop the smile that forms on your face, too. 

Continuing to joke, Joaquin states, “I mean, come on. That part was a little cruel, even for you.”

You let out a laugh of disbelief. “You were being a dick to me, I had to say something.” You defend yourself. 

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He nods, face serious. “But you’re still going to have to make it up to me.” His hand comes up to cup the back of your head.

“Well, jeez,” you concede. “I don’t know what I could possibly do to make up for such a big offense.” Your palm rests on his chest, face leaning towards his. 

“Oh, I could think of a few things.” 

end. 

-

a/n: this is my first ever smut so meep, thank u for reading. lmk what u think! comments and rb's appreciated, mwah mwah mwah