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| THE BEST DAY | — joaquin torres

MASTERLIST

| synopsis: | a dating couple, a bouquet toss, and a wedding. what could go wrong?

| includes: | joaquintorres x fem!reader, fluff, cliche, no use of, no use of y/n, teasing, wedding stuff, reader wears blue dress, really nosy relatives, manspreading

| word count: | 2.1k

| a/n: | inspired by the song the best day by taylor swift and like half a dozen bouquet toss reels on instagram. also i have limited knowledge on southern american wedding culture/traditions so if there is anything wrong please correct me!

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IF YOU HAD known that an after party for a wedding could contain enough energy to fuel two Cirque Du Soleils, you would’ve worn sneakers instead of heels, jeans instead of a dress, and harnessed enough mental capacity to be tackled by Joaquin’s entire extended family before you even reached the reception tent.

You adjusted the soft blue satin of your dress, smoothing the fabric where it hugged your hips, feeling suddenly aware of the way it caught in the light. It was simple but stunning—a cowl neckline that shimmered with every step, and something you had spent eons debating on whether or not you should’ve gotten it.

But it was worth it, because you had barely stepped out of the car, before several aunties rushed over, each one of them in brightly patterened skirts and tops, all surrounding you and Joaquin in a flurry of hands and flower scented perfume wafted.

One by one, they pulled you into a hug, spewing question after question; and by the time one of Joaquin’s uncles managed to wrangle them away you had answered “are you going to get married?” one too many times.

Joaquin on the other hand, was no help whatsoever. He just stood there, all smug in his navy suit and open-collared shirt, cheeks flushed with pride. He looked devastating in the sun, and he knew it, too—but instead he just watched you get circled by half a dozen women who shared his nose, his smile, and his never ending enthusiasm for you.

But it wasn’t just the aunties that took an interest in you. Several of Joaquin’s little nephews and nieces had begun trailing after the two of you, half of them already covered in grass stains and mud, giggling and whispering behind your back with large, dutiful eyes.

One of the braver girls—probably no older than six, swallowed by a white dress full of pristine lace and an aggressively large bow—marched right up to you as you were nursing your champagne under the reception tent. Her shiny black shoes were scuffed to hell, and curls frizzed from the humidity as she stared at you with curious eyes.

“Are you his girlfriend?” she asked, pointing directly at Joaquin, who stood a few feet away, talking to his uncle.

You blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard. “Uh… yeah, I am.”

She narrowed her eyes at you. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you repeated, smiling a little. “Is that okay?”

She crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side in pure judgment. “But you’re way too pretty to be his girlfriend.”

Your jaw dropped with half a laugh caught in your throat. “Oh my god.”

“And he’s like… medium-handsome,” she continued with a shrug. “But you’re, like, really, really pretty.”

Joaquin turned just in time to catch that. “Did you just call me ‘medium-handsome’, Alejandra Luciana Torres?”

The girl ignored him, still studying you like you were an exhibit. “Are you also smart?”

“I—uh—”

“She is,” Joaquin interrupted, marching behind you before resting a hand on your waist. “Very smart and way out of my league. So let’s all be cool about it, okay?”

The little girl tilted her head up at him with still narrowed eyes. “Then how did you get her?”

“Great question,” you said under your breath, sipping your drink to hide your grin.

“I have charm,” Joaquin told her, pressing a hand to his chest. “And skills.”

“No,” she said flatly. “You have bad haircut.”

A loud “OHH!” rang out from the other kids, and one little boy collapsed onto the grass dramatically, while Joaquin’s mouth dropped open like he’d just been slapped in the face.

“What? My hair is fine,” he cried patting his loose curls resting across his forehead. “Your just mad that I look this good without trying.”

“Okay, Mr. Medium-Handsome,” you teased, “Let’s go before you end up throwing a tantrum.”

He sputtered, “I— you— you’re lucky I love you.”

You snorted and cupped his cheek, giving him a quick sloppy kiss to shut him up. The kids however, weren't as impressed. Behind you, a chorus of 'EWWW!''s rang out as you pulled away, and Alejandra— Joaquin's little cousin recoiled with enough force to make a rubber hand snapped. A few other kids screamed, one boy slapped a hand over his eyes while another started shrieking: "She's got Uncle J's cooties!"

Joaquin on the other hand looked completely smug. "See told I could get her."

The kids scurried away, as you rolled your eyes and patted his chest. "God, you're such a dork."

The sun had just begun to dip when the music started pounding over the speakers, and the soft afterglow casted a gold shine over the venue. You were halfway to the drink table, reaching out for a glass of wine when Joaquin slowed beside you, eyeing the growing crowd with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

You raised your eyebrow at him with a suspicious look. "Joaquin, absolutely not."

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What?"

"You're trying to convince me to dance, aren't you?"

"No..." he trailed off. "Well, okay, maybe I do. But y'know if you want to break a poor man’s heart—”

The words hadn't even left his mouth before you were already dragging him towards the sea of bodies, swishing their hips as Reggaeton blasted from the speakers, and cheers going up from the crowd. Music pulsed through your body, and Joaquin was already smiling. His moves were suave and easy, twirling you around like he’d done it a hundred times before. There was no resisting the way he moved with it, smooth and confident, one hand finding your waist, the other catching your wrist mid-spin.

Laughter bubbled out of you before you could stop it. It was impossible not to smile with him looking at you like that, especially with the scent of citrus and champagne drift in the air. Joaquin pulled you closer, cheek brushing yours for a beat, his voice low against your ear.

"Te estás divirtiendo?”

You blinked at him, caught between the rhythm of the song and the heat of his breath. “I have no idea what you just said,” you yelled over the music, laughing. “But I love you too!”

His grin was as wide as yours, shaking his head as he leaned in again. “That works.”

It didn’t take long before the layers started coming off. His suit jacket was the first to go slung somewhere over a chair between Suavemente and Chantaje. His tie was loosened, then vanished entirely, stuffed into his pocket after you pulled at it with a teasing smirk. And by the time he spun you into his arms again, the top few buttons of his shirt had popped open, sleeves rolled high up to his biceps, skin glowing under the lights and that ever-present grin stretched across his face like he hadn’t smiled in years.

His forearms flexed, and his face was flushed with a sheen coat of sweat. His hair was messy and fell over his forehead in a sweep, loose curls stuck to the back of his neck. You had barely noticed how long you’d been out there until he leaned down, your hips still swaying to the music as his lips brushed against your temple.

“Water?” he asked, voice warm against your skin.

“Please,” you breathed.

The two of you peeled off from the crowd, his hand slipping into yours as you made your way toward the drinks. You grabbed a glass of something cold and fizzy, pressing it to your cheek with a sigh, fanning your red cheeks.

When you glanced over at Joaquin, he was sprawled over his chair, legs wide open and hands tucked neatly behind his head. He looked far too pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded as he watched you with a lazy grin, shirt clinging to his chest from the heat, curls damp at the edges. It was infuriating, and you had to tear your eyes away from the beautiful sight beside you to keep your sanity.

Instead, you focused on the group gathering just several feet away from you, a swirling knot of women in heels and sundresses already jostling for position behind the bride. Laughter spilled from their circle, some crouching low with hands on their knees, others bouncing on the balls of their feet, all caught up in the buzz of anticipation.

“What are they doing over there?” you murmured softly underneath your breath.

Joaquin glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in with a lopsided grin. “Bouquet toss, you should go join them.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” he said, nudging you playfully. “Don’t you want to fight a bunch of strangers for symbolic flowers?”

“Hard pass,” you said, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks, “Besides, I’m not that close to your family, I’d feel weird.”

But he was still watching you with a grin on his face like he knew something you didn’t. You narrowed your eyes at him, ready to fire back when suddenly a small thud sounded in your lap.

Your conversation halted, as your eyes widened at the soft bundle of roses and baby’s breaths now nestled against your chest. Your breath caught in your throat and your mouth turned into sandpaper, gritty and scratchy as you stared in shock.

It took you two tries before you could find your voice again, and by then the crowd had erupted like thunder. Applauds and wolf whistles sounded and several aunties squealed as they all rushed towards you.

You shot of from your chair and turned to Joaquin, eyes wide with horror, bouquet still clutched in your hands. “I— I didn’t—”

Joaquin looked stunned, before his mouth curled into a delighted, wicked grin. “Holy fuck.”

All eyes seemed to turn on you, digging into your back before then turning to Joaquin.

“Oh my God!” a voice shrieked as footsteps pounded towards you. “Mija! Oh my dear, I’m finally going to have a grandchild!”

Your jaw dropped as Joaquin’s mother stretched her arms out, eyes wide with joy as she swept you into a hug.

“I— no— no,” you tried, “It wasn’t—”

“You caught the bouquet!” his mother squealed, “This is a sign from the universe!” She turned towards her son. “You! I want two grandchildren with her pretty face and your eyes. Fate has already decided.”

“Mamá!” Joaquin nearly choked, eyes wide as he half-laughed, half-pleaded. “No one’s having any babies yet.”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, mijo,” she said waving her hands around. “Your father and I made you after a wedding—”

“Nope!” Joaquin clapped his hands over his ears. “We’re done. No. Shut it down.”

You stood frozen, bouquet still in your hands, heart pounding from the sudden storm of attention. Around you, a chorus of aunts and cousins began chiming in.

“I give it six months.”

“Ya gotta put the ring on it soon, J.”

“I’m willing to put 20 dollars that their wedding will be at the end of this year.”

“But she’s too pretty to marry Uncle Joaquin!”

Joaquin’s dad—thankfully, mercifully—stepped in saving the two of you from anymore unsolicited advice. “Okay, okay,” he said loudly, grinning as he herded everyone back toward the dance floor. “Let’s give them some air.”

He winked at you on the way past. “Congrats, kiddo, you’ve just got 100 more people added to your wedding guest list.”

You exhaled like you’d just escaped a house fire, dropping into the nearest chair, bouquet still clutched like in your lap. “God,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “I just wanted a drink.”

Joaquin dropped into the seat beside you, his collar crooked, and hair messier than ever. He looked far too pleased with himself for someone whose mother just tried to spiritually marry him off.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging your knee with his.

“I’m alive,” you muttered. “Barely.”

He chuckled, leaning back with a lazy sprawl. “They love you.”

“They terrify me.”

A beat passed as laughter, music, and the buzz of energy still lingered around the tent like fog. You were about to close your eyes when he leaned in, his voice low, warm, a grin in it even before he spoke.

“You know…” he murmured near your ear, “I wouldn’t mind if we had kids someday.”

Your head whipped toward him. “Joaquin.”

“I’m just saying,” he said innocently, holding up his hands. “I wouldn’t mind seeing mini versions of us running around the house like maniacs.”

You swatted his arm—hard—and he winced with a laugh.

“Marry me first,” you said, jabbing a finger into his chest, “before you even think about that.”

Joaquin grinned, rubbing where you hit him. “So that’s not a no?”

You groaned and sank lower in your chair, pulling a napkin over your face. “I need three years and a gallon of wine before we talk about that again, so my answer is maybe.”

He laughed, soft and slow, then leaned over and kissed your cheek anyway—careful, sweet, and just enough to make your stomach flip again.

“Three years,” he whispered. “That’s a deal.”