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mochminnie · 2 days ago

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❝ 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 :)