đđđ đđđĄđđ€đŁ
çșŠçšżæ„èą

Kaledo Art
RMH
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Three Goblin Art
dirt enthusiast

Origami Around
Acquired Stardust

â
tumblr dot com

shark vs the universe
NASA

ellievsbear

#extradirty
I'd rather be in outer space đž
Monterey Bay Aquarium

@theartofmadeline
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Sweet Seals For You, Always

romaâ
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Thailand

seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from United States
seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia
seen from Jamaica
seen from United States
seen from Jamaica
seen from Jamaica

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
@shatang9
đđđ đđđĄđđ€đŁ
çșŠçšżæ„èą

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
lending a helping hand | joaquin torres
summary: a big clientâs request for a custom art piece has clouded your mind the past few weeks, leaving you stressed and tensed. it was a pain to be around, so joaquin had no choice but to confront you and support you. heâll help you get unblocked, he insists, no matter how creative it gets.
warnings: mdni. porn with plot (sorry idk how to write porn without plot, maybe one day </3), oral (f!recieving), f!masturbation, fingering, use of sex toys, joaquinâs a perv and mean sorry, cursing, roommate!joaquin, joaquin does manhandles reader but this doesnât come from a size-exclusivity perspective it comes from a âthat man is captain of the air force and the current falcon and even though hes only 5â9 heâs strong asf and i believe that heâs such a whore heâll go anything to get that cookieâ perspective, i did not proof read (everyone say thank u lexiepoo @sortagaysortahigh)Â
wc: 6.4k
-
Youâve been so damn tense. The slamming of the cabinets, the constant murmuring to yourself, the one word answers in every conversationâit was driving Joaquin up the walls. He hates it, every second of it.Â
And the worst part? Heâs so sure that you donât even realize what youâre doing.
Sitting at the small dining table, Joaquin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Milk drips from his cereal spoon, but he pays it no mind. Instead, he focuses on finishing his prayer to any entity aboveâthe one he started when he heard your bedroom door openâbefore finishing his bite.Â
In the kitchen, youâre oblivious to his antics. Oblivious to everything it seems, Joaquin complains internally, as he watches the fridge door slam. The contents inside are rattling from the sheer force. Next comes the mugs and cups cabinet, then the pantry door, then you leave the open milk container on the counter before you finally finish making your one cup of coffee. By the end of it, Joaquinâs head is hanging over his breakfast in defeat.Â
âMorning,â you quickly offer, before youâre shuffling out of the communal space.Â
âDonât do it.â Joaquin whispers to himself. Your art room door opens and closes with a slam. âFuck,â he curses, cringing. He pinches the space between his eyes, feeling a familiar headache starting to form.Â
This canât go on any longer.
-
Joaquin gives you two hours to yourself. Truthfully, moreso for his sake than yours, but thatâs neither here nor there. After a quick at home workout, tidying up the living room (and the kitchen, thanks to you), and eating a late morning snack, he knew he couldnât procrastinate any longer.Â
He imagined that youâd be working diligently on some outline, crumpled sheets of paper all around you by the time he walked in, so imagine his surprise when you were doing exactlyâŠnothing.Â
Your door is a bit creaky, and Joaquin made a mental note to WD-40 it later, but when his eyes finally land on your form things are much worse than he anticipated. Forehead flat against the desk in the room, youâre hunched over in obvious defeat. His eyes flicker over to the mug of coffee from this morning, spilled on the ground on top of a canvas with pencil marks all over it. Wow.Â
âGet out.â It was muffled thanks to the wooden furniture acting as an insulator. Groggily, you lift your head up, to look at Joaquin.Â
Obnoxiously shirtless with stupidly low sweatpants on, Joaquinâs hands were on his hips, a look of chastisement on his face. âDude.â Itâs all he says.Â
âJoaquin,â you whine. He needs to leave. Your head is all over the place and the last thing you can afford is a distraction. And thatâs what he is: a distraction. âLeave me alone, I canât go with you to the plant nursery to get more stuff for your cacti today, okay? Iâm swamped.âÂ
He sighs your name. Though Joaquin can admit that your unkempt hair coupled with the âU.S AIR FORCEâ tee you stole from him thatâs currently sitting on your shoulders is one of his more favorite looks on you, the scowl youâre wearing with it is killing him.Â
âSeriously, Joaquin,â you insist, voice grumbling, âPlease leave.â Your hand grasps at some loose papers, picking up a pencil, a clear dismissal. Both of you know that grabbing all that stuff means nothing, because you have no ideas to work with. âAnd put on a shirt while youâre at it. Itâs 60° you freak.âÂ
-
You stay locked in your art room for the next several hours before Joaquin comes barging in again.Â
Greeting him with a shout, youâre about to kick him out again when he walks around your easel and grabs you from the stool youâre sitting on, forcing you to stand.Â
âHey!â you protest, âJoaquin, watch it!âÂ
Joaquinâs grip loosens momentarily as he squats down. Youâre lost on what his actions are until he hoists you over his shoulder in one smooth motion. Â
âWhat the hell,â you shout. âAre you insane? Joaquin!âÂ
He doesnât even flinch, and you can only watch helplessly, upside-down, as the floor changes from various stained white tarped floors to the houseâs dark wood floors, Joaquin repositioning you to the living room.Â
You fall onto the couch with zero ceremony and you feel like a sack of flour from his actions. Scrambling to situate yourself, you sit straight up on the couch and start to stand when Joaquin holds his palm up.Â
âYouâre avoiding the hell out of me.âÂ
âIâm busy!â you hiss.Â
âYouâre being a menace to every door in this apartment.âÂ
You wince, âThatâsâŠmy bad.âÂ
âYouâre not making any progress on this commission.âÂ
His words initially strike anger in you, that frustration thatâs been haunting you the past week coming up to bite. But Joaquin watches as your lips part, and jumps in before you can yell at him again.Â
âYouâre blocked,â Joaquin states. The firmness of his tone is gone, instead replaced with a softer version of his voice, though his words insist truth.Â
You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes closing momentarily as you take in his words. Then you let out a big sigh. âYeah,â you admit, slouching back into the couch. âYeah, Iâm blocked.âÂ
At your confession, Joaquin drops the act and plops himself next to you. The couch dips dramatically under his weight, letting out a whoosh of air. Matching him, you slump back into the couch with a pathetic sigh, blowing raspberries with your lips.Â
You glance at him for a second and Joaquin raises his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for you to say something. You simply shake your head.Â
âJust take a break,â Joaquin offers.Â
âIt wonât help,â you groan, dropping your head against the back of the couch to stare up at the cracked ceiling.Â
He shifts, turning his body to face yours. An arm wraps around the back of the couch, Joaquin suggests that you need to âstop trying to force it.â His other hand waves in the air, âI donât know go touch some grass or something, maybe itâll help.âÂ
Eyes averting from the ceiling, you glare at him through your peripherals. You groan, âMaybe I should just call them and tell them I canât complete this commission.â
Joaquinâs response is swift, âThatâs quitter talk.âÂ
âWell, Iâm quitting,â you sulk.Â
He simply ignores you, and thereâs a brief pause. If you listen close enough, you could hear the gears starting to turn in Joaquinâs head.Â
âLet me help you.âÂ
You laugh curtly. âYeah, how?âÂ
-
âI hate you,â you squeeze out between huffs of breaths.Â
âCome on, give me another. You can do it,â he grunts, voice stupidly optimistic.Â
âJoaquin!â you whine, lowering your body with your elbows bent. Your chest brushes against the floor and you stay there for a bit.âWorking out is not going to solve my problems! Your stupid workout is just going to kill me.âÂ
For every push up you do, he does five, even now, through your complaints. Down then up. Down then up. He continues, all while turning over to look at you with a wide grin. âYeah? But you were doing so good,â he teases, with slight strain in his voice.Â
It makes you lose focus temporarily, mind interpreting his words a bit differently than the given context, but you scold yourself. Shaking your head of the thought, you fail to give Joaquin an answer as you push yourself back up, locking your elbows.Â
You had about three more in you before you flopped ungracefully chest first into the floor. Rolling onto your back, you feel your chest rise and fall rapidly. Your face is warm and your heart rates fast. Turning your head, you look over at your roommate.Â
Big mistake.Â
Joaquin is unperturbed by your actions as he follows through with the rest of his set. Mid-rep, his biceps flex as he lowers and lifts himself in a controlled, almost lazy motion. Thereâs a sheen layer of sweat, barely perceivable, lining his arms and neck. The white tank top he wore left little to imagination. Your eyes trail his veinâthat veinâthat runs along his forearm, sticking out prominently.Â
You swallow harshly.Â
Annoyingly, almost as if he can feel your gaze on him, Joaquin looks over at you with a smirk before giving you a wink. âImpressive, right?âÂ
Heâs compliment-fishing. Itâs something he does it all the time, to which you simply ignore. But this time it does something to you. Â
The tight workout shirt sticks to you uncomfortably, and youâre sure it has nothing to do with your sweat. You feel your nipples start to tighten underneath the sports bra you wrestled your way into this morning, and your own breathing starts to come out laboured despite recovering from the work out long ago.Â
You can only hope that Joaquin thinks itâs due to the push ups.Â
His dog tags clink against each other, but youâre hardly focused on the sound of that, ears instead trained to pick up on Joaquinâs grunts and breathing.Â
Before your thoughts can get any more inappropriate about your roommate, he drops with an exaggerated groan. Matching your position, Joaquin turns to lay on his back before turning to look at you. He interprets the daze look on your face as something else, brows furrowed.Â
âYeah, maybe we need to try something else.â
-
The condensation from your slushy is pooling on your thigh, where itâs currently resting. Your gaze is up at Joaquinâs ceiling as you twist yourself back and forth on his gaming chair.Â
The beverage was refreshing after your thirty minute walk, which the two of you only took as a relief from your disastrous baking attempt that ended with two dozen burnt muffins lining the bottom of your trash bin.Â
Upon coming back home with your drinks in hand, the two of you just shared a quiet look before walking straight past your living room and into Joaquinâs room.Â
The baking attempt came after the elementary school art project, and that ended in the floor being covered with scraps of colorful construction paper and glitter glue on every surface. Not to mention the Wii controllers stuck in the wall after an especially competitive session of Mario Kart that came before the art projectâŠ
Theyâre all problems for later.Â
You hear Joaquin slurp loudly on his large drink that was already nearly finished. He sat criss-crossed on his bed, staring at you. âHave you ever considered that youâre having a differentâŠkind of block?âÂ
You stop your spinning, head lolling over to look at him with narrowed eyes. âWhat do you mean?âÂ
His eyes match yours, head tilting to the side as he observes you. Joaquin is biting his straw as he looks at you with deep contemplation. âWhenâs the last time you got laid?âÂ
You sit upright in his chair, the condensation sliding off your thighs. âWhat the hell?âÂ
Joaquinâs expression remains unchanged, face still stoic and deep in thought. His eyes start to trail from just your face, scanning down the length of your body as though he can just tell the last time youâve had an orgasm just by looking at you.Â
âStop it!â you throw the keychain that you crafted for Joaquin at his chest, grabbing it from where it sat on his desk.Â
âAnswer the question.â He doesnât even flinch at your assault, straw tucked between his teeth, nibbling on the plastic as he stares at you.Â
âNo,â you protest. âNone of your business is when.âÂ
Heâs quiet for a second before leaning back, but you pay no mind, too preoccupied with how flush you were suddenly feeling despite the cold, icy beverage on your skin. Your skin prickles with heat, like every nerve ending in your body was lighting up all at once.Â
The audacity of the question, how bluntly he asks you, it leaves your head spinning. Itâs not like you and Joaquin have never talked about sex, you most definitely have. Hookups, short-term relationships, any time one of you needed the house to yourself or had guests staying overâit was normal enough. But you never talked about it like this, and he especially never looked at you like he was dissecting every tension wound inside you.Â
You squirm in the chair, thighs pressing together instinctively. âWhat is wrong with you?â you resort to scolding him. It was a poor attempt at deviating his attention.Â
When he doesnât answer, you figure heâs dropped the topic, and your heart finally starts to return to a normal rhythm.Â
âWhat happened to that cute, pink vibrator you used to use all the time?âÂ
Your jaw drops in complete and utter mortification. âWhat?â you squeak. Lips parted in disbelief, it takes you several seconds to remember how to breathe. Whatever normal circadian rhythm your body managed to rediscover goes flying out the window at Joaquinâs words. Itâs not the embarrassment alone, but the insinuation of his wordsâhow much he remembers. You hate the way it makes you clench your legs together a little bit tighter and the way a shot of electricity runs through your stomach. âWhat is your problem!âÂ
You donât know what you expect Joaquinâs expression to be, you donât know if you even have it in you to look at him. Maybe amusement, his usual teasing grin on his face. Or embarrassment, cheeks slightly flushed from his brazen behavior. Itâd be understandable, it would be manageable.Â
What you donât anticipate is how utterly serious he looks. With his chin tilted down, Joaquin looks up at you through his curls. Heâs leaned forward on his bed, elbows on either knees as he stares at you. The slushy cup is an ironic contrast between his large, calloused hands. His voice is lower than his usual cheery tone, âMaybe your pent up frustration has nothing to do with your art. Maybe you have a different kind of pent up energy.âÂ
You swallow hard. Joaquinâs eyes are locked into yours, and you feel stuck. Even if you tried, you couldnât look away from him. Your body was reacting faster than your brain can catch up; it would be a lie to say your panties werenât feeling a bit sticky from his attention. But itâs Joaquin, you reason. How serious could he really be?Â
So you force a laugh. âAlright, thank you,â you say pointedly, but your voice is shaky. âThanks for the psychoanalysis, but Iâm fine.â Youâre stuttering at this point. âMy orgasms, er, sex life, itâsâŠitâs fine.âÂ
Youâre lying. And Joaquin is well aware of it.Â
âYou sure?â he tilts his head, teeth biting down on his inner lip. It was clear he was trying his best to hold back a grin and for a second youâre annoyed at how close the two of you are. He knows everything apparently.Â
Your mouth opens and a humorless chuckle falls past. âIâm notâthis is notââ you huff, unable to come up with any retaliating commentary. âYouâre being fucking perverted right now.âÂ
The words hold little bite and Joaquin knows it, because all he does is offer a casual shrug. âMaybe.â he confesses, bringing his slushy cup back up to his lips. âBut I canât really do much about the way you whimper when you think Iâm not home.â He gives you a cheeky smile, âThin walls.â Â
Your hands tighten around your drink, which is mostly just ice now. The cold does nothing to curb your body now which is building and building with every word that passes his lips. An ache is growing between your thighs, one youâve been trying to ignore, but itâs no use. Not when Joaquin is looking at you like he does.Â
Joaquin doesnât look away from you when he admits all the time heâs heard you, doesnât take it back with his usual laugh and joking mannerisms. He just stares at youârelaxed and smugâlike he knows that youâre a thread away from giving in.Â
You need to say something. Anything. But you canât, all the synapses in your brain have stopped working as the two of you just look at each other.Â
The atmosphere in the room has changedâthick and pressing, becoming impossible to ignore, and you know itâs not just you who feels that way as Joaquinâs eyes begin to darken with a playful gleam that youâve never seen before.Â
Thereâs a decision to be made here, and you know itâs yours. His gaze drags over you, and you feel sparks on your skin as he does. Joaquin is being patient, though, waiting quietly for you. His eyes soften at your hesitation. âIâm just saying,â he starts, âYou canât get inspired until you get inspired.âÂ
It snaps you out of your daze a bit, his wording making you laugh. You cover your mouth, shoulders shaking, and for a moment the weight pressing down on your chest lifts. âYouâre ridiculous,â you tell him. And he is. Because itâs Joaquinâheâs your best friend. Itâs the same guy who just DIYâd a banana muffin recipe with you because the two of you didnât have bananas or eggs and then bought you blue slushies when it all went to hell.Â
When your laugh dies down, you slowly look at him again. Joaquin is still looking at you, but itâs different now. The tension still lingers in the air, electricity zapping in the air, but thereâs also a sense of normalcy. Despite the uncharted territory, itâs still just you and him.Â
Thereâs heat in the air, for all the things unsaid between the two of you, but itâs safe.Â
Joaquin senses the change in you without you having to say anything. Now it was your turn to look at him, bashful.Â
âIâd say Iâd help,â he murmurs. âLet me help.âÂ
You bite your straw, nodding at him.Â
Joaquin grinsâitâs wide and completely mischievousâbefore he turns around and starts walking out of his room.Â
âWait, where are you going?âÂ
He glances over his shoulder, completely unbothered. âGo get your toy.âÂ
-
You're up on your feet before your mind can really process it. Next thing you know, youâre ruffling through your drawers, a hiding place that you thought was secretive enough. You donât give yourself time to talk yourself out of it, grabbing the toy and closing the drawer a little too fast.Â
You walk back into Joaquinâs room, but heâs not there. Stepping out into the hallway, you peak your head over the corner but the living room and kitchen seem to be empty too. You start to wonder if this was some sick joke, but then you see itâa soft glow spilling out from the other end of the wall; the light to your art room is on.Â
Youâre confused and a bit dazed, but when you push open the door with a squeak, there he was.Â
Joaquins rolled up the sleeves of his fitted compression shirt. Heâs kneeled down in front of your easel, a spread of open paint bottles surrounding him in a semicircle.Â
âWhat are you doing?â your voice is curious, observing as he pours a bit of each color out onto your palette. Youâre starting to feel silly, one hand holding the plastic toy, the other on the doorframe. Maybe you really misunderstood what he meant. You tried not to get too miffed by the idea that you might not be cumming tonight, skin still buzzing with energy from earlier. Taking a cautious step into the room, your heartbeat quickens as Joaquin looks up at you, a familiar mischievous glint in his eyes.Â
The low light from your desk lamp casts a warm glow over his face, making him look even more relaxed, his shoulders slightly hunched from his kneeling position. After moving to stand, Joaquin pulls you further into the room. Looking back at you, he just gives you a smile, âDo you trust me?âÂ
Wordlessly, you nod, a bit dumb-founded. You let him guide you through the room thatâs been suffocating you the past week, compliant as he places you on your stool. You simply observe as he pulls the pink vibrator out of your hand, replacing it with a clean brush and the palette of colors.Â
âYouâre going to paint me,â he says, a playful edge to it. You hear the challenge in his voice, as if he was daring you to rise to the occasion.Â
Your brows furrow, lips agape as you cast a glance at the canvas; the intimidating blank slate glares back at you. Turning to look back at Joaquin, you find that heâs no longer there. Before you can refuse, you jump at the feeling of warm palms against your thigh. Looking down, you see Joaquin on his knees. His eyes are calm, patient as he watches you. Thereâs a boyish grin that tugs at the corner of his lips as his hands start to massage your legs, down your calf.Â
âWell?â He raises a brow. âGet to it.âÂ
Your breath catches in your throat, and the realization that you were really going to cross this line with Joaquin starts to settle in. Brush in hand, you look down at him, âThis is insane.âÂ
âSo?â he smirks, eyes still locked in with yours as he brushes his lips against your inner knee. âDoesnât hurt to try, right?â A soft kiss is placed and the action shoots right up to your core.Â
Shakily, you dip your brush into a primary color, painting a wide streak in the middle of the canvas. You feel Joaquin smile against your skin. Once the initial seal was broken, you set to work, dipping your brush into your paints and streaking it onto the blank surface over and over as you set the background.Â
Below you, Joaquin starts on a mission of his own. Slow, sensual kisses are set along your legs, first along your calves, then your knees, before he wordlessly spreads your legs further apart. Maneuvering himself, Joaquin forces his way between your legs, his wet kisses following his movements until the defined curls of his hair start to tickle your lower belly.Â
Youâre doing everything you can not to look at him, but you can feel him everywhere.Â
His lips on your inner thighs, his hands trailing up your waist and squeezing, his hot breath blowing against your skin between every kiss. It has you shifting in your seat, wetness pooling between your legs. Your grip on the paintbrush is tight, knuckles whitening as you fight to keep focus.Â
Itâs nearly impossibleâevery part of your body is aware of him.Â
A broken breath escapes you when his fingers slide underneath your shirt, the rough pads of his finger gripping the flesh of your hips. He was gently massaging the skin, his mouth continuing their ministrations on your inner thighs. The ache between your legs intensifies, deepening with every kiss he lays on you. Itâs almost shameful the way your body pulses for himâdesperate and needy, strung so tight you almost snap. He hasnât even done anything yet. But the anticipation of it allâhis lingering kisses, the assuring touches, the implication of what he wants you to doâitâs all too much.Â
Youâve been avoiding looking down at Joaquin for as long as you could, but when the entire canvas was filled with the muted shade of blue and youâve gone over it several times, you have no choice. You lower your brush, heart hammering in your chest as your gaze finally falls.Â
Joaquin is already staring up, eyes heavy-lidded and warm, his lips parting from their spot at their junction between your core and thigh, wet and plump.
The sight was downright sinful.Â
âStand up,â he murmurs, tone leaving no room for questioning.Â
With shaky legs, you rise from the seat, and even through your movements Joaquinâs hands continue to trail down your legs. He barely moves from his kneeled position, giving you just enough room to stand before him. You hate how the sight of him on his knees for you makes you feel. Delicately, Joaquinâs fingers tuck themselves into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pulling them down along with your now ruined underwear.Â
When Joaquin gets them down midthigh, he sucks in a breath before his palms rounded your thighs to your ass. You feel so incredibly exposed, cunt exposed to him with no barrier in between. After a quick squeeze, one of his hands makes their way back to the front, as he continues to pull your pants off.Â
Heâs moving so frustratingly slow as he peeled your panties away from your cunt, your arousal making the fabric cling to you. At the sight of your slick, Joaquin lets out a groanâ you can only whimper in response when his thumb comes up to gather some of it, dragging it down to your clit. The pressure he places is incredibly light, just a touch, and itâs not nearly enough to give you any sense of relief.Â
But Joaquin pays little mind to your turmoil, as he pulls down the rest of your clothes swiftly. Pushing you back down onto the seat, he pushes your legs apart. Heâs no longer looking at you as he demands, âFocus on the painting.â Â
Your grip on the materials he passed to you has become impossibly tight, youâre afraid you might break them. Unlike before, Joaquin has your legs spread wide nowânot just enough for him to fitâbut wide. He has you on display for him, unapologetically.
Your legs are shaking in expectancy, waiting for him to finally do something, finally touch you where youâve been wanting him all day. But a harsh slap on your inner thigh has you break out of your trance, looking down at him, Joaquin greets you with furrowed brows and a frown.Â
âPaint.âÂ
Thereâs no refusing him, you realize, because if you donât then heâll leave you here, untouched and needy. Your nipples are tight, breasts aching for stimulation and you let out a sigh when you feel Joaquinâs blow air against your pussy. Itâs making you sensitive, and he knows it, but he wonât relieve any sort of pleasure until you do what he asks.Â
With weak hands, you dip back into your palette, starting on Joaquinâs outline.Â
At this point, you have no choice but to look at himâyour muse. He looks up at you with a smile of satisfaction. Taking two fingers, he dips them just past your folds. He runs his fingers through them, brushing over your hole before he makes his way up to your clit. Joaquin is making a mess of you, spreading your arousal for his own amusement rather than your pleasure. His touch is light and makes you dizzy.Â
Your breathing is coming out labored, lines shaky. Joaquin takes his time the same way you do, though he is more intentional.
Then, you feel his curls again, the top of his head pressing against your lower stomach as he scoots closer to you. You donât look down, an unsteady hand making its way across the canvas. But you feel him.Â
His fingers are still playing with you. You feel his middle finger just ever so gently nudging against your hole, not quite penetrating yet, just there. His teasing has you gritting your teeth, and just when youâre about to push your hips forward, he licks you.Â
Tongue flat and warm, Joaquin licks from your hole, meeting his middle finger, all the way up to your clit. The sensation makes you lurch forward, but his free hand comes up to push you back. He repeats the action, licking you in your entirety as he pushes a finger in. You canât help the moan that escapes, hole clenching around his penetrating finger.Â
He sets a brutal pace, a stark contrast from his previous teasing. Joaquin works restlessly, his finger curling inside of you every time he pushes in while his mouth gently wraps itself around your clit. Thereâs a soft suction, tongue flicking the nerves in a way that leaves you delirious.Â
But despite his preoccupation, Joaquin persists in his promise, for every time your brush starts to lower in the midst of being overcome by overwhelming pleasure, he punishes you.Â
A slow of your strokes meant the same for his own, the pace of his fingers becoming unhurried, despite the whine of complaint leaving you. A pause in your painting meant a pause in his sucking, mouth letting out a pop as he removed himself from your clit.Â
It was unfair.Â
But you persist, through moans and clenches, as your brush falls into the paint time and time again. Your vision is hazy, eyes shuttering with every intoxicating movement, so youâre not quite sure how much of a masterpiece youâre really creating but you donât care. Anything to keep Joaquin moving.Â
Joaquinâs tongue is merciless. He flattens against your clit before drawing slow, delicate circles, just to then change his pace, tongue flicking at the swollen bundle with a teasing quickness that sends tremors down your spine. It was unpredictable, it was electrifying.Â
He keeps his lips sealed around you, humming lowly with every strangled moan that passes your lips. He moans against your pussy, like he enjoys the taste of you more than anything heâs ever put in his mouth, like he could live off of it. You watch as his sharp jaw flexes with effort, opening wide to take you in.Â
A faint brush of his stubble brushes against your thigh as he pushes his face deeper into you, tongue joining his fingers to push into your hole like his life depends on it.
One finger becomes three soon enough as he works you open.Â
âFuck,â Joaquin murmured, breaking away from you for just a second. He watches the way you suck his fingers back in, the resistance as he tries to pull them out. And you watched him, curls messy, brows twitching. His lips are parted, the slightest bit of tongue peaking out, and so incredibly wet. The mark you left on him. The sight alone has you moaning.Â
Youâre not quite sure how far youâve gotten on the painting itself, and when you look back, a very rough outline stares back at you. Looking up, Joaquin lets out a âtskâ of disapproval.Â
âIâm doing my part, mami,â he whispers, burying himself between your legs again. âNeed you to do yours.âÂ
ââm trying,â you stutter, your shirt feeling so incredibly tight. You needed more. From the look in Joaquinâs eyes, he knows. He pulls all fingers out simultaneously and the sudden lack of stimulation has you keening. Hole clenching around nothing, youâre ready to drop all art supplies and get on top of Joaquin to get the job done yourself.Â
Before you can complain, you feel something press into you. Gasping, you feel a cold, foreign object pushing into your hole. Your toy.Â
Joaquin just watches as your greedy cunt sucks it in, teeth digging into his lower lip. Shifting, he groans at the feeling of his sweatpants brushing against his achingly hard cock. Heâs leaking and he can feel it.Â
Sliding the vibrator in and out, Joaquinâs breath comes out in quick pants, matching your own. Joaquin has seen it before, so many times, and heâs heard you when you used it even moreâit always left him hard, having to go back to his own room to fist his cock. But itâs different now, watching the way it disappeared inside you, over and over. Covered in your slick, soppingly, as if you couldnât get enough. He could cum in his pants just watching.Â
Youâre no better than Joaquin. You never knew that you could be this wet before, the sound of the toy abusing your cunt fills the low lit room and itâs so incredibly dirty. You feel no shame, though, clenching and unclenching around it as Joaquin watches, transfixed.Â
Hands returning to work, you start to paint what you see in front of you. You let out a loud moan, hands stumbling when he presses the On button. The toy buzzes to life inside of you, low and steady.Â
Itâs obscene now, the squelch of the toy working your cunt, echoing in the room.Â
Absolutely filthy.
Joaquin finds a steady pace, one hand working expertly as the tip of the toy presses deep in you with every thrust. His other hand starts to trail upwards, rough fingers making their way under your shirt and up your skin. A large hand finds your left breast, and he gropes the flesh with a groan before finding your achingly hard nipple.Â
It was a lot. The vibrator, Joaquinâs pinching your nipple, his own sighs filling the room. It has you on the brink.Â
âJoaquin,â you whine. ââs too much,â you pant.Â
âJust paint, mami,â he growls.Â
You have no choice. Broad shoulders, dark curls, a dazed look in Joaquinâs eyesâyou try to capture it all. A loud moan slips out of you when you feel Joaquinâs lips on your hip. The new angle has the toy brushing against your sweet spot and your hips twitch in response. You go to close your legs, but Joaquinâs reflexes are quick, hand dropping from your tit to press your knees open.Â
âRight there, huh?â he asks breathlessly.Â
You can only whimper in response, staring down at him with a pleading look. You moan his name again, quieter this time, begging for release.Â
But Joaquin isnât moved. His eyes flicker up, meeting yours calmly. He continues at a deliberate pace, slow and deep, as he coax you further to the edge. His thumb brushes lazy circles into your outer thigh, all while the toy continues hitting that tender spot inside you. âPainting done?â he asks.Â
Itâs a stupid question because of course not, how can it be? How can you focus at all with the way heâs touching you?Â
You grip the brush like a lifeline, fingers starting to ache. âJoaquin, please,â you beg, hips stuttering to meet his pace.Â
But he grips your hip, pinning you to the chair. âKeep going,â he forces.Â
Heâs a masochist, youâre convinced. He likes that youâre struggling so much, that your hands are trembling with every stroke of the brush, that your moans are unconstrained with every move he makes. He revels in itâthe sight of you coming undone while trying so hard to obey him.Â
Joaquin leans in again, lips ghosting over the swell of your thigh. He bites you there, leaving a mark that has you hissing, before licking over the spot. Once done, he finds your clit again and your whole body jolts.Â
The canvas is a blur in front of you, colors bleeding into one another. Your brushstrokes are wild and unevenâa desperate attempt to appease Joaquinâbecause your attention is completely fragmented. Your eyes are taking in the messy painting, but your mind is focused on his mouth and the consistent rhythm of the toy. Your arms move languidly through the air, more focused on the burning thatâs starting to build in your lower stomach.Â
Youâre not sure whatâs dripping moreâyour cunt or the brush in your hand.Â
It was coming in overwhelming waves, curling tighter and tighter in you with every passing second.Â
Joaquin doesnât let up. His tongue continues drawing frantic circles around your clit, lips sealed in a soft, wet suction. The toy inside of you hits that devastating spot again and again in perfect cadence with his tongue. You start to lose track of everything but the heat thatâs spreading through your body like a wildfire.Â
Your strokes start to falter, and to your immense relief, Joaquin doesnât care. Youâre panting now, gasping as you paint because youâre sure your orgasm depends on it, because even if heâs giving you a bit of leniency now, you know that if you completely stop, so will he.Â
You choke on a moan, hips twitching and legs trembling with effort to stay open. The muscle in your stomach tenses, tightening and tightening until something inside you finally snaps.Â
The palette and brush fall from your hand, hitting the floor with a sharp shatter, but neither you or Joaquin hear it. It hits you all at once, white and blinding, and you reach forward, finding purchase in Joaquinâs hair. You grip his curls tightly, and he lets out a strained groan in response, but he doesnât stop. Your cunt clenches tightly around the toy as it pulses inside you. Joaquin continues to suction on your clit, his fierce licks turning into calculated, slow circles as he works you through your orgasm.Â
For every tremor, shudder, and ragged moan, Joaquin stays with his head between your thighs. Your body writhes under his touch.Â
After an eternity, you start to revel in the aftershocks that spread in waves. The feeling of Joaquin on you starts to be too much, and you whimper. Finally slowing, Joaquin begins to let go, tongue giving your clit one last gentle flick before pulling back. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, smoothing over the mark he left earlier. The toy slides out of you with a soft sound, and you clench around the empty space.Â
You watch as Joaquin leans back on his haunches, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt. His dark curls cling to his forehead in damp strands and he looks thoroughly wrecked. Lips swollen, his chin glistens with evidence of what heâs just done to you. Thereâs a dark, unmistakable tent in his pants, the outline of his cock stretching against the fabric. A damp patch bleeds through the front, impossibly wet and undeniable.Â
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back, before letting it fall to his lap again. His eyes are fixed on youâhalf-lidded and burning with restraint. His tongue darts out to taste the corner of his lip before spreading over his pearly whites, a boyish grin taking over his face.Â
âLetâs see this painting, then.â
-
You and Joaquin stand side by side, though your expressions are drastically different. Arms crossed over your chest, your lips are turned downward, while Joaquin has his hands on his hips with a wide grin.
âWeâre not keeping this up in the hallway.â Your voice is stern as you make the executive decision. Turning, you leave Joaquin standing alone. You donât stick around long enough to see the way he raises his arms in disbelief.Â
âCome on,â he shouts after you, amusement laced in every word. âThis is real art!âÂ
end.Â
-
well đ if you need me i'll be writing angst now because i feel so freaked out after this and need to reconnect with my roots
this.is.the.greatest.fic.ive.ever.read.
remake the sambucky Disney hairband and also make a joaquĂn one
ć ¶ćźææć€§çćžæć°±æŻćžŠçćźä»Źć»äžäžȘèœèź€ćșæćçźçèżȘćŁ«ć°Œäčć äžèżȘćäžć°èżäžçč
"We talked about this!" Degas and Paris, Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning (2025)
DEGAS & PARIS Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning (2025)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
â Degas x Paris Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning (2025)
found family (theyâre all a little weird)
@andorappreciation Day 4 - Kill Me, Or Take Me In
ćććććććććæéș»æćâŠâŠ
Try to make a Disney handbands
The fact is paperboard inside is so fucking thick and the whole handbands is so fucking heavy i don't even sure if i can take it to disney land or not
ććŠéćŸ·ç«çŒ©ć°
ææšĄæż

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
made this support fan myself
ç°ćšæŻć軿łæ¶ć»æççć軿łäșćŠæć»a5éŠæ 瀌䞟çèżäžȘćææŻä»ä»ŹèŠæ„
ć ¶ćźæç„éé ćæŻcabnwçäœæŻææćŸç»ćŻč
ć©ć
#
everyone who knows joaquin knows that he's a dog person. it exudes off of himâhis excessive energy, his constant optimism, and the way he's always so goddamn loud.
he's a classic golden retriever.
so imagine his absolute horror when you brought home a cat.
"isn't she so cute?" you shrieked, holding the fur ball up with both hands, shoving the tiny beast into joaquin's face.
he scrambles backwards on his bed, "what is that doing in here?"
you pulled her to your chest, scratching her head. "she was just sitting on our porch," you pouted. "i tried looking for her mom but i think she's all alone. we're g'nna keep her."
it wasn't a question. it was a statement. and even as joaquin scrambled after you, shouting complaints, you continued to walk away merrily before your bedroom door closed with a soft clink.
with his head pressed against your door, he slides down in defeat.
looks like you have a new member in your home.
this is sooo sweet cause im a cat personđ„čđ„čđ„čit's so cute just to think about
coping by drawing them being fun and awesome and normal and silly
èæ»æäș

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
đđđđđ & đđđđđ đđđđđđđđđđ â€
this is a roundup of all existing content for degas/paris from mission: impossible (ship name: degaris | most used tumblr tag: #degas x paris). please reach out if something is missing so it can be added! likewise if something needs to be removed. I will be updating this post regularly.
this masterpost is broken down into EDITS âą FANFICTION âą MEDIA âą ET CETERA (ctrl + f to jump!)
đđđđđ edits âą collage âą artist-drawn portraits of degas and paris âą using the final reckoning character posters âą dead reckoning angst âą using the final reckoning prison stills âą polaroid pictures of pom and tarzan at cannes fanvids âą paris-centric fanvid with the "stay with me" moment âą degaris x sports car by tate mcrae gifs âą (police station(humor), "come on. stay with me.", dead reckoning (humor)) âą group ensemble (final reckoning cabin fight scene, final reckoning prison fight scene, south africa) âą degas (dead reckoning scenes, outside of aircraft in abu dhabi, outside of the ducale, dead reckoning scenes) âą paris (dead reckoning scenes, dead reckoning scenes, dead reckoning scenes, dead reckoning scenes(humor), dead reckoning scenes, dead reckoning scenes, dead reckoning scenes)
đ đđđ đđđđđđ bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me
She says, âI need a distraction,â and then sheâs on top of him like a flu.
Heavy, all-encompassing.
Hard to get rid of.
.
chasing paris
Even after near-death she chooses chaos. Degasâ POV immediately after the train crash in Dead Reckoning.
.
the city of love
Degas and Paris, in four little parts.
.
End of the World
Tapeesa puts her hand out, palm up. It takes a second for Donloe to fill it with his own.
Degas looks at these met halves, these ridges that have aligned for countless times over the years yet none as pivotal as in this moment right now. It is their final act of intimacy, their loveâs denouement. Their hands squeeze a soft Goodbye, my love, so subtle it could be missed with an eyeblink.
Degas looks at this, and then he looks at Paris. He doesnât need to live past the next thirty seconds to know what that means.
.
Share the Same Space for a Minute or Two
The Entity must think her dead already.
There's no other reason she should still be alive.
Paris wakes up in a hospital, and Gabriel is gone, but there are some other people there, and that's strange enough that she might as well stay awake for long enough to try and figure it all out.
(Post Dead Reckoning Part I, five times Paris wakes up + the one time she sits and waits for someone else to wake.)
(Or, alternatively: How to Become a Teamâą In Five Major Injuries or Less!)
.
the second time around
Where one story ends, maybe another one begins.
.
turn on the night (i can't wait any longer)
Thereâs a tang of copper in her mouth. She spits again, watches as more blood hits the bowl of the sink. The vanity mirror is chipped; behind the dusty glass, she can see her gums stained red.
Loyalties shift like lines in the sand in their profession, but Paris discovers some bonds, once forged, will not break so easily.
.
two minds and all the places they have been
Degas gets back from a mission late, and Paris straddles the fine line between feigning unconcern and wanting to strangle him for making her anxious. Set some years after Dead Reckoning.
.
What To Expect When You're Expecting
âIâm pregnant.â
That took the wind out of his sails. âYouâre what?â
âPregnant,â Paris repeated. A touch defensively, she added, âDegas is the father.â
âYeah,â Briggs said, because he better have fucking been. âI figured.â He cleared his throat. âYou mind if we pick this back up when Iâm not in the shower?â
.
When Degas Falls in Love
Takes place during The Final Reckoning
Degas adjusts to his new life with the IMF, and is thrilled to go on his first mission at the US Embassy party, particularly to spend more time with his new crush Paris. When things don't go as expected, he makes a stark realization.
or
Degas is incredibly down bad for Paris
.
Unpublished âą degaris romcom fic (here, here, and here)
đđđđđ âThe line-up pictured above seems fit for any impossible mission â theyâve got a tech wizard (Benji), a confidence trickster (Grace), two battering rams who can run all day (Degas and Paris) [âŠ]â -Empire Magazine
The official Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning Degas and Paris character posters (rebloggable)
Official Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning still of Degas escorting Paris in prison (rebloggable with the still of Ethan and Briggs) (rebloggable with the still of solo Paris)
The official Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning Degas poster
The official Mission: Impossible - The Final Reckoning Paris poster
The official Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Degas poster
The official Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Paris poster
Pom Klementieff & Tarzan Davis on Mission: Impossible â The Final Reckoning | Exclusive Interview | Where Is The Buzz
Greg Tarzan Davis and Pom Klementieff on their Mission Impossible adventures | Rasha Goel
MISSION IMPOSSIBLE Cast Interviews | Paul McGuire Grimes (13:25 timestamp)
'Mission: Impossible' Stars Pom Klementieff, Greg Tarzan Davis, Simon Pegg Bring the Reckoning | The Nerds of Color
"Once you take all that stuff away you know that Paris and Degas have a relationship in the movie. Yeah, of sorts." -Christopher McQuarrie
đđ đđđđđđ boasamishipper has a well-documented degaris tag pages of degaris content on this blog too
final reckoning trailer spoilers/theories (here, here) tweets (here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here)
tarzan being silly and "directing" pom on set of dead reckoning tarzan interrupting his video message to fans to say how good pom looks at the nyc dead reckoning premiere aka the most degaris-coded thing ever (0:37 timestamp) pom and tarzan posing together on the red carpet for the dead reckoning premiere in nyc
pom and tarzan behind the scenes of the dead reckoning airport sequence
pom and tarzan (with simon pegg) at the final reckoning seoul premiere
pom and tarzan whispering to each other and laughing at the final reckoning seoul press conference
tarzan helping pom up the steps at cannes
tarzan manifesting a degas and paris spin-off
tarzan gets nostalgic and hugs pom mid-interview
"I love the chemistry between you two." -Do Do Cheng during an interview
tarzan on instagram: "Shout out to My Partner in Crime"
no promise of tomorrow | joaquin torres
summary: you and joaquin work together and have sex--two entirely separate parts of your lives. but when you suddenly as for more one day, joaquin falters. a week long mission where another man captures your attention makes joaquin regret the words he doesn't say. but does it really change anything?
warnings: mdni. joaquinâs pov, pre-established situationship, angsty and passive aggressive joaquin, commitment issues!joaquin, jealousy, one-bed trope but on the floor but also on the bed, lots of fighting, a bullet graze, injured!reader, cursing, an overall very angsty fic, lowkey not a happy ending bc the situationship!joaquin universe shall persist after this. barely proofread by me everyone say thank u @sortagaysortahigh for reading every part as i wrote for an entire week
smut warnings: oral m!receiving, dick riding, ass smacking, hand pressed to throat but not choking (f!receiving), missionary, fingering, nipple sucking (f!receiving), creampie.
wc: 15.1kÂ
gif credit: @optional
-
What a stupid decision, Joaquin thinks to himself. Jaw flexing, his finger trails the rim of the whiskey cup in front of him before downing the drink in one go. The shoddy, dimly lit bar was not where he wanted to spend his Saturday night and the stench of sweat and alcohol filling the air was somehow worse than some of the bases heâs been on. The worn leather is scratchy beneath his jacket, and he does his best not to focus too much on how his combat boots were sticking obnoxiously to the floor below him. Misery exudes off of him like a warning to any passerbyers.Â
But he pays them no mind. His eyes are focused on you.Â
Youâre across the room, only a small distance away from him but somehow it feels like worlds. Perched on a barstool, your legs are crossed and one elbow rests casually against the bar, as if you were the most relaxed you could ever be. Joaquinâs eyes follow as you pick up a tall glass, fingers wrapping around the condensation before bringing it to your familiar lips. The carbonated, bright red liquid glides down your throat, and Joaquinâs lips part as he watches you swallow.Â
Itâs a mocktail, he knows this. The reminder of why you opted for some bubbly soda sickenly reminds him of what the pair of you were doing in this seedy town to begin with. Naturally, Joaquinâs gaze moves to the man across from you.Â
CIA Agent Matteo Locke.Â
Zero, he said his codename was. Joaquin scoffs out loud. Dumbass codename. His name is The Falcon. He has wings.Â
Whatever.
Joaquin observes as your glossy wet lips spread into another wide smile, and his finger twitches in irritation at the way you throw your head back, hand landing on the bicep of the federal agent across from you.Â
Your laugh was loud. Or maybe it wasnât. Maybe no one else in the bar could really hear it over the loud of conversation and camaraderie, but Joaquin hears it loud and clear, ears picking up the melodic giggle through the busy room. But a bitterness chokes him at who you were sharing it with.Â
Heâs not that funny. Joaquin thinks to himself, eyes glued on your manicured hand that remains on his arm. Not that Joaquin would really know. Theyâve only met five hours prior. Other than a brief introduction and a solid handshake once you and Joaquin were boots down in Arizona, which was truly the extent of his interaction with the man, Joaquin hasnât really had the pleasure of getting to know him.Â
That honor was all yours it seems.Â
Heâs brooding.Â
At the recognition of his own behavior, Joaquin lets out a sigh, forcing his eyes away from your couple with much difficulty. Instead, they scan the room. He checks every exit, surveying all the patrons. Despite the task at hand, he still finds his mind wandering to you.Â
Youâre just trying to pass as casual customers, Joaquin reasons, thatâs why you were so close to Locke. He hears you laugh again and grits his teeth.
Heâs heard the laugh a million times, loved it a million more, but he canât help the way his discomfort blooming in his chest at the idea that it may never be directed at him again.Â
All because of a stupid decision.Â
Two nights before you knew about the upcoming mission, you found yourself at Joaquinâs in the middle of the night.Â
âFuck,â he grunted, slamming his head back against the wall. It took everything in him not to push his hips upwards and he remembers the feeling of his thighs shaking in restraint. You seemed to enjoy his misery, as teary wide eyes looked up at him. Joaquin opened his eyes just a smidge, sneaking a peek down at you. He couldnât help the shuddering breath that left his mouth at the mischievous gleam in your eyes.Â
Lips wet with different liquid than the one youâre nursing at the bar now and spread wide over the girth of his cock, Joaquin thought you look absolutely mesmerizing.Â
He brought a large palm up to cup the side of your head, swiping sweaty strands of hair away from your forehead. Joaquin was absorbed in the moment, feeling every time your cheeks suctioned inward, every swipe of your tongue over the slit of his head, every inch of him that you sucked him in deeper and deeper. Â
With one hand, he gathered all of your hair, fisting it in his palm. A tight grip. But he didnât so much as move your head an inch. Joaquin had let you take control and you had gone at your own speed until you found a rhythmic pace, his hand a simple accessory to your motions. Â
He had let out another groan when your hand came up to stroke the parts of his shaft your mouth couldnât fit, hips had thrust upwards to chase after the warmth of your palm. The sound of you gagging had only turned him on more, but he would never push you further than comfortable, and forced himself back onto the bed.Â
But he eventually had enough, Joaquin needed more.Â
His hand had let go of your hair and gripped your upper forearm, pulling you up to his chest with ease. Joaquin tried to not let your displeased whine get to his head, giving you a satiating kiss to the cheek, murmuring some complacent phrases as his hands roamed along the sides of your body, gripping and massaging your curves as he went.Â
Joaquin remembers the way his fingers danced along the edge of your panties, your wet core grinding against his cock as one of his hands guided you back and forth. His head was spinning from pleasure, his cock aching to feel more of you.Â
Skillful hands had gripped the back of your panties before a gentle finger ran along the seam pressed against your ass until he reached your hole. His large hand was stretching the fabric, and he prayed that you wouldnât care, but you hardly seemed to notice at all. Joaquin had teased, pads of his fingers just brushing against your entrance before pulling back.Â
At the sound of your moan and the feel of your hands fisting the curls at the back of his head, Joaquin finally pushed your panties to the side. He had adjusted his grip, each of his palms finding the flesh of your cheeks, his right palm pinning the thin fabric of your ruined underwear between his hand and your ass.Â
Joaquin had let out a relieved sigh, guiding your hips down the length of his cock slowly. The initial push past your hole made him throw his head back again, eyes closed in pleasure. Inch by inch, you gripped him like a vice and he had let out a guttural moan at the feeling.Â
Soon enough, in the dark of his room, salacious sounds had begun to fill the air. The two of you had found a harmonizing pace, a more than familiar one, as you worked in tandem to pleasure each other.Â
A loud sound of glass smashing makes Joaquin snap back to reality. Some drunken himbos had gotten into a fight it seems, and Joaquin just leans back into his seat as he watches security escort them out. Itâs a non-threat.Â
He shifts uncomfortably in the booth, unsticking parts of his jacket from the patchy leather to adjust his pants discreetly. He shouldnât even be thinking about this, should be focused on the whole reason theyâre at the bar. But then his eyes find their way back to you.Â
You lean back, letting out another laugh, but thatâs not what he pays attention to this time. Instead, Joaquin watches the way your denim shorts ride up your thighs, and thereâs nothing he can do about the way that his mind flashes back to that night again.Â
In the glowing aftermath, Joaquinâs boxers rode low on his hips as he walked back into his room. Tangled in the sheets, you sat up at the sound of him returning, and he had passed you a cup of iced water without a word. Joaquin had sat on the edge of his bed, the cold of his gold chain pressed against his flush skin as he reveled in the silence. It wasnât an unusual routine.Â
But then you reached over, placed the glass onto his nightstand and said, âJoaquin, we need to talk.âÂ
His heart dropped in his chest. No good thing ever came from those four words. His lips had turned downward in a frown, and he rubbed a hand across his chest to ease the ache. You were making him nervous. âAlright, what is it?âÂ
Joaquin had watched patiently as you sat up, and though he forced his face to remain stoic, he dreaded the many possibilities of what you could say. Joaquin watched as you hesitated, and dread only seemed to sink deeper in his stomach.Â
âI thinkâŠâ Your brows knit together in what Joaquin perceived to be confusion. He gave you the time to find your words, unmoving at the end of his bed. âI donât think we should keep doing this.âÂ
His frown deepened. The words rushed through his head and Joaquin wasnât sure what to make of them. Heâs not sure what in his expression gave it away his distress, but you rushed to continue before he could respond.Â
âI mean,â you nibbled on your lower lip. âI didnât mean it like that. I just need clarity.âÂ
âClarity about what?â Joaquin replied, frown unchanged as he straightened. He had folded his arms, thinking maybe if he kept his body in control, then his mind would follow. But Joaquinâs stomach had twisted anyways, slow and nauseating, and heâd been in enough missions to know that one wrong move here and things would go sideways quick.
âThis,â you had gestured, a frantic wave between the two of you. âUs.âÂ
âI donât understand,â Joaquin had tiptoed. âI thought we were on the same page.â Things were going well, the two of you had a good thing going. One that you had already established. So what more did you want from him? He felt a lump form in his throat as he considered what you might truly be asking, and he had frustratingly hoped the conversation never came up to begin with.Â
Your loud sigh had him panic, but he willed himself to sit still. His eyes simply watched as you pushed yourself out of his bed, reaching for your discarded clothes on the floor. You were upset, that much was obvious, and he hated seeing that, so he called out your name.Â
You slipped your pants on before turning to look at him, shirt fisted in your hand as you sighed. âWe are.â You replied before pausing. âWe were.âÂ
Joaquinâs arms had dropped from their defensive position, and at your admittance, he had forgotten how to breathe. He remembers the way his mouth opened, and then shut again, because what was he supposed to say?
âI think I bit off more than I can chew with you, Torres,â you had told him, voice significantly quieter than before. The way his name sounded when it fell from your lips, soft and tiredâJoaquin didnât know what to do with that. âI like you.âÂ
He felt his chest crack wide open. All that did was remind him of why things had to be the way they were. Afterall, if he couldnât handle how you sounded merely confessing, what would he ever do if he did pursue things? What would he ever do if it didnât work out and he hurt you?Â
Joaquinâs jaw had clenched, and nothing had come out. Not an explanation. Not the reassurance you needed. Not the confession he didnât want to admit. He had wanted to reach out to you at that moment, grasp your wrist in his hand and pull you towards him and say, âItâs okay. I like you, too.âÂ
But his throat was tight. He felt his hand have the slightest of tremors, and all he could do was stare at the floor. Joaquin couldnât trust himself. Not with you. You would matter too much and things could go too wrong. You work together, for Christ sake, there was too much on the line. He couldnât lose you.Â
So the room fell quiet. Too quiet.Â
âRight.â He heard you say. Sounds of shuffling signaled to him that you were getting dressed and gathering the rest of your stuff. Still, Joaquin didnât move. He had told himself that silence was the safest option here, knew that if he looked up at you heâd give in to you.Â
Joaquin heard his bedroom door open and without looking, he knew you had paused there. âYou knowâŠI didnât need you to say everything, Torres.â He tried not to wince at how distant your voice sounded, cold and at arm's-length, but still low. âI just needed you to say anything at all. But your silence said enough.â His door closed with a soft click.Â
Joaquin felt like such a coward.Â
He shouldnât have started anything with you to begin with, because then he wouldnât be here. But he was selfish. And stupid. So, very stupid.Â
Joaquin sighs, shuffling in his seat in the booth again. Agitation crawls under his skin, exhaustion creeps in between the crevices. Theyâve been here for so long and unlike you, Joaquin is not having a good time. Guilt sits heavy on his chest, dull and persistent, like an old bruise that aches when pressed. Rubbing his jaw, Joaquin relaxes it, realizing how tense itâs been from all the clenching heâs done.Â
âIagoâs not coming.âÂ
His head snaps up, taking you in. One hand on your hip, the other presses flat against the table as you lean in towards him. Besides you, Agent Locke stands a bit too close for his liking, and Joaquinâs eyes narrow.Â
âWe got word that TSA did an unexpected search on him when he landed in the States and after they let him go, he fled. Chances are heâs laying low on the West Coast for a couple days before heading over here,â you relay to him. Joaquin just takes in your words, mind shifting into work mode.Â
âSo, heâs probably going to push the deal.â Joaquinâs voice is deep and horse, hours of not talking and alcohol doing a number on his system.Â
âThatâs what weâre thinking,â an unwelcome voice chimes in, and Joaquin suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he keeps them fixed on you, and the two of you inadvertently enter an unspoken staring contest, neither of you refusing to break away first.Â
Joaquinâs eyes are smoldering as he watches your movements. You reach across the table, picking up the empty glass sitting in front of him. Joaquin is silent as you bring it up to your nose. âDrinking on the job, Torres?âÂ
His posture is relaxed, leaning back into the cushion of the booth, but underneath Joaquin can feel every muscle taut with tension. Itâs a performative calm as he reigns in his embarrassment of being caught by you.Â
âHow do we know he wonât bail?â Joaquin murmurs, deflecting. âHeâs a cautious guy. What if he got spooked? Worried the Feds are onto him, and calls it off?â He waits for you to answer despite knowing you wonât be the one who would have that information.Â
âHe wonât bail,â an irritatingly grating voice responds. âThis is a huge trade. He wonât let it go that easily and he wonât risk leaving and coming back. Chances are heâs not off U.S. soil unless heâs got eight million dollars tucked in his pocket.âÂ
Joaquinâs eyes donât leave yours as he digests the CIA agentâs analysis. Despite his grievances, Joaquin has to agree with the man. With that realization, Joaquinâs lips press into a thin line. Still looking at you, he says, âLetâs get out of here, then.âÂ
-
Joaquin shouldâve taken you more seriously.Â
He swears that did in the moment, but Joaquin didnât understand the gravity of the situation until now, as he lives in it.
The reality of your dynamic was one where he never asked you about your previous partners and never bothered to check if you had ones other than him. It was arrogance, he admits. Security in the fact that he believed you werenât with anyone else, despite the non-exclusiveness of your relationship. But it was mutual. Joaquin would never disrespect you like that, and despite the ambiguity of your label, it was monogamous. He hopes you know that. He wouldnât be surprised if you thought so little of him, though.Â
Regardless, certainty he felt meant he never had to deal with this. Jealousy.Â
The room is quiet as the two of you shuffle around each other, preparing for bed after a long day of travel and work. He hates that heâs uncomfortable in the silence now, a space that used to be filled with understanding now filled with hesitation and acute awareness of the other person.Â
Joaquinâs mouth opens as he turns around, preparing to break the discomforting silence, but a quiet click of the bathroom door has him locking his jaw back into place. The sound of the shower starts to take over the quiet, and Joaquin forces his mind to think of something other than your soft, wet body naked in the small bathroom.Â
With a shake of his head, he walks away from his duffle bag that sits in one of two armchairs, the other occupying your bag. He makes his way towards the nightstand, in pursuit of a pen and paper; might as well make use of the time and jot down some strategies.Â
But his foot gets caught on the way, getting tangled. Looking down, Joaquin lets out a quiet sound of confusion. Blankets and a pillow are laid out on the floor, next to the bed, and Joaquinâs head whips back towards the bathroom door where the shower is still running. His initial confusion narrows into realizationâyou were planning to sleep on the floor. To create distance. From him.
Heâs frozen for a second, the sting of rejection hitting him in the chest at your deliberate actions before itâs replaced with a quiet guilt. His own actions made you feel this way. Joaquin wonders if he should move the blankets back on to the bed, wonders if youâd even let him.Â
âHey.â Your voice is neutral, breaking Joaquin out of his trance. He instinctively straightens up, as if he had gotten caught snooping somewhere he wasnât supposed to. Turning around to face you, his mouth parts, getting ready to defend. But once he realized there was nothing to defend, he shut it. You point behind you, âBathroomâs free now,â you alert him quietly.Â
âYeah, alright,â he replies hastily, breathless for some odd reason. His heart hammers anxiously in his chest at his discovery and at being caught making said discovery. Grabbing fresh clothes on the way to the bathroom, he passes you, the smell of vanilla body wash invading his senses. âTake the bed,â he murmurs before shutting the door quietly behind him.Â
Leaning against the wooden frame, Joaquin lets out a sigh. He strips slowly, distracted and lost in thought by the events of the night. Despite the newly founded sexual avenue that the two of you have been exploring, at the base of it all was always friendshipâone of the most important ones in Joaquinâs life. Working together for years, the two of you have always managed to ebb and flow so well. He shouldnât have jeopardized it, should have been stronger.  Â
Hot water droplets hit his back, but it does little to relax him, his chest feeling a bit too tight. He keeps replaying your neutral tone, the space you made on the floor. Itâs dumb of him to feel surprisedâheâs the one who pushed you awayâbut stupidly he still hurts.Â
He towel dries his hair with one hand, tugging his shirt down with the other. Stepping out into the room, his jaw tightens. Youâve already laid down. On the floor.Â
You donât even look at him as he enters the room and that makes it worse.Â
Breaking the silence, Joaquinâs voice is low and frustrated. âYouâre really sleeping down there?âÂ
The sheets ruffle, but you donât turn to look at him. âYeah.âÂ
âThat floorâs gonna kill you. Last thing we need is you throwing your back out in the middle of taking down some bad guys.â
For a second, you donât respond, and Joaquinâs heart seizes in his chest. He doesnât know what to do, doesnât know what to say. Heâs never been this distanced from you, ever.Â
Then you let out a small chuckle.Â
WellâŠmore like a huff of air. But itâs something.Â
âCome on, get up,â Joaquin insists, tone softening.Â
âJoaquinââÂ
âNo,â he demands. âSeriously, get up.âÂ
You turn over to glare at him, but Joaquin can feel the corners of his mouth lifting anyways because at least youâre looking at him. Heâs patient as he watches you move at the slowest speed known to mankind. Snails have moved faster than you, heâs sure of it. Yet, he doesnât dare utter a word, feet solidly planted near the bathroom entrance as you make you ascend from the floor to the bed. Youâre stiff as a board, laying horizontally on the furthest edge of the bed you can manage, and Joaquin canât stifle the snicker that he lets out this time.Â
âGoodnight,â he says gently, flicking the switch for the both of you. Joaquin bends down to the floor, lifting up the thin sheet that you were planning to use as a blanket for the night before his head settled on the pathetic excuse of a pillow this motel offered them. He slaps the pillow a few times, doing his best to fluff it up, but he stops midway when he hears you shuffle to peer over the side of the bed.
âWhat are you doing?â you inquire, and Joaquin looks up at your scrunched up brows.Â
âUh,â he hesitates. Itâs the most direct attention youâve given him for the past few hours and Joaquin feels like heâs malfunctioning, cheeks warming under your gaze. âJustâŠthought if I smacked it enough times, it might remember how to be a good pillow.âÂ
He winces when your expression is unchanged and heâs disappointed in the fact that his joke may not have landed; he might have pushed the thin ice he was already on with you.Â
âNo,â you combat. âWhat are you doing down there?âÂ
Your clarification does little to alleviate his confusion. Maybe itâs the gaping expression on his face or maybe itâs the lack of a swift response, but you steam onward.Â
âIâm not letting you sleep down there! Last thing I need is for you to throw your back out mid-battle. Iâd never hear the end of it.âÂ
Joaquin sits up, hands braced behind him. A warmth spreads through his chest because the worst part of him loves to hear how you care, no matter how threadbare it truly is. Part of him feels a sense of relief that youâre speaking to him, but then he looks up at your narrowed eyes and his smile drops the slightest bit. Vulnerability slips through his usual confidence as he takes in your face in the dark room. The only light that comes through is a soft, distant glow from the large neon sign out front shining the word âMotelâ. It frames you like a halo.Â
He knows you made a joke of it, but he couldnât help the honesty that bleeds through his words. âFigured it was only fair.â Joaquinâs eyes soften as he looks at you. âDidnât want to push it.âÂ
Your lips part, and an unfamiliar expression crosses your face before it settles into a frown. âJust get up here.â Itâs quiet, a mere whisper, and Joaquinâs heart throbs in his chest.Â
âRelax,â he responds, voice significantly louder than necessary, intentionally breaking the ambiance. How soft you look, the concern in your voiceâitâs too much for Joaquin to handle. So he reverts back to what he feels safe withâhumor. âIâve survived worse than some dingy one star motel room floor. Have you slept over on Samâs couch? Not much better than this.â Joaquin lays back down and forces himself to turn his back to you, but his eyes stay open. He just stares at the carpet in front of him, and he hopes that you didnât hear the crack in his voice.Â
The bed creaks, and Joaquinâs eyes shut in relief, thankful that youâve dropped it. He lets out a shaky exhale, but then he freezes.Â
Familiar, warm skin brushes against his back. Not flushed, but close enough that he can feel the faintest kiss of your skin, and Joaquin tries not to jump that spark that dances along his back. He doesnât dare move.Â
âWhatâre you doing,â he whispers.Â
You shush him. âGo to sleep, Torres.âÂ
And despite the hammering in his chest and the rush that he feels when your skin ghosts against his in the faintest of movements, Joaquin feels his eyes growing heavy anyways.Â
-
Faint streams of sunlight shine through the small break in the curtains. Joaquin winces, blinking his eyes open with a slight groan. He tries to stretch his sore limbs, but instead finds himself restricted. Still in the midst of his dream and awake state, confusion floods him, until he starts to look around.Â
Regaining his senses, Joaquin starts to feel it. A pressure on his chest, his arms trapped underneath something, and his leg pinned down.Â
Holyâ
Joaquin snaps awake, jolting in shock before forcing his body rigidly still. Steadily, he tilts his head downward until he sees you fast asleep. Arm slung around his waist, one of your legs hiked up over his, Joaquin melts at the attention. Your face is tucked below his jaw and your even breaths fan across his skin.Â
He should move. Create space.Â
But he hesitates.Â
Your grip tightens unconsciously and Joaquin finds himself relaxing into you, the smell of your shampoo has him closing his eyes in comfort. In and out, he forces, willing his heart to stop its incessant thudding. Youâre holding on to him like heâs worth holding on to, and itâs doing things to him.Â
Joaquinâs eyes snap open.Â
No. He canât think that way, itâs too dangerous.Â
But the feel of your body against his. Itâs soâŠintimate.Â
Youâve been so distant these past few days, and Joaquin canât possibly imagine what heâs done to deserve this treatment now. Maybe you didnât mean to end up wrapped in him last night, even more reason Joaquin should let you go now, but he canât.Â
A selfish hero.Â
Yet despite the realization he remains still, laying motionless with his breathing shallow to prolong the moment as much as he can.Â
His mind spins. The two of you have done a lot together, bodies wound in moments of primal instinct and heat, but never like this. Never lingering.Â
Itâs his own fault. Admitting that truth, Joaquin swallows hard.Â
This isnât sex. This isnât a rushed need for physical touch. Itâs simple closeness, the kind that terrifies him more than anything in this world ever could.Â
And itâs undoing him.Â
A soft groan below him makes Joaquinâs body stiffen before he forces himself to relax. In pure panic, Joaquin closes his eyes and forces his breathing to even out in a false illusion of sleep. It takes everything in him not to move as he feels you awaken.Â
A soft hand on his chest makes Joaquin sigh, the feeling bringing him an odd sense of comfort. His ears strain as he listens to your movement, some confused muttering before you sit up and untangle yourself from him. He instantly misses the warmth.Â
Joaquin hears you stretch, the loud moan you let out as you do so tells him all he needs to know.Â
âJoaquin,â your groggy voice calls out. He doesnât dare move. A sharp finger digs into his waist, and he bites down on his lower lip in response. Stretching, Joaquin lets out a fake yawn before blinking his eyes open at you. Sitting with your legs crossed, youâve turned your body to look at him. He smiles softly at your bedhead, a grouchy expression on your face that consists of the cutest pout heâs ever seen.Â
âMorning,â he bids you, pretending to rub his eyes.Â
âWe gotta get ready,â you say through a yawn. All Joaquin can do is watch you.Â
Youâve been on missions together before, many times. And though Joaquins never admitted it out loud, one of his favorite versions of you is the one heâs looking at now. Early morning, fresh out of bedâyouâre at your softest. God knows Joaquin has done nothing to deserve being on the receiving end of anything soft, but he cherishes the moment anyways. His fingers twitch, resisting the urge to reach out and brush a fallen strand of hair on your forehead.Â
Instead heâs silent, watching as you get out of the makeshift bed the two of you shared the night before. Joaquin doesnât even care when you rip the comforter off of him and drops it on the mattress where it belongs, simply thankful that you had enough consideration last night to drag it down with you when you joined him on the floor.Â
âIâm gânna go first,â you say, voice still shrouded in sleep, stretching up towards the ceiling. Joaquin wets his lips when your shirt rides up as you do so and the tiniest sliver of your belly reveals itself. He doesnât argue with you, too entranced by the sight in front of him.Â
You mumble something about your back, both hands placed on it as you head towards the bathroom, but when the door slams close Joaquin falls backwards flat against the limp pillow. Both hands run over his face, and he cups his mouth with a loud groan.Â
Weirdly enoughâŠJoaquin thinks he just had the best sleep of his life.Â
-
Five days into the mission and Iago still hasnât made a move to cross the Arizona border. After days of endlessly following Iagoâs very bleak paper trail, endless debriefs in some fancy CIA building, and spending more time than necessary in an entire life with himâJoaquinâs patience is wearing extremely thin.Â
âThis guyâs good, Iâll give him that,â Agent Locke mutters from the bed. Joaquinâs side of the bed.Â
After the development of the first night, you had insisted that the pair of you share the motel bed instead of the floor.Â
âDonât let it get to your head, but you mightâve been right,â you had muttered. âDamn floor might kill us before Iago even gets past border patrol.âÂ
Granted, the two of you hadnât cuddled since, much to Joaquinâs chagrin. The line of pillows you built between the two of you each night was a clear boundary that wasnât to be violated, and despite missing the warmth of your body, Joaquin never pressed for more.Â
A container of takeout was held tightly in Lockeâs hand, chopsticks sticking out as he uses his free hand to scroll through his computer. Joaquin scowls from his seat in the armchair, his own laptop going unattended.Â
He hates the way youâre brushing against Locke, your arms pressed against one another as you peer over at his screen. Joaquinâs laptop is working just as fine, mind you. You could have easily shared with him. Instead, you sit at armâs length away from him, biting your lower lip in concentration as you read whatever data Locke has pulled up.Â
Itâs distracting. How the hell is he supposed to get through any of the traffic cam footage if youâre over there doing that?Â
Joaquin taps his trackpad, just to look busy, the blue glow of the paused video feed flickering over his face. His eyes keeps sliding over to the bed, over to you, and the way your head tilts ever so slightly toward Locke while leaning into him. Joaquinâs jaw clenches, forcing his gaze back to his screen and presses play.Â
A car pulls up to the gas station. Not Iago. Donât care.Â
A low laugh from the bed draws Joaquinâs attention, fingers tapping frantically on the table. Joaquinâs eyes focus on the grainy footage in front of him but none of it is truly registering. Every few seconds, his focus drifts. Your shoulders are relaxed as they pressed against Lockeâs. Your laugh was airy and unguarded, for Locke. Your smile is soft as you whisper something to Locke. Joaquinâs jaw clenches.Â
Youâre not together. Thatâs the unspoken truth. Itâs not like he has a right to feel any sort of way, but it doesnât stop the way his stomach twists and the ache in his jaw.Â
Close enough to touch, always, but miles away from him. Itâs all been polite conversation and civil reports and division by those goddamn pillows.Â
He misses you.Â
Not the sexâyou.
Joaquin exhales slowly through his nose, his own share of the food going cold on the table in front of him. At the sound of another laugh, he snaps.Â
The chair heâs in nearly flips backwards from the force of his standing, bumping loudly into the wall behind him. It has both yours and Lockeâs gaze snapping up, but Joaquin avoids eye contact with you both. Instead, he slams his laptop shut and grabs his wallet. âGrabbing a soda.âÂ
Heâs stepping out of the room before his thoughts can catch up to his actions, but he doesnât miss the subtle, âI donât think your partner likes me very much,â from Agent Locke accompanied by your giggle. It makes Joaquin slam the door shut in anger.
In the little nook to the side of the motel parking lot, Joaquin stands in front of the vending machine. Rubbing his nose aggressively, Joaquin lets out a loud sigh as the low hum from the machines fill the air, fluorescent light flickering above him. Itâs dark out and cold, the whoosh of cars flying by on the nearby freeway could be heard, but Joaquinâs not paying attention to any of those things. Instead, he tilts his head back, closing his eyes to take a shaky breath.Â
This is so much harder than he thought it would be.Â
Huffing, he shakes his head and pulls out a dollar bill from his pocket, stuffing it into the cash slot. Only for it to be returned to him. There was a bent corner, and Joaquin did his due diligence in fixing it before putting the bill back in. It slides right out. Opening his wallet only leads to the discovery that he had no other small bills with him.
âCome on,â Joaquin grunts, forcing his only dollar back in. He groans in frustration at the sound of the bill being pushed back out again. Straightening the money against the denim of his jeans, Joaquin curses when the vending machine still refuses to take his bill. âTake the stupid dollar,â he yells at the inanimate object.
In the midst of his tantrum, Joaquin fails to realize that someone else has joined him, until a hand he knows like his own slaps him away from the machine. You insert your own dollar and it accepts on the first try.Â
âOf course,â he deadpans.Â
He feels your warmth against his back despite you keeping a careful distance from him, and it was so familiar that Joaquin doesnât have the strength to turn around and face you. His deep inhale forces him to inadvertently inhale the smell of your sweet shampoo again, and Joaquin holds his breath, lungs squeezing painfully in his chest.Â
You reach around him, pressing the code that has an orange soda tumbling against the glass before landing in the bottom compartment with a clank.Â
Neither of you move.Â
âThat crap will clog your arteries before the age of fifty, you know that, right?â Your breath fans against Joaquinâs back, and it makes him shiver.Â
His voice is low, almost lower than the hum of the lights as he mumbles. âI just needed a minute.âÂ
âWhat is going on with you?â you respond, matching his volume.Â
Joaquin hates that he can hear the tone of compassion in your voice, knows that heâs done nothing to deserve it. Your kind nature is unmatched, and Joaquin doesnât deserve any of it. Even in this moment Joaquin knowsâwhat can he even say? The situation heâs in is the result of no one but himself, and despite how greedy heâs been about you, heâs not selfish enough to confide in you about having to bear the consequences of his own actions.Â
But then a flash of you and Locke flashes in his mind, and his emotions turn into misguided anger. Afterall, how could you get so close to someone else in the aftermath of what happened? Did you truly mean so little to him? The hurt was too much for him, and instead bleeds into frustration.Â
âNothing,â his voice is gruff, jaw clenching.Â
Your voice still carries the same tone as you state, âYou were kind of being an ass in there.â Of course. Joaquin rolls his eyes. Is that what you were out here for? It sparks a flash of annoyance through him. Was he not being nice enough to Locke for your liking?
âDidnât realize you noticed me there. Thought I was interrupting something.â Itâs an obvious low blow, Joaquin shouldâve taken better control of his emotions and kept it to himself, but he couldnât stop the words from rushing past his lips anyways.Â
He doesnât have any time to feel regret before you scoff, though, and the sound has him turning his head over his shoulder to get a look at your face. Youâre less than pleased with him, fairly so, but Joaquin had a hard time caring. Not when Locke kept touching you and looking at you, the two of you sharing laughs at his expense.Â
You shake your head when the two of you make eye contact. âItâs called working, Torres. You should try it sometime this week instead of walking around like a brooding asshole.âÂ
âYeah?â He challenges, licking his lips. âLooked more like flirting to me.â
A noise of disagreement strangles out of your throat. âYouâre ridiculous.â Itâs conclusive. You and Joaquin simply hold each other's gazes, both holding your own ground in this deliberate staring contest.Â
It was you who broke away first, turning away from him with a clenched jaw. Looking back, there was something else in your eyes alongside the simmering anger, and all you do is reach past him to pull the soda out from the metal flap. A sniffle catches his attention, but you shove the drink into his chest before he can take a good look at you. âDonât say I never got you anything.â Your voice is firm and decisive.Â
With that, you depart, and all Joaquin can do is take in another breath as he watches your retreating figure. It was only when your shared room door slams shut that guilt begins to swirl in tendrils in his veins. The lights above him go out.Â
-
That night, after Locke took his leave and confirmed that Iagoâs been spotted at a nearby hotel, Joaquin merely watched in the corner of the room as you threw down an extra sheet and pillow onto the floor next to the bed before settling on the mattress. No words were exchanged, but it was clear: Joaquin was sleeping on the ground tonightâhis metaphorical dog house. He took it in stride, laid down without a word, but his back wasnât as prideful as him the next day. It certainly was not a good night's rest. And it definitely didnât help when your foot landed on his stomach, using him as a stepping stone as you made your way to the bathroom the next morning. All he could do was groan and curl up on the floor, back and stomach now aching.Â
Now, in the dark, dingy van, Joaquin shifts uncomfortably in his designated seat, body complaining from the events that took place. One hand rubs the crease in his forehead while the other taps against the armrest. His eyes remain locked on the various monitors in front of him.Â
On the opposite side of the van, you sit just as tense and silent, working on the comms.Â
For once, Joaquinâs glad Locke is there as a buffer, though the agent himself doesnât seem to be too glad about it. Itâs so apparently obvious and even without multiple years in the academy, anyone can deduce that things are tense. Itâs palpable, and obnoxiously fills the already stale air in the tiny vehicle.Â
To the right of him, Locke clears his throat, and Joaquinâs ears twitch in irritation. âSo,â Locke drags. âDid something happen last night?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
âJust focused.âÂ
Joaquinâs and your response overlap one another, answering Locke with haste in a stern tone.Â
âAlrighty,â Locke sings, clearly unconvinced, but the message from both sides is clear and the man returns his attention to the same monitors Joaquin is watching. âWaitâŠâ the CIA agent calls out, though all previous humor is devoid from his voice. The air shifts instantly, heavy with purpose, as everyone leans in.Â
âRight there,â Lockeâs finger comes up to tap on one of the screens, the grainy picture flickering slightly as he narrows his eyes.Â
Following him, Joaquinâs eyes trail the screen, catching a small blurry figure peeking around a pillar before ducking into the building being surveilled, but not before turning around to look over their shoulder. Joaquin types quickly on his keyboard, the lens capturing the movement. The camera footage pauses, and Joaquin zooms in. âThatâs him. Thatâs Iago.âÂ
The sound of a camera shuttering fills Joaquinâs ears, and once Locke finishes capturing evidence, Joaquin zooms out.Â
âWait, hold on,â you call out. Reaching across, you point at a different monitor on Joaquinâs side to the leftâa different figure entering the frame from the opposite side of the building. âThereâs Monica.â The confirmed buyer.Â
The trio watches as she moves towards the back entrance of the building, her signature confidence radiating off the screen. Sheâs flanked by two guards. âTheyâre armed,â Locke confirms in a grim voice.Â
Shifting to the edge of his seat, Joaquin keeps his eyes on the screen until all parties disappear inside. âTheyâre both here. This is it.âÂ
âHold on,â Locke demands, fingers moving with speed as he switches the feed to the cameras theyâve placed inside. âWe need confirmation of the exchange,â he announces.Â
Watching in tense silence, Joaquin keeps his eyes locked on the screen.Â
The criminals move through separate parts of the building, and each one of you watches with intent, tracking them. Joaquin ignores the radio static of Lockeâs comms, telling his team to hold their positions.Â
When Iago and Monica finally meet, itâs in one of the back offices, and Joaquin holds his breath as the two shake hands. Monicaâs guards part slightly, forming a perimeter in the small room that barricades the door. The flash drive glints faintly as Iago pulls it from his pocket, and Joaquin can only watch as the two mouth to each other, unable to make much out due to the lack of audio and the low-resolution footage. The two of them take a seat on opposite sides of a round table centered in the room. Under different circumstances, Joaquin would have rolled his eyes at the dramatics, but he knows better. Big fish like these have a knack for flare.Â
âWait. Somethingâs wrong,â you murmur. You reach over Locke, taking over the comms, shifting the camera away from Monica and Iago. Joaquin shouts your name in protest, but you simply ignore him. âThereâs more,â you hastily rush out. âThere.â You were right. With the change of perspective back to the entrances of the building, Joaquin sees it. More shadows. More shapes.Â
Thereâs others.Â
Joaquin counts fiveâŠsixâŠeight others. Unmarked and heavily armed, surrounding the building from the inside.Â
âWhat the hellâŠâ Joaquinâs heart rate starts to pick up.Â
âShe brought extra backup,â Locke sounds distant, as though his mind was processing the information. âThatâs too many bodies for a simple deal.âÂ
Everyone falls still, watching the men on the screen. âIagoâs the biggest black market tech broker we know. Heâs hacked into the U.S government more times than we can keep track of. All operative informationâSuper Soldier data, blueprints for war plansâŠâ you let the insinuation hang in the air. âWhatever Monicaâs buyingâŠsheâs not sticking around after,â you quickly pick up. âAfter the handoff, sheâs fleeing.âÂ
Locke overtakes the comms, switching it back to Monica and Iago, who are still sitting across from each other, a seemingly casual conversation taking place. âThe target is Iago,â he states. âWe wait for the handoff. Let Monica leave first, then we come in for him.âÂ
âSheâs right.â Joaquin jumps in to agree with you. âWe canât wait. Monicaâs going to kill him after she gets what she needs,â he shakes his head. âIâve read her file. With this many men, sheâs planning something big. She wonât leave any loose ends.âÂ
âWe will get there in time. We need Iago to transfer the drive to her or we canât get either of them. Right now theyâre only crime is meeting up in an abandoned warehouse.â Locke insists, voice firm. âLet the exchange happen and we track Monica from there. Going in now just blows this whole thing.âÂ
Joaquinâs lips part, ready to disagree, but the slamming of the van door draws his attention.Â
âShe wonât wait that long.â Youâre flying out of the van before anyone can process it, gear half on and boots hitting the gravel with a crunch.Â
Joaquinâs stomach drops. âWait,â he shouts, calling after you, only to hear you shout back, âIâm not letting anyone die on a technicality.âÂ
âDammit!â Joaquin lunges towards you, but youâre too fast, and he hastily grabs his own gear despite the shouts and protest of Locke. âFucking shit!â Joaquin curses, ankles ringing when he lands harshly on the ground. Joaquin chases after you, but you donât look back once, and he keeps his head on a swivel as he locks his vest into place.Â
The two of you sprint down the alley, Joaquin only a few steps behind you, as you near the distance of the warehouse together. Slipping around the side, you crouch low behind a dumpster near the loading bay.Â
Joaquinâs breath burns in his throat, not from the sudden adrenaline rush, but from the fear that grasps him at the sight of you rushing into a scene without telling him anything. Youâve never done that before. Each inhale scrapes sharply against his ribs and muscle memory overrides the flurry of thoughts crashing in his head as he secures his weapons. Heâs pissedâat Locke for his douchery and at Monica for ruining the fucking planâbut mostly heâs angry with you.Â
But none of that matters right now.
Dropping beside you, his back pressed to the rusted metal of the dumpster. Grasping your shoulder, Joaquin forces you to look back at him. âWhatâs the plan?â His voice comes out calm and focusedâthe exact opposite of how he feels on the inside, where he wants to shake you and yell at you for your reckless actionsâbut he knows the two of you have to make it out of this first. He needs to trust you.Â
When you turn towards him, your eyes are sharp, and he knows youâre where you need to be. âWe go in quiet. Straight to Iago. If Monica gets even a hint that somethingâs wrong, itâs game over. Once we get in there, if she makes a move to kill him, we take all of them down. I donât care what Locke saysâwe neutralize and extract, even if the exchange hasnât happened.â Your eyes flicker down to the gun in his hand. âNo gunfire.âÂ
Joaquin looks down before tucking it back into the back of his waistband. He nods, once.Â
Itâs a terrible plan. Ten people versus two. But Joaquin forces himself to push that thought away, it wonât do him any good on the field. Joaquin exhales slowly, steadying his pulse. He doesnât say it verbally, but the two of you knowâheâs with you.Â
Peering around the edge of the dumpster, the back entrance to the warehouse is maybe thirty yards away. Next to it, thereâs a cracked loading door spilling yellow light onto the concrete. He sees a shadow move past the gapâtall and armed. Then he sees another shadow, moving the opposite directionâsmaller feet, but Joaquin doesnât dare make the mistake of assuming theyâre any less dangerous. Thatâs two out of eight, not counting Monica and Iago themselves.Â
Joaquin feels you tap his arm onceâready?Â
He gives you the smallest of nods. Letâs move.
You both rush out from behind the dumpster, feet barely making noise against the concrete as you huge the warehouse wall. The two of you duck low, passing the cracked loading door and Joaquin holds his breath as you do.Â
Once your duo gets to the back door, Joaquin is quick to move to one side, flanking it, while you remain on the other, facing the loading dock. Reaching over, his palm grasps the knob and gives it a steady turn. All he can focus on is the rhythm of his breathing, eyes scanning you and your surroundings. One wrong move and theyâre done.Â
You glance back at Joaquin and he nods before pushing the door open.Â
Joaquin slips in first, hunched low as he surveys the environment. The smell of oil and dust fills the air, and he takes in the wooden crates that surround the place. He tiptoes behind one for cover. When you slip past the door to join him, Joaquin signals you to move further in. Youâve yet to be discovered by the two guards, and Joaquin waits until youâve found a safe spot, too. Both of your eyes are on the men pacing near the open door.Â
Back and forth. Back and forth.Â
One of them turns in his direction.Â
Joaquin shrinks down, hidden behind the wooden crate, just for a second. He presses himself to the side and turns to look at you. Joaquin holds up two fingers, waving them towards you then towards the guards. Take them down.Â
You give a single nod in return, eyes sharp.Â
Joaquin moves first, circling wide along the stacked boxes, steps-feather light. He keeps his ears trained on the sound of the guard's footsteps as Joaquin closes the distance between them. He times it. One heartbeat. Two.Â
Then he springs. Arms locked around the guardâs neck, the other reaching to grab the manâs weapon as he brings him down in one smooth, silent motion. He tosses the gun away and it slides smoothly against the floors. Joaquinâs face scrunches, quiet grunts leaving him as he forces the pressure of his forearm into the criminalâs neck, straining to keep a grip on the resisting man. His biceps burn as he presses down as hard as he can, dragging the man backwards with him.Â
Joaquin lets out a small breath of relief when the body slumps, unconscious, and he moves quickly to conceal the manâs body behind some crates. Then, Joaquin reaches down, stripping the man of his comms.Â
He places the earpiece in his left ear before turning around to look for you.Â
Across the room, youâre still in motion. A sharp crack as your elbow connects with the guardâs jaw before he can shout. The large man stumbles, and youâre quick to press him against the wall, arms braced across his throat until his body goes limp and slides to the ground.Â
Joaquinâs own silhouette glides through the room, reaching your side as he breathes fast and quiet. âClear,â he whispers to you.Â
The two of you look ahead into the stretch of the warehouseâthe endless grid of crates and towering shelves is casting fractured shadows across the concrete floor. You both knew that beyond them, tucked into the far back corner, are the offices. Thatâs where Iago is. Thatâs where Monica is.Â
But between where the two of you stand and there is large open groundâspace that requires you to directly pass the front lobbyâwhere the rest of Monicaâs minions stand guard.Â
Joaquin hears a crackle of radio static in his stolen earpiece, and he reaches out to grasp your upper arm with a serious expression on his face. With a flat hand, he gestures across his neck. Donât move.Â
âAlpha post, status report.âÂ
A pause before another radio crack floods Joaquinâs ear.Â
âClear at the front. No sign of movement. ETA on exchange?âÂ
âTen minutes. Boss says no one comes in or out. Keep your eyes on the doors.âÂ
In the distance, Joaquin can hear the echoing of multiple pairs of shoes shuffling against the floor and the movement of fabricâtheyâre pacing, getting impatient.Â
âBravo post, check in.âÂ
Shit. Joaquinâs pulse spikes. That was their post. The two of you meet eyes, and Joaquin knows that you easily detect the trouble in his. Silence wonât go unnoticed for long
âBravo, do you copy?âÂ
Joaquin raises a finger, ready to press the comm, but your hand quickly clamps over his wrist. You shake your head fervently, and the scrunch in your brows reading the clear words, Too risky.Â
âSir, heading to West wing to check on team Bravo now.âÂ
His breath stutters in his chest, body going still, save for the twitch in his jaw as tension floods his limbs like ice water. Your warm fingers wrapped around his wrist serve as a reminder to wait, stay hidden. But theyâre cutting it close, too close. Joaquin can hear them now, two pairs of footsteps marching in their direction.Â
âBravo post, all clear.â The delivery is low and clear, an octave lower than his own voice, in his best attempt to seem inconspicuous. He holds the button for a second longer than needed before a shaky finger lets go.Â
The footsteps stop.Â
Joaquin feels your hand squeeze his wrist, but he canât focus on it, mind still racing. If they donât respondâŠ
His eyes flickering over to you before seizing into knots in his stomach. A sour taste of worry settles in his mouth as he takes in your slow blinks, watching him with intense focus. Despite his efforts to keep a sharp mind and despite all his trust in you, if anything happensâ
âCopy that, Bravo.âÂ
Joaquin exhales through his nose, slow and quiet, but the tension doesnât leave him. He canât take his eyes off of you, the close too close for his liking. At the realization that youâre waiting for an update, Joaquin mentally shakes his head of any previous fearful thoughts before giving you a singular nod. Then, one tap to your arm. With both hands, he holds all his fingers, relaying his intel. You nod back in understanding.Â
Youâre in a time crunch now. Ten minutes to get in and out with no casualties.Â
But your problem still persistsâopen ground between where you stand and where you need to be. Wooden crates and shelves can only provide so much cover. But then Joaquin watches as you point upwards, head following your movements.Â
Overhead. A narrow catwalk runs through the length of the warehouse. Even from below, he can see how old and rusted it is, hanging on with metal wires that look ready to snap. Joaquin frowns. But itâs intact. And it gets you directly to the back offices without crossing free space.Â
His eyes flick to you. Smart.Â
Together, you rush over to the shelves lining the warehouse wall, climbing in quick, practiced motions.Â
Just a second after yours, Joaquinâs boots land on the metal in a quiet stomp as he pulls himself up. The steel groans under your shared weight, but Joaquin suspects that a gust of wind would have the old catwalk making the same noise. Straining his ears, Joaquin listens to the way the guards continue to pace, none the wiser.Â
Looking ahead, Joaquin watches how fast you move, low and silent as you make your way down. He follows your lead.Â
The whirling of vents overhead fill the air, and shadows from flickering lights cut across your forms as the two of you make your way towards the back offices. Focused and stealthy, being extra careful when you come into view of the lobby.Â
Four gunned men. Just as you had figured when you did your recon.Â
Soon, the back offices come into view and despite the multiple rooms in the row, you and Joaquin easily spot Monica and Iagoâs location, for the small window on the door spilling yellow light into the hallway gave it away.Â
The two of you crouch down, watching the space from directly above for a few seconds. Turning to each other, you hold up a four with your fingers. Four people.Â
âHow are you going to take them down? Theyâre all armed.â Joaquinâs voice is merely above a whisper, the hum of the vents blanketing his words.Â
But you donât answer with words.Â
A mischievous gleam in your eyes makes Joaquinâs narrow in suspicion. When you pull a small metal bolt from your belt, some leftover scrap you picked up from the warehouse floor at some point, Joaquin shakes his head ânoâ. This time, itâs his hand clamping your wrist. âThatâs a terrible plan!â he doesnât hesitate to speak out this time, still whispering.Â
He looks at you as you raise your brows innocently, accompanying it with a slight shrug.Â
Joaquinâs gaze snaps back to the office door, and the counting heâs been keeping track of in his mind reminds him they only have so much time left. Shoulders tight, Joaquinâs teeth grit as he lets you go with a huff. The second he does, you toss the bolt over the catwalk, and the two of you watch as it clatters to the floor below, rolling.Â
You both duck back into the shadows.Â
Inside the office, one of the guards steps out with his gun in hand. He stands barricaded by the door, only peaking out to look back and forth down the hallway. Joaquin tenses, worrying that their plan backfired. Every line in his body is alert, gaze locked on the manâs movements. His mind is spinning as he calculates other options.Â
But then you reach into your pocket again, this time pulling out another bolt.Â
Joaquinâs hand shoots out, âWaitââ he hisses.Â
Too late.Â
The second small piece of metal sails down just as the guard begins to step back inside, landing directly at his feet. This time, the guard steps out, squinting upward in the direction the bolt came from.
You jump forward and drop.
Joaquin jerks with a sharp inhale, one hand gripping the edge of the catwalk as he watches you plummet downward. You land on top of the guard, hard, knees braced on his back as your arms snake around his neck before he can react. The two of you hit the ground with a loud thud. The manâs gun, strapped across his chest, slams into the concrete floor.Â
His heart lurches into his throat, the sharp echoing crack of your bodies hitting the ground was loud and unmistakable.Â
Shit.
He grips the catwalkâs edge tighter, knuckles going white as he grinds his teeth. Every instinct in his body was telling him that this is itâthis is the moment where everything falls apart. Joaquinâs eyes snap to the left, panicking at the idea that the other four guards would head in their direction. They were running out of time.Â
When his eyes rush back to the hallway, the second guard is bursting through the office door, gun already halfway raised.Â
âFucking dammit!â he curses. Joaquin doesnât think. Doesnât breathe.Â
Before his mind can catch up, Joaquin is already halfway over the railing. In one smooth, desperate motion, he launches himself off the catwalk. His body flies through the air, a blur of dark clothing and braced limbs. Joaquin feels the wind whip past his ear, pulse pounding so loud it drowns out everything else. His breathing is caught in his chest, and when the guardâs face tilts up and Joaquinâs boots crash into his shoulder.Â
The two of them hit the ground hard, launching away from each other from the force and trajectory of Joaquinâs fall. Despite the wind knocked out of his lungs on impact, Joaquin wastes no time. Pure adrenaline rushes through his veins, and he jumps back up to his feet before he can even process it.Â
Joaquinâs ears tune in to the way the guard groans, but before the man can reach for his weapon, Joaquin is already there, grabbing him by the collar and slamming his head into the floor. Releasing one hand, Joaquin swings his arm back before striking his fist into the side of the guardâs face. Once. Twice. Until the struggle stills.Â
He sucks in a large breath, knowing silence was no longer a necessary cover, and Joaquin blinks to focus his blurry vision from the sudden drop and adrenaline. Sweat beads along his brow, and his hands are shaking.Â
Whipping around, Joaquin searches for you.Â
Youâre still struggling, pinning your opponent down with your knees as he thrashes beneath you. Joaquinâs stomach twists when he sees a smear of red along your sleeve, but thereâs no time to check. Rushing towards you, Joaquinâs leg is already cocked, and he slams his boot into the manâs shoulder, kicking him to weaken his struggles. The man howls in pain, and Joaquin watches as your grip tightens. With the full use of your body weight, you slam the manâs head hard enough to knock him out.Â
Silence.Â
Itâs heavy and shallow.Â
Joaquin's hands are shaking, and he kneels down to check on you. Hand brushing against your back, he asks if youâre alright.Â
âIâm fine,â you reply, chest heaving.Â
He doesnât believe you, but thereâs no time to argue.Â
Both your heads snap up at the sound of screaming voices, coming from inside the office. Instantly, youâre both back up on your feet, and Joaquin reaches towards the door to swing it open.Â
You both freeze.Â
Monica is on the other side of the table, the furthest distance she can be from the door in the small room. Her arm is locked around Iagoâs neck as she drags him backwardsâa pistol is jammed into the underside of his jaw.
Joaquin takes the time to scan her and he feels his blood freeze in his veins. Sheâs steady with sharp eyes and face devoid of any sign of fear. His eyes flicker to the gun in her hand. Safetyâs off. Finger on the trigger. Whatever sheâs planningâŠMonicaâs not bluffing.Â
Iago is breathing hard, eyes flickering between the barrel and the two of you. His hands are raised in surrender, and Joaquin winces at his split lip, the blood dribbling down the collar of his shirt.Â
âNobody move.â Her voice is calm.Â
Joaquin raises his hand in surrender and from the corner of his eyes, he sees that you do the same. âEasy, Monica.âÂ
The hardened villain doesnât so much as flinch. Her grip in Iago stays tight, pistol unwavering. âThe only way this ends is me walking out of this building unharmed.âÂ
Neither of you answer her.Â
Taking the gun off of Iago, she waves it in the air to make her point, âI have men crawling all over this building. Even more outside. Snipers, runners, you name it.âÂ
The gun lands back against her captive, and Joaquinâs eyes train on him. Heâs shaking like a leaf. âI walk out.â Monica proposes. âWith him.â She flickers down to Iago, letting out a âtskâ as she does, as though he was an afterthought. âAnd no one dies. Simple as that.âÂ
Joaquin takes a step forward, just enough to show her that heâs not scared. âI canât let you do that.âÂ
From behind him, Joaquin hears you speak up, too. âWhy do you want him?âÂ
Monicaâs eyes flicker towards you, and heat burns at the pit of Joaquinâs stomach at the idea of her attention on you.Â
âWant him?â She lets out a small laugh, though it sounds less than humorous. âSweetie, I donât want him. He just happens to be the unfortunate bastard who knows too much.â She slides the gun further down the column of Iagoâs throat, and the man swallows harshly.Â
âItâs a shame,â fake sympathy laces her voice. âWe couldâve done so much together,â she sighs. âBut I canât work with cowards who reach out to people like you.âÂ
Iago parts his lips to protest, but before he can get a word past, Monica moves at lightning speed. She redirects the barrel of the gun in your direction with a whoosh, and a deafening, unmistakable crack of a shot flies through the air.
Before the echoing can finish ringing out, Joaquinâs body is in motion. âGet down!â he shouts, diving with all the strength he has towards you. His arm latches around your waist as he drives the two of you backwards, falling into the hallway behind you.Â
You crash into the floor in a tangled heap.Â
Joaquin tightens his grip on you when he hears you let out a strangled sound. A gasp or a cry, he canât be sure, but then he feels itâwarmth. Heâs scrambling off of you in an instant, taking in your scrunched expression.Â
Panic rockets through his chest, clenching around his heart. âNo, no no,â heâs muttering over and over, both hands pressing against the bloom of red on your shoulder thatâs starting to stain your clothes. âShit,â he cries, hands starting to shake. Joaquin doesnât know where to start, what to do. Youâre groaning beneath him, face scrunched in pain with gritted teeth.Â
His lungs start burning, and Joaquin realizes heâs been holding his breath. He lets out a stuttering exhale, fingers clenching against the wound. Whispering numerous desperate apologies, Joaquin continues to apply pressure despite your cries.Â
âJoaquin,â you grit, âJoaquin, stop.â The hand from your non-injured side comes up to grasp at his forearm, nails digging into skin. He hears your ragged breathing, the struggle in your voice as you tell him, âGraze. Just a graze.âÂ
âDonât move,â he shushes you. âJustâŠjust wait, hold onââ He swallows hard, vision swimming for a second and Joaquinâs head starts to hurt, the way his brain is struggling to catch up.Â
âJoaquin,â your nails dig further, but he canât register the feeling. âIâm fine. Monica,â you gasp. âGo.âÂ
But itâs not fine. Youâre not okay. You were nearly shot.Â
âJoaquin, go!â you scream.Â
He wants to argue, wants to scream at you for pushing him away because all he wants to do right now is keep you safeâthe thing he shouldâve done to begin withâand youâre not letting him.Â
But thenâ
A clattering behind him. A muffled grunt.Â
Joaquinâs head snaps around just in time to see itâMonica dragging Iago down the hallway. The manâs legs are failing and sheâs got a grip on his collar, yanking him like dead weight, moving fast as her head occasionally snaps back to look at you and Joaquin.Â
Sheâs getting away.Â
He turns back to look at you. Beneath him, your face is twisted in pain, and the fabric around your shoulder only continues to darken with the passing time. His own hands are covered in your blood, fingers trembling. Your lips are parted, drawing in short, shallow breaths.Â
But then he looks in your eyes, and all he sees is sheer determination. No panic or fear.Â
Joaquin gets your message loud and clear: Trust me, you were saying. His heart constricts so sharply in chest, he aches and Joaquin blinks the tears in his eyes away. Slowly, he lifts his trembling fingers away from your shoulder. Itâs the scariest thing heâs ever seenâthe blood on your shouldersâbut he wills his fingers to stop their shaking and clenches his jaw in resilience. âIâll be back,â his voice is hoarse, and the words come out a bit choked up as they force their way past the lump in his throat. âYou hear me? Iâll be back.âÂ
He drops lower, just long enough to reach you, and Joaquin cradles your face in his blood soaked hands. A brush of his thumb over your cheek is the only moment of solitude he can give you before Joaquin presses a kiss to your forehead. Itâs rushed and apologetic.Â
Then Joaquinâs gone. Running down the hallway, he doesnât turn back once. He canât.Â
If he does, he wonât be able to leave.
-
The door creaks open on its old hinges, the sound echoing through the small townhouse. Joaquin steps in first, multiple bags slung over his shoulders as he holds the door open for you. The weight of them burns, and internally Joaquin wonders if you packed ten pounds of rocks for your mission, but the thought quickly evaporates when you step in and his eyes land on your bandaged shoulder.Â
Joaquin watches as your eyes flicker to him on the way in. âI couldâve carried my own bag, you know.â He can hear the stubbornness in your voice, and all Joaquin can do is give you a sharp glare.Â
After making sure he locked and deadbolted the door, Joaquin drops the duffles onto the couch with a dull thud. Huffing, he places his hands on his hips as he looks around.Â
Itâs nicer than the dump youâve been holed up in the past week. Clean. Modern. A couch (his back is already thankful for it). Definitely a step up from the mildew and cigarette scented cardboard box youâve been calling a room the past week.Â
Although itâs only a place to rest for one night before you catch your flights back to Washington, Joaquinâs thankful for the rest stop nonetheless. He wouldnât be surprised if Sam had someone stop by to clean up the place before the two of you stopped by. A smile graces his lips at the thought of his friend, looking forward to being back home already. Heâs been on much longer missions, but God knows this one has taken the most out of him.
Joaquinâs eyebrow twitches in irritation, smile dropping the slightest bit. He can feel you looking at him again.
Itâs been like this the entire ride over.Â
He knows itâs wrong, knows that he shouldâve been so much nicer to you considering the turn of events, but, simply, Joaquin is struggling. His usual optimism is locked in a chamber deep in his heart, unable to see the light of day, with the way his body is so busy aching over the reality that that mission could have gone a hell of a lot worse.Â
Heâs been counting your breaths in the long silence that stretches between you two as a way to remind himself that youâre there next to him, that youâre okay. But itâs little consolidation. Itâs a sense of loyalty masked by the frustration of not being able to protect you, Sam had said, noting the way you lingered awkwardly in the background during Joaquinâs debrief with him. You make him not himself.
Joaquin thinks itâs bullshit. Heâs mad himself, that much he can recognize on his own. But heâs also mad at you.Â
Youâre still looking at him, and it takes everything in him not to look back. Joaquin is sure that you think he doesnât notice. But he does. Of course he does. All he does is notice youâhow your hand kept ghosting over the center console towards him during the car ride, how youâve been wincing and rotating your shoulder when you think no oneâs looking, how you nervously picked at your fingers when the med tech cleared you hours ago despite wearing a stoic look on your face.Â
The reminder makes his face tighten, resolve hardening as he recalls the words âit couldâve been worse.â Locke meant it reassuringly, but all it did was anger Joaquin.Â
Heâs being a dick. But he does it anyway, because what else is there for him to do?Â
Itâs safer, Joaquin reminds himself. Simpler, because if he keeps the space between the two of you wide, he wonât start unraveling everytime you so much as squirm in pain. Itâs what heâs been working towards all this time. Thereâs so much space, truly, as you toe the line between coworkers and more. So much potential. But even with the distance and without ever crossing that thin thread, Joaquin is already so undone.Â
Heâs barely surviving you.Â
And this accidentâno matter how much everyone around him keeps saying that it was fine, nonfatalâhas been stabbing at his already bleeding heart. Joaquin is shook in a way that he isnât proud of, because he knows he should be stronger, but everytime he closes his eyes all he heâs is you on the ground, blood blooming dark through your gear, and everything inside him screams.Â
He canât be what you want, because caring about you like this? Risking feeling even more? It scares him in a way he canât even begin to understand. If this is how hard heâs falling now, when nothing between you is even realâŠJoaquin doesnât want to even imagine how much it might hurt one day if you might slip through his fingers.Â
âIâm gânna hit the showers,â he murmurs in your general direction, the heat of your stare burning at the side of his face. Joaquin manages to take only a few steps away when you call out after him.Â
âWhatâs your problem?â Your voice is loud, echoing through the small living room. âSeriously, Joaquin, what is your issue?âÂ
âI donât have a problem.âÂ
âYes, you do!â you protest, voice getting louder.Â
Joaquin clamps his mouth shut, confident that silence is the only solution here. But you come up behind him, taking him by surprise when you shove him in the back. It hardly does anything, Joaquin leaning forward in surprise more than anything, but it pisses him off nonetheless. Whipping around, he meets your furious eyes, but still, heâs silent, opting to simply glare.Â
âWell?â you shout. âJoaquin, say something!âÂ
âYouâre my problem!â The words burst out before he can stop themâsharp and heavy with everything heâs been holding back. As soon as the words come out, Joaquin regrets them. He recoils, shocked by the weight of his own anger and the volume of his voice. Heâs never yelled at you, never so much as raised his voice, but he knows itâs too late to take it back now.Â
âYou donât get it,â he shakes his head, hand running over his face. âYou donâtââ
âIs this about Agent Locke?â your tone shrouded in disbelief.Â
âI donât give a shit about Agent Asshole!â Joaquin canât help but shout, but he quickly turns around to take a deep breath. Heâs never been this way with you before, but God does that name rub him in all the wrong places.Â
Joaquin barrels forward, and though his voice grows quieter, itâs just as firm as he grits his teeth. He turns to you. âYou getting hurt? Thatâs my problem. You bleeding out in some dark, crappy warehouse while I left, completely useless to you? Thatâs my fucking problem.â Heat crawls up Joaquinâs back, and his chest starts to rise and fall rapidly as he tries to rein his outrage back. Fists balled at his sides, his nails dig into his palm to remind himself to stay calm. âYou were so reckless!â he accuses.Â
âHey! That was the only chance we hadââÂ
âI donât care!â Joaquin cries, hands coming up to hold his head. He canât believe the two of you are even having this conversation. Why donât you understand? Why were you being so stubborn? His voice is cracking, exasperation seeping through every word. âThe only thing that matters to me is that you got hurt.â He steps forward, forcing you closer to him as if somehow that would make you understand him better. His heart is pounding in his chest, louder than his thoughts.Â
âBefore we ran in there, we werenât evenââ Joaquin pauses, jaw clenching as he forces himself to look away from you. He sniffles, once, to compose himself. âYou wouldnât even look at me in the van.â Swallowing the lump in his throat, Joaquin continues. âI was still mad. And then next thing I know, Iâm holding you and youâre on the floor bleedingââÂ
Before he can finish, your hand grabs the front of his t-shirt and yanks him forward. He barely has the time to register whatâs happening before he feels your lips on his. Itâs urgent and fierce, and instinctively, he kisses back. His hand finds your waist, gripping them tightly because itâs the first time heâs touched you in days. Starving for it, he pulls you flush against him. His other hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck as he kisses you with everything heâs been holding in.Â
Frustration, fear, guiltâit all drains into the kiss, making it messy and hot.Â
You finally pull back, but Joaquin canât just yet. Heâs desperate, he needs more. So he trails his lips down the side of your throat, leaving sloppy kisses down the curve of your neck. His breath is hot against your throat, and itâs less finesse than he usually has, but thereâs not much he can do about that. Not when itâs driven from grief more than lust.Â
Your moan makes his pants start to tighten, but hesitation starts to swirl in his mind. But then you throw your head further back, your hand coming up to grip the back of his head, pushing his head further downward. He takes the encouragement greedily, lips finding your clavicle as he bites down gently, licking the skin soothingly when you let out a small his.Â
Joaquinâs hands donât stop moving, brushing up and down your body and squeezing in various places. He needs to feel you, a physical reminder that youâre here and youâre okay.Â
Heâs busy pressing kisses against the column of your throat again when he hears you whisper.Â
âThis doesnât change anything,â you say quietly, even though your fingers are scratching at the back of his head, twirling his curls.Â
The words burn him, snapping him away from his hungry daze momentarily. Though your voice is low, the words are louder than everything around himâthe sting of your nails, your ragged breaths. It echoes past everything. His lips still against your throat, and for a second Joaquin hates that youâve said it out loud. Hates even more the fact that he knows he needs to hear it.Â
This isnât forgiveness or peace.Â
The realization makes Joaquinâs hand grip your waist tighter, but his kiss against your neck is soft as he whispers back, âI know.âÂ
He ignores the way your hand soothes the back of his head, twisted in his curls in a shameful act of comfort. It makes his stomach sink in the worst of ways.Â
So Joaquin does the only thing he knows how to do with you.Â
His hands move quick, finding purchase at the junction between the bottom of your ass and the top of your thigh as he presses hurried, wet kisses to any surface his lips can reach. Joaquin squeezes the flesh there, letting out a satisfied groan before pulling you up. Ignoring your squeal of surprise, Joaquin forces your legs around his waist as he carries you through the townhouse.Â
Blindly, he carries you around, occasionally peeking around you to watch his step but his focus rarely strays from you for more than a few seconds at a time. Your body is warm against his, and your legs around his waist has your core pressing against his hard cock in a way that is growing increasingly distracting by the second.Â
Every part of him was trembling with urgency, and the way your breath is hot against his ear makes his knees buckle. Joaquin presses a kiss to your jaw, biting again, before finding the corner of your mouth in a feverish tenacity.Â
âI needââ he groans, words getting tangled in his throat when you press yourself closer to him, grinding against him over the denim of his jeans. He doesnât bother to finish his sentence, instead, he rushes you further down the hall until he reaches a random door. Everything in him prays that itâs the bedroom door as he fumbles with the knob, letting out a curse as you gently nip at the lobe of his ear.Â
Joaquin pinches your ass in warning, and he marvels in the way you let out a surprised squeak. But his satisfaction is short lived, turning into annoyance as his shaky hands struggle to get the door open.Â
The second it swings inward, Joaquin all but stumbles in. Though his instinct is to press you against the wall and strip you of your clothes with you dangling on him, heâs hyper aware of your shoulder and slows his movements. Instead, Joaquin walks the two of you further into the room, feet searching for the bed frame before laying you gently on the mattress.Â
The movement makes your shirt ride up, and when you look up at him with plump, glossy lips, eyes hazy with lust, Joaquin feels his dick throb. He lets out a shaky exhale before climbing on top of you, palms reaching for your exposed skin like a man desperate for water.Â
âTake it off,â you demand from him, tugging at his shirt. Joaquin obliges with no complaints, peeling off the tee that was growing increasingly unbearable with his rising temperature before undoing his pants as well. He reaches towards you, nimble fingers grasping the bottom of your shirt before his eyes flicker upwards with permission.Â
You nod, and despite his previously ferocious movement, Joaquin works slowly, dragging the fabric upwards and pressing kisses along as he did. When he gets to your shoulder, Joaquin frowns at the white bandages. The sight punches the air out of his lungs. Theyâre so stark against your skin, so out of place beneath his hands.Â
His breath hitches, lips hovering just above the wounded area but not close enough to touch. Itâs too much. Another reason to not cross that line.Â
So Joaquin swallows it.Â
Ripping your shirt off, his mouth is on you again. Harder, deeper this time. His tongue parts your lips like heâs pushing away the foul memory on his tongue, and Joaquinâs hands start to palm at your breast. They slide away to reach down your thighs, peeling off your pants in one swift movement that only has Joaquin parting from you for a second before heâs back.Â
This time, his lips trail down your chest. Undoing your bra with an expertise that typically would have him making an annoying comment, Joaquin throws it onto the floor into the pile with the rest of your clothes.Â
This is familiar. This he can do.Â
Itâs not love, he denies to himself, just pure need. And right now, Joaquin needs you a lot more than he needs to feel okay.Â
His mouth finds your erect nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a pleased groan. Joaquinâs tongue moves in precision, licking in smooth circular motions around the nub while you moan underneath him. His free hand comes up to grab your right tit, pinching the nipple while his mouth works on the left.Â
Joaquinâs being greedy with the way heâs touching you; sucking on your tits brings him more pleasure than it does you, he believes, and he grinds his leaking cock against the sheets of the bed. But he knows that you feel good, wouldnât do it if you didnât, from the way you moan his name. It drives him insane. When he lets go, a thin strand of saliva connects his lips to your nipple, and it makes him lick his lips, effectively breaking it.Â
Bites to your chest ensued until he was satisfied, the splotches of red blossoming on your chest the only red heâs comfortable with on your skin. For every nip his teeth imprint, several wet kisses follow. Then heâs dragging downward, following your smooth skin until heâs settled between your thighs.Â
Any other time, he would have teased you, love feeling you squirm beneath him as breathy complaints fall past your lips. But this time, Joaquin wastes no time. In one flat, long motion Joaquinâs tongue licks you from your hole to your clit. The taste of you splashes against his taste buds in a way that has him groaning into you and the vibration has you mewling.Â
Joaquin moves fast, heeded with motivation, but his movements are precise no less. Two fingers prod at your hole, working you open as his tongue sucks gently on your clit. Youâre so wet, he preps you easily. It soaks his hand, your arousal pooling into his palm as he fingers you.Â
Once Joaquin thinks youâre ready, heâs lifting himself up to line his aching cock against you. Licking your slick off the palm of his hand, he uses the moisture to stroke himself. The mixture of his spit and your wetness was more than enough to act as lube, but the precum dribbling from the head of his cock provided additional help as well.Â
When he first breaches past your hole, Joaquin groans. The feeling never gets old, and the way you cling to him makes it all the better. The tension thatâs been coiling in his chest for days finally snaps, unraveling in one sharp gasping exhale. Youâre warm and tight, so impossibly wet around him, and it makes his eyes flutter shut. His forehead drops against yours, shaking as he struggles to keep himself up. Itâs too much.Â
But Joaquin knows itâs not just the feeling of you clenching around him as he pushes deeper and deeper into you, your body pulling him in. Itâs the feeling of being able to hold you, feel that youâre there beneath him, because here, he can protect you.Â
He tries to hold still and memorize the feeling of being inside you, the way your body curves around him.Â
âThis doesnât change anything,â Joaquin whispers. Itâs a reminder for himself, the words falling in a quiet cadence as his hips meet yours. He forces them out like acid burning his throat, heart clenched painfully in his chest. Â
But you donât know that, and you respond all the same, gasping out, âI know.âÂ
The admission makes him groan out your name, and he shakes his head in denial. Joaquin starts to move with urgency, not from lust, but from fear. He starts thrusting into you, gripping your thighs like they were the only thing anchoring him in the moment. Joaquin feels the sting of your nails in his back, the slick from both your bodies molding the two of you together.Â
Joaquinâs hips stutter when you clench tightly around him, and he bends down to grasp one of your bouncing tits in his mouth again. His movements are fast-paced, and the way youâre a babbling mess beneath him only spurs Joaquin further.Â
Broken groan falling past his lips, Joaquinâs teeth grazes over your nipple before pulling back just enough to look at you. Youâre flushedâlips parted, eyes rolling back with his marks all over your skin. Fuck, youâre so beautiful it hurts.Â
He can feel you getting close, your moans turning breathy and uneven. Your thighs begin to tremble where theyâre wrapped around his waist and Joaquin slips one hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. He circles quickly, messily, focus divided on keeping his hips moving at the same pace while pressing the right amount of pressure against your sensitive bud.Â
His free hand comes up to your throat, holding either side in a soft grip. Not a tight one. But equally possessive nonetheless.Â
âIs this what you wanted?â he pants, eyes drinking you in without a blink as your moans grow higher in pitch. âYeah? Just needed me to fuck you?â Heâs being so mean, Joaquin realizes this, but the words are the only shield he has against you. Your moans in agreement have him concentrating harder on getting you to reach your orgasm. His teeth bite down on his lower lip, fighting to keep himself from cumming, but your wet grip was slowly dragging him under.Â
âCome on, cum for me,â he urges you, before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours.Â
And you do. Your whole body aches into him as you let out a shattered cry against his lips, muscles clenching around him so hard that it knocks the air from his lungs.Â
âShit,â he curses, speeding up his pace. Heâs working through your orgasm, but he canât help the way he chokes out your name. Joaquin buries himself deep, hips shuttering as he spills inside of you in long, shuddering waves. His fingers tremble against your hip, his jaw going slack as his strokes turn into small, gentle ones.Â
Waves of aftershock tremble throughout Joaquinâs body, and he feels you shake in a similar way. Heâs heaving, trying to catch his breath with his forehead pressed against yours. Even when your spasms subside, Joaquin doesnât move. Instead, he stays buried in you, chest pressed against yours.Â
You make no move to push him off either.Â
Not even when Joaquin shifts your position, hands bracing themselves against your back and your thigh to flip the two of you over so that you lay on his chest. Despite the readjustment, Joaquin keeps his cock inside of you. Silently, the two of you lay together, slicked with sweat as heavy breaths fill the air.Â
You wonât talk. Not tonight.Â
Afterall, you both promised each other: this changes nothing.
-
hellur this fic took me forever to finish </3 pls show some love and lmk what u think :) and don't worry, situationship!joaquin will be back..
took me 1 hours to read this and it's soooo fucking goodđđđđđthe toxic relationship between them is hot
AN HOUR?! IS IT THAT LONG đđ i didnât realize omfgnkskc but thank you bb!
yeah bc English is not my first language so i need to take more times to understand the content and it's worthy to take more times to read itđ„čđ„čđ„čjust wonderingâwill there be a sequelđ„Čwill joaquin come back
that's soo valid bb, me too!! ahh i want to create a whole masterlist for situationship!joaquin but atm im not writing cus i have a lot going on :) but in the future, yes!
that will be greatđ„čđ„čđ„čand it's ok take ur time â€ïžâ€ïžim looking forward to it

