Of Kisses On Cheeks
of kisses on cheeks
luke castellan x best friend reader 4k
you’re acting weird. luke is going to find out why
— title from how you get the girl by tswift. chapter 3.5 of the killerverse but you dont have to read the rest to understand!
— absolute insane embarrassing cringe levels of pining because they’re in their mid teens ++ its circa killer’s poisoning in the woods.
You think you’re being secretive about it, but Luke knows you’re avoiding him.
Your ‘avoidance’ isn’t silence. You’d never stop talking to him, but this is probably the closest thing to it.
You joke with him like normal when other people are around, sending him smiles so sweet his shoulders relax with relief. But when he tries to catch your eye during a lull in the conversation you suddenly forget who he is, looking straight past him to stare at a tree or passing bird.
The situation becomes so desperate that he resorts to tactical warfare.
In other words, he pulls on your hair to get on your nerves. He isn’t sure what he’s hoping for — preferably an emotion stronger than the lukewarm smiles you’re giving him — but receives nothing but a twitch of your eye.
Frankly, it’s scary. It’s been like this all morning.
—
It’s one of those rare days in October where it reaches just over seventy-four degrees, which means that everyone is happier than usual. It also means that the two of you could play hooky without the usual repercussions.
You decide to head deeper into the woods today. It’s farther in than usual, because even though your counselors won’t care that you skipped out on archery today, they’re bound to give you disappointed looks if they see you lounging around openly by the lake.
It’s only been a couple of years since the two of you have come to camp, but Luke is already beginning to find it insanely boring. There’s nothing to do except the same six activities and there’s nowhere to go except the miles of woods on site. You’ve already combed through what feels like every square inch of the place, taking him with you even when he drags his feet.
You find some spot just south of the shed where they keep the canoes. It’s shielded from the wind by a big oak tree you decide to lay your back against, yawning almost immediately when you sit down. The sun has warmed the ground and made it an optimal nap spot, apparently.
Luke sits a little bit ahead of you, keeping you in his peripheral vision. It gives him an unobstructed view of the small clearing you're in, and it’s fortunately nicer than most corners of the woods you take him to.
(He’s also pretty sure this is where he knocked you on your ass during Capture the Flag once, but he knows you’d deny it if he brought it up.)
Luke unfolds a piece of scrap paper from his pocket. He’s not that bad at drawing for a beginner, but he’s pretty sure art isn’t for him. He’s only doing it because Annabeth encouraged him to try.
She has sketchbooks full of random things. It’s mostly buildings she finds interesting and the occasional scene of camp, but all of it is insanely good and Luke would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit jealous.
He personally finds the act of drawing insanely boring, and it’s even worse because he’s pretty average at it. Annabeth insists he just has to find something he likes and it’ll come natural to him, but he’s seen everything at camp millions of times over again and knows it’ll be lame no matter what.
For now, he’s satisfied with drawing another uninspired view of a tree to give to Annabeth.
From behind him, you take the ball cap off his head, exposing his messy head of hair. He’s too tired to argue for it back when he watches you put it on, letting the bill settle over your eyes.
“No shot you’re sleeping right now,” he says hotly. “All you do is sleep. I barely even talk to you ‘cause all you wanna do is nap all the time.”
“Looking after you is exhausting,” you say, smiling as you do.
He scoffs, but lets you put your feet sideways in his lap while you try and get comfortable.
Stifling another yawn, you explain. “Carter and Nika were up all night talking. They’re trying to pull a prank on Austin.”
“And you didn’t tell them to go to bed?”
You shrug. “I’m not a hypocrite. We’re loud whenever we have sleepovers too.”
He pinches your calf but doesn’t say anything else. There’s absolutely no way you guys whisper that loud.
“I’m giving you an hour,” he lies. He knows he’s going to let you sleep longer than that. He always does. “Then we’re actually doing something.”
You press your sneaker into his thigh before laying back, leaving Luke somewhat alone with his thoughts and a blank page.
It probably takes him fifteen minutes to pick up his pencil. It’s partly because he doesn’t know what to draw, but it’s also because you start complaining whenever he stops passing his hand back and forth over your thigh.
He stops five times and you complain five times, but after the sixth time you’re silent. It’s at this time he decides on sketching the tree ahead of him. It looks just like the ten other trees he’s given Annabeth this week, but some practice is better than no practice. Maybe the wood nymphs will be extra nice to him if he gives them a drawing of their favorite tree, or something.
He adds in the sun just to see what it’d look like, and decides against it when it ends up making the whole thing cartoony. A few minutes later, he gets halfway into a drawing of a bird before it flies away, leaving Luke with a rough shape and making him more irritated than before.
He finally gives up when a squirrel shows up and chews through the flower he was drawing for you.
Luke sighs, leaning back against his hands and letting his eyes go to the only other thing around.
You.
You’re fast asleep already, so he takes the time to look at you. There’s a scratch going up the side of your calf, stopping around the bend of your knee. The hoodie over your shoulders is his — the one with the paint stains he hasn’t worn in a while. He’s never been happier that he gave up that piece of clothing, especially now that he sees how comfortable you are in it. He squeezes your ankle affectionately.
Before he thinks too much about it, he picks up his pencil and begins to draw.
He gets more into it than he thought he would. It takes him a few tries to get the shape of your jaw right, but it’s probably the only thing he’s drawn today that he’s remotely happy with.
It turns out that Annabeth was right. Drawing something he liked did make it a lot easier. Sketching the curve of your cheek was a lot more fun than drawing another uninspired pine branch.
Luke stares at the lead on the paper for so long he only notices you’re shifting around when you jolt awake.
The paper in his lap flutters into the dirt. It’s not like he was doing anything wrong, but his face still grows hot as he shoves it back into the pocket of his jacket.
Grogginess makes your movements sluggish. He lets his hand pass over your leg again, wondering if that'd be enough to put you back to sleep.
“Good nap?” he asks.
He pokes at the back of your thigh, and your eyes snap up at him.
There’s tears in them.
“Woah—hey.” He sits closer to you, trying to get you to look at him. Leaves protest under his knees. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t think you’re going to start crying, but you’re teary and quiet and he doesn’t really know what to do. You’re so warm with sleep that sweat has formed on your upper brow.
He knocks off the cap to see you better, but it does nothing but make you press your palms into your face. The nerves are making you so tense he can’t pry your hands away.
“Killer,” he says slowly. “Come here. Do you want to—”
As if you hadn’t been close to tears a second before, your hands drop from your face. “Can we go back, please?”
You don’t look sad anymore. Just tired.
Your breathing is fine, but he still reaches to feel the pulse at your wrist. Just to check. Just to be sure you’re actually alright.
It doesn’t take you long to get what he’s doing. You frown. “Luke, stop. I’m fine.”
Your pulse thrums erratically under his thumb. He looks you up and down, searching for… something he’s not really sure of.
Injury isn’t possible. He’s been with you the whole time.
“Luke, please,” you insist, rising on unsteady legs. You reach for his wrists this time to tug him up with you. “Let’s go back.”
You look tired, and Luke is forced to accept the fact that you aren’t going to talk about it right now. He gathers his stuff in one arm and you in the other, and you begin the quiet walk back to camp.
—
It’s been a few hours since then, and you’re still not totally back to normal. You’re still avoiding him. Whatever you dreamed about must’ve been bad.
Because that’s what it had to be, right? A bad dream?
There wasn’t anything wrong with you physically. You were a little shaken up, but a bad dream would’ve done that to anybody.
Whatever it was, Luke is determined to figure it out.
He finds the perfect time to investigate when everyone is captivated by Board Game Night. Luke is supposed to be the banker for his siblings’ Monopoly game (he’s the only person trusted not to steal the fake money), but he’s too busy watching you play Clue with Annabeth and your friends.
He sits through thirty minutes of Travis’ failed attempts at stealing money before he catches sight of you getting up across the room.
The plastic container of money goes flying when Luke stands up too. Paper flutters to the ground as everyone fumbles to catch the crumpled bills.
You mumble something to your group before turning in the direction of the exit.
“Luke!” Cynthia complains. Tiny red hotels land all over the floor. Her empire on the left side of the board has been crushed.
“I uh… gotta piss,” he lies, jumping over the board to catch up with you.
“I win, then!” someone (likely Travis) declares.
Luke leaves the ensuing argument in his rearview as he jogs out the front doors.
You’re insanely fast unfortunately, because you’re already about a third of the way to the bathrooms by the time Luke’s sneakers are even touching the grass.
The sound of the crunching leaves beneath his feet catches your attention immediately, if the way that you start walking faster indicates anything.
“Killer,” he says loudly, so you know it’s him and not some rando following you. “Can I come?”
You turn slowly to face him like you’re in a microwave. A smile is plastered on your face, and though it’s not fake, it’s a little awkward. “To the girl’s bathroom?”
He catches up with you in a few strides, more winded than he’ll admit. “I’ll wait outside, if that’s okay. You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself.”
The upturn of your lips softens into something a little more natural. You tilt your head, extending your hand. “Let’s go then, hero.”
The bathrooms aren’t too far away, so Luke makes sure to drag his feet. You are kind enough to match his pace and not leave him in the dust, even if it means you’re walking at the rate of one yard per minute.
You squeeze his hand, a form of a truce. “How’s Monopoly?”
It makes him happy to know you weren’t ignoring him completely. “Fine. I’ve been giving your sister an extra couple of fifties when no one’s looking.”
A wicked smile spreads across your face. “I expected nothing less from you.”
Luke’s chest burns while he looks at you. He’s said it a million times before, but he wishes you were happy all the time.
“Are you okay?”
Luke knows he’s spoken out of turn, but the way your eyes widen makes it loud and clear.
“Uh, what do you mean?” you say, pulling him to a stop.
“Nothing.” He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “I was just worried about you. You scared me earlier.”
You slip your hand out of his to pat his cheek. “You don’t have to be worried, Luke. I’m fine.”
“You gotta see where I’m coming from, though,” he says, catching your wrist when you try to walk away. “You were crying earlier. I thought you were hurt.”
You frown, then give a weird look to his hand around your wrist. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry, I promise.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, watching you try to slip out of his reach again. “I let you worry about me. Why aren’t you letting me worry about you?”
The look you give him is loaded. “Because I actually need to worry about you. You nearly snapped your neck trying to backflip off the dock yesterday.”
“Pfft. I was fine.”
Luke’s not some rookie. He wants to say that he’s done much more dangerous stunts off of much more dangerous structures, but he has a feeling that won’t go over so well with you.
“And I was fine too,” you argue. “No need to worry.”
“Let’s just say we can both worry, and you tell me what you were crying about.”
You almost look upset. “I wasn’t crying—”
“—Didn’t know there’s another word for when tears are coming out of someone’s eyes—”
You scoff so loudly it practically echoes. “You’re being totally ridiculous, Luke.”
“Killer,” he nearly snaps. “You’re my best friend and I care about you. I don’t think that’s ridiculous.”
His words disarm you. The irritation in your eyes evaporates — your argument fizzles out just as quickly as it started.
The fight leaves you almost immediately. Very quietly, you admit it.
“I had a dream about you.”
Luke knows you hate arguing with him, but he’s surprised you gave in this early on. He was ready for about ten more rounds of back and forth.
You look upset again. He beckons you closer, ready to bat your fears away.
“I get nightmares all the time. You know that better than I do.” Luke’s pleased to see that you step willingly into his reach. He squeezes your upper arms in a way he hopes is soothing. “Half of my bad dreams have to do with something happening to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Luke’s pretty sure he has more nightmares than dreams. He’s seen you die a hundred times over, a fact he’s admitted to you every time he wakes you up with his restless sleep. Sometimes his dreams are about Annabeth or even himself, but you seem to be the most popular star in his night terrors.
When his nightmares are bad enough, they can ruin his entire day. He’s grateful that you’re there for most of them, since your sleepovers are so common. You’re willing to sit with him at ungodly hours of the night, doing nothing but matching each other's breathing until one of you falls back asleep.
When they’re really bad and Luke’s reluctant to let go of you, you play imaginary tic-tac-toe on one of your arms. He’s beyond lucky to have you.
“You coulda just talked to me. Why’re you running away, killer?”
When you’d woken up from your nightmare earlier, you seemed to want to do nothing but get away from him. It would be embarrassing to admit that the thought of that stings, so Luke tries not to think about it.
You shift around nervously on your feet like you’re about to take flight any second. There’s a brief moment where your eyes flicker away from him, and Luke remembers he kind of ambushed you on the way to the bathroom.
“Oh,” he says, embarrassed. “I’ll uh— let you go. My bad—”
You look confused and then irritated all over again. “It wasn’t a nightmare, Luke.”
He turns the information over in his head.
Huh.
You had a dream. About him.
Unfortunately, Luke is a teenage boy.
He laughs.
“You had a dream about me, huh? What kind?”
Whatever emotion was on your face turns quickly into horror. “Not like that, you asshole!”
You whip your head around, walking away faster than Luke can jog. The only reason you probably don’t sprint away is because he drops an arm around your shoulder, sticking you to his side.
He’s still shaking with laughter. You scowl.
You try shoving his face away with the heel of your hand, and you’re very regretful when — as usual — he takes it as an opportunity to lock your hands together.
“Why do I even try?” you grumble to yourself.
For the rest of the walk to the bathroom, you are simmering with anger while Luke smiles, your hands linked in front of you.
“I know! I know, I’m sorry. You looked stressed, I was just kidding.”
(He was only half kidding. He was pretty sure it was that kind of dream.)
“Please never speak. Ever again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees quickly. It’s only a few seconds until you reach the bathrooms, so he lets go of your hand when he’s certain you won’t (rightfully) shove him.
“I’m too nice to you, Luke.” You sigh heavily as you take the steps up to the big building. He trails behind you dutifully. “I’ve made your ego too big. I’m actively hurting the whole camp.”
He gives you a wet kiss on the cheek, lighting up when you don’t wipe it away. “Yeah, yeah, I said I was sorry. Tell me what your dream was about and I’ll let you go.”
“No. You're a dick, but you’re still my friend. If I tell you, your head will get so big that it’ll explode. I already know.”
It is an impulsive decision to ask, “Was I that good?”
“Yes.” Your voice is flat while you push open the door to the bathrooms. “That’s why I was crying.”
Despite the boredom in your voice, Luke catches a glimpse of your smile when you look away.
“Tell me, killer,” he says to the silhouette of your back. He’s sure you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll do you a favor.”
“Already owe me plenty of those.”
“Then you can cash one in right now!”
You sigh loudly again, but Luke knows you’re just being dramatic for fun. You turn around, leaning against the open doorway. There’s a soft gust of wind, and you look rather pretty even when you’re half-glaring at him. The fluorescent lights behind you form a halo over your head.
It’s muffled by your embarrassment, but you say something that sounds like, “I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.”
Luke nearly laughs at the thought, but he knows that you’d take it wrong if he busted out laughing right now. Very calmly, he says, “You gotta speak up, killer. I don’t understand.”
Your hands are clasped together behind your back, probably making creases in the fabric. Very quickly, you repeat, “I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.”
Luke squints. He tilts his head slightly and taps the other side in hopes it’ll fix his hearing issue. “Uh. Say that again?”
You lean forward to shove at his shoulder, your eyes tilted towards the floor.
You’re embarrassed.
“I know you heard it the first time. I’m not saying it again.”
The words ring in his head.
I had a dream that you got a girlfriend.
It wasn’t a hallucination. You actually said that.
He sputters, his face catching on literal fire. “I—oh. I didn’t… couldn’t hear you. Did she… Who was she?”
You roll your eyes at his first choice of question. “I dunno. Some girl.”
Luke definitely feels like there’s more to it, but he’ll take whatever information he can get. “But why were you crying? Was she mean to you?”
You stay quiet. You’re halfway into the building now, shifting away from him.
“She was nice,” you offer, picking at a piece of wood on the pillar you’re leaning on.
“That’s why you were upset?”
You shake your head. “No.”
“Killer.”
“What?”
“Just tell me. I won’t joke, I promise.”
He even tucks hair out of your face because he knows it makes you happy when he does. Something he’s learned about you over the years is that just the right amount of affection will get you to do anything — even admit something you find super embarrassing.
The confession spills out of you without another second of prompting.
“I was sad because you had a girlfriend. And nothing was the same anymore.”
The thought of it is insane to him. Sure, having a girlfriend is something he’s thought about before, but not once has he ever thought about it affecting your friendship.
After all, you’re you. No single person could ever come between that.
“Why?” he asks genuinely. “You’re my best friend. Nothing will change that.”
You step out of the doorway to stand in front of him, which Luke takes as an absolute win.
He opens his arms, and you wrap yourself around his torso. “Thanks, hero. But we weren’t spending any time together when you had a girlfriend. And I get why, but I was just upset.”
This is interesting to him, seeing as finding time for you is like a literal power he has. He once communicated with you through paper and a window when you were isolated with the flu.
Luke gives you a self indulgent shoulder rub. “Why didn’t we spend time together?”
You shrug. “You spent all your time with your girlfriend instead. It was so weird. I couldn’t remember the last time I spoke to you.”
Luke thinks the way you’re so worked up about it is sweet. He understands why you’re upset, but he wishes you knew that there was no possibility of this specific dream becoming real.
Even his nightmares where you’re jumped by an evil Chiron are more likely to happen than him ignoring you.
“I wouldn’t stop talking to you, no matter if I had a girlfriend or not. You’re important to me. I don’t know what I’d do if we weren’t friends.”
You stay quiet with your chin hooked over his shoulder. You don’t really believe him — Luke can tell by the way you don’t settle.
“Okay,” you say.
“Hey. I’m serious.”
“I know.”
He says your real name, and you soften into the hug.
(It’s like his trump card.)
He wonders if thinking like this would make him a bad future boyfriend, but he tells you the truth. “Nothing would change my friendship with you. Not even a girlfriend.”
You pick at a loose thread along the line of his shoulder.
“C’mon, you know me. I’d never stop talking to you. Ever. You come first before anything.”
Luke trails off towards the end of his last sentence. If he did have a girlfriend, that part wouldn’t sound normal, but he says it anyway because it’s true. He would choose you over anyone.
When you lean back, it’s to smile at him. He finds himself reflecting it back to you.
“You done worrying now?” he asks.
You’ve been biting your lip. It’s stained a little red, and he presses his thumb into a spot where you’ve drawn blood.
“Yep. I’m done worrying.”
Luke already knows he has a stupid smile on his face when you close the door to the bathrooms. He just doesn’t care.
a/n. killer is the girl best friend luke tells other girls not to worry about (she is going to sleep in his bed tonight btw.)
i tried to make the end as cheesy and sappy and cringy as i could bc i already Know they were traumatizing anyone at camp who’s ever had a crush on the other lol.
when they were ~16 yrs old they were actually crazy and lacked social cues and didnt realize they were acting like this… theyre so interesting #FREECAMPHALFBLOOD
More Posts from Ijustwannareblogstuff and Others
after hours.
pairing(s): chad meeks-martin x fem!reader
summary: in which chad just can't get enough of you
warning(s): adult content, porn without plot, no spoilers just smut, unprotected sex, soft sex, dick riding written by a professional dick rider, missionary, some dirty talk, mentions of chad wearing a chain that has ur name on it cause i think hes that bf, grammar mistakes because i lack the english speaking ability and unedited work because im incapable of editing my own work.
© msgorillagripcoochie , do not steal or translate my work
"Kiss me." Is the breathless whisper that echoes through the quiet area, he's desperate as if you hadn't been kissing him this whole time. His hands gripping your waist as you fit so perfectly in his lap almost like that it was meant for you to be seated there.
You lean down pecking his lips with a soft giggle and he huffed pulling you back down before you could move to far away from him.
His hand on the back of your neck to hold your there as his tongue slips into your mouth exploring you like he had done so many times before. He moans against your lips at your taste.
He only let's up when he's in need of oxygen "What was that for?" You asked breathless your hand on his bare chest "For being so fucking hot." He hummed biting his lip and thrusting his hips up causing you to laugh "Stop."
He smiled pressing a kiss against the corner of your lips, then your cheek before kissing your jaw nipping lightly at your skin.
"You're so needy." You tease him as he begins to suck marks on your throat. His hands explored your body feeling you up while you sat on his lap.
His hand dragging to your abdomen sliding up under your shirt, his fingers brushing against the skin before he cupped your breast in his hand. He massaged your breast, his thumb circling your hardening bud.
He dropped his hand for a moment to hook his fingers around the hem of your shirt "Take this off."
"This?" You asked with a sarcastic confused voice placing your hands over his."Yes stop messing with me." He whined and you chuckled but pulled the shirt over your head throwing it elsewhere. He leaned his head back take in the sight of you "Wow."
Your cheeks heated up "You see me naked all the time."
"And you get prettier every time." He drops his head kissing the tops of your breasts. His hands explored the uncovered skin as he gripped and kissed you.
His lips wrapping around nipple loving the way you gasp when he took it between his teeth pulling on it. You felt breathless shutting your eyes at the feeling rolling your hips into his.
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment a groan releasing from his throat. He pulled away from you causing you to whine "I hate you."
"Aww who's needy now?" He teased and you pushed his shoulder "Shut up and touch me." He chuckled placing soft pecks on your lips "You're lucky you're cute."
"You're lucky, you're still my boyfriend." He scoffed reaching his hands down to unbutton your shorts "Like you could do any better." You snorted softly moving off of him to slide your shorts and your panties off "I don't know, I probably could."
You were just teasing of course, you probably couldn't do better than someone as sweet and caring as Chad and even if you could you didn't want anyone different.
"Yeah but when I'm inside you it's a different story." He's sliding his shorts down to his thighs when you throw your leg back over his waist to straddle him again.
"Oh you can't tell when I'm faking babe?" He glared holding your hips as you hovered over his cock for a moment "Ha ha ha, you're a real comedian." He says in a monotone voice and before you get to laugh he's pushing you down onto his cock.
He leaned his head back letting a groan "Fuck." You moan your nails digging into his stomach as you close your eyes for a moment.
He traces slow circles on your hips while you shift a little adjusting to his size. He loved watching you, he wasn't ready to say it but he think he might love you.
He held your chin for a moment "Look at me." His voice is soft, he gives you a moment to get yourself together before you open them for him.
He's smiling his sweet stupid smile at you "It doesn't look like you're faking it." It's lighthearted and it makes you laugh "Fuck you." You giggle moving in the space between you and him kissing him.
He hummed against your lips, he held you hips beginning to move you on his cock. You held his shoulders, your nails digging in his skin surely to leave marks that he'd proudly show off tomorrow. He nips at your bottom lip when you pull away soft moans leaving your lips.
You're doing a number on him, he feels like he's on fucking cloud 9, the way you feel around him. He was sure no one had ever made him feel this way.
"You look so good." He moans softly in your ear when you lean against his shoulder. You bite the skin playfully and he chuckled "Come on baby." He begins to meet your thrusts half way, thrusting inside you.
He doesn't stop like he had planned to, he can't help it when his teasing movements turn into him almost fully pounding into you.
He's practically using for his own pleasure but you don't mind not when it makes you feel like this "Don't stop." You beg him holding onto him for dear life. "I wasn't planning on it." He replies breathlessly throwing his head back as you whined into his skin.
Both your moans echo through the room as the two of you begin to lose yourself in each other.
Suddenly he's flipping you over and your back hits the mattress, his hands dropping by your head to hold himself up. He smiles above you the chain that says your name on hangs in your face for a moment.
The new angle making him feel like he was deeper inside you. His thrusts were rough and powerful and when you moved up on the bed he was careful enough to place his hand over the top of your head just in case it hit the headboard.
You're practically seeing stars, your eyes rolling back as your orgasm approached "You're fucking perfect." He sighs out looking at where his cock slid in and out of you.
You don't hear him though to lost in yourself. Your nails are scratching down his back but the pain you brought him only added to the pleasure.
He leaned down licking and nipping at your chest, he was absolutely feral for you if he was being honest. You had a hold on him that no one else has ever had.
You were getting closer, he had the privilege of knowing all your tells, to him you were an open book he could read a thousand times. "Come on, give it to me baby." He muttered in your ear pressing kisses along your skin "Come on."
He dropped his hand to rub your clit stimulating the nerve and you were gone cumming on his cock, your head thrown back looking like something from the nastiest porno. It was amazing, Chad loves seeing you this way.
He dropped his head fucking you through your orgasm while his approached "Please cum inside me." Your voice is breathless, your eyes are hooded. That was truly all he needed was your sultry voice in his ear before he whimpered softly cumming inside you.
He catches his breath looking down at you, he doesn't say anything he doesn't need to as he leans down to kiss you passionately.
He pulls away watching you wiping some sweat off your brow "I should get cleaned up."
"I should join you." He hummed and you laughed "You're a pig, Chad."
"I'll be whatever you want me to be."
a/n: wrote this out of anger because everyone is thirsting for ethan when my boy chad has always been right there. ethan is cute but chad has always been that dude. this isn't proofread, i haven't even reread this so if it sucks yall i am so sorry mama is trying. feel free to request and tell me what you think. IF YOU WANT MORE REBLOG AND COMMENT!!!
“Have you got my- you know you can’t just wear my clothes, right?” with fanon!rafe please
warnings: alludes to sex, nudity!
the sound of the lawnmower outside woke you from your sleep. you scrunched your nose at the sound, knowing you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again and that you would have to get up. you weren’t quite sure why ward insisted on having the grass cut so early in the morning, well, ok, ten isn’t that early. but you were sure you and rafe weren’t the only ones in the house still asleep.
one opening of your eyes tells you that your boyfriend is still sound asleep and you smile softly at just how peaceful and pretty he looks. when he’s awake he’s always stressed and usually a little angry or frustrated. but right now, with the morning sun shining dimly through the white curtain across his face, you’d think he’d never had a single problem in his life.
a door slammed from downstairs and you sighed, knowing you should probably get up. wheezie always asked you to play games or watch movies with her on saturday mornings when you were there and you knew today would be no different. you also knew that you’d rather find her first than have her come in rafe’s room and find the both of you barely clothed. so you carefully lifted yourself from rafe’s hold on your waist, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as the sheets left you bare to the cold air of the room. you quickly tiptoed to his dresser and pulled out some clothes before making your way into the en-suite bathroom for a quick shower.
the hot water felt nice as it trailed over your skin and you let you body relax for a few moments under it. a sigh escaped your lips before you quietly hummed the song stuck on your mind and reached for the shampoo. rafe used to be one of those guys who used dove three in one but after your first horrendous shower at his house he switched to something both of you could use. you were in the middle of rinsing the soap from your hair wen you heard a light knock on the door. you heard it open before you even had the chance to respond and rafe gruff morning voice broke through the otherwise silent room.
“have you seen my-“ he went silent and just as you were about to pull back the curtain and see what was wrong, he was pulling it back for you. “you know you can’t wear only my clothes right?” he held in one hand the clothes you had picked out to put on after your shower- his shirt, a pair of his sweats, and even a pair of his boxers. unaffected by the whole situation, and the fact that he was still standing in front of you naked, you reached for the conditioner.
“and why do you believe that mr. cameron?”
“why do i- because they’re mine!” you rolled your eyes, finally looking back to him for the first time since he ripped open the shower curtain.
“ok, well, it was my virginity but you took that.” rafe’s jaw dropped and a small smirk appeared on your lips.
“i- you- what?”
“you heard me. now are you going to leave me alone and get dressed or are you going to join me?” you watched as he blinked a few times, obviously still trying to process the question. “rafe!”
i’ll join. i’ll join.” he threw the handful of clothing toward the counter behind him and stepped into the tub with you, finally closing the shower curtain behind him.
“you only get to join if you’re gonna let me wear your clothes,” you smiled. rafe sighed and shook his head but then shrugged.
“well, i’m already here. might as well stay.” you handed him the shampoo with a smile and a small kiss.
“good choice.”
Bubblegum
summary: Zed has a bad day and needs an outlet before he goes on a rampage. guess who has to save the town from a possible Zombie attack? yep. it's you or no one.
pairing: Zed Necrodopolis x fem!reader
warnings: smut. AU - canon doesn't exist here. zombies being zombies. biting. this is not your Disney's Zombie.
💌this is a little bday surprise for @therosietoesy 🩷 i'm still working on your request, my dove, fret not. i just wanted to actually gift you something 🥰
bonne fête, ma belle
___________________________🫧
Bubblegum
The thing about Zombies, you learned, is that they need to bite. The Z-Bands keep a lot of things in check, basically slow-release sedation to tamp down those violent urges, but if their heartrates rise above a certain level, the technology is about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
And Zed's heartrate? Well, in the wake of the Prawn's devastating loss—that he shoulders the blame for—and another infestation of creepy creature that wants to whisk Addison away forever, Zed is on the brink of a total meltdown. To put it mildly.
His sockets are already black as the abyss when he finds you behind the school, snarling and spitting as he tries to ask for help, for an outlet; need you, now. He grabs your wrist as soon as you get to your feet and tugs you against him. Red lips curled back, yellowing teeth bared, the monster inside him clawing its way out faster than you'd ever seen.
You give him a pretty smile, "You wanna take this somewhere private, big guy?"
And, no, he fucking doesn't. Can't. Too consumed by thoughts of beating his fat cock into you until you scream. At this point, he can barely string together a sentence, words reduced to throaty animal noise. You giggle, sweet as sugar, and raise one hand to cradle his jaw and boldly sweep your thumb across his bottom lip.
"You're in bad shape, huh?" You comment, not surprised when he snaps his teeth at your thumb.
Breathing labored, eyes boring into you as you gaze so fondly up at him, "Want," he manages to growl. You don't consider it an attack when he grabs you roughly and pushes you against the wall, brittle nails digging into your flesh as he lifts you by the backs of your thighs. A long pause wherein he just pants against your neck and then, "Please."
Such a courteous beast.
His Z-band is practically wailing, the sound reminding you to cast that neat little spell you've been using since you and Zed started this thing.
You mutter the incantation between stinging kisses before he savagely shoves his tongue in your mouth, fucking it in and out as he tries to taste every tooth and ridge and soft piece of tissue. God, you live for these moments. When he's completely at the mercy of his darker side. The side he tries so hard to smother outside of Zombietown. The side you love.
Not to say you don't love the whole package. It's just that you're more exclusive with the monster than the man. Person Zed isn't as...upfront about what he wants with you. Less demanding, more cautious. Meanwhile, Zombie Zed is a lot more decisive and has sunk his teeth into your neck to claim you more times than you can count. Hence the rubber-skin spell. Keeps your skin intact and the Zombie cooties from spreading.
He finally releases your mouth, biting and kissing a trail from your jaw to your pulse point. He pins you to the wall with his hips as his hands claw under your shirt, fisting into the fabric before, without warning, he tears it open. Needy. Desperate. Fucking hungry for you in his ragelust.
You can feel him through his jeans, huge and growing as the Zombie takes over completely, and your mouth waters. This is going to hurt in the best way. He grinds himself against your pussy; sharp, vicious strokes a threat of what's to come, all the while panting and snarling into your skin as he chews chunks of flesh that don't tear away from your throat.
Witches and Zombies really do make the best match, you think greedily, equally as frenzied as you yank his shirt over his head. Then it's skin on skin, your bra in pieces at his feet; his big, calloused hand groping your tit just this side of painful. He grunts, hips moving harder, faster, blunt teeth grazing the soft underside of your chin.
"Want," He rasps again, long fingers teasing under your skirt and pressing insistently between your pussy lips through your panties. In a brief moment of clarity, Zed leans back, expression pleading, "Baby, let me—fuck, I can't—" And then it's gone, the green mist rushing back in, making his eyes wild and his movements stiff as rigor mortis.
You don't even have the chance to give him permission before his fingers dig under the edge of your panties and plunge into you, corkscrewing deep as he growls in delight at how wet you already are for him.
"Mine," Zed bites into your throat, and you don't disagree, moaning as his fingers snap in and out, drilling your sweet spot. "Only mine."
There's no point echoing his sentiment, Zed so far under that he doesn't actually care to hear your thoughts, just wants to make sure you're aware that you're owned. He removes his fingers long enough to rip a hole in your panties, then to get his fly undone—the button flying, zipper torn—and his jeans pulled down enough to free his dribbling cock.
His free hand clenches a chunk of your hair and he angles your head, presses his brow against yours, demanding, "Tell me." He teases the fat head between your lips, pushes in the barest fraction, and smirks when you keen.
For a second, you have no fucking idea what he's asking until you remember, "I want it, Zee."
"Again."
Louder, "I want it, please, Zee."
Zed leans in, nips your earlobe and breathes, "Good girl...perfect little prey for me..." and then, fuck, he spears inside you, the feeling like being split in two. He has one hand on your ass, the other tangled in your hair, his teeth deep in the join of your shoulder and neck.
Every thrust is brutal, punching sighs and whimpers from your chest. He doesn't care if it hurts. He needs this. Needs you like this. And you lose yourself in it as much as he does, your nails mauling welts across his back. The sensation coaxes him to move faster, harder, both hands on your hips now to guide you on his cock exactly how he wants. Your tits bounce as he fucks you with everything he has, your brain scrambled from the sheer fucking strength he has at his disposal.
"Close," He grunts. He sinks to his knees, keeps your back against the wall, and fucks up into you with abandon. His head thrown back, lips parted, eyes clamped shut in ecstasy. "Fuck, baby, gonna come."
He slams into you a few more times and then roars his release, biting into your neck with the intention of ripping flesh from bone. Zed stays like that, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills an ungodly amount of Zombie seed, so much that some oozes around his cock. He hitches his hips three, four, five more times before going still.
The wailing soundtrack of his Z-band finally stops. You don't actually need that to tell you he's slowly returning to normal. His muscles loosen marginally, his skin warms; popped veins shrink and his skin adopts a less sickly hue. Still grey, just less dead. It takes a minute for him to calm all the way down, and when he does, he removes his teeth from your neck and lifts his head.
You smile at him, gentle, fond, "Hey, big guy. You with me again?"
Zed swallows. Nods. His gaze falls between your joined bodies, and he licks his lips at the sight before glancing back up at you.
"Did I hurt you?" He has to know, his concern palpable.
"No." You promise, "You never actually do."
He doesn't look like he believes you, but he doesn't argue. Not today, anyway. You watch him take in your torn shirt and basically disintegrated panties and bra. With a cringe, he hands you his shirt.
"You know, one day I'm going to bill you for everything you've shredded," You say playfully in an effort to prove you're okay.
It works, "You'd think by now you'd start bringing an extra set of clothes with you." He teases back, smirking. It's the first time that he's acknowledged how he gets when the Zombie takes the wheel, and you almost miss it because you can't get your brain to get your mouth to work fast enough.
"You keep saying 'this is the last time, cutie, I swear'," You parody his voice as you roll your eyes. "So, why would I prep for something that isn't suppose to happen?"
And Zed looks utterly confused—still cockdeep inside you, mind you, hardly softened at all.
"I mean the last time I'll be rough. You know that I've claimed you, like, eight times," He says, again acknowledging for the first time what happens when his inner Zombie comes out.
You're almost stunned at how casual he's suddenly being about everything after months of ashamed side-eye and stilted aftercare.
"I think that's a pretty convincing argument to be prepared, babe." He tacks on, his expression telling you that you should've known.
Gaping at him, "Wait, I thought all of that was heat of the moment stuff?" You blink wide eyes at him, almost falling back on your ass when he dislodges you and helps you to your feet.
"Heat of the mo—You know I'm still me when I'm Zombied Out, right?"
Actually. No. You didn't know that. You assumed up to this point that Person Zed and Zombie Zed were completely separate entities with conflicting views on what they want from you.
Oops.
"So, when you say I'm yours...?" You ask slowly, not quite able to believe that this whole time you've possibly been Zombie married.
Zed scoffs, hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you into his body, his gaze turning dark and heated. "It means your mine, baby girl." And then, "Why the fuck do you think I come to you when I'm having a meltdown?"
"...because I don't scream in terror and run away?"
"You're an idiot." Zed snorts as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.
You shrug, "Apparently, I'm your idiot."
In playful retaliation, Zed nibbles your neck, bites and pulls the skin, chuckles, "Definitely mine." Then, dangerously, "but it looks like I gotta make sure you really understand what that means," he murmurs right as his Z-band beeps its first alert.
fin.
🫧___________________________
also on AO3!
Can you make a smutty 1shot that lead 2 the ‘drunkenly mistake’ pls
WASSUP BULLET
WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT, DRINKING
——
“I’m not talkin’ to you O’Conner . Matter of fact. How did you find me. Wait — I don’t wanna know,” Carson rolled her eyes, as she took another sip of her drink. “You’re a cop right? That’s just professional stalkin’.”
“I told you I quit,” Brian said, sitting down with a corona in hand.
They were currently at one of Tej’s cribs, everyone had vacated apart from them, something Brian manufactured. They were sitting on opposite ends of an L-shaped leather couch. The lights were dim and slow Jams played in the through the room.
“But you went back, workin’ undercover ‘cause they’re on your ass and now you’re stuck doin’ shit you don’t wanna do.” She pointed out, rolling her eyes at his shocked expression. “Your friend told me.”
“Dammit Roman,” he cursed, facing her with apprehension, “It’s not what you think.”
Carson shrugged, “You’re a cop O’Conner. You’re a liar, you lied to me, and I don’t even know why I’m sayin’ this to you. Leave, so I can get back to drinkin’”
He dismissed what she said, and leaned forward on his knees, “Why are you drinkin’? I thought Pink Gin was your favourite.”
Carson was drinking a Corona as well, something he never thought to see.
She tensed, “Things change people change.”
“You haven’t changed,” he shook his head.
“I had to. Repeatin’ mistakes is kinda my thing. Fall for bad men, liars, manipulators… I had to change so it doesn’t happen again. It can’t happen again.”
She wasn’t wearing her infamous pink clothes. She pulled off black effortlessly, but it wasn’t her. He knew that.
“You’re smart Carson, you have a big heart,” he said.
“Don’t pretend that you know me,” Carson scoffed.
“I love you.” That’s how I know you.
“Ewww, stop. Go. I don’t need to hear this bullshit,” she grimaced.
Brian sighed, “It’s not bullshit. I wouldn’t lie about that. Ever.”
“Sure,” she said wryly, side eying him when he seemed to shift closer.
“I’ll prove it to you.”
“No you won’t ‘cause I know you.”
“You do. All those shitty things I did, hurt you. But you know that I could take it back in a heartbeat.” He said, so sure of himself. “But I’ll prove it to you. This to you. Let’s play a game.”
“No,” she took a swig of her drink and averted her gaze.
“A drinkin’ game. You answer the question, I drink. You don’t answer, you take an item of clothin’ off.”
Her eyes widened, “You’re sick.”
“What do you have to lose?”
“Nothin’ thanks to you.” She retorted, his face stilled.
He cleared his throat, “Let me make it —“
“— up to me. I know.” She groaned, realising he wasn’t gonna leave her alone. She doubt he ever would. “Fine. Hearin’ your voice is more bearable when I’m drinkin’.” She mockingly gestured to him, “Ladies first, you start.”
His stupid grin made her roll her eyes again.
“Do you still love me?” He asked, gaze trained on her, waiting an answer.
“Really?”
“Yes really.”
Brian suppressed a sigh when she didn’t answer but let his eyes wonder as she peeled off her shirt. Red lace caught his attention, the detailed bra he couldn’t help but fixate on.
“My eyes are up here.”
His eyes flickered up, to see her slightly glare, “I know. Your turn.”
She clicked her tongue before asking, “Have you hooked up with anyone since me?”
“No,” he didn’t hesitate.
She laughed, “Liar.”
Brian rolled his shoulders back, adding on, “I’ve tried. To get over you. But all I could think about was you.”
Carson begrudgingly took a sip of her drink realising he was telling the truth. She wasn’t how to take it, sure, it was a compliment or at least she thought it was. But he also wanted to forget her, get over her with various women.
“Have you hooked up with anyone since me?” Brian asked, maintaining eye contact.
“Yes.”
He clenched his jaw at the blatant lie, “Don’t lie to me Carson.”
“Fine no.” Brian grinned against his drink as he took a sip. “Shut up.”
“Lyin’ should mean you should take somethin’ else off…”he trailed off.
She quirked a brow, “You just wanna get me naked.”
He would never say no to that, “I want you. I can’t deny that Sonny.”
“Don’t call me that. And fine. The games the game, I’ll take somethin’ off.” Her shoes came off. “And now that’s three. This is unfair.”
“The game is the game.”
She scoffed, “Ugh, I shouldn’t have agreed for this.”
“Fine look.” Brian stripped off his top, amused that her eyes flickered to his chest. “Come closer.”
“What? No,” her nose scrunched up.
“You scared?” He teased.
“No.” She reluctantly shifted closer, not wanting to give him any satisfaction, “now drink.”
Brian took an another swig, before taking off his converse sneakers.
“You didn’t have to…” she trailed off.
“I know,” He nodded.
Two more bottles were opened, their words started to slur and bodies relaxed. Carson preferred to strip than be honest, Brian just liked taking off his clothes.
“Do you want to go?” He asked, staring into her eyes.
“No.” It was the alcohol talking, she told me herself. “Do you want to stay?”
“No,” he answered cheekily.
“Liar.”
Brian stripped down to his boxers and socks.
“You did that on purpose,” Carson accused, taking an unnecessary sip.
Both of them ended up drinking more. One bottle turned to two.
“You miss me,” he said.
She took of her skirt and socks, leaving her in her red underwear.
He was practically drooling.
“You want me,” she stated.
Brian took off his socks as if he didn’t want to scream ‘yes’ at the top of his lungs.
“You love me.”
Carson stilled, before unclipping the back of her bra, letting it drop to her lap, before pushing it onto the floor.
Brian’s eyed her hungrily, senselessly shuffling closer.
“What was it that I did to you, that had you so horny?” She groaned at the question, despite the goosebumps rising all over her body. “Come on, tell me. Our secret.” He gestured between them, “Was it the neck kisses? I know how much you loved them.” His eyes were hungry with lust. “Or just me going down on you in public?”
“Brian.”
“You called me Brian,” he grinned. She had been calling him O’Conner all day, to prove a point and he was sick of it.
“That’s your name genius,” she sassed.
“Answer the question. You don’t. You still have a lot of clothes left to take off.” A thong was hardly anything, which is exactly why he wanted them gone. “Was it when I gripped your thigh when I was drivin’? Or stared at you and nothing else when I was speedin’?” Her breath hitched when she caught the veins in his hands. “Remember when you told me to pull over and just jumped on me.”
“I did not jump on you,” that caused him to lean closer, face contorting as he lifted a hand to lightly brush over her face, making her squirm in her seat.
“Rode me so hard, I forgot my own name.” He said lowly, “Come on tell me, baby.” He licked his lips, drawing her heated gaze. “What about me did you miss so much? That you couldn’t let someone else touch you ‘cause it wouldn’t be the same. I know what it was about you.”
“What was it?” She asked quietly.
“I’ll tell you when you sit on my lap.”
He thought he would be met with an argument, a fuss, but she slid across so easily, straddling his lap as he caressed her waist.
“You wanted this all along,” she tsked, playfully shaking her head.
“Never stopped,” he said, dipping his down to kiss each of her breasts, emitting a small ‘fuck’ from the Baker Driver. “That’s what I missed. The moans. No one sounds like you. No is better than you,” he groaned when she started to move against him, grazing his hardened state as she grinded against him. “That’s it, good girl.”
“We shouldn’t.” She said breathily.
He tugged her closer, “We should.”
“Suki’ll be back soon.”
“Then we’ll have to be quick.”
“You were never quick,” she whimpered.
“And you’re never quiet baby, just keep moving like that.” He guided her hips. He was painfully hard. “Shit. I’ve missed you. Just like that.”
She bit down on her bottom lip, “Just like that.”
“You just had to wear this red number didn’t you?” His fingers briefly trailed over her thong.
A small giggle escaped her, “Prefer it to pink?”
“Nothing will beat pink on you. But this, shit.”
Their lips finally met in a lustful frenzy. She gripped his hair, whilst pulling his boxers down, and the next they knew his dick was freed. He slid it under her, pulling her hips back down and moving her thong to the side. At the sensation of his dick rubbing her slit, she threw her head back with a whine. Desire roared through her like a bullet.
She was dripping against him.
Carson’s head tilted back as she rolled her hips.
His hands moved to grip her ass, encouraging her to keep riding him. All she could feel was him. All she wanted to feel was him. Gasps and moans slipped from her as she allowed herself to be overtaken and drawn into an ocean of pleasure. She could feel herself rising higher and higher, riding the wave. Her mind was becoming delirious from the fire in her veins and the motion of her hips rocking over his exposed dick.
“That’s it.” Brian grunted, he couldn’t look away, thrusting against her making her back arch. “And you wanted to lie and say you didn’t miss me, huh,” He licked a scalding line up her sternum, only to swirl his tongue around one of her nipples, making her cry out. "Come, baby."
She chanted. "Please."
He watched her unashamedly as her orgasm hit her. Her lips parted, eyes closed and head thrown back, mewing loudly. After her euphoric wave washed over, Brian’s thrust staggered, before he retracted his dick and spurting onto her stomach.
“Fuck.”
Ragged breaths escaped her as she stared at him, struggling for breath.
Seconds passed when Brian thought regret seeped through, but she instead, gently palmed his cheek, bashfully and drunkenly smiling at him before drawing him into a sweet kiss.
He whispered, “Let’s go to my place, we can continue this there.”
——
a/n:
thank you for the request, took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do. Alcohol and feelings shouldn’t mix!
Goth CC Finds + Links ☠
So since the new goth kit is coming out, there is a lot of controversy surrounding it. Many people saying its not enough, not the correct style, or they simply cant afford it. Today I present you with an alternative! Shining a light on the CC community, I have for you 30 links to different packs, clothes, hair, accessories, and makeup revolving around the goth style.
Please enjoy these finds & keep in mind that the Goth style is very broad & has many types of styles to it, as this is my own interpretation. ~ DelSolSasha
from left to right
✩| 1 2 3 4 5 6 |✩
✩| 7 8 9 10 11 12 |✩
✩| 13 14 15 16 17 18 |✩
✩| 19 20 21 22 23 24 |✩
✩| 25 26 27 28 29 30 |✩
Also, don't forget to check these cc creator's full websites & patreons because there is sooooo many great goth finds on their pages!
Thank you to the wonderful cc creators who are beyond talented | @bluecravingcc | @evellsims | @bloodmooncc | @sixamcc | @madlensims | @simcelebrity00 | @daylifesims | @aharris00britney | @aladdin-the-simmer | @pralinesims | @trillyke | @/reginaraven | @uxji | @luumia | @/tomichan | @busra-tr | @atomiclight | @lonelygravescc | @/YNRTG-S | @pinkycustomworld | @remussirion | @/seleng |
OBX3 SPOILERS
BRO I CANT BELIEVE THEY ENDED THE FINALE ON THE CLIFFHANGER WHYD KIARA SHOOT CLEO INSTEAD OF RAFE I KNEW TO NEVER TRUST A BITCH W A WHITE MOM
come into my bedroom
description. you and JOAQUÍN TORRES take a week long vacation to the beach together. just a week on the coast, spending time in each other's bubble, without falling for each other ... probably. visuals
includes. coworkers to friends to lovers, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader has been kept as ambiguous as possible (hair type, skin color, body type, place of birth, etc), reader is able to tan, the location is ambiguous, slight spoilers for brave new world, takes place after bnw, protected p n v sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom! joaquín, reader is called "baby" a couple of times
wc. 12.3k+
a/n: title from champagne coast by blood orange. i tried to keep where they vacationed as ambiguous as possible, but it's definitely at least a little bit obvious. for my bsf who recently got back from miami. thanks to @luckypunklemonade for beta reading :D
You’re drunk.
No, you’re not drunk. You’re too drunk, inching towards shitfaced. You’re still here, at least here enough to walk beside Joaquín down the street towards your hotel, but you’re not really here. You know you’re not exactly walking in a straight line, and you know where you’re heading, but you don’t know how long you’ve been walking. You could’ve left the club five minutes or 50 minutes ago.
You weren’t going to get this drunk. Honest. You and Joaquín were just going to go out, have a few drinks, and go back to your separate rooms.
But the music was good, and the drinks were good, and the people were good, and suddenly you and Joaquín are drunk and navigating your way down the street. Well, he’s navigating your way. You’re just trying to keep up with his long strides.
He walks a little in front of you the entire time, slightly more rigid, and a little less drunk than you are. You’ll probably be at his level in another half hour, that is if you get something in your stomach by then. Every so often, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there. You thought about hooking a hand around his elbow to keep him close, but the thought entered your mind and left before you could act on it.
There’s not much small talk happening, but you don’t mind it that way. You’re focused on making your feet pick up and land one (mostly) in front of the other. Actually, you’re focused on walking and finding an open food spot on the way.
One part is going fine, the walking part, but you’re still blearily searching for something to eat. You pass bars and closed businesses, restaurants that require reservations weeks in advance, one of them you think you and Joaquín actually have a table at later this week, but nothing quick and greasy. Which is exactly what you need before calling it a night.
Joaquín calls your name and you hum.
“You up for stopping in right here?” He points to the side and you look around his wide shoulders to find your saving grace. It’s like he read your mind, or maybe you’d been audible harping on about wanting something to eat the entire time. Right now, either seems plausible.
Either way, you nod and let Joaquín hold the door open for you.
You and Joaquín end up sitting across from each other at a tiny outdoor metal table. With the wind blowing against your skin as you’re sipping freezing cold water from a to-go cup, you finally realize how hot you’ve been this entire time. You lift your skirt up a bit to press your thigh against the cool metal and a sigh pushes out front your lips. Your eyes fall shut as you just sit in the moment.
“You still drunk?” Joaquín speaks from across the table.
You open your eyes and destroy your brief peace to glare at him as you wrap your lips around your straw. “What do you think?” you ask him only when the cool liquid has slid down your throat.
He laughs. “First night here and you’ve already gotten shitfaced.” He shakes his head as if he’s ashamed of you, but the playful glint in his eyes keeps you at ease.
“It’s your fault!” you accuse. “You’re the one who made friends with that couple. They kept buying us drinks.”
Joaquín throws his hands out to the side in a surrender. “I’m not going to say no to free drinks. Don’t blame me!”
He’s right. Even if he wasn’t, you aren’t in the arguing mood anymore. You would rather finish the greasy taco sitting limp in your hands. And you do.
You’re not being very attractive about it, though, you can tell from the way the juice slides down your fingers and around your mouth, but that’s not really the point to all of this.
Besides, you and Joaquín are just coworkers and friends. Just two coworkers/friends on vacation together. Sitting across from each other in front of a taco spot, fighting for sobriety as you occasionally lock eyes between large bites. There’s no reason for you to be attractively drunk eating when you’re only with your coworker/friend.
You finish the last bite, wipe around your mouth with a crumpled napkin and throw it onto your empty tray, looking up to find Joaquín already looking at you. He has this look on his face, nothing different from the one he usually wears—soft eyes and a softer smile—but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the city lighting and your drunkenness that’s skewing the meaning. You’re going to blame both factors for the flutter in your heart, too.
Neither of you say anything for a moment and in that moment, a thought flashes across your mind. It’s quick and fleeting, but still strong enough to evoke a reaction. Just a thought of you leaning over this small table and pressing your lips to Joaquín’s. And the thought was truly fleeting, but you bring it back and sit in it to imagine how he would reciprocate with his hands on your lower back, big palms resting on the strip of skin between your top and skirt, and he would taste like lime and alcohol and when you pulled away he would have a look almost identical to this one on his face.
Joaquín’s eyebrows push together, skewing the soft look he wore before and knocking you out of your drunken trance.
“What’s that look?” he asks.
You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”
His gaze lingers for a moment, but then he licks his lips and cleans up his area. “You think you’re sober enough to walk back now?”
You scoff and attempt to make a point by quickly standing to your feet. When you wobble, it’s because your shoe didn’t land right on the concrete. Honest!
You have a crush on Joaquín.
You don’t know why you’re realizing it here and now—laying in a hotel bed on vacation first thing in the morning. You don’t even know how long this crush has been here, but you know for sure you have a crush on Joaquín Torres, your partner/coworker/friend.
You thought your little image from last night was fleeting, nothing but a drunken thought that you let yourself imagine for less than a minute, but it proved to be way more than that because when you got back to your room, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.
As you took your makeup off, you thought about Joaquín waiting in your room for you to finish, snuggled under the blankets and scrolling through the channels on the TV until you came out of the bathroom in his shirt. As you climbed in the shower you imagined him standing at the sink brushing his teeth and humming that song he’s always singing but you never ask the name of. As you finally climbed into bed and clicked the lights off, you imagined fighting for covers with him and sleepily talking about your plans for the next day.
It was so domestic and loving and absolutely sickening and unexpected.
Well, maybe you should have expected it. At least a little.
Joaquín is kind of the perfect guy. Everyone in your life made sure you were aware of it. He was funny, attractive, hard working, and easy to get along with. Even his flaws—his incessant nature and occasional annoyance for one—was quickly reworked as lovable in your head.
You struggled with falling asleep for at least a half hour last night, and as soon as you knocked out, you were out. You might not have remembered your dreams but you knew deep in your mind and body that he was there.
Just as he is here now, standing in front of you early in the morning, wearing a bright smile and an athletic set.
“No,” you sternly shut him down before he can even say anything.
Joaquín’s jaw drops and he wears a mixture of shock and humor. “C’mon, you didn’t even let me say anything.”
“I know what you’re gonna say, Torres. I’m not going to some ‘sick workout class’ when we’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“Oh, so we’re on last name basis again?” He crosses his arms over his chests and widens his stance. “I thought we moved past that.”
“If you ask me to come with you then we’re back to last name basis, yeah.”
He pouts and it’s so stupidly cute that you want to slam the door in his face. “Don’t let the hangover speak for you. I know you secretly wanna come workout with me.”
You squint at him accusingly, leaning into the doorframe. “‘m not hungover.”
“Uh-huh. How’s the headache?” He’s obviously not buying your shit.
“I don’t have a headache.” Bullshit and you both know it.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks you instead, this time lacking any suspense. For a moment, he seems like he’s actually wondering how you slept.
“Like a baby.”
“Then that means you should be energized enough to go for a workout. It won’t be bad. It’s only an hour.”
You shake your head. “That’s an hour that I could be sleeping.”
“And basically waste the whole day away? That doesn’t sound like the partner I know and love.”
You don’t let your mind linger on that word, especially when you know he doesn’t mean it like that. But still, knowing that Joaquín has some sort of love for you makes your chest feel all airy and glittery.
“Yeah because that partner isn’t here right now. We’re on vacation.”
Joaquín doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. Instead, he tilts his head and fully pouts, lips pushed out and eyes big. He’s not backing down and truthfully, it might be better for you just to say yes and halfass the entire session.
Finally, he reasons with you. “I’ll buy you a smoothie afterwards. Whatever overpriced shit you want. Fair?”
Fair enough.
Compared to what you’re used to, the workout is quick, but it’s certainly not painless. The instructor, some woman with much more energy than you’re willing to exert on vacation, seemed to find pleasure in kicking your asses. For a brief moment there when you were catching your breath and wiping your forehead on a towel, you wondered if she could be some big and bad super villain hiding in plain sight. That would explain the inhuman stamina, and the almost eerie cheery personality, but other than that your theory didn’t make much sense. And even if it did, you were on vacation. Now wasn’t the time to seek out trouble that wasn’t presenting itself.
The only thing that pushed you through the entire thing was looking over at Joaquín, one because of how attractive he looked with sweat glistening along his tanned skin, and two because you refused to let him show you up, even if the workout was his idea.
You will admit, though, that every time he lifted his shirt to wipe his forehead, your knees did feel just a little weaker and your last rep in a set was not nearly as strong as it could’ve been when you heard him grunting beside you.
You couldn’t understand it. You and Joaquín workout together all the time. You train together, sometimes with Isaiah and Sam, sometimes with friends of friends, sometimes with just each other. You’re used to seeing him sweat, you’re used to hearing his grunts and breaths, you’re used to all of it. But something about all of this happening now is making you lose your mind.
As soon as the class ended, relief entered your entire body.
The relief certainly didn’t last for long, though.
Since you did what Joaquín wanted to do that morning, he did what you wanted to do right after. Before you could even really think about it, you happily suggested sunbathing on the beach until you were too hot or hungry to continue, whichever came first.
It wasn’t until Joaquín slyly grinned and sang your name that you realized what you signed up for.
“You tryna see me shirtless?” he teased at the time. And you rolled your eyes and called him a freak and continued walking down the hall towards your rooms, but as soon as you were behind the closed door you were digging into your suitcase to find the cutest swimsuit you brought.
Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything.
As soon as your bare toes are sinking into warm sand, you slowly feel yourself relax. Slowly.
Laying on your back in a swimsuit that was a nice mix between cute and attractive, your eyes closed, your ears full of a playlist you made just for this occasion, the sun radiating down on your skin. It’s easy to forget everything laying just like that. The breeze cools your skin as soon as you get too warm, the sun heats you back up as soon as you get too cold. Absolutely nothing to worry about except how long you’ve been laying on one side and when you should flip over.
Absolutely no stressors.
Until Joaquín speaks.
“Do me a favor and get my back?”
You peek an eye open and lift your sunglasses up to see Joaquín standing next to you, holding out a bottle of sunscreen.
You don’t mean to hesitate, but you still do. It takes a moment to process his question, and it takes another moment to find an answer, even though the clear one is yes. If he wasn’t standing there without a shirt, wearing forest green trunks that hung low on his hips, and his skin wasn’t glistening in the daylight, it wouldn’t have taken nearly half the time to help him out.
“What would you do without me?” You try not to let your voice falter while you watch him massage sunscreen onto his chest, but you’re sure the little dip at the end of your sentence was noticeable.
Joaquín just tilts his head and tosses the bottle into your lap.
It’s not awkward. At least you don’t think it’s awkward. You rub the sunscreen on Joaquín’s skin as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sturdiness of his muscles beneath your hand. You know how fit he is, it’s impossible for you not to know since you’ve been working with him for a while now. But knowing and knowing are two different things.
Seeing is not the same as feeling.
Feeling his muscles as you work them beneath your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, grazing your hand lightly over the scars littering his skin, only lingering for a second on the life altering scar that trails down from the side of his neck to his shoulder. You try not to touch it too much. He hasn’t talked to you much about the accident, not since you visited the hospital with high quality food instead of flowers for him. Even then, he joked around it, even if you saw sorrow in his eyes like you’d never seen Joaquín wear before.
You rubbed the sunscreen down his back and finished above the waistband of his trunks. Not even a second later did he look over his shoulder and down at you through a squint. “Now let me do you,” he urged without leaving much room for argument.
Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room.
You shook your head. “‘m okay, I already got it.”
Joaquín turns around to face you completely. He laughs through a quick puff of air, his lips pulled up at the corners. “Barely. I saw you struggling over there. C’mon, let me top it off for you.”
His hands take the sunscreen bottle from you, but he doesn’t put any in his palm. Not yet. For now, he stares at you, eyebrows lifted, waiting for you to give him the final answer.
You turn around, moving whatever needs to be moved to give him basically full reign over your back.
The first touch makes you jump, even if you were expecting it. You hear him quietly apologize under his breath, and you quietly brush it off, but you aren’t sure if your response was heard or if it was carried off with the wind.
He continues in silence.
You’ve had Joaquín’s hands on you before. A hand clasped in yours to pull you up, a touch fixing your posture when he was showing you a new trick Isaiah taught him before, a finger jabbed into your side when he walked past you. But again, this is much different.
Having Joaquín’s bare hands on your bare back makes you tense up, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He rubs with a lot more attention to detail than you did; he reaches beneath the straps of your top with curt permission, and even asks if he can get the backs of your arms too.
By the time he finishes, you’ve started to relax just a bit, to the point where the expected disappearance of his hand on your back feels unwanted. Joaquín’s hands are big and soothing, you could do with them on your skin for the rest of your life.
Of course, you don’t tell him that. Not just because it would be completely inappropriate, but because he would never let you live it down. He would go the lengths to change his phone contact to Joaquín “best hands there ever were” Torres.
Which is just a step below Joaquín “best co-worker there ever was” Torres.
Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the beach day without much trouble. You tan until you don’t think you could tan anymore. Joaquín lays next to you most of the time, besides when he began to feel fidgety and he ran to grab both of you drinks, and pre-cut fruit for you, as an excuse to stretch his legs. You used the few minutes of solitude to text your group chat about the agony you accidentally put yourself into. Agony that was only made worse by Joaquín coming back with two drinks in one hand, fruit still in its rind in the other, and his newly tanned skin glistening from sweat in the sunlight.
Shortly after, you had to leave and take a cold shower to get your head on straight.
You think you’re doing pretty good at ignoring your feelings. You know you have a crush on him, but acting on it would change nearly too much, and a lot in your lives—his especially—has already changed. It’s not a leap you think you’re ready to make yet, so you’ve been ignoring your feelings.
Over the course of the past couple of days, you and Joaquín have been spending your time doing every relaxing thing you could think of. Decompressing at that same club from the first night, but leaving as soon as the crowd proved to be very different from before—more rowdy for the hell of it and less generous in general. Eating at trendy, overrated lunch spots, or underrated hole-in-the-wall dinner spots. Spending a little too much money on new clothes but enabling each other anyway, because the shirt might look similar to another one that you already have but that shirt back home wasn’t that shirt there in your hands, so you needed it.
There were just two nights left and then you would have to pack all your stuff, somehow fit in more new clothes than you anticipated, and return to the real world. One that entailed mission debriefs and learning how to work new tech. The only thing you were looking forward to about the real world was Sam, since he happened to be a natural barrier between you and Joaquín. It’ll be hard to focus on how badly you wanted to be underneath the Falcon whenever Captain America was in the vicinity providing tasks that required your full attention.
But that is days away. For now, you’re going to try and enjoy the remainder of your all too quick vacation as much as possible. Even though you’re becoming more and more tense as you go on, a tension that your fingers beneath your panties hasn’t been able to fix yet.
You didn’t think your behavior was noticeable, but Joaquín notices more than you thought.
The two of you are walking side by side down the boardwalk. You’ve been fairly silent throughout, but not for any particular reason. Silence made sense to you, there wasn’t much to talk about right now.
Apparently, Joaquín felt different.
“What’s up with you?”
You furrow your eyebrows, quickly trying to figure out if you did something wrong between the walk from your hotel to the walk at the start of the boardwalk. Coming up short, you ask for clarification. “What do you mean?”
“I mean why’re you so tense? Isn’t this relaxing for you?”
Yeah, this is relaxing for you. Walking side by side, letting the beach breeze blow your dress in the wind. Showered, fed, at the end of your vacation, this moment you exist in is like heaven. It’s a little too much like heaven, a perfect plane where the guy you’ve been crushing on is wearing a button up with the first two buttons undone so you can see the fresh tan he has and the gold glint of the chain he wears instead of his dog tags.
It’s hard to relax when right beside you is someone you’ve wanted so badly, and he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted.
“I’m not tense,” you finally respond. Although it’s a lie.
“You so are,” Joaquín counters, “let me show you what you look like walking around here.” He takes a few quick strides ahead of you, and then pulls his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his spine, and walks with a little too much purpose. He looks odd and menacing. And definitely not like you.
You tell him as such.
He turns around to face you, grinning and walking backwards. “Okay I did take some creative liberties there, but you do look tense.” He turns back around and slows until he returns to a stride right beside you again. “What’s wrong? Do you wanna do something else?”
You shake your head. “No. This is fine. I like doing this.”
Joaquín takes a moment and you see him look down at you from the corner of your eye. “Then what’s up? Anything you wanna get off your chest?”
God, you should just tell him the truth. Well, not the full truth.
Joaquín is chill personified. If you told him that you’re wound up sexually, he would likely make a joke about it, then brush it off and avoid asking you about it again. Friend to friend, you could just let off some steam—verbally!, although the other option is much more preferable—and then hopefully feel better.
But just imagining yourself saying those words makes you tense even more and you have nothing to do but shake the thought out of your mind completely.
“No. ‘m okay. I was just … thinking. But not anymore.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second and you don’t know if he believes your lie. But he moves past it. He points to an ice cream shop to your right, and you swerve for the window.
You and Joaquín end up sitting side by side on the beach, willingly letting sand press into your nice clothes but neither of you care much. You have a dinner reservation soon, and you’ve just been killing time—and also your appetite, but you and Joaquín both swore to eat dinner. Even if you’re devouring ice cream cones. Truthfully, this is a perfect way to end your night, sitting by your partner's side, letting the world exist around you both.
The breeze blows against your skin. You and Joaquín sit with your bare toes digging into the sand, shoes having been discarded to the side, your shoulders close enough to brush against the other if either of you move. You’re looking off at the ocean, watching people enjoy the evening air around you both as you sit in a moment of stillness. There’s paragliders, a few jet skis, some boats, and a large cruise ship sailing into the port.
Joaquín points off at the ship with the hand not holding his waffle cone.
“We should cruise for our next vacation.”
You turn to face him, tilting your head to the side. “Our next vacation?”
Joaquín nods. “Yeah. We should make this a regular thing. You know we work well together.”
That you do. You grin and knock your shoulder into his. “Let’s hope Sam doesn’t start feeling left out.”
Joaquín laughs with a quick exhale through his nose. “He’s definitely having the time of his life back home.”
You’re unable to stop yourself from grinning as you imagine it—Sam working back home, likely enjoying the rare lull in the terror that the three of you have been fighting and will continue fighting. “He’s probably blasting Marvin Gaye over the speakers in the office.”
This gets a real laugh from Joaquín, likely because he, too, can see it perfectly.
Your laughter dies down and for a few moments, you and Joaquín sit in comfortable silence.
Then, “You been having fun?”
You hum. “Yeah. It’s nice not having to deal with—” you gesture vaguely in the air and Joaquín nods beside you. “Especially after everything.” You don’t say it exactly, but you know Joaquín still understands you. He knows you’re talking about his accident.
You weren’t even the one in danger, having stayed grounded on the ship, but the horrors still settle deep in your heart some nights. Things are repaired, or currently being repaired in the case of D.C, but everything still feels so fragile to you sometimes.
Which is why you’re so glad to be here with him at your side, reminding you that he’s okay. Everything’s okay.
Joaquín takes a breath as if he’s about to speak. You turn to look at him. He’s staring off at the sunset, his face mostly stoic except for a slight twitch in his eyes, a flare of his nostrils, and his jaw clenching. “For a moment there when I was falling out of the sky, and when I could barely move my body on my own in the hospital I was worried that I wouldn’t get the chance to see places like this again. To … you know…” he hesitates and you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep going if he doesn’t want to. You and Joaquín have avoided talking about the day his heart stopped, and you don’t have to start now. But then he inhales through his teeth and continues. “To see home.”
Your breath hitches and your eyes sting. Without thinking too much about it, you scoot closer into Joaquín’s side, tilting your head and resting it on his shoulder. Immediately upon contact, Joaquín wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you fully into his side.
“I’m glad you’re here with me, Joaquín.”
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says your name at the end, echoing you but somehow sounding more earnest. More meaningful.
He places a kiss on the top of your head and in that moment you decide you could stay here just like this for the rest of your life. It all settles in your body at one time, the realization that you want Joaquín, you’ve known that for a while, but you want more than his body.
You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety.
“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” he continues, “Is that why you’ve been tense? Because I promise I’m okay. It was scary for a bit but my heart’s fine and I feel fine physically—”
“No. It’s not that, Joaquín. I promise I was just a little tense but I’m good now, too.”
He nods once. “Okay.” He pulls his phone out and checks the time. He doesn’t say anything for a while as if he doesn’t want to disrupt the energy, but he speaks eventually. “If we wanna make our reservation we gotta leave now.”
He stands to his feet and puts a hand out for you to grab. You take a moment to look at the sun setting and to finish the rest of your ice cream in one bite, then you take another moment to look at him. With resolution, you place your hand in Joaquín’s and let him pull you to your feet.
Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore.
It’s not like you’re exactly able to ignore how bad you want Joaquín when you’re at dinner with him, sitting in such an intimate setting—sat at a small table tucked in the corner of the restaurant next to a window looking out on the street, his tan skin lit by candlelight and ambient low lighting around the both of you.
Having just come from the beach, the two of you are still wearing the same outfits (now without as many grains of sand as possible), meaning you have an even better view of Joaquín’s chest and the chain sitting right below his collarbones. He looks so nice and put together—his curls out more than you’ve ever seen them before, his face a little unshaven and adding an older look to him.
God, he’s so pretty, it’s impossible for you not to think so. Not when you’re faced with him like this.
Joaquín’s looking at the menu, acting like he didn’t look at it on his phone two hours ago. You’re holding the menu open, acting like you’re still deciding between two options, when really you’re just trying to decide if you should make a move or not.
When Joaquín looks up, you quickly look down, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting as you stare at words that aren’t processing.
Joaquín calls your name and you hum without lifting your eyes. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you glance up. Not only is he already looking at you, but he’s looking at you with a certain look in his eyes. Infatuation, admiration, something else that you don’t wanna name, for it feels like too much of a jump.
“What?” you ask, a shy grin splitting your face open as your skin starts to warm.
Joaquín shrugs like he’s going to say the most casual thing ever. Instead, he tells you, “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you how pretty you look.”
Oh my godddd.
What are you supposed to say to that? Everything thus far on this vacation has been widely platonic, and anything crossing that barrier has been nothing but a hopeful figment of your imagination. But his words, paired with the way they were delivered, feels like a step towards a future you want to live in.
But maybe you’re overthinking it. Joaquín is honest and earnest when he wants to be and maybe now is one of those moments.
You wrap your hand around your glass of ice water and bring it to your lips, pausing just long enough to respond. “What is it? The tan?”
Joaquín nods but that look in his eyes is still there. Chocolate brown dances across your figure before settling back on your own eyes. “Yeah … among other things. The tan and the color of your dress,” a bright colored fabric that hung loosely over your body and dipped around your back, you chose it especially because you knew it would look good on your skin, “and just you.”
You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself.
“Thanks, Joaquín,” you finally respond, trying to remain as casual as possible. “You look good, too.”
Joaquín grins and you can see the man you’re used to coming back to himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and dusts off invisible particles. “I clean up well don’t I?”
You halfheartedly roll your eyes and return back to the menu. That interaction has already been catalogued for you to hyper analyze in the shower later.
You thought that interaction was mind boggling, but the one you find yourself in later is ten times worse.
You’ve both steadily worked through your plates, giggling and laughing about any and everything you could think of. The waiter mentioned the option of drinks at one point, and you looked to Joaquín for his reaction, wanting to see if that’s how the night was going to go. Not exactly as drunk as you were the first night, but at least a little buzz. When Joaquín politely shook his head, you did the same, and continued to sip your water instead.
You do, however, decide to split two desserts.
“Can I say something?” Joaquín speaks whenever he scrapes his fork across the decadent chocolate dessert sitting in the center of the table.
You hum, grabbing a forkful of the fresher, citrus dessert instead. “Depends. How stupid is it gonna be?”
“Um … let me say it and then we can decide.”
You sit back in your seat, thereby giving him the floor.
He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he goes to respond. “I’m shocked that we’ve been together every day and night of this trip.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “What d’you mean?”
“Like we haven’t … been with other people.”
His words shock you. “Is that what you think of me, Joaquín?”
You don’t feel upset, or particularly offended. You’re just a little confused on why Joaquín has been thinking about your sex life while the two of you have been on vacation together. Sure, you’ve been thinking of the same thing, but his sex life hasn’t exactly crossed your mind. Besides whenever you pictured the two of your sex lives merging into one.
But now that he’s presented the idea, you, too, are shocked that things have been contained to just the two of you this entire week. It’s not that you expected Joaquín to sleep around, you actually didn’t know what to expect when it came to his dating life. You did know that Joaquín was attractive and people other than yourself thought so, and he obviously knew it as well, but it’s unexpected that you didn’t see him intentionally ogling at least one other person on your nights out.
You don’t know why he would think the same of you, though.
“No!” he’s quick to defend himself, “But I wouldn’t judge you if that’s how you wanted to spend your vacation. I mean I wouldn’t blame you.”
“You’re digging yourself further and further into a hole, Torres.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”
A moment goes by and you sip your water. The air here feels open, but certainly not casual. You feel like you can tell the truth in this intimate atmosphere, and your words would hold intentional weight.
You take the jump. “I didn’t wanna be with anyone else. I liked being with you.”
Joaquín looks surprised. “Really? So you preferred beach trips and coffee shops and working out over a hot hookup?”
You shrug. “I haven’t been interested in hooking up with anyone else.”
His eyebrows lift in the center. “Anyone else?”
Fuck.
It seems you have joined Joaquín in that hole, but you don’t mind being here. It’s about time you did something, right? You don’t bother responding, at least not verbally. Instead, you just look at Joaquín over the rim of your glass, sincerely hoping that he’s starting to understand.
Before any more progress can be made the waiter comes back with the check and you’re already reaching into your bag for your wallet, verbally chastising Joaquín before he can even reach for the bill.
Quiet returns to you both during the walk back to your hotel. It feels natural this time, likely because you’re not speaking, but it isn’t silent. Cars against asphalt as they drive down the street beside you, music spilling out of establishments that line the way, the automated voice of the pedestrian crossing pole when Joaquín presses the button for the both of you. There’s not anything being said, but there doesn’t need to be; much is being communicated through the energy radiating off of your body.
Walking closer to each other than you had ever before, elbows grazing, a lightness to your bodies even if you both indulged a little too much over dinner. Everything just feels so right, even if there’s still an emptiness inside of you. Even if you leave this trip without getting laid, you’ll still feel fulfilled because you and your partner are closer than you’ve ever been before. Though, after existing in this bubble with only him, it’s going to be hard to return to your normal life and let other people in.
A car honks and skirts to a stop. Before you can even realize what just happened, Joaquín’s already throwing an arm over the front of your torso, his face turned to the car that almost (wrongfully) hit the two of you. He yells something at them and blindly grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him and pushing you to the sidewalk and out of the street.
He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. “You good?” he asks at full volume. He stands next to you but still holds onto your hand.
“Yeah. We’ve been through worse than almost getting floored by a Benz, right?”
He laughs and continues leading the way back to the hotel.
Your hand stays in his the entire time.
You and Joaquín make it all the way inside of the hotel with your hands still clasped together. They don’t part until an unattended child runs between your bodies, forcing you to separate.
You end up standing in front of the elevator with the up button pushed. It dings every few seconds, an indicator of its steady descent, but it makes a few stops along the way. While you wait, you lean your shoulder into the wall next to it, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankle as you look at Joaquín standing across from you.
He speaks first. “You wanna go out again tonight? End the week with a bang?”
You shake your head. Your eyes are big, your lips are pulled into a soft smile, your entire expression is soft. Fuck hiding it, you’re done pretending.
“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”
Joaquín nods and tucks his hands in his front pockets. “Alright. Together or separate?”
“Together.”
His eyebrows lift as if he’s shocked, but there’s a little glint in his eyes. You think he’s starting to catch on.
“Okay,” he drags the last syllable out and shifts his stance. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “What d’you wanna do?”
The elevator door opens and you and Joaquín stand out of the way to let people come out. As soon as everyone has cleared out, the two of you enter the elevator alone and you push the button to shut the door before anyone else can come around the corner. With the doors closing you turn to face Joaquín to see him already looking at you.
You smile up at him and he smiles down at you.
You take a step closer to him and he takes a step closer to you.
You reach a hand out to his face, hesitating, and then he nods just before he reaches a hand out and places it on your waist.
And then finally, your lips press against his.
The first kiss is tentative. It’s testing. Your lips press together, you stay like that for a moment, and then you pull away. The two of you stare at each other, Joaquín’s expression as soft and docile as it always is. You think you’re mirroring him in this moment.
Then, without any words exchanged, you both move towards each other again. Your heads are tilted and without much trouble at all, your faces slot together nearly perfectly. This kiss is more exploratory. It’s open mouthed, teetering towards a messiness that you’re sure you’ll both fully succumb to by the end of the night. At least, you hope so.
You don’t have much time, you’ve realized that as soon as the elevator dings the first time to indicate its ascent, therefore you’re trying to get what you can while you can. You throw your arms over Joaquín’s shoulders and hook them around his neck, pulling him down towards you as you tilt yourself up into him. His body curves to engulf yours in his warmth, but he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.
He kisses you like he means it, like there’s more than one mutually shared goal at the end of this motivating him.
It’s hard not to give in to the slow and longing way Joaquín kisses you. You don’t even try resisting it at a certain point. Instead, you press your chest up into his and lean up on your toes to get more of him, yet not initiating a change in the pace at all. You like the slow way Joaquín’s lips move against yours. You feel much more this way.
Your fingers lay across the back of his neck and just as they start to inch up into the faded part of his haircut, the elevator dings and announces your floor.
You and Joaquín separate with clear hesitance in the movement. The two of you stare at each other, unmoving, just looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes look darker than you’ve ever seen them before. If you got closer, you think you would see his pupils blown out. From here, though, you see his desire in other ways—the flush on his cheeks, the prominence of his chest rising and falling, the hint of your lip products that have rubbed off on his lips.
The elevator door starts to shut and Joaquín is forced into making the first move. He slots his arm between the doors just before they close and he stays there when they open. He turns to look at you, tilts his head in a beckon, and holds his hand out for you to grab.
The walk to your rooms feels much longer than it usually does. You try to make it go as fast as possible, skittering ahead of Joaquín as fast as your impractical sandals would allow, but you’re trying not to look too eager all the while. Still, when you reach the number you’ve memorized for the week and turn around to look at him, he has a slight smile of amusement on his face.
You’re already searching into your bag for your key when you ask, “Yours or mine?”
Joaquín reaches around you for the handle to the door without speaking. You watch him press the key card to the sensor and push the door handle down just as you feel your fingers find the piece of plastic.
“We gave each other one of each when we checked in, remember? Just in case.” comes his unprompted explanation. And now that you’ve been reminded, you do remember. Your key to Joaquín’s room has been sitting on the dresser forgotten the entire week. You know he wouldn’t have done it, not without your explicit consent, but you wish Joaquín had used the key to his advantage once this week. You wish he would have acted on the tension between you both, the tension that you’re finally realizing has been reciprocated this entire time.
But now it’s happening. There’s no reason to complain when you’re getting what you wanted.
His hands are on your hips as he leads you into the room, your bag is thrown to the floor and your shoes are kicked off of your feet. Your body is turned at his will, your eyes meet his as he lazily grins down at you. His tongue flicks out over his lips in a quick and smooth movement, and at a much slower pace, you lean back in to press your lips back to his.
Joaquín’s hands automatically latch onto your lower back, one warm palm pressed into the thin fabric of your dress and the other settling right on your bare skin in the opening. Meanwhile, you start working on his shirt, popping button after button through the holes. You stop when you’re halfway down, not on your own accord.
You’re forced to stop when Joaquín slots his hands behind your thighs and he easily lifts you up. You squeal into the kiss on instinct.
There’s a moment where both of you are grinning against each other’s lips and it just feels so right. It feels incredibly natural to be doing this, to be smiling when you’re kissing Joaquín, even though nearly everything else about this situation isn’t natural for the two of you (your erect nipples rubbing against his chest, your panties stuck to your cunt, the very faint brush of his cock stiff in his pants that you get on the journey up).
“You’re just showing off,” you half-heartedly chide.
Joaquín shrugs and walks you back to the bed. “Maybe just a little.” He places you down, kneeling between your legs and finishing off the remaining buttons on his shirt. “You love it, though.”
You don’t admit it verbally, but the way you shamelessly ogle his chest when he pulls the shirt off says everything.
As soon as his shirt is gone, he places a hand on your ankle, slowly inching your dress up a few inches before he stops and looks at you. His expression is open, you can tell what he’s asking without words. But for good measure, he includes them.
“Can I keep going?”
You nod, eager and unashamed. “Yeah. Keep going.”
He starts to push the bright fabric further and further up your legs, speaking to you as he continues. “You gotta let me know if …” his words taper off when he sees the first hint of your panties, and you don’t know exactly what he’s seeing, but it makes him speechless for a moment and your ego inflates.
“I’ll let you know if …?” Cockiness is audible in your words but he doesn’t comment on it.
Joaquín blinks and comes back to himself. “If you wanna stop, or if you want something changed. We gotta communicate.”
“M’kay.”
And with that, Joaquín pushes the fabric completely over your hips and he’s met with your panties. They’re a bright color that compliments the color of your dress, and, consequently, your tanned skin. He swears under his breath and although you don’t hear him clearly at all, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t in English.
You sit up fully and slip your dress over your torso with Joaquín’s help. He lets the fabric drop to the floor without looking, his eyes are focused solely on your chest.
You’re laying back on your elbows, elevated just enough to look at him. You stare at his eyes, even if you aren’t making eye contact, while he leans up to hover over you. His head dips and he presses a single kiss in the center of your chest and repeats the action right over each side of your ribcage. The tip of his nose grazes your breast and instinctively you arch up towards him. When he pulls away just enough to look up at you, you see him smiling.
You could beg, but the night has only begun. You decide to save that for later. For now, you huff and stick your spine back to the mattress.
Joaquín places a hand around your side and dips his head back down, this time higher than before. When he latches his lips around your nipple, a little gasp breaks from between your lips. He lets his teeth scrape against the bud, alternating between giving you pressure and giving you wet heat from his tongue. By the time he switches to your other nipple, you’re already desperate for a true relief focused on your cunt. His lips travel upwards, brushing against your skin throughout the journey, until he’s pressing them into the side of your neck and under your jaw. You let him continue upwards, you let him kiss you a bit more, but you can only go so long without real, fruitful stimulation. And maybe another time after this (circumstances willing) you would love to prolong everything.
But right now you need to get fucked, whatever that could entail.
You buck your hips up and end up catching the bulge in Joaquín’s pants where his zipper lies. You think he’ll catch on that way, and maybe he does, but he just chooses to ignore it. Either way, you send him a hint and Joaquín doesn’t do anything about it. He continues kissing you, he tweaks your nipples and slots a knee between your legs, all of which you’re grateful for since it is a stepping stone in the right direction. But you need stimulation, you need to get off, and the slow crawl is slowly driving you crazy.
You pull away from Joaquín to call his name. He responds with a gruff yeah that immediately settles deep in your gut.
“I need more. Please.”
He grins right in your face. The expression almost looks wicked on him for the first time ever. He has the power here right now and he’s obviously letting it go to his head.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks while his hand slides down between your bodies until his thick fingers can slip between your clothed folds.
His question was rhetorical (and smug but that’s besides the point), yet you still find yourself going to respond. Your lips part, you can feel the corners turning down as you prepare to say something just as smug back to him, but then he presses down and quickly finds your clit after a moment of fumbling. As far as words go, you’re silent. Nothing but sounds slip from your mouth from that point onwards.
Joaquín toys with your clit. He starts with one finger, just the pad of what you think might be his middle finger, and when that has you forcing your hips up into his touch, he adds a second finger. With two fingers, he has more space to work with, resulting in larger circles right over the most sensitive part of you. He speeds up, too.
Your back arches and you dig your nails into the sheets. You know what you want to ask for, it's simple and you’d already said the word in this space, but it gets trapped in your throat this time. You’re close already. Yeah, you’d been getting yourself off throughout the week, but finally having Joaquín do it for you has made you so much more responsive.
You get the first syllable out, the ‘M’ vibrating in your throat before you open your mouth to round it out in an ‘O’.
Joaquín picks up where you left off.
“More?” he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds your heavy gaze. Before you even respond with a nod, he’s already sitting back far enough to slip his hand in your panties and repeat his emotions.
The first real touch dizzies you for a moment. You pinch your eyes shut with the pure intention of orienting yourself, but then Joaquín chastises you in a soft, but firm voice.
“Look at me. I wanna see you.”
You do as told, of course.
He nods. “There we go.” His fingers get just a little faster, the circles tighter. You’re so wet that there isn’t any uncomfortable friction at all, his skin easily glides against yours.
“You close?” he asks after a moment. When you nod, he continues, “If I give you this one, you’ll be able to give me another, right? You can give me more?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You’re breathless when you speak, and it certainly doesn’t help that it’s then when Joaquín decides to pull his fingers away completely, pull your panties to the side, and sink down completely until his face is level with your cunt.
Just the image below you is enough to twist that section deep into your stomach into a knot. He’s barely able to give you anything before your back is arching off of the bed and everything in you mounts to a peak.
When you come, it’s from the controlled and effective licks Joaquín delivers to your cunt. You don’t know when your hand moves on its own, but you feel silk-like strands between your fingers. It helps anchor you, gripping his hair helps keep you sane, especially when Joaquín keeps going.
He broadens his reach this time. His mouth opens wide enough to slide his tongue down from your entrance and back up towards your clit. And he doesn’t just lick this time, you hear the audible suck from him. He’s slurping that shit, and you can already feel the introduction of another orgasm.
If you were with anyone else, you’d be shocked at how soon another is on the precipice. But it’s Joaquín, and aside from the fact that you’ve wanted him for a while, you’re not exactly shocked that he knows what he’s doing.
He slowly sinks one finger into you, pumping the digit in and out of you with meticulous ease. It’s a stark contrast from the almost sloppy way he’s eating you out. But it works.
One finger is nice, it’s thicker than your own, rougher, too. You could get off just like that. And then, he adds a second.
“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention.
Joaquín comes up for air, releasing you with an audible smack. “Yeah?” he asks, the word coming from right in his throat.
You nod as you take in the way he looks—cheeks flushed, hair tousled and hanging over his forehead, pink lips shining, his eyes wide and nearly doe-like.
“Yeah,” you confirm. You see a look flash in Joaquín’s eyes then. It’s a look similar to the one he has whenever Sam affirms his work with a clap on the back—self-satisfied, delighted, proud. It occurs to you then that he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. He can read your body language, sure. It’s obvious from your cunt, along how good he’s making you feel, but you know verbal affirmation is different. It’s better, especially for Joaquín.
As he goes back in to finish you off, you speak to him.
“Just like that,” you tell him. Just this little bit encourages him, you can feel it in his movements. “Keep going. ‘M close, so close, Joaquín. Please, don’t stop. You’re so … you’re so—” Before you can even get it out, all noise dies completely from you. Your mouth uselessly hangs open, not even air comes out as your entire body stiffens. Nothing happens for a moment, Joaquín continues, you’re stuck, and then a nanosecond later everything knocks into you.
Sound emits from you, moans and groans and breaths. You’re digging into whatever you can find—the heel of your foot into Joaquín’s back, your hands in his hair, the rest of your body into the twisted sheets beneath you. You’re simultaneously trying to escape and trying to keep Joaquín from parting with you for even a moment. It’s hard to decide which you prefer, you don’t even think your mind has any say in the dilemma, your body is in control at this point.
Ultimately, your body decides to let go, releasing both of you at the same time. Still, Joaquín takes a moment to pull from you. He continues licking and sucking, but his fingers slowing down indicates his intent to free you. It comes after a few drawn out moments where you’re stuck twitching beneath him until finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses one final kiss right onto your clit.
His head lifts and the evidence is more obvious than you expected. It’s gathered all over his chin, stuck along the beginnings of facial hair that will likely be gone first thing Monday morning. It’s gathered on his lips and along his tongue when he uses the muscle to pull the remnants of your arousal into his mouth.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only then does he realize how much of a mess you’ve made of him. He pulls his hand back, brown eyes big as he stares at the evidence.
“Shit,” he laughs.
All you can do is agree through labored breaths.
He tries to clean you off of his mouth, but not much is done. He leans in tentatively after that, as if you’re going to shy away from him. You don’t.
You kiss him back eagerly, although a bit lethargically. You’re trying to hide it from fear that Joaquín could think that you’re done. But your body needs a moment to recover from that.
When Joaquín pulls away from you with a small smile on his face, you know he’s onto you.
“You need a minute?” The way he says it isn’t much different from the way he asks you those same words when he’s kicking your ass in the gym.
And just like when you’re in the gym, you shamefully nod.
Joaquín chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead. “That’s okay. You want anything? Water maybe?”
“Water sounds good.”
You watch him leave and then your eyes are focused solely on the ceiling. You can’t even let what’s happening sink in when you’re still a little spacey. But you can handle more. You want more from him.
Joaquín comes back with a glass of water. He stands next to the bed and passes the full glass to you. You don’t question the source, you just drink until there’s half left. You offer it to him and he gladly takes it from you.
“Are you … do you wanna stop?” He speaks when the glass has been emptied and placed on the nightstand. For the most part he looks like he would be unaffected by whatever answer you gave, but you think you can detect some premature dejection in his features. Quickly, he adds, “Because it’s fine if you do. I’m okay with that.” And he’s being honest. You don’t feel any pressure coming from Joaquín at all.
It’s what you truly mean and want when you immediately shake your head. “No. Let’s keep going.”
He nods once to himself. “Alright. Cool. Yeah.”
Excitement leaks from his pores but you don’t comment on it. You felt just as he did not long ago. You still feel like that, but you’re under a haze right now and that’s what your emotions are being led with.
Joaquín hooks his thumbs into his already-loosened jeans and goes to pull them down. First, though, he pats at his pockets. When he doesn’t feel what he’s looking for, he swears.
“One second.”
You watch his form retreat until the door of your room is pulled open. Not even a minute later he comes back in with a foil pocket brandished between his fingers, the same fingers that were in you not long ago.
“You came prepared?” The question comes out more judgemental than you meant it to.
Joaquín shrugs. “I keep an emergency bag full of … stuff. You know, in case of an emergency.”
“Freak.” You don’t mean it.
“You’re about to get fucked by a freak so, wouldn’t that make you a freak by association?” He seems to mean it.
“I don’t think that’s how that works.”
He holds the packet between his teeth while he slides his jeans off of his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He comes back around to the side, pulling the packet out from his teeth and staring down at you. Like this he looks more imposing than he ever has before.
When he’s been out in the field, when he’s training, when he yelled at the car earlier tonight, he didn’t look as imposing as he does now—staring down at you over the bridge of his nose, hair tousled, cock tenting in his black briefs.
“That’s definitely how that works,” he claims as he leans down. He presses his hands into the bed beneath you to leverage himself as he kisses you, slow and passionate. You wonder if he’ll fuck you like that too.
You reach a hand up and pull the elastic away from his waist. When he doesn’t react, you tug the fabric down. You feel it get stuck around his cock just before you feel his cock spring free. It brushes against your wrist and you make a little noise into the kiss.
As soon as Joaquín’s briefs are laying at his feet he assumes his previous position, this time sitting right on his haunches. You avoid looking at his cock for a moment, but when you watch him tear the condom packet open, you get the first glimpse at him.
Even this part of him is attractive. He’s thick, that’s the first thing you notice. Thick and heavy, if the way he hangs to the side is any indicator. There’s a vein leading from his taut stomach down towards the dark and trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You hadn’t noticed the vein ever before, not when you had been too busy ogling the v-line chiseled into his torso instead.
Now that you’ve seen all of Joaquín, you can easily conclude that he’s perfect. Just as you have that thought, Joaquín takes an inhale as he prepares to speak.
“You’re so perfect,” he says.
The warmth instantly floods your body.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” you tell him.
He dips his head almost shyly and doesn’t say anything. Instead, Joaquín pulls the condom out of the packet.
“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?”
He looks momentarily surprised at your request, but he passes you the condom and politely places his hands on top of his thighs.
It’s truly an excuse to feel him beneath your palm as you glide the latex barrier down his length. You revel in the warmth beneath your hand, because as soon as you’ve secured the barrier around the base of his shaft, Joaquín's leading you back without even having to touch you. He leans forward and in response, you lean all the way back until you’re nestled amongst the pillows at the head of the bed.
“Ready?”
You nod, letting your legs fall open for him.
One warm hand falls to the inside of your thigh while the other disappears between your legs to line up his dick. Then, slowly, Joaquín pushes forward. The stretch is instant, you can feel yourself opening up wider and wider to fully fit him in. If you weren’t as soaked and prepped as you were, you’re sure the burn would’ve been way worse.
For a few moments it’s like the length of him keeps going and going, but then you feel his thighs press up against the back of yours and there’s the faint feeling of his balls resting against your ass and you know he’s bottomed out. He looks at you, gauging your reaction, and your response comes in the form of linking a leg around his back.
Joaquín smiles through nothing but the twitch of the corner of his mouth upwards, and then he wastes no more time. He rests his weight on his hands at either side of your head, and pulls his hips back just to roll them forward and slide his cock back into you.
And for a bit, Joaquín does fuck you slow and passionate. He fucks you in full strokes, a nice tempo that doesn’t overwhelm you too quickly. There’s punctuation at the end of each thrust, followed by a nearly agonizing pull back out. Whether intentional or not, Joaquín’s introducing you to the feeling of his cock filling you up, just as he’s introducing the concept of another release to you.
But you’ve had your fill, it’s his turn now.
You press your hands into his shoulders. They glide back, one hand grazing over the raised skin of the scar that leads down his back, the other following a smooth path, but they meet in the same place—back around the front to where his chain hangs. You hook one finger into the gold link, the other going behind his head. You pull him closer until you can nudge your noses together.
His eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows pinch together in the center. You kiss him once and pull back to tell him, “You can use me, Joaquín. Take what you want.”
His eyes open to stare at you with confusion written on his face, bordering on hope, as if he already has an idea formed in his head of what he really wants to do to you.
You nod assuredly. “It’s what I want.” Just as you’re about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, Joaquín adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you.
The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but they’re shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like he’s reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again.
You’re forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around Joaquín’s hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for Joaquín to rest his forehead on.
You can’t hear his sounds over yours, but you feel them—quick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldn’t even if you tried.
Luckily, though, Joaquín lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear.
You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later Joaquín swears and it’s a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. He’s affecting you, and you’re affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.
“Are you close?” you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask.
You feel Joaquín nod against your neck. “Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, baby, ‘m almost there.”
Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you weren’t having your guts completely rearranged right now.
He chuckles deeply against your skin. “What? What’s up?”
“C…Call me that again.”
“What? ‘Baby’? You like when I call you baby?”
You hum affirmatively.
Joaquín lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. “You’re my baby? Hm? Are you?”
You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”.
“Yeah?” he grins as he says it, as if he’s shocked that you agreed. You don’t know if he’s serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if you’re a little dumb right now, but you do mean it.
He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. “You gonna be good for me, too?” When you nod, he continues. “Be good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?”
He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, Joaquín nods.
“That’s right. Just like that.”
He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you.
You’re close, you’re almost there, and the erratic way Joaquín practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after Joaquín buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as Joaquín’s body melts on top of yours.
He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until he’s clearly making them ridiculous on purpose.
His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. “You think you’ll be up for a shower?”
You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. “In about ten minutes, yeah.”
“Take your time.”
In the meantime, Joaquín slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all you’ve been through since getting back to your room, you don’t exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout.
The feeling of Joaquín kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s wearing that same soft look on his features.
You’re so pampered there that you don’t force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running.
Joaquín’s already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if he’s shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you.
You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you.
“I got it,” is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of Joaquín dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songs—some that you recognize, some that you don’t. There’s a familiarity now that you’ve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders.
Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.
“You know what I realized like a few minutes ago?” he says when he’s rinsing the soap off of his body.
“What?”
“Remember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?”
“Yeah, how could I forget?”
“Yeah well I’m pretty sure they thought we were like … swingers or some shit.”
You’re startled awake. “Huh? Why do you think that?”
“Oh I don’t think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.”
You frown. “I thought she was just drunk or friendly.”
“She definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.”
You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”
Joaquín shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. “She probably did. That’s sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isn’t it?”
You laugh through a quick exhale of air. “Come on, Joaquín, let’s go to bed.”
You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. Joaquín follows after you.
“Oh, I get to sleep with you tonight?” He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasn’t just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head.
You end up getting exactly what you wanted. Joaquín leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as you’re finished, he’s trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room.
You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes.
The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and you’re snuggled up next to Joaquín, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation.
Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. Joaquín ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage.
come into my bedroom
description. you and JOAQUÍN TORRES take a week long vacation to the beach together. just a week on the coast, spending time in each other's bubble, without falling for each other ... probably. visuals
includes. coworkers to friends to lovers, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader has been kept as ambiguous as possible (hair type, skin color, body type, place of birth, etc), reader is able to tan, the location is ambiguous, slight spoilers for brave new world, takes place after bnw, protected p n v sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom! joaquín, reader is called "baby" a couple of times
wc. 12.3k+
a/n: title from champagne coast by blood orange. i tried to keep where they vacationed as ambiguous as possible, but it's definitely at least a little bit obvious. for my bsf who recently got back from miami. thanks to @luckypunklemonade for beta reading :D
You’re drunk.
No, you’re not drunk. You’re too drunk, inching towards shitfaced. You’re still here, at least here enough to walk beside Joaquín down the street towards your hotel, but you’re not really here. You know you’re not exactly walking in a straight line, and you know where you’re heading, but you don’t know how long you’ve been walking. You could’ve left the club five minutes or 50 minutes ago.
You weren’t going to get this drunk. Honest. You and Joaquín were just going to go out, have a few drinks, and go back to your separate rooms.
But the music was good, and the drinks were good, and the people were good, and suddenly you and Joaquín are drunk and navigating your way down the street. Well, he’s navigating your way. You’re just trying to keep up with his long strides.
He walks a little in front of you the entire time, slightly more rigid, and a little less drunk than you are. You’ll probably be at his level in another half hour, that is if you get something in your stomach by then. Every so often, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there. You thought about hooking a hand around his elbow to keep him close, but the thought entered your mind and left before you could act on it.
There’s not much small talk happening, but you don’t mind it that way. You’re focused on making your feet pick up and land one (mostly) in front of the other. Actually, you’re focused on walking and finding an open food spot on the way.
One part is going fine, the walking part, but you’re still blearily searching for something to eat. You pass bars and closed businesses, restaurants that require reservations weeks in advance, one of them you think you and Joaquín actually have a table at later this week, but nothing quick and greasy. Which is exactly what you need before calling it a night.
Joaquín calls your name and you hum.
“You up for stopping in right here?” He points to the side and you look around his wide shoulders to find your saving grace. It’s like he read your mind, or maybe you’d been audible harping on about wanting something to eat the entire time. Right now, either seems plausible.
Either way, you nod and let Joaquín hold the door open for you.
You and Joaquín end up sitting across from each other at a tiny outdoor metal table. With the wind blowing against your skin as you’re sipping freezing cold water from a to-go cup, you finally realize how hot you’ve been this entire time. You lift your skirt up a bit to press your thigh against the cool metal and a sigh pushes out front your lips. Your eyes fall shut as you just sit in the moment.
“You still drunk?” Joaquín speaks from across the table.
You open your eyes and destroy your brief peace to glare at him as you wrap your lips around your straw. “What do you think?” you ask him only when the cool liquid has slid down your throat.
He laughs. “First night here and you’ve already gotten shitfaced.” He shakes his head as if he’s ashamed of you, but the playful glint in his eyes keeps you at ease.
“It’s your fault!” you accuse. “You’re the one who made friends with that couple. They kept buying us drinks.”
Joaquín throws his hands out to the side in a surrender. “I’m not going to say no to free drinks. Don’t blame me!”
He’s right. Even if he wasn’t, you aren’t in the arguing mood anymore. You would rather finish the greasy taco sitting limp in your hands. And you do.
You’re not being very attractive about it, though, you can tell from the way the juice slides down your fingers and around your mouth, but that’s not really the point to all of this.
Besides, you and Joaquín are just coworkers and friends. Just two coworkers/friends on vacation together. Sitting across from each other in front of a taco spot, fighting for sobriety as you occasionally lock eyes between large bites. There’s no reason for you to be attractively drunk eating when you’re only with your coworker/friend.
You finish the last bite, wipe around your mouth with a crumpled napkin and throw it onto your empty tray, looking up to find Joaquín already looking at you. He has this look on his face, nothing different from the one he usually wears—soft eyes and a softer smile—but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the city lighting and your drunkenness that’s skewing the meaning. You’re going to blame both factors for the flutter in your heart, too.
Neither of you say anything for a moment and in that moment, a thought flashes across your mind. It’s quick and fleeting, but still strong enough to evoke a reaction. Just a thought of you leaning over this small table and pressing your lips to Joaquín’s. And the thought was truly fleeting, but you bring it back and sit in it to imagine how he would reciprocate with his hands on your lower back, big palms resting on the strip of skin between your top and skirt, and he would taste like lime and alcohol and when you pulled away he would have a look almost identical to this one on his face.
Joaquín’s eyebrows push together, skewing the soft look he wore before and knocking you out of your drunken trance.
“What’s that look?” he asks.
You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What look?”
His gaze lingers for a moment, but then he licks his lips and cleans up his area. “You think you’re sober enough to walk back now?”
You scoff and attempt to make a point by quickly standing to your feet. When you wobble, it’s because your shoe didn’t land right on the concrete. Honest!
You have a crush on Joaquín.
You don’t know why you’re realizing it here and now—laying in a hotel bed on vacation first thing in the morning. You don’t even know how long this crush has been here, but you know for sure you have a crush on Joaquín Torres, your partner/coworker/friend.
You thought your little image from last night was fleeting, nothing but a drunken thought that you let yourself imagine for less than a minute, but it proved to be way more than that because when you got back to your room, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.
As you took your makeup off, you thought about Joaquín waiting in your room for you to finish, snuggled under the blankets and scrolling through the channels on the TV until you came out of the bathroom in his shirt. As you climbed in the shower you imagined him standing at the sink brushing his teeth and humming that song he’s always singing but you never ask the name of. As you finally climbed into bed and clicked the lights off, you imagined fighting for covers with him and sleepily talking about your plans for the next day.
It was so domestic and loving and absolutely sickening and unexpected.
Well, maybe you should have expected it. At least a little.
Joaquín is kind of the perfect guy. Everyone in your life made sure you were aware of it. He was funny, attractive, hard working, and easy to get along with. Even his flaws—his incessant nature and occasional annoyance for one—was quickly reworked as lovable in your head.
You struggled with falling asleep for at least a half hour last night, and as soon as you knocked out, you were out. You might not have remembered your dreams but you knew deep in your mind and body that he was there.
Just as he is here now, standing in front of you early in the morning, wearing a bright smile and an athletic set.
“No,” you sternly shut him down before he can even say anything.
Joaquín’s jaw drops and he wears a mixture of shock and humor. “C’mon, you didn’t even let me say anything.”
“I know what you’re gonna say, Torres. I’m not going to some ‘sick workout class’ when we’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“Oh, so we’re on last name basis again?” He crosses his arms over his chests and widens his stance. “I thought we moved past that.”
“If you ask me to come with you then we’re back to last name basis, yeah.”
He pouts and it’s so stupidly cute that you want to slam the door in his face. “Don’t let the hangover speak for you. I know you secretly wanna come workout with me.”
You squint at him accusingly, leaning into the doorframe. “‘m not hungover.”
“Uh-huh. How’s the headache?” He’s obviously not buying your shit.
“I don’t have a headache.” Bullshit and you both know it.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks you instead, this time lacking any suspense. For a moment, he seems like he’s actually wondering how you slept.
“Like a baby.”
“Then that means you should be energized enough to go for a workout. It won’t be bad. It’s only an hour.”
You shake your head. “That’s an hour that I could be sleeping.”
“And basically waste the whole day away? That doesn’t sound like the partner I know and love.”
You don’t let your mind linger on that word, especially when you know he doesn’t mean it like that. But still, knowing that Joaquín has some sort of love for you makes your chest feel all airy and glittery.
“Yeah because that partner isn’t here right now. We’re on vacation.”
Joaquín doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. Instead, he tilts his head and fully pouts, lips pushed out and eyes big. He’s not backing down and truthfully, it might be better for you just to say yes and halfass the entire session.
Finally, he reasons with you. “I’ll buy you a smoothie afterwards. Whatever overpriced shit you want. Fair?”
Fair enough.
Compared to what you’re used to, the workout is quick, but it’s certainly not painless. The instructor, some woman with much more energy than you’re willing to exert on vacation, seemed to find pleasure in kicking your asses. For a brief moment there when you were catching your breath and wiping your forehead on a towel, you wondered if she could be some big and bad super villain hiding in plain sight. That would explain the inhuman stamina, and the almost eerie cheery personality, but other than that your theory didn’t make much sense. And even if it did, you were on vacation. Now wasn’t the time to seek out trouble that wasn’t presenting itself.
The only thing that pushed you through the entire thing was looking over at Joaquín, one because of how attractive he looked with sweat glistening along his tanned skin, and two because you refused to let him show you up, even if the workout was his idea.
You will admit, though, that every time he lifted his shirt to wipe his forehead, your knees did feel just a little weaker and your last rep in a set was not nearly as strong as it could’ve been when you heard him grunting beside you.
You couldn’t understand it. You and Joaquín workout together all the time. You train together, sometimes with Isaiah and Sam, sometimes with friends of friends, sometimes with just each other. You’re used to seeing him sweat, you’re used to hearing his grunts and breaths, you’re used to all of it. But something about all of this happening now is making you lose your mind.
As soon as the class ended, relief entered your entire body.
The relief certainly didn’t last for long, though.
Since you did what Joaquín wanted to do that morning, he did what you wanted to do right after. Before you could even really think about it, you happily suggested sunbathing on the beach until you were too hot or hungry to continue, whichever came first.
It wasn’t until Joaquín slyly grinned and sang your name that you realized what you signed up for.
“You tryna see me shirtless?” he teased at the time. And you rolled your eyes and called him a freak and continued walking down the hall towards your rooms, but as soon as you were behind the closed door you were digging into your suitcase to find the cutest swimsuit you brought.
Not that you were trying to impress Joaquín or anything.
As soon as your bare toes are sinking into warm sand, you slowly feel yourself relax. Slowly.
Laying on your back in a swimsuit that was a nice mix between cute and attractive, your eyes closed, your ears full of a playlist you made just for this occasion, the sun radiating down on your skin. It’s easy to forget everything laying just like that. The breeze cools your skin as soon as you get too warm, the sun heats you back up as soon as you get too cold. Absolutely nothing to worry about except how long you’ve been laying on one side and when you should flip over.
Absolutely no stressors.
Until Joaquín speaks.
“Do me a favor and get my back?”
You peek an eye open and lift your sunglasses up to see Joaquín standing next to you, holding out a bottle of sunscreen.
You don’t mean to hesitate, but you still do. It takes a moment to process his question, and it takes another moment to find an answer, even though the clear one is yes. If he wasn’t standing there without a shirt, wearing forest green trunks that hung low on his hips, and his skin wasn’t glistening in the daylight, it wouldn’t have taken nearly half the time to help him out.
“What would you do without me?” You try not to let your voice falter while you watch him massage sunscreen onto his chest, but you’re sure the little dip at the end of your sentence was noticeable.
Joaquín just tilts his head and tosses the bottle into your lap.
It’s not awkward. At least you don’t think it’s awkward. You rub the sunscreen on Joaquín’s skin as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the sturdiness of his muscles beneath your hand. You know how fit he is, it’s impossible for you not to know since you’ve been working with him for a while now. But knowing and knowing are two different things.
Seeing is not the same as feeling.
Feeling his muscles as you work them beneath your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, grazing your hand lightly over the scars littering his skin, only lingering for a second on the life altering scar that trails down from the side of his neck to his shoulder. You try not to touch it too much. He hasn’t talked to you much about the accident, not since you visited the hospital with high quality food instead of flowers for him. Even then, he joked around it, even if you saw sorrow in his eyes like you’d never seen Joaquín wear before.
You rubbed the sunscreen down his back and finished above the waistband of his trunks. Not even a second later did he look over his shoulder and down at you through a squint. “Now let me do you,” he urged without leaving much room for argument.
Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make room.
You shook your head. “‘m okay, I already got it.”
Joaquín turns around to face you completely. He laughs through a quick puff of air, his lips pulled up at the corners. “Barely. I saw you struggling over there. C’mon, let me top it off for you.”
His hands take the sunscreen bottle from you, but he doesn’t put any in his palm. Not yet. For now, he stares at you, eyebrows lifted, waiting for you to give him the final answer.
You turn around, moving whatever needs to be moved to give him basically full reign over your back.
The first touch makes you jump, even if you were expecting it. You hear him quietly apologize under his breath, and you quietly brush it off, but you aren’t sure if your response was heard or if it was carried off with the wind.
He continues in silence.
You’ve had Joaquín’s hands on you before. A hand clasped in yours to pull you up, a touch fixing your posture when he was showing you a new trick Isaiah taught him before, a finger jabbed into your side when he walked past you. But again, this is much different.
Having Joaquín’s bare hands on your bare back makes you tense up, and you hope he doesn’t notice it. He rubs with a lot more attention to detail than you did; he reaches beneath the straps of your top with curt permission, and even asks if he can get the backs of your arms too.
By the time he finishes, you’ve started to relax just a bit, to the point where the expected disappearance of his hand on your back feels unwanted. Joaquín’s hands are big and soothing, you could do with them on your skin for the rest of your life.
Of course, you don’t tell him that. Not just because it would be completely inappropriate, but because he would never let you live it down. He would go the lengths to change his phone contact to Joaquín “best hands there ever were” Torres.
Which is just a step below Joaquín “best co-worker there ever was” Torres.
Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the beach day without much trouble. You tan until you don’t think you could tan anymore. Joaquín lays next to you most of the time, besides when he began to feel fidgety and he ran to grab both of you drinks, and pre-cut fruit for you, as an excuse to stretch his legs. You used the few minutes of solitude to text your group chat about the agony you accidentally put yourself into. Agony that was only made worse by Joaquín coming back with two drinks in one hand, fruit still in its rind in the other, and his newly tanned skin glistening from sweat in the sunlight.
Shortly after, you had to leave and take a cold shower to get your head on straight.
You think you’re doing pretty good at ignoring your feelings. You know you have a crush on him, but acting on it would change nearly too much, and a lot in your lives—his especially—has already changed. It’s not a leap you think you’re ready to make yet, so you’ve been ignoring your feelings.
Over the course of the past couple of days, you and Joaquín have been spending your time doing every relaxing thing you could think of. Decompressing at that same club from the first night, but leaving as soon as the crowd proved to be very different from before—more rowdy for the hell of it and less generous in general. Eating at trendy, overrated lunch spots, or underrated hole-in-the-wall dinner spots. Spending a little too much money on new clothes but enabling each other anyway, because the shirt might look similar to another one that you already have but that shirt back home wasn’t that shirt there in your hands, so you needed it.
There were just two nights left and then you would have to pack all your stuff, somehow fit in more new clothes than you anticipated, and return to the real world. One that entailed mission debriefs and learning how to work new tech. The only thing you were looking forward to about the real world was Sam, since he happened to be a natural barrier between you and Joaquín. It’ll be hard to focus on how badly you wanted to be underneath the Falcon whenever Captain America was in the vicinity providing tasks that required your full attention.
But that is days away. For now, you’re going to try and enjoy the remainder of your all too quick vacation as much as possible. Even though you’re becoming more and more tense as you go on, a tension that your fingers beneath your panties hasn’t been able to fix yet.
You didn’t think your behavior was noticeable, but Joaquín notices more than you thought.
The two of you are walking side by side down the boardwalk. You’ve been fairly silent throughout, but not for any particular reason. Silence made sense to you, there wasn’t much to talk about right now.
Apparently, Joaquín felt different.
“What’s up with you?”
You furrow your eyebrows, quickly trying to figure out if you did something wrong between the walk from your hotel to the walk at the start of the boardwalk. Coming up short, you ask for clarification. “What do you mean?”
“I mean why’re you so tense? Isn’t this relaxing for you?”
Yeah, this is relaxing for you. Walking side by side, letting the beach breeze blow your dress in the wind. Showered, fed, at the end of your vacation, this moment you exist in is like heaven. It’s a little too much like heaven, a perfect plane where the guy you’ve been crushing on is wearing a button up with the first two buttons undone so you can see the fresh tan he has and the gold glint of the chain he wears instead of his dog tags.
It’s hard to relax when right beside you is someone you’ve wanted so badly, and he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted.
“I’m not tense,” you finally respond. Although it’s a lie.
“You so are,” Joaquín counters, “let me show you what you look like walking around here.” He takes a few quick strides ahead of you, and then pulls his shoulders up to his ears, straightens his spine, and walks with a little too much purpose. He looks odd and menacing. And definitely not like you.
You tell him as such.
He turns around to face you, grinning and walking backwards. “Okay I did take some creative liberties there, but you do look tense.” He turns back around and slows until he returns to a stride right beside you again. “What’s wrong? Do you wanna do something else?”
You shake your head. “No. This is fine. I like doing this.”
Joaquín takes a moment and you see him look down at you from the corner of your eye. “Then what’s up? Anything you wanna get off your chest?”
God, you should just tell him the truth. Well, not the full truth.
Joaquín is chill personified. If you told him that you’re wound up sexually, he would likely make a joke about it, then brush it off and avoid asking you about it again. Friend to friend, you could just let off some steam—verbally!, although the other option is much more preferable—and then hopefully feel better.
But just imagining yourself saying those words makes you tense even more and you have nothing to do but shake the thought out of your mind completely.
“No. ‘m okay. I was just … thinking. But not anymore.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second and you don’t know if he believes your lie. But he moves past it. He points to an ice cream shop to your right, and you swerve for the window.
You and Joaquín end up sitting side by side on the beach, willingly letting sand press into your nice clothes but neither of you care much. You have a dinner reservation soon, and you’ve just been killing time—and also your appetite, but you and Joaquín both swore to eat dinner. Even if you’re devouring ice cream cones. Truthfully, this is a perfect way to end your night, sitting by your partner's side, letting the world exist around you both.
The breeze blows against your skin. You and Joaquín sit with your bare toes digging into the sand, shoes having been discarded to the side, your shoulders close enough to brush against the other if either of you move. You’re looking off at the ocean, watching people enjoy the evening air around you both as you sit in a moment of stillness. There’s paragliders, a few jet skis, some boats, and a large cruise ship sailing into the port.
Joaquín points off at the ship with the hand not holding his waffle cone.
“We should cruise for our next vacation.”
You turn to face him, tilting your head to the side. “Our next vacation?”
Joaquín nods. “Yeah. We should make this a regular thing. You know we work well together.”
That you do. You grin and knock your shoulder into his. “Let’s hope Sam doesn’t start feeling left out.”
Joaquín laughs with a quick exhale through his nose. “He’s definitely having the time of his life back home.”
You’re unable to stop yourself from grinning as you imagine it—Sam working back home, likely enjoying the rare lull in the terror that the three of you have been fighting and will continue fighting. “He’s probably blasting Marvin Gaye over the speakers in the office.”
This gets a real laugh from Joaquín, likely because he, too, can see it perfectly.
Your laughter dies down and for a few moments, you and Joaquín sit in comfortable silence.
Then, “You been having fun?”
You hum. “Yeah. It’s nice not having to deal with—” you gesture vaguely in the air and Joaquín nods beside you. “Especially after everything.” You don’t say it exactly, but you know Joaquín still understands you. He knows you’re talking about his accident.
You weren’t even the one in danger, having stayed grounded on the ship, but the horrors still settle deep in your heart some nights. Things are repaired, or currently being repaired in the case of D.C, but everything still feels so fragile to you sometimes.
Which is why you’re so glad to be here with him at your side, reminding you that he’s okay. Everything’s okay.
Joaquín takes a breath as if he’s about to speak. You turn to look at him. He’s staring off at the sunset, his face mostly stoic except for a slight twitch in his eyes, a flare of his nostrils, and his jaw clenching. “For a moment there when I was falling out of the sky, and when I could barely move my body on my own in the hospital I was worried that I wouldn’t get the chance to see places like this again. To … you know…” he hesitates and you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to keep going if he doesn’t want to. You and Joaquín have avoided talking about the day his heart stopped, and you don’t have to start now. But then he inhales through his teeth and continues. “To see home.”
Your breath hitches and your eyes sting. Without thinking too much about it, you scoot closer into Joaquín’s side, tilting your head and resting it on his shoulder. Immediately upon contact, Joaquín wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you fully into his side.
“I’m glad you’re here with me, Joaquín.”
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says your name at the end, echoing you but somehow sounding more earnest. More meaningful.
He places a kiss on the top of your head and in that moment you decide you could stay here just like this for the rest of your life. It all settles in your body at one time, the realization that you want Joaquín, you’ve known that for a while, but you want more than his body.
You want Joaquín Torres in his entirety.
“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” he continues, “Is that why you’ve been tense? Because I promise I’m okay. It was scary for a bit but my heart’s fine and I feel fine physically—”
“No. It’s not that, Joaquín. I promise I was just a little tense but I’m good now, too.”
He nods once. “Okay.” He pulls his phone out and checks the time. He doesn’t say anything for a while as if he doesn’t want to disrupt the energy, but he speaks eventually. “If we wanna make our reservation we gotta leave now.”
He stands to his feet and puts a hand out for you to grab. You take a moment to look at the sun setting and to finish the rest of your ice cream in one bite, then you take another moment to look at him. With resolution, you place your hand in Joaquín’s and let him pull you to your feet.
Yeah, ignoring your feelings isn’t working anymore.
It’s not like you’re exactly able to ignore how bad you want Joaquín when you’re at dinner with him, sitting in such an intimate setting—sat at a small table tucked in the corner of the restaurant next to a window looking out on the street, his tan skin lit by candlelight and ambient low lighting around the both of you.
Having just come from the beach, the two of you are still wearing the same outfits (now without as many grains of sand as possible), meaning you have an even better view of Joaquín’s chest and the chain sitting right below his collarbones. He looks so nice and put together—his curls out more than you’ve ever seen them before, his face a little unshaven and adding an older look to him.
God, he’s so pretty, it’s impossible for you not to think so. Not when you’re faced with him like this.
Joaquín’s looking at the menu, acting like he didn’t look at it on his phone two hours ago. You’re holding the menu open, acting like you’re still deciding between two options, when really you’re just trying to decide if you should make a move or not.
When Joaquín looks up, you quickly look down, furrowing your eyebrows and pouting as you stare at words that aren’t processing.
Joaquín calls your name and you hum without lifting your eyes. When he doesn’t say anything immediately, you glance up. Not only is he already looking at you, but he’s looking at you with a certain look in his eyes. Infatuation, admiration, something else that you don’t wanna name, for it feels like too much of a jump.
“What?” you ask, a shy grin splitting your face open as your skin starts to warm.
Joaquín shrugs like he’s going to say the most casual thing ever. Instead, he tells you, “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you how pretty you look.”
Oh my godddd.
What are you supposed to say to that? Everything thus far on this vacation has been widely platonic, and anything crossing that barrier has been nothing but a hopeful figment of your imagination. But his words, paired with the way they were delivered, feels like a step towards a future you want to live in.
But maybe you’re overthinking it. Joaquín is honest and earnest when he wants to be and maybe now is one of those moments.
You wrap your hand around your glass of ice water and bring it to your lips, pausing just long enough to respond. “What is it? The tan?”
Joaquín nods but that look in his eyes is still there. Chocolate brown dances across your figure before settling back on your own eyes. “Yeah … among other things. The tan and the color of your dress,” a bright colored fabric that hung loosely over your body and dipped around your back, you chose it especially because you knew it would look good on your skin, “and just you.”
You gulp down water, trying to contain yourself.
“Thanks, Joaquín,” you finally respond, trying to remain as casual as possible. “You look good, too.”
Joaquín grins and you can see the man you’re used to coming back to himself. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and dusts off invisible particles. “I clean up well don’t I?”
You halfheartedly roll your eyes and return back to the menu. That interaction has already been catalogued for you to hyper analyze in the shower later.
You thought that interaction was mind boggling, but the one you find yourself in later is ten times worse.
You’ve both steadily worked through your plates, giggling and laughing about any and everything you could think of. The waiter mentioned the option of drinks at one point, and you looked to Joaquín for his reaction, wanting to see if that’s how the night was going to go. Not exactly as drunk as you were the first night, but at least a little buzz. When Joaquín politely shook his head, you did the same, and continued to sip your water instead.
You do, however, decide to split two desserts.
“Can I say something?” Joaquín speaks whenever he scrapes his fork across the decadent chocolate dessert sitting in the center of the table.
You hum, grabbing a forkful of the fresher, citrus dessert instead. “Depends. How stupid is it gonna be?”
“Um … let me say it and then we can decide.”
You sit back in your seat, thereby giving him the floor.
He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he goes to respond. “I’m shocked that we’ve been together every day and night of this trip.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “What d’you mean?”
“Like we haven’t … been with other people.”
His words shock you. “Is that what you think of me, Joaquín?”
You don’t feel upset, or particularly offended. You’re just a little confused on why Joaquín has been thinking about your sex life while the two of you have been on vacation together. Sure, you’ve been thinking of the same thing, but his sex life hasn’t exactly crossed your mind. Besides whenever you pictured the two of your sex lives merging into one.
But now that he’s presented the idea, you, too, are shocked that things have been contained to just the two of you this entire week. It’s not that you expected Joaquín to sleep around, you actually didn’t know what to expect when it came to his dating life. You did know that Joaquín was attractive and people other than yourself thought so, and he obviously knew it as well, but it’s unexpected that you didn’t see him intentionally ogling at least one other person on your nights out.
You don’t know why he would think the same of you, though.
“No!” he’s quick to defend himself, “But I wouldn’t judge you if that’s how you wanted to spend your vacation. I mean I wouldn’t blame you.”
“You’re digging yourself further and further into a hole, Torres.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can tell.”
A moment goes by and you sip your water. The air here feels open, but certainly not casual. You feel like you can tell the truth in this intimate atmosphere, and your words would hold intentional weight.
You take the jump. “I didn’t wanna be with anyone else. I liked being with you.”
Joaquín looks surprised. “Really? So you preferred beach trips and coffee shops and working out over a hot hookup?”
You shrug. “I haven’t been interested in hooking up with anyone else.”
His eyebrows lift in the center. “Anyone else?”
Fuck.
It seems you have joined Joaquín in that hole, but you don’t mind being here. It’s about time you did something, right? You don’t bother responding, at least not verbally. Instead, you just look at Joaquín over the rim of your glass, sincerely hoping that he’s starting to understand.
Before any more progress can be made the waiter comes back with the check and you’re already reaching into your bag for your wallet, verbally chastising Joaquín before he can even reach for the bill.
Quiet returns to you both during the walk back to your hotel. It feels natural this time, likely because you’re not speaking, but it isn’t silent. Cars against asphalt as they drive down the street beside you, music spilling out of establishments that line the way, the automated voice of the pedestrian crossing pole when Joaquín presses the button for the both of you. There’s not anything being said, but there doesn’t need to be; much is being communicated through the energy radiating off of your body.
Walking closer to each other than you had ever before, elbows grazing, a lightness to your bodies even if you both indulged a little too much over dinner. Everything just feels so right, even if there’s still an emptiness inside of you. Even if you leave this trip without getting laid, you’ll still feel fulfilled because you and your partner are closer than you’ve ever been before. Though, after existing in this bubble with only him, it’s going to be hard to return to your normal life and let other people in.
A car honks and skirts to a stop. Before you can even realize what just happened, Joaquín’s already throwing an arm over the front of your torso, his face turned to the car that almost (wrongfully) hit the two of you. He yells something at them and blindly grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him and pushing you to the sidewalk and out of the street.
He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. “You good?” he asks at full volume. He stands next to you but still holds onto your hand.
“Yeah. We’ve been through worse than almost getting floored by a Benz, right?”
He laughs and continues leading the way back to the hotel.
Your hand stays in his the entire time.
You and Joaquín make it all the way inside of the hotel with your hands still clasped together. They don’t part until an unattended child runs between your bodies, forcing you to separate.
You end up standing in front of the elevator with the up button pushed. It dings every few seconds, an indicator of its steady descent, but it makes a few stops along the way. While you wait, you lean your shoulder into the wall next to it, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankle as you look at Joaquín standing across from you.
He speaks first. “You wanna go out again tonight? End the week with a bang?”
You shake your head. Your eyes are big, your lips are pulled into a soft smile, your entire expression is soft. Fuck hiding it, you’re done pretending.
“Nah. I’d rather stay in tonight.”
Joaquín nods and tucks his hands in his front pockets. “Alright. Together or separate?”
“Together.”
His eyebrows lift as if he’s shocked, but there’s a little glint in his eyes. You think he’s starting to catch on.
“Okay,” he drags the last syllable out and shifts his stance. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “What d’you wanna do?”
The elevator door opens and you and Joaquín stand out of the way to let people come out. As soon as everyone has cleared out, the two of you enter the elevator alone and you push the button to shut the door before anyone else can come around the corner. With the doors closing you turn to face Joaquín to see him already looking at you.
You smile up at him and he smiles down at you.
You take a step closer to him and he takes a step closer to you.
You reach a hand out to his face, hesitating, and then he nods just before he reaches a hand out and places it on your waist.
And then finally, your lips press against his.
The first kiss is tentative. It’s testing. Your lips press together, you stay like that for a moment, and then you pull away. The two of you stare at each other, Joaquín’s expression as soft and docile as it always is. You think you’re mirroring him in this moment.
Then, without any words exchanged, you both move towards each other again. Your heads are tilted and without much trouble at all, your faces slot together nearly perfectly. This kiss is more exploratory. It’s open mouthed, teetering towards a messiness that you’re sure you’ll both fully succumb to by the end of the night. At least, you hope so.
You don’t have much time, you’ve realized that as soon as the elevator dings the first time to indicate its ascent, therefore you’re trying to get what you can while you can. You throw your arms over Joaquín’s shoulders and hook them around his neck, pulling him down towards you as you tilt yourself up into him. His body curves to engulf yours in his warmth, but he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.
He kisses you like he means it, like there’s more than one mutually shared goal at the end of this motivating him.
It’s hard not to give in to the slow and longing way Joaquín kisses you. You don’t even try resisting it at a certain point. Instead, you press your chest up into his and lean up on your toes to get more of him, yet not initiating a change in the pace at all. You like the slow way Joaquín’s lips move against yours. You feel much more this way.
Your fingers lay across the back of his neck and just as they start to inch up into the faded part of his haircut, the elevator dings and announces your floor.
You and Joaquín separate with clear hesitance in the movement. The two of you stare at each other, unmoving, just looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes look darker than you’ve ever seen them before. If you got closer, you think you would see his pupils blown out. From here, though, you see his desire in other ways—the flush on his cheeks, the prominence of his chest rising and falling, the hint of your lip products that have rubbed off on his lips.
The elevator door starts to shut and Joaquín is forced into making the first move. He slots his arm between the doors just before they close and he stays there when they open. He turns to look at you, tilts his head in a beckon, and holds his hand out for you to grab.
The walk to your rooms feels much longer than it usually does. You try to make it go as fast as possible, skittering ahead of Joaquín as fast as your impractical sandals would allow, but you’re trying not to look too eager all the while. Still, when you reach the number you’ve memorized for the week and turn around to look at him, he has a slight smile of amusement on his face.
You’re already searching into your bag for your key when you ask, “Yours or mine?”
Joaquín reaches around you for the handle to the door without speaking. You watch him press the key card to the sensor and push the door handle down just as you feel your fingers find the piece of plastic.
“We gave each other one of each when we checked in, remember? Just in case.” comes his unprompted explanation. And now that you’ve been reminded, you do remember. Your key to Joaquín’s room has been sitting on the dresser forgotten the entire week. You know he wouldn’t have done it, not without your explicit consent, but you wish Joaquín had used the key to his advantage once this week. You wish he would have acted on the tension between you both, the tension that you’re finally realizing has been reciprocated this entire time.
But now it’s happening. There’s no reason to complain when you’re getting what you wanted.
His hands are on your hips as he leads you into the room, your bag is thrown to the floor and your shoes are kicked off of your feet. Your body is turned at his will, your eyes meet his as he lazily grins down at you. His tongue flicks out over his lips in a quick and smooth movement, and at a much slower pace, you lean back in to press your lips back to his.
Joaquín’s hands automatically latch onto your lower back, one warm palm pressed into the thin fabric of your dress and the other settling right on your bare skin in the opening. Meanwhile, you start working on his shirt, popping button after button through the holes. You stop when you’re halfway down, not on your own accord.
You’re forced to stop when Joaquín slots his hands behind your thighs and he easily lifts you up. You squeal into the kiss on instinct.
There’s a moment where both of you are grinning against each other’s lips and it just feels so right. It feels incredibly natural to be doing this, to be smiling when you’re kissing Joaquín, even though nearly everything else about this situation isn’t natural for the two of you (your erect nipples rubbing against his chest, your panties stuck to your cunt, the very faint brush of his cock stiff in his pants that you get on the journey up).
“You’re just showing off,” you half-heartedly chide.
Joaquín shrugs and walks you back to the bed. “Maybe just a little.” He places you down, kneeling between your legs and finishing off the remaining buttons on his shirt. “You love it, though.”
You don’t admit it verbally, but the way you shamelessly ogle his chest when he pulls the shirt off says everything.
As soon as his shirt is gone, he places a hand on your ankle, slowly inching your dress up a few inches before he stops and looks at you. His expression is open, you can tell what he’s asking without words. But for good measure, he includes them.
“Can I keep going?”
You nod, eager and unashamed. “Yeah. Keep going.”
He starts to push the bright fabric further and further up your legs, speaking to you as he continues. “You gotta let me know if …” his words taper off when he sees the first hint of your panties, and you don’t know exactly what he’s seeing, but it makes him speechless for a moment and your ego inflates.
“I’ll let you know if …?” Cockiness is audible in your words but he doesn’t comment on it.
Joaquín blinks and comes back to himself. “If you wanna stop, or if you want something changed. We gotta communicate.”
“M’kay.”
And with that, Joaquín pushes the fabric completely over your hips and he’s met with your panties. They’re a bright color that compliments the color of your dress, and, consequently, your tanned skin. He swears under his breath and although you don’t hear him clearly at all, you’re pretty sure it wasn’t in English.
You sit up fully and slip your dress over your torso with Joaquín’s help. He lets the fabric drop to the floor without looking, his eyes are focused solely on your chest.
You’re laying back on your elbows, elevated just enough to look at him. You stare at his eyes, even if you aren’t making eye contact, while he leans up to hover over you. His head dips and he presses a single kiss in the center of your chest and repeats the action right over each side of your ribcage. The tip of his nose grazes your breast and instinctively you arch up towards him. When he pulls away just enough to look up at you, you see him smiling.
You could beg, but the night has only begun. You decide to save that for later. For now, you huff and stick your spine back to the mattress.
Joaquín places a hand around your side and dips his head back down, this time higher than before. When he latches his lips around your nipple, a little gasp breaks from between your lips. He lets his teeth scrape against the bud, alternating between giving you pressure and giving you wet heat from his tongue. By the time he switches to your other nipple, you’re already desperate for a true relief focused on your cunt. His lips travel upwards, brushing against your skin throughout the journey, until he’s pressing them into the side of your neck and under your jaw. You let him continue upwards, you let him kiss you a bit more, but you can only go so long without real, fruitful stimulation. And maybe another time after this (circumstances willing) you would love to prolong everything.
But right now you need to get fucked, whatever that could entail.
You buck your hips up and end up catching the bulge in Joaquín’s pants where his zipper lies. You think he’ll catch on that way, and maybe he does, but he just chooses to ignore it. Either way, you send him a hint and Joaquín doesn’t do anything about it. He continues kissing you, he tweaks your nipples and slots a knee between your legs, all of which you’re grateful for since it is a stepping stone in the right direction. But you need stimulation, you need to get off, and the slow crawl is slowly driving you crazy.
You pull away from Joaquín to call his name. He responds with a gruff yeah that immediately settles deep in your gut.
“I need more. Please.”
He grins right in your face. The expression almost looks wicked on him for the first time ever. He has the power here right now and he’s obviously letting it go to his head.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks while his hand slides down between your bodies until his thick fingers can slip between your clothed folds.
His question was rhetorical (and smug but that’s besides the point), yet you still find yourself going to respond. Your lips part, you can feel the corners turning down as you prepare to say something just as smug back to him, but then he presses down and quickly finds your clit after a moment of fumbling. As far as words go, you’re silent. Nothing but sounds slip from your mouth from that point onwards.
Joaquín toys with your clit. He starts with one finger, just the pad of what you think might be his middle finger, and when that has you forcing your hips up into his touch, he adds a second finger. With two fingers, he has more space to work with, resulting in larger circles right over the most sensitive part of you. He speeds up, too.
Your back arches and you dig your nails into the sheets. You know what you want to ask for, it's simple and you’d already said the word in this space, but it gets trapped in your throat this time. You’re close already. Yeah, you’d been getting yourself off throughout the week, but finally having Joaquín do it for you has made you so much more responsive.
You get the first syllable out, the ‘M’ vibrating in your throat before you open your mouth to round it out in an ‘O’.
Joaquín picks up where you left off.
“More?” he asks, eyebrows lifting as he holds your heavy gaze. Before you even respond with a nod, he’s already sitting back far enough to slip his hand in your panties and repeat his emotions.
The first real touch dizzies you for a moment. You pinch your eyes shut with the pure intention of orienting yourself, but then Joaquín chastises you in a soft, but firm voice.
“Look at me. I wanna see you.”
You do as told, of course.
He nods. “There we go.” His fingers get just a little faster, the circles tighter. You’re so wet that there isn’t any uncomfortable friction at all, his skin easily glides against yours.
“You close?” he asks after a moment. When you nod, he continues, “If I give you this one, you’ll be able to give me another, right? You can give me more?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You’re breathless when you speak, and it certainly doesn’t help that it’s then when Joaquín decides to pull his fingers away completely, pull your panties to the side, and sink down completely until his face is level with your cunt.
Just the image below you is enough to twist that section deep into your stomach into a knot. He’s barely able to give you anything before your back is arching off of the bed and everything in you mounts to a peak.
When you come, it’s from the controlled and effective licks Joaquín delivers to your cunt. You don’t know when your hand moves on its own, but you feel silk-like strands between your fingers. It helps anchor you, gripping his hair helps keep you sane, especially when Joaquín keeps going.
He broadens his reach this time. His mouth opens wide enough to slide his tongue down from your entrance and back up towards your clit. And he doesn’t just lick this time, you hear the audible suck from him. He’s slurping that shit, and you can already feel the introduction of another orgasm.
If you were with anyone else, you’d be shocked at how soon another is on the precipice. But it’s Joaquín, and aside from the fact that you’ve wanted him for a while, you’re not exactly shocked that he knows what he’s doing.
He slowly sinks one finger into you, pumping the digit in and out of you with meticulous ease. It’s a stark contrast from the almost sloppy way he’s eating you out. But it works.
One finger is nice, it’s thicker than your own, rougher, too. You could get off just like that. And then, he adds a second.
“Fuck,” you swear without any conscious intention.
Joaquín comes up for air, releasing you with an audible smack. “Yeah?” he asks, the word coming from right in his throat.
You nod as you take in the way he looks—cheeks flushed, hair tousled and hanging over his forehead, pink lips shining, his eyes wide and nearly doe-like.
“Yeah,” you confirm. You see a look flash in Joaquín’s eyes then. It’s a look similar to the one he has whenever Sam affirms his work with a clap on the back—self-satisfied, delighted, proud. It occurs to you then that he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. He can read your body language, sure. It’s obvious from your cunt, along how good he’s making you feel, but you know verbal affirmation is different. It’s better, especially for Joaquín.
As he goes back in to finish you off, you speak to him.
“Just like that,” you tell him. Just this little bit encourages him, you can feel it in his movements. “Keep going. ‘M close, so close, Joaquín. Please, don’t stop. You’re so … you’re so—” Before you can even get it out, all noise dies completely from you. Your mouth uselessly hangs open, not even air comes out as your entire body stiffens. Nothing happens for a moment, Joaquín continues, you’re stuck, and then a nanosecond later everything knocks into you.
Sound emits from you, moans and groans and breaths. You’re digging into whatever you can find—the heel of your foot into Joaquín’s back, your hands in his hair, the rest of your body into the twisted sheets beneath you. You’re simultaneously trying to escape and trying to keep Joaquín from parting with you for even a moment. It’s hard to decide which you prefer, you don’t even think your mind has any say in the dilemma, your body is in control at this point.
Ultimately, your body decides to let go, releasing both of you at the same time. Still, Joaquín takes a moment to pull from you. He continues licking and sucking, but his fingers slowing down indicates his intent to free you. It comes after a few drawn out moments where you’re stuck twitching beneath him until finally, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses one final kiss right onto your clit.
His head lifts and the evidence is more obvious than you expected. It’s gathered all over his chin, stuck along the beginnings of facial hair that will likely be gone first thing Monday morning. It’s gathered on his lips and along his tongue when he uses the muscle to pull the remnants of your arousal into his mouth.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and only then does he realize how much of a mess you’ve made of him. He pulls his hand back, brown eyes big as he stares at the evidence.
“Shit,” he laughs.
All you can do is agree through labored breaths.
He tries to clean you off of his mouth, but not much is done. He leans in tentatively after that, as if you’re going to shy away from him. You don’t.
You kiss him back eagerly, although a bit lethargically. You’re trying to hide it from fear that Joaquín could think that you’re done. But your body needs a moment to recover from that.
When Joaquín pulls away from you with a small smile on his face, you know he’s onto you.
“You need a minute?” The way he says it isn’t much different from the way he asks you those same words when he’s kicking your ass in the gym.
And just like when you’re in the gym, you shamefully nod.
Joaquín chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead. “That’s okay. You want anything? Water maybe?”
“Water sounds good.”
You watch him leave and then your eyes are focused solely on the ceiling. You can’t even let what’s happening sink in when you’re still a little spacey. But you can handle more. You want more from him.
Joaquín comes back with a glass of water. He stands next to the bed and passes the full glass to you. You don’t question the source, you just drink until there’s half left. You offer it to him and he gladly takes it from you.
“Are you … do you wanna stop?” He speaks when the glass has been emptied and placed on the nightstand. For the most part he looks like he would be unaffected by whatever answer you gave, but you think you can detect some premature dejection in his features. Quickly, he adds, “Because it’s fine if you do. I’m okay with that.” And he’s being honest. You don’t feel any pressure coming from Joaquín at all.
It’s what you truly mean and want when you immediately shake your head. “No. Let’s keep going.”
He nods once to himself. “Alright. Cool. Yeah.”
Excitement leaks from his pores but you don’t comment on it. You felt just as he did not long ago. You still feel like that, but you’re under a haze right now and that’s what your emotions are being led with.
Joaquín hooks his thumbs into his already-loosened jeans and goes to pull them down. First, though, he pats at his pockets. When he doesn’t feel what he’s looking for, he swears.
“One second.”
You watch his form retreat until the door of your room is pulled open. Not even a minute later he comes back in with a foil pocket brandished between his fingers, the same fingers that were in you not long ago.
“You came prepared?” The question comes out more judgemental than you meant it to.
Joaquín shrugs. “I keep an emergency bag full of … stuff. You know, in case of an emergency.”
“Freak.” You don’t mean it.
“You’re about to get fucked by a freak so, wouldn’t that make you a freak by association?” He seems to mean it.
“I don’t think that’s how that works.”
He holds the packet between his teeth while he slides his jeans off of his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He comes back around to the side, pulling the packet out from his teeth and staring down at you. Like this he looks more imposing than he ever has before.
When he’s been out in the field, when he’s training, when he yelled at the car earlier tonight, he didn’t look as imposing as he does now—staring down at you over the bridge of his nose, hair tousled, cock tenting in his black briefs.
“That’s definitely how that works,” he claims as he leans down. He presses his hands into the bed beneath you to leverage himself as he kisses you, slow and passionate. You wonder if he’ll fuck you like that too.
You reach a hand up and pull the elastic away from his waist. When he doesn’t react, you tug the fabric down. You feel it get stuck around his cock just before you feel his cock spring free. It brushes against your wrist and you make a little noise into the kiss.
As soon as Joaquín’s briefs are laying at his feet he assumes his previous position, this time sitting right on his haunches. You avoid looking at his cock for a moment, but when you watch him tear the condom packet open, you get the first glimpse at him.
Even this part of him is attractive. He’s thick, that’s the first thing you notice. Thick and heavy, if the way he hangs to the side is any indicator. There’s a vein leading from his taut stomach down towards the dark and trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You hadn’t noticed the vein ever before, not when you had been too busy ogling the v-line chiseled into his torso instead.
Now that you’ve seen all of Joaquín, you can easily conclude that he’s perfect. Just as you have that thought, Joaquín takes an inhale as he prepares to speak.
“You’re so perfect,” he says.
The warmth instantly floods your body.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” you tell him.
He dips his head almost shyly and doesn’t say anything. Instead, Joaquín pulls the condom out of the packet.
“Wait. Lemme do it. Can I do it?”
He looks momentarily surprised at your request, but he passes you the condom and politely places his hands on top of his thighs.
It’s truly an excuse to feel him beneath your palm as you glide the latex barrier down his length. You revel in the warmth beneath your hand, because as soon as you’ve secured the barrier around the base of his shaft, Joaquín's leading you back without even having to touch you. He leans forward and in response, you lean all the way back until you’re nestled amongst the pillows at the head of the bed.
“Ready?”
You nod, letting your legs fall open for him.
One warm hand falls to the inside of your thigh while the other disappears between your legs to line up his dick. Then, slowly, Joaquín pushes forward. The stretch is instant, you can feel yourself opening up wider and wider to fully fit him in. If you weren’t as soaked and prepped as you were, you’re sure the burn would’ve been way worse.
For a few moments it’s like the length of him keeps going and going, but then you feel his thighs press up against the back of yours and there’s the faint feeling of his balls resting against your ass and you know he’s bottomed out. He looks at you, gauging your reaction, and your response comes in the form of linking a leg around his back.
Joaquín smiles through nothing but the twitch of the corner of his mouth upwards, and then he wastes no more time. He rests his weight on his hands at either side of your head, and pulls his hips back just to roll them forward and slide his cock back into you.
And for a bit, Joaquín does fuck you slow and passionate. He fucks you in full strokes, a nice tempo that doesn’t overwhelm you too quickly. There’s punctuation at the end of each thrust, followed by a nearly agonizing pull back out. Whether intentional or not, Joaquín’s introducing you to the feeling of his cock filling you up, just as he’s introducing the concept of another release to you.
But you’ve had your fill, it’s his turn now.
You press your hands into his shoulders. They glide back, one hand grazing over the raised skin of the scar that leads down his back, the other following a smooth path, but they meet in the same place—back around the front to where his chain hangs. You hook one finger into the gold link, the other going behind his head. You pull him closer until you can nudge your noses together.
His eyes flutter shut and his eyebrows pinch together in the center. You kiss him once and pull back to tell him, “You can use me, Joaquín. Take what you want.”
His eyes open to stare at you with confusion written on his face, bordering on hope, as if he already has an idea formed in his head of what he really wants to do to you.
You nod assuredly. “It’s what I want.” Just as you’re about to add a quiet plea to seal the deal, Joaquín adjusts his position and then he pulls nearly all the way out of you, only to forcefully drive back into you.
The switch is immediate. He still fucks you in complete motions, but they’re shorter, no longer the tip to the shaft each time. These are faster, much faster. It feels like he’s reaching up into your guts each time, just to pull back and do it again and again and again.
You’re forced to find purchase again, hands digging into whatever you can find. One hand attaches to his hair and the other holds onto his chain, your legs have linked around Joaquín’s hips, your head has craned backwards, leaving the area between the base of your neck and your chest open for Joaquín to rest his forehead on.
You can’t hear his sounds over yours, but you feel them—quick breaths let out onto the sweat coated area of your chest. You would try and silence yourself to better hear him, but you couldn’t even if you tried.
Luckily, though, Joaquín lifts his head and notches his nose against the side of your neck instead. He kisses you right beneath your earlobe, but when he can no longer complete that action, his jaw goes slack and every single noise he makes travels directly to your ear.
You swear and it comes out as a whimper, not even a second later Joaquín swears and it’s a deep groan all the way from the back of his throat. You call his name and he calls yours. He’s affecting you, and you’re affecting him, even just by laying back and urging him to get himself off by using your body.
“Are you close?” you eventually gather the strength, and will, to ask.
You feel Joaquín nod against your neck. “Yeah,” he confirms, “yeah, baby, ‘m almost there.”
Your reaction is instant. You groan, a sound that could be interpreted as frustration if you weren’t having your guts completely rearranged right now.
He chuckles deeply against your skin. “What? What’s up?”
“C…Call me that again.”
“What? ‘Baby’? You like when I call you baby?”
You hum affirmatively.
Joaquín lifts his head and slots one hand against your cheek. His pace slows as he stares at you. “You’re my baby? Hm? Are you?”
You nod, whining out an “uh-huh”.
“Yeah?” he grins as he says it, as if he’s shocked that you agreed. You don’t know if he’s serious, if he knows that his words are holding weight even if you’re a little dumb right now, but you do mean it.
He licks his lips and you see an idea coming to his head. “You gonna be good for me, too?” When you nod, he continues. “Be good for me, baby, and touch yourself, alright?”
He gives you the space needed and watches your hand slide down your stomach. When you use two fingers to tweak your already overstimulated clit, Joaquín nods.
“That’s right. Just like that.”
He resumes his original pace, this time with his eyes fully locked on your cunt. He pulls one of your legs up and throws it over his shoulder, leaning forward to get even deeper into you.
You’re close, you’re almost there, and the erratic way Joaquín practically jackhammers into you as he chases his own release is what pushes you over. You finish just after Joaquín buries himself into you and curls his body over yours. This orgasm truly feels like a release. Everything in you melts into the world around you, just as Joaquín’s body melts on top of yours.
He kisses the skin closest to him, first in small almost discrete pecks, and then they gradually get bigger and more audible until he’s clearly making them ridiculous on purpose.
His cock is still nestled in you and his head is still resting on your chest when he speaks. “You think you’ll be up for a shower?”
You hum, letting the question run through your head for a minute before responding. “In about ten minutes, yeah.”
“Take your time.”
In the meantime, Joaquín slowly slides out of you. The emptiness is immediate, but after all you’ve been through since getting back to your room, you don’t exactly hate it. Your eyes start to feel heavy but you let them close for a little while. You rely on your other senses throughout.
The feeling of Joaquín kissing over where you think your bikini tan lines are, the rim of the glass that he brings to your lips, the sound of his voice as he gently urges you to drink, the feeling of cool water sliding down your throat. He holds you steady as you drink with a hand behind your head. Your lips turn up tiredly, and you feel his thumb at the corner of your lip catching a stray drop of water. You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s wearing that same soft look on his features.
You’re so pampered there that you don’t force yourself to get up until you hear the shower running.
Joaquín’s already there waiting for you at the door. He smiles when he sees you as if he’s shocked that you came, even though this is your room and your bathroom. Still, he reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you into the bathroom and in front of him. His hands push at your back, guiding you towards the shower. He pulls the door open for you and lets you step inside before he follows after you.
You reach for the towel and soap, but stop when he tuts behind you.
“I got it,” is all he says. So you let yourself completely relax with the feeling of Joaquín dragging the cloth up and down your limbs. He talks to you throughout, mostly asking you to lift an arm or turn around, sometimes bringing up small bits of conversation, every now and then singing bits of songs—some that you recognize, some that you don’t. There’s a familiarity now that you’ve gained since his hands had massaged sunscreen into your shoulders.
Eventually, though, he finishes with you, leaving you to lean against the wall and watch him shower.
“You know what I realized like a few minutes ago?” he says when he’s rinsing the soap off of his body.
“What?”
“Remember the couple from the club that first night? The one who kept buying us drinks?”
“Yeah, how could I forget?”
“Yeah well I’m pretty sure they thought we were like … swingers or some shit.”
You’re startled awake. “Huh? Why do you think that?”
“Oh I don’t think, I know. The guy gave me his number and everything. Plus you saw the way they were looking at us, and the woman kept cozying up to you.”
You frown. “I thought she was just drunk or friendly.”
“She definitely was drunk and friendly. And she also wanted you.”
You blink. “I thought she wanted you.”
Joaquín shrugs and rinses the last of the soap from his back before he shuts the water off. “She probably did. That’s sort of part of the whole swingers gig, isn’t it?”
You laugh through a quick exhale of air. “Come on, Joaquín, let’s go to bed.”
You step out of the shower and wrap a towel around your body. Joaquín follows after you.
“Oh, I get to sleep with you tonight?” He sounds giddy when he says it, as if he wasn’t just fucking you so good that your legs are still getting used to walking again. When you tell him that, you see the unintended compliment go straight to his head.
You end up getting exactly what you wanted. Joaquín leans into the bathroom counter with the towel hung low around his waist and his eyes watching you do your skincare routine. As soon as you’re finished, he’s trekking off to his room for a change of clothes and to do whatever he needs to do, and he comes back in nothing but boxers with a big shirt in his hand. He lays it on the counter for you casually, but you see the tips of his ears tinted just a tiny bit red when he retreats back to your room.
You come out in his shirt to see him lying on your side of the bed, the remote in his hand and pointed at the TV. As if the entire trip had been going like this the entire time, he instantly scoots over when you come to the side of the bed and lifts the sheets for you to climb under. You lay curled into his side, telling him to click a channel playing a movie that you know he likes.
The remote is placed on the nightstand, the lights are clicked off and you’re snuggled up next to Joaquín, wearing his shirt and talking about how the two of you are going to spend your last day of vacation.
Not everything goes how you thought it would, though. Joaquín ends up being pretty mindful with his blanket usage.
ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ; ᴀᴏ‘ɴᴜɴɢ xᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴋᴀʏᴀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
Summary: You and Ao‘nung are on your way to collect special fruits for an Assembly of the Mitkayina Clan, but things are getting weird and… hot?
Warnings; Fluff, Kissing, sexual …talk? Enemies to Lovers, mentions of death (hate that) lol thats it enjoy
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"Aonung wait." I hissed, kicking some leaves out of the way. Below me the wet grass between my toes. We must have been walking for almost an hour now and the bag in which I was collecting the fruit for the Metkayina assembly almost overflowed. "What's the matter? Can't you keep up?" Ao'nung taunts and swings over a tree trunk closely followed by me, who somehow struggles over it.
I was sure we'd had enough and all this fuss was just to annoy me. After all, I was allowed to carry the heavy bag, although he always talked about how strong he was. Idiot. With ease he pushed some branches to the side which then almost killed me. I was angry and I wanted to push him off a cliff. After I had overcome the last dangers that Ao'nung had exposed me to, we entered a sandy beach. Almost a bay I would say. The waves hit the rocks and far behind I recognized the spot where our ilus were waiting for us.
"You're kidding me, aren't you? We could have just come here straight away, then we would have saved ourselves the difficult journey." I snapped spitefully. Me and Ao'nung have always had our...differences. In the beginning he was really likeable to me, until he became an absolute ass. After Neteyam's death he dropped this whole macho scam and I was free from him insulting me everyday but I'm still being screwed 24/7 until I can't anymore. Fine, from time to time I'll take revenge and sometimes it's even funny. Still, I can hardly judge Ao'nung at all.
"Don't get so upset, the way is the goal." he laughs and sets off into the bushes to pick whatever I'm allowed to carry anyway in the end. Rolling my eyes, I put the bag down and stretch. A moment later, Ao'nung comes back out of the bushes. He walks over to me at the end of the beach and holds out a pink prickly fruit. I look at them both skeptically and raise an eyebrow.
"Thanks, but I'm poisoning myself." I decline with a grin. But Ao'nung doesn't let go of me, pulls out his knife, cuts off a piece and puts it in his mouth. "Something of poisoned." he whispers, dramatically holding his stomach. I suppress my laughter and just roll my eyes. Again he cuts off a piece and puts it in front of my mouth. "here." I try to reach for it but he pulls his hand away. "I thought you wanted me to try?" I ask. "Yes-but not that you hurt yourself." Only now do I recognize the barbs on the shell. However, he doesn't seem to mind. "bite off."
Somehow I don't really feel comfortable with it, but I bit it off and felt his cold fingers. Juice dripped from my chin, which Ao'nung brushed away with a gentle movement, and then licks his finger. I freeze, barely able to breathe. I was beyond confused, and somehow, …suprised."
" swallow." he breathes softly and raises his eyebrows. My head is a red room full of panic signs that glow brighter than neon lights. "wa-what" I bring out with my mouth full. "I said swallow." I get goosebumps. At no point did I think that Ao'nung's words could provoke a reaction of this kind, but I press my legs together and swallow the sweet fruit. Ao'nung eyes wander up and down my body, knowing what that just was. Funny, I would also like to know that. I swallow again.
"Do not look at me like that." I command him. "How am I looking at you?" smiling, he takes a step towards me, his eyes look deep into mine. "N- well the way you're looking at me. Stop that." "I can not." he blurts out.
Fuck. I think to myself, undecided whether I should just kiss him or run away. Then being confused because of my own thoughts. Ao'nung was all flirtation... just not usually with me. "You know, then just turn around or-" I keep getting quiet until my air to breathe is replaced by Ao'nung's lips. While I still hold my hands in the air in surprise, Ao'nung throws away the knife in his hand and grabs my waist. I reflexively wrap my hands around his neck.
The moment he lays me down on the sand, I forget all my principles and pull him down to me. I feel the cold sand beneath me, Ao'nung hands in my hair. I pull away from him, breathing heavily.
He just grins, with those cute dimples and his perfect eyes. "okay that was… quick." I gasp, trying to cover my nervousness with a laugh that only makes it more obvious. "fast?" he asks, looking at the air thinking. "Well, this is the first time you've let me get closer than a foot without hitting me, you're actually pretty slow today." embarrassed, I put my hand in front of my face. His confident flirting makes me more than nervous. "Don't talk such nonsense, there were at least a two." He licks his lips and presses another kiss on my lips. "You could hit me right now and I'd still want you, not gonna lie."I clench my teeth tightly and still roll my eyes in shock at what just happened.
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Send in what you want me to write:)
can u do 13 & 48 w elliot?
pulling your lover closer by the waistband
a kiss that lasts longer than it should
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It was supposed to be quick goodbye kiss before going home, but as you were kissing in the foyer, Elliot had pulled you closed by waistband of your jeans, pulling your bodies flush together. A small, breathy gasp left your lips when he rolled his hips against you.
Elliot's cousin was out and you were thankful. You didn't want her to witness her horny cousin humping you. It would be embarrassing - for you and her.
You knew what he wanted, but you couldn’t git it to him. Your curfew was in fifteen minutes and you had already lied to your parents about a school project with Rue - there was no school project. You couldn’t risk her calling the Bennetts’ to check if you were on your way.
''I gotta go, baby,'' you said with a pout, breaking from your boyfriend's lips.
He whined and kissed your jaw, trailing down your neck. ''Just one more minute.''
You giggled and tangled your fingers in his blond curls, staying for a few more kisses.
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Tag-list: @milkiane @euphoricfeminine
Elliot tag-list: @adashipsjegulus @lovesanimals0000 @ellyskey @barbietiingz
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