#danny ramirez x reader

[blank-potato]

From New York To D.C.

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Thunderbolts!Reader

Summary:

“Joaquin Torres,” he says smoothly, offering a handshake. His voice is warm, confident, and you can't lie, it makes you feel a little tingly. The Falcon. You weren’t living under a rock; you knew exactly who he was. You’d seen him on TV, soaring through the sky beside Captain America, pulling off impossible saves like it was just another Tuesday. What you weren’t expecting was to see him up close. And of course, he was even hotter in person. And now you were supposed to keep your cool? Life’s unfair.  You hesitate only a moment before taking his hand. “I know,” you say, your voice a touch too honest. That earns you a small laugh, which you mentally pat yourself on the back for.  “Fan?” he asks, eyebrow lifting in amusement. You try to play it cool, despite the fact that your brain is short-circuiting. “Something like that.” Or You're both on different Avengers teams, but when you hit it off at a gala, you start sneaking around.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, making out, implied smut but no smut, late night phone calls, teasing, mutual pining, sneaking around, getting together, love confessions, getting caught, rooftop date, texts from the new avengers group chat, reader breaking and entering for Joaquin...twice

WC: 6.7k

A/N: Might be obsessed with Joaquin Torres right now. The crush I have on Danny Ramirez is actually driving me to madness. Enjoy the product of said madness.

***

Galas were the worst. Stiff suits, fake smiles, and enough small talk to make your brain melt. But the whole team had to show up to these things. Public events, fundraisers, whatever would help. The New Avengers’ reputation was still… rocky, and good PR was something your squad desperately needed.

You’re at a charity gala in D.C., standing near the hors d'oeuvres table, staring down a plate of shrimp like they’ve personally betrayed you. Everyone had disappeared off somewhere, so you were left on your own with nothing but time.

You’re so lost in your own misery that you don’t even notice someone reaching past you to grab one. Your eyes follow the hand up the arm, to the shoulder, and finally to a face. A very handsome face. He doesn’t look at you at first, too focused on choosing between the shrimp and some kind of crostini. 

But then his gaze flicks to you, and stays. You’re so happy it does, even if you’re halfway to melting by the time he’s opening his mouth.  

“Joaquin Torres,” he says smoothly, offering a handshake. His voice is warm, confident, and you can't lie, it makes you feel a little tingly.

The Falcon. You weren’t living under a rock; you knew exactly who he was. You’d seen him on TV, soaring through the sky beside Captain America, pulling off impossible saves like it was just another Tuesday.

What you weren’t expecting was to see him up close. And of course, he was even hotter in person. And now you were supposed to keep your cool? Life’s unfair. 

You hesitate only a moment before taking his hand.

“I know,” you say, your voice a touch too honest. That earns you a small laugh, which you mentally pat yourself on the back for. 

“Fan?” he asks, eyebrow lifting in amusement.

You try to play it cool, despite the fact that your brain is short-circuiting. “Something like that.”

You collect yourself, ready to give an introduction.  “I’m—”

“I know who you are too,” he interrupts, a glint of something teasing in his eyes.

You smirk. “Keeping tabs on the competition?”

“Competition? Not quite.”

“Oh really?” You step in just a little closer, just enough to make it obvious. Your eyes meet his, and there’s a flicker of tension. But you invite it, a little tension never hurt anyone.

He grins, cocky and unbothered. “Yeah… because we’re the actual Avengers.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing playfully. “I don’t know about that, Torres.”

He laughs, and you feel it in your chest, a warm ripple that makes this whole awful gala suddenly seem a lot more tolerable.

“I know we’re on opposite sides of this lawsuit,” he says, a playful lilt in his voice, “but… do you want to dance?”

He nods toward the dance floor, offering you his hand. You know you probably shouldn’t take it; there are rules, professional boundaries, and logic, but there’s no saying no to those pretty brown eyes of his.

“Just don’t drop me on my ass,” you mutter, slipping your hand into his.

His hand is bigger than yours, warm and steady. It makes you feel… safe. Which is ridiculous and borderline embarrassing considering you’ve known him for all of five seconds. But that’s just the Joaquin Torres effect.

As the music wraps around you and your bodies move together, close enough to blur lines, you tilt your head up and smile. “You’re not a bad dancer.”

He chuckles, effortlessly keeping in rhythm. “I’ve got some moves.”

You raise a brow. “Just on the dance floor?”

He looks at you like he already knows you’re trouble, and before long, the smirk he tried to hold back finally wins.

“In some other places too.”

He spins you with ease, pulling you back into him in one smooth, practised motion. He was too good. 

“You might’ve just made my night, Torres.”

He glances at you, arching a brow. “Is that right?”

You lean in, voice soft against his ear, “Between the mindless small talk and repetitive conversations, it’s nice to talk to someone that actually interests me.”

His breath catches, heart hammering, but he doesn’t back away. A burst of confidence then makes you guide his hand lower, to the small of your back, and feel his fingers press in a little more firmly, holding you there.

“You interest me too,” he says, casually.

You have no idea if you’re doing a good job of being super hot and super mysterious or if you’re playing right into his hands but either way you interest him. 

That’s a good thing, right?

When the song ends, the room's energy shifts, but neither of you moves right away. Joaquin's thinking, you don't know what about, but you swear in that moment you’d never wanted to know anything so bad. 

“Want to go to the balcony?” he asks.

You blink, surprised but smiling. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” he teases, tugging you gently toward the nearest door. You walk with him, weaving through the crowd, but your gaze stays locked on his. He moves smoothly, like he knows just where to step. Meanwhile, you’re trying your best not to trip over your feet; you feel completely lost in him. 

Is this what love at first sight is? Turning into a mindless idiot?

You get out to the balcony being able to see all the night lights flickering in the distance, the stars out in full force tonight.

Letting out a sigh of contentment, you notice Joaquin staring at you and only you, the view from the balcony couldn’t concern him less. You were the main attraction. 

“You’re looking at me a certain type of way…,” you murmur.

“Can you blame me?” he says softly, opening the door and guiding you outside, into the night.

He leans casually against the railing, eyes still locked on you like he couldn’t dream of looking anywhere else.

“I was just thinking,” Joaquin says, voice low and sincere, “I’ve seen some pretty incredible views flying over the Grand Canyon, New York at sunset…”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “And?”

He tilts his head, grin softening into something more earnest. “None of them made my heart race the way you do.”

You should’ve known something like that was coming. But still you bite your lip, fighting the smile tugging at your cheeks. “God, you’re smooth.”

“Only when I mean it, and I mean every word.”

“You’re going to make me do something I regret,” you admit. 

It wasn’t a lie. If he kept looking at you with those pretty eyes and talking to you with that voice of his, you’d pounce on him right here, right now. Important senators, dignitaries and politicians be damned. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might too,” Joaquin says. You swear he can read your mind, or maybe you were drooling right in front of him and just didn’t realise.

“So, you wanna go somewhere more private?” he suggests, and you’re a little surprised he beat you to it. 

Somehow, those words are enough to make something inside you give way. A dam breaking. A match struck.

As soon as he said that, you briskly made your way to the nearest empty hallway and started trying to devour each other. 

You press him back against the wall, the distant hum of gala music barely registering anymore. His breath catches, hands hovering at your waist like he’s not sure if this is real, or if he should hold back.

“You wanna— are we doing this?” he asks, still not quite believing that he’s gotten himself into this situation. 

“Yeah, we’re doing this.”

You loosen his tie a little, not even trying to tease him and pull him for a sloppy kiss.  You needed him now, fuck being mysterious. You find yourself smiling against his lips when you feel him grip the fabric of your clothes to press your body against his. The kiss grows messier, hotter, as if the two of you are trying to make up for every second you spent not trying to eat each other's faces. 

Your breath is shaky when you finally look up at him, his eyes are blown wide, hair messier, lips parted so beautifully. He might just be the death of you. You might just drop dead right now, in the middle of this gala, and your biggest regret would be that you never got to have sex with him. 

“You…,” he breathes out, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

What did he think he did to you?

You tilt your head slightly, smirking. This was doing wonders for your ego. All this from him, and after one dance, was insane, but the chemistry was undeniable.

“I could say the same about you,” you murmur, your fingers brushing along his jaw. “One dance and you’ve got me sneaking around like a teenager.”

You slip your hands beneath the hem of his shirt, palms against warm skin. “I want you to show me just how much you want me.”

Joaquin crashes his lips back onto yours, determined to make sure you never forget how good he could make you feel. 

You pull back to breathe again, now wishing you didn’t have to put space between you. Oxygen was secondary; Joaquin was the only thing you needed right now.

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes raking over him, “you’re perfect.”

Your fingers trace along his jawline, and before you know it, you’re both pressed close, the hallway closing in around you, knowing full well anyone could walk by at any second.

You nearly lose your balance when he starts kissing your neck. It’s feather-soft, barely there but devastating all the same, making you feel like you’re floating. The heat of his lips on your skin, his cologne, warm and comforting, drifting in and making you weak. 

“Damn,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and rough.

You feel a buzz against your thigh and pull back confused. 

“You’re uh… vibrating.”

“Oh, it’s my phone,” Joaquin says, now a little sheepish as if he wasn’t just turning your brain to soup. He sighs and fishes it out of his pocket, his eyes widening when he sees who’s calling, “It’s Sam, I kinda disappeared on him, I should…”

“Oh yeah, of course,” you reply, still slightly out of breath. Before you completely detangle from each other. As you walk away, you can’t find it in yourself to stop smiling, heart still racing from the encounter. You wish you’d gotten his number, but you had your ways. You weren’t exactly the giving-up type.

“See you soon, Falcon,” you mutter to yourself as you watch him stumble out of the hallway, trying to fix his hair and tie. And you’re totally not looking at his butt… it’s a cute butt, though.

***

Morning hit Joaquin like a ton of bricks. He’s normally on his best behaviour, but the unexpected happened. So maybe you actually hit him with a ton of bricks.  There was something about you he couldn’t shake, and it wasn’t just the way you pushed him up against a wall and kissed him like your life depended on it.

There’s a distinct, irritating buzzing coming from his nightstand. It was too early to be receiving calls in his world.

He groans, slapping at the desk trying to pick it up when his phone vibrates again.

“Hello,” he grunts as he finally answers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, still sprawled out on his stomach.

“Torres?” The voice on the other end is familiar to him, but he can’t quite place it. Whoever it is, it made his heart skip a beat, that’s for sure. It was sweet and gentle, with a hint of something hopeful that caught him off guard.

He sits up, now a tiny bit more awake, “Who is this?”

“The girl you were dancing with last night…the one you made out with,” you tease.

He chuckles, amused even though he sounds half-asleep. “Ah, the fake Avenger.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“How did you get my number?” he asks, a note of curiosity slipping in. He’s 99% sure he didn’t give you his number, only because he was kicking himself on the way home for not doing so.

There’s a brief pause, then a soft shuffling sound, “Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m still here…” you say, voice a little shaky.

On the other side of the line, you’re hesitating, knowing you might’ve crossed a line. Maybe even been a little sneaky and broken a few laws. But when a guy like him sweeps you off your feet, you do what you have to do. “I have my ways.”

He laughs again, warm and genuine, and you can’t help but feel relieved. At least you’re not officially a stalker in his eyes.

“So, to what do I owe the honour?" he asks, voice still thick with sleep but curious.

“I’m in D.C. for another day and a bit, so… I was wondering if you could show me around the city.”

“You want me to take you out?” Joaquin asks, a playful glint in his eyes. A date? With you? He’s definitely completely awake now.

“If you want to continue what happened last night, before we were so rudely interrupted… maybe have a coffee or two, eat a whole bakery.”

He chuckles, and you swear you’ve never heard anything so sweet. Turns out the Joaquin Torres effect works over the phone too. 

“We’ll have to be careful, with the press and all that.”

“I’m pretty good at disguises…” 

Joaquin grins, probably a little too wide, but he can’t help it. There’s just something about you. 

***

You’re waiting in the park, hat pulled low over your eyes, trying to look casual despite the nerves buzzing in your stomach. Considering you’d tried to climb him literally just last night, you thought you’d be a little less jittery by now. Still…

There’s the sound of footsteps behind you, then a hand suddenly lands on your shoulder. Before you can even think, you spin around and, without warning, flip whoever it is onto the ground.

Groans escape the guy beneath you, and your heart skips a beat when you hear a familiar voice.

“Torres?” you ask, eyes wide as you stare down at the very cute superhero sprawled on the grass.

He laughs weakly, rubbing his back. “Is this how you say hello? Judo moves?”

You cover your mouth in shock. Talk about making a bad impression. He stands up, dusting himself off casually. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, still frozen in your position.

“It’s alright, I can take a hit, or well, a flip.”

He chuckles, smiling at you, and you feel yourself relax. You look him over, he’s also dressed down, trying to look as inconspicuous as you are. But there’s no disguising that handsome face of his. If you weren’t careful with these kinds of thoughts, you’d be climbing him again in no time.

“You miss me? Just kidding, I know you missed me.”

“You wish,” you bite back, as if you weren’t the one that invited him here.

“You’re right, I do wish you missed me. It’s not every day that I meet someone like you.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s charming. You’ll give him that.

“So, where to first?”

Joaquin grins, “Anywhere you want, but after I can take you on a fly around the city if you want to.”

“Is that your secret weapon, Falcon? I bet that has all the girls swooning.”

“You have no idea,” he jokes, flashing that easy smile.

The date that wasn’t officially a date went surprisingly well. You both tried not to draw attention as he bought you gelato, then spent a solid hour trying (and mostly failing) to beat the top score on the DDR machine, the two of you laughing breathlessly as Joaquin missed another arrow and nearly tripped. Then came the dramatic groans and determined squints as Joaquin tried to win you a toy from the claw machine, insisting, “One more try. I’ve got the angle this time.” 

Sitting on the roof of his apartment building afterwards, you lean against each other as you hold onto the duck plushie he eventually won you. You’re close, and it feels comfortable, like you’ve known him much longer than just an evening and a day. 

“Will I see you again?” you ask softly. You hope you don’t sound desperate, but you can’t remember the last time it felt so easy to be with someone like this.

“If you want to.”

He looks at you, a small smile tugging at his lips, but says nothing.

“Plus, you have my number,” you remind him with a teasing grin, “You know, the one you hacked to get because you like me so much—”

You cut him off with a playful nudge, “You’re so annoying.”

***

It’s been over a month, and things have been going well between the two of you. Video calls were all that kept you going, sharing movies, teasing each other when one started to nod off on screen. You weren’t expecting to fall for him like this, but here you were, completely hooked.

You call him late at night, after a long day filled with missions, training sessions and meetings. All you need is your daily dose of Joaquin Torres.

The call rings through, and when he finally answers on video, you quickly adjust your hair and straighten your shirt, making sure you look okay before he comes into view. His hair’s a tousled mess of curls, eyes a little tired from working too hard, but still, he smiles at you like you’re giving him energy. 

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite Avenger,” he grins. “Is that Quino?” he asks, nodding toward the duck plushie you’re clutching under your arm.

“Yeah, he misses you almost as much as I do,” you say, waving it at him with a smile, making him chuckle.

All you wish is that he were right there beside you, so you could curl up on his chest and just breathe him in.

“I saw you on TV…” he says, and you’re a little surprised. 

“You did?” You perk up, eyes brightening.

He nods, voice sincere. “You looked really heroic…”

“You really mean that?” you ask, your voice suddenly smaller, softer. The praise meant a lot to you, knowing that what you were doing was actually worthwhile, that you were making a difference and that he noticed that. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you grin, tucking your chin into your pillow. “You have the biggest heart. Brave, superhero, and boy—” You pause, catching yourself before you expose yourself. He wasn’t your boyfriend, was he? “...um claw machine extraordinaire.”

“Is that so?” he laughs. Looks like you got away with it. 

“Who else would suffer through that experimental synth-folk concert I dragged you to?”

“It was… experimental and definitely... an experience.”

“Still trying to save my feelings.”

You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest as he mirrors your smile.

“What are we watching tonight?” he asks, adjusting his camera and settling back against his headboard.

You both scroll through options and finally settle on a movie. As the movie plays, you listen to his running commentary, the comfort of his voice softening the distance between you. Even through a screen, it feels like he’s right by you.

At the halfway point, you feel your eyes starting to get heavy. “You falling asleep on me?” Joaquin asks, his voice soft and teasing. This happens more often than you’d like to admit. Something about Joaquin made it impossible for you to have a sleepless night. 

“No…,” you say, but you’re obviously nodding off.

“You sure about that?” he chuckles, watching you blink slowly like each one takes an incredible amount of effort. “Because you just answered with your eyes closed.”

“I’m… just resting them,” you mumble, voice slurring slightly as your head lolls to the side.

Joaquin smiles, soft and fond. “Uh huh. Just resting them. Should I keep talking so you can pretend you’re still awake?”

You don’t answer. Or maybe you do, but it’s a sleepy murmur he can’t quite catch. He watches as you fully drift off, your breathing evening out, face relaxed in the glow of the screen.

“Goodnight,” he whispers. 

And even though you can’t hear him, you smile in your sleep anyway.

***

You can't eat, you can't sleep, what else could it be?

You’re in love.

Which is why you’re currently half-delirious, jet-lagged, and sneaking into his apartment like some lovesick burglar. You tiptoe through the place, heart pounding with excitement and nerves, when you see him. He’s standing in the kitchen, shirt slightly wrinkled, hips moving to whatever beat is pumping through his headphones. He hums along, completely lost in it as he washes the dishes. 

You smile, watching him for a second too long before deciding to sneak up behind him.

Just as you're about to tap his shoulder—

In one swift, fluid motion, he grabs your wrist and flips you over his shoulder. You land on the floor with a thud, him pinning you down before you can even blink.

So this is how he felt that day.

“Joaquin, it’s me!” you gasp, wide-eyed.

“Oh shit,” he mutters, instantly pulling back when he sees your face. He rips his headphones off as muffled music spills into the room.

“Surprise?” you groan, winded but trying to smile. 

“Why on earth did you break into my apartment?” he says, half-scolding, half-amused. He helps you to a sitting position, and you groan again, rubbing your back soothingly. 

“I wanted to surprise you.”

He shakes his head, that crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You’re insane.”

“And yet, here I am.”

He helps you up, laughing under his breath. “You could’ve just knocked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You hold your arms up, and he doesn’t miss a beat, hosting you into his arms and taking you to his bedroom. 

He places you on the bed, and you snuggle against the sheets, surrounded by Joaquin's scent, something you has been missing a little too much.

"Straight to bed? How did you know I didn't want to go to the living room, hm?" You say as you take off your jacket.

Joaquin's about to give you a snarky answer when he sees it.

The shirt you had on was unmistakable, bright red with a stylised graphic of his wings spread, and “Team Falcon” printed boldly across the chest.

"Are you serious?"

He can't contain the smile that works its way into his face.

“I wanted to show my support,” you say innocently, flopping back on the bed with a grin. “How do I look?”

He stares at you, trying not to smile too widely, eyes dragging over the sight of you.

“Very sexy.”

He’s leaning down, about to kiss the ever-living hell out of you, when you suddenly spot in the corner of the room a small corkboard filled with photos, and one catches your eye. You walk over, squinting a little. “Is that you in high school?”

Joaquin looks up from where he is. “Oh no,” he groans, “I forgot those were still up.”

You practically teleport over there and look at his pictures with glee.

“Your hair was so long,” you say, smiling as you take in the photo of a much younger, slightly awkward but still undeniably cute version of him. “I love it!”

He groans louder, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t say that.”

You move on to another photo, one of him in the Air Force, his smile wide beneath a pair of aviators, arm slung around a fellow pilot, wind whipping through his hair.

“Oh…” you breathe, fingers pausing on the screen. “Now this is a whole different kind of adorable.”

Joaquin leans over to look, a bit embarrassed. “That was before I knew what I was getting into. I thought flying meant clear skies and cool jackets.”

You glance at him, grinning. “And now look at you, still flying, just more likely to encounter an alien or Hulk or something.”

You study the picture for a second longer, then softly say, “You look proud. Like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

He quiets, voice softer now. “That day was… big for me. First solo flight. My abuela cried when I sent her the photo.”

You turn to him, warmth blooming in your chest. “She should be proud. I know I am.”

He blinks at you, a little stunned, he wasn’t expecting to get like this with you so soon. “You’re gonna make me emotional over an old picture.”

“Just trying to balance out all the teasing,” you wink. “Can’t have you thinking I’m only here to have sex with you.”

“You’re here to have sex with me?” he says, his voice dipping when his arms wrap around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. He had you, and you didn’t mind one bit.

“Of course, that’s all you heard,” you mutter, putting the picture down as he grins smugly against your neck.

“You said it,” he murmurs, voice low, smug. “Not my fault, I have a gift for selective hearing.”

You huff out a laugh, twisting in his arms to face him. “You are impossible.”

“Oh?” he arches a brow, clearly enjoying the challenge. “You wanna say that again?”

Without warning, you shove him back toward the bed. He stumbles with a surprised laugh and lets himself fall dramatically onto the mattress. “Attacking me now?”

“I prefer the term ‘light sparring,’” you say, crawling onto the bed after him. “What? Afraid to lose, Falcon?”

He tries to roll away, but you straddle his waist before he can escape. “Okay, wow, this took a turn,” he grins, hands hovering in mock surrender.

You lean down, playful but close enough to feel his breath. “Looks like I win.”

"Just wait until I start playing dirty."

He starts tickling you which sends you into a laughing fit, nearly falling onto him. He uses the moment to flip you over, pinning you to the bed with a triumphant grin. “Don’t start a fight you can’t win.”

You pant, giggling, squirming under him. “Not fair. You used the element of surprise.”

“Also known as tactics.” He dips down to kiss you, it’s soft and warm. The kind of kiss you wanna get every day. When he pulls back, his voice is soft. “You’re not just here to sleep with me, huh?”

You look up at him, brushing a thumb across his cheek with a hand you pull free. “No, Joaquin. I’m here because I like you. A lot.”

“Good. Because I like you too. A lot.”

You’re not sure if either of you had admitted it before, but it felt too good to ignore. 

You tug him down beside you, both of you still catching your breath, tangled up on the bed. The teasing fades into quiet comfort, laughter still lingering in the air.

Brushing your stray eyelash off your cheek, he pauses, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only person in the world. Then he kisses you, it’s deep and slow yet intense. His hands cup your face like you’re something important, something precious, and his mouth moves over yours like he’s trying to devour you, trying to pull you into him until you can’t think of being anywhere else. 

When he finally pulls back for air, his gaze drops to the Falcon shirt you’re wearing. He smirks, voice low and teasing. “As much as I love the merch…”

He trails off, fingers ghosting over the hem, and you get the hint. You raise your arms, heart pounding, letting him take it off.

One after another, articles of clothing form a pile on the floor until you’re both naked, your bodies moulding together perfectly against one another. And you must admit you’ve been dreaming about this moment since the first time you kissed. The curve of his shoulders, the tension in his strong biceps as he held himself over you, he was perfection, sculpted even.

His warm lips make their way down your body, slow and deliberate, like he’s savouring every inch of you. Each kiss sends a shiver through you. You’re not sure how you’re going to survive the night. 

“What are you gonna do with me, Joaquin?” you whisper, breath hitching.

He looks up at you, a smile on his lips, eyes dark with emotion. “Whatever you want me to.”

***

“Something’s going on,” Alexei says, “She’s been flying around like a butterfly, no?”

For the past few weeks, you were practically floating around the tower with a grin that wouldn’t quit and a twinkle in your eye. Baking cookies at odd hours, humming to yourself, and sighing contentedly at your phone every time you get a text from someone. Like nothing could get you down, and it’s been weird. 

“We should leave her to it,” Bob says with a smirk, clearly enjoying the cookies a little too much.

You're all busy prepping for a mission. Maps open, gear scattered, energy high, when Yelena approaches with a question, brows knit in mild frustration.

“Don’t worry, I got the schematics on my phone,” you say, handing it to her without looking up.

“It timed out,” she mutters, before turning it back on. But both Yelena and Ava suddenly go quiet.

You’re barely paying attention to the murmurs around the room, eyes fixed on your laptop, until you hear something that makes you want to retreat into yourself like a turtle into its shell.

“Why is Falcon your lockscreen?” Ava teases, and you stop typing instantly. Your head turns, a nervous smile plastered on your face. 

“I—”

You glance around the room. Everyone is looking at you now.

You just had to have him as your lockscreen. 

“I admire his heroics. Is that a crime?” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

“So much so that he’s your lockscreen?” Yelena adds, “This picture isn’t even of him in his suit, he's holding a puppy...”

John looks at the picture and nods in agreement, "Yeah, this seems way more intimate."

You can feel the questions rising in the air, and you’re sure you don’t have a good answer to any of them. 

“I’m a fan, okay? But, I don’t have to explain myself to any of you.”

They exchange knowing looks but drop it, more amused than judgmental. You stare down at your laptop, pretending to be focused again, but your heart’s still racing.

***

You’re waiting on top of Avengers Tower, the wind tugging at your clothes as you hug your arms around yourself. The city glitters below, but your eyes are fixed on the sky. After being teased relentlessly by practically the whole team interchangeably for the past few days, you needed your Joaquin time.

Then you hear it, the familiar sound of metal wings slicing through the air, followed by the soft thud of boots hitting the rooftop. You turn just in time to see him land, wings retracting, that helmet still on and that perfect smile already tugging at his lips.

Without thinking, you rush forward and jump into his arms, laughing as he swings you around. 

“How was the flight?” you ask, breathless, as he laughs and pulls off his helmet.

“Not too bad,” he grins, setting it aside. 

“I love this,” Joaquin says, looking over the modest feast you’ve put together with a genuine smile.

Setting up the movie, you both settle in, cuddling up next to each other. Already feeling more connected than when you’re forced to video call, this was different. Nothing could compare to feeling the warmth of his body vibrating against your side when he talks and laughs.

The movie hits a lull in the action, and you both fall into a comfortable silence.

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to go public?” you ask softly, the city’s quiet hum blending with the flickering screen.

“Absolutely. This is only temporary,” Joaquin replies, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek like a promise.

You smile, leaning into his touch. “So in other words, you wanna show me off?”

He grins, eyes sparkling. “You bet. Can’t wait for everyone to know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Your heart skips a beat, as it often does when you’re with him. “We’ve been handling the distance well so far…”

“Yeah,” he nods, eyes locked on yours. “But I’m ready for the part where I don’t have to secretly fly across states just to kiss you goodnight.”

A slow smile spreads across your face, and you reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Me too, Joaquin. Me too.”

***

The day was like most others, busy, a blur of tasks and distractions, but you froze when you saw it. On your phone, a breaking news report flashed: Joaquin, hurtling toward the ground, one wing damaged and useless. The sickening thud as he hit the earth echoed in your mind like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

At that moment, the world stopped spinning. Time slowed to a crawl.

There was no hesitation. You were up, grabbing your things, and moments later, you were on a Quinjet bound for D.C. You knew he was being treated at the Avengers Compound, but you didn’t care; if it meant breaking in, you would.

Fear clutched at your chest, terror gnawing at your bones. The thought that your life could never be the same without him was unbearable. No more late-night calls, no more spontaneous flights through the sky, no more drifting off to sleep to the sound of his voice. It would all be over.

And you weren’t ready to let that happen.

***

The fall was brutal, but it could have been far worse. He had experienced worse, but right now, he was still in a world of pain. The only thing he could think of as he was falling was all the regrets, all the things he’d left undone, left unsaid.

He never got to tell you he…

His eyes flutter open when he hears the unmistakable sound of someone breaking in through the window.

There’s a clumsy rustle as the intruder fumbles with the curtains.

“Fucking… stupid curtains…”

Another muffled thud echoes in the quiet room as the figure trips.

He knew that voice anywhere. He whispers your name, and you look up from the floor. You look like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. But instead of fear, your expression melts into a complex mix of emotions. You’re happy to see him alive, terrified, and overwhelmed all at once.

You rush to his side, barely able to hold yourself together, 

He whispers your name again, soft and hoarse, and somehow it eases a fraction of the pain twisting inside you. But he’s still injured, bandaged, bruised, fragile in ways you’ve never seen.

“Joaquin…” you breathe, voice cracking as you lean in and hug him gently, careful not to press on any wounds.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he needs you to survive. Like you’re the anchor that brought him back.

“You scared the crap out of me,” you whisper against his skin, your voice trembling.

His arms wrap around you weakly, but surely. “I’m here,” he murmurs, like a promise he plans to keep. “Not dead.”

Suddenly, the chaos of your joint situation comes to mind…

“The media, our teams—” he begins, voice strained.

“None of that matters!” you shout, the words ripping from your throat. “Not when you’re hurt.”

Your eyes rake over his injured form, bandages stark against his skin, a gash on his side still seeping faintly beneath the gauze.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he offers, trying to sound reassuring.

You step closer, giving him a sharp, disbelieving look. “Are you kidding me?”

He gives a small, sheepish laugh, but it quickly turns into a wince as the movement pulls at his side. “I mean it. I’ve literally shot out of the sky before. This is nothing, I’m actually kind of an expert now.”

You know he’s joking around for your benefit, but you still can’t help but worry. “Don’t downplay it. You almost died.”

His grip tightens slightly around yours. “Yeah, but I didn’t. And you’re here.”

The exhaustion was obvious; he needed you here more than he knew how to express but struggled to find the words.

“Were you stealthy getting in here?” he asks, half amused, half amazed, unable to figure out how you managed it. You had come through the window decked out in tactical gear, which was mildly concerning, so he bets it’s an interesting story.

“Well?” he teases.

You bite your lip, looking just a little guilty. “I scaled the building, and at least ten people saw me come in here. I knocked out a few security guards, and the Quinjet may or may not be parked like... right outside the front door?”

Your list of crimes and bold moves was impressive, and Joaquin couldn’t be more proud. The fact that you did all that for him was overwhelming.

“You didn’t.”

You shrug. “I don’t care. Nothing was going to keep me from you. I…”

“I love you,” Joaquin says, taking the words right out of your mouth. It’s raw and comes straight from the heart. He thinks he’s known this for a while, but never said it aloud.

“I love you too,” you reply, it leaves your lips so easily you wonder why it took you so long to say it. 

For a moment, the chaos of the world fades. It’s just the two of you, in the hush of a hospital room, holding on like it's all that matters. Then you notice your phone flash, you’d put it on silent to do your little sneaky break-in, and you’ve never been more glad you did. 

You glance at the screen to see a flurry of missed calls and texts from the Avengers group chat.

Bucky: Hey. 12:01 PM Bucky: Did you steal the Quinjet? 12:01 PM Bucky: Come back right now, and we might not kill you. 12:03 PM Yelena: You flew to D.C.?!?! 12:07 PM

You scroll down a little further, not liking the nervous feeling that's bubbling in your stomach.

Bucky: HEY.  12:20 PM Bucky: TEXT BACK. 12:20 PM Bucky: ANSWER YOUR PHONE. 12:27 PM

Well, something judging by the texts you can tell there's been an escalation of sorts. The word, 'HEY,' has never been so intimidating and you've now discovered that you don't like it when Bucky types in capital letters.

Ava: 🙃 12:45 PM John: 🙃 12:50 PM

You have no idea what this means.

Bucky: ON OUR WAY. 1:00 PM

You're fucked.

You rest your head on his chest, letting out a long, frustrated groan.

“What’s wrong?” Joaquin asks, voice low and laced with concern.

“There’s a tracker on the jet I stole, and they're coming here,” you mumble into the sheets, muffled by the fabric and your own regret. You sigh, rolling onto your back with a dramatic flop. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Too focused on me?” Joaquin chuckles, warm and amused, and runs his fingers gently through your hair. The gesture is soothing, comforting in a way that only he can manage.

“Always.” You look up at him, with a little pout, “They’re gonna kill me.”

“Nah,” he smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “They’ll just make you do recon missions in Siberia for a month.”

You groan again, burying your face in his side.

“You’re worth it, though,” you mumble, voice soft but certain. “I’d steal ten more Quinjets, if it meant I could be with you.”

Of course, you would. 

Then he smiles, that warm, crooked grin you’ve come to crave, and he leans in to kiss you.

It’s slow, reverent, like all of your kisses. When you never know when you’re going to see one another, it makes it all the more important to cherish each one. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm, his hand slipping into your hair as your lips move together. It’s everything, relief, longing, love. 

You’re careful not to press on his side, mindful of the bandages, but even that doesn’t stop your body from curling instinctively closer. You’re so absorbed in each other that you almost don’t hear the very distinct sound of someone clearing their throat.

You break apart and turn around slowly, only to find Sam standing in the doorway. Getting caught making out with Falcon by Captain America just secured a place on your top ten most embarrassing moments ever, just behind running into a stop sign in front of your whole school. 

Sam doesn’t look mad, but he does look monumentally confused. He’d just walked past the Quinjet parked out front, noticed guards slumped over unconscious, and now finds you two tangled up inside.

He raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Is someone going to explain this to me?”

“...Meet my girlfriend?” Joaquin squeaks.

Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

[andy-15-07]

Hii!! Hope you are doing well, could you do Danny Ramirez x a reader where she was a D1 athlete in soccer and her and Danny are at a field passing and playing and they decided to do 1v1 and she is winning and Danny decided to cheat he starts kissing her neck and picking her up and maybe a make out session on the pitch 😏.

1v1 on the Pitch

PAIRING: Danny Ramirez x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 972✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the soccer field, the freshly mown grass soft beneath your feet. The rhythmic thud of the ball against your cleats was like second nature, an old familiar pulse that made your heart race with excitement. You dribbled the ball deftly, weaving around imaginary defenders, feeling alive in a way you hadn’t in a while.

Danny stood a few yards away, watching you with an amused grin, his arms folded loosely across his chest. “Still got it, huh?” he teased.

You shot him a playful glare. “Please. You’re just lucky you’re standing on my home turf.”

He laughed, stepping forward to meet you. “Alright, prove it. Let’s play.”

You raised an eyebrow. “One-on-one. Winner takes bragging rights.”

Danny’s smile turned cocky. “You’re on.”

You started the game with the ball at your feet, quick and sharp. Years as a D1 athlete had left you with instincts and muscle memory that kicked in without thought. You darted past Danny’s lazy attempts to block you, the ball sliding effortlessly under his outstretched legs.

“You’re cheating with those long arms,” you joked.

“Hey, all’s fair,” he said, jogging to catch up.

The ball passed between you two in a series of quick, heated exchanges. You felt your competitive spirit flare —and you could tell Danny felt it too, the way he kept narrowing the distance between you.

“C’mon, Danny, keep up!” you teased, eyes sparkling.

He smirked. “Trying to. You’re just too damn good.”

Minutes passed, and it was clear you were winning. You could see it in Danny’s face , a mix of admiration, frustration, and something else… something mischievous.

“You’re impossible to beat,” he huffed, wiping sweat from his brow.

You grinned. “Told you.”

Suddenly, he lunged for the ball. You spun away, but he caught you from behind, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the ground effortlessly.

“What—” you started, surprised and breathless.

Before you could protest, Danny’s lips found your neck, pressing soft kisses against your skin. You gasped, your fingers curling into his hair.

“Cheater,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips.

Danny chuckled against your neck. “Only when I’m losing.”

You tilted your head, giving him better access, your body melting into his touch. “Well, you’re winning now.”

He set you down gently but kept one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. The ball lay forgotten on the grass beside you.

“Alright,” Danny said, voice low and teasing. “Truce?”

You caught his eyes and smiled. “Truce. For now.”

Before you knew it, he cupped your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. Then he kissed you , deep, hungry, and full of all the playful tension that had been building between you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The world around you blurred , the scent of grass, the fading sun, the distant sound of cars , none of it mattered except the heat between your lips.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Danny grinned.

“Okay, you win,” he said, wiping a stray strand of hair from your face.

You laughed, heart pounding. “Only because I let you.”

He winked. “I’m pretty good at cheating, you know.”

You reached for the ball, dribbling it with a smile. “You gonna try again, or is this game over?”

Danny shook his head, grinning. “I think I like the new rules better.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What rules?”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Where cheating means kissing you like that.”

You laughed, leaning in. “I’m not complaining.”

Danny’s eyes darkened with desire. “Good. Because I plan to win in every way.”

The sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the field as you and Danny stood close, sharing quiet smiles and stolen touches. The ball at your feet was forgotten for now the game had changed, and so had the stakes.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Joaquin Torres: "I'm trying to protect you"

Rain slicks the rooftop beneath your boots, the night cold and too quiet. A flash of red and blue pulses in the distance –sirens on a delay. They’re always late. You’re breathing hard, pulse still racing from the close call down on 14th, where the guy with the vibranium rounds nearly clipped your shoulder before you sent him sprawling.

You’re not even bleeding. But that’s not the point, apparently.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Joaquin says, voice low and tight as he touches down beside you, wings still half-unfurled and dripping. “This isn’t your fight.”

You snort and shake the water from your hands. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have flown off without backup.”

His jaw clenches, just for a second. Then his eyes meet yours –warm brown and clouded with storms now. “I’m trying to protect you.”

And there it is.

The thing he’s been biting back since D.C.; since the warehouse mission went sideways and you nearly got buried in the rubble. The thing he’s been too polite to say out loud –until now.

You step closer, chest heaving. “Protect me? Joaquin, I’ve been doing this longer than you. You think because you’ve got wings and new tech you get to decide when I’m safe?”

He doesn’t flinch. “No. I think because I –,” he stops, swallows. “Because I care. And that makes it hard to watch you dive headfirst into gunfire like you don’t have anything to lose.”

You don’t mean to, but you laugh –sharp and bitter. “That's rich, coming from the guy who does the exact same thing."

"This isn't about me," he argues, and you shake your head.

"I’ve lost things. Plenty. You just weren’t around to see it."

His wings retract with a click, shoulders curling in as he takes a step forward. His voice is gentler now, almost a whisper. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That one day I won’t be there, and something happens to you and I –,”

You cut him off with a hand on his chest, soaked gloves squelching against his suit His heart pounds beneath your palm, and you realize that this isn't an argument.

It's a confession.

“I get it,” you say quietly. “But protecting me doesn’t mean pushing me away. It doesn’t mean treating me like glass.”

He leans his forehead against yours, soaked curls brushing your cheek. “Then tell me what it does mean.”

You close your eyes and let yourself feel the warmth between you, even in the rain. “It means doing this together or not doing it at all. And neither of us are going to give this life up –so together is what we do."

He exhales, shaky. But then he nods. “Okay.”

You take his hands, squeezing once before pulling back. “Okay.”

[fireside-fanfics]

Omg can you write a fic for Joaquin Torres x reader where the reader constantly gives him a heart attack

Yes, most definitely! I hope you like this fic as much as I loved writing it :)

Love Me Like a Safety Hazard

The first time she gave Joaquin a heart attack, it was accidental.

She’d decided to surprise him after his debriefing with Sam, thinking it’d be cute to sneak into the hangar and wait behind his locker door with his favorite cafecito from the bodega down the street. What she didn’t expect was for him to scream—a full-throated, startled, high-pitched yelp—as he stumbled back, clutching his chest like a telenovela abuelita. She blinked, holding out the coffee cup sheepishly.

“Surprise?”

“You—mi vida, you can’t just—why would you do that?” he gasped, grinning as he caught his breath, walking forward to steal a kiss anyway.

“Because I missed you,” she said sweetly. “And I brought your favorite. With extra sugar, because I know you’ve been stressed.”

He took the drink, kissed her cheek, and said, “This is how I die. I’m going to die from loving you.”

She took that as encouragement.

The second time was less accidental.

She’d found a fake alien artifact in one of the storage rooms in the compound (read: a Halloween prop someone left behind), and thought it’d be funny to text Joaquin a photo with the caption: “Touched this weird thing and now my hands are glowing green. Normal??”

He called immediately.

“Are you serious? Where are you? Is it radioactive?? Is your skin melting off—”

“Relax,” she said through a giggle. “I still have all ten fingers. Probably.”

He groaned loudly. “You’re going to kill me, woman. Kill me.”

“You love me.”

“That’s the problem!”

The third time was during a mission.

She was embedded undercover at a gala while Joaquin and Sam were stationed outside on comms. Everything was going well—until the security cameras went dark for three whole minutes.

“Report,” Joaquin said sharply into the comm. “We lost your feed. What’s your status?”

No answer.

“Hey—talk to me. What’s going on—”

Then her voice crackled through the static. “Sorry, I dropped the comm. Got it back now. Also, I think I accidentally seduced the diplomat’s wife.”

“…What.”

“She kissed me on the cheek and gave me the passcode to the vault, so I feel like it’s working?”

Sam’s laughter in the background was immediate. Joaquin, on the other hand, slammed his forehead into the console and muttered, “I’m going to die. This is how I die. Flirting via espionage.”

“You’re doing great, babe,” she added cheerfully, voice full of smugness. “You’ll get used to it.”

Joaquin never did get used to it, but he also didn’t ask her to stop.

Because for every heart attack she gave him—whether it was jumping out from behind a door with a Nerf gun, pretending to be kidnapped by hiding under the bed, or signing him up for a “couples tango class” as a surprise—she was always there right after, grinning like sunshine and pressing kisses to the corner of his mouth until he smiled again. And he always smiled again.

Even now, standing in their shared apartment, soaking wet from the unexpected thunderstorm because she texted “emergency” and he rushed home without an umbrella, only to find her trying to install a ceiling hammock “for vibes,” Joaquin could only stare at her—covered in dust, hair frizzy, wearing one of his shirts that hung off her shoulder—and shake his head in disbelief.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, walking over and wrapping his arms around her despite how soaked he was.

“Yeah, but what a way to go, huh?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. He kissed the top of her head and laughed. “Best way I can think of.”

Even now, standing in their shared apartment, soaking wet from the unexpected thunderstorm because she texted “emergency” and he rushed home without an umbrella, only to find her trying to install a ceiling hammock “for vibes,” Joaquin could only stare at her—covered in dust, hair frizzy, wearing one of his shirts that hung off her shoulder—and shake his head in disbelief.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, walking over and wrapping his arms around her despite how soaked he was.

“Yeah, but what a way to go, huh?”

He kissed her forehead and laughed, pressing his cheek to the top of her head like he always did when he needed to ground himself. Her arms wrapped around his waist easily, like she knew—like she always knew. She smelled like sawdust and that overpriced candle she swore enhanced her aura. The storm still raged outside, wind rattling the windowpanes, but all he could hear was her heartbeat against his chest.

“I mean it,” he murmured. “You terrify me. Every day.”

“And yet…” she grinned up at him.

“And yet, I wouldn’t trade a second of it,” he finished, shaking his head with a helpless kind of smile—the one he only ever wore for her. “You drive me completely insane.”

“I know,” she said brightly, standing on her toes to kiss him. “And you’re still obsessed with me.”

God help him, he was.

He was obsessed with her in a way that snuck up on him, quietly at first—like gravity shifting—but now it consumed him whole. She was unpredictable, infuriating, relentless… and utterly irresistible. His pulse still kicked every time she walked into a room. He still caught himself smiling at her when she wasn’t looking. Every part of his life had been sharper, brighter, more alive since she barreled into it with her wild ideas, sharp wit, and the world’s most dangerous smile.

He could never get used to the way she made him feel—like he was teetering between losing his mind and finding something worth holding on to. Even when she made him question every one of his survival instincts, even when she made his blood pressure spike daily, even when he was absolutely certain she was going to be the reason he had an early cardiac episode—he loved her more than he’d ever thought he could love anything.

So yeah, he was obsessed. Joaquin was madly, completely, hopelessly in love with her. And honestly? He didn’t want to be saved.

He tightened his arms around her and let out a long breath, tension fading. 

“Promise me,” he mumbled, lips brushing her temple, “no more fake emergencies this week.”

“No promises.”

“Cariño.”

She looked up at him with mock innocence, a hand over heart, and gasped, “Fine. No more fake emergencies. Only very real, mildly chaotic ones.”

He groaned and still—he kissed her again. Because for all the chaos, for all the stress and the mini panic attacks she handed out like candy, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She kept him on his toes, kept his heart racing, and kept his world so full of love he thought it might burst.

Maybe she would actually give him a heart attack someday, but if it meant a lifetime of surprises, laughter, and loving her? He knew it’d be worth it.

[urrockstar-xe]

need you - j.t x fem!reader

posted july 13th, 1:19 am

watching captain america brave new world to feel something again lols, not proofread and mentions of reader's hair, also the spanish is google translated please correct me if it's wrong!!

dad!Joaquín x mom!reader fluff fluff fluff

masterlist

wc: 1.2

He was exhausted. Aching bones and bruised ribs, and a cut lip, was all he could bring home to you after this past mission. It was too late past midnight, there was no expectation for you to be up at this hour, not when you had updated him just two days prior about your toddler’s current sleeping schedule, and it was not good. 

But maybe, if he was lucky, you had been hoping for his early return, or read his mind somehow, and just knew, and put a plate away in the fridge for him to heat up upon his arrival. 

He was pretty certain he’d take scraps from the 13 month old at this point. 

With tired fingers, he punched in the code on the locked front door, his duffle heavy on his shoulder as he opened the door with a huff. 

It was quiet inside, as he had expected, living room lights were off, but the light in the kitchen was still glowing softly. He waited to hear the door automatically lock with a soft click sound, before going to investigate. 

Clues were splayed out the closer he got to the entry way to the small kitchen, a soft sound of keyboard typing and your quiet hum along to whatever 50s song was playing in your headphones. That must be why you hadn’t heard his entrance. Joaquín audibly sighed at the sight of you, still in your jewelry and makeup from the day but nice enough to yourself to put on pajama shorts instead of jeans and a hoodie, his hoodie. A baby monitor sat beside your macbook, the camera showing the crib of his sweet little girl curled up with a pacifier and her blanket. He smiled at both sights. 

He didn’t want to scare you, but he needed you. It had been rougher than usual without you these last couple weeks. A rougher mission, rougher bad guys.

The sight of you wasn’t enough anymore, he needed to feel you. 

Joaquín dropped his duffel in the doorway, hoping the noise would get your attention before moving to untie his boots.

Luckily for him the sound of it hitting the floor was heard just when the silence between the song ending and another beginning had stalled. You turned when he had his head down, pulling off your headphones ”Joaquín?”

He closed his eyes at the sound of your voice, pulling off his second boot before standing up straight and tilting his head in your direction. He could hear you getting up. 

“Hi honey,” 

he could melt at how sweet you sounded, the way your arms looped around his neck and pulled him into you, guiding his face to your neck and letting him just breath you in. Joaquín has to be in heaven, this must be what paradise feels like.

“I missed you” you murmured into his shoulder, nails running along his back and then down his arms when they wrapped around your waist in attempts to drag you closer. 

“Missed you, please keep talkin’” his voice was barely there, it was the first thing he had said since beginning the journey home. He needed to hear your voice, needed you.

“Okay” you thought for a few seconds on what to say next, pressing a soft kiss to his jacket covered skin. “Thank you for comin’ home to us in one piece. I didn’t wanna tell you over the phone but Mari keeps crying for you.” 

Joaquín let out a sad hum at that, before letting you continue.

“I’ve been up trying to write some while she was finally sleeping. I only made grilled cheeses for dinner but we still have so much stuff if you want me to make you one?” You cut off any rambling that could’ve been forming to ask the question, pulling away to finally really look at his face.

Joaquín opened his eyes, taking in the mix of concern and relief in yours, the faded lipstain and the way your hair was falling into your face. 

His hands found your cheeks, and you leaned into them. Your eyes scanning his face over a billion and one times to make sure he wouldn’t crumble in your arms. 

“Grilled cheese actually sounds really great right now” 

You let out a soft laugh at his whispered words, earning a small, tired smile in return. 

“Okay, I’ll make you a couple.” 

Joaquín gingerly pressed his lips to yours, murmuring a soft thank you, and sighing at the feeling of your mouth on his before begrudgingly pulling away and moving to go change. 

You smiled, doing a small and silent but excited jump at your man finally being home before turning to the table and swiftly shutting your laptop. 

You were just about to open the fridge when you paused, watching the screen on the baby monitor as Joaquín came into frame, leaning barely on the bars of the crib and gently running his hand across the baby’s head. Not enough to wake her up but enough for his own piece of mind. 

You watched until he left the frame, a soft smile settling on your face as you nodded your head in an attempt to get rid of the tears brimming your eyes as you opened the fridge.

They were gone in time for Joaquín to be back, you were waiting for the sandwiches to be ready to flip when you felt his strong arms wrap around you from behind.

“Hola, mi amor, te extrañé” hello, my love, I missed you.

Quickly you flipped his food before turning in his arms to kiss him again, more needy this time, more urgent. 

Your hands found his hair as soon as his tongue found yours. Joaquín hummed into your mouth but the make out session was soon cut short at the idea of burning the last four pieces of bread and having to make another meal at almost 2 in the morning. 

He let out a quiet whine at the loss when you turned back to the stove. Instead pressing soft and wet kisses to your exposed neck, using one of his hands to assist you in tilting your head. Eventually he was just breathing you in again. Just letting his lips and nose linger in the crook of your neck, hands ever so softly squeezing your waist every so often. 

“Okay, baby.” You murmured, turning off the stovetop and patting his hands, a signal for him to move and when he reluctantly listened, you plated the two sandwiches and handed it to him, pecking his lips before letting him go sit down. 

You weren’t far behind him, taking the seat next to him and occupying yourself by cleaning up the small clutter you had left while working. Joaquín smiled, as if knowing that You needed to be near him too brought him some peace of mind about the fact that he would most definitely be up your ass the next couple days.

He always was after missions, you liked it that way. Showed it made an impact on him to not have you around.

Joaquín wiped his hands together after finishing half of his second one and crossed his arms, looking at you with a titled head. Tired and loving glazed over eyes watching you plug in your computer for tomorrow’s usage.

Once you turned back to face him, he was already beckoning you closer, pulling you down into his lap as soon as you became close enough. One hand around your waist and the other settled on your thigh, you ran your fingers through his already disheveled curls. 

“‘M glad you’re home,” you whispered. 

“Me too.”

[jazziejax]

I’ve been….doing a lot.

Will any of this see the light of day?….maybe.

[mrsmanofthemonth]

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs - ʙᴏʙ ʀᴇʏɴᴏʟᴅs x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ғᴛ. ᴘʙ&ᴊᴊ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ - ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ, ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴏʙ ᴡᴀs ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅ. ʜᴇ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ʟʏɪɴɢ. ʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟғʀɪᴇɴᴅ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs - ғʟᴜғғ, ᴅᴏᴍᴇsᴛɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴏs, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴏs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ǫᴜᴀᴅ.

ᴍᴀʏᴏʀ ᴍᴀɴᴅʏ’s ɴᴇᴡs ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ 📮- ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ ʙᴏʙ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ sᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀss ᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ғᴀɴᴛᴀsᴛɪᴄ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴘʙ&ᴊᴊ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ sᴀɪᴅ, “ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ?” ᴇxᴄᴜsᴇ ᴍᴇ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ sᴘᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs ᴏʀ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀʀ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs. ɪ’ᴍ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴜsᴛʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀᴅ sᴇʟғ ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇɴᴛ ɪ ᴀssᴜᴍᴇ. ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʙsᴏʟᴜᴛᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴜᴘ ᴏғ ᴄᴏғғᴇᴇ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ - 𝟹,𝟶𝟻𝟶+

sᴜɴɴʏʙʀᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ ⛅️

For a man who glowed gold was and one of the most powerful beings on earth, Bob Reynolds had an exceptional talent for going unnoticed.

It wasn’t that the others didn’t care—Peter, Joaquin, and Johnny were deeply invested in the man’s life, if only because they lived with him, breathed the same air, and occasionally panicked when he muttered to himself or some out, hoping he was still holding on to his sanity. But Bob had always been a bit of a mystery. He’d drift in and out of rooms in silent patters, bud in conversations, half-listening and half-lost in thought, his eyes always a few seconds slower than his smile.

So when he said—offhandedly, between bites of cereal one Wednesday morning—that he might be seeing someone, none of the boys really heard him. Or, paid attention rather.

Peter was fiddling with a malfunctioning gadget of his that he made out of an old toaster. Joaquin was working the blender, making his morning protein shake and doing that thing where he whisper-sang reggaetón lyrics. And Johnny was shirtless, eating flaming hot Cheetos puffs from the family size bag, his fingers beat red while the other hands scrolled his phone.

“I think I have a girlfriend now.” Bob had said, blinking once, spoon halfway to his mouth.

Peter, without looking up, mumbled. “That’s great, man.” But he was barely heard over the sound of the blender at Joaquin didn’t stop, and they weren’t even sure if he heard the conversation happening.

“Is she physically real or, like, some celestial being in your mind?” Johnny asked, wiggling his fingers around his head before wiping Cheeto dust on a dish towel that very much did not belong to him.

“Ha ha, funny.” Bob monotoned, glaring over at the man across from him. “She’s very real, if you must know. And it feels celestial.” Bob said firmly.

Joaquin simply smirked but didn’t take it seriously, more satisfied with the fact that he got under Bob’s skin. And then the conversation ended there, all the men going back to their shared task within the kitchen.

It’s not that the men didn’t believe that such a thing could happen to their friend. It was simply something none of them have just thought about. Bob soent his free time, which was all the time since the guy was unemployed, dressed in flannel pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, buried under a weighted blanket. He loved messy reality tv and sometimes stared out the window at birds that would land on the fire escape. Joaquin even slightly remembers a story of the man befriend a crow or something through animal crackers.

But they adored him. He was their roommate. Their teammate. Their unique and lovable Bob. Their Bob.

And according to Bob himself — he was now someone’s boyfriend.

About a week after that, he stood before them in the kitchen again, dressed in grey sweats and hoodie, nothing new from his usual wear, besides his tennis shoes. “I won’t be home tonight.” He mumbled, spooning Cap’n Crunch into his mouth with unbothered serenity.

Peter, eyes still crusty with sleep, had looked up as he scratched his bottom through his boxer briefs. “What? Where are you going?” Be grumbled in his morning voice.

“Out.” The man answered simply. He didn’t even have time to register his own response and how rude it kind of sounded, before Johnny, who was making himself some sunny side up eggs, shirtless behind an apron with a skillet in his inflamed hand, turned to him. “Out?” He questioned.

“With my girlfriend.” Bob said, looking over at him.

The room had then gone quiet. Peter pausing with his nana halfway out of his mouth while Joaquin raised his head from his laid position on the couch.

Johnny had snorted loud enough to shake the pan, almost dropping it from his hand. “Okay, sure, Bob. Your girlfriend. The same way I’ve got a pet unicorn and Joaquin’s got a gluten allergy.”

“…I actually do have a gluten allergy.” Joaquin mumbled, flipping through the channels on the television with a dull look of interest.

Bob just blinked at them as he finished eating. “Her name’s Y/N.” He stated, moving over to place his dishes in the sink. “She’s actually really cool. We met in the park where she was walking her cat.”

This only caused the boys to not believe him more, squinting at him. “Who walks a cat?” Peter questioned, which was a bit muffled due to the banana he was chewing. He then looked down at the empty peel in his hand, before simply tossing it behind him, the moist peel hitting the wall before sliding into the trash can.

“A lot of people, actually.” Bob stated a bit enthusiastically, turning back around to look at them, as if he was ecstatic to tell a new piece of information he’s recently learned. “But it’s her grandma’s fat calico. He needs a daily trek.” He said with a nod, looking between them all.

And they gave Bob their usual stares of a look that was a mix between pity and slight confusion before mumbling words of simple acknowledgement and moving about their day.

And that was that.

But now it had been weeks of him mentioning her every now and then. And Bob kept disappearing.

It started innocently enough. Jaquan was the first to notice.

“Bob?” He called, walking through the loft with a mug in hand, still bleary-eyed. “Have you seen my—wait. Where’s Bob?” He questioned, stopping in the open floor between the kitchenette and the living room.

Johnny, stretched across the couch in pajama pants and nothing else, barely opened one eye. “Bedroom?”

Joaquin checked the room on the other side of the loft, up the stairs and in the first room on the right. Empty, with a bed that was perfectly made. Too perfectly. Meaning he was either in a chipper mood or angry. Which was hard to tell if he wasn’t here.

Peter came in next, hoodie slung over his shoulder as he waked out of his room, looking down the hall at Johnny. “What’s up?” He questioned the slightly confused man.

“Bob’s gone.” He said, a subtle frown on his face. “Like, not here gone.” He emphasized as they walked back downstairs.

“He’s probably on the roof.” Johnny shrugged. “Somebody needs to use the perks of this penthouse.” He mumbled.

“But he didn’t say anything.” Joaquin muttered, concern tugging at his brow. “He always leaves a note. Or, like, sends a text.”

“Bob texts you?” Peter stopped at, turning to the man from the kitchen pantry, coming out with an adornment of snacks in his hands. “He doesn’t even have my number saved.”

“Bob has a phone?” Johnny questioned, raising his head from the couch. “Is that the number that’s been sending memes in the group chat?”

Joaquin ignored them as he walked into the kitchen and sat down his mug on the island. “Maybe he just went to get coffee.” He shrugged, not wanting to dive into his friend’s unnecessarily convoluted patterns.

And it continued, the celestial like altered man would shuffle out of the penthouse apartment in his usual hoodie, a dreamy twinkle in his eye, smelling faintly of lavender and something else that was spicy and warm — not his usual scent of floral laundry detergent. Hers, maybe?

Peter raised the question gently over tea that Joaquin made after training, and Johnny refused to entertain the idea at all.

“Bob can barely open the front door without panicking.” He insisted. “He’s either lying or she’s some sort of chatbot at an Internet cafe.”

And then, one Sunday morning, the universe answered all their questions that…weren’t really weighing on them, to be quite honest.

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, which was rare in a household where Joaquin never stopped dribbling a soccer ball and Johnny did everything loudly on purpose. Peter wandered into the kitchen mid-yawn, looking for Bob, only to find an empty table. No cereal. No discarded slippers left in the middle of the floor. No soft humming of ’70s soul music coming from the hallway.

“Huh.” Peter mumbled. “Bob’s not here.”

Johnny looked up from where he was organizing and cleaning his rings, while the baseball game played loudly. “Maybe he went to the corner bodega again to feel the oranges before he buys them.” He said, his eyes bouncing between the tv and his roommate. “Remember that phase? Man loves a citrus, I guess.”

Joaquin poked his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. “Didn’t he say something about a picnic?”

Johnny groaned. “Right, the girlfriend. Again. Sure. He’s been dating this mystery woman for, what, a month now? Never brings her around? Doesn’t, I don’t know, spend the night at her place?” He listed dramatically, waving his hands.

Peter shrugged. “He might just be private.”

Johnny scoffed. “Bob tells me his dreams every morning over breakfast. He’s not private, he’s just weird.”

Then they heard it — laughter — muffled, through the front windows and the sound of fans yelling and commentators on the tv.

The three of them froze.

It wasn’t their laughter. Or that of anyone they knew. It was light, feminine, soft and genuine. It was then followed by the soft thud of a bag, the click of a door, and another laugh, deeper this time, unmistakably Bob’s.

They ran to the window next to the door like nosy neighbors in a sitcom, scattering across the hardwood floor in their socks.

Outside, in the sun lit hall from the window down the hall of the penthouse building, was Bob.

And a woman.

She had her hand in his — fingers laced tight — and was laughing at something he said as she leaned into his shoulder. Her smile was wide and radiant, the kind that made you feel warm just looking at her. Mauve cheeks with a matching lip shade. Her curly hair was pulled into a loose pony at the back of her head, some pieces hanging to frame her frame, gold diamond earrings flashing in the sun, and she was wearing a ‘Coolsville’ hoodie far too large to be hers.

Bob’s hoodie.

Their Bob.

Johnny dropped the curtain like it burned him, which was a bit ironic considering he was the Human Torch™️. “No. Freakin’. Way.”

Peter’s mouth was slightly open. “That’s her?” He asked, his eyes glazing over as he gazed at the woman his roommate had on his arm.

Joaquin was still pressed to the glass. “She’s hot.” he breathed out, breath fogging the glass.

“I know!” Peter exclaimed.

“She’s holding his hand! Like she likes him!” Johnny added, an excited and almost proud smile on his face.

“He’s smiling!” Joaquin cried. “Look at him! He’s, like, glowing!” He grinned. And they gave themselves a millisecond more to celebrate before they scattered like roaches when the doorknob turned.

Bob walked in with a dreamy expression, cheeks slightly pink, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his curls. And he wore jeans, with sneakers. Behind him, she entered too, her gaze bouncing around the shared space with casual curiosity.

The guys stood in a weird line, shoulder to shoulder, each one with a matching look of disbelief that they were trying to mask.

Bob blinked. “Hey.” His gaze burning between them.

Y/N smiled, cheeks still glowing from the walk. “Hi.” She said, giving them a wave.

Johnny pointed an accusing finger. “You have a girlfriend.” He stated bluntly, not even trying to beat around the bush. Bob’s face heated more, red risking up his neck while both Joaquin and Peter winced at their friend’s words.

“Johnny.” They hissed.

“It’s fine.” The girl spoke up, a bashful smile on her face. And her voice was as beautiful as she looked, gentle but deep and sultry. She glanced over at Bob, who was already looking at her. Her eyes seemed to shined, his the same as they made eye contact, before he looked back over at them. “Uh… yes?” He answered.

Peter pointed dramatically. “When were you going to tell us?”

“I did tell you.”Bob replied mildly, sipping his drink. “Over cereal. Weeks ago. And again last Wednesday.”

“You said you might be seeing someone!” Johnny accused, pacing. “You didn’t say you were dating a daughter of Aphrodite!”

“Oh, stop it.” The girl said, her smile widening a bit as she waved him off. Bob tightened his hand around hers, eyes the blonde across from him. “Yeah, stop it.” He said, glancing between the girl and his friends.

Joaquin then stepped forward, gaze flicking between her and Bob. “You’re really with him?” He questioned, crossing his arms, and neither of the pair could tell if he was posting fun or trying to be intimidating.

She nodded, still holding Bob’s hand. “Six months now.”

Joaquin audibly choked. “SIX MONTHS?!”

Peter, who had moved over to the kitchen, nearly dropped his mug. “Bob! You’ve been sneaking out?!”

“I do not sneak out!” The man was quick to add, sparking a glance with the woman next to him. “I am a grown man.”

“Yeah, well, you forgot to do the dishes before you left, grown man.” Johnny sassed, giving Bob as look as he placed his hands on his hips. “Now, come, you almost missed the game.” He said, not wanting before he turned around, waving them over to the couch he was walking towards.

Bob stepped beside her and gently touched her waist, a quiet gesture that said she’s with me, and be nice.

Y/N leaned into him, easy and unbothered. “You must be Peter, right? And you”—she pointed at Joaquin—“Joaquin, are the one who puts socks in the freezer?”

Joaquin flushed. “How did—?”

“Bob talks.”

“My feet run hot, okay.”

She then looked at Johnny last. Her eyes glinted. “And you must be the one who thought I was some chatbot.” She said, amusement clear in her tone.

Johnny almost turned crimson at the smile he gave him, but it didn’t show, because he was always one to keep things cool. Which was funny consideri— “I mean, I just didn’t—he’s—you know—Bob.”

Bob just raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means we didn’t think you could pull.” Peter blurted out. “Sorry.”

To everyone’s surprise, Bob just smiled, though there was still a slight look of confusion on his face.

Y/N leaned over and kissed his cheek, lips brushing warm and soft over stubble. “I told you they wouldn’t believe me.” Bob said, turning his head towards her, their nose brushing.

“Well, I’m here now.” She shrugged, looking Bob in his deep blue eyes. They stood there, smiling and giggling like two people wrapped in their own little world, completely at ease.

Joaquin crossed his arms. “Six months you say?”

“Yup.” Y/N nodded.

Johnny blinked. “That’s way longer than when Peter dated the girl down at the bodega.”

Peter mumbled, “Let it die, Johnny.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about this Amber story?” She asked, looking between them all.

Bob, very seriously, said “Not even a little.” And the guys couldn’t help but notice that there was something different about him now — almost softer and more grounded. He wasn’t floating in space within his own mind, or mumbling about the void. He looked like a man who had somewhere to be, something to hold. Someone.

“So.” She said, glancing around. “Is anyone gonna show me the lizard I keep hearing about?”

Peter pointed. “That’s Picante. He lives in Joaquin’s room but has no respect for guests. Or anyone besides Joaquin.”

“Oh, great.” She muttered. “I was surprised to hear you guys had a beaded dragon considering Bob’s afraid of geckos and such”

“I’m not—okay, I screamed once.” The shaggy hairs man insisted.

“You climbed onto the clinic table.”

“It startled me!”

The guys just stared at them, still stunned, still processing, still watching Bob — their Bob — fall in love right in front of them like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Y/N caught their expressions and smiled. “I’m a vet.” She explained, gaining subtle nods from them. “And when I gave Bob a tour of the black and showed him some of our office animals, he freaked out.” She said. “But he was good with the horses.” She nodded, and Joaquin’s eyes widened a bit.

“Horses?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “They loved the guy. Don’t look so surprised.” She uttered before looking back over at him, connecting eyes once again, a favorite pastime of hers. “He’s kind of incredible once you get past the sleep-talking and thirty-seven pairs of gray sweatpants.”

“Forty,” Bob muttered.

“And now.” She said brightly, “I’m stealing your boy. For picnic plans and all.”

“Speaking of, we have reservations.” Bob said, standing with her hands in his, and that shocked his roommates more, their eyes watching his every move they began to walk back to the door.

“You guys have reservations? You have reservations?” Johnny cut in, causing the pair to stop, particularly eyeing his friend. “Bob, you tried garlic bread for the first time last week.” He said, and she let out a small chuckle at that while Bob sent Johnny a deadpanned look. “We’re having dinner at her grandparents house on their ranch, so don’t wait up. Her grandfathers a really great cook. And funnily enough, he’s an Italian man who loves garlic.” He explained, his tone a bit firm, causing their heads to jerk back in slight shock at the man putting his foot down.

She grabbed Bob’s hand again and led him toward the door, pausing only to flash a dazzling smile at the three stunned men left behind.

“Bye, boys.”

The door closed behind them, laughter echoing down the hallway.

Johnny blinked. “Bob’s got a girlfriend.”

Peter nodded. “Bob’s got a girlfriend.”

Joaquin flopped onto the couch, dazed. “We’ve entered a new timeline.” He breathed out.

Johnny only scratched his head. “I feel weirdly… proud. And a bit betrayed.”

“She really is out of his league.” Peter said, crossing his arms as he propped his feet up on the couch, leaning further into the cushions.

Joaquin frowned. “Hey. Maybe we’re the problem.”

They sat there in silence for a long beat.

“…Nah.” They said in unison.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Hey!

Congratulations on your follower milestone! 🥳

Can I request something for Joaquin Torres with the prompts: Roommate AU + love confession.

Thank you in advance 🥰

And Every Morning After

Thank you so much Sara! I hope you like this one!

It's a doublet with Just for Tonight so I'm also tagging @saintbusan 😘

Joaquin Torres x f!Reader

Warnings: a little morning after language, cuddles, Joaquin being a total sweetheart

Word Count: 650

Masterlist

1000 Followers Ficlets Masterlist

You could feel the difference when you woke up.

The sunlight streamed in at the same angles as usual, the blankets were kicked off your bed in the same place, your pillow felt cool and familiar under your cheek.

But there was more.

A weight between your shoulder blades.

A hand snaked around your body and pinned between one of your breasts and the mattress.

A body curled around yours, legs twisted with yours.

A thigh pressed up between your legs.

You froze.

He didn’t usually stay in your room.

Your little arrangement usually ended after your voice was hoarse from screaming his name.

He’d flash you that smile, call you his darling and then saunter off to his own room to continue swiping right for the next real date.

You could feel his slow, steady breaths against your back.

As if feeling your sudden tension, he flexed the hand cupped around your breast and pulled himself closer to you.

“S’early, sleep more,” he murmured, raising goosebumps across your back.

Sleep more? With him pressed against you? You didn’t think it was possible, but the rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his hold soon sent you back to sleep.

When you woke again, you were alone.

And disappointed.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up in bed, the sheet dropping to your waist while your rubbed your eyes and tried to conjure a smile and a brave face to take with you to the kitchen.

Before you could move, your bedroom door opened.

Joaquin stared, a tray balanced carefully in one hand.

You reached for the sheet to cover up but it was too late.

“I thought you might still be asleep,” he whispered, a blush crossing his cheeks.

“Why are you whispering?” You whispered in return.

He cleared his throat and stepped further into the room, setting down the tray.

“Made breakfast.”

“Thank you.”

He hovered awkwardly by the side of the bed, his hands fidgeting.

You watched your heart hammering.

He was going to say it had to stop. Accidentally staying in your bed had made him realise that what you were doing was not sustainable for either of you.

“You ok?” You asked, your voice came out smaller than you’d hoped.

He nodded briskly and ran a hand through his curls, messy from sleep. Messy from you.

“Last night - I -”

“I know,” you said firmly. Pull the pin, get it over with.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, of course we can’t keep doing… that. It’s not good for either of us, right? One day, one of these dates is gonna go just fine and someone is gonna be left…” Left what, you wondered?

“Left what?” He asked for you.

“Disappointed.”

You both fell silent. You stared at the pattern on your bedsheets, unable to look up at him.

“I don’t want one of those dates to go fine,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t want your dates to go fine.”

You shook your head, “That’s not fair, J -”

“I know this isn’t what we agreed,” he interrupted, sitting down quickly next to you. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted slightly.

“I don’t want you to go on anymore dates. I want you.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“I wanna be the one taking you out and bringing you home. I want to wake up like that every morning.”

Your breath caught.

“You mean that?” You whispered.

“I mean it,” he laughed nervously, “I’m so fucking gone for you mi vida. I don’t want to be the guy who only gets you after a bad date. I love you, baby.”

You let go of the sheet to throw your arms around his neck, “I love you too, Joaquin.”

He pulled you into his lap, his hands wide across your back, holding you close.

And for the first time, if felt like you were both where you were meant to be.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥. ❞

┊ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: by anonymous — amidst the avengers feud, you and joaquin are going steady in your relationship. you decide to sneak him into the watchtower while the team is away on a mission.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: joaquin torres x fem!thunderbolts!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4K (long one!)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut/fluff, established relationship, sam wilson cameo, inexperienced reader, making out, body worship, mild dry humping, oral sex (fem!rec), lots of praise, unprotected p in v sex, missionary position. aftercare + cute ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: my brain is filled with joaquin torres, I’m in love with him sm !! this was so, so much fun to write, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

“You’re thinking about something.”

Sam’s inquiring statement sliced through Joaquín’s thoughts like a hot knife, tinged with an underlying jolt of humor.

Sitting sideways on the couch, the both of them were in his apartment — bunker, more like. He affectionately took to calling it the ‘Cap Cave’, which Sam always groaned at.

Swiveling around in his chair, Joaquín blinked owlishly, brows lifting in surprise. “I’m always thinking about something,” He counters, seemingly perplexed. “Are you saying I don’t think?”

On the coffee table, Sam’s got a stack of files, names of enhanced and non-enhanced individuals to recruit for the Avengers.

He’d gotten Jennifer and Shaun onboard with restarting the Avengers Initiative — he didn’t care about Fontaine’s new group running around. Sam pretended not to be bitter, but it still hurt anyway.

It stung knowing that people out there still didn’t think him worthy of the mantle, and worse, knowing that Bucky was there, too.

“Nah, I’m not saying that,” Sam mused, perusing through files. He was still waiting on a response from Shuri, who’d assumed the mantle of the Black Panther. “You look like a guy who’s thinking about a girl.”

Joaquín gawked, idly rolling the chair from side-to-side, palms getting sweaty. He was definitely thinking about a girl. “What if I am? You can’t police that, Sam.” He muses.

There’s a lapse of silence as Sam contemplates, brows pinching together. He knows it’s about you, and Joaquín’s face gives everything away.

He found out about the relationship unwittingly one morning, when Joaquín had come home at four o’clock, all cheery and stealthy like a teenage boy.

It wasn’t an intelligent move on his part — it was dangerously reckless, Joaquín knew this, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Joaquín, you gotta be smart about this,” He starts in with a fatherly tone and a certain sternness that makes Joaquín wither. “She’s in Fontaine’s pocket, and I know you’ve been sneaking over there to see her.”

“I’m being careful,” He vows, staring down at his lap to avoid the scrutiny of Sam’s stare. “I don’t think she’s in with Fontaine like that, man. She doesn’t seem that way.”

With a begrudging sigh, Sam doesn’t attempt to refute his claim or dissuade him. He can’t stop him from seeing you, even if he thinks it’s a bad idea.

Unconvinced, silence fills the momentary gap between the both of them, and Joaquín is swift to defend your honor; and you aren’t even here.

“She’s different, Sam. I want you to meet her sometime — she’s unlike anybody I’ve ever met.” He sighs, and Sam can practically hear the swooning in his tone.

“Whatever you do, don’t get involved in Fontaine’s business,” It was more of a precautionary measure than a threat. He didn’t want Joaquín to be taken hostage or something worse. “Got it?”

“I got it, Sam. I promise.” Swearing up and down, his phone vibrates in his pocket, catching both of their attention. His smile is light as he spins back around in the chair.

“If you’re gonna talk to her, take it to your room, Romeo.” Sam chuckles, and despite the circumstances, he’s being cordial about everything.

He didn’t want to heighten the tension if Joaquín couldn’t see you. Sam didn’t know you, but he knew how his partner talked about you — like you were the sun, the center of everything.

If you made him happy, he wasn’t going to interfere.

Flashing a smile, Joaquín clamors from the chair when he sees your name flash on his phone, and he waves in-passing. Sam scoffs and grins, but he doesn’t make any lasting remarks on the matter.

Admittedly, Joaquín hadn’t intended for all of this to happen in the way that it had; it just did.

He’d gone to the Watchtower about five months ago with the mission of trying to talk to Bucky, wanting to do right by Sam. He managed to get past the extensive security measures before it all came crashing down.

He met you.

Joaquín still remembered how you looked that day, wide-eyed and curious, wearing a shirt two sizes too big and floral-patterned shorts. You were eating from a bag of grapes, and you called him Falcon.

From then-on, you’d formed an unexpected friendship, and two months ago, he got the stones to ask you out.

Despite the newness of the relationship, he was loving every second of it, even if you couldn’t see one another as often as you wanted. It was all meetings in neutral places, at first — the park, going out to dinner, a museum.

Then, he started using his new suit to fly over to the roof of the Watchtower after you dismantled the surveillance system. He taught you how to do that, too.

The both of you started to get bold with how far you could test the limits of him “coming over”. The rooftop escapades merely scratched the surface.

It turned to midnight dates on the helipad, shooing him away when the others got back from a mission. It turned to him getting as far as the common room, giggling on the couch together at two in the morning.

Tonight, it was turning into your room.

Typically, Joaquín was the one pitching all of these ideas, and the both of you were all giddy, sneaking around like two teenagers. Now, it was really getting serious when you posed the idea of smuggling him into your bedroom.

The plan was all set, laid out to perfection, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Team’s gone on a mission, Bob included — no one else in the Watchtower except you and him. That got him excited; maybe a little too thrilled about the whole thing.

You planned on dismantling the surveillance systems beforehand, knowing that if Bucky went back and checked, he’d probably find evidence of your house-guest.

He scuttled into his room, kicking the door closed when your text popped up.

YOU (my girlfriend <3): hey joaq :) are you still wanting to come over tonight?

JOAQUIN: you’re really asking? I’m still coming over! coast still clear?

YOU (my girlfriend <3): yes, still clear! talked to lena today, said they won’t be back for two days! means we have tower to ourselves 😚

Joaquín huffed a laugh at the emoji you used, nose wrinkling with amusement. He had no idea what he did to get so lucky, other than break a few dozen rules and hijack the New Avengers headquarters.

In his eyes, no one could hold a candle to you; you were so beautiful, so kind, full of a liveliness that brightened everything around you.

The both of you were mutually understanding of the whole feud between two Avengers teams, and as long as that remained intact, everything would be perfectly fine.

JOAQUIN: do you think I could get away with spending the night?

Maybe a little brazen of him to say, or even assume, but if your teammates wouldn’t be back for a few days, he decided to take his chances. Sam wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d apologize later.

YOU (my girlfriend <3): like a sleepover? lol! I think you can :) don’t want sam to be mad at you, tho!

JOAQUIN: if I text him and tell him what’s going on, he won’t be as mad 😇

On the other end of the phone, you were giggling at your screen, perched along the edge of your mattress. Your relationship with Joaquín was going splendidly, especially with it being a secret — from your teammates, anyway.

He’d blown his cover with Sam awhile back, and you were grateful that he was relatively amiable about the whole thing.

A hush had fallen through the Watchtower with the absence of the team, save for some folk ballad you had playing from the speakers in your room. It was late afternoon, closer to evening.

YOU: don’t think you can bat your eyelashes out of this one, joaq 😭 also gonna order carryout tonight! what do you want?

JOAQUIN: it only works on you ig 😏 the beef and broccoli with noodles :)) thanks babe!

YOU: very funny! come over around five? will disable cams on helipad for a sec

JOAQUIN: sounds good miel :) can’t wait to see you tonight, missed you a ton 🥺

A soft snort escaped you when you caught the emoji he’d tacked onto the end of his text, heat curling around your spine. He made you feel so special, beautiful — you weren’t used to having that constant in your life.

When you closed your eyes, you pictured him on the other end, grinning at his phone, black curls framing his temples, a hand pressed against his jaw. It filled your stomach with butterflies.

Hopping off of your bed, you made sure to send another quick text, springing towards the shower. It was a little reckless, having him over like this, but love had made you a little stupid, too.

YOU: missed you more! ❤️ text me when you’re near the helipad, falcon :)

Joaquín grins at his phone, shoving it into his pocket before rifling through his wardrobe. He wants to find something nice to wear, something to fit under his Falcon suit.

The cologne he haphazardly throws into his overnight bag is a scent you’ve complimented him on before. Anticipation twists into knots in his stomach, excited to see you.

He does get some thrill out of all of this — of sneaking off to see you, getting smuggled into the Watchtower. He figures that all of this good luck is bound to cause whiplash, eventually.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he gets his stuff together, attempting to be quiet about packing.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: Do not wear the Falcon suit over there or I’ll lock it up for good.

Deadpanning at the screen, he lets out a sigh, figuring you’ll have to disable lobby cameras, instead. Joaquín groans theatrically into a bunched-up shirt, brows furrowing together.

JOAQUIN: You got it, boss.

It’s four-thirty when you get a text from Joaquín.

JOAQUIN: so no helipad, had to ditch the wings :( lobby safe to come through if cams are off?

YOU: let me disable on main system and come get you! give me ten ❤️

The clothes you wear are modestly comfortable, a pair of leggings with a baggy shirt thrown over, showered and smelling like a flower shop.

After you slide on your slippers, you make your way to the Tower’s mainframe system, disabling cameras in the main lobby and in the elevator, too. It’s simple to turn them off temporarily with the access code — you’d stolen it from Bucky.

Giddy, your ride down the elevator shaft is riddled with excitement and a constant bouncing of your leg. Outside, the New York cityscape begins to ignite with an eclectic nightlife, between the glow of skyscrapers and the hum of cars.

Downstairs, the lobby is polished, corporate — there’s banners of the New Avengers strewn over the walls, massive and theatrical.

Pale tile clashes with the dark furniture that had been set up to resemble something modern, business-like and suave. Valentina had a knack for making everything look very sterilized.

Joaquín is lingering just outside, waving at you with a pearly smile and a bouquet of flowers. Bursting at the seams, you jog over to let him inside, putting in your clearance code before the door slides open.

“Joaquín!” Overjoyed, you’re nearly leaping into his arms as soon as he crosses the threshold, feeling him wrap you up in a tight hug.

A laugh bubbles from his chest, warm and inviting, curling over your bones as he cradles you against his chest. He presses a kiss to your crown, catching a whiff of your perfume; you smell incredible.

“Hey, pretty girl,” He hums, peppering your face with a myriad of kisses, pulling a soft laugh from your mouth. “I missed you.” Joaquín’s got a lovestruck look in his eyes, akin to a puppy.

“I missed you too,” Draping your arms around him, the closeness is something you’ve craved, absorbing his warmth as if he’s his own sun. “No wings? Did Sam clip them or something?” You tease, nose wrinkled.

Embarrassed, he lets out a begrudging groan, features tinged with a scarlet hue as he shrugs. “He didn’t want me using them to come over, figured I’d respect his wishes.”

“He’s nice enough to let you come over here, given the circumstances,” You point out, gaze drifting toward the bouquet of brightly-colored flowers he’s carrying. “You brought flowers?”

“I know. I want you to meet him sometime, I think he’d like you.” Joaquín stands a little taller, resolute as he presents you with your gift. “It’s an apology for not seeing you in a while.”

“You’re sweet,” Flustered, you accept the bouquet with a beam on your face, feeling his lips press against your cheek. “Mm, move your mouth an inch or two to your right.”

“Yes ma’am.” A smirk spreads across his mouth before he kisses your lips instead. He’s enthusiastic yet disarmingly tender, kiss infused with an underlying passion.

Joaquín leans down, closer to you as he slings an arm around your hips, heartbeat stuttering beneath his sternum.

You make him nervous sometimes, in a good way — you make him want to be the best man he can be.

As the kiss slows to a crawl, he draws away with a contented hum, lips still quirked into a grin. “I want more of those, please.” He muses, hand lingering over the small of your back.

“There’ll be plenty more, I promise.” You laugh, tugging on his hand as you make for the elevator. The door bears the Avengers emblem — slightly modified, but the spirit is still there.

Once the both of you are inside, Joaquín peers around in awe, never having seen the whole interior of the Watchtower before. He’s been as far as the common room.

“You got your own superhero banner?” He remarks, brows lifting with amusement. He wished he got his own Falcon banner — maybe Sam could get the new team one, once he finished recruiting.

“Yeah. Valentina wanted it to be marketable and palatable for people who were reluctant about the whole thing,” You shrug. “I still use my old suit. The one she had made for me is uncomfortable.”

With a click of his tongue, he stifles a mischievous grin. “You look really good in it though, miel,” Joaquín lets out a low, playful whistle before you smack his bicep. “Seriously!”

Shooting him a sideways glance, he’s all smiling and chipper, attitude never dimming. It was something you really loved about him — he was good at his core, selfless and wickedly intelligent.

“Thanks,” Another laugh tumbles through your diaphragm. “Maybe I can get you one to hang up in your room back at the Cap Cave.”

He swallows the slight lump in his throat, biting back the urge to make a raunchy remark. Filtering himself, he plants a kiss against your cheek. “Yeah? Shit, I’d love that.” He murmurs, sly as ever.

“You’re bad,” You counter, and he holds one hand up in surrender. As you reach the main level, the elevator chimes open, and you’re greeted by the sprawling floor of the common area. “Here we are.”

The evening glow spreads through the windows, sunlight whispering over dark tile, bathing your features in downcast embers.

Joaquín refuses to look away, gaze reverently tracing across visage as you coax him into the Watchtower’s main room. He swallows, and the sudden coil of nerves settles in.

“I thought we could eat dinner here, or in my room,” You propose, but he’s thoroughly distracted, breath hitching when he absorbs your beauty. Time slows to a crawl the longer he lingers, lips parted. “Or we can eat on the helipad.”

Uncharacteristically hushed, he doesn’t answer you right away, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes as he blinks. It’s slow, and he’s too busy ogling you, mesmerized; he can’t believe that this is real.

When you catch him gawking, he awkwardly clears his throat and straightens up, mumbling a low apology. “Sorry. You’re so gorgeous, and I can’t stop looking at you.” He states, straightforward.

Surprised, you become smitten almost instantaneously, fingers toying with some of the plastic wrap curled around your bouquet. “You’re so sweet,” You mumble. “Thank you, Quín.”

With a suave smile, he nods, a hum snaring within his throat when you rock up on your toes to kiss him. He doesn’t recoil, reciprocating your kiss with one of his own, passion overwhelmingly obvious.

The smile that spreads over your mouth is palpable when you kiss, and he drops his duffel bag, wrapping his arms around you fully.

Lips meld together seamlessly, fitting a perfect mold, bleeding with passion. He’s rather charming about it, endlessly confident; he knows he’s suave, and it has you hooked.

He kisses you again after you reciprocate, peppering his lips all over your face. The sound of your laughter makes it all worthwhile, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Are you hungry?” Giggling against him, he plants another kiss to your brow, smoothing his hands across your hips.

“Yeah,” Joaquín bats his eyelashes, dialing up the swagger as he draws you close, chest-to-chest. “Not for beef and broccoli, though.” He remarks, kissing your jaw with a smirk.

“Joaquín,” A sharp gasp punctures your lungs, and you’re burning with embarrassment. Gentle lips continue to string along your jaw, over your chin, around your neck. “Easy there, Falcon.”

He laughs, and it sounds like sunshine; like everything warm and comforting about the world. “Okay, okay,” There’s still a shimmer in his eyes, one of ardor. “I am legitimately hungry.” He concedes.

“It’s in the fridge,” You muse, lips gracing his jaw before you untangle yourself from him. He’s all grinning and happy, chest puffed out, retrieving his duffel bag from the floor. “I’ll reheat it and then we can go to my room.”

“Deal,” Joaquín follows you to the open kitchen, letting out a low whistle. He’s in awe of everything — the Cap Cave is cool, but the Watchtower is incredibly advanced. “This is impressive.”

He follows you closely, hovering beside the island, bag still slung over his shoulder. “She wanted it to be ‘top of the line’ for investors.” You shrug, removing white containers of Chinese takeout from the fridge.

Admittedly, you still felt like you didn’t really belong on the team, unworthy of the mantle — you were inducted at the wrong place, wrong time.

Like Bob, you had superpowers; not as powerful, but enough for people to take an interest, look at you like a curious object.

Joaquín never looked at you like that, but he looked at you with something else; in awe, as if you’d moved mountains and hung stars.

He tapped a hand against polished granite, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for smuggling me in, by the way,” He murmured, tone warm. “I know this isn’t ideal.”

Scooping the contents of each container into large bowls, you reheated a bag of egg rolls too, lobbing a pair of colorful forks onto the island.

“It’s okay,” Smiling, you met his gaze, affectionate as you placed everything into the microwave. “You’re worth it, Joaquín — you’re worth everything.” Your cadence softens.

Typically, he’s the smooth one; flirtatious, coy, and always coming in with the suave remarks. It was his turn to blush, and he can tell that you’re genuine, sincerity bleeding from every syllable.

“Baby,” He mumbles, a touch flustered before he rubs at the back of his neck. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Smitten, you quietly remove a steaming bowl of beef and broccoli, wincing when the ceramic burns your palm. “I don’t know,” Cheekily, your brows lift in amusement. “Remind me again.”

Joaquín laughs, the noise bright enough to light up a room, and you’re falling hard. When the bowl begins to cool, he picks it up, following right behind you with your food, too.

“So your room is on this level?” He asks through a mouthful of seasoned beef, making noise when he realizes it’s still too hot for him to eat.

“Mm-hm. I share a floor with Bob and Ava, the rest are on two. The training room is up there, too.” As the both of you make your way toward the sleek labyrinth of corridors, Joaquín clears his throat.

“You guys got a training room?” He wants to see it, but he also isn’t expecting a fully-fledged tour as part of your date night. “What else did Fontaine put in this thing?”

“I think Alexei is trying to vouch for a pool,” A huff of laughter escapes you. “But there’s a debriefing room, a lounge and a bar, extra rooms, a medical ward, and a laboratory.” You name it all off like an extensive list.

“I should ask Sam about getting a bar.” Joaquín grins, nipping at your heels as you turn a corner into a long, hushed stretch of hallway. Outside, it’s nearly twilight, concealed by tinted window-panes.

Stopping in front of your door, you enter in your code before it hisses open, revealing a rather expansive, lived-in bedroom.

It smells like you; floral scents intermingled with everything saccharine, strung with hanging lights, comforter wrinkled over a queen-size mattress, bathroom door ajar.

Everything is warm, blanketed in a low, orange glow that swallows the room whole, a fluffy chair draped over with a woven canopy. It was relatively tidy and organized, but comfortable — it all felt organic.

“Sorry if it’s messy, I tidied up before you got here.” As you settle down on the edge of your mattress, Joaquín nudges his duffel bag onto the fluffy rug below, bowl in-hand.

“Messy? Babe, this room is pretty spotless,” He snickers, watching you bat your eyelashes before eating a forkful of noodles. “Food’s delicious, by the way. Where’d you order from?”

“Takeout place down the street,” Your mouth is full when you answer, prompting you to clear your throat. “Eggroll?” Wax paper crinkles within your grasp as you offer it to him, still-warm egg rolls inside.

“Thanks,” Joaquín immediately placed it into his mouth, halfway wedged as the other half fell unceremoniously into his bowl. “Hm, s’good.” He mumbles, watching as you stifle laughter.

Silence trickles in between the both of you, eating within a comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at one another.

He smiles, countenance one of tenderness as he clears his throat, lodging another hefty bite of beef and broccoli into his mouth.

“Want to watch a movie afterwards?” You hum, legs tucked beneath you, squinting through the waning sunset that trickles in through the windows.

It isn’t anything exciting, but basking in his presence matters most to you. There’s something gentle and clean about your relationship — you know he’d do anything for you, be anything for you.

You don’t want him to change — he’s perfect the way he is, and that’s more than enough.

“Yeah,” Through a light cough, Joaquín swallows, fork scraping over empty ceramic. “What are we thinking? You know what I’m gonna say.” He muses, nose wrinkling.

“Fast and Furious?” Sharp, your mouth quirks into a grin before he lets out a theatrical groan.

“Second choice,” His smile never wavers; he’s so handsome, something warm and ebullient, incandescently bright. “Interstellar.”

“That’s a long movie,” Another laugh leaves you when he shakes his head, scraping the remnants of his food into his mouth. “We can watch it. I know you think it’s amazing.”

“One of the best movies of all time, right next to The Princess Bride,” Joaquín chuckles, his laugh light and effortless, teeth glinting through glimmering sunshine. “You’ll love it.”

“I’m trusting you.” Teasingly, you finish up with your food before motioning to take his bowl. You stack them right outside of your bedroom door, assuming you’ll circle back in the morning.

“You mind if I change?” He asks, grabbing his duffel bag from the ground. “I brought you some stuff, too.” Dragging the zipper down, he tugs out a few old t-shirts to give to you.

“You brought me your clothes?” Delighted, you’re visibly ecstatic when he hands you three shirts, two of them old Air Force tops, the other an oversized Nike hoodie.

“I know you like wearing them to bed,” Joaquín plants a kiss to your brow, fingertips tracing over the small of your back. “You’re so beautiful, you know.” He hums, tone lowering.

“You are too,” You mumble, and you catch him blushing, lips parting. He huffs a laugh, mouth carefully tracing across your face, buried against your soft skin. “Very cute.”

“Gonna change, babe.” Joaquín hums, planting another kiss against your cheek before grabbing a bundle of clothes, including something you can’t make out.

After he disappears into your bathroom, door clicking with a soft thud, you scramble into something else. Tugging off your leggings and shirt, you slide into his hoodie; it smells like his cologne, like sandalwood and whiskey.

You’re applying a spritz or two of perfume as if you hadn’t layered enough on already, switching on your flatscreen before fumbling with the remote.

On the other side of your bathroom door, Joaquín is furiously brushing his teeth; he’d already brushed them before he left, but it’s a precaution. A hand is roaming through his dark curls, trying to push them into place.

It’s boyish; it’s something extra, valiant attempts to impress you and not ward you away.

Scrolling through streaming services, you locate Interstellar, settling down into bed as you wait for Joaquín to come back out. You can hear water running, shuffling fabric; it piques your curiosity.

When he comes out, cool and collected, he’s wearing loungewear, glint of a silvery chain dangling around his neck. A rosy flush settles into his face, and he’s still smiling.

It wavers when he sees you — no more pants, just his sweatshirt, sitting cross-legged in your bed. His heart stutters, mouth dry as he attempts to form words, ogling you.

“Everything okay?”

The sound of your question nearly makes him jump, lashes fluttering as he hastily clears his throat. He looks a little dazed, jaw unhinged before he waves your concern aside.

“Yeah, yeah.” He coughs, too busy wrapped up in the sight of you, especially as you sprawl out. The hem of his sweatshirt kisses your thighs, and he’s hyper-focused, tongue darting over his teeth.

Joaquín joins you, mattress dipping slightly as he crawls over, feeling you curl up against him. He’s more than happy to hold you, propped up on a mound of pillows, arm draping over your side.

His biceps flex beneath the material of his spandex shirt, sun-kissed like warm caramel, and your mind derails entirely.

“I’m really glad that we could do this,” You hum, tracing your fingers over his chest. “I know I’m breaking a thousand rules, but I missed you a lot, Joaquín.” Those words alone break open a barrier inside of him.

Admittedly, he’s been clinging to restraint as soon as you were kissing in the kitchen; he wants you so terribly that it hurts, and your perfume doesn’t make anything easier.

“You’re my light,” He’s quick with a reply, voice honey-thick and a touch husked, fading into you. “You mean a lot to me, miel — you’re perfect, inside and out.” As he lays on the compliments, you find yourself enamored.

Interstellar suddenly seems so inconsequential when his mouth is ghosting over yours, hand drawing circles into your ribs.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, hot breath fanning over your lips, unwilling to budge until you’ve given him consent. When you do, nodding fervently and unable to catch your breath, he doesn’t hesitate.

It’s sparks, tension brewing beneath the surface when you kiss him, palm splayed over his chest. The other rests comfortably near his neck, fingers toying with the necklace he wears.

For weeks, he’d been all wound-up over the thought of you — not being able to see you all the time had made him unbearably needy.

You can feel it rippling beneath his skin when he kisses you, coiled-up want knotted into something he wants to untether. You want it too, but part of you fears your own inexperience.

Joaquín kisses you as if you’re the only one he’s ever wanted, drawing a tremulous exhale from your lungs, making you shiver. His hand finally settles over your thigh, idly massaging your skin, fingers teasing the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Still want to watch the movie?”

It’s you who asks him, attempting to gauge his reaction, like a deer in the headlights. His kisses slow to a crawl, and he pulls away enough to catch your smile, obviously smitten.

“Would you be upset if I said no?” He murmurs, mouth quirking into a slight grin. His tells are so easy, but he owns up to it — he’s not ashamed to admit he wants you.

“Mm-mm,” Shaking your head, you curl closer, hand wandering until it steadies atop his bicep. He flexes for you, chuckling when you get all flustered; you’re easy to rile up. “You’re unbelievable.”

Joaquín smiles, planting a kiss against your jaw. “I know,” He murmurs, inhaling a gust of your scent, perfume sizzling through his senses, through his resolve. “But I’m yours.”

His hand continues to knead along your thigh, savoring the feeling; you’re too beautiful for him, and he knows it. You angle yourself enough to turn inward, face-to-face, lashes fluttering in rapid succession.

Mouths entangle with one another, each kiss deepening, blurring the line of desire. The more it progresses, the more you don’t want to stop — and he doesn’t want to, either.

Digits trail through his dark curls, stroking along the nape of his neck as you adjust yourself again, nearly slotted in his lap. An excitable noise bubbles from his throat, hands finding your hips.

A hush blankets your bedroom, save for the sounds of labored breathing and the subtle groan of the mattress beneath you.

Your palms climb higher, both hands gathering to perch atop his shoulders, feeling sinewy muscle tense beneath your fingers. Lips continue, unhindered, charged with a wave of passion.

“Hey,” Joaquín mumbles, his smile one of amazement as his kisses slow to a crawl, nose brushing against yours. “I don’t have any expectations for tonight.”

Stilling, you sit back for a moment, allowing yourself some composure. “Me neither,” You assure, gooseflesh crawling over your spine. “I want you, Joaquín — I do, I just … I’m not exactly experienced.”

With a tumultuous past and enhancements, your life was anything but normal. You didn’t get to live like everyone else until recently.

Intimacy was something you’d experienced in slices — never the whole thing, and never with someone who saw you in the way that Joaquín did.

When you tell him that you want him, he blushes; maybe he wasn’t expecting it, or it took him by surprise, but his need only continues to burn. It’s burning so hot that it’s scorching him, searing his bones.

“We’ll never do anything that you aren’t comfortable with, miel,” He assures, kissing at the inside of your wrist, lips akin to a warm brand. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure. We’re going at your speed.”

That makes you want him even more.

“I want to,” The cadence of your voice softens, pitched with something breathy, exhilarating. “There’s no one else that I’d ever want this with.” You murmur, and his heart stammers.

Joaquín nods, dazed and yearning, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes. “Me too,” He confesses, hands rubbing circles over your hips. “You’re it for me.”

A smile spreads over your face, dazzling as you ease yourself into his lap, slotted over one of his thighs. The closeness smolders, and his pupils dilate enough to warrant your attention.

Slowly, he cups your jaw, rough digits stroking over silky skin, bringing you in for another kiss. It’s agonizingly sluggish, intended to savor as your chest brushes against his.

Peach-ripe sunset pools into your bedroom, giving way to the first inklings of twilight. It strikes you at the perfect angle, leaving Joaquín stunned, absorbing your features, committing you to memory.

Each kiss is deep, passionate; you move in an idle dance, and you shiver when his hand slips beneath the hem of your sweatshirt. He finds your back, caressing along your spine.

You aren’t wearing a bra underneath, he realizes, and that makes him flustered. He doesn’t know why, but it does — he’s itching to see you.

The pressure of his muscled thigh wedged between your legs fills your body with a muted buzz, and when you shift, it makes it worse. Pinpricks of bliss shoot through your belly, however slight.

Lips tangle together, again and again, and he feels your body roll into him, flush against one another. He steadies you, hand skirting from your spine to your chest, lightly kneading at your breast.

It’s gentle, a feather-light touch that starts as experimental, testing the waters. You shiver from the contact, skin to skin, kissing him one more time until he untangles your lips.

Instead, his mouth finds your jaw, kissing a trail from the delicate bone to your throat, the pad of his thumb brushing over your nipple.

“Joaquín,” A soft, throaty moan slips past your mouth, hips rolling forward, gathering friction against his thigh. He handles you so tenderly, as if you’re some precious gemstone or artifact.

“You’re so pretty, cariño,” He mumbles into your throat, lavishing kiss after kiss there, occasionally suckling at patches of skin. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” It’s partially disbelief; like he’s still realizing how lucky he is.

It’s more than just sex; it’s intimacy, the closeness, the delight of euphoria you find in one another, hearts twining together.

He wants you in ways that transcend physicality — he wants your future, wants to be the person you wake up to in the morning. Joaquín doesn’t know how badly he wants it all until he’s looking at you.

When his sweatshirt rides up to pool around your hips, his gaze catches on your thighs, over the soft plane of your body. His hand still kneads into your breast, drawing out another moan from your lips.

Sheets ruffle beneath your bodies, and he’s shifting enough to peel his shirt off, leaving you visibly flustered.

He’s beautiful; a chiseled adonis whose muscle is raw and well-earned, something he’s worked tirelessly for. His skin turns warm, like melted caramel dusted with freckles, silver chain glinting around his neck.

He’s got a tangle of scars on the right side of his throat, a few peppered across his abdomen. You want to kiss every single one, tell him how perfect he is.

“You’re gorgeous,” You murmur, listening to the subtle hitch in his throat. Delicate digits trace the lines of his musculature, drinking him in, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. “Just perfect.”

Preening beneath your compliments, Joaquín doesn’t shy away from the scarlet flush that slithers around his face. Instead, he kisses your neck fervently in response.

His other hand drops to skirt beneath your sweatshirt, holding onto your hip, palm still kneading at your breast. “You look so good in my clothes,” He murmurs. “Mind if I take this off?”

“Mm-hm.” With a soft hum, you adjust your arms, letting him peel off your sweatshirt with ease, draping it toward the foot of your bed. His tongue flicks over his teeth when he sees you.

God, you’re perfect; everything about you is beautiful and he can’t help but drown in you.

Pastel-hued cotton clings to your hips, the last article of clothing that covers you. A slight draft slithers over your hot flesh, goosebumps following suit as your mouth returns to his.

A husky groan stirs in Joaquín’s chest when you shift against him, friction producing a heat that settles within his stomach. He kisses you back, passionate and needy, hands touching you everywhere.

He caresses you with rapture, reverence; it’s a reminder of how he sees you, how much he loves you. Mouths entangle, and he slyly lets his tongue trace over your bottom lip.

There’s another shift when he begins to ease you back onto your mattress, over soft sheets and pillows. Your legs part for him without a second thought, letting him stay there.

“Damn, you’re so beautiful,” Joaquín murmurs against your mouth, nestled between your thighs. He props himself up on one forearm, the other stroking across your ribs. “Can’t get enough.”

He catches a whiff of the perfume clings to your flesh, an amalgamation of something saccharine and fresh; he loves it; drinks it in.

His mouth wanders over your jaw, layering endless kisses over your skin as he climbs toward your throat. A low moan fizzles past your lips, leaving you wanton, desperate for more.

The cold metal of his necklace grazes your collar, a bite of ice, knees squeezing at his hips. Your line of sight drifts toward the soft tent in his sweatpants, causing you to lick your bottom lip.

Joaquín is relentless, wanting to map every inch of your skin with his mouth, tongue; he kisses fervently toward your collarbone. Fingers tease the waistband of your panties, feather-light and gentle.

Warm lips graze your sternum, dipping toward your right breast, kissing your chest with a thinly-veiled passion. “You okay? Can I keep going?” He asks, tone husked and pitched with affection.

“More than okay,” You huff, squirming slightly underneath him, hands drifting to rake through his dark tresses. “Please keep going.” After vocalizing your enthusiasm, he’s more than happy to continue.

With a nod, he starts to take your nipple into his mouth, kissing at the sensitive bud, hand skirting to grope at the other. A moan escapes you, jaw slack and mouth agape.

He’s so gentle; there isn’t a single rough or harsh movement, everything concentrated with an oozing affection. Ardor is laced into every kiss, every caress of his hand, every stolen glance.

Arousal pools between your thighs, hot and honey-thick, slick cooling along your core. Hips grind together, and the friction is enough to elicit pleasured sounds from the both of you.

Exploratory, Joaquín commits all of you to memory, letting you sink your talons into the deepest parts of his mind. Your perfume gets on his skin, and he doesn’t want it to come off, either.

He briefly teases your nipple with pearly teeth, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts before he descends.

“Joaquín,” You moan, hips jolting forward, absently grinding against the swell of his erection. He lets out a low groan in-turn, lips carving a path along your body. “Feels so good.”

When he peppers kisses across your stomach, you suck in a sharp breath, knowing exactly where he’s going.

He mumbles something in Spanish, and it scratches something raw inside of you, belly twisting into a coil of excitable knots. Reaching the waistline of your panties, he looks at you again.

You’re already nodding several times over to tell him it’s okay, and you catch the little stutter in his exhale, pupils dilating.

“Yeah?” He whispers, breathless when you nod again, shivering when his fingers curl into the thin elastic. Easing your panties down, he looks like a man starved, razed by affection and desire.

Joaquín crawls down, head settling between your thighs as he guides your legs onto his broad shoulders, palms kneading their way toward your haunches.

As your panties leave your legs, he kisses hot brands to your calves, stringing them along your knees, cresting over your thighs. The exhilarated wobble in your exhale makes him excited.

“Been thinking about this,” He confesses, and it floods your insides with molten heat. There’s something effortless about the way he says it — you know he means it. “Wanna taste you, miel.”

His gaze is incendiary, staring at you as if you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, tongue absentmindedly swiping over his bottom lip.

“Please,” It’s all you can manage to squeak out, legs flexing beside his face, fingers fisting at the sheets. “Please, Joaquín.”

Steady hands hitch beneath your thighs, holding steadfastly to your hips, haunches braced on top of his shoulders. He caresses near your waist, fingers stroking in repetitive motions.

“Look at me, pretty girl,” Joaquín murmurs, and it’s merely a suggestion, not a demand. When you do, it’s him who blushes, lips kissing a trail to the slick coalescing over your pussy. “Gorgeous.”

The sweetly-spoken praise rips through you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body as his tongue laps at your slit.

Pleasure sizzles through you suddenly, hot and wanton as his mouth explores your cunt. He’s tender, painstakingly passionate when he strings kisses over your core.

Maintaining eye contact is something that has you squirming, lips parted, heat curling over your bones like wildfire. Joaquín’s stare doesn’t waver, mouth buried deep into your pussy.

His tongue is vigorous, flicking from your entrance to your clit, causing you to quiver. Wordlessly, he reaches for one of your hands, keeping them interlocked atop your hip.

He eats you out like he’s deprived, hungry for you; for all of you, body, heart, everything.

Your thighs twitch, curling around his head, stomach twisting into knots. Arousal coalesces heavily between your thighs, oozing onto his tongue.

Mouthing at your pussy, he slows to a crawl, taking his time to savor every inch of you, feeling your legs quiver. He groans, musculature shaking, gaze eclipsed with desire.

You say his name as if it’s a prayer, the only words worth memorizing. A shiver traces through his spine, joined hands squeezing tighter, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing at all.

With a broad stroke of his tongue, he raked hot embers over your core, hands steadying you, eager to please without an ounce of hesitation.

The bridge of his nose ghosts over your slick folds, causing you to tremble. There’s a fire in your belly that demands to be extinguished, nerves set ablaze, a fervent buzz humming in your skin.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Joaquín sighs, hot breath pluming over your cunt. His tongue is a thing of beauty, working through you in the way that you deserve.

Eager lips kiss their way along your pussy, from your aching entrance to your clit. Your thighs tense, twitching when he stimulates that clutch of nerves, listening to you moan.

He tries again, using his tongue this time, slowly working it over your clit in languid patterns, intended to savor.

You want to melt, back arching, hips jolting forward as you grind into his face. Joaquín welcomes it without recoil, groaning as he eagerly laps over the clutch of nerves.

The sight of you razed, jaw slack and visage one of bliss, body on-fire for him; it’s picturesque, an image that’s emblazoned in his mind for the rest of his life. He can’t imagine anyone else like this.

Through the low glow of your bedroom, he strings kisses around your clit, tongue circling afterwards, one hand caressing your thigh. You let your free hand drift to run over his scalp, and he hums.

When he focuses on teasing your clit, your hips jerk again, prompting you to whine out a breathy apology, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“That feel good? Want more?” Gruffing from between your thighs, your boyfriend ensures that you’re getting everything you want and more.

“Y—Yes, Joaq, please,” You moan, and the use of his little nickname makes him preen. He shuffles closer, tongue deep in your pussy as he begins to lightly suck at your clit. “Right, mm — Right there!”

He provides without question.

His lack of hesitation makes you all hot and bothered as that coil in your stomach begins to unfurl, dragging you toward the edge.

Each pulse of his mouth sends shockwaves of ecstasy hurling through your bones, hot and blissful, like static surging in your brain. You begin to see stars when he keeps the pace, throat ragged with another moan.

To relieve his own arousal, his hips rut helplessly into your mattress, finding some reprieve, but it’s slight. He’s too busy wrapping himself up in your own pleasure, and it outweighs his own.

It’s how he wants things to be, focusing on you, ensuring that you’re taken care of before it ever comes down to him. His cock twitches when you squeeze his hand again.

White-hot spots float through your vision as he brings you to your peak, lips lightly stimulating your clit even when your legs rattle.

His tongue eagerly laps across your throbbing cunt, cleaning you up, the taste of you ambrosial, intoxicating. Joaquín’s brain is filled with static as you grind your hips into his mouth a time or two.

“Joaquín!” A pleasured whine rips through your diaphragm, lungs stinging as you catch your breath, euphoric high still rippling through your body.

He works you through it, stringing kisses over your pelvis, flush against the inside of your thighs, over the crook of your knee. A rosy pallor clings to his features, chest tight with excitement.

“So pretty when you cum, cariño,” Joaquín hums, kissing up along your body as he slots himself between your legs, his erection firm against your aching core. “Did so well.”

The praise makes you preen, a lackadaisical smile floating across your face as you arch forward, shyly wiping your slick from his chin.

“You’re so handsome,” You sigh, and he’s kissing your jaw, letting you feel what you do to him. He’s painfully hard and ready to feel you, hand shifting to tug at his sweatpants. “Need you, Joaquín.”

“You’ve got me,” He murmurs, his suave cadence dripping with adoration, and the look in his eyes rips the air from your lungs. It’s clean, gentle love — loves you so much. “Always.”

When he discards his sweatpants, the spandex of his boxers leaves little to the imagination, and it makes you swallow.

Lips find one another, and you taste yourself on his tongue, drawing a moan from his chest when you’re eager to savor it for yourself. Your hands trace over his biceps, perching around the nape of his neck.

“Still want to keep going? We don’t have to.” Joaquín is incredibly reassuring about everything, and it makes you want it all the more.

“I do,” You swear, fingertips tracing patterns over his hot skin, over freckles and now-faded scars, over the plane of his muscles. “I want you more than anything.” His breath hitches when you say it.

He nods, planting several kisses along your throat, feeling your legs constrict near his hips. There’s another light scuffle of fabric, and he adjusts himself enough to kick his boxers off.

They join his sweatpants, scattered somewhere along the foot of your bed. Joaquín stares down at you with wide eyes and a slightly nervous smile, as if you’re the center of his universe.

A shiver passes through the both of you when the flushed head of his cock nudges against your slick folds. He swallows, beautiful through the sienna glow, lashes fluttering a time or two.

You’re perfect — beautiful beneath him, breathtaking in every way imaginable. The lapse of silence lasts for a moment, with him adjusting himself between your legs.

A shiver grips his spine when his hips fall flush against yours, cockhead splitting past your folds, still oozing with precum.

“Ready?” His voice is low, pitched with want as he attempts to keep composure. Splintering at the seams, Joaquín stifled a groan when you moved against him, wanton.

With a nod, you give him your consent, trembling from exhilaration as his hips push forward. There is mild resistance at first, tip of his cock prodding against your entrance.

He’s sluggish, making sure that you’re comfortable first before progressing. “I’m okay.” You assure him, the sensation stinging yet blissful.

Shifting closer, you suck in a sharp inhale as his hips urge forward, cock sinking into you. It takes a moment of adjustment, cunt clenching around him with ripples of ecstasy.

Halfway inside of you, he stops to let you feel it all, every twitch, every muscle-deep quiver. Joaquín swallows a groan, forehead pressing against yours as he kisses your lips.

“Good, s’good.” Reassuring, you want him to continue, nearly clawing out of your flesh to have him in you completely. His cock is perfect — it’s pretty, as if it were molded for you.

“Yeah?” He huffs, mouth messily tangling with yours. Again, you’re nodding, spurring him on as his hips sink forward completely, cock fully buried inside of your pussy.

You’re tight, and it’s driving him crazy in the best way possible. He’s head over heels, so desperate for you that he might’ve been a beggar.

There’s a moment of hesitation from his end, and before you can comment on it, he begins to pull his hips back, and push forward. He’s disarmingly tender, making love instead of fucking you.

Sighs of passion tangled together, hot and fervent, breathing in the sweet air of one another. His cock kisses your pussy with each drawn-out thrust, dragging over your walls.

His chest burns with a string of needy grunts, holding you tightly, feeling your skin flush against his. Braced on one forearm, the other hand moves to hold yours, pinning them into the pillow.

Muscles flex, taut and sinewy, and you’re momentarily distracted by him; all of him.

Pupils dilate with desire, amber hues turned molten by the low light, jaw loosened, features flushed. He’s gorgeous like this, when he’s all over your mouth and needy.

Each rock of his hips is meaningful, cock buried into your tight heat. He’s good at it — makes you feel wanted in every way imaginable, like you’re something worth worshipping.

“Joaquín,” You pant, and the sound of your voice makes him buckle, trembling above you. Delicate fingers stroke over the nape of his neck, reaching into his tresses.

“You’re perfect,” He groans, inhaling a gust of your scent, hips stuttering slightly before regaining their confidence. He’s exceptionally passionate; not rough, not harsh, just desirous. “So pretty.”

His cock kisses your walls with each thrust, well-timed and intentional, driving himself into you. Your arousal makes it all easier, hips rolling over one another, friction simmering.

The silvery glint of his necklace dangles from his throat, mouth ajar, inhabiting a host of low, throaty groans. He’s vocal about how much he’s enjoying this, savoring every second of it with glee.

He smooths a hand over your thigh, gripping at your haunch to angle himself, joined hands squeezing beside your head.

The slow, drawn-out thrusts make your body melt, succumbing to heat. Sometimes he can’t believe that you’re real, that this is real; you’re a vision, a fantasy made flesh.

Joaquín doesn’t change course — he’s steady, passionate as he continues to rock into you, letting you feel everything properly.

Digits wander from the nape of his neck toward the silvery chain that dangles from his throat, hitching a finger in to drag him down.

A tremulous moan splits your diaphragm, shuddering as your cunt pulses, clenching around his cock. Lips collide, and you’re moaning into his mouth.

Each kiss makes your head dizzy; it’s all passion, bleeding heat that coagulates in the pit of your stomach, coil wanting to unfurl. His cock continues to slip inside, and then back; a push and pull.

Hitching your leg around his hips, it gives him leverage, a new angle to thrust into. He never gets rough or invigorated, letting passion override everything else.

Foreheads press firmly together, noses ghosting the other, mouths still joining in slow, needy kisses. “Mi amor,” He sighs, causing your cunt to clench around him. “Gettin’ close.”

There’s a slurred pitch in his voice, drunk on desire, drunk on the feeling of your body flush against his, on the sensation of you.

Pleasure floods your insides, the coil within your stomach having unfurled, treated to the loving thrusts of his hips. His cock moves deeper, kissing your walls, pulling another moan from your mouth.

Something tightens in his abdomen, pulled as taut as a bowstring, threatening to snap into two. Joaquín’s thrusts tick up in speed, just enough to make his head go static with desire.

Hot, breathy pants escape him, feathering over your mouth, and your noises spur him further. He keeps pushing, motions languid and loving, dragging out each thrust so that the both of you shiver.

“Joaquín!” A low, shaky whine tumbles from your lips, mouth pressing against his jaw as you lavish him in kisses. He shudders, teeth clenched as he gently fucks into you, again and again.

He’s there, and it’s euphoria — he groans, countenance contorted into bliss, chest shaking with low, pleasured sounds.

Hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, the aching sensation crawling through your skin. His movements begin to stutter and slow, hands twined together, his knuckles turning white.

Your name rolls from his tongue a time or two, dark curls tousled, wisping over his temples as he loses his composure.

For a moment, his thoughts are blank; the only thing he wants to think about is you.

With a drawn-out exhale, his hips shift, cock beginning to soften inside of you. He looks thoroughly pleased, razed and delighted, flashing a pearly smile at you.

“You okay?” Joaquín mumbles, leaning in to plant a kiss against your brow. Perspiration glitters over his skin, bitten by scarlet, muscles beginning to unravel the tension.

“Yeah,” A smile spreads over your face, and it makes his heart buzz with something warm. “That was amazing.” You don’t have much to judge it off of, either.

“Amazing, huh?” A twinge of playful cockiness creeps into his tone, characteristically upbeat. “That’s gonna go straight to my head.” He muses, kissing at your shoulder.

“I’ll revoke my compliment,” The faux threat makes him laugh, followed by your fit of giggles. It’s that sound he clings to — it’s everything. “You’re so perfect, Quín.”

There’s a sparkle in his gaze when he meets yours, swimming with affection. He’s always strived to prove himself, be better; to you, he’s flawless, sunshine in living flesh.

“Mm-mm,” He kisses your jaw. “That title belongs to you, miel. You’re everything I want,” There’s a sudden sincerity that saturates his tone. “Got my heart in your hand.”

A hitch forms within your throat when you realize how serious he really is about you. You aren’t used to it, accustomed to only pain and misery, of being isolated.

You lose that fear with him in ways that you never thought possible. Unable to keep from smiling, you kiss him again, hands squeezing at his biceps.

“Maybe we can make breakfast in the morning,” You suggest, and he’s already over the moon about the idea. “Lena said something about tomorrow night, so we’ve got time.”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Joaquín insists, all doe-eyed and dazzled, showering you in another playful barrage of kisses. He moves off of you not long after, wanting to help you get comfortable. “You a pancake type of girl?”

Laying on his back, he gently grabs your hips, pulling you into his chest, propped up against your heap of pillows. He’s smiling still, painfully handsome as continue to stare.

“French toast, actually,” You muse, and that stumps him. His nose wrinkles slightly, arms still cradling you close. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” He chuckles, warm and tender, fingers drifting to cup the nape of your neck, thumb tracing along your jaw. “I’ll learn how to make french toast tomorrow.” Joaquín won’t back down, either.

“You don’t have t—” Before you can finish your sentence, he’s kissing you, affectionately squeezing at your hip. “Joaquín.” You mumble, visibly flustered.

“Making you breakfast,” He insists, kissing your mouth again, a second time, and then a third. “My beautiful girlfriend deserves it.” You know there’s no protesting him.

“Your girlfriend wants to take a shower,” Giggling, you’re moving off of him, body sticky with perspiration and the aftermath of your escapades. “And you’re coming, too.”

Visibly excited, he huffs a laugh, swift to scramble after you, hastily grabbing a bundle of clothes in the process. As you move off of the bed, you give your phone a quick glance.

There’s a new text that’s popped up, one you didn’t notice while you were with Quín.

YELENA: Nice of you to ask if we wanted any takeout. Tell little Falcon we said hello :)

[fireinmoonshot]

plus one | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: You help Joaquín get ready for a gala that he and Sam are attending – though because of the 'no plus ones' rule, Joaquín would rather stay with you instead... and he intends to convince you to let him. Warnings: I don't think I use any pronouns or gender specific terms in this (please let me know if I do and I'll fix my warnings) but it is mentioned that reader has hair long enough for Joaquín to tangle his hands in. There are references to nudity. It's also slightly suggestive at times but nothing specific. Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Surprise! It's been a whole month since I last wrote for Joaquín, and then this morning I woke up to those photos of Danny at the Mission premiere and he is so Joaquín in them that I was inspired. I was literally plotting this out at work cause I couldn't stop thinking about how good he looked in that outfit and then I started working on this the second I got home. I'm actually so happy with how it turned out considering I haven't written for Joaquín in a month, but I have missed writing for him so much. I really hope all of you will love this! 💗

“Angel, I really don’t think that Sam would mind that much,” Joaquin calls from the bathroom, fresh out of the shower. He hooks a towel around his waist and moves to stand in the doorway so he can see you, sitting cross legged on the bed, staring down at your phone. “I seriously think he’d be cool with going alone.”

You look up from your phone, eyes falling on your half-naked boyfriend, and forget how to speak for a moment. His hair is still wet and so is his chest – he’d clearly forgotten to dry himself off properly, wanting to talk to you so badly and attempt to convince you to let him stay home again.

Ever since he’d found out that there were no plus ones allowed at the gala he and Sam had been invited to, he had decided that he didn’t want to go. Sam was going to be there too, so it wasn’t like he was going alone, but for some reason, the simple fact that you couldn’t go made it so that he didn’t want to go either.

“Are you listening to me, angel?”

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his chest where you’d apparently been staring, and nod. “I am, but you’re still going to the gala, Joaquin. You made a promise to Sam.”

Joaquin pouts a little and walks across the room towards you. You try not to focus on the fact that the towel around his waist is tied incredibly low and instead, look at the wet footprints he’s leaving as he walks.

“Baby, you’re gonna get the carpet wet!” You scold him, standing up from the bed just as he reaches you. You place your hands on his chest and start to push him backwards towards the bathroom. “Dry yourself off before you come out here. You know better.”

Joaquin’s pout turns into a grin as he’s pushed backwards by you. He finds it adorable when you get so frustrated over the small things like that, and the fact that your hands are on his bare chest is just a bonus. “Well, stay with me in the bathroom while I dry off, then, cause I don’t wanna have to yell at you just to talk to you,” he says, allowing himself to be pushed back to the bathroom. 

“Fine,” you sigh, moving to take a seat on the toilet lid. 

You try your best not to stare as Joaquin undoes the towel around his waist and gets to work drying himself off. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before – the man does have a habit of wearing nothing or very little around the house – but it still has the same effect on you every time. You make an effort to look at his face instead. 

“I can just text Sam and tell him I’m sick or something,” Joaquin suggests, trying to get back to the topic of the gala. “He wouldn’t know if I’m lying or not.”

You groan and lean back against the cistern. “Baby, you are not lying to Sam about being sick. It’s just a few hours. You’ll probably really enjoy yourself when you’re there. It’ll go so fast and then you’ll be home.”

Joaquin picks up his boxers and pulls them on, frowning to himself as he does. He’d really thought that maybe, you watching him dry off after his shower might give you a reason to finally relent and let him stay home… he’d clearly underestimated your ability to stay true to your word. “You won’t be there, though. It’s not going to be as fun if you’re not there with me.”

“So you never had fun before you met me?”

He turns to look at you, a cheeky smile on his face. “Never.”

You roll your eyes and pick up his dress pants, sitting beside you on the vanity, and throw them at him. “Just get dressed, silly.”

“I’m just saying,” Joaquin says, catching the pants and pulling them on. “I’d have so much more fun if I stayed home with you. I’m sure I could could come up with something we could do. There are so many options.” 

He does the button on the pants up and looks at you, eyebrows raised. You can tell by the look on his face exactly what he’s thinking and shake your head, trying not to laugh. 

“C’mon, angel. What do you say?” He hums, taking a few steps closer to you and reaching down to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. This is definitely going to work. He knows that you’ve always been susceptible to his touch. 

Joaquin almost smiles as you stand up and place your hands on his chest. He places his own hands on your waist and tugs you a little closer to him. 

“Baby,” you start, and Joaquin nods at you, his eyes wide and full of hope. “I love you, but I swear if you don’t pick up that dress shirt right now, put it on and finish getting ready, I’m never touching you again. That means no hugs, no kisses, no–”

Joaquin groans and steps back away from you. “You’re killing me here, angel.”

“You’ll live,” you laugh, sitting back down on the toilet lid.

He picks up the dress shirt from the vanity and pulls it on, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. The pout on his lips is so cute that you almost stand right back up and kiss him, but you know that if you do, there’s no way Joaquin is leaving the house.

“I might not,” Joaquin huffs, starting to do the buttons up on his shirt. “It’ll be hours without you. I’ll be all alone in a giant room full of strangers.”

You watch as he does the buttons up all the way to the top and can’t help yourself from standing up and taking a few steps towards him. The pout on his mouth stays in place. 

“You’re the most social person I know, Joaquin. Since when do you fear a room full of strangers?” You ask, reaching up to the top button of his shirt. “Anyway, I’ll be eagerly waiting for you to come home if that makes you feel any better.” 

Joaquin’s hands find your waist again as you unbutton the top button of the shirt. His breath hitches. Has he finally won you over just by being fully dressed and pouty? His grip tightens on your waist as you unbutton the next button. Then, you drop your hands.

“Angel.”

“There, all done,” you smile, leaning up to peck his lips. “Now, come on. I’ll dry your hair and style it for you and then you’ll be all ready to go. Sam will be here soon anyway.” 

You move to step away from him and walk out of the room but Joaquin is quick to pull you back to him. Before you have a chance to object, his lips are on yours. You moan a little at the contact which only spurs Joaquin on more. His hands slip underneath the fabric of your pyjama shirt as he manoeuvres you up and onto the vanity behind you. He uses one hand to push your legs apart so he can stand between them. The other hand moves to tangle in your hair.

It takes every ounce of control not to start unbuttoning the rest of Joaquin’s shirt as he kisses you. You can’t even fist the fabric in your hands, not wanting to crease it when he’s about to leave for a fancy gala. His hair, though, is open territory. Despite the fact that it’s still damp, one of your hands weaves its way into it and you can’t help but tug a little. The noise he makes into your mouth is one you wish you could hear over and over again.

Reluctantly, Joaquin has to pull away to breathe soon. His forehead falls against yours, his breathing heavy. One of his hands rests on your thigh, the other one that had been in your hair now gently holding the back of your neck. 

“You ready for me to dry your hair now?” You ask, voice a little teasing.

Joaquin rolls his eyes and stands up straight. “You can’t seriously expect me to still go to the gala after that, can you?” 

Smiling, you put your hands on his chest and push him back a little, just enough for you to stand up off of the vanity. His hands stay firmly on you, the one that had been on your thigh now resting on your hip instead. 

“You say that as if I’m the one who initiated that, baby.”

He can’t help but laugh a little at that. You were right – he had been the one to initiate the kiss. He just hadn’t expected you to get quite as into it as you had. “Okay, fair call.”

You reach down to take one of his hands. “C’mon, baby.”

Joaquin allows himself to be dragged out of the bathroom by you and smiles a little at the fact that only minutes ago, you’d been pushing him back into the bathroom and now you’re dragging him out of it. He allows you to dry his hair, enjoying the feeling of your fingers running through it and the warm air from the hairdryer. He especially enjoys the fact that you lean down once it’s all dry and kiss him just behind his ear. He almost turns around and tugs you down onto his lap then and there. He’s surprised he manages to stop himself.

It’s not too long later that you’re standing beside him just inside the front door of your house. There’s a limo outside waiting to pick up Joaquin to take him to the gala. Sam’s already waiting inside, probably very impatiently.

“You sure it’s too late to back out?” Joaquin asks, his arms wrapped around you, hands resting on the small of your back. “I could still pull the ‘hey, I’m feeling sick all of a sudden’ card.”

“No, Joaquin,” you shake your head. “You’re going.”

He groans and throws his head back. “Ugh, fine.”

You take advantage of the situation to stand up on your tip-toes and press a kiss to his neck, right above his Adam’s apple. You can feel him tense up at the sudden contact and feel satisfied that you’ve succeeded in your intentions as you see the look in his eyes.

“What was that for?” 

“I’m just giving you another memory to think of when you’re out tonight,” you shrug your shoulders. “You look so handsome that I couldn’t help myself. You should wear shirts like this more often.”

Joaquin chuckles. “Thank you, angel. I think I need another memory though.”

He leans in and kisses you again. It’s only a quick kiss, even though he’d like nothing more than to make it more than that, but it’s good enough for him.

As soon as you break away, there’s the sound of the car horn honking outside – Sam’s way of telling Joaquin to hurry the hell up.

“Now, you really have to go,” you laugh, pulling yourself out of his arms to open up the front door. You shiver a little at the cool evening air and it makes Joaquin want to wrap you up in his arms all over again. “Baby, come on.” You reach out and grab his hand, pulling him forward until he’s finally out on the doorstep. 

Joaquin smiles at you, just enjoying the feeling of holding your hand. 

“Okay, you go out and have a good night, okay? Text me when you’re on your way home. I’ll try and stay awake for you as long as I can,” you give his hand a squeeze and then let go.

“I won’t be late, I promise. I don’t wanna keep you up,” he says. Joaquin isn’t going that easily, though. He steps forward and gives you another quick kiss. “I love you, angel.” The words are murmured against your lips. “I want more kisses when I’m home, okay?”

Laughing, you gently push him away from you. “Hurry up, you’re keeping Sam waiting!”

“Only when you say you love me too!”

“I love you too. Now go!”

Joaquin grins and finally turns around, starting to walk down the path towards the car. He’s about half way there when he turns on his heel and starts running back to you. You watch him, amused, as he makes his way back towards the house. Unsurprisingly, he meets you with another kiss – this one a little longer and a little rougher than last time.

Instead of being interrupted by a car horn honking this time, it’s the sound of Sam’s voice that makes Joaquin pull away from you, his hand still resting on your back. 

“I swear if you don’t get into this car right now, Joaquin, I’m replacing you as Falcon!”

Joaquin’s eyes widen almost comically, but even though a part of him really believes that Sam would do it, it doesn’t stop him from leaning in to peck your lips again before he turns back around and starts running towards the limo.

“I love you, angel!” He yells as he’s running.

“Love you too,” you call back through your laughter.

You watch as he gets into the limo and then notice the window rolling down. He waves to you until the house is no longer visible and then finally looks at Sam for the first time since he’d gotten in. 

“Next time, we’re negotiating for plus ones.”

~~~

It’s late by the time Joaquin comes home – much later than you’d anticipated. You’d attempted to stay up as long as you could, but when you hear the key in the front door, you’re half asleep in your bed, the room only lit by a lamp on your bedside table. 

“Angel, are you sleeping?” Joaquin’s voice wakes you up a little.

Stifling a yawn, you push yourself into a seated position as the door to your bedroom opens and Joaquin walks inside, a smile on his face the second he sees you. His hair is a little messy, likely from a night of dancing or other tomfoolery, and his shirt is creased like you’d expected it to be when he came home. 

“Hey, baby. What time is it?” You ask, rubbing your eyes a little. You’re pretty sure you’d fallen asleep for at least a little bit there, but you have no idea when or for how long. “Did you have a good night?”

Joaquin crosses over towards the bed and is about to sit down on it when you stop him. 

“No outside clothes on the bed.”

He chuckles and starts to undo his belt. “You just trying to get me naked, angel?”

“If I wasn’t about to pass out, I’d say yes.”

He removes his dress shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor and leaving him in only his boxers before he climbs up onto the bed beside you, his phone in one of his hands. He slides underneath the covers and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him so he can lean in and press a kiss to your cheek.

“It’s like… one a.m., I think,” Joaquin starts, answering your earlier question. “And I had the best night. You were right, angel. I really enjoyed myself once I was actually there.” He pauses for a second, then his eyes light up as he remembers something. “Oh, they had a whole room full of ice sculptures! Have you seen them before? It was so cold in there, like a giant walk-in freezer. They even had a sculpture of me! Wait, I took a picture…”

You smile, leaning into his side as he unlocks his phone and opens up the camera roll. He swipes past about ten selfies of himself before he gets to the ones he wants to show you – the ice sculptures. You’re definitely gonna be asking for copies of the selfies tomorrow.

“I took photos of everything so I could show you,” he explains, stopping on one ice sculpture that is unmistakably Falcon. “How cool is that! I’m an ice sculpture. I mean, not anymore. I’m probably just a puddle of water now but still.”

It’s sweet, the way he’s so excited about how much he’d enjoyed his evening. Even though it’s one in the morning and you wish you were fast asleep, you’re glad to be experiencing the wonder in his eyes and the joy in his voice. How he can be so energetic so late at night though, you don’t understand. 

“That’s super cool, baby,” you hum, no longer looking at the photo but up at him.

Joaquin locks his phone and sits it on his bedside table. “Honestly, I think it might’ve been one of the best nights of my life,” he admits.

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, that’s funny coming from the man who didn’t even want to go in the first place,” you chuckle, amused. You’re a little more awake now, simply from seeing how happy he is. “So, you don’t need those kisses you asked for anymore, then? I can just go back to sleep then.”

He looks down at you. “Okay, so I didn’t say that.” 

One of his hands moves to cup your jaw, his thumb gently swiping over your cheek, as he leans in to kiss you again. Despite the fact that he had had a really great night at the gala, it would’ve been made a million times better with you there. And after the kisses you’d shared while he was getting ready, he’s been waiting for this one all night.

The kiss is different to all the ones you’d had before. It’s slow, soft and gentle. It doesn’t last very long, though. Joaquin can tell how tired you are and the last thing he wants is to keep you up any later, especially when he’d been out later than he’d intended on. 

“That was nice,” you mutter after he pulls away from the kiss.

“It was,” he agrees, then tilts his head downwards to briefly capture your lips in his again. His teeth nip at your bottom lip, unable to help himself. “But you should get some sleep now, angel. It’s late and you were falling asleep when I came in, I could tell.”

You stifle another yawn and shake your head. “No, I wanna stay up with you longer. I missed you tonight.”

Joaquin’s heart clenches in his chest. You’d been so adamant for him to go, but all this time you’d been at home missing him. You’d even tried staying awake until he’d come home and had barely achieved it. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, angel,” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I missed you tonight, too. Every second that I was at that gala I wished you were with me.”

You smile sleepily as you shuffle down so you can lay down in the bed. Joaquin moves to lay beside you, putting his head on his own pillow, the hand that had been on your face moving to rest on your hip. 

“You looked really handsome tonight, baby,” you murmur. 

“Thank you, angel,” Joaquin replies softly. 

“Next time,” you yawn, unable to stop yourself this time, and shuffle closer to him, burying your head in his chest. “You should negotiate for a plus one.” 

Joaquin can’t help but chuckle as he wraps his arm around you. “One step ahead of you, angel.”

~~~

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

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[blank-potato]

A Little Distraction

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary:

He smells really good, is that a new cologne—? Next thing you know, your feet are off the ground. He flips you over his shoulder and slams you onto your back, before pulling you to a seated position and slipping his arm around your throat in a textbook chokehold. You squirm, trying to regain leverage, but all you can think is fuck, he’s strong. His arms are one of your favourite attributes to gawk at, even if, right now, it was being used to choke you out. A small, humiliating mewl slips from your throat, though you’re not exactly putting your whole heart into escaping. “Tap out,” he murmurs, voice rumbling low against your ear. It almost makes you moan, almost, but you catch yourself just in time. Thank goodness, because you’d never live that down. Or It's been a while since you've gotten laid, and it's starting to affect your concentration. It especially doesn't help when the person you're training is Joaquin Torres.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, p in v sex, sparring (gone sexual), fingering, nipple sucking, choking, semi-public sex, Joaquin being so hot it's distracting, sexual tension

WC: 3.9k

A/N: This idea came to me at 5am, and I started writing, I have no idea what that says about me. Anyways, enjoy the smut :)

***

You were supposed to be training Joaquin. Supposed to be.

But you were off your game, and you knew it. After everything, the late nights, the stress, the endless missions, you hadn’t gotten laid in… a long time. Longer than you cared to admit. Dating apps were a joke, full of people you had nothing in common with and no energy to impress.

Sexual frustration had been building for weeks, a low hum of tension you’d ignored, until today. Until it decided to boil over right in the middle of a combat training session with Joaquin.

Of course, it had to be him: all bright eyes, easy smiles that could rival the damn sun. He was too handsome and so infuriatingly charming, it made you feel like you were going crazy every time he so much as grazed past you.

At the start of the session, you're sitting beside him, finishing up the wraps on his hands.

“I can do my own wraps, you know?” Joaquin teases with that infuriatingly perfect smile.

“I know,” you reply, a little too quickly. “I just want to make sure it’s done properly.”

Sure, you were looking out for his safety, but in reality? You liked this. Feeling his warm hands beneath yours, the way his knuckles flexed as you tightened the wraps. It was oddly intimate, tending to him like this, plus he had nice hands.

His eyes kept flicking between your hands and your face, like he was in on some game of cat and mouse neither of you had the courage to call out.

“Always taking care of me, hm?” he murmured.

“Someone has to,” you shot back, trying to keep it professional, even though your pulse was anything but.

Watching him move to the punching bag, arms swinging with so much power, you couldn’t help but notice how his expression shifted, intense, focused, all raw determination. It was… kinda hot, fuck that, it was really hot.

Maybe if you closed your eyes? But when you did all, you could hear was the sound of his punches hitting the bag and his grunts. Really sexy grunts.

You suddenly find yourself wondering how it might sound if he were pressed right against you, and those moans were right in your ear.

You open your eyes and force yourself to shake off the thought.

He turns to you, chest heaving, sweat rolling down those broad shoulders. “You good?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, voice catching before you manage to recover. “Yeah, um, keep going.”

Nice save.

After minutes of staring at him, wiping your palms on your pants and trying not to drool over him, you step forward, signalling it was time to start sparring.

“Now that you got me all tired out, you wanna spar?” he asks, raising an eyebrow with a cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “You should be able to fight in any circumstance and in any physical condition,” you shot back, adjusting your stance.

He chuckles in a way that makes you want to melt. “You just want a shot at winning.”

“I don’t need to tire you out to win,” you fire off, ignoring how his laugh made your stomach do a stupid little flip.

“I did win some of our sparring matches last time,” he pointed out, pouting a little as he peeled off his gloves.

“But I still won more,” you shoot back, unable to resist smirking.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“That’s because you’re slow, Torres. At least slower than me.”

He scoffs, playful indignation lighting up his face. “Slow? Me? You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Prove it,” you challenge, settling into your stance, heart thudding for reasons that had nothing to do with self-defence.

You started off well, winning some sparring matches. The usual, putting Joaquin through his paces, testing his footwork, checking his stance, keeping him sharp. But somewhere along the way, you stopped focusing on his technique and more on how his biceps felt flexing under your grip.

You're about to snap back into instructor mode when he pivots, faster than you’d expected. Instead of attacking back you get woefully distracted.

He smells really good, is that a new cologne—?

Next thing you know, your feet are off the ground. He flips you over his shoulder and slams you onto your back, before pulling you to a seated position and slipping his arm around your throat in a textbook chokehold.

You squirm, trying to regain leverage, but all you can think is fuck, he’s strong. His arms are one of your favourite attributes to gawk at, even if, right now, it was being used to choke you out.

A small, humiliating mewl slips from your throat, though you’re not exactly putting your whole heart into escaping.

“Tap out,” he says, voice rumbling low against your ear. It almost makes you moan, almost, but you catch yourself just in time. Thank goodness, because you’d never live that down.

Realising you were actually getting lightheaded, you begrudgingly tapped against his arm.

He let go immediately, flashing that bright grin as you sucked in air. “Looks like we’re all tied up. Two-two.”

“For now,” you shoot back, trying to sound confident even as your pulse hammered.

“Maybe you’re all talk,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve put you on your ass more times than you can count, hotshot,” you counter, forcing your voice steady.

 “True, but maybe the student has become the master,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with that charm that made you want to climb him like a tree.

Your performance only continued to dwindle, your focus shot to hell. You just couldn’t concentrate, not with him so close and looking so good.

It was no surprise when you ended up flat on the mats, breath knocked out of you, staring up at him and those pretty brown eyes.

You tried to recover, pushing up, only for him to sweep your leg clean out from under you, pinning you hard to the ground.

“That’s five to me,” he grinned, voice smug. “Two to you. You’re making this too easy on me.”

You scowl, cheeks hot. You were making it easy, but not on purpose.

How were you supposed to fight effectively with him practically pressed against your back, his chest warm and solid, his breath skimming over your shoulder? Every time he shifted, you could feel every inch of him, and it scrambled every combat instinct you’d ever had.

You reset positions, determined to get your head back in the game, but it was futile. Every punch, every dodge you tried, he read you like an open book, and before you knew it, you were on the floor again.

This time, his full body weight settled on top of you, caging you in with those strong arms braced on either side of your head. It was impossible to ignore the heat of him, the solid press of muscle, the way his breath mingled with yours. You felt hot all over, pulse pounding so hard you thought he might hear it.

“You win,” you finally concede, voice catching. If you stayed under him any longer, you might've done something you regret.

Joaquin rolls off you and sits next to you, giving you enough room to breathe again, but your heart is still racing, no matter how much space you have.

He pauses, studying you with those warm brown eyes, leaning in closer. “Something’s wrong,” he said, concern filling his face. “Are you sick or something?”

“N-no,” you stammer, looking away, praying you weren’t wearing every damn feeling on your face.

“But something’s up…” Joaquin insists, eyes narrowing, that teasing suspicion creeping in. “C’mon, what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” you shoot back, far too quickly, refusing to meet his gaze. There was no way you were about to tell him the truth. No way in hell.

But Joaquin was sharp and had a knack for reading people. His eyes searched yours, catching the flicker of guilt you couldn’t hide.

“Is it me?” he asks slowly, watching the way you froze. His grin went positively wicked. “It is me.”

Your stomach drops. Shit.

“You’re into me,” he goes on, voice smooth, dangerously close, like he was savouring every word. “That’s it, huh?”

He leans in, close enough that you could feel the heat off his skin. “You like being thrown around by me, don’t you?”

You open your mouth, but ultimately nothing comes out.

“Oh,” he chuckles, seeing right through you.

“That’s not—it would be unprofessional,” you stammer, trying and failing to sound stern.

“I don’t mind,” Joaquin says, completely unbothered, that playful grin still lighting up his face. Of course, he didn't mind.

“Torres, I… look, I’m fine, okay? That’s what dating apps are for,” you insist, even though you didn’t believe it.

“Oh, please,” he groans, shaking his head. “Every time you talk about those apps, it’s about a date that was garbage. You know that, right?”

He leans in even closer.

“You’ve been wasting all your time on dating apps,” he says, each word deliberate, like he was pressing it into your skin, “when you should’ve just come to me.”

This was it. Joaquin Torres was going to be the end of you. He was completely right, and having him right in front of you, offering to ease the relief that’s been eating you up for weeks, was so damn tempting. 

“So… what are we gonna do about it?” you manage, voice barely steady as you swallow hard.

Joaquin’s smile turned softer, more genuine, but no less sure. “I’ll show you,” he murmured, before reaching out and pulling you in.

His mouth met yours in a kiss that was gentle, patient, his lips soft. It stole your breath, stole every coherent thought, drowning you in the heat of it, in the way his hands cradled your jaw with a careful tenderness that made your heart pound.

Joaquin’s movements are careful, like he’s memorising every part of you with his hands. He unravels you so thoroughly, so completely, that by the time he’s done, you don’t know which way is up. Your lips part with an audible smack, your eyes wide, flickering over his face and seeing just how much he needed you. 

He grins, eyes glinting with challenge as he climbs on top of you, trying to pin you beneath him like it’s some kind of wrestling match, only half-serious, all play. You squirm, laughing breathlessly, managing to slip out from under him.

“Told you, Torres. Too slow,” you tease, crawling just out of reach.

But he’s faster than you give him credit for. In one swift move, he spins you around, pulling you into his lap, settling you there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You land with a soft thud, your back flush against his chest, his arms locking around yours, trapping them against your sides.

“Got you,” he smugly murmurs into your ear.

And damn it… You kind of love losing.

He leans in, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck before pressing a slow, heated kiss there.

"Fuck, Joaquin..." you whine, your fingers curling into his shoulders as his tongue traces lazy, deliberate patterns against your skin, like he has all the time in the world and wants to savour every second.

You feel almost weightless as he leans in, the world narrowing down to just the space between you, his touch grounding and electric all at once.

His hands find the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He pauses, gaze meeting yours.

“May I?” he asks, voice low and earnest.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah… you may.”

In one fluid movement, he lifts your shirt over your head, leaving you in just your sports bra. He dips down, lips brushing against your shoulder in a soft, lingering kiss. Then another, and another, like he’s trying to drown you in them. 

“So beautiful…” he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move with practised ease, tracing delicate patterns as he rubs against your pussy through your leggings. You’re gasping out, breath shaky, aching for more of his touch.

You start grinding your ass back against him deliberately, you feel the sharp intake of his breath as your hips press into his.

"Playing dirty?" he asks, his voice rough around the edges, hands tightening slightly on your waist.

You glance over your shoulder with a smug smile. "Hm? I'm not allowed to mount an offence?" you reply, your tone all innocent when your actions are anything but. 

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Is that right, Falcon?" you purr, voice dipped in challenge as you shift your hips again, slow and taunting.

He stills for a beat, jaw tightening, tensing just enough to let you know you hit a nerve. “Don’t play that game,” he warns, voice low and rough.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Why? Does it turn you on?”

He exhales sharply, then leans closer, breath warm against your skin, “You have no idea what you’re starting.”

“I think I can handle you.”

He laughs, a deep, satisfied sound, then pulls off your leggings and panties in one smooth, decisive motion. “So the manhandling is gonna be a thing?” you tease.

“You love it,” he replies with a knowing grin. And honestly, from the way you were stumbling and fumbling all over the mat when you were sparring, it was clear he was right.

His fingers slide inside you slowly at first, then thrust with growing intensity, each movement sending sparks through your body, making you arch into him, desperate for more.

He curls inside of you, fingers brushing right against your most sensitive spot, sending jolts of pleasure that steal your breath away.

“Joaquin, you… fucking…,” you gasp, struggling to describe just what he was doing to you. 

“Can’t find your words?” he teases, and you want to complain at him for being right. 

Joaquin was good at many things: flying, of course… fighting, absolutely… and apparently? Fingering. The way his fingers moved inside you, confident, relentless, like he was reading every reaction, left your thoughts scrambled. 

“Joaquin, I swear—” You’re cut off as he leans in, turning your head to the side and kissing you, swallowing any complaint or threat you were about to throw at him.

He’s not just a good kisser, he’s devastating. Slow, consuming, like he wants to leave you breathless. You feel like you’re floating away, every nerve on fire, your grip tightening wherever you can hold onto him.

It’s distracting, in fact, too distracting, because suddenly, that warmth in your core coils fast and tight. You feel yourself starting to get close.

Your inner monologue screams, “Already?!”But your body doesn’t care. It’s already chasing the high.

You moan into the kiss, each sound getting higher and more desperate. He pulls away from your lips, focusing on bringing you the release you deserve.

“Scream for me,” he demands, his voice all breathy and sexy, and you do.  The … as you cum leaning back into him, your hips bucking.

“Still think you can handle me?” Joaquin asks, breath heavy, eyes dark with challenge.

“I’m still up, aren’t I?” you shoot back, but your voice is shaky, your legs even shakier, and the words aren’t convincing anyone, least of all him.

“Then I think I have some work to do, don’t I?”

With that, he flips you onto your back effortlessly. You watch, wide-eyed, as he peels off the rest of his clothes, and you certainly hope you’re not drooling, but it’s very possible you are.

In true Joaquin fashion, he continues to tease you, grinding against you slowly. He knows exactly what he's doing, keeping you right on the edge, not giving you what you so desperately needed, and loving every second of your frustration.

“You’ve proved your point. Now fuck me.”

“What’s the rush?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “Maybe I just want to take my time with you.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on your neck, sucking gently, then harder, leaving a trail of marks and blooming bruises that everyone will be able to see. You gasp, feeling the sharp edge of his teeth graze your skin, your body arching from how sensitive you are.

He makes his way down, trailing kisses between your breasts, looking up at you with those deep chocolate-brown eyes as he lingers.

“What are you doing? Making a sign saying ‘Joaquin Torres was here’?” you manage to joke, breath catching.

“Would that be so bad?” He leaves another mark on your collarbone before travelling lower. 

He grins, then takes one breast in his hand and wraps his mouth around your nipple, sucking until you squirm beneath him. But he doesn’t pull back; instead, he doubles down, licking and teasing until you’re moaning his name again.

“Joaquin!” you scream for the millionth time today.

You’re trembling, legs spasming beneath his grip, but he holds you down easily, his body pinning yours in place, giving him unfettered access as he devours you like he’s starving.

But… how can someone look so impossibly cute while completely ruining you? His lashes flutter, cheeks flushed, that boyish grin tugging at the corners of his lips every time you writhe under his tongue.

Eventually, he decides to make sure you have some brain cells left and pulls back a line of saliva connected between your nipple and his mouth. Obscene.

“Ready for me now?” he asks, voice low and thick with heat.

You nod, your head still in the clouds, body humming from everything that came before. Then you feel him pushing inside of you and your breath hitches.

He holds you gently, giving you time to adjust, but it doesn’t take long before his pace begins to pick up. Each thrust sinks deeper, more purposeful, and his voice is right in your ear, praising you between gasps.

“So good for me… always so good for me…” he groans, as you cling to him, every part of you aching for more.

Then he interlaces your fingers tightly as he rocks his hips into yours. It feels intimate. More intimate than you were expecting, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Feeling his body around you, as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, it felt… natural.

“So perfect,” he gasps against your neck, like he can’t get enough of you. It should be illegal to sound that good.

“Joa...quin...” you whine, sounding so needy, you’re surprised when it comes out of your mouth. 

With a sudden, powerful motion, he bends you in half, your legs resting on his shoulders, driving deep as he fucks you into the mat.

“Joaquin!” you growl his name, eyes rolling back as he fucks you hard and fast, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the training room like a symphony. You feel like he’s not just touching your body, but getting deep inside, fucking the very soul out of you.

He slows down, breathing heavy and steady. “Hold onto me, I’m gonna lift you, okay?” he says softly, voice full of warmth and care.

Too cock-drunk to do much else, you nod and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. He lifts you up and presses you close, never pulling out, staying deep inside you all the while.

He then presses you against the nearest wall, your back flush with the cool surface as his hands grip your hips firmly. Then he continues his assault on your senses, his breath hot against your skin, the slick friction of his dick moving in and out of you sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He keeps you right there, fucking you like that, with raw urgency and desperate need, he whispers low, “You drive me crazy.”

“Good.”

You’d be offended if you didn’t.

“Joaquin, Joaquin…,” you keep saying his name like it’s the only thing you know how to say, like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. Your mind is completely undone, unravelling with every touch, every breathless moment as he ruins you in the best possible way.

His mouth brushes your ear, voice low and wrecked. “Keep saying my name like that, and I don’t know what I’ll do.”

You do. You know exactly what it does to him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and kiss him deeply, tongues intertwining as you both try to overpower the other. Joaquin relents, letting you take control, your grip tightening in his hair as you pull him closer, drawing him in completely. He’s moaning and gasping, gripping your hips tightly as you do exactly what he’s been doing to you, driving him wild and turning his brain to mush.

He keeps moving, but while desperately moaning into your kisses, just when you didn’t think you could get more turned on, that happens. 

He pulls you off the wall, your lips parting much to both your displeasure, and brings you back down onto the floor.

“Lie down on your stomach,” he commands softly, and you follow without hesitation.

Lying flat on your stomach, you feel him settle behind you, the anticipation practically biting at your skin. “Don’t make me wait again,” you murmur, hoping he won’t mess around this time. “Don’t worry,” he replies, voice low and confident.

He pushes deep inside with slow, deliberate thrusts, his first stroke hitting your most sensitive spot instantly. You’re dribbling onto the mat, your head resting flat as pleasure washes over you. “Give it to me... never stop...” you gasp, breath catching as he answers your plea.

If you’d known he could fuck you this good, you would’ve done it a long time ago.

His arm wraps around your throat, locking you in a headlock again, and you swear—“Fuck yeah, just like that,” you yell, your voice hoarse and ragged. You don’t care how desperate you sounded, not when he was fucking you this good.

Your eyes roll back as you feel that delicious pressure building, a peak you’ve been desperately chasing. The lack of air makes everything sharper, your senses heightened, your body trembling. Your eyes flutter as you lose yourself in it, trusting him, knowing he’ll only give you what you can take.

The heat, the tightness, the heavy, laboured breaths filling the air make you feel lightheaded. Pushing you further into that wild, ecstatic haze. It was intense, like you could feel the tension rising higher and higher, the pressure ready to break.

You push back to meet his thrusts, breathless but daring. “Want me that bad?” he growls, voice rough with restraint. “You... know I do…," you pant, just getting the words out between mewls.

You feel him press his chest to your back, releasing the headlock to slip his hand under to grip your throat with just enough pressure to make your head spin. “So deep, don’t stop…," you whimper, your fingers clawing at the mat.

You can tell he’s close, his rhythm falters for just a second, you hear a shudder in his breath, and you’re right there with him, teetering on the edge.

A final “Joaquin!” makes both of you finish together, pleasure ripping through you. The aftershocks are intense, especially as he continues to pump his load into you. Maybe it’s because you’re dazed as hell, but it feels never-ending. As he pulls out his cum drips onto the mat, a mess you’d both have to clean up pretty soon, and he collapses next to you. 

Lying there, a complete mess, blissed out and breathless, you barely manage to lift your head. Joaquin is just as wrecked, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your bare shoulder.

“Good workout,” you mumble with a dazed smile.

“Definiely.” He lets out a low chuckle, “Same time tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

[andy-15-07]

he’s overwhelmingly good at eating you out you’re already pushing his head away but he’s still latching onto you, manhandling you back in place and to stay still

Pinned

PAIRING: Danny Ramirez x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1150✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

A/n:  For this request I thought I would put Danny Ramirez because I think he is suitable for this idea.

It starts slow , slow enough to fool you into thinking you’ll survive it.

Danny’s hands are warm on your thighs, thumbs tracing lazy circles just under the hem of your sleep shorts. He’s sprawled between your knees, hair falling onto his forehead, that crooked grin flashing up at you like he knows exactly what he’s about to do to you.

He does. He always does.

“Danny…” you say, voice already breathless, fingers tugging at his hair as he hooks his thumbs into your waistband and peels your shorts down your legs.

“Mm?” he hums, kissing your knee, then the inside of your thigh. His stubble scratches just enough to make you shiver.

“You’re teasing.”

He laughs, soft and low. “Baby, I haven’t even started.”

Your back hits the pillows as he settles lower, spreading you open with one big hand braced on your inner thigh. You suck in a shaky breath when he drags his mouth up the crease of your thigh, so close and still not close enough.

“You good?” he asks, voice smug, lips brushing your skin.

“Danny,”

“Use your words, sweetheart.” He flicks his eyes up at you, and that look alone makes your stomach flip. “You want me to stop?”

“No, no, don’t you dare,” you breathe, nails digging into his scalp.

“That’s what I thought.”

His mouth finds you all at once , warm, wet, hungry. You gasp, hips bucking when his tongue flicks just right, when he sucks your clit between his lips like he’s tasting something he’s been starving for.

“Fuck, Danny,!”

You try to pull back, overwhelmed already, but his free hand shoots up, palm flattening over your stomach, pinning you to the bed.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs against you, his voice dark and muffled. “Stay still, baby.”

Your fingers curl in his hair, tugging when he sucks harder, when he slides his tongue down and back up in slow, torturous strokes. He hums when you moan, like he likes feeling it vibrate through your thighs.

“Danny, too much,”

He pulls back just an inch, licking his lips, eyes dark and blown wide. “You say that every time.”

You try to catch your breath, hips rocking involuntarily, thighs threatening to snap shut. He growls, low and dangerous, and pushes them apart again with his shoulders.

“Keep ‘em open for me, hermosa,” he orders, squeezing the inside of your thigh until you do. “Don’t make me tie you down.”

Your laugh cracks on a whimper when he dives back in , wetter now, messier, his tongue circling your clit until your whole body arches. You try to pull away again, hips lifting off the bed, but he clamps his hand harder on your belly, forcing you back down.

“Danny, I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” he purrs, voice rough and smug. “Take it for me. Be good.”

Your toes curl, thighs trembling around his head. He moans when you tug his hair harder, when your hips stutter under his hold.

“Danny, please, I’m gonna,”

“Good.” He sucks harder, tongue flicking quick and filthy until your back bows off the bed and you cry out his name like it’s the only word you know.

You’re still shuddering when he pulls back just enough to drag two fingers through the slick mess between your thighs. He pops them into his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Could eat you all night.”

“You already did,” you whine, pushing at his shoulders weakly when he lowers his mouth again. “Danny, I can’t, too much,”

He laughs against your thigh, nipping the soft skin there until you gasp. “Baby, I’m not done. Stop squirming.”

You try to twist away when his tongue flicks you again, overstimulation making your thighs snap shut around his head. He groans, shoving them apart again with a rough shove of his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises.

“Danny,!”

He growls, mouth vibrating against you. “You’re not going anywhere. Be still.”

You whimper when he latches onto you again, this time harder, relentless, tongue and lips working you until your vision goes blurry. Every flick of his tongue sends another shockwave through you, too much and not enough all at once.

“Please, please, please,” you babble, voice breaking on every word.

“Fuckin’ love when you beg,” he groans, pulling back just enough to breathe, his lips shiny, chin slick with you. “Look at you, baby. So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“Danny, please,”

“What, baby?” He smirks, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk. “Want me to stop?”

You shake your head frantically, tears brimming at the edges of your lashes. “Don’t stop, don’t, I can’t,”

He huffs a dark laugh. “So which is it, huh? Want me to stop or want me to ruin you?”

“Ruin me,” you gasp. “Please, Danny, ruin me,”

He moans, filthy and desperate, like the words went straight to his cock. He buries his face between your thighs again, sucking you so deep and hard your thighs tremble around his ears.

You try to push him away when your second orgasm slams through you , try to shove at his forehead, his shoulders, your hips rolling back in panic. But he just growls and manhandles you down again, both hands locking your hips to the mattress.

“You’re gonna take it,” he pants between licks. “Gonna come for me again , fuck, baby, give it to me,”

You sob when it hits , another wave crashing over you so hard you can’t breathe. You feel it everywhere: your fingertips, your toes, the base of your spine. And Danny, still licking you through it like he’ll never get enough.

When you finally slump back, limp and boneless, he drags his mouth away with a satisfied hum, licking his lips like he’s just had dessert.

He crawls up your body, eyes wild, hair a mess, chin shining. He kisses you sloppy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re insane,” you mumble, voice hoarse, your hands sliding through his hair.

“Mm,” he hums, grinning into your mouth. “Told you I could eat you all night.”

“Please don’t,” you giggle weakly, pushing at his chest. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He laughs, a real belly laugh, pressing his forehead to yours. “Good. That’s my girl.”

You tug him down, burying your face in his neck, still trembling as he wraps his arms around you. His heart is pounding just as hard as yours.

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer now, warm and rough in your ear.

“Mm,” you hum, kissing his jaw. “Okay. Wrecked. But okay.”

He chuckles, nose brushing yours. “Next time, I’m tying you up so you can’t push me away.”

“Next time?” you squeak, voice muffled in his shoulder.

He kisses your temple, so sweet it makes your chest ache. “Next time,” he promises.

[astraljedi]

Papasito (Joaquin Torres)

Summary: I saw him across the dance floor and knew—I needed him. And being with him? That's something I'll never recover from. Warnings: explicit sexual content. Oral sex (female recieving), mentions of drinking alcohol, sexual tension, voyeurism (in an alley, but no one sees), Spanglish, dirty talk. Word Count: 2.05K A/N: Oops, I said I wasn't going to write it but I JUST HAD TO. Also, I think this is the first fic I fully incorporate my culture and roots, and I'm so happy with it. I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! -

Papacito, ay, que rico tú Te quiero pa' mí, no pa' un ratito

The moment I walked into the bar, my eyes land on him instantly. He stands close to the dance floor—not dancing, just laughing and singing with his group of friends. He looks good, the most handsome in the room in a neat white shirt with a couple of buttons undone, part of his tan chest exposed. 

God, and the way his smile glistens under the lights, the way he holds the cup of beer in his veiny hands—the cup looking so small under his grip. The wildfire that spreads through me isn’t from the alcohol running in my system, but from the way his eyes meet mine.

Even from across the bar, those brown eyes almost make my knees buckle. His gaze roams over my body and returns to mine. And I don’t dare look away, lost in a trance.

Our gaze lingers, and I lick my lips, swaying my hips to the rhythm of the song, feeling Gianna behind me doing the same. I throw my head back, letting the beat control my moves, running my hand all over my body.

The rush. The need.

It makes me lose my mind for him, spiraling just from one look across the dance floor. I want to feel his body against mine, feel his tight grip on my hips. I want to feel his lips brush over my skin. I need to taste him until it makes me dizzy and then beg for more. 

The bar is packed with flowy colorful dresses twirling between linen shirts and a group of tourists trying to learn the steps to basic salsa in one corner. The live band is electric, playing their hearts out under the glowing string lights. It’s salsa night on the back patio, and every Friday, the girls and I never fail to show up in our best colorful dresses and dancing heels to relieve our beautiful culture from back home in the caribbean.

A mural of El Viejo San Juan stretches across one wall—flor de magas, coquis and the colors of my beautiful island and home decorate the other. Behind the bar, a line of Latin American flags hang over the tall liquor shelf, celebrating our cultures all together in one small bar. 

I turn, facing Gianna. “Are you going home with the congas guy?”

“I might. Are you eyeing someone?” Gianna smirks, taking a sip of her mojito.

I nod, scanning the crowd. “Where’s Casey?”

“She went to make out with that girl she bumped into earlier.” Gianna tips her chin toward the bar. I spot Casey’s pixie-cut jet-black hair, tangled up with said girl from earlier. 

“Do you have your location on?”

“Always,” I take a sip of my drink, more for courage than thirst. “Tell them to play something hot y con mucha pasión.” I wink at her, smacking her ass as she makes her way toward the small stage. She looks back, blowing me a kiss before the lead singer helps her up stage.

The space around me crowds the moment Gianna leaves, more bodies joining the packed and hot dance floor. I move through the crowd, my way to brown eyes, getting closer to those hypnotizing brown eyes, unaware of me closing in on him. His back is still to me, just a few feet away when the band changes to a sultry, sensual rhythm. The crowd lights up, people cheer and scream excited.

I glance at the stage, Gianna flashes me a thumbs-up as she settles close to the congas on stage. 

Never underestimate Gianna. Ever.

The familiar buzz spreads through my veins. The ache in my feet from the heels fades under the adrenaline rush.My heart drums in my ears, beating fast against my chest with the hum of the congas and bongos on the stage. 

I bump my body into his side—accidentally.

I saw you there looking so good tonight

I swear to God, I'm dying to kiss you

The music is perfect, sensual, dirty y apasionada. The gritty and soulful voice of the lead singer takes me back home, the fiery and fast paced rhythm has my body gliding and moving effortlessly, melting with the velvety music. 

I feel him turn, his hand lands on my waist, and he spins me around to face him. Then he grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers as the hand on my waist slides down to my lower back, pulling me close to him. 

Our noses brush, my hand slips to the back of his head, fingers diving into his dark curls. Up close, he smells good—dangerously delicious, so good I want to drown in it. My eyes nearly roll back when I feel his cheek graze my temple, the heat of his body pressed to mine as he leads the dance.

“Where have you been all night?” he growls in my ear.

“I’ve been looking at you,” I say over the music. “Trying to get you close.” My name slips from my lips, brushing against his jaw.

“Joaquin.” I feel the warmth of his breath on my neck, his hand now on my lower hips, guiding me exactly how he wants. I’m already his, ready to be used, handled. 

I would let his biceps crush me. No. I would beg him to do it. 

It doesn’t feel like much time has passed. We stay on the dancefloor, teasing each other, moving to the intimate songs the band plays, no space between our bodies as we dance across the floor. His hands stay low and hot on my body, my fingers still tangled in his hair. Joaquin’s lips linger near my ear, singing the lyrics like a prayer—like a promise of what he plans to do to me. 

I cradle his jaw with one hand, our lips hovering close but neither of us move to close the gap. Joaquin spins me, pulling my back into his chest, switching our positions. His face nuzzles into my neck, and he smooths his hands slowly down my arms, somehow still leading the dance with ease and in control. 

I bite my lip, fighting back a whimper as his breath heats my skin. His nose brushes down the curve of my neck to my shoulder, where he leaves quick, wet kisses before trailing lower along my spine. My whole body shivers as his palms settle low on my hips, guiding them side to side matching the rhythm while I glide my arms through the melody. 

I look over my shoulder, watching him stare as my hips move under his control effortlessly.

He straightens behind me, chest pressing to my back as his palms graze my skin, and I feel the hard strain in his pants against my ass. I arch into him, lips parted as his breath hits my ear.

“You trust me?” His voice is rough, like he’s barely holding on.

I nod. Not a single scared bone in my body. Not with him. He takes my hand and pulls me off the dance floor. My stomach twists with anticipation as we pass groups of people, stumbling towards the back of the bar. He pushes the side door open, the music fading behind us as the squeaky door shuts, leaving us in the soft dim narrow alley. 

The cold air brushes my skin, the red mini dress I’m wearing barely covers my chest or thighs—but that’s the last thing I care about. Joaquin crashes his mouth onto mine and I moan, melting into the kiss instantly. His tongue slips between my parted lips, taking ownership of me. 

Joaquin cages me between his body and the brick wall, one firm hand gripping the side of my neck while the other hooks under my thigh, raising my leg over his hip. I tangle my fingers into his curls, pushing him closer with the leg I’ve wrapped around him. 

“Fuck, mami.” he mutters, dragging his lips from my jaw down to my neck. His teeth graze the skin before pressing slow, wet kisses on my burning skin. 

I laugh, breathless. “Ay, papasito, qué rico.” 

Joaquin kisses his way down to my cleavage, then pauses to look up at me. “Papasito?” He grins.

“¿Quieres que te llame por otro nombre?” I play with his curls, looking down at him. Joaquin licks his lips. He places a firm hand on the side of my thigh, squeezing hard until I gasp.

“No,” he says, resting his cheek against my cold breast. “Tú me puedes llamar como tú quieras, mami.”

Then he bites down on the swell of my breast, his tongue flattening over the mark he just made. I tug on his curls, the air escaping out off my lungs as I watch him sink to his knees in front of me. 

He hooks my leg over his shoulder, bunching up the material of my dress, exposing the black lace thong I wore underneath. 

Joaquin growls, nose brushing against my soaked center as he inhales, like he’s memorizing this moment. A whimper escapes my lips, heat flooding my entire body.

His eyes darken full of lust and desire. Joaquin pushes the lace aside, and the cool air hits my exposed sex. I’m already trembling, and he’s barely touched me. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” He growls, spreading me wider before crashing his mouth into my folds. I moan loudly, throwing my head back to the rough brick wall, his tongue sucking on my clit without mercy. 

I yank his curl, rough, showing him how I like it. He picks up the pace quick, fingers pressing and teasing my soaked entrance. I part my lips, feeling him ease two fingers inside, stretching me open as his tongue sucks relentlessly on my clit. 

“Ay, amor.” I whimper, his fingers curling up into that sweet, perfect spot that makes me tremble. I grind down on his face, chasing the pleasure building up rapidly. His fingers press deeper and harder, knuckles deep. I arch my back, the coil inside me desperate to snap.

“I’m so close—fuck, Joaquin.” I chant his name, my voice echoing in the alley, not caring if someone hears me. My skin is on fire, sweat sticking to my body. 

Joaquin grips my hips hard, fingers digging into my skin roughly, but I didn’t care. 

I want to have his hands dented onto my skin, a souvenir, a savored memory. There’s no way I’m letting this man go. I’m not letting this be another one night stand. 

I glance down at him, watching him devouring me like a starving man. His eyes flick up to meet mine and my walls clench tight around his fingers. Joaquin chuckles, the low vibrations from his laugh sending me right over the edge as he watches me.

I fall apart, crying out his name. My body jerks as the hot wave of my orgasm crashes through me. My vision blurs, his face stays buried in me, tongue lapping every drop of my release as soft, overstimulated moans escape my lips. 

Joaquin pants against my skin, resting his cheek on my thigh that’s on his shoulder. “I just discovered my new addiction.” He breathes, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of my thigh. 

He gently lowers my shaking leg off his shoulder, hands sliding up my body as he stands up from the concrete. It’s like he can’t fathom a second without touching me. I rest my forehead on his chest, trying to catch my breath. 

“No rehab can help me,” he murmurs. “Let me stay addicted to those desperate, pretty whimpers and moans you make when I have you coming on my tongue.” He presses his hard length against me, and I whimper, already aching for more. “Tu mirada es una que nunca quiero olvidar. No hay cura para superarte.” 

“Then don’t.” I grin, grabbing his jaw in my palm. “I want you—and not just for a little while.”

I pull him in, our mouths crashing together again as his hand tangles in my hair. My other hand slips down between us, palming the thick bulge in his pants. He groans, grinding into my touch. He melts into it, alive and hungry for more.

“Not here,” he mumbles against my lips. “If I’m going to sink into you—stretch you out with my cock—I don’t want it to be in an alley. I want to get lost in you. I want to treasure every sound, every clench, every time your walls suck me deeper into oblivion.”

For that addiction, I would need rehab

I grip his biceps, body already needy for more. “Take me home, papasito.” 

[fireside-fanfics]

Hey girl!!! I was just wondering if I could get a Joaquin x Reader fic where Joaquin gets caught in an explosion and gets temporary amnesia?

I absolutely adored writing this fic. Thank you so much for you request, Rowan!

The Heart Always Remembers

You met Joaquin Torres on the first day of basic training. The moment the squad assignments were read out, your names were called back-to-back—Torres, then yours. A nod passed between you—brief, professional, curious. No handshake. No words. Just a shared look that said, All right. Let’s do this. From the very first drill—the first scramble through knee-deep mud, boots sloshing, voices cracking with effort as the drill sergeant barked—something locked into place. You didn’t need a learning curve. No awkward trial runs, no figuring each other out. 

While others stumbled over timing or left gaps in formation, you and Joaquin moved like twin currents in the same stream. You covered each other’s blind spots without hesitation. Backed each other in hand-to-hand combat, even when paired with opponents twice your size. You pivoted in sync during live-fire exercises like you’d choreographed the whole thing in advance. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. It didn’t take long for people to notice.

“Instructors kept watching us,” Joaquin once murmured to you, after lights-out, both of you wide awake and staring at the ceiling of the barracks. “Like they were trying to figure out the cheat code.”

Your squad noticed too. At first, it was side-eyes and whispers. Nothing direct, nothing hostile—just the kind of wary curiosity people get when they can’t explain what they’re seeing. One guy, Powers, tried to break the tension during downtime.

“So… you two like psychic or something?” he joked, trying to keep it light. You just shrugged, and Joaquin didn’t even look up from cleaning his rifle.

Another time, after a particularly brutal obstacle course that ended with the two of you dragging half the squad to the finish line, someone muttered, “They’ve gotta be cheating.” No one replied, but the air got tight for a moment. You were still catching your breath, mud streaked up your arms, lungs burning. You heard it—felt it, more than anything. The weight of accusation dressed up as sarcasm. The kind of comment that didn’t need to be serious to sting.

Your eyes flicked up. Joaquin’s jaw flexed, subtle but sharp. He didn’t say anything either. Just stood there beside you, breathing hard, fists still half-clenched. His gaze didn’t even shift toward the guy who said it—but you knew him well enough by now to read the shift in his stance. He was pissed, but he wouldn’t rise to it.

That was the thing about the two of you: you didn’t waste your breath on people who couldn’t keep up. You didn’t need to defend what you’d already proven in sweat, bruises, and hours. Still, your pinky twitched by instinct nudging his pinky, like a quiet prod. Let it go, it said. We’ve got bigger things to prove.

Without looking down, Joaquin hooked his pinky with yours, just for a second, just enough. Then he let go, exhaled slowly, and took a step forward. You followed without a word, side by side as always, leaving the tension behind in your wake. Because the truth was, it didn’t matter what they said. You weren’t here to impress anybody. You were here to survive—and do it together.

There were bets, theories. Rumors that maybe you’d trained together before enlisting. That maybe you’d grown up in the same town. Shared a childhood. Shared more. But every time someone asked, you both gave the same answer: Nope. Met on day one.

Still, it didn’t make sense to anyone how you always seemed to anticipate each other’s moves, how you never needed to speak. Even in chaos, even under pressure, your rhythm stayed intact. And that confused people. Sometimes confusion looks like admiration. Sometimes, it looks like resentment.

There was a stretch where a few squad-mates tried to break the pattern. They tried to insert themselves into the formation during drills, edge their way between you two during tactical exercises. It didn’t work. It never worked and not because you pushed them out, but because it was like your bodies and instincts rejected the interference. The timing collapsed; the symmetry vanished.

You weren’t cold about it, just focused—and focus earned results. You passed every exam, every simulation, with scores that made even the instructors squint. If there was a partner exercise, your names were locked in before the sergeant even called them.

During group tasks, everyone started looking at you two first waiting to see how you’d move, what call you’d make, how you’d fall into formation. Respect didn’t come overnight. It came slowly, quietly. The jokes thinned out. The jabs stopped. One by one, your squad-mates stopped trying to figure you out and started trusting you instead—started following your lead.

By the end of month two, no one asked anymore why it worked. They just made room for it. Because whatever this was—whatever you and Joaquin had—it got results. And in basic, that was the only thing that really mattered. No one knew how to counter it.

In combat sims, you swept through rooms like a storm, without a word spoken. You traded weapons mid-fight without looking. Communicated in eye contact and shoulder nudges. When one of you went down during training, the other made it their mission to carry both of you across the finish line.

It didn’t take long for instructors to start using you as examples.

“Move like The Ghost.”

“Cover your six like they do.”

“Train until you’re even half as coordinated as The Ghost.”

One of them, Staff Sergeant Morales, said it loud enough for the entire class to hear after a brutal room-clearing exercise: “If I had ten more just like them, I could win a war with my damn eyes closed.” He didn’t say it like a compliment. He said it like a warning. Some recruits hated it. Others watched in awe. Instructors admired it. Leaders feared it. Regardless, no one stayed indifferent for long.

The bond followed you into active duty. By the time you deployed, people knew to look for you two together. You sat next to each other on transport flights. Shared gear. Shared rations. Picked up each other’s slack without being asked. He knew how you took your coffee; you knew how to spot when he was hiding an injury. Your squad placed bets—first on who’d screw up and break formation (neither of you ever did), and later, on when you’d finally cave and admit you were in love.

You pretended to be annoyed by it, but the truth was … they weren’t wrong. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was a quiet understanding that grew over late-night fire watches and adrenaline-soaked post-mission come-downs. You looked at him and felt steady. Looked at you and saw home. Joaquin never said it outright, not at first. He didn’t have to because you just knew.

So when the explosion hit—when the world erupted in fire and dust and you watched Joaquin vanish under a collapsing roof top—it felt like someone had ripped the oxygen from your lungs. You didn’t think. You ran. You ran through fire, through shouts, through people trying to hold you back. You found him crumpled under half a collapsed wall, suit blackened and wings mangled, blood streaming from a gash across his forehead. You dropped to your knees, shaking hands pressed to his pulse point.

Joaquin’s heart was still beating but barely. You whispered his name over and over. When they carried him off in the evac chopper, your hands were still stained red from holding him together. You were too stunned to move, and your two best friends had to quite literally drag you after Joaquin towards safety.

Joaquin spent three days in a medically induced coma. You sat by his bedside the entire time. You didn’t leave except to wash off the ash in the ensuite bathroom. You didn’t sleep except in 30-minute intervals. Every beep of the monitor, every shift of his fingers, every flicker of breath—you memorized it all.

Until finally, on the third morning, his eyes fluttered open. You surged forward in the chair beside his bed, your heart catching in your throat. But the second he looked at you—truly looked at you—you knew something was wrong. Joaquin didn’t smile. He didn’t reach for you. He blinked slowly and said, in a hoarse, confused voice:

“¿Dónde estoy…?” Joaquin croaked, his eyes panning the room. Your breath caught. And then—barely audible, like it cost him everything to say—“Who… who are you?”

The words hit harder than the blast had. Harder than the moment you saw him fall. Three words. Who are you? They split something open in your chest.

You’d prepared for wounds, for rehab, for months of physical therapy. You’d braced yourself for the nightmares, for the scars, for helping him heal. But not this. Not him waking up and looking at you like a stranger. Not the emptiness in his voice where your name should’ve been. You gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white, willing yourself not to cry—not yet. Not when he was alive. He was here. He was here with you, even if he didn’t remember you, even if he didn’t remember The Ghost Formation.

Before you could speak—before you could shape the reassurance that had been burning in your chest for three endless days—Joaquin’s face crumpled. His breathing hitched, shallow and uneven, chest rising too fast.

“I don’t—” he rasped, eyes darting around the room like he didn’t recognize any of it. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t—why can’t I remember—”

His hands trembled. His voice cracked.

“I’m—I’m scared,” he gasped, the words tearing out of him between labored breaths. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

You were crawling into his bed in seconds, legs hanging off the side, torso hovering over his, hands hovering just above his arms—close enough to comfort, not close enough to overwhelm.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” you said, voice low and steady, the way you used to talk to him in the field when the adrenaline got too loud. “You’re safe. Breathe with me, okay?”

Joaquin’s eyes found yours again—wide and wet now, tears slipping down his cheeks. A fresh ache bloomed in your chest, but you pushed it down. Swallowed it. Because this wasn’t about you.

“I don’t know you,” he whispered, voice cracking like it hurt to admit it. “Why don’t I know you?”

“You do, Quino,” you said gently. “It’s okay if you don’t yet. I’m not going anywhere until you remember me.”

His hands clenched weakly into the blanket. The monitor beeped faster as his breaths became shorter, more panicked. You reached out—slowly, carefully—and set your hand over his. The touch was electric for both of you. It was warm, solid, and real.

“Just breathe with me,” you whispered. “In and out. That’s all you have to do right now.”

Joaquin listened and followed you. His breaths were ragged at first but became steadier. Then, barely audible but certain enough to break the tension, he repeated, “You’re here …  and I’m okay … I’m because you’re here.”

As he said it, his fingers twitched—almost unconsciously—and slowly, he intertwined your fingers. Your thumb instantly traced over his knuckles. His grip was tentative at first, then with growing strength. Joaquin squeezed your hand hard, not letting go. The words trembled out of him again, shaky and unsure, but they were yours. His words were a lifeline thrown across the darkness. You smiled through the tears you’d been holding back. You heard a nurse jog into the room, their steps rushed to a halt when they realized what was happening.

“Yes,” you assured him quietly, your fingers tightening gently around his. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed right there, never breaking eye contact, never letting go of his hand.

“I’ve got you,” you told him softly, anchoring both of you with those three words.

You weren’t leaving. Even if he didn’t remember. Even if he was scared. Even if your name didn’t mean anything to him—yet. Somewhere beneath the panic, the confusion, the fear you saw something in his eyes: a flicker. Not quite recognition but undisputed trust. It was instinctive, unexplainable—like something in him still knew. You held onto that. You held him through the shaking, the tears, the jagged breaths. You would keep holding on until he remembered everything you were. Until he remembered everything you still are. 

For the rest of the day, nurses came in and out, checking vitals, adjusting equipment, but they never tried to pry you away. Their hearts were breaking for you. And even if they wanted to, they couldn’t bring themselves to ask you to step aside. Joaquin didn’t let go of your hand for at least an hour—not until one nurse carefully said she needed to place a pulse oximeter on his index finger. He hesitated, fingers curling tighter for a moment as if he was afraid. 

Then, reluctantly, he let go, but his gaze never left yours. Was he worried you’d be angry? Worried you’d vanish if he loosened his grip?

“It’s okay,” you whispered. You gently placed your hand on his knee, just above the blanket.

That small gesture seemed to settle him as he slowly let the nurse take his hand. You settled onto the bed for the rest of the day; stretched your legs out toward the headboard so you could watch him from near the foot of the bed. Your knees bumped lightly against his in quiet solidarity, an unspoken connection. 

As visiting hours approached late that evening, the attending doctor stepped in. None of the nurses had the heart to ask you to leave—they all knew you didn’t want to leave.

“It’s time to leave now that he’s awake,” the doctor said softly.

Your mouth twitched, ready to protest, but deep down, you knew. You should leave. You should give Joaquin the space he needed… After all, he didn’t remember you. Then, quietly, low and sure, Joaquin spoke:

“She stays.”

You and the doctor both whipped your heads toward him, mouths open in stunned surprise.

“It’s okay, Quino,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “I—I can leave—you need to rest—”

But he was firm now: “You stay.”

Joaquin’s hand reached for yours, but he hesitated. His fingers hovered, confused, unsure if he should bridge the gap again. And then, softly, almost shyly, he said, “You said we’d watch that movie about the lion fighting his uncle.”

A lump caught in your throat. That memory—the movie you both loved, the one you’d promised to watch together as soon as he woke from the coma—was buried deep beneath the fog. Somehow, it was still there. It was a beacon, a thread back to you. You squeezed his hand, voice thick with emotion.

“I’m here,” you whispered, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time since the explosion, you saw something more than confusion in his eyes. You saw hope. At that moment, the cracked door swung wide as two nurses filed in quickly. One held the TV remote, fingers already tapping to pull up The Lion King online. The other came bearing sheets and pillows, her arms full, setting about making the room more comfortable.

You glanced at Joaquin, who was watching them with wide, curious eyes. Before you could say anything, two more nurses appeared, wheeling in a cot. They placed it carefully between Joaquin’s bed and the window, creating a small, cozy space for you to rest. The room, once sterile and tense, softened instantly. It felt less like a hospital room and more like a place where you could start reclaiming your life together.

You settled in next to Joaquin, the familiar opening chords filling the air. As the movie began, you held his hand tightly, ready to rebuild every memory, every promise—one scene, one smile, one heartbeat at a time.

The doctors called it traumatic retrograde amnesia. They explained it carefully, their voices clinical but tinged with gentle caution. It was likely temporary, they said, but no one could say for sure. The explosion, the crushing force, the head trauma—all mixed with prolonged oxygen deprivation—had scrambled his memories like a shattered puzzle. The pieces were blurred, missing, scattered beyond recognition.

His long-term memory had been fractured. They warned you not to push him. They warned you to take it slow, to let his brain find its way back on its own terms. You nodded, smiled politely at their advice, but inside—inside you broke. Because when Joaquin looked at you for the first time since waking—when his eyes settled on your face—you were a stranger. Not the partner who had moved with him in perfect sync through every mission. Not the friend who had shared every secret, every laughter-filled night beneath endless stars. Not the soulmate who had bled and fought by his side.

None of it was there. Not the spark in his eyes when he looked at you. Not the private grin he reserved just for you after a mission went sideways and you both limped back in one piece. Not the playful bickering or the quiet moments that once said home better than any place ever had. Now, there was only a blank canvas where your history should have been; a raw, untouched surface that stared back at you with no recognition, no anchor.

But still—you stayed. You never actually left, not once. You didn’t ask to stay. Joaquin never begged the doctor, never pleaded with the nurses. Neither of you had to bring it up at all. It became a quiet, unspoken agreement among everyone involved—medical staff, command, even Sam—that you would be there. You’d stay at least for a few days. No one challenged it. No one wanted to challenge it. Sam showed up the second night with your go-bag slung over one shoulder. 

He had stuffed your bag with changes of clothes, travel-sized toiletries, your phone charger, and a battered paperback Joaquin had tried to convince you to read a hundred times before. Sam didn’t say much. He set the bag on the empty chair beside you, gave your shoulder a squeeze, and left without making you speak.

The nurses began folding extra blankets at the foot of the cot without asking. One of them quietly replaced your coffee with fresh mugs when yours had gone cold. Another started bringing you a second tray at mealtimes, no matter what the hospital’s policy was.

You slept in half-hour bursts with your head on the edge of Joaquin’s bed, your hand tucked in his. You learned the rhythms of the monitors like lullabies. The quiet hum of the machines, the occasional beep, the steady whoosh of the oxygen line—all of it became the soundtrack of your new reality. You filled the silence with the pieces of your life he’d forgotten.

You turned on the music you used to dance to in your kitchen. You started with the playlist he made for you after your first joint deployment. It was the one with soft Latin ballads and throwback pop and that ridiculous ‘80s synth song you used to mock but secretly loved. Joaquin didn’t recognize the songs at first; he didn’t respond immediately, at least not with words, but his fingers twitched against the sheets now and then, like his body remembered what his mind couldn’t.

You wore his favorite hoodie—the soft one that hit you mid-thigh, sleeves too long. The one he used to say made you look like you'd “stolen his wings and weren’t planning on giving them back.” Joaquin didn’t say anything about it the first few days, but by day four, his gaze lingered a little longer when he looked at you in it. You told him stories. You recounted all kinds of stories.

Funny stories like the time you accidentally wandered into a drill formation and almost got tackled by a training dummy before Joaquin swooped in with a ridiculous cover story about a “classified base scavenger hunt.” 

Sad stories about family. About missing home. About that one guy in your unit who used to sing lullabies in Tagalog on night watch, just to keep everyone grounded.

And the quiet ones—the stories you only ever told him. The ones about your childhood. Your fear of heights. Your dreams of opening a tiny bookstore in a coastal town once this life—the military life–was done.

You called him mi amor—not out of habit, but because it still felt true. At first, he didn’t even blink, didn’t flinch when you said it. In fact, he didn’t respond at all. You thought he didn’t react out of pity, afraid of offending you if he showed any negative reaction to the affectionate term. But you kept saying it. You whispered it like a thread tying you back together … and by the end of the first week, it landed.

You said it softly—“Buenas noches, mi amor”—and turned to gather your bag. Then you heard it. A breath. A shift. You looked back and found him watching you, eyes softer than you’d seen them since the blast. And then came that slow, crooked smile—the one that never reached his face unless it was real.

“I… think I like when you say that,” he mumbled, voice raspy but honest.

Your heart nearly stopped. Your knees almost caved. It wasn’t everything, but it was something. And in this quiet, in-between place where love held steady and memory had gone wandering, something was more than enough. You smiled back, tears in your eyes, and said it again—stronger this time.

“Good,” you murmured, setting on the side of his bed to brush his bangs off his forehead, “because I’m not going anywhere.”

The breakthrough came on a stormy night five weeks after he woke up. You hadn’t stayed the night for at least a week, and the nurses agreed to let you spend the night again tonight. Lightning flashed outside the hospital windows, and thunder shook the building. You were curled up on the couch in his room, half-dozing, when you heard him whimper loudly. You bolted up right in seconds. He was sitting up, drenched in sweat, chest heaving.

“Joaquin?” you gasped. You crossed the room in two steps, crawling into his bed.

“I saw you,” he whispered. “In a dream. We were dancing. You were laughing. We were—we were happy. And I think—” he swallowed, voice cracking, “I think I loved you.”

“You still do,” you said, voice breaking. “You just forgot for a little while.”

He stared at you like the sun had risen in the middle of the night.

“Your name, it’s…” he murmured. You nodded, tears falling freely now. “And I called you ‘vida mía,’ didn’t I?”

“You still do,” you whispered. “Whenever you’re ready.”

It all came back, little by little after that night. The smell of burnt coffee on your first night deployed. The time you patched up his arm with duct tape and a broken compass. The way your voice sounded in the dark, steady and calm, when everything else fell apart.

Eventually, he remembered your first kiss—after a mission gone sideways, covered in bruises and laughing in disbelief. He remembered whispering that he didn’t care if anyone else knew, that you were the only thing that mattered.

And on a quiet morning, months later, he turned to you in the apartment you’d shared long before the explosion, wrapped his arms around your waist, and murmured: “I remember everything.”

You pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “So do I.”

People still talk about The Ghost Formation. It’s in after-action reports, highlighted in red ink and circled twice. Instructors still cite it during training sessions, pointing to old footage and whispering to recruits, “This is what real trust looks like.” It’s even been immortalized in the rumors that echo through enemy channels—those who survived long enough to tell stories of the shadow-pair who moved as one. Who never spoke but always knew. Who cleared rooms like ghosts and left behind nothing but silence and stunned disbelief.

But for you, it’s never just been a nickname. It was never just tactics or coincidence. It was a promise. A vow forged in the dirt of the training field and tempered in the fire of every mission, every shared wound, every look that said I’ve got you without needing to speak. It held strong when everything else fell apart, when the blast hit, when the memories vanished… When the boy you loved looked at you with empty eyes and no trace of the thousand moments you’d built together.

Even then, The Ghost Formation held. Because it was never just in his memory. It lived deeper—in his instincts, his bones, the pull of his heart that still knew yours by feel.  And now? Now, Joaquin is back and he’s not just breathing and not just surviving. But he’s here—with you—eyes clear, smile familiar, arms wrapping around you like they were made for that purpose alone.

You still fight side by side, still fall asleep tangled together on long flights, your heads bumping lightly as the engine hums. You still argue over whose kill count was higher on the last mission, and you still laugh so hard your ribs ache when he does that ridiculous impression of your old drill sergeant. But there’s a softness now, a stillness.

The kind that comes after weathering the storm and knowing you’ve earned every second of peace that follows. Sometimes, late at night, he’ll reach for your hand without a word and you’ll squeeze back—just once—like always.

The Ghost Formation didn’t end in that explosion or in the hospital or when the world tried to shake it loose. It survived because it was never about memory. It was about choice. You chose each other every day in every way that counted. And you still do.

[joequiinn]

The Ache Inside the Hate | m.a. x reader

Summary | When a blizzard hits and the group gets separated, you and Manny are stuck waiting out the storm together.

Warnings, Tropes | 18+, fem firefly!reader, possibly ooc manny (idk dude has like 5 mins of screen time), smut, forced proximity, acquaintances-to-lovers, requited-unrequited, oral (f receiving), dry humping, some dirty talk, unprotected p in v

Author's Note | Danny Ramirez is haunting me so now I have to write fanfics for all his characters 🤷‍♀️

WC | 12.6k

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

Harsh, howling winds rattled the windows of the resort, glacial air seeping in through cracked glass and walls eaten away by time. You could hear the building creaking with the severity of the storm, shingles flapping on the roof over your head, wayward doors swaying opened and closed somewhere on the floors below. As you sat bundled up in moth-eaten blankets, a stained and ripped paperback folded in your hands, Manny stood at the window facing the road, his shoulders rigid and foot tapping with impatience.

You had known a storm was coming as the team trekked through the Payette Forest - the temperatures were frigid, even by mountain standards, winds blowing crisp through the pines and woodland. For days, you encouraged Abby and the rest of the group to make camp in any of the nearby towns, as this had been a harsh winter already, but she kept putting it off, determined to make it to Jackson as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t until snow began to first fall delicately that you raised the matter again - after all, you were the pseudo-meteorologist of the group, for lack of a better title, so you knew how to predict the calm before the storm. And finally, they relented, hiking out of the forest and into the nearby cookie-cutter town of McCall.

The resort made the most sense for you to set up a base. Along the north side was a lake that had filled more and more through the years, flooding parts of the lower floor in a couple inches of icy water; the building was set back from the main roadway, allowing some isolation, and you could see for miles from the suite on the top floor, making it the ideal high ground.

Once the building was checked and secured, you all set out for a supply run, hoping to make it back before the storm hit. Knowing that time was limited, you decided to split up to cover more ground - you and Manny went south, Abby and Nora west, Owen and Mel south.

You’d gotten used to being paired off with Manny, as that had always been the case over the course of the past five years. For lack of a better word, you two were more akin to acquaintances than friends despite all your time together, the both of you not terribly interested in getting too close to anyone on the Firefly crew.

That shared attitude of detachment made you and Manny a good team - you could read one another and predict the next move, you could communicate easily through glances or gestures. Ironically, that also meant that you knew more about each other than anyone else, which wasn’t saying much in the grand scheme of things, but it bonded you nonetheless. Sure, he could annoy the hell out of you half the time, but if you had to pick someone to trust, at the end of the day it could only be Manny.

So, your partnership made the McCall supply run easy - the two of you rummaged through abandoned homes and a local game store, trying to find any possible provisions that you may need for the last leg on your trip to Jackson. Despite not finding much, you held out hope that perhaps the rest of the group may find things of more use.

But, as you’d come to learn, nothing was ever as easy as you expected. Considering your limited resources, your weather predictions weren’t an exact science - one moment, the snow was slow and beautiful, and then the next you couldn’t see more than five feet in front of you. You and Manny managed to make it back to the lodge, but now - some six or seven hours later - the rest of your group had yet to show up, and he was getting antsy, worrying over the lowering sun and the promise of nightfall.

“We should go looking for them.” Manny finally spoke for the first time in well over an hour. You took a deep breath through your nose, mouth tightening with agitation, though he couldn’t see the look with his back turned.

“We’re waiting.” You answered plainly without looking up from your book.

Manny turned to stare you down; you didn’t have to see his face to know that he was glowering at your seemingly nonchalant answer, “Something bad could’ve happened, and you sound bored?”

Here we go. Sometimes, you absolutely hated being left alone with him for more than an hour because it always ended up in some bullshit squabble over your attitude or Manny’s temper or something else completely irrelevant. Effective teamwork be damned, the two of you were nonetheless very different types of people.

Sighing, you dog-eared your page and dropped the book into your lap, matching Manny’s sour look with one of your own, “I’m not bored, asshole. I’m just following the rules that we made as a group. Or did you forget those already?”

The golden rules amidst the last remaining faction of Fireflies was simple: have a base to return to, wait there for each other when separated, and don’t go searching for anyone until twelve hours have passed. It stemmed from some kind of scout or camp guidebook, with a few tweaks, and it suited you all thus far. Everyone was more than capable of fending for themselves if need be, so it was better to avoid putting the whole group in danger whenever possible.

Manny’s eyes darkened a little as you stared at one another, neither wanting to be the first to look away, “By that time there’ll be no light left.”

“They know how to take care of themselves.” You countered, crossing your arms to retain a bit of warmth, “Abby said--”

“Doesn’t matter what Abby said.” He cut you off quickly, “None of us considered a goddamn blizzard when we set those rules up. Anything could happen to them out there - you just don’t care.”

An unamused laugh escaped you, rolling your eyes as sarcasm laced each of your words, “Wow, Manny, you’re so right, I never would’ve figured it out; I don’t care at all, that’s why I’m here and have been here all these years.”

“Stop with the attitude.” His jaw clenched as he took a step toward you, though he seemed hesitant to move too far from the window; he’d been practically glued to it since you got back, waiting for any sign of the rest of your team, “If you cared we’d be out there looking for them right now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to continue mocking him the way you desperately wanted to right now. Eyes blazing, you stood, dropping your blankets and paperback carelessly while marching across the room towards Manny. You jabbed him firmly in the chest, but refrained from matching his temper; you were never one for arguments and confrontation, and nothing was ever resolved from your spats with Manny in the past.

“You really think I’m not worried out of my mind right now?” You asked through your teeth, “I’ve been stressed this entire trip just waiting for something bad to happen. Sure, I don’t feel good about sitting here reading a goddamn harlequin novel to pass the time, but it’s safer that we stay put, got it?”

Manny shook his head judgmentally, stepping back from you with a faint scoff, “You’re unbelievable. Why you’re still here is beyond me.”

Your brows shot up in stunned vexation at his hostility, “I’m still here because I give a shit, contrary to what you think.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fucking asshole.” You hissed under your breath while turning away from him, “We’re on the same side, so why do you keep fighting with me?”

“Because you’re willing to let them die out there!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“Isn’t it!?” Manny grabbed your elbow, spinning you around to face him again, “I know we have rules, and I know why. But the storm isn’t letting up, and they could be in serious trouble out there. And we’re doing nothing.”

“And what about us?” You hadn’t intended to raise your voice, yet your words came out in a strained yell nonetheless, “What happens if we go out there looking for them? Stop trying to be a hero and think about all the variables involved. What if we get lost out there, or we get attacked, or our own friends accidentally shoot us because they can’t see through all this fucking snow? Have you thought about any of that?”

You shook off Manny’s hand, continuing before he got the chance to intervene, “If we go out there, we could be putting ourselves at greater risk than any of them are in. We’re smart, that’s why this group works. Owen will do literally anything to keep Mel safe, Nora and Abby are the best survivalists I’ve ever seen. And we should stay put because we’re supposed to have enough confidence in their ability to stay alive.”

Manny looked between your eyes with a harsh glare, working his jaw as your words sank in. After a long beat, a scornful grin spread across his lips as he leaned towards you, voice low, “I guess you do care.”

You scowled up at Manny through your lashes, turning away again to go scoop up your book and blankets, intentionally keeping your back to him, “You’re not going out there, got it? We need to stick together. So, why don’t you cool off a little.”

Heading for the door, you had to resist the urge to turn and look at him; considering you were trying to make a point, you had to be more stubborn than usual.

“Where are you going?” You paused, hand resting on the doorknob.

“Anywhere to get away from you.” You answered harshly before throwing open the door and walking out into the hall.

It was pushing nine hours since the blizzard started. And no one was back yet.

You holed yourself up in what was once a game room, arcade cabinets with cracked screens and broken buttons lining one wall, billiards and foosball tables covered in dust and cobwebs lining the floor-to-ceiling windows. Miraculously, this half of the building wasn’t puddling with water, which couldn’t be said for some of the other rooms you wandered through.

All things considered, the furniture was in half-decent shape; you’d been curled in the corner of a couch since you found your way down here, trying and failing to focus on your contrived, though somehow charming, paperback’s narrative. Once night fell, you pulled out your flashlight in a half-assed attempt to try to read, but eventually you gave up, staring blankly at the pages for god knows how long.

Manny always assumed you didn’t care; he always assumed nothing mattered to you. Since the massacre at the hospital five years ago, when you all came together, the two of you were always pushing each other’s buttons in such little, inane ways.

You, who liked to have a plan and to keep a level-head, were so opposite to Manny’s action and emotion-driven attitude, that you were bound to have your disagreements. He was a soldier, ready to throw himself at anything he had to, willing to get his hands dirty; you were made for the backlines, planning and mapping and researching before you’d ever think to pick up a weapon. With the group all together, it was easy to balance out your personalities, easy to maintain order. The two of you had never been left alone together for this long, though.

Despite what Manny might think, you didn’t hate him. You never did. He was irksome and frustrating, but at the end of the day you respected him - his skills, his loyalty, his drive. Perhaps in another life - one in which you all weren’t forced to grow up in a dying world - things could have been different, you two could have been… well, something.

You thought about it from time-to-time, what life would be like if the last of the Fireflies could live those ‘normal’ lives you’d read about in books or seen in movies. You figured that your personalities clashed enough that maybe none of you would have befriended each other, considering that you came together as a means of survival rather than out of kinship.

But then you’d think about the good moments you shared. When you would stumble across something strange in an old magazine and immediately show Nora. When Mel would bring back little odds-and-ends that she thought were interesting. When you and Manny would actually laugh together at a joke one of you said that the others didn’t find quite so funny.

Maybe normal wouldn’t have been so bad.

Somewhere nearby, a door creaked on its hinges, startling you out of your reverie. You shot up in your seat, eyes wide as you looked left and right and behind; forgetting about your book, you clicked off your flashlight and reached for the knife strapped to your thigh, just in case the noise wasn’t friendly.

Heart beating rapidly, you prayed that it was everyone else managing to make their way back despite the dark of night. You carefully stood, taking light steps towards the door, ducking behind furniture and posts as you went.

And then you heard Manny’s voice calling your name, his tone frustrated; your chest deflated with ease as you sheathed your knife. You flicked your light back on and wrenched open the heavy door, drawing his attention from across the expansive lobby; you weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but it looked as if he let out a sigh of relief.

He lifted his arms, indicating the building around him, the beam from his own flashlight dancing aimlessly across the wall, “Had me searching this whole damn place for you.”

Manny’s mood seemed to have calmed, if his easy tone was anything to go on; maybe you wouldn’t have to take anymore attitude with him. One of the nearby windows, though still mostly intact, was missing a corner of glass, the bleak night air making you tug your collar up as if that could protect you from the cold.

You shrugged ruefully, “That was kinda the intention.”

Manny studied you, eyes searching your face and looking you up and down; it made you wonder what the hell was going on in his head. His jaw flexed as he nodded, accepting your reasoning, while looking about the lobby - toppled over furniture, icy floors from where water flooded in, shelves layered in cobwebs and dust.

“We stick together,” he said simply, echoing what you’d said to him a couple of hours ago, “you’re right about that. So long as it’s just the two of us here, we aren’t splitting up again.”

You nodded in agreement, chewing at the inside of your lip thoughtfully as your gaze dropped to the floor. There was a part of you that wanted to discuss your earlier argument, but neither you nor Manny were the type of people to apologize, so you refrained.

“Any sight of them yet?” You asked as your eyes trailed to the wall of windows facing the lake - endless darkness, no lights for miles and miles. Not even the shine of the stars and reflection of the moon was visible through the heavy snowfall, which caused a wave of stress to roll up your spine; the weather hadn’t let up in the slightest.

“No.” You looked back at Manny, studying his face as best you could with the harsh light and shadows obscuring it. A sigh left you as he slowly crossed the room, “They’ll be okay.”

His tone wasn’t terribly convincing, but you were under the impression that he was saying it in an attempt to reassure the both of you. As he drew closer, you held his gaze, realizing that - despite everything - his deep brown eyes were a comforting sight right now. So, you straightened your shoulders, bolstering yourself to the best of your ability.

“They’ll be okay.” You repeated with far more conviction than Manny had, though you were still trying to make yourself believe it. For a long, tense moment, the two of you stood there in silence until Manny dropped his gaze in consideration.

“Let’s go back upstairs,” he instructed simply. You knew without him saying so that the high ground made him feel safer - from there he could see anyone coming, friend or foe. So, you nodded in agreement, following after him until the two of you were back in the top floor suite that was your temporary camp.

The two small flashlights you had were barely useful with how heavy the blizzard had gotten outside, beams illuminating your respective supply bags, shifted furniture, a small stack of shockingly pristine blankets sat atop a chair. You raised a brow at Manny, but he didn’t notice the look.

“Where the hell did you find those?” You questioned, because they definitely weren’t here earlier.

Manny knelt over his bag, steadying his flashlight between his shoulder and cheek as he dug through his belongings, “Searched some of the other rooms. Guess hotels used to keep them in plastic, so they were covered all this time.”

“Plastic?” You muttered to yourself, before determining that maybe it was a cleanliness thing and moving on; you had been far too young to remember what the world was like before it collapsed. Walking up behind Manny, you peered over his shoulder; he was digging out what food you two managed to find before the storm hit, which wasn’t much - mixed nuts, some kind of canned meat that you didn’t quite trust.

He held the bag of nuts up to you, “Hungry?”

Honestly, you weren’t. You probably should have been, but considering the stress that had been gnawing at you for hours, it didn’t seem possible for you to have an appetite right now. Glancing at your face, Manny must have read as much, shrugging as he closed his bag and situated himself in one of the chairs that he’d moved to face the window. Ripping open the bag, he scooped a handful into his mouth while gazing out into the haze of snow.

You stared at the back of Manny’s head, mindlessly studying his silhouette; there was strain in his shoulders, a slump to his posture. Was it because of his worrying over the rest of the crew, was it your fight earlier, was it something else entirely? You ruled it was most likely a combination of all the above.

Glancing towards your own bag, you began to make a mental list of all the stock you had between the two of you - the food, batteries, some scarce hygienic supplies, knives and guns and bullets. Did you still have fresh water? Would you run out of food while waiting out the weather? A surge of panic shot through you at all the variables that you simply couldn’t predict.

As if it would help anything, you clicked off your flashlight - at the very least, you could control how many batteries you blew through. So, you might be stumbling around in the dark for a while? There were far worse things than that. Manny either didn’t notice or care about the absence of an additional light, his own resting upon a table and shining into the room, casting harsh shadows across walls and furniture. You were nearly surprised that he wasn’t using it as a beacon for the others, but then again, it could just as easily be a beacon for less than desirable guests.

Swallowing down the anxious lump in your throat, you approached Manny, dragging over another heavy chair to sit beside him. Plopping down into it, you glanced over, but his gaze remained forward. You took the opportunity to study his profile - brow furrowed like it always seemed to be, jaw clenched, eyes intently staring into the dark night. Since you met him, Manny always seemed to have a wealth of tension in his body, like an animal ready to pounce if he ever had to.

Your gaze trailed down the length of his body studiously, his elbows rusting atop his knees, fingers knotted tightly together, heel tapping with that usual impatience you’d come to associate with him. Sympathetically, your brow turned down, as if you could suddenly see all his years of agitation and restlessness and irritation.

“Stop doing that.” Manny’s low voice surprised you; he still had yet to pull his eyes away from the flurry of snow.

Your expression knotted slightly, “Doing what?”

Did the corner of his mouth upturn ever so slightly? Maybe you were just seeing things. He sighed faintly through his nose, “Doing that thing you do.”

The confused furrow of your brow deepened. Sensing your confusion, a small huff left Manny as he finally swiveled his gaze towards you, straightening in his seat just a little.

“The way you watch people.” He said as if it were obvious, “It’s like you’re… seeing right through them, digging around in their heads until you figure them out.”

You could see, now that you were staring at each other, something akin to amusement in Manny’s eyes as he continued, “I’ve watched you do it dozens of times, but it’s different knowing that you’re doing it to me. I don’t like the idea of you seeing something that others aren’t supposed to.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you dropped your gaze, biting your lip, “I didn’t realize it was that… intense.”

“It’s why you’re good at what you do; you're observant. We wouldn’t be here without it.” He said almost dismissively, as if it pained him to give you anything even resembling a compliment. Despite your nerves, you smiled faintly to yourself, glancing back up at Manny through your lashes.

“I didn’t think anyone noticed. That I watch people, I mean.”

Manny worked his jaw in consideration, as if he had a response on his tongue but was hesitant to share it. Though, a moment later, he caved to his thoughts, “Not sure if anyone else has. Just me, far as we both know.”

That smile of yours grew just a little bigger, eyes narrowing slightly. Really, you wanted to ask him why and when he ever noticed it in the first place. Considering just how much he disliked you, you’d figured through the years that he’d want as little to do with you as possible.

As if reading your mind, Manny turned his gaze back out towards the sky; you could see the tightness in his expression even better now that he was looking away.

“So, what are we gonna do?” He asked firmly; he almost turned his eyes back towards you - you could see it in the faint twitch of his head - but he refrained.

You took a deep breath as you mulled it over. It’s probably been ten hours now without any sign of the crew, and the both of you were well beyond concerned about it. Per the rules, if they weren’t back in another two hours, then you and Manny should technically go looking for them. But considering the weather was only growing meaner and uglier, that seemed like the worst thing you could do right now.

You followed Manny’s lead, staring out at the heavy snow, listening to the harsh wind blasting against the building, rattling windows and paneling. You always seemed to run cold, but just the sound of the storm’s severity made you shiver.

“We wait out the night.” You finally said. You only briefly considered how strange it was that Manny was allowing you to make the calls, but then you figured it was his soldier mentality - he wasn’t the decision maker, though he was a devoted follower, “There’s nothing we can do with the weather like this. We rest, we prep, we head out once the sun’s up, and we find them. Storm can’t last forever.”

For a long stretch, the two of you sat in agreeable silence, watching the snow fall for lack of anything better to do. Briefly, you wished you hadn’t forgotten that paperback downstairs - didn’t matter how bad it was, it would have at least given you something to do.

You tried not to let your gaze drift back towards Manny, wary of making him feel uneasy under your eyes again, but you couldn’t help stealing glances. From his hard set brow to his lips, down to his tense hands and bouncing knee; if anything, he could use something to keep him preoccupied even more than you could.

“When you searched the rooms,” you started simply for the sake of creating conversation again, “did you find anything else? Anything we can use?”

Manny shrugged as if none of it mattered, “Couple bars of soap, bottle of water, half a dozen bibles.”

The both of you huffed out a faint laugh, “Well, if I’m feeling really desperate for something to read, I guess I know where to look.”

Manny glanced back towards you, looking you up and down once, “What, already finish that stupid book you’ve been carrying around?”

You gave him a teasing glare, “Forgot it downstairs.”

He hummed quietly, “Must not have been that good… If you want, we can go back and get it.”

A surprised smile graced your lips at Manny’s offer; you weren’t expecting such a simple kindness from him. Though you considered it for a moment, you shook your head, “We should stay put.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, making a measly attempt at relaxing in his seat. Another beat of silence passed between you, “What was it about?”

Your brow furrowed, another half-assed laugh leaving you, “Oh, you must be bored if you’re asking about some romance novel.”

Manny laughed as well, “What else are we gonna talk about? The weather?”

You gave him a faux affronted look, though you appreciated his ability to joke about the one thing causing you both intense stress. There was something in his expression that you couldn’t quite place, almost companionship or admiration or something else you couldn't name. Grinning, you, too, settled into your seat, curling up to keep your body heat in; if it got any colder, you’d be bundling up in every single blanket the two of you had.

“It was some old-timey story,” You started, trying to find the right word, “not, uh, Victorian, but something else like it. The guy’s a lord or a duke, butting heads with his love interest the entire book. The tension was pretty good, all things considered.”

You looked back towards Manny, chewing at your lower lip as you recalled the plot. Remembering what was next, you diverted your gaze bashfully, “I got distracted somewhere after the wedding - hard to focus on it while being worried outta my mind over everyone else. Things were just about to get sexy, too.”

Manny snorted slightly, “I thought those books were all sex.”

You shrugged with an amused grin, “Guess not this one. Maybe that’s what the second half is gonna be. Might have to grab it before we leave tomorrow, and let you know how filthy things get.”

“Looking forward to it.” He joked, laughing smally in his chest, “Might just have to borrow it once you’re done.”

“Oh, you’ll love it.” You continued to jest, finding ease in the calm between you two, your anxieties briefly lifted as you laughed together.

A huge gust of wind blew against the building, causing the windows to rattle again; from another room, you heard glass break, shards tinkling to the floor, and with it the suite was suddenly colder. You and Manny both straightened in your seats as a door creaked, swaying back and forth with the draft.

Cursing under your breath, you rose to your feet, feeling Manny a step behind you, following the sound of groaning hinges till you found the culprit. One of the bedroom windows had already been cracked, and it finally gave in under the strain of the storm.

You peered into the room, eyes having adjusted to the dark just enough to make out the shine of snowfall and glass littering the floor. Backing up, you bumped into Manny’s chest, not realizing how close he’d been behind you; muttering a quick apology, you yanked the door closed, hoping that the latch was still intact enough that you wouldn’t have to worry. Again, you shivered - were you actually cold, or was it simply because you knew the harsh weather had gained one more small way to seep into the building?

You and Manny were still practically standing on top of each other, so he must have noticed the tremble of your shoulders or the clatter of your teeth. He tugged up the collar of your jacket again, checking that it was zipped up all the way; you would have thought it intimate if it weren’t for the harsh, instinctive way that he did it.

“You can’t be that cold all the time; been shivering like a wet cat since we left Seattle.” His tone seemed mildly jesting, yet there still seemed to be something mean about it.

“Shut up, I’m fine.” You bit back, brushing past him, “We should check the other bedrooms; probably best to just close everything up in case any more windows decide to give up on us.”

You didn’t know what hotels or resorts were supposed to be like, but you knew this suite was big, considering it’s four bedrooms and full kitchen; you’d read somewhere about deluxe rooms, or something like that, so now you knew what the hell that was describing.

Splitting up, you both checked the rooms, closing each of the doors as you went. This place seemed sturdy, but it was still nonetheless worn away by time. Returning to the front hall, you checked the front door seal on the off chance that maybe the lock still somehow worked, though you were soon let down, as it was jammed and unable to be secured. You made a mental note that you two needed to be extra mindful before you turned your attention back towards Manny.

He’d left his flashlight atop a table, so you could only make out his silhouette; you had the feeling he was staring back at you, too. With a faint sigh, you tried to find the pile of blankets he’d set aside earlier.

“We should try to get some sleep.” You instructed, despite the fact that you were wide awake. Though, curling up in all those blankets sounded nice, and maybe you’d finally be warm. 

“You rest.” Manny answered with a small shake of his head, “I’ll take first watch just in case; wake you up in a few hours.”

He had a point - considering there were only two of you, it wouldn’t be wise for you both to drop your guard. But you nonetheless protested, “I can take watch, I’m wide fucking awake as it is.”

You heard him sigh, probably irritated with you yet again, “Then I guess we’re not sleeping at all tonight.”

“Manny--”

“I’ll sleep when I’m tired.” He interrupted, returning back to that damn chair of his, “Do whatever you want.”

You stared as he settled back into his seat, squaring his shoulders; you couldn’t help but roll your eyes while crossing your arms at him. For a long stretch, the both of you were silent, though you were unable to hold back the question that you’d been wanting to ask since the two of you made it to the resort, “What’s your problem with me, honestly?”

You heard Manny laugh without humor. Turning his head, you could vaguely make out his profile, that familiar sharp nose and strong jaw. Suddenly, you didn’t like that you’d asked the question, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. Silence stretched out between you, longer than you would have liked - Manny wasn’t the type to hold his tongue.

Finally, he took a breath, his voice less assertive than you were expecting, “I don’t have a problem with you…”

Now, it was your turn to give a deriding laugh, “You sure?”

Manny shook his head and sighed, returning his attention back to the storm outside, much to your annoyance. You continued to stare at the back of his head for a few long moments, before giving up; guess you’d let him take the first watch after all. Considering that your two options right now were to either sleep or sit around stressing out, you may as well sleep.

So, you began to arrange some kind of make-shift bed out of the blankets and a couple pillows that weren’t completely moth-eaten. You pushed the tattered couch, using it as a barrier between you and the door, with Manny and the window opposite of it.

You worked quietly, settling into the blankets, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it was to be wrapped up while fully clothed and on the hard floor. By now, you should have been used to this kind of sleeping arrangement, but maybe the stress and tension were just causing every little thing to bother you.

“Hey,” Manny urged in a hushed whisper. You knew for a fact you hadn’t been sleeping long because you could feel the groggy discomfort in your head. Groaning, you stirred, realizing that you could feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder, “You good?”

Your expression knotted as you came back to consciousness. The darkness was the same now as it had been when you lied down, though at some point Manny had clicked off his flashlight. As your eyes adjusted to the dark, you tried to find him in the shadows, tugging at the blankets as the cold somehow seemed to penetrate right to your core. Your voice came out hoarse and whiny, “What?”

“You were moaning in your sleep.” He explained, fingers squeezing your shoulder faintly as you shuddered from the cold, “Jesus, you still cold under all that?”

“Shut up…” You groaned, already wide awake again. That was the nature of living like this, always moving and on high alert - rest and relaxation were an impossibility, “I’m fine.”

Manny sighed before clicking his tongue decisively. He took his hand back, and you could make out the way he brushed it across his forehead and eyes as if he was already feeling peeved at you all over again.

“Scooch.” He instructed.

“Huh?”

Another irked sigh left him, “Make room. You’ll do better with some body heat.”

You scoffed, “Don’t, it’s fine--”

“Just do it.”

With an exasperated huff, you shuffled over, tugging and shifting the blankets around yourself as Manny sat beside you. Under your breath, you grumbled incoherently, growing tense at the feel of his body settling in right there next to yours, shoulder bumping against yours. He rested his back upon the uncomfortable floor, laying like a board as you continued fussing with the blankets as some measly form of distraction.

But you knew you couldn’t be avoidant forever, so you eventually forced yourself to lie back, body just as rigid as Manny’s beside you. Your arm brushed his, and you attempted to shuffle away.

“Will you stop moving?” He urged, pushing closer to you intentionally, “Defeats the purpose, I’m trying to help regulate your temperature.”

“I told you I was fine.”

“You’ve been chattering all damn night,” Manny pressed his arm against yours, knee nudging you as he grumbled in irritation, “Be thankful I didn’t suggest skin-to-skin…”

Much to your chagrin, you felt a small jolt through you at the idea, your imagination too vivid for your own good sometimes. Picturing - even if just for a brief moment - the feel of Manny’s bare skin on top of yours, warm hands and tangled legs, mouth exploring every inch…

“Gross.” You spat out despite that obnoxious little sensation that stirred in your stomach. No, you were not about to picture Manny, of all people, in a compromising position like that. Maybe that stupid paperback had gotten to your head - after all, you didn’t read quite far enough to get to the good stuff, leaving you hungry to know what happened next.

It was like you could feel the way Manny’s eyes rolled at you as he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. You did the same, glowering up at the ceiling as if it had personally offended you.

For a long couple of minutes, the two of you stayed put, like two stubborn children unwilling to come to an agreement. Not that you would admit it, but having him there next to you did help warm you up, though you may also have your own dirty mind to blame for the flesh of heat through your body.

As the wind picked up even more aggressively outside, the creaking and rattling of the building around you sent another shudder through your body. Dutifully and without hesitation, Manny inched closer to you in response; you hoped the way you leaned towards his touch was subtle enough for him not to notice.

“We cool?” Manny asked in a low tone, causing your brows to raise.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because it sorta seems like we never are.” He countered instantly, as if he had guessed exactly how you would respond. In your periphery, you could feel the way he turned his head to gaze at your profile, which caused you to tense up even more. An unamused laugh passed through his lips, faintly fluttering against your cheek; you had to refrain from sighing at its warmth, “You never really liked me. Sometimes it seems like you can barely tolerate me.”

Surprised, you turned your head as well, trying to make out his expression in the dark, “Says the guy who hates me.”

This time, you shivered with nerves, though Manny couldn’t have known the difference, as he tried to press closer to you again. He didn’t answer for a brief moment, mulling over his response before muttering dismissively, “Hate you? No mames…”

“Oh, come on,” feeling wide awake now, you rolled onto your side, propping your head in the palm of your head, “for five years we’ve argued over stupid shit, poking at each other all the time. What else am I supposed to think?”

You could vaguely see Manny’s lips turn down in consideration before he teased, “Maybe I just like arguing with you? Keeps things interesting.”

“Yeah right,” you laughed while shaking your head, “Why you so worried about it all of a sudden?”

This time, the pause between you was different, hesitant and strained. Though you couldn’t quite discern Manny’s expression in the dark, his head turned down slightly, jaw flexing. Something about it made you uneasy.

His voice was just above a whisper, serious and contemplative, “Well, on the off chance that something bad happened out there…”

He briefly stalled, as if he didn’t want to finish the sentence. It gave you just enough time to let the words sink in, the weight of them heavy upon you. Yes, for all you knew, all of your companions could be dead or sick or buried in snow out there. For all you knew--

“--you might be all I have left.” Manny’s confession had a somber quality to it, causing a pressure in your chest that was a confused mess of dismay and want and unease. You sucked in a breath, trying to maintain your calm.

Because Manny was right. You might be all he has left, just as much as he might be all you have left. The past few years aside, what would you two do if it were only you? Despite being able to keep a level-head, despite being rational, you couldn’t help but entertain those fears; in order to stay sane, you also had to be able to look into the mouth of the beast, so to speak.

In all this time, your group had never been separated this long unless it had been planned - for five long years, the last of the Fireflies had become the closest thing you had to family.

“Manny,” you whispered reassuringly, leaning towards him to make your point, chest lightly pressing against his shoulder and arm, “everyone’s okay. You and me, we’re good together; if they can’t find us, we’ll find them. And if for some fucking reason it is just you and me now, we’ll take care of each other.”

He faintly laughed, the sound uncertain, his warm breath tickling your cheeks again, “Like we always do…”

“I haven’t let you die yet,” you teased, hoping a bit of levity might put him at ease.

“I’m sure you thought about it at least once.” He quipped.

“Well, only when you were being really annoying.” You smiled contently, appreciating the sincerity between you two. With Manny, you’d always put up fronts or used jokes against one another - really, you’d never had much of a serious one-on-one conversation, even after all this time. There was another charged pause between you.

“I never hated you, you know.” Manny’s tone was so frank and warm and… perhaps affectionate, strange as that seemed.

You startled as his hand brushed your shoulder - you were so focused on his face that you hadn’t realized he moved. His fingers slid carefully along your collarbone, hesitating at the base of your neck; your body became tense, taken aback by the knot in your chest, by the tenderness of his touch. What the hell was this about?

With a sharp, sad breath, you leaned back, hoping Manny would allow his hand to fall away from you. Instead, he gently pressed his palm to the side of your neck, keeping you close, “Don’t.”

You could feel the intensity of his eyes staring at you, fingers lightly flexing against your skin, “Don’t what?”

Shaking your head, you tried to calm the skip of your heart, the spike of nerves that swelled in your body. It was like a surge of heat from head to toe, a part of you aching for it while another part wishing to get away from it.

“We’re not doing the ‘all hope is lost’ thing. Don’t project feelings onto me that aren’t there, it isn’t fair to either of us.” You managed to sound more assured than you felt, your resolve already wavering.

You never ever hated Manny, either. Of course you never hated him; you wouldn’t have tolerated his bullshit otherwise. Yes, the two of you bickered and poked fun at each other, threatening to trade foraging partners when one of you was particularly irksome to the other. But neither of you ever followed through with it, because at the end of the day, neither of you would ever want to work with anyone else.

You and Manny fit together. He was resourceful, you were knowledgeable; he knew when to act first, and you knew when to plan ahead. You’d learned to read each other without speaking a single word; how to fight together seamlessly when shit went south. So what, you’d never had a serious, heartfelt conversation, even after years working side-by-side? Didn’t the knowing glances and elbow jabs and shared laughs make up for that? Hell, you knew for a fact that no one understood you like Manny did, and vice versa.

And, fuck, that was the problem, wasn’t it?

“I’m not doing that.” Manny insisted in that tone you knew so well - earnest and cross, adamant because he didn’t want to be brushed off. Allowing his hand to fall, he propped himself up, resting his elbows on the floor to be eye level with you.

“Aren’t you, though?” You argued, though your tone had no conviction to it, “All this time and you wait till now to, what, make a move?”

Manny scoffed and shook his head, but it seemed a measly attempt to protect himself rather than a reflection of any upset he felt. He took a deep breath, his attentive eyes searching your face candidly, “You ever think that maybe I’ve liked you this whole time, nena?”

The question caused you to inhale sharply, an anxious jolt shooting through your chest. Your mouth hung slightly ajar as you tried to believe him before you swallowed your nerves, asking quietly, “This whole time?”

Manny shifted before reaching towards you again, thumb brushing along your jaw before his hand tentatively returned to the back of your neck; a very faint, unamused laugh escaped him, “Think about it?”

And you were. You tried to recall all the times you two argued, only for you to realize he had a charmed glint in his eyes; all the times he was the first person you looked to whenever things went bad. When being in each other’s space went from being a necessity to being a comforting familiarity; when Nora started mocking the two of you for acting like an old married couple.

Those times you’d catch Manny staring at you, only for him to look away. How he’d whisper a stupid joke in your ear that he didn’t want anyone else to hear. Those little unnecessary touches - a hand at the small of your back, knees brushing when you sat side-by-side despite there being more than enough room for you both. You’d wake up sometimes in the middle of the night with an extra blanket draped over you. Or on foraging hunts when Manny would bring you a little something just because he thought you might like it.

Fuck, you were an idiot. How was it all so painfully obvious, yet managed to go completely over your head all this time?

A laugh of realization and disbelief escaped you, yet it was also a laugh of relief - like some weight you weren’t even aware of had finally been lifted from your shoulders.

“I’m so stupid…” You muttered, shaking your head at yourself.

Sensing your shift in attitude, your walls coming down, Manny jested quietly, drawing just that little bit closer to you, “Well, I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but…”

You giggled again nervously, rolling your eyes and biting your lip. Your nerves were like an electric current, static through your limbs, heart pounding in your chest. Hesitantly, you reached towards Manny, gently resting your hand to his chest, fingers splaying over his collarbone. To your relief, he leaned into the touch, resting his forehead carefully against yours while taking in a deep breath.

“For the record, I never hated you, either.” You murmured. Manny’s grip tightened ever so slightly on the back of your neck.

“I know.”

His mouth found yours urgently, a surprised hum rising in your throat; he tasted bitter and sharp, utterly intoxicating as you savored him. You could feel Manny’s smile against your lips, charmed by your reaction as his fingers flexed eagerly on your skin. Pressing closer, you wound your arms around his neck, kissing him as if you’d been starved and he was the only thing that could satiate you.

The two of you were in-sync just as you always were, hands groping, mouths insistent, bodies slotting together as Manny laid you back on the pile of blankets, his weight atop you warm and comforting like he belonged there. Just like all your silent glances, it was as if you knew what the other was thinking, moving together as his tongue slid across your lower lip, your hands tugging desirously at his curls.

Shamelessly, you opened your mouth to him, tongues swirling together as you moaned; Manny’s grip on you grew tighter, incited by the sound. He blindly groped around, fingers brushing over your breast and collarbone till he found the zipper of your coat, yanking it down in one fluid motion before sliding both hands inside it. You arched into the touch, tugging faintly at his hair as a searing coil knotted in your stomach.

Manny groaned salaciously, pushing up the hem of your layered shirts, his touch a scorching fire on your skin. Your hips bucked, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Gliding your hands down his neck and chest, you fumbled with his coat as well, causing him to laugh into your mouth as you struggled with it. His breath hot against your face as he pulled back, sitting up on his heels to rip the layer away, your chest heaving as you watched. Manny’s hands were on you again in a flash, swooping in to capture your lips again.

Propping up on your elbows, you hastily pulled off your own winter coat, not willing to break away from the kiss again so soon. Once your hands were free, you slid them over Manny’s firm torso, humming contently at the feel of him.Sliding your hands beneath his shirts, your body tightened at the guttural sound in his throat, your fingernails grazing over his abs and sides amorously. His hips twitched against yours, causing you to sigh with want.

Manny’s hands traveled down your neck and chest and waist, grabbing as if desperate to feel every part of you all at once. He kissed you ardently before withdrawing his lips, blazing a hot trail along your jaw and neck, sucking at the sweet spot just above your collarbone; the mewl that left you was downright sinful, causing Manny’s faint laugh to vibrate against your skin.

“Oh, that’s the spot, huh?” He teased in a growl that made your body clench wantonly, back arching into his touch, “Should’ve done this years ago…”

Fuck yes he should have. You should have, instead of letting all this want and desire pent up inside you. You were ravenous for Manny’s touch, finally having tasted the forbidden fruit, nails digging into his sides just enough to draw a sigh from him, mouth continuing to nip along the expanse of your neck. You pushed his shirts up higher, desperate to feel every inch of his soft skin, to memorize each curve and blemish with your fingertips.

As Manny rolled his hips far too alluringly against yours, you keened and scratched your nails along his sides, spreading your legs so he could slot between them more easily. The press of him against your center was maddening, making you realize just how long it had been since anyone aside from yourself had touched you. Your pussy clenched with anticipation, Manny’s body making your head spin as you imagined all the things he could do to you.

You groaned incoherently as his teeth gently bit your skin; Manny went rigid for just a moment, enthralled by the sound before he continued ravishing your neck.

You insistently began to tug at his clothes, deciding there were far too many layers between you. It should not have been this erotic to help someone strip, yet his hot breath on your skin and the feel of his body flexing beneath your fingers was dizzying. When finally his chest was bare, Manny leaned back, allowing your hands to explore, although you quickly knotted your fingers in his hair again and drew his mouth back to yours. He smiled against your lips, hips grinding longingly in response.

Manny pulled back after one more sweet kiss, mouth dragging down your neck and chest, hands sliding your shirt up to your breasts to expose your abs to his frenzied lips. His teeth grazed over your stomach, kissing along the curves of your body as your hands tangled in his hair.

Reaching between you, Manny undid your pants swiftly, hooking his fingers into the waistband as his lips hungrily nipped at your skin, biting and sucking feverishly. Your eyes crossed, feeling just how bad that hickey would be later.

Manny gave your pants a quick tug down to your knees, finally breaking his lips away from your skin with an audible pop. Breathing deeply, he shuffled lower, nose grazing over your panties as he pulled at your pants again, helping you out of them before they were tossed carelessly aside. You inhaled sharply at his warm breath so very close to your center, wet and needy and waiting for him.

“Shit…” He muttered, lips brushing over the thin fabric of your panties, your hips rolling instinctively, “Not fair that you smell that good.”

The compliment made you whine hungrily, nails scratching through his hair. He pressed a kiss to the fabric between you, causing you to buck again with a gasp. Resting his hands firmly on your thighs, he trailed down that little bit further, breath hot and moist along your slit, causing your eyes to roll back. His fingers dug faintly into your flesh as he took in the smell of your desire, making you squirm with anticipation.

And then he pressed his tongue flat to your pussy, spit soaking through your already damp panties as you moaned unabashedly, causing Manny’s own hum to rock against you. Your grip on his hair tightened as he began to lap at you slowly, tip of his tongue flicking over your clit over and over, making your toes curl.

“Oh, fuck…” You muttered, grinding your hips against Manny’s mouth in time with the strokes of his tongue. Another growl sounded in his throat as he held your thighs firmly as if to keep the both of you at a slow, steady pace. Your body jolted when he teased at your entrance, the measly layer of fabric the only thing keeping you two apart and causing you frustration.

As if he could read your mind, Manny slid a hand up your leg, hooking a finger around the fabric of your panties and pulling them out of the way, his mouth pulling back a mere inch. His hot breath teased along your slit, making you ache for him.

A desirous sound of approval rumbled in his chest before Manny pressed his mouth to your pussy, causing you to yelp at the feel of his wet tongue bare against you. The hand on your thigh tightened its grip as he hungrily ate you out, mouth ravenously sucking on your clit, tongue diving between your folds insatiably. You threw your head back with a vulgar cry, already seeing stars as you rolled your hips greedily, causing Manny to splay his hand across your pelvis in an effort to hold you in place.

“Slow down, baby…” He groaned into your pussy, the roughness of his tone doing nothing to make you any less wet and desperate, especially when he went back to devouring you in the same breath. Your legs were already shaking on either side of his head, five long years making it damn near impossible to keep yourself from coming undone.

It was like an electric spark each time his tongue teased at your clit, your whimpers growing only more desperate and carnal. Your legs began to clench around him, forcing Manny to firmly grip both your thighs, fingers digging into your skin to keep you from tightening around his head. You trembled in his strong hold, rutting desperately against his mouth, the both of you moaning with a drunken pleasure.

“Oh god--!” You stuttered with a gasp, Manny’s mouth unrelenting on your clit, eating you out like you were his goddamn last meal, “Manny--!”

You felt him tense before his mouth grew even more frenzied, the sound of his name on your tongue sinful and encouraging. Your breath came out short and gasping and desperate, head swirling with bliss, body trembling as you rode his tongue closer and closer to your release.

And then you spiralled abruptly, cumming hard and intense as your body tightened, moans spilling from your lips like prayer. Manny lapped at your desire, taking another deep breath of you as his hands held so tight to your trembling thighs that you knew it would bruise. You shook in his hands, body melting as he continued to cruelly tease at your clit with his tongue, incoherent words of pleasure falling from your mouth.

When your hands finally untangled from his hair, Manny relented, pulling back to catch his breath as you rode the high of your orgasm, eyes crossed and head fuzzy. His nose brushed along your inner thigh, causing you to twitch; an airy laugh tickled against your skin in response.

“God…” He grumbled, resting his forehead against your leg for a moment. The distinct smell of sex reached you, sweaty and sweet and musky, as your chest heaved with steady breaths. Though your limbs felt weak, you gently brushed your hand over Manny’s curls, staring up at the ceiling as you composed yourself.

Manny began a slow crawl up your body, lips grazing over your skin wantonly until you were nose-to-nose, tasting your own sex in the air between you two. He firmly pressed his groin against your sensitive core, drawing a faint whimper from your lips, which he captured in a deep, impassioned kiss.

Your hands explored his body, delighting in the flex of his muscles, the heat of his skin. His tongue slid into your mouth zealously, tasting you with a deep moan. For the first time in days, you finally felt warm, sweat dampening the small of your back. Without breaking away from Manny’s lips, you began to tug your shirts up, only splitting for half a second so you could yank them over your head.

Manny cupped your breasts, squeezing eagerly and groaning as your nipples hardened under his touch. He drew his lips away, kissing down your neck until he could tenderly bite the soft flesh of your chest; your toes curled as he sucked another hickey to your skin, hooking your heels on the backside of his legs while rutting your hips again.

Satisfied with the bruise he left, Manny captured your lips fiercely, rolling his hips, his erection strained and beguiling within his pants. Your legs tightened either side of him, using the leverage to move with him, grinding against his cock slowly, drawing an illicit groan from his lips.

Manny grabbed firm hold of you, flipping your bodies around in one fluid motion to put you on top. Sitting up, he practically devoured your lips, the kiss sloppy and salacious. In his lap, you continued grinding your hips, arching your back as the friction caused you to whine, your sex dampening through your panties to his jeans.

God, the feel of him swollen and hard against your clit was mouthwatering, your pace growing more urgent and needy as Manny groped at you with feverish hands, squeezing and rubbing and scratching like he was afraid someone might steal you away from him. He reached around your back, unclipping your bra and tossing it away; prying his lips from yours, he took one of your peaked nipples into his hot mouth, tongue swirling and teeth grazing. You cried out, head falling back as you leaned into his touch, your pussy slick with want as your hips stuttered.

You muttered achingly as Manny fondled your breasts, his hips bucking needily beneath you as he growled with impatience. Your fingers knotted in his hair again, tugging just hard enough to make him hiss as you rut against him.

Feeling like a tightly wound coil again, you pried yourself off Manny, much to his protest, shuffling down his legs just enough to undo his jeans, pulling them away before crawling back to him. You cupped his erection through his boxers, sighing sharply at his size and girth; you gave him a gentle squeeze, causing him to groan while grinding himself into your hand. You began to stroke him through the underwear, hand slow and firm as it teased along his length, thumb running over his tip, hitting a spot he must have loved given the way he twitched and groaned.

You grabbed the waistband of the boxers and drew them down, the head of Manny’s cock bouncing against his stomach with a dull thump. You stroked him again, lightly squeezing as you went from head to hilt at a cruel pace, teasing along the vein on the underside of his length. As your hand began to bounce at a steady rhythm, Manny lied back, mouth ajar and eyes closed.

“Baby…” He grumbled, hips bucking up to meet your hand, causing his thigh muscle to tighten beneath your pussy, making you moan right along with him.

Giving into your impatience, you yanked off your panties, crawling over Manny so you could press a fierce kiss to his lips. As you tried to pull away, he cupped the back of your neck, tongue sliding into your mouth as he kissed you like you were the air he breathed, moaning desperately in his throat. His opposite hand slid between you, fingertips swirling your swollen clit and causing you to shiver.

When finally your lips broke apart, you were gasping for air, Manny’s cock twitching against your inner thighs, your knees slightly trembling thanks to the lazy winding of his fingers on your sex. The glint in his hooded eyes caused you to smile affectionately, repositioning yourself till you were centered over his erection, his hands gliding along your thighs and hips and waist like you were something coveted.

Manny dug his fingers into your hip, grinding your wet pussy along the length of his cock, whispering endearments so low that you could barely make them out. Steadying your hands upon his firm chest, the friction between you nearly made you whine. Manny took a deep breath as he shifted you so that he was lined up with your entrance, the two of you lingering for a moment as you stared into each other’s faces.

And then you slowly lowered yourself onto him, groaning in unison as you stretched around his girth. You were so wet already, taking him hilt deep with a shudder at the feel of him inside you. Manny held still, composing himself as you adjusted to his size - five years without dick make you feel like a damn virgin all over again, the twitch inside you causing a yelp of pleasure to jump from your lips.

You stayed like this a moment longer before you unhurriedly rut against Manny’s hips, another raptured cry escaping you at the pressure against your clit. Manny’s grip became even more firm against your skin, deep breaths inflating his chest as he ground up into you, finding that sweet spot deep inside you far, far too easily. Your hips moved together, jerky and uncoordinated, desperately chasing the delectable sensation coursing between your bodies.

Manny’s hands drift around to your ass, squeezing encouragingly as he rolled his hips, your name hot on his tongue. He lifted you just a couple inches off of him, cupping your rear so he could thrust up into you, skin clapping together while your nails dug into his pecs. He hit you nice and deep over and over again, the thrust of his hips growing more unyielding with each mewl and cry that slurred from your mouth. Fuck, his dick was intoxicating, the way it stretched you out and filled you up, making your eyes cross and your limbs trembled.

Hungry for more, you began to bounce on your knees, stuttering until you matched Manny’s rhythm, bracing your hands either side of his head to get a deeper angle. You exhaled sharply as he buried himself inside you, thrusts growing feverish, skin slick with sweat. A growl rose deep in his chest, craning his neck to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing and tongues swirling. You moaned into his mouth, rolling your hips erratically.

Manny’s greedy hands trailed back up your body, fondling your tits, tweaking your nipples between his fingers. A fierce little “come here” rumbled in his throat, drawing your chest towards him so he could bite at your flesh again. The new angle of your hips caused pressure on your clit that made you cry out, body shuddering with pleasure as Manny drove his cock deep inside you over and over again.

“Fu-uck--!” You whined loudly, grinding your hips as Manny became more frantic, thrusts hard and lecherous and like a drug. His breath was hot against your breasts, your back arching as his hands explored your body, gripping firmly at your waist as he pushed just that little bit deeper.

Manny drew his knees up to press against your back, using the angle to bury himself in you, hand trailing down to massage your clit with the pad of his thumb. Your hips faltered with a yelp as you groped at his arms to keep yourself steady.

He rut his hips hard into you, the slick sound of your skin slapping together causing your pussy to clench tight around him, drawing another hiss from between his teeth. Your body became frenzied, hips rolling and toes curling, a string of gasps spilling from your mouth as his thumb returned to swirling your clit, sending jolts of desire through your body.

“Fuck, you’re falling apart, huh?” Manny growled with a dazzling grin, enthralled by the sight of you as he fought not to come undone himself, “Taking me so good…”

God, his voice made you squirm and moan, riding his cock with a hungry zeal, bouncing on shaky legs as your pussy tightened around him. Drool began to pool under your tongue, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your pace grew sloppy and graceless.

“That’s right, baby…” Manny breathed out, applying more pressure to your clit, stilling the upward thrusts of his hips so you could ride him until you fell apart. You bounced and rutted, chasing the cusp of another orgasm, nails racking harshly along his body before digging into his thighs, which still pressed firmly into your back, using him as leverage for your rapacious grinding.

You managed to find Manny’s intense gaze in the dark, the two of you staring intensely at one another, eyes hooded and mouths hanging open. Under his breath, he murmured a string of “come on, come on” like a mantra, thumb continuing its unrelenting pattern on your clit as your legs began to shake, nails scratching at his skin forcefully enough that you dared to draw blood.

And then it was like a white hot flash of lightning, an obscene cry leaping from your mouth as you clenched tight around Manny’s cock, throwing your head back as everything within you trembled, your release frenzied and wild.

You shook while bracing yourself, orgasm rocking your body, stars behind your eyes as a weak string of moans fell from your tongue. Manny held you tight, squeezing your skin in his hands, watching you with utter awe and ecstasy, the clench of your soaked pussy drawing guttural moans from his chest. His cock twitched inside you, desperate for release, but he resisted the urge so he could focus on how goddamn incredible you looked cumming all over his dick.

When you finally floated down from cloud nine, your body racked with pleasure. Manny’s cock was still buried inside you, rock hard and twitching, sending shocks of euphoria through your body. The tension accompanying your orgasm melted away, legs like pudding as you balanced your hands atop his chest again.

“Fucking hell…” Manny murmured, enthralled by you. A goofy smile graced your lips as you slowly lowered your lips back towards his, moaning into his mouth at the way his full cock shifted inside you. The kiss was deep and sloppy, breathing each other in with such ardent want, molding together as if you were made for it.

Manny gave a slow roll of his hips, hands exploring your hot skin as you continued to whimper against his lips. Slowly, he pushed up inside you, delighting in your gasps and spasms, his tongue delving into your mouth again with desperate desire. You held his jaw tenderly, pulsing around his thrusts; eventually, he pulled back, lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

“Got one more in you, cariño?” He whispered wickedly, smiling triumphantly as you moaned, walls clenching around him again. He was so close, feeling how desperately his body wanted release. When you nodded, nose bumping gently with his, Manny’s arms encircled you, flipping you onto your back faster than you could blink, the motion and accompanying friction making you gasp sinfully.

Manny sat back on his heels, hands stroking down your legs, cock still buried inside you as he positioned your bodies. He spread your legs, pushing them up either side of you, hands holding your knees as he bottomed out, moaning huskily at the feel of you. He rolled his hips steadily, hitting deep inside your wet pussy, fingers digging into your skin. You grasped at the mess of blankets beneath you, body curving up to meet Manny’s thrusts as skin slapped skin, hair sticking to your sweaty neck and forehead.

Manny grunted praises through his teeth, slamming deep into you with rapid strikes. Already so sensitive after your orgasms, you moaned wildly at the way he slid in and out of you, body starting to tremble again. Manny pushed your legs even higher and wider, eyes closed and brow furrowed as he used your body, burying into you with a hungry fervor.

You threw your head back as your thighs tried to clench either side of Manny’s torso, but his grip was firm and strong, holding you in place as your entire body shook with intense pleasure. His thrusts grew even more insistent, fast and deep and mouthwatering.

“That’s right, baby--” He hissed as he slammed into you, “so fucking good--”

His words made you whine delectably, pussy clenching around him, rhythm unrelenting. His breath began to come out in deep shudder, hips stuttering on the edge of release as he stole a few more deep thrusts before abruptly pulling out of you.

It was a shock to be so empty all of a sudden, a loud cry leaving you; in the next moment, Manny was spilling warm seed onto your stomach, his groans overlapping with yours. His hands shook as he clung tight to your legs, his head lulling forward as the last of him pooled on your hot skin, sweat gliding down his taunt muscles.

For a long beat, neither of you moved as you caught your breath. Eventually, you lowered your legs either side of him, reaching trembling hands up to cup Manny’s jaw as he balanced above you, swooping in to steal a needy kiss. The both of you moaned at the taste of each other, your body still yearning for him despite the three orgasms he already gave you. Pulling back, he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours, breathing you in deeply for a minute.

“Be right back.” Manny whispered roughly, grunting as he pushed back on his heels before rising to his feet, legs still shaky. You hummed in acknowledgement, watching his silhouette move through the dark, listening as he rummaged in his bag and opened a canteen. He returned moments later, kneeling beside you and pressing a damp cloth to your stomach, causing you to faintly gasp at the chill of it cleaning your skin of his mess.

“Thanks,” You giggled, cock-drunk and giddy, once Manny was done. He sat down beside you again, huddling himself in the blankets as a sweet laugh met your ears.

“For what - the mindblowing sex?” He teased, to which you gave him a half-assed punch in the arm, which only made him laugh again.

“Shut up, asshole.” You smiled fondly, eyes fluttering shut contently.

Your body had finally relaxed, a thin layer of sweat glistening over your skin, which finally allowed for the blizzard outside to chill you to the bone again, your teeth chattering. Looking about in the dark, it was hard to tell where exactly any of your clothes had ended up, but before you could even crawl away from the comfort of your blankets, Manny gently grabbed your arm.

He tugged you into him, muttering against your hair, “Worry about it in the morning.”

“And freeze in the middle of the night?” You countered, though being curled in his side and huddled together was doing wonders for your temperature. It reminded you of what he said earlier, which already felt lifetimes away, causing you to huff out a small laugh, “Guess we’re doing the skin-to-skin thing after all, huh?”

Manny laughed, too, arms tightening around you as he grumbled again, echoing your words back at you, “Shut up, asshole.”

“Sheesh, look at these two.”

A voice and accompanying snickers pierced through your unconscious, causing you to start abruptly, instinctively reaching for your knife that was nowhere to be found. The warm body beside you shot up with a gasp, seemingly fumbling around for something as well, which caused even more raucous laughter.

And then, of course, your mind caught up with you as you recalled last night, eyes straining to open against the harsh sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

“So, this is what you were doing instead of searching for us?” Nora’s familiar voice taunted, your vision still heavy with sleep. Mortification shot through you like a bullet, feeling your neck and ears grow hot as you slumped under the blankets as if to hide your shame.

Manny’s body was warm beside you, his morning voice gravelly; despite yourself, it caused a faint stirring in your stomach, “Fuck off.”

The sheet over your head was tugged away, Owen’s teasing face there to greet you as you shivered at the cold, “Aw, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed.”

“Stop…” You whined sleepily, crossing your arms over your chest on the off-chance that you may end up more exposed than you would like.

Eyes adjusted to the light, you looked from one face to the next - everyone seemed to be amused, even Abby, who tried to hide that behind a glare. Fuck, this is just what you needed first thing in the morning.

Manny clicked his tongue, pulling a blanket around his bare shoulders and torso, “We were gonna look for you today.”

“Just had to get some first?” Mel asked with a laugh, rolling her eyes before shooting you a wink.

“Get dressed.” Abby chimed in before either of you could rise to the bait. Curling into yourself, you pressed closer to Manny to steal some of his body heat, “We gotta make some progress before another storm hits. Right?”

She looked at you with raised brows, as if you could simply predict the weather like some kind of magician. You sighed while weakly nodding, attempting to stifle a yawn.

“Yeah, yup, before another storm.” You answered roughly, raising your hand to wave it in the direction of the door, “Will you all go please?”

“Oh, she wants some privacy.” Nora continued to tease, even as she began to slowly back up towards the door, the others following suit.

“Five minutes.” Abby instructed, still fighting to hold in her own mirth at your predicament, “Any longer and we’ll drag you out.”

You and Manny watched as they trickled out of the room. Nora stopped to shoot you a big thumbs up, causing another wave of laughter through the group as they closed the door behind them.

Alone again, Manny looked down at you, dark stare taking in your disheveled appearance with a faint smirk. Sighing heavily, you sat up, shivering as the cold air hit your bare back, shoulders shrugging up to your ears.

“Fuck!” You chattered, catching the mischievous glint in Manny’s eyes, your brow knotting, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I mean,” he leaned towards you as if to whisper a secret, “we can do a lot in five minutes…”

You laughed abruptly at his insinuation, rolling your eyes as you leaned in as well, lips lingering just out of reach, “Shut up and put your clothes on.”

. .

Taglist | @flaneurpastel

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Greedy

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader x Bob Reynolds

SMUTTYSMUTTYSMUTTYSMUTTY

THIS IS A MARVEL FIC BUT I NEEDED A GIF OF THEM TOGETHER SO IM USING THIS TOP GUN MAVERICK GIF

The music pulsed through the bar like a heartbeat—fast, heavy, low. The kind of bass that lived in your chest. You were already two drinks in, swaying like temptation in heels too high and a dress too tight. Perfect. You wanted attention. Needed it.

And you knew exactly how to get it.

You found Joaquin by the bar, leaning back, beer bottle loose in one hand, black shirt rolled to the elbows. His jaw ticked when he saw you coming.

“Dance with me,” you purred, sliding between his legs like you belonged there—which you did.

He didn’t move.

“I’m enjoying the party,” he said flatly, taking a sip of his drink. His tone was smooth, but you knew that edge—that Joaquin.

You pouted up at him, running a hand up his chest. “We can have our own party.”

He arched a brow. “You being needy already, princesa?”

“Only a little.”

His hand slid down your thigh, firm grip bruising. But that was all. No pull. No follow-through. Just that unreadable smirk as he said, “I don’t reward needy little brats. You want attention? Be good for it.”

You blinked at him. Stunned. Denied.

“Fine,” you snapped, jerking back. “I’ll go to my favorite boyfriend. At least he cares about me and my needs.”

You didn’t wait for his response. You stormed off—barely hiding the grin on your lips.

⸻

You found Bob leaning against a wall by the patio, nursing a whiskey, all golden warmth and soft eyes. Just what you needed.

“Bobbyyy,” you sighed, curling into him like a cat in heat. “Joaquin’s being mean to me again.”

Bob looked down immediately, brows furrowed in concern. “What happened?”

“He said I was being a brat,” you sniffed. “Just because I wanted a little attention. Just because I wanted him to touch me…”

His eyes dropped to your lips. Your neck. Your cleavage.

“…But you care about me, don’t you?” you whispered, pressing your body against his. “You want me.”

Bob swallowed hard. “Of course I do, sweetheart. I always want you.”

“Then let me take care of you.” Your hand slid down, slow and soft, fingers teasing the front of his pants. “Let me suck your cock, Bobby. Please? Just for a minute. Just until you tell me to stop. I’ll be so gentle. You deserve it after the mission…”

Bob was already hard. You felt him throb under your palm.

“I—I hate seeing you like this,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “You’re so needy, baby…”

“Take me somewhere,” you breathed, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Let me be good for you.”

⸻

You found an empty storage closet, dimly lit and too small, but perfect. The door clicked shut behind you, and you immediately sank to your knees, yanking at his belt with shaky fingers.

“You’re gonna feel so good,” you promised, pupils blown wide. “I missed the way you taste.”

Bob moaned when your fingers brushed his cock. “Sweetheart—fuck—okay, okay…”

You had just unzipped his pants, tugged them halfway down his hips, tongue darting out to tease when—

SLAM.

The door burst open.

Joaquin.

Still calm. Still dressed. Still in control.

You didn’t even get a chance to react before he crossed the room and fisted your hair, yanking you up with a jerk that made you gasp.

“Oh, so this is what we’re doing now?” he growled, dragging your back against his chest. “Getting on your knees for him like a cheap little slut?”

Bob stepped back, wide-eyed, pants half open. “Joaquín—”

“Shut it.” He didn’t even look at him. His eyes were all on you. “And you.”

You glared at him, chest heaving. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you did your fucking job.”

That smile. That fucking cocky, cruel smirk.

He shoved you against the wall with one hand on your throat, the other gripping your hip so tight you’d feel it for days.

“You don’t come unless I say you come,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “You don’t even breathe unless I say you can, princesa.”

Bob tried again, “She just—she looks like she needs—”

Joaquin turned his head, slow and deliberate.

“She gets nothing,” he snapped. “Not until she learns.”

You twisted against him, thighs rubbing together.

“Touch your cunt again,” Joaquin growled, “and I’ll leave you dripping and empty all fucking night.”

———

You barely had time to pull your dress down over your thighs before Joaquin yanked the door open again, hand still tangled in your hair. Bob trailed behind, pants zipped but still tented, flushed and silent.

Not a word was exchanged on the ride back to your place. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was coiled, tight, full of unspoken punishment and desperate heat.

You knew you were in for it.

You wanted to be in for it.

⸻

The moment the door shut behind you, Joaquin shoved you up against it, one palm flat to your chest, the other tugging at your hair just enough to tilt your head back.

His voice was low, dangerous.

“You wanna act like a fucking brat in front of people? Try to make me jealous? Get on your knees for him like you’re some street-corner whore?”

You shivered.

“You are jealous,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “You just hate when he gets my mouth first.”

His grip tightened.

“You want my cock that bad?” he snarled. “Beg. And if I don’t like how you do it, I’ll gag you with Bob’s boxers and let him fuck your throat while you cry.”

Bob shifted behind him, clearly struggling.

“Joaquín—”

“Quiet.” His eyes never left yours. “She wants to be greedy? Let her find out what that really feels like.”

⸻

He dragged you to the bedroom.

Not gently. Not lovingly. Like he owned you. Like you were his problem to correct.

He sat on the edge of the bed, spread his legs, and nodded down.

“Strip. Now. And if you touch yourself, I swear to God…”

Your hands shook as you peeled your dress over your head, revealing your soaked panties. Bob sucked in a breath behind you.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “Sweetheart…”

You stepped out of them slowly, locking eyes with Joaquin as you did.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, sir. I need—”

He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor.

“On your knees.”

You dropped instantly.

“Now beg.”

You hesitated.

“Now.”

Your voice broke on the first word.

“Please let me have your cock. Please, I need to feel it. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll do whatever you want—”

“You said that in the closet,” he cut in. “Didn’t stop you from unzipping Bob’s pants, did it?”

You whimpered.

“Open your mouth.”

You did.

He stood, walked behind you, and slapped your ass so hard your knees jolted forward. You cried out, back arching from the sting.

“That’s one for acting up in public.”

He smacked you again.

“One for that smart little mouth.”

Again.

“One for trying to pit us against each other. What kind of stupid little whore pulls that stunt?”

You were shaking now, face hot, thighs clenched.

He ran a finger through your folds, slow and deliberate, then brought it to your lips.

“Taste how fucking wet you are for being denied. Pathetic.”

You moaned around his fingers, sucking greedily, desperate for any part of him.

Bob finally moved—stepped forward, hands gentle as he helped you to your feet, voice like warm syrup:

“It’s okay, honey. You’re doing so well. You’re so pretty when you listen.”

He kissed your jaw, your shoulder, guiding you onto the bed with such reverence it made you ache.

“You ready for me?” he whispered. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes—yes, please, Bobby, I need it—I need you—”

He pushed in slow, thick and perfect, stretching you open until your fingers clawed at the sheets.

“God, you’re tight,” he groaned. “Like you were made for me. That’s it, sweetheart. Just take it. You’re doing so well.”

Joaquin stood at the head of the bed, cock out, thick and flushed.

“Look at you. Getting fucked nice and slow while you stare at the cock that should be choking you. Want it?”

You nodded, whimpering.

“Beg.”

Your voice cracked.

“Please, sir. Please fuck my mouth. I’ll be good, I swear.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He slid his cock between your lips without warning, one hand in your hair, the other gripping the headboard. You choked a little, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, but you took it—desperate and eager.

Bob thrust into you slowly, carefully, panting sweet words against your ear:

“So good for us… so beautiful… I’m so proud of you…”

Joaquin had no mercy. He fucked your throat like it was his to ruin.

“You’re nothing but a cock-hungry little brat. You think you’re in control? This is what greedy girls get—stuffed full of cock and used.”

Your moans were garbled around his length, but they didn’t stop.

Neither did the tears.

⸻

You were wrecked—sloppy, dripping, body trembling from too much stimulation, not enough release.

And then—

“Flip her,” Joaquin ordered.

Bob obeyed instantly, pulling out and helping you turn over. You were on your hands and knees now, barely able to hold yourself up.

Bob slid back inside, his cock coated in your slick, hands on your waist.

Joaquin moved behind you, spat between your cheeks, and rubbed it over your tight hole.

“You want both? That’s what this was all for, right?”

You whimpered, nodding rapidly.

“Please. I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be so good—”

“We’ll see.”

He pushed in slowly, stretching you open, and the moment he bottomed out you screamed—loud, raw, filthy.

They moved together, perfectly timed, filling every inch of you. You were sobbing by the second thrust.

Bob kissed your neck, whispering, “You’re perfect. So perfect. You’re taking us so well, baby.”

Joaquin slapped your ass, deeper, rougher.

“Tight little holes begging to be ruined. You love this. Say it.”

“I—I love it—”

“Say you’re our greedy little fucktoy.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m your greedy little fucktoy—”

⸻

You came so hard it blacked out your vision. They didn’t stop.

They didn’t let up until your body was shaking, twitching, fully spent—used, exactly how you wanted to be.

You were still shaking.

Face down on the mattress, drool on the pillow, your body limp and pulsing. Your thighs twitched with aftershocks, your cunt and ass leaking, red and used.

Bob hovered behind you, hands gentle as ever, voice soft and tender.

“Let’s give her a minute,” he said, brushing your hair back. “She needs water. Maybe some space—”

Joaquin didn’t even look up from where he was stroking his cock lazily.

“No.”

Bob blinked. “She’s barely—”

“She wanted to act like a greedy little whore tonight?” Joaquin said, voice dark and cutting. “She gets used like one.”

Bob hesitated.

“She’s… she’s shaking.”

That’s when Joaquin finally looked at him.

“You don’t join.”

Bob’s brows pinched. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re gonna sit over there, and you’re gonna watch me fuck her. And if I so much as see your hand move to your cock?” He leaned in, kissed your hip possessively. “I’ll make her deny you the same way I deny her.”

Bob went quiet.

His cock was still aching—red, leaking, throbbing. But he backed up, lowered himself into the chair near the edge of the bed. Close enough to see. Far enough to be useless.

You were half-aware, legs trembling as Joaquin flipped you over, laid you on your back.

“Eyes open, princesa,” he whispered, tapping your cheek. “Let him see your face while I fuck you stupid.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted, wrecked and messy and soaked. Bob let out a breath he clearly hadn’t realized he was holding.

Joaquin didn’t start slow.

He shoved into you with one brutal thrust, and your entire body jolted. The sound was obscene—wet and loud and filthy.

Bob let out a quiet, “Fuck…”

Joaquin grinned.

“You watching? See how she takes it now? Loose and dumb and perfect.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Joaquin was punishing—each thrust harder than the last, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

Bob shifted in his seat. His thighs spread wider. His hand hovered near his cock—not touching. But close.

His face was flushed. His breathing shallow.

“Look at her tits bounce,” Joaquin muttered, low and cruel. “Look how she moans for me. You wish you were inside her again, don’t you?”

Bob whimpered.

“Don’t touch it,” Joaquin snapped.

Bob’s hand jerked back like he’d been slapped. He clenched his fists instead, thighs twitching, his cock dripping against his stomach.

You were babbling now, incoherent, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Too much—can’t—f-fuck—”

“Yes you can. You wanted this, remember? Be grateful I’m even letting you breathe right now.”

Bob groaned under his breath, palms flat on his thighs, rubbing them—anything to relieve the pressure. His whole body was tense, cock bobbing with every shallow breath.

“Please—” he whispered, eyes locked on your soaked cunt. “Please let me—”

“What did I say?” Joaquin barked. “You don’t get to come.”

And then—

He smirked.

Pulled out of you.

“Ride him.”

You both froze.

Bob blinked. “W-what?”

“Go ahead,” Joaquin said, still holding his slick cock in one hand. “Sit on him. Let him feel how wet you are. Let him get close.”

Bob scrambled onto the bed like a man possessed, laying back against the pillows, cock already twitching, thick and heavy against his abs.

You straddled him, legs weak, body still trembling. He gripped your thighs like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You sure?” he whispered.

You nodded, sinking down with a shaky gasp. You were still so full from Joaquin. Bob slid in easier than usual, and the stretch was softer—but deeper.

Bob’s head fell back with a choked sound.

“Oh, sweetheart… you feel like heaven.”

You rocked your hips slowly, and his hands found your waist—tight, needy, reverent.

Then he did it.

That thing.

That tell.

He pulled you down against his chest, arms wrapped around your back in a tight bear hug, and started thrusting up into you—fast, desperate, body lifting off the bed with each push.

Joaquin’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Bob froze. Mid-thrust. Whole body rigid.

You were panting, riding the edge again, so close to falling apart.

“I didn’t say he could finish,” Joaquin said coldly.

And then—yanked you off of him.

You let out a strangled cry, pussy clenching around nothing.

Bob gasped, nearly came from the loss of sensation, his cock twitching wildly, untouched and denied.

“You wanted her so bad?” Joaquin sneered. “Now sit there and watch me take her again.”

Bob was a mess—sweat-drenched, red, panting, his cock angry and leaking.

And you?

You were dragged back onto your knees, shoved forward, and Joaquin entered you again with no warning, fucking you hard enough to bounce you on the mattress.

Bob could see everything—your mouth open in a silent scream, drool stringing from your lips, your pussy swollen and dripping.

He palmed the sheets. Fisted them. Thighs clenched. He didn’t dare touch himself.

He watched.

Helpless.

Hard.

Ruined.

Joaquin’s pace hadn’t slowed.

If anything, it had gotten worse—sharper, deeper, crueler. Every thrust had you sobbing against the mattress, your whole body slick with sweat and spit, your pussy swollen and sore from how long he’d kept you in this state—used, ruined, shaking.

Your voice was barely a whisper now.

“Please… oh my god, please…”

But Joaquin didn’t give a fuck. He gripped your hips harder, thumb digging in so deep it made your spine arch.

“You’re not done,” he snarled. “You want to come so bad, you’re gonna earn it. On your knees.”

He pulled out—your pussy clenching at the sudden loss, dripping down your thighs—and manhandled you upright, pushed you down between his legs on the bed.

“Open your mouth.”

You obeyed, lips glossy, tongue already out like a starved little thing. He grabbed you by the back of the head, cock already smeared with your slick and spit, and shoved himself in deep.

You gagged on impact.

“That’s it,” he growled, rocking into your throat. “Take it. You know this is your favorite.”

It was. You fucking loved this—loved the weight of him on your tongue, the stretch, the way your throat fluttered and burned with each punishing thrust.

He was relentless.

His hips snapped forward, using your mouth like it was his, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. You moaned around him, drool spilling down your chin, tears leaking from your eyes—not from pain, but from bliss.

“Look at her,” Joaquin said, glancing over at Bob. “So fucking happy choking on cock. Aren’t you, baby?”

You blinked up at him, tears trailing down your cheeks, and nodded with his cock still stuffed in your mouth.

He pulled back just long enough to let you gasp a broken breath, then shoved himself in again with a grunt.

“Sloppy little mouth,” he muttered. “Built for this.”

⸻

Bob was dying.

Still sitting at the edge of the bed, cock throbbing against his stomach, eyes wide and wet.

He was trying to be good. Trying to follow Joaquin’s command. But his thighs were clenching. His fists were white-knuckled in the sheets. His hips kept twitching like his body was begging for friction.

And then—

He sniffled.

A real one. Sharp. Fast. Quiet.

Joaquin didn’t miss it.

“You crying, baby boy?”

Bob’s head snapped up, red-faced and miserable.

“N-No—just—” He cut off with a soft whimper, biting his lip. “I can’t—it’s too much—watching her like that, I—fuck—”

Joaquin barked a low laugh.

“Look at you. Cock so hard it’s dripping, eyes full of tears, and you’re still not touching it. That’s cute.”

You pulled off Joaquin’s cock with a wet gasp, drool coating your lips and chin, eyes glassy.

“Can I help him?” you whispered hoarsely. “Please? He’s hurting—he’s—he looks like he’s in pain, Joaquín—”

He grabbed your jaw, hard.

“No. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Bob whimpered again, a tear sliding down his cheek, his cock twitching without a single touch.

“You both wanted this. Now fucking take it.”

⸻

Joaquin laid back.

Spread his legs, thick cock resting heavy against his stomach, glistening with spit.

“Climb on.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Your legs were jelly, your mind was foggy, but you needed it—needed him inside you, needed to be filled again. You crawled onto his lap and sank down on him, moaning as your body melted around the stretch.

Joaquin’s hands gripped your waist, holding you still.

“Ride me.”

You started to move—slowly, hips circling, thighs trembling.

Bob whimpered.

You turned your head to him, saw him sitting there like a wreck—eyes wet, face red, cock flushed purple and leaking like a faucet.

“Touching yourself yet?” Joaquin asked, voice low.

Bob shook his head violently. “No—no, sir.”

“Good.”

You bounced harder now, moaning with each rise and fall, your slick coating Joaquin’s thighs. You were babbling—thank yous, pleads, incoherent praise—completely gone.

And Bob?

Bob cried.

Not loud. Not sobbing. But real tears slipped down his cheeks as he watched you fall apart on Joaquin’s cock, listened to the sound of skin-on-skin, and couldn’t join. Couldn’t help. Couldn’t even relieve himself.

“You see this?” Joaquin growled, pulling your head back by your hair, forcing your eyes to Bob’s.

“This is what happens when you act like a needy little slut in public. You get cock. He gets nothing.”

You came like that.

Hard.

Back arched, scream torn from your throat, legs shaking as Joaquin held you down and fucked up into you mercilessly, milking every twitch, every cry, every single wave of pleasure.

Bob sobbed silently in the chair.

Your body collapsed boneless against Joaquin’s chest, his cock still buried inside you, pulsing from the sheer force of your orgasm. His arms were heavy around you, grounding, his breath warm and steady against your ear.

And then—finally—he came.

A groan ripped from his throat as he gripped your waist hard and slammed into you one last time, thick spurts spilling deep inside your already dripping cunt. You moaned at the stretch, the fullness, the mess.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered against your neck, voice rough. “Took me so fucking good.”

You were gone. Floating. Dripping in every way.

He pulled out with a squelch, slapping your ass once as he stood.

“Don’t move. I’ll get us some water.”

And just like that—he disappeared into the kitchen.

⸻

Bob was still in the chair.

Sweaty. Tear-streaked. Cock angry red and twitching so hard it looked painful. You turned your head slowly to look at him, guilt and affection mixing deep in your chest.

“Bobby…” you whispered.

He let out a breathy whimper. “I—please—Y/N, I can’t take it anymore. It hurts.”

You crawled off the bed—shaky, disobedient, aching—and dropped to your knees between his legs.

“I’m not supposed to—”

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “You deserve it.”

Your mouth wrapped around him in one slick, sudden motion. Bob shouted.

“Oh, f-fuck—baby, fuck—”

You sucked him deep, messy and wet, not even trying to tease. Just pleasure. You’d been ruined, sore, trembling—and still, all you wanted was to take care of him. He sobbed a quiet thank you as your tongue worked him over.

His hands found your hair, trembling.

“Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—I’m gonna—fuck—”

He grabbed your head with both hands, suddenly forceful, and shoved your mouth all the way down until your nose was flush against his stomach, cock buried to the base. You gagged, throat clenched—

And Bob. Lost it.

“Fucking c-coming—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—shit—Y/N—”

He wailed as he came, hips twitching, cock spurting straight down your throat. You swallowed instinctively, tears running down your cheeks again, more from how deep he held you than anything else.

He kept your head there—hands shaking, holding you tight—until his whole body slumped forward, forehead dropping against yours, breath ragged.

“I-I’m sorry—I couldn’t—fuck, I couldn’t stop…”

⸻

And then the door creaked.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

You both froze.

Joaquin stood in the doorway, holding a glass of water, expression blank.

Dead silent.

His eyes dropped to the sight: your lips red and swollen around Bob’s softening cock, his hands still in your hair, your knees on the floor.

A slow blink.

Then:

“What,” he said, calm and terrifying, “the fuck is this?”

Bob choked.

“I—I didn’t ask her to—she just—”

Joaquin walked forward slowly, each step deliberate.

“I told you not to touch your cock.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t touch myself, I just—she—she sucked me off, I’m sorry—”

Joaquin dropped the glass of water hard on the nightstand.

It didn’t break, but the crack of it echoed.

“And you,” he growled, eyes cutting to you, “knew the fucking rule.”

You were still on your knees, mouth shiny, chest rising and falling. You didn’t deny it. You just looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes.

“He needed it,” you whispered. “I couldn’t watch him cry again…”

Joaquin let out a low, humorless laugh. Then he looked at Bob, who was still red, dazed, lips parted in panic.

“You think that was an orgasm?” he asked coldly. “That was permissionyou never had. You’re gonna learn what it feels like to really come. After I take everything else from you first.”

Bob swallowed, hard.

Joaquin looked at both of you like you were prey now.

“You want to come without permission?”

He stepped closer, grabbed you by the throat, and pulled you up to standing, face-to-face.

“Then you can beg me both on your fucking knees while I decide who gets punished first.”

Joaquin shoved you back against the wall—not roughly, but enough to make your breath catch. His hand stayed wrapped tight around your throat, thumb pressing into the pulse point beneath your jaw.

Bob didn’t even try to move.

“You two made a choice,” Joaquin said, voice low and dangerous. “You wanna come without my say-so? Fine. But you’ll regret it.”

He pointed to the bed.

“Get on your back. Arms above your head.”

You obeyed without hesitation, still tasting Bob on your tongue. Your body was wrecked, but some primal part of you thrived under the threat.

Joaquin pulled the leather cuffs from the drawer—ones he’d used before on both of you—and bound your wrists to the headboard. Firm. Final.

Then he turned to Bob.

“Stand.”

Bob’s legs shook as he got up, eyes wide and damp. He looked like he was still floating in post-orgasm haze, but Joaquin wasn’t going to let him bask in it.

“Hands behind your back.”

Bob did it.

Joaquin circled him like a predator, grabbing the base of Bob’s cock, now sticky and soft but still twitching at his touch.

“You come without permission again,” Joaquin murmured, “I’ll make her edge you with her tongue for hours. You won’t come for days. Understand?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He snapped a cock ring in place with terrifying ease.

Bob whimpered.

⸻

Then Joaquin climbed onto the bed.

He straddled your waist, cock hard again—this man didn’t stop—and leaned over until his mouth was at your ear.

“You’ll come when I say. Not before. And you won’t say no, because you asked for this.”

You nodded frantically.

“Yes, sir.”

He moved lower, lined himself up, and slid inside you again—no warning, no prep—and you screamed, body jolting from the sensitivity.

“That’s right,” he grunted, hips grinding deep. “Feel it. Cry if you need to. I’m gonna make you come until you’re fucking ruined.”

⸻

Bob watched.

Still cuffed.

Still aching.

His cock filled back out in minutes, hard and angry against the restraint. He couldn’t come again, but the pressure was already unbearable.

And Joaquin?

He put on a show for him.

Made you moan, whimper, beg. Rubbed your clit with brutal circles until your legs kicked. Slammed into you with fast, punishing thrusts while holding your wrists down and forcing your mouth open for him to spit in.

“Look at him,” Joaquin growled, pulling your head to the side so you could see Bob panting, shaking. “He wants to come again so bad it hurts.”

“Please,” you whimpered. “Can I make him feel good again?”

“No.”

He reached down, gripped your throat again, and fucked you harder.

“You’ll make me feel good. He’s gonna sit there and ache. Just like you will after this.”

You came again—loud, writhing, toes curling, drool slipping from your lips.

Bob sobbed.

Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, voice cracked and helpless.

“Please—please let her touch me—I can’t—fuck, I’ll come in seconds, I’ll do anything—”

Joaquin laughed against your neck, still thrusting.

“Yeah? You want her to touch you that bad?”

Bob nodded frantically.

“Then beg her. Look her in the eyes and beg her not to listen to me.”

Bob met your gaze, wrecked.

“Y/N… baby, please. I—I need you. Just one touch. One suck. You’re so good at it, I’ll be good too—I swear, I’ll be so fucking good for you…”

Joaquin grinned like the devil.

“That’s cute. You still think she gets to choose.”

And then he spat on your face and came inside you again—hot, deep, and final.

You sobbed through the overstimulation, hips twitching, cunt milking him as your brain just short-circuited.

⸻

He pulled out, adjusted his pants like nothing happened, then turned to Bob.

“You? Stay cuffed. No coming. No touching. You move, I’ll edge her in your lap until you pass out from the pain.”

He walked out of the room without another word.

Bob sat there.

Breathing hard.

Crying again.

Cock hard, trapped, tortured.

And you?

You whispered, barely audible:

“I’m sorry…”

But part of you loved it.

Joaquin returned twenty minutes later.

Not sweaty. Not messy. Fully dressed.

Black fitted tee, jeans low on his hips, water bottle in one hand. Calm. Cool. Untouched.

The complete opposite of you and Bob.

You were still spread on the bed, body trembling, thighs sticky with slick and cum. Bob was kneeling on the mattress, still cuffed, still rock hard in that brutal cock ring—face red, jaw clenched, aching.

Joaquin didn’t say a word at first.

Just sat.

Pulled the chair around to the front of the bed.

Sat backwards in it, arms resting on the top rail, legs spread wide as he watched you both with a terrifying kind of casual ease.

Then—finally:

“Get on top of him.”

You blinked, eyes wide. “What…?”

“Ride him,” Joaquin said, voice low and sure. “You’ve both been so desperate to come, now I want to see how well you behave when I call the shots.”

You crawled over to Bob slowly, straddled his lap with shaky legs. He looked up at you like you were a miracle, his cock twitching violently under the ring.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes glassy. “I missed you…”

“Don’t move,” Joaquin snapped. “She rides you. Not the other way around.”

Bob nodded quickly, swallowing a desperate moan.

You reached between you, lined him up, and sank down—slow, slow, slow. Bob let out a wounded sound, hands curling into fists behind his back.

“Oh my God—”

“Don’t come,” Joaquin said coolly, not even blinking. “If you even twitchlike you’re close, I’ll edge her right off you again.”

You started to move.

Bob was a wreck already—cock trapped in that ring, pulsing so hard it must have hurt, your walls squeezing around him like heaven.

And Joaquin?

He gave orders like it was nothing.

“Circle your hips—yeah. Just like that. Let him feel you milk him, slow and deep.”

“Now lean forward. Let your tits brush his chest. You like that, Bob?”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob gasped. “Feels—fuck—feels so good—”

“Don’t touch her. You don’t get hands yet.”

“Yes, sir—”

You whimpered as you ground down, slow and torturous, Bob’s cock so thick inside you, so full.

“Now rub her clit.”

Bob froze beneath you.

“I—I thought I couldn’t use my hands—”

“You can now. Just your right hand.”

You leaned back a little to give him room, your hands planted on his chest, and Bob brought one trembling hand between your legs.

His fingers found your clit—slick, swollen, throbbing—and started rubbing slow, careful circles, eyes locked on yours.

“That’s it,” Joaquin said. “Just like that. Let her work for that orgasm.”

Your hips moved with it, the friction building fast—your thighs shaking, moans falling from your lips uncontrollably.

Bob was whispering to you, soft and reverent.

“You’re doing so good, baby… so pretty on top of me… come for me, please…”

“Now go faster,” Joaquin commanded, voice still cool, still seated like a king watching his subjects fuck for his amusement.

Bob obeyed.

Your whole body tensed—orgasm cresting hard, so fucking close—

“Stop.”

You screamed, every muscle seizing up as Bob’s fingers yanked away.

He looked like he might cry again, eyes wide and terrified, cock pulsing painfully beneath you.

“You come without my say,” Joaquin warned, “and I’ll edge you both again until the sun comes up.”

You were still on top of Bob, thighs trembling, cunt spasming around his cock with every aftershock of that denied orgasm. Your body tried to chase it, to finish on instinct, but you forced yourself still—because you knew Joaquin meant it.

Bob was the one who nearly broke.

“Please, sir,” he choked, voice trembling. “I—fuck—please let her come. I can’t take it—her pussy’s clenching so hard—I’m gonna—”

“No,” Joaquin said simply. “You don’t come until she does. She doesn’t come until I say.”

He stood slowly, still fully dressed, walking in a slow circle around the bed like a man inspecting his work. You were soaking Bob’s lap, his thighs, the sheets. His chest was slick with sweat, lips parted, face flushed.

And still—his hands stayed behind him. Obedient.

“You look so fucking desperate,” Joaquin murmured. “Both of you.”

He leaned down, grabbed your jaw, made you look at him.

“Do you deserve to come yet?”

You swallowed.

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because I disobeyed.”

“And him?”

You looked down at Bob, who could barely breathe.

“Because he came without permission.”

“Good girl.”

Joaquin pulled your hair back roughly and kissed your cheek, just once.

“Keep riding him.”

You whimpered, already aching, and began to move again—slow, shallow bounces, slick noises echoing through the room as Bob moaned helplessly beneath you.

“Faster,” Joaquin commanded. “Don’t stop until he’s shaking.”

Bob cried out, head thrown back. “Fuck—Y/N—please—too much—”

“Don’t you dare come,” Joaquin snapped. “If you feel close, tell me.”

“Yes, sir—fuck—yes—”

Your pace stuttered. You were right there again, the pleasure curling up your spine, ready to explode. You couldn’t hold it—

“Sir—please—please let me come—”

“Not yet.”

You sobbed—your head dropped to Bob’s shoulder, nails digging into his chest as your pussy spasmed around him.

Bob was groaning like he was in pain, cock twitching violently inside you.

“Sir, I—I’m gonna come—I can’t stop it—”

Joaquin moved fast.

He gripped your waist, pulled you off Bob’s cock just as his hips surged—and Bob screamed, body jolting, orgasm completely ripped away as his cock slapped against his stomach, leaking but untouched.

“NO—fuck—fuck—”

“You don’t get to come until I say,” Joaquin growled. “You’re fucking lucky I don’t make you eat it off the floor.”

You collapsed into Joaquin’s arms, twitching and soaked, and he caught you easily—kissed your temple, rubbed your spine gently.

Bob was shaking.

Eyes wet. Mouth open. The cock ring looked brutal now, straining around his base, angry and purple.

“One more round,” Joaquin said softly, looking down at you. “You take him again. And this time, when you come—I’ll let him come inside you.”

“Th-thank you,” you whispered, voice broken. “Thank you, sir.”

You sank down again, this time leaning forward against Bob’s chest, his arms still bound, his lips whispering how good you felt, how much he missed you, how pretty you were like this.

“Please let her come, sir,” he begged. “Please, I want to feel it—I want to give it to her—”

“Not yet.”

Your eyes rolled back.

You clenched down so hard it made Bob scream.

“She’s close—sir—she’s so close—”

“Now,” Joaquin said.

And you both broke.

You came with a wail, whole body convulsing as Bob let go at the same time—cock jerking inside you as he came so fucking hard it hurt, filling you deep and full.

“Thank you—thank you, sir—thank you—” you both sobbed it like prayer, collapsing into each other, finally spent, finally free.

Joaquin stood there, arms crossed, watching you both with something almost like satisfaction.

You were still in Bob’s arms, trembling, both of you breathless, covered in sweat and slick and tears. Your cunt ached, stuffed and dripping, but all you could feel was the warmth of him—his arms tight around you, his lips pressed to your forehead, whispering over and over:

“You were perfect. So good. My sweet girl…”

Joaquin watched for another long second.

Then—finally—he moved.

The chair scraped back. His boots crossed the room slowly, deliberately. He crouched beside the bed, bringing a soft, damp towel with him.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmured, voice no longer sharp but low and steady. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He helped you off Bob’s lap—gently, careful of your knees and thighs—and eased you down onto the sheets, tugging the covers away so he could wipe between your legs. You hissed at the touch, overstimulated and raw.

“I know, I know,” Joaquin murmured, wiping delicately, his brow furrowed with focus. “You did so well. I got you.”

Bob was sitting up now, arms finally free, rubbing slow circles into your calves as you let Joaquin clean the mess he left inside you.

“You okay?” Bob asked softly, voice still thick with emotion.

You nodded, barely.

“I’m okay.”

Bob kissed your ankle.

“You were incredible.”

Once Joaquin was done, he tossed the towel aside and came to sit at the head of the bed. He opened his arms without speaking—and you went to him instinctively, curling into his chest, legs tangled between his. He cradled the back of your head, thumb stroking the slope of your jaw.

“Proud of you,” he said, low and warm. “You took everything. Even the punishment.”

You felt tears sting behind your eyes—not from pain, but from the release. The tenderness of it all after how rough the night had been.

“I didn’t mean to disobey,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, kissing your temple. “That’s why you get this.”

Bob joined you both, easing in behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you between them.

Now you were cocooned—held completely—Joaquin behind your head, Bob tucked to your front, your body between theirs like something cherished.

No more orders. No more rules. Just warm skin, steady breath, and quiet praise.

“I love you,” Bob whispered into your hair. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Me too,” Joaquin said, brushing your curls from your face. “Even when you’re a brat.”

You giggled, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry I sucked his dick.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Joaquin said, smirking. “Right now, you rest.”

“You’ll let me sleep?”

“Yeah,” Bob said gently. “We’ll hold you while you do.”