Cal stood from his meditative stance, stretching his neck from side to side and releasing the breath he had been holding. The lights flickered above his head, a brief pause from the constant low hum they emitted. He could feel the familiar beat of a song BD-1 particularly enjoyed from the cantina’s setlist reverberate through the floor. The noises here never bothered him, not after all those years on Bracca where the sounds of jacks, drills, stuttering ship engines, and screeches of saws had chewed into his brain night after night. No; here the sounds reminded him of comfort, of the pleasant but bustling atmosphere of Greez’s saloon that he had begun to recognize as his temporary home base these last few weeks. The trunk in the corner had slowly begun to fill up higher and higher with his belongings. Cal wasn’t surprised to see BD-1 lounging with both legs extended out beside him. The little droid tilted his head to the side, antennae twitching as he greeted Cal with a series of chirps. 

“Yeah bud, I’m ready,” Cal said down to him with a soft smile. BD-1 sprang up, scampering up to his usual perch across Cal’s back. 

“Let’s go find Greez.” 

***

The doors to the main room opened, unleashing the music and swarm of overlapping voices at full volume. It was a sharp contrast to the quiet peace that followed his daily meditation, but Cal welcomed it with open arms. He shuffled past a few familiar faces, nodding to Mosey as she raised her half empty glass in greeting. It seemed like the cantina was getting busier and busier every day, but today there were more fresh faces of prospectors lining the bar than Cal had ever seen in one place. They spoke in excited but hushed voices, the eccentric music provided by DD-EC, who had a tendency to keep the volume a few ticks too high. Despite the complaints, the droid had refused to budge, saying something about the fragile ears of organics. 

Cal continued to maneuver his way past the small crowd, sliding into the stool next to Greez. He laid one hand to rest on the cool bar top, head quirked to one side as he tried to overhear the commotion. 

“Greez- what’s with all the excitement today?” He asked the latero, who was busy shuffling around the concepts for his new menu items. 

“Cal! I couldn’t tell you what those guys are all worked up about. All I know is that they showed up with healthy appetites and have been slinging credits all over the place. I need to prep a new menu. You can be my test sampler,” he said with excitement. Cal chuckled at that. He was never one to turn down Greez’s homemade creations.

“Sure, Greezy-Money. I’ll be back later- BD and I have some things to look into today,” he explained, mind already wandering back to the meditation chambers that he had yet to explore. He longed to hear the centuries old-lessons of Santari Khri, to feel the awe that accompanied the massive and intricate builds. It was a similar feeling to what he had felt in training sessions with Master Topal, and again years later with Cere. Though Santari Khri was long dead, Cal had begun to foster an understanding of her teachings, and through them, an understanding of the Jedi herself. She had wisdom to share, if he only took the time to listen. BD-1 seemed to enjoy their journeys in the chambers as well, the hours of exploring often accompanied by countless relics for him to scan.

“Back to the wilderness he goes,” Greez muttered as he flipped back and forth between two displays on his datapad. “As long as you’re back for supper,” he added pointedly. 

“Sure thing,” Cal said, pushing off the bar and out of the stool once more with a creak. As he passed by, he heard one of the prospectors, a short human man, trying to wrangle his companions. 

“We should just ask her! I’ve spent two weeks in that sector and pulled up nothing. She must have found a deposit hidden away in the cave system. There’s no other explanation. Maybe there’s another spot she knows of,” he said, and he was met with faces of doubt. 

“You’re not listening, Isaiah. There’s no mystery gold mine we skipped over. The girl has a talent for this sort of thing,” another man whispered, and he wiggled his fingers.

“There’s gotta be a little something special at work there, if you ask me,” he said, with a serious expression. 

A scoff rang out.

“She probably just has a background in geology, that’s all. Identifying the mineral content and locating the deposits, that’s the only explanation. The girl has keen eyes and an education. Don’t start with your psychic banthashit again,” another prospector snipped back. 

Cal’s eyebrows rose at that. So, a successful prospector. That’s what had drawn in all these prospectors to Rambler’s Reach. Cal didn’t often feel a need to interfere with prospector business- aside from the group that went missing. His nose turned up slightly as he remembered the giant claws of the Rancor emerging from behind the big stone pillar down in the mine. Yeah, that had turned him off prospecting for the most part. Though, he and BD-1 had their fair share of luck in stumbling across priorite shards. 

Continuing past the group, Cal let their bickering and hyper force signatures fade into the background. He stepped out of the saloon, the blazing Koboh sun striking his face. Cal allowed himself to fall into a comfortable rhythm on his way to the stables, feeling the familiar weight of his saber swing gently against his hip. His blaster was tucked safely within the holster that ran across his chest. The heat was thick today, and he had left his jacket behind, letting the slight breeze cool his arms. 

“BD- how far are we going again?” He asked, and his companion pulled up the holomap quickly. The beacon was further than Cal remembered. But the itch to revisit the chamber, without the constraint of time weighing on him, was too strong to deny. 

“Alright. Let’s go,” Cal vaulted over the fence of the stables, and approached the blue Nekko that he had brought in the night before. 

“Hi again, friend. Feel up to some more exploring?” The Nekko nuzzled its head down into the palm of Cal’s hand, and he took that as a yes.

***

You strained, arm pulling at an uncomfortable angle that made your teeth grit and muscles burn. The rock wall you were currently dangling on had seemed like a simple enough climb. That was before the rock shelf began to quake, the series of handholds you had mapped out for yourself coming loose and cracking down into the depths below. Confusion had deemed you temporarily frozen in place, until you put together the sounds of mechanical drilling and clipped tones from the path through the rock ahead. Damn stormtroopers. You weren’t sure what they were searching for, but you weren’t pleased to find yourself this close to whatever the operation was. 

Your fingers burned and you couldn’t help but grimace as the jagged edge of the rock face dug into your palms. This wasn’t ideal. Swinging your legs as much as you could bear, you cursed and swung your arm up. The ascension cable shot forward, finding its mark in the jumble of vines at the top of the cliff. You dropped momentarily, and then were pulled forward roughly as the cable tugged you along its arc. Your side slammed into the rock, knocking the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath. 

“Oh, come on,” you wheezed out, bloodied fingers clutching the vines tightly, grateful to have found purchase. The cloth of your gloves had shredded in the journey, and you rendered them useless.The air was dense with the scent of lush greenery, and it crowded your nose almost uncomfortably.

Still clutching the vines, you breathed air in, then back out. In, and out, until your racing heart calmed enough that you no longer feared it would burst from your chest. You continued the trek through the greenery, boots tucked securely amongst the tangled jumbles and fingers sticky from where your nails had cut into the vines. The top of the cliff face was nearing, and you sighed with relief once you finally pulled yourself over its edge. The rocky terrain seemed to be behind you for now; ahead was a new world of bright colour and exotic floral scents. Like a rainforest, almost. But more overpowering than the scents and the visual picture of the new landscape was the instinct driving you forward, insistent and sure.

You could feel something coursing through the air here. Something refreshing, powerful. In some of these little pockets of Koboh, you felt strangely integrated into the environment. The sounds of the strange insects, birds, the path of the wind as it wound through the rock columns with a gentle whistle. It was at times like this, when you felt ultra connected to the world around you, that your best priorite finds came to be. Today, you would be lucky. You could feel it. Like all the other prospectors fluttering around this planet, you were simply doing your job. You just happened to be really, really, good at it. And your hunches had yet to steer you astray.

A modulated voice barked out words you couldn’t quite make out, and you ducked behind the dense foliage. You tugged your blaster free from where it was lodged in your belt, and you couldn’t help wincing as your blistered fingers found their grip. Shucking off your shredded and blood spotted gloves, you peered through the branches, trying to catch a glimpse of the imperials ahead. A team of two stormtroopers blocked the path, one of which was operating some sort of drill, the other pointing and trying to direct his companion. Squinting, you realized they were trying to bust their way into the old metal doorway partly masked by vines and built into the rock. 

You’d given up on those mystery doors a long time ago, same as everyone else on Koboh. Without any real permanent residents, there wasn’t exactly a historian you could consult. They remained one of those unsolvable Koboh oddities. And those troopers could throw every power saw and explosive they had at that thing. It wouldn’t open.

Shrugging the fabric of the thin shawl out of your face, you adjusted your crouched stance and raised your blaster into position. You couldn’t help the look of disgust that crossed your face as you watched the fools bicker back and forth. Tired of hearing their voices, you poised your finger over the trigger and silenced one of them. The blaster smoked at the end, the plasma having sent the first trooper down to the ground. Too easy. The second whirled at the noise, dropping the drill with a clunk and raising his own blaster. Before he could locate your position, you dealt with him too. 

Stepping out of your concealment, you made your way over to the fallen troopers. The dirt crunched beneath your boots, the songs of avian species you couldn’t name ringing out into the ravine ahead. As you passed, you peered at the drill dropped at the feet of the troopers. You couldn’t blame the empire for wanting into that doorway. Your curiosity piqued as you reached forward to trace the strange doorway with your fingertips. It was cool to the touch, and remained undented despite the rocks that had undoubtedly crashed against its surface. They had been trying to drill underneath the entranceway without much luck. With one last look at the slumped forms of the troopers, you continued on with your search. You had credits to earn.

After another hour of hiking through the thick, dry vegetation, your boots were coated with dust and your muscles ached with the effort of climbing. The area around you was all jutting rock columns and dry moss. There were ruins of old watchtowers and outposts here too, though your focus remained further beneath the ground. The path you followed curved down sharply, revealing an extremely worn lift platform. The control panel was partially busted, and sparks flew sporadically when you pushed the level into position. After a moment of flickering lights, a deep hum rumbled through the ground. The platform rose quickly, sliding into place with just a bit of turbulence. Cursing, you stepped onto the platform, praying for the best. It lurched beneath your feet, and you spread out both arms, knees bending to maintain your balance. You tried not to think about how old this thing was. It brought you down into the depths of the rift, and your heart raced with anticipation. 

Stepping off the lift, you marveled at the large fallen basalt columns. There was stone everywhere, and light vegetation scattered many of the rock faces around you. You scampered over columns, climbed pillars and vine covered cliff sides until you could feel that you were there. Ahead, a sheltered alcove was tucked beneath a curtain of stringy yellow-green vines. You ducked inside, and took a breath. Closing your eyes, you let your hands fall upon the walls of the miniature cave, feeling where you needed to go with both your fingers and with that instinct in your mind leading you. After a few minutes of searching, you knew you had it when your index finger slid upon a new texture. The shard was formed into the layers of rock, and with a little pressure, it would give away. Flipping a small toolbelt down from your waist, you grabbed a pick, flicking on your lightstick and setting your eyes upon the shard. It was a decent size, the iridescent shimmer of the priorite glistening in the odd blue-ish hue of the lightstick you held. You pried it free, tucking it safely into the small leather pouch concealed within the pocket of your vest. Satisfied, you stood to your feet and shifted the vines aside. The journey back would be simple, with your path already charted and grappling points readily available. 

You had made it back to the old doorway again when you felt a wave of alertness course through you. It was an odd sensation, and one that left you sucking in a quick breath. You climbed high into one of the massive trees, crouching back against its pale beige trunk. You blended in nicely, in your sand-coloured shawl covering and faded trousers. The blaster you always travelled with was clutched in your hands once more, tight enough to worsen the sting of your blisters. You couldn’t see anything, even from this high vantage point. It was time to head back to Rambler’s Reach.

***

Cal flung himself to the next cliff face with ease, assisted here and there by a quick tug of the force and an encouraging chirp from the droid on his shoulder. The sun blazed even higher in the sky now, and he longed for the darkness and coolness of the meditation chamber. He was nearly there, according to the holomap. The lush nature of the far reaches of Koboh were a small comfort to Cal, and he found himself revelling in it. The trees and dangling vines thickened significantly, though they were dealt with by one twitch of Cal’s hand, lightsaber drawn and emitting a cool white light. Continuing to trek his way forward, Cal tried not to stumble as BD-1 flung himself down in front of Cal, one metal leg tapping the ground desperately as he beeped and whirred. 

“Find something, BD?” Cal asked, and the droid scanned something laying in the dropped leaves of the foliage. Cal frowned. A pair of shredded gloves lay discarded in the underbrush. He dropped into a crouch, inspecting them briefly. 

“Huh. Not sure, BD-1. Let’s keep moving,” Cal muttered. Continuing on, he spotted the metallic glint of the chamber doors, still sealed, before he noticed the bodies of the stormtroopers littered at its front. Cal frowned, and unclipped his lightsaber from his belt cautiously. BD-1 chirped again, scuttling forward and scanning the bodies and equipment that lay beside them. 

“They won’t get in by brute force. I wonder what they want from down there.” Had someone else managed to find their way into the old order chambers? The placement of the bodies seemed to imply it. Cal had yet to run into company in any of the other chambers. But he had to be ready for anything. 

Igniting his saber, he clicked the device in his pocket and the door unlocked. Stepping over the fallen stormtroopers, he was about to step foot on to lift inside when he felt something that make his head snap up immediately. 

“There’s someone nearby,” he said, heart fluttering in his chest. There was something unique about the force signature that he was sensing. Someone was brushing through the force, scattering little murmurs through it. It must have been deliberate- after all, most force sensitives knew to cloak their signatures to avoid detection of the inquisitors. Cal had a rising suspicion that this was just some sort of new trick by the empire. After he had destroyed the holocron, he had dreamt of finding more force sensitives. But things hadn’t exactly gone the way he had dreamt they would. It was best to stay on high alert.

Cal stepped away from the mediation chamber, his plans for the day forgotten. He followed the little echoes of the force, leading him further and further into the basalt rift ahead. 

***

Taking out the pouch once again, you shifted the priorite shard between your thumb and index finger. You had started the venture back to the old loft apartment you rented in town, but had the majority of your journey still left ahead of you. Despite having found a decent haul, you still felt an itch to keep looking. Like there was something close, something you should search for. You felt strange, like there was an energetic, almost twitchy presence nearby. It was accompanied by that same twinge of alertness you had felt earlier, but you didn’t necessarily feel like running this time. Your curiosity almost urged you to seek it out, to find the source of the sensation. But Koboh could be dangerous, and curiosity on this planet tended to get people killed.

Tucking the shard away once more, you patted your blaster and sprang up. Continuing on with your hike, you slipped past another squadron of troopers, creeping quietly though the brush as you skirted around them. They weren’t worth your time. 

***

Cal ran through the rocky hills, dodging the spine-covered creatures rolling along the path. He desperately followed the force, sensing that he wasn’t far behind now. Voices could be heard up ahead, and his excitement peaked. Bounding forward, saber unlit but held easily in his palm, Cal bounded into the clearing and narrowed his eyes. No, unless one of the stormtroopers happened to be a force user, this little squadron was not the source of his intuition. 

“Hostile spotted!” One of them shouted, firing his blaster immediately. Cal ignited his saber, deflecting the plasma shot directly back to the chest of the trooper. With a flick of Cal’s wrist, the other two went cascading down the cliff face. A final trooper stood, arms trembling as he raised his blaster. 

“Jedi! It’s just you and me, now,” he called out, firing a string of blaster shots in Cal’s direction. Cal sent them flying in different directions, tugging the trooper forward and dispatching him with one swift arc of his saber. 

That had cost him a few minutes. He continued on with an even more determined pace than before, whistling for the Nekko to meet him. 

***

In the distance, a hooded figure was scaling the rock face quickly, jumping from ledge to ledge, agile fingers maneuvering carefully through branches and vines. Beige wrapping covered their arms from the elbows to the wrist, and Cal squinted, trying to make out if there were weapons concealed beneath that thin hooded cloak.

“Let’s get a little closer, BD,” Cal cautioned, dismounting the Nekko with a gentle pat on the side of its neck. 

The figure ahead reached the top of the stone pillar they had been scaling, disappearing over the side with a little leap forward.

Cal put his upgraded ascension cable to work, springing to the top of the pillar with a grunt. 

As Cal stood to his feet, BD-1 chirped in alarm from his back. Spinning around quickly, Cal stopped with his fingers wrapped around his saber. Looks like he had found that force signature. It was pulsating into his awareness in the force, almost like a tracking fob. 

A blaster was trained on his chest, the bandaged hands grasping it held steady and firm. 

“You’re trailing me,” a female voice drawled from beneath the hood. Your gaze flicked down to his hand, which hovered hesitantly on his saber. 

“Don’t even bother. I’m not a bounty hunter and I don’t get paid for racking up corpses. What do you want?” You asked, tone still neutral despite the weapon pointing at his vital organs. 

“I’m Cal. This is BD-1,” he started, lowering his hand away from his saber. 

“And I’m not interested, sorry. I keep telling you people I don’t want a partner. I do my searching alone. If you want some tips, we can talk it over at the saloon like everyone else,” you said.

“Searching?” Cal questioned, honest confusion coating his words. 

You sighed. The hand not trailing him with the blaster coming up to toss the hood out of your face. Your features were smudged with dust and dampened with sweat, sporting an expression of fatigue combined with exasperation. 

“You’re… not a prospector then?” You ask, more cautiously now. Stepping back from him then, your eyes narrowed as you assessed him. Your gaze raked over his form, from his windswept hair to the droid clinging to his back. Your eyes caught on the unlit saber hanging from his belt, and they widened, skipping again to his fiery hair. 

“Oh,” you said, a little dumbly. Cal offered you a shrug and a polite little smile. His reputation had begun to spread throughout Koboh, even amongst the prospectors that didn’t spend much time in town. 

“You’re the Jedi,” you mumbled, and the smile dropped from Cal’s face as your anxiety coursed through the air. It was jarring, overwhelming, for him to receive those signals in the force this close to you.

“Yes. I just… heard you calling,” he said slowly, and you just glared at him, lips parting in surprise. 

“I didn’t call anyone,” you stuttered out, the hand holding the blaster out faltering. 

“That’s not true. And I think you know that,” the Jedi said softly, as if not to frighten you.

You took another step backwards, deciding that this Jedi was a lunatic. You’d heard rumours that Jedi were incredible warriors of course, but that they could also be cult members, following a strange code. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, with a finality in your tone. Shuffling back another step, trying to put more distance between you and this Jedi, you went back too far and your left foot teetered back over the edge of the rock pillar you stood on, your heart dropping to your stomach. 

The Jedi darted forward, two fingers gripping your belt and preventing gravity from clawing you down to the chasm below. Stunned, your blaster fell to the ground with a clatter, and you gripped onto the Jedi’s forearm with both hands. You could feel the muscles of his arm as he held your weight. He tugged you forward gently, enough for you to land both feet back safely on the rock before he released you, stepping back and giving you space. 

“Kriff,” you gasped out, heart still racing. You braced one hand on your knee, and looked up at the Jedi.

“Thanks for the save,” you said, and he nodded.

“You all good?” He asked, handing you back your blaster, the handle facing you. You tucked it back into your belt, and looked back up at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you said, embarrassment flushing your cheeks pink. 

“Look, I wasn’t trying to freak you out-” he starts up again, and you sigh. 

“I’ve been alone all day. And I certainly wouldn’t be making all sorts of noise calling you over here. Not with all the imps crawling around,” you said, disgust evident in your voice.

Cal hesitated before answering. Were you playing dumb, or did you really not know the ability you had been tapping into in order to communicate with him? He couldn’t help but feel a little distraught. This was a new situation- was he supposed to try and explain the workings of the force to you? To insist, against your protests, that you had indeed been reaching out to him through it? He made his choice.

“My mistake,” he settled for, and you shot him a funny look.

“What are you doing out here, anyway? A little far from town, aren’t you?” You asked quizzically. Cal shrugged his shoulders. 

“I’ve just been exploring. There’s a lot to see on Koboh,” 

“Yeah. Sure is. I was just heading back to town. And if you decide to quit the whole Jedi Knight thing, this is a great area to get into prospecting,” you said with a smile. 

Cal laughed.

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind,”

“Sorry about the uh,” you nodded down to your blaster. 

“It wasn’t personal. You just can’t be too careful these days,” you explain, offering an apologetic half-smile. 

“I hear you. Between the troopers and the raiders,” 

BD-1 chirped, scurrying down Cal’s pant leg and pausing in front of you. You glanced down, flinching under the brief but bright green light of his scanner. 

“BD-1, we’ve talked about this,” Cal chastised him lightly, and you laughed. 

“Hi little guy,” 

BD-1 beeped at that, which you took as a good sign. 

“I’d better get going. See you around, Jedi,” you said, tucking your blaster away.

He smiled.

“Cal,” he reminded you, and you nodded, face bright with a little amusement.

Continuing on foot, you trudged back towards Rambler’s Reach, only turning back once a few minutes had gone by. The further you walked, the less you felt that flicker of warmth, the strange presence that seemed to have awoken. In the distance, you could’ve sworn you saw the mysterious metal doors slide open and close, with only a flash of red hair as a clue to how it had opened. 

***

It was a few days before you ran into the Jedi again. You walked the streets past Pyloon’s Saloon, head pounding in the sweltering heat that persisted even into the late evening. After another day of hiking, climbing, and doing your best to dodge the imperial squadrons littering Koboh, you’d decided that you had earned at least one glass of spotchka. It was becoming a bit of a habit of yours.

The security droid guarding Pyloon’s Saloon trained its red gaze on you, and you dug the tip of one scuffed boot into the dirt impatiently. After another moment’s delay, the doors opened with a gentle whir of air, and you sighed in relief as the controlled air cooled the sweat sticking to your sun-warmed skin. 

The cantina playlist was kriffing awful, as always, and you winced as it invaded your eardrums. Patrons were scattered across booths, tables, and crowding the bar. 

Over the chatter, you heard someone shout your name, and you turned expectantly towards the sound. Oh, here we go again. 

“Hey guys,” you greeted the group of your fellow prospectors. You recognized Isahiah, Klotho, and Vedi amongst the group, and smiled at them. While they were sort of your competition in the priorite industry, you’d made a point to keep friendly and on good terms with anyone else you ran into on Koboh. Though, you couldn’t help but to keep them all at an arms length away. The last time you’d made a friend, it had ended poorly. Your heart lurched at the thought of the one person in the world you had let in, and how they had been taken from you. The empire had taken them from you.

Your mind jumped back to the present.

“Any good finds today?” Klotho asked you, and you shrugged.

“Nothing too exciting. I kept running into those damn stormtroopers today. It’s getting harder to get around them,” you explain with a sigh. The others nod; murmuring their agreement. 

“We thought maybe you had another one of your hot spots on the map,” Isahiah probed, and you offered him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, no luck this time, Ahiah,” you admitted, tossing his nickname in to soften the blow. When business was slow, you tried to give some help where you could. But between the imps and raiders, business wasn’t exactly booming. 

“That’s okay, kiddo,” he says, and you clap him on the back gently. 

“I’ll come find you if anything changes,” you yelled, over your shoulder. You spotted a free stool in one corner, collapsing down into it and raising a hand in greeting to the bar droid. 

“The usual?” It asked, and you nodded with a smile. The glowing blue liquid sloshed into the glass, and you raised it in tired cheers to the droid. 

You were about to take that much anticipated first sip when you felt something. Swiveling slightly in the stool, you straightened your back and faced the entryway for a moment. The chatter of the room was still swallowed up by the music, and you held your breath as you waited. The door remained closed, and you turned the stool back to face the bar. Stupid. You had thought maybe, just for a moment, that you had felt the Jedi from the other day. It was like knowing when someone was watching you, but turning to find nobody there. Maybe your intuition was worn down, replaced by paranoia. After all, you weren’t a psychic. And you certainly weren’t a Jedi. 

The spotchka burned down your throat, the initial sweetness of the liquor lingering on your tongue. You were about to down the remainder of the glass when you felt, or rather, heard, the saloon door open with a whir. 

Cal walked through the doors, and they shut closed behind him with a faint woosh. The alcohol turned to lead in your stomach, and you sucked in a sudden breath at the sight of him. The confirmation of your senses was as discomforting as it was shocking. Fear, alarm, and distress flooded your mind, and you let the rest of the alcohol in your glass glide down your throat. 

Cal paused in the entryway, head tilting a little as if he were scanning the room for someone who had called his name. The gesture caught you off guard, and your eyes widened of their own volition. At that moment, Cal’s gaze snapped over, eyes locked on yours. You tried to look away quickly before he caught you watching, without success. You had a sudden flashback to the other day, to the way he had shot forward reflexively quick. The thought of his fingers gripping the front of your belt so easily suddenly felt inappropriate, and you tried to push away the image of his tensed muscles as he had held you from plummeting off a cliff. 

“Hi,” he called out over the music as he approached you, leaning against the bar. His little droid stood tall and proud as ever on his shoulder. 

“Hi,” you managed to say, and his gaze dropped down to your empty glass. 

“Long day?” He asked, and you nodded. The long sleeves of his shirt were pushed back to the elbows, and he wore a leather bandolier draped across his chest. This time, your eyes caught on the unlit weapon clipped to his belt. You tried not to stare. 

“Yeah. Something like that. It’s funny, I swear I could tell you were about to-” you broke off with a slight shake of your head. 

He waited patiently for you to continue, but you didn’t, opting instead to twirl the empty glass against the bar top. 

“You never told me your name, the other day,” he points out, and your cheeks flushed with warmth. Right. Simple courtesies. 

You gave it now, reaching a hand forward in a gesture that seemed to fit the scenario. He reached his own hand forward, hesitating for just a moment. Your eyebrow tugged down at that, and you were considering whether or not you should have taken offense when he slid his hand into yours, shaking once quickly before releasing. You try not to wince at the pain still residing on your blistered hands. 

You were suddenly hyper aware of the fact that your hands were still partially wrapped with thin strips of bamadages, making you look like one of those professional fighting athletes from coruscant. Your blisters were in the slow healing process from your rough climb the other day, and you were well overdue for a break from the rough terrain.

“You all good there?” He asked, eyes dropping down to your wrapped hands. 

You nodded dismissively. 

“Yeah, just a rough climb the other day. My gloves are shot and the damn scrapes won’t stay closed,” you muttered.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” You shot out, before he had the chance to spark up any more pointless small talk. Cal fought back the urge to narrow his eyes at the urgency in your tone. He nodded, urging you to go ahead. BD-1 booped curiously, tapping one foot as he fought the urge to scan your bandaged hands. Cal appreciated his restraint. 

“Back in the Basalt rift the other day- some troopers were trying to bust in those metal doors. They were going to town on it with drills and explosives, and they couldn’t make a dent. But I could’ve sworn I saw you get the Kriffing thing open when I was heading back to town,” you elaborated, staring at him and awaiting his response. 

Cal smirked.

“You were watching me,” it was more of a statement than a question, you realized.

Pink creeped up your neck and to your ears. 

“I wasn’t,” you started, feeling embarrassed for a moment before snapping out of it.

“If I’m remembering correctly, and I’m pretty sure that I am, you trailed me through the woods,” you said with a sniff. 

Cal chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand before letting it fall back down. Your eyes jumped to the veins webbing across the back of it briefly before you focused your attention back on his face. 

“I told you yesterday- I was just following the force,” he said with a shrug. You frowned at that. The force. 

“I was in the meditation chamber though,” he admits, and you leaned forward, eyes narrowed intently. 

“What?” 

“The doorway you mentioned. It’s an opening to a lift, from centuries ago. It leads to ancient Jedi meditation chambers. They’re all over Koboh,” he explains, and you have to admit your interest has been piqued, thoughts flying around quickly in your head. 

“Well, how’d you do it? People have been trying to get in there for ages. And nobody had any clue what could’ve been down there. For as long as I’ve been here at least,” 

“It’s a long story,” he said, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out something with a dull sheen. In between his index and middle finger rested a disc long worn by time. A passkey, then. 

“Jedi chambers, huh. What’s it like down there?” You probed, voice lowering and laced with genuine curiosity.

“It’s strong, down there. The force presence is so rich. I haven’t felt that many other places. This whole planet is connected. And the abyss…” he trails off then, a thoughtful determination painted across his features. One hand reached up to rub at the stubble lining his jaw, and he sighed.

“I don’t like that the empire is sniffing around them. I’m not sure what they plan to do once they get down there, but I don’t think we want to find out. You made quick work of them the other day,” he said, a complimentary lilt in his voice. 

You wondered inwardly when the two of you had become a ‘we’, but were surprised to find that it was a little comforting. It was tiring, being the only one striking back against the empire’s presence on Koboh. Even if it wasn’t for entirely selfless reasons. At least Cal had BD-1. Unlike him, you were completely alone. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t particularly like running into them either. Between the troopers and the Bedlam raiders, it can get pretty ugly. They’re spreading out further, too. I’ve been seeing them pretty much everywhere, even the more remote areas,” you say, with a shake of your head. 

“Yeah, the raiders are a whole other issue. We’ve had quite a few run-ins with them too, haven’t we, BD? Not to mention the bounty hunters,” The droid beeped his agreement. You started at that. Bounty hunters? 

Cal just continued on speaking. 

“They’re looking for something bigger here. And Rayvis… There's a lot of interest in Koboh. But BD-1 and I still have a few other chambers to explore. You’re welcome to tag along sometime,” he says, and you consider the offer for a moment. 

You reminded yourself that you don’t know this guy- and you weren’t sure if you could trust him, Jedi or not. But the draw of the underground chambers tugged at something deep in your chest. You wanted to see it, and now more than ever, you wanted to know if you would feel anything there. 

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks,” you say, and he just nods, standing back up straight. 

“Sure. I’ll see you around,” he says, pushing off of the bar top and skirting his way around the crowd, disappearing into the back of the cantina. You didn’t have to watch him. Even with eyes still trained in the bottom of your empty glass, you could feel him drawing further and further away. 

***

Two days later, you’re sipping on spotchka again, enjoying the warm dull sensation that coursed through you. Arms crossed over the bar top, you decided to rest your eyes for a moment. The bar was nearly empty, the sun long since set. Most of the town had gone to bed hours ago. You knew that sleep wouldn’t find you tonight, so why not quit while you were ahead? If you had enough to drink, maybe you’d get lucky and pass out right here. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A more somber tune than usual played from the sound booth in the corner. Given the hour and lack of customers in the saloon, it was easier than ever to wave down another glass to replace the empty one in front of you. Your head was light and airy, and your limbs were flooded with a tingly warmth. Enjoying the feeling, you let out a long breath. Closing your eyes again, you had an idea.

Focusing on what you could hear, you noted the sound of the whirring refrigerators, the shuffle and clinking noise of a glass being filled with ice. The grumble of voices, maybe from the upstairs section of the bar, followed by a quick cheer. And behind that, further away, the chirping of night insects. 

Still pinching your eyelids closed, you moved along to the sensation of touch. The bartop was cool against the skin of your forearms, and you suppressed a shiver. The glass you grasped with both hands had been sweating, dampening your fingers. Breathing in, you could smell the sterile scent of cleaner, and the sweetness of artificially flavoured alcohol behind it.

Another breath out through your nose. Rolling your shoulders back gently, you reached with your mind. It was difficult to tap into that awareness- for a moment, you had felt it, but then it disappeared just the same. It kept just out of reach, and you strained to grip onto it again. A flicker in your mind sparked, and you tried not to get too excited at the success. Something skirted just at the edge of your mind, and you could feel something. No, not something, but someone. Maybe it was just the buzz you had worked up talking, but you weren’t so sure. Like a campfire burning in the distance, you could feel the emitting bit of energy. It was warm, almost cozy. You felt drawn to it, but just as you began to consider what you were even doing, or how you were doing it, the feeling vanished completely. Once again, you were just a drunk idiot, sitting alone at the bar with your eyes squeezed shut and head in the clouds. 

Downing the rest of your drink, you stood up on your tiptoes, leaning your chest over the bar. Where did that damn droid go?

“Hello?” You asked, trying not to wince at the loud sound of your voice. Nothing answered you, just that low buzz of the appliances and distant footsteps from upstairs. Did that droid have to get charged? Maybe you had actually fallen asleep a moment ago, and you had been dreaming after all. 

Another few minutes went by, and you picked at the hem of your shirt idly as you waited for the droid to return. The empty glass on the bar taunted you.

With a loud sigh, you glanced around in a quick swivel of the barstool. There was nobody else on the lower level, at least. And you did consider yourself a friend of Greez, the cantina owner. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if you skipped behind the bar, just this once. 

Standing up again, you looked around once more before boosting yourself up onto the bar, then dropped down behind it. The bar looked different from back here, giving you a full view of the floor and booths that were usually crowded with patrons. Scanning the row of bottles on the shelving, you searched for the familiar bright blue alcohol that you were craving. 

You had to hand it to Greez- having a droid bartender meant that the bar was perfectly polished. It was organized well, except for a giant pile of papers labelled “menu ideas” that featured a messy drawl of handwriting and some poorly drawn doodles of dishes and presentation inspirations. 

The glowing blue of the spotchka bottle caught your eye, and you snatched it up quickly, popping the lid off and whirling around to grab your glass. You were in the midst of pouring a hearty serving when you heard the mechanical whoosh of a door opening. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you fumbled to re-cap the bottle, mind stuttering as you tried to find its home on the organized shelf. Placing it back with a clink, you turned around. The front door of the saloon remained closed, and you tilted your head to the side slightly in confusion. Had you just hallucinated hearing the door? 

But no, you could feel the dull thump of footsteps approaching, and you realized with a pang of dread that it had been the inner door, the one leading from the basement level to the bar. Stars, Greez was going to be pissed.

Hands braced on top of the bar, you were attempting to silently scoot your way back across to the patron side when Cal appeared from around the corner. You froze, and he stopped in his tracks for a moment too. He looked confused for a moment, his eyebrows lifted as he took in the sight of you, ass plunked on the bartop with your legs dangling over the edge. 

You swallowed nervously. 

“Hey, Cal,” you said, scooting the rest of the way down. Your boots hit the floor with a thud, and you offered him a strained attempt at a smile. He said your name back in a slow greeting, and you could do nothing but watch as his gaze shifted from your reddened cheeks to the overfilled glass sitting next to you.

Cal smirked as he put the pieces together. 

“I didn’t know Greez let customers make their own drinks,” 

You shrugged. 

“Yeah, well. He should get better bartenders. Empty ship over here,” you gestured to the deserted bar. Since you were already caught, you plunked down onto the stool once again and picked up your glass. Spotchka sloshed over the sides, adding another coat of alcohol to the already sticky bartop. 

“Are you gonna sit down or what?” You asked him, using the toe of your boot to pull out the stool next to you. Cal let out a soft chuckle, then took his place next to you. BD-1 chirped in greeting.

“Hi bud,” you said back, and he booped again before scampering off of Cal’s back and into the bar. His little head tilted to the side and you were blinded by that familiar green light again.

“Stars, BD-1, my eyeballs,” you groaned, and Cal shot you an apologetic look. BD-1 chirped a string of binary, and Cal frowned in response. You weren’t used to seeing him frown, and the sight of it alarmed you a little. You squinted at them both- your binary was rusty on a good day, and was considerably worse through the fog of spotchka clogging your senses. 

“Agreed,” Cal said back to the little droid. And then you were holding your breath as his head dipped close to yours, your heart thudding quickly in your chest. This close, you could see the freckles dusting his cheeks, his surprisingly long lashes. You noticed the scars that jutted across his nose and eyebrow, but your gaze didn’t linger on them; you had your own fair share of scars. 

Cal plucked the glass out of your hand and leaned away again, and your brain finally caught up. 

“Hey-”

“BD-1 is concerned by your blood alcohol level. He’s identified some symptoms that you might be in for a nasty headache. His scanner doesn’t lie- you’ll be thanking us tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly, just before he dipped his head down and took a steady sip of the alcohol himself. 

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to drink,” you muttered with a bit of a pout, drumming your fingertips against the bar idly. 

“All things in moderation,” he said simply. You hummed in response.

“What are you doing here so late?” He asked.

“What does it look like?” sighing, you scooted your stool closer to his, and he looked at you expectantly. Leaning in close, you tilted your head as you studied the green of his eyes again. You waited for him to look away, to let you win this little staredown you had started. He didn’t. He just watched you back, a calm neutrality painted across his features. 

“I was winding down. I don’t know what happened, though. I must’ve dozed off or something. I was just-” you broke off, with a slight shake of your head.

“You were just what?” 

“What?”

“You do that a lot. You start to tell me something, but then you back out,” he stated. You frowned.

“I don’t know. I was sitting here. Resting my eyes, just listening. But I must have fallen asleep and I guess I had a weird dream for a couple of minutes. I could feel this light, and I wanted it. I wanted to be near it,” you explained poorly. Cal shook his head softly. 

“You weren’t dreaming,” 

“And you must be a lightweight,” You laughed with a small snort, and reached over to steal your drink back.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he said gently. 

You took a small sip of your drink, but it was sour and harsh against your tongue and burned all the way down. Fear prickled across your skin like little needles, and you suddenly felt the heat of Koboh catch up to you, even in the controlled cooled air of the saloon. 

“It’s not something you need to be afraid of,” he explained, shifting in his stool to face you properly. You remained silent, downing the rest of the glass. The alcohol hit you quickly, and you welcomed it. 

“You never asked what I was doing here,” he pointed out, and you grabbed the change of subject while you still could. 

“Okay. What are you doing here, Cal?” You probed, your throat dry. 

“I could feel you, reaching out. And I know you could feel me too,” 

“Cal, come on. Enough. I really don’t-” your words came to a halt as you spotted Cal’s hand extended towards you, his palm facing the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” You ask, disbelief and irritation creeping into your words.

“Go on. See if it feels familiar,” he suggests. 

“I’ve shaken your hand before,” you point out. 

“I’m showing you this time. No holding back, no shielding,” he says.

“Showing me what?” You barked out, and he just nodded down to his hand. BD-1 stands still as a statue atop the bar, observing the interaction. 

You scoffed, and decided it was worth it just to shut him up. Your hand shook, and you took a deep breath in before daring to touch him.

Your fingers slid atop his, and he welcomed the touch, letting his eyes flutter closed. His thumb settled atop your hand and brushed across your knuckles. 

You gasped, and though your eyes were wide open and your mind was fuzzy, you immediately recognized the energy, the warmth. It was the same presence that was teasing your dreams and coaxing you gently towards it more and more each time. Cal. That tug you had felt all those days ago, the instinctual draw within you to keep searching for something you couldn't name. Now that you could see him like this, feel him, your mind was calm for the first time in a long time. 

Cal opened his eyes, and gently let go of your hand. You fought the urge to reach forward and grasp it once again, to feel the quiet peace that his touch seemed to bring to your mind.

“There you are,” he smiled. “You weren’t dreaming earlier. You were meditating. And I came here because I could feel you reaching, wanting me to come to you. Through the force,” 

“The force? Come on, Cal. I feel things sometimes, but I’m not like you,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. He shook his head slowly.

“No, you’re not like me. I’ve been trained for this since I was a child. Did you ever even know what you are? What you could be?” He asked, more intently now. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know anything about the Jedi. I don’t know anything about the force, and I’m not sure I even want to,” you say simply. 

“Look," Cal spoke softly, a sympathetic expression across his face.

"Whether you meant to or not, you’ve been calling me through the force for weeks. It’s like you’ve been sending out a ping, calling anyone with a connection to the force straight to you. If there were an inquisitor in this system, they would be on your tail before you could even try to run. And trust me. You don’t want to know what they would do to an untrained force sensitive like you,” he warned, and even through your fading buzz you could hear the bitterness in his voice, feel the darkness in his words.

“Let me help you. I can show you, just enough to hide your force signature and keep yourself safe, if that’s all that you want,” he offered, leaning forward. His eyes searched yours for something, and after a moment, he saw it.

“Okay,” you whispered, and he sucked in a breath, some of the tension melting away from his face.

You had met in Wakanda, both of you seeking refuge in your own way. Bucky was healing from Hydra, trying to piece together a life without orders or missions. You were a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent caught in the crossfire of a world that had turned itself upside down after the fall of the agency. You had been on the run after helping Steve during the Sokovia accords, too many enemies on your trail, too many burned bridges. When King T’challa had offered you sanctuary in exchange for training the Dora Milaje on international relations, you accepted immediately.

And in Wakanda, you found Bucky. Or maybe he found you.

He was different then— quieter, less sarcastic but no less charming, still learning how to breathe in a world where he wasn’t being controlled. You were wary of each other at first, like two wounded animals circling each other. But then he smiled at you for the first time, and you realised time had a way of making you both kind. Soon, you were spending every morning together sorting hay under Wakandan sunrise. Soon, you were spending afternoons sitting by the river, your fingers tracing over Bucky’s palm as he told you stories of Brooklyn, of who he used to be before the war, before everything. 

Then, during a training session, you found yourself being much closer to him, breath hitching, something more than just adrenaline coursing through your veins. He had you pinned beneath him, metal fingers wrapped around your wrists. When you noticed his chest rising and falling against yours, suddenly there was no air left in the room.

You should have moved. He should have let go.

Instead, you pulled his shirt down and kissed him, and he kissed you back like a man starved.

Soon, you’d spend most evenings whispering his name like a prayer as he peppered love into your body, and every night falling asleep to the sound of his breathing. 

Then, Thanos came and went, and you were both dusted. 

When you came back to a world trying to move on from the five years you did not get to experience, he asked if you wanted to get married. 

You said yes.

You didn’t need a grand declaration. You just needed each other.

So you walked into a town hall, signed the papers, and exchanged simple silver bands. You didn’t have guests, you didn’t have a reception. All you needed was Bucky’s hand in yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles as you whispered “I do” to each other. 

The clerk barely looked up as he stamped the papers, but none of it mattered when Bucky kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth. When he pulled away, there were tears on both your cheeks. “You’re my home,” he whispered.

You kissed him again, pulling his suit by the collar. His arms tightened around your waist, hand cool through the thin fabric of your dress.

That night, while lying together in bed under the sheets, Bucky pulled you close, kissed your wedding band, and murmured against your lips, “Mrs. Barnes.”

You had never loved anyone more.

And that didn’t change until years later.

—

After everything that happened with Karli and the Flag Smashers and the struggle over the shield, you and Bucky found yourselves spending more and more time with Sam.

At first, it felt like friendship, bonding over beers on Sam’s dock, lazy afternoons spent fixing up the boat, and training sessions that turned into wrestling matches in the dirt. 

You and Bucky liked him. You and Bucky trusted him. You and Bucky both admired the way he had learned to carry the shield with both pride and caution. You loved the way he made the day brighter, the way he challenged Bucky, softened his rough edges. He was the first person besides you to ever coax a laugh out of Bucky that sounded young— you imagined it was reminiscent of the boy who existed before the war. And Sam was the only person who looked at you like he actually saw you, not just as Bucky’s wife, not just as another former agent he could use.

It was supposed to be just friendship.

But then you started noticing the way Bucky’s eyes lingered on Sam when he wasn’t looking. You noticed that you liked the way Sam’s hands rested on your waist when the three of you were spending a day at the pool together. One night, you caught yourself wondering what it would be like if you let yourselves cross that line.

But you were in a monogamous relationship. And you and Bucky love each other more than anything in the world, right?

You knew Bucky was bi— he’d told you years ago in hushed voices during a particularly memorable Wakandan night, fingers trailing along your spine, wondering if the confession would scare you off.

"It wasn’t like now," he’d whisper against your shoulder. "There weren’t words for it back then. But Steve... Steve and the other howling commandos knew. They… they helped— we helped each other work our feelings out.”

You’d kissed him slowly that night, licking the salt off old wounds.

"I love all the pieces of you, darling. Even the ones you’re still figuring out."

So you knew it was a possibility. 

One evening, after a little too much liquor as you straddled your husband’s lap, you spoke the thought aloud. 

"We should have a threesome," you said casually, like you weren’t setting a match to gasoline.

Bucky choked on his own tongue. He coughed, eyes as wide as dinner plates as his brow furrowed like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. "What?"

You shrugged, pretending your heart wasn’t racing. "With Sam," you clarified. "We trust him. It could be… fun."

Bucky laid his hands on your waist, gripping it carefully. "You’re serious?”

"Yeah,” you nodded, “Just sex. No strings."

Bucky took a deep breath, his fingers twitching as he considered it. You could see the way his mind worked through it— how his initial shock gave way to intrigue, how he let himself imagine it. 

And then, slowly, a smile formed at the corner of his lips. “You think he’d go for it?"

You giggled, touching the tip of your nose to his. "Only one way to find out."

—

Sam said yes without hesitation.

"Thought you’d never ask," he teased, almost as if he’d been hoping for this.

He had his signature smirk in place, but there had been a deeper warmth in his dark brown eyes.

That night, you were supposed to just fuck.

But it was so much more than that.

The first time Sam touched you, his mouth hot against your neck, it didn’t feel like just sex. It felt like worship.

And when you looked over and saw your husband watching with parted lips, something ignited in you.

How could it be just sex, when Sam's hands traced over your skin like he was memorizing every curve? How could it be just sex, when Bucky kissed your neck, metal arm holding you in place as Sam’s mouth peppered bites on your thighs until it was dangerously close to where you really wanted him to be?

How could it be just sex when you heard the small, surprised sound that left Bucky’s throat when Sam kissed Bucky for the first time? When your husband melted into his touch, when before he let himself take, he let Sam have?

How could it be just sex when Bucky pressed his forehead to Sam’s shoulder when he came undone, when Sam gasped your name like it was the only word that mattered?

How could it be just sex when desire warped into utter intoxication?

Because when it was over, when the sweat cooled and the breathing evened, when you lay tangled together in your bed— you felt it.

Something had changed.

Sam’s arm was slung lazily over your waist, his fingers brushing against Bucky’s human fingers.

Bucky’s eyes stayed on him, softly taking the sight of his best friend in. 

Because it wasn’t just sex, was it?

—

It wasn’t until weeks later—when the longing felt suffocating—that you and Bucky finally talked about it. 

It was late. The world outside your window was still, and you could hear the faint sounds of the city thrumming in the distance. You laid together in bed, Bucky’s fingers trailing over your bare hip, his brow furrowed in thought.

"I think I’m in love with Sam."

Bucky said it like a confession, like it was a sin. His metal fingers gripped yours beneath the covers, bracing for impact, bracing for you to shout at him, for accusations of betrayal.

"Me too,” you said, heart hammering in your chest.

Bucky’s eyes snapped toward you, startled like he hadn’t even considered that you might feel the same.

"But I still love you," you rushed to say, almost panicked. "I don't—“

He cut you off with a chaste kiss on your lips. "I know." He whispered gently, “I still love you too."

You stared at the ceiling together, holding hands, trying to untangle the knot of love and fear twisting inside you. 

“I— it’s always been just us. I’ve never— I’ve never considered this before,” you admitted. "I don't know how… I… I don’t know what to do.”

"I know,” He sighed, thumbs brushing over your knuckles, “I don’t want to lose you, doll.”

“But I don't want to lose him,” you said.

"Me neither."

You turned your head to meet his eyes, pulse thundering in your ears.

"Maybe…” Bucky started after a beat of silence, biting his lip, “Maybe we don't have to choose."

Your mouth gave way to the smallest, most vulnerable smile. “Maybe we don't."

—

Telling Sam was terrifying.

You sat him down one evening, the three of you alone on the porch of his family’s house in Delacroix, cicadas humming in the distance. 

Bucky's metal fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, your knees twitching as you tried to calm yourself down. 

"You guys are acting weird," Sam said, narrowing his eyes. "What’s going on?"

You opened your mouth—then promptly forgot how to speak.

You, who very rarely ran out of words, were struggling to get your thoughts out? Sam thought that was weird.

"Y’all about to tell me you’re pregnant or something?" he joked, hoping to ease the tension.

You let out a shy laugh, nerves bubbling over. "Oh god, no."

Bucky cleared his throat. "It’s about us. And you."

Sam’s brows furrowed slightly. "What about us?"

Your eyes fluttered closed as you said it, as if you couldn’t handle the rejection. "We’re in love with you."

Sam blinked once. Then twice. 

His mouth opened. Then shut.

"You—" He glanced between the two of you like he'd misheard. "Both of you?"

"Yeah," Bucky said quietly.

Sam’s chest rose and fell quicker than before. “I—" He stumbled over his words. "I’ve been in love with you two for months."

Oh?

"But you're married." He continued, voice cracking on the word, looking toward your ring. He was scared he’d ruin you both. "I didn't— I didn't know if it would work."

Bucky didn’t answer him. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed him.

It was slow but sure, one hand cradling the back of Sam’s head, pinky resting on the nape of his neck. 

Sam let out a broken sigh from the back of his throat and kissed him back, his hands curling on Bucky's shirt.

You reached out, taking both of their hands in yours. “See?" you murmured.

They both broke away and turned to you, breathless and eyes half-lidded.

"It works," you whispered.

Bucky squeezed your fingers. Sam's thumb brushed over your knuckles.

"We'll make it work,” you insisted.

And when Sam leaned in to kiss you next, his lips tasted like hope. 

—

A couple months later, when Sam properly introduced Joaquin to you and Bucky, he tried not to overthink it. Sure, he’d met you both during the whole ordeal with the Flag Smashers, but back then, Sam hadn’t been this close to either of you. Over the past year, though, Joaquin had noticed that Sam had grown fonder of you and Bucky, and, by extension, so had he.

Now, you and Bucky were always around— either at Sam’s side or waiting at the finish line. Joaquin figured you were a package deal, two of Sam’s closest friends, part of his inner circle. What he hadn’t realised at the time was just how much that circle would come to include him, too.

The first time all of you hung out together, he’d been a little intimidated (not that he’d admit it out loud). You were quick-witted and formidable. You carried yourself with the kind of confidence that made people either want to follow you or prove themselves to you, and Joaquin wasn’t quite sure which category he fell into. 

Then there was Bucky. And, well, Joaquin wasn’t stupid. Bucky was James Buchanan Barnes, the infamous former Winter Soldier. That alone was enough to make anyone nervous.

But, when Joaquin looked at Bucky, he never really saw that. Maybe at first, when Bucky was still a little closed off, but that changed. He warmed up to Joaquin the same way you had— because you and Bucky took your cues from Sam, and Sam trusted Joaquin.

The three of you didn’t become friends all at once, but looking back, Joaquin couldn’t pinpoint when it exactly happened.

It started with training. Joaquin would show up at Sam’s place or meet Bucky at the gym, where he’d get his ass handed to him repeatedly. Training with Sam was a bit more predictable, it was always about technique and strategy, but training with Bucky was something else entirely. 

Bucky fought like someone who had spent years learning how to survive, and Joaquin learned quickly that if Bucky put you on the ground, you stayed there.

Then it was casual conversations after training, then late-night talks on Sam’s dock, with you sitting between him and Bucky, lazily swinging your feet over the edge.

One night, after taking a particularly brutal hit to the ribs (metal arm and super soldier serum— not fair), Joaquin had limped back to your and Bucky’s place.

When you saw him hurt, you sighed, grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him into the kitchen. “Come on, you idiot."

Joaquin had blinked as you lifted his shirt and shoved a cold pack into his hands and made him sit at the table.

"You didn’t have to—"

"Shut up and hold that against your ribs before you end up with a bruise the size of Texas," you interrupted, already rummaging through the cabinets for bruising ailments.

Then Bucky walked in, towel around his neck with a raised eyebrow. “You alright?"

You shot your husband an exasperated look, scolding him. "Just patching him up because you don’t know your own strength."

Bucky frowned, his eyes now drawn to Joaquin’s ribs. "Shit, you didn’t tell me."

Joaquin had waved it off since he definitely pretended it didn’t hurt at the time. Bucky just sighed, wiping off the beads of condensation on his skin with his towel.

"I’m sorry," Bucky muttered.

And that’s when Joaquin realised, you and Bucky weren’t just helping him because he was a teammate or because Sam had vouched for him. You two were… taking care of him. 

The proof was in the cold pack in his hands, the way Bucky had frowned at his bruises and muttered an endless string of apology. It was instinctive, like he was yours to look after.

After that, he had ended up spending just as much time with you and Bucky as he did with Sam, and it wasn’t weird.

He was your friend.

He just wished—maybe, sometimes—that was all he wanted.

—

Then, one night, you, Bucky, and Sam sat him down and told him the truth.

Joaquin already knew you and Bucky were married, so that wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise was that you were also dating Sam. And that Sam was also dating Bucky.

Oh.

Oh.

So that’s why you were all so close.

Joaquin had just assumed Sam was a really good friend to you both. But no, this was something else entirely.

"We trust you with this," you told him. You had been tired of having to pull your affections from Sam when he was around, and Bucky was sick of not being able to touch his boyfriend the way he wanted to among friends. You needed him to know.

“But please don’t tell the world about us,” Sam said.  

Joaquin nodded. He understood.

Bucky was running for Congress. You were his very public wife. Sam was Captain America, and he didn’t need the media attention on his personal life. Sam was your and Bucky’s little secret.

Now, Joaquin knew.

Which was a problem because—oh, God—he had only realised last week that he had a massive crush on you.

It was bad enough when you were just married to the former Winter Soldier. But now he was learning that you were also dating Captain America? And Captain America was also dating the former Winter Soldier?

Joaquin was so screwed.

—

After weeks of harbouring his secret crush on you, Joaquin tried to convince himself he wasn’t jealous.

Jealousy was bitter and ugly, and that wasn’t what he felt when he looked at you, at Bucky, at Sam. He didn't feel resentment or envy— what he felt was awfully close to longing.

He knew what the three of you were, what you had. You were a closed polycule, a unit that didn’t have space for anyone else. And Joaquin was just a friend on the outside looking in.

On Bucky’s campaign trail, the world only saw part of the picture. They saw Bucky and you in love, holding hands in public, attending events together, stealing kisses when you thought the cameras weren't looking. You and Bucky were the perfect couple. You were polished and composed, just the way the press liked it.

What they didn’t see was the way Sam slotted between you just as easily. They didn’t see how Bucky and Sam bickered playfully, fought like soldiers, and kissed like they were making up for lost time. They didn’t see the way you leaned instinctively into Sam’s touch, how he steadied you with a hand on your lower back while he whispered something that made you smile like it was just the two of you in the room.

But Joaquin saw it.

He saw it now, sitting on Sam’s dining table, a mug in his grip as he watched the three of you in the kitchen.

Ever since you had trusted him with your secret, you’d all been a little different around him. You all had been more relaxed, more authentic. You were no longer careful distancing from Sam, no more subtly maneuvering to hide what should have been obvious. And yet, Joaquin had remained just a friend.

Still, none of you ever made him feel like an outsider. The three of you had this way of pulling him in platonically, making sure he never felt left behind. He knew there was a line and where the line was, but you made damn sure he never felt like he was standing on the other side of it alone.

Tonight, you were cooking for him— or, at least, trying to. The three of you had invited Joaquin over more after his crash on Celestial Island, and even though he was mostly fine now, Sam insisted that he should take the time off and be among friends.

Now, Sam had his arms wrapped around your waist, smiling against the side of your head as you tried to swat him away with a wooden spoon. Bucky was at the stove with his sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pan. That told Joaquin that he was the real cook in the relationship.

Joaquin didn’t even realise he was staring until Sam caught him. "You good over there, Torres?"

Joaquin blinked, shaking himself out of it. "Huh? Yeah. Yeah, I’m good."

Sam shrugged and turned back to the counter.

Joaquin wasn't lying. Even with the longing in his chest, even though he wanted  things he wasn’t allowed to want— he was happy.

Happy to have more people in his life who gave a damn.

But you—God, you were just you.

You laughed too loud and loved too hard. You could outshoot and outfight more than half the guys he knew, and still, you looked at Bucky and Sam like they hung the damn moon for you. You loved them without hesitation, like holding back wasn’t an option, like your love wasn’t a zero sum game. You knew them— their edges, their scars, their flaws— and you chose them every single day.

So why, of all people, did he have to fall for you?

Not that it mattered, anyway. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

You were with Bucky. And with Sam. And Bucky was with Sam, too. The three of you fit together so effortlessly, like very specific puzzle pieces clicking into place. And Joaquin would never be a piece of that puzzle. 

He was happy for you, for all of you. He wouldn’t screw that up for anything.

So he shoved his feelings down. He ignored it. He buried it beneath his stupid jokes. For now, the comfort of knowing he belonged in your life was enough, even if it wasn’t in the way he secretly wanted.

"Joaquin."

He heard you say, your voice pulling him back to reality.

He blinked up at you, suddenly aware that you were standing next to him, holding out a plate. You smiled, nudging it toward him.

"Here," you said. "Before Sam eats your portion."

"Hey," Sam said, eating pasta straight out of Bucky's pan, mouth half-full.

Joaquin huffed a laugh, taking the plate. "Thank you."

And then you sat down beside him, closer than you probably realised, close enough to be tempting, torturous. He forced himself not to look, not to breathe your scent in, not to want.

Then Bucky sat onto your other side, pressing an easy kiss to your temple like it was second nature. Sam, not to be outdone, leaned over and kissed the crown of your head before settling into the seat across from you, giving Bucky a cheeky smirk like yeah, I’m kissing her too, what of it?

Joaquin’s heart ached.

Fuck, they were so affectionate with you and each other, so unfiltered. You gave each other love so freely, that it didn't feel limited, it felt shared. It was as natural as breathing.

He was fine.

This was fine.

And maybe one day, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

—

After Joaquin left that night, Sam and Bucky found themselves outside, on the steps of Sam’s back patio. They were sitting close to each other, just as they liked it. The night air was warm and humid and salty, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. Everything around them felt peaceful, like the world was holding its breath while waiting for a conversation that neither of them had yet figured out how to start.

Bucky shifted, leaning more comfortably against Sam’s side. Even after a year, Sam’s heart still fluttered at how natural it felt to have Bucky right there with him. He let out a quiet hum, running his fingers through Bucky’s soft hair. It was something they did often, a small but affectionate act that always made Bucky relax after a long day. Bucky sighed at the touch, tilting his head just slightly into Sam’s hand, seeking more of the comfort Sam always seemed to offer so effortlessly.

"Joaquin's got a crush on her," Bucky mentioned carefully.

Sam smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. "Obviously." His lips lingered against Bucky’s hair before he glanced through the open door toward the kitchen, where you stood by the sink, pouring yourself a glass of water. The kitchen light bathed you in a golden light catching in the strands of your hair. It made you look almost holy. "Look at her,” Sam continued, “How could he not?"

Bucky let out a hum in agreement. Then, his voice grew quieter, almost wistful. "He’s not too bad himself."

Sam raised an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky, a knowing smile forming on his lips. "Oh?"

Bucky shrugged casually. Too casually. "The other night, at Isaiah’s? He looked… good."

Sam couldn’t help but agree. Joaquin had been… magnetic that night. He had been every night since. He remembered his pressed shirt with sleeves rolled up to his forearm, he remembered that easy smile that had caught Sam’s attention in ways he hadn’t fully understood then, but now… talking about him with his boyfriend… he saw the picture much clearer.

Joaquin had fit into their world so seamlessly, his presence felt so natural that Sam found himself drawn to him in ways he wasn’t entirely prepared for.

"I know what you mean," Sam admitted, more to himself than to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t miss the slight squeak in Sam’s usually deep voice. He had noticed it too, how they were starting to feel something more for him, how they were both beginning to see Joaquin in a new light. But Bucky wasn’t sure how much Sam was ready to admit it—so he went straight to the point, "You think he’s bi, honey?"

Sam hesitated, then shrugged as he answered, "Hell if I know,” he considered for a moment. “Maybe?"

Even as he said it, Sam’s mind raced with possibilities. They’d never had a conversation like this before— was this what you and Bucky felt when they were thinking about him? And even though he wasn't sure where it would lead, it was hard to ignore the way Joaquin’s presence had started to affect them both.

Bucky hummed. "We could ask,” he added, a little more playfully.

Sam let out a quiet laugh, but the thought didn’t feel as funny as it should have. It wasn’t just playful curiosity—it was an invitation. It felt inevitable now, and Sam wasn’t sure if that scared him or excited him. He looked at Bucky, noticing how he seemed to be leaning toward him even more now, as if to reassure him, just because we are having this conversation, doesn't mean I love you any less. 

Sam’s fingers tightened slightly around Bucky’s locks.

A sigh escaped Sam’s lips as he leaned his head against Bucky’s. "It’s not just a crush, is it?" he murmured, half to himself, half to Bucky.

"No,” Bucky said, “I don’t think so."

That was as far as the conversation got before you joined them outside, glass of water in hand.

You paused when you saw them, smiling before leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sam’s forehead first, then Bucky’s. Sam’s fingers curled gently around your wrist as you pulled away.

"What are we talking about?" you asked, sitting yourself onto the step below them.

Sam stiffened, like he was measuring his words, trying to decide how to say what was on his mind. Then, finally, he sighed.

"Be honest," he said, "You know Joaquin’s getting close… to us."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "Yeah. He’s our friend."

Sam gave a tentative smile. "That’s not what I meant."

And suddenly, you knew exactly where this conversation was going.

You should’ve known it was coming. Maybe a part of you had been waiting for it, maybe avoiding it, pretending it wasn’t something you’d have to deal with eventually. But now,you had nowhere to run from it.

Bucky was watching you closely, waiting to see how you’d react. Sam, always the level-headed one, studied your face, looking for some kind of tell, some kind of hesitation, or maybe an unspoken thought you hadn’t even admitted to yourself yet.

You set your glass down and breathed out.

"Do you have feelings for him, too?" Sam asked gently.

Your stomach twisted.

You hadn’t let yourself think about that. Not really.

Joaquin was Joaquin. He was bright-eyed and kind-hearted, always quick with his jokes, always looking at you like— like you weren’t just the sum of your past actions.

And lately, you’d caught yourself looking back.

You bit the inside of your cheek. "I…" You hesitated, feeling their attention on you. "I think… maybe."

Bucky tilted his head, considering. "Yes maybe, or no maybe?"

You huffed, leaning back on Bucky’s thigh. "Yes maybe."

Bucky chuckled, like that answer didn’t surprise him. Like he’d known before you did.

"He’s… I mean, yeah, he’s great," you continued, "He’s sweet, and kind, and—" You sighed, shaking your head. "But we're closed. I know that. He knows that."

Bucky’s expression didn’t change. "We didn’t think about this before either," he pointed out.

You shook your head. "That was different."

"Was it?" Sam asked

You opened your mouth— then closed it.

It wasn’t different. Sam was the happiest accident you’ve ever stumbled upon in your and Bucky’s life. Maybe… Maybe Joaquin was one, too.

Bucky leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "It’s just something to think about."

Sam’s fingers began idly toying with the back of your shirt. "We don’t have to make any decisions."

Bucky nodded. "And we don’t even know if he wants this."

That was true. Even if you wanted it—even if the thought of Joaquin felt right—it didn’t mean he did.

And if he didn’t… Well, then this conversation would be nothing more than a hopeful what-if between the three of you.

—

Soon enough, Bucky won his seat in congress.

It didn’t come as a surprise— at least, not to anyone who knew him. The man was stubborn as hell, and once he set his sights on something, there was no stopping him.

Naturally, a celebration was in order.

“Hey, Torres,” Sam called out, gently putting a hand on Joaquin’s shoulder as they stepped off the training mat. Joaquin was still catching his breath, sweat sticking to the back of his neck, but Sam, of course, looked infuriatingly calm, as if he hadn’t just wiped the floor with him for the past hour.

“You coming to Bucky’s party tomorrow?”

Joaquin blinked. “Uh—yeah, I guess. If I’m invited.”

“Of course,” Sam gave him a flat stare. “Bucky actually likes you.”

Joaquin let out a breathless laugh. “And here I thought you were the one who liked me.”

Sam smiled with a teasing glint in his eye. “I tolerate you.” He was joking, of course. “Bucky’s the one who—well.” he stopped himself, then winked at him. “Just dress nice.”

Joaquin’s heart did this weird little flutter in his chest.

Oh?

That was new.

It was probably just exhaustion, right? Just adrenaline winding down. That was all.

Because he was straight.

And he had a crush on you.

You, who were both Sam’s girlfriend and Bucky’s wife. Joaquin had spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to rationalise his feelings, trying to convince himself it wasn’t that bad, even though it was already so wrong on so many levels.

And now, his heart had the audacity to flutter over Sam’s stupid wink?

Nope. Nope. Not happening.

He was not unpacking that.

So Joaquin did what Joaquin did best. He laughed it off, rolled his eyes, and told himself to let it go.

—

By the time Joaquin arrived, the party was in full swing.

Your and Bucky’s house was alive with conversation and laughter, music blending in with the sound with the clinking of glasses. The air smelled of expensive whiskey and catered hors d'oeuvres, but it wasn't suffocating. 

Clint Barton was there, chatting with Isaiah Bradley. Jen Walters was mid-laugh at something Bruce Banner had said. A few high-profile donors were scattered about, but Joaquin did not care.

Because his eyes were on you.

You were effortlessly moving through your living room, restocking drinks, checking on the catering, making sure every guest was comfortable— all while looking stunning in that dress that hugged your waist just right.

You were being the congressman elect’s perfect wife, the perfect hostess. 

Joaquin wanted to talk to you so badly. He needed something to feed his stupid crush, maybe just a moment of your attention, but every time he got close, someone else needed you.

So he resigned himself to mingling.

And then there was Bucky.

He was relaxed, lounging near his home bar with a glass of whiskey in hand, looking completely at ease in his perfectly tailored suit. The sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the gleaming metal of his left arm. He looked good, the kind of good that turned heads.

Last night, Sam and you had told him to enjoy tonight, to relax. You won, the hard work is over. We got this party under control, darling. Bucky had kissed you both in bed just the night before, murmuring something about feeling undeserving, and you and Sam had made it your mission to remind him otherwise.

Joaquin was nursing his own drink when Bucky appeared by his side.

"You clean up nice, Torres," Bucky said smoothly.

Joaquin laughed quietly, tugging at his collar. "Sam told me to dress nice."

Bucky’s smile widened. "Glad he did."

Joaquin blinked. There was something about the way Bucky said it that made his skin prickle.

He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "This whole congressman thing suits you,” he tried joking to ease the tension, “Think you’ll get drunk with power?"

Bucky tilted his head. "Depends. You gonna let me boss you around?"

Joaquin snorted, rolling his eyes. "Not a chance."

"Shame," Bucky sipped his whiskey. "You’d look good following orders."

Joaquin nearly choked on his drink. Bucky grinned like he’d been waiting for that reaction.

Joaquin scrambled for something to say, something normal, but his brain had gone blank. This was Bucky. War hero. Former assassin. Sam’s boyfriend. Your husband. His friend.

And was he… flirting? With him?

Joaquin swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. "You—uh—you been practicing your politician charm on people, or is this just for me?"

Bucky scanned him from head to toe, before he leaned in just slightly. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered."

Oh.

Joaquin forced a laugh, but it came out weaker than he intended. He was straight, right? He had a crush on you. You were why his heart was tripping over itself. Not Bucky. 

As the night went on, Joaquin felt like he was running a degree too hot. 

It wasn’t like Joaquin was drunk. Tipsy, maybe. Just enough for his limbs to feel loose, for the usual filter in his brain to thin out. He had switched to tequila early on. Bucky, meanwhile, nursed his whiskey like it was some sacred ritual, even though he couldn't get drunk, even if he tried.

Still, somehow, they kept gravitating toward each other.

It wasn’t obvious—not too obvious. Bucky was smooth like that. Every glance, every brush of fingers when he handed Joaquin a drink, every low chuckle into the rim of his whiskey glass all felt like something.

"Why, you shy tonight?" Bucky asked, voice pitched just low enough for him, “You’re usually the one talking your ass off.”

"I just—" He glanced around. A few people were near, engaged in their own conversations. For Bucky’s sake, he couldn’t risk being overheard. He cleared his throat, then continued. "You’re the congressman now, Bucky. You’re the one who’s supposed to be talking."

Bucky smirked, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Don’t need to talk when I got your attention."

Joaquin blinked. His chest felt too tight, his heartbeat too off-rhythm. It’s just the tequila. He told himself. Just the atmosphere. He was being fun, that was all. Just going with the flow. "Mine?"

Bucky took a slow sip before responding, eyes lingering on Joaquin’s mouth just a second too long. "Mm-hmm. You keep looking at me like that, Torres, people are gonna start talking."

Joaquin’s stomach did a weird little flip.

"I—" He started, then stopped. Swallowed. Joaquin straightened his posture, trying to play it cool. "I wasn't looking at you,” he said, but he knew that was a lie.

"Sure you weren’t," Bucky chuckled.

Joaquin breathed out, and from some deeply misguided instinct, downed the rest of his tequila like it might reset his brain. It didn’t. It burned all the way down, but it didn’t do a damn thing to cool the heat creeping up his neck.

Bucky just watched him as his adam’s apple bobbed, and that alone made it worse.

"You always drink tequila this fast, or am I making you nervous?"

Joaquin coughed. "I—no. I mean—maybe." His face was burning. He fumbled for the nearest distraction, then blurted out his first defense, even though he knew it wouldn't make any sense. "I mean—I’m straight. I think."

Bucky tilted his head, studying him. He casually leaned in just enough that Joaquin could smell the whiskey on his breath. "You think?"

Joaquin stared at him, heart pounding.

Bucky chuckled, the sound full of mischief. "That’s cute."

Joaquin nearly short-circuited on the spot. 

When Bucky realised there might be a chance he was making him uncomfortable, he casually rested his human hand on his shoulder, squeezing briefly before stepping back. "Relax, Torres. Just messin’ with you."

Joaquin exhaled, relieved and… disappointed?

Oh.

That was new.

—

From across the room, you and Sam were both in host mode, running through the mental checklist that kept the party flowing smoothly.

“Dessert’s ready?” Sam asked.

“Should be coming out in the next ten minutes,” you confirmed, brushing a hand over his arm as you glanced toward the kitchen.

“Drinks stocked?”

“I just checked. We’re good.”

Sam nodded in approval, then leaned in slightly. “Think Bucky’s doing okay?”

You had to momentarily pause your train of thought when you saw exactly where Bucky was and what he was doing.

Or rather, who he was doing it to.

Joaquin Torres.

The poor guy looked about two seconds away from spontaneous combustion, gripping his empty glass like it might somehow stop him from turning red. Bucky, on the other hand, was the picture of confidence, clearly enjoying himself far more than a simple conversation warranted.

You and Sam exchanged a look.

Across the room, Bucky was leaning in close to Joaquin, voice low, fingers brushing ever so casually along his forearm. Joaquin was flushed, shifting slightly where he sat, biting his lip like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to lean in or bolt.

"He’s having fun without us," you huffed, being fake-annoyed.

Sam let out a low chuckle and leaned down discreetly. "We can have fun too, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Did you say we have ten minutes till dessert?"

Your eyes darted back to Bucky, catching the exact moment he noticed the two of you.

He took a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. When he pulled the glass away, he licked a stray drop from his bottom lip, and you knew him enough to know what he was thinking without him ever having to say anything. Go on. Bucky seemed to say with his eyes. I’ll find you two later. Let me have my fun with Joaquin first.

Sam saw it too. He let out a quiet, satisfied hum.

And then he was quietly tugging you toward the stairs. 

By the time he pulled you into the dimly lit guest bathroom and locked the door behind you, his lips were on yours. You needed to be quick, after all.

—

As soon as Bucky walked him home that night, Joaquin shut the door. He couldn’t stand seeing his pretty fucking face anymore.

He downed a glass of water, then another, trying to sober up— only to realize he hadn’t even been that drunk to begin with.

Shit.

With a sigh, he ran a bath.

Sinking into the warm water, he watched steam curl around him. The party had been a mistake. He’d gone there thinking about you— hoping for just one moment alone, a shared laugh, something to feed this thing he wasn’t supposed to have.

But you’d been busy being Bucky’s perfect wife in the eyes of the public, spending most of the night with Sam, making sure everything ran smoothly for Bucky, because you both just loved him so much.

And then… Bucky.

Joaquin groaned, dragging a wet hand down his face.

"You’d look good following orders," Bucky had said.

Now, lying in the tub, water lapping at his chest, he hated how that moment kept replaying in his head. Hated how, somewhere between thinking about you and trying to enjoy the bath, his thoughts kept drifting back to him. 

His fingers flexed against the rim of the tub.

He was straight. Right? He had a crush on you.

So why the hell cant he get Bucky fucking Barnes out of his mind?

—

The next time Joaquin saw any of you again, it was Sam. He had agreed to meet him for training.

He was barely ten minutes in, and he was already sweating.

He wasn’t sure if it was the brutal summer heat, the way he hadn’t been sleeping nearly enough lately, or the way Sam looked in a sleeveless shirt as he wrapped his hands in tape, veins standing out along his forearms, shoulders glistening with sweat (it was probably all three).

Wait. What?

No. Nope. 

Focus, Torres.

"You tired?” Sam teased, tossing him a pair of gloves.

Joaquin barely caught them, tightening the straps a little too hard. "I’m fine."

Sam hummed, but he was unconvinced. 

Then he stepped into the sparring ring, rolling his shoulders, stretching his neck, looking too damn confident, like he knew Joaquin was hiding something.

Joaquin stepped in after him and adjusted his stance.

He needed this. He needed something to knock his brain back into place, to sweat out whatever the hell had been going on with him lately.

He needed to fight.

They circled each other. By now, Joaquin knew better than to rush in too soon— Sam was fast, and he was an incredibly intelligent fighter, always studying for an opening. 

Joaquin struck in the form of a quick jab, but it came weaker than usual. It shouldn't come as a surprise, his mind was… elsewhere. Sam dodged easily. 

"That all you got?" Sam grinned.

Joaquin scowled playfully. He went for a real hit when he feinted left to swing right.

Sam dodged again. 

Then Sam came at him fast. Joaquin barely had time to block the first hit before another came, clean against his side. He gasped, stumbling back, but Sam didn’t let up. 

He took another step forward, pressing him back.

Joaquin stretched his jaw and bit down his frustration.

He had to focus.

He forced himself to move, ducking under a swing, trying to regain control, but Sam was already there, waiting for him.

They grappled, breath coming harder, closer, closer—

When Joaquin tried to gain the upper hand, Sam flipped Joaquin over his shoulder.

Joaquin hit the mat hard, air punched from his lungs. But before he could even think about reacting, before he could get his bearings, before he could breathe— Sam was on him.

Joaquin froze.

Sam had him pinned, one knee wedged between his thighs, one forearm braced across his chest. Their faces were only inches apart.

And suddenly, Joaquin had a very different problem.

Sam’s chest rose and fell with steady breath, muscles flexing as he kept Joaquin trapped beneath him. Joaquin’s heart raced— too fast, too erratic, and he hated how he couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or it was because of Sam.

His stomach flipped.

His mouth went dry.

His body reacted in ways he prayed to god Sam didn’t notice. And oh shit, his knee was so close to his thighs that there was no way he didn’t notice.

What the fuck?

Panic started clawing up his throat. He needed to say something, anything—needed to break whatever the hell this was. And before he could stop himself, before he could even think, the words tumbled out in a frantic rush:

"Don’ttellanyoneandIdon’twanttocauseanytrouble,but—your boyfriend flirted with me last week."

He could feel Sam’s breath hitch.

Joaquin’s stomach plummeted. Oh, shit. Oh shit. He’d just made the worst mistake of his life, hadn’t he? Sam was going to be mad—at him, at Bucky, at something—

And then Sam grinned.

A smug, knowing, shit-eating grin that Joaquin hated that he adored so much.

"Yeah?" Sam’s voice dipped lower.

Joaquin barely had time to regret opening his mouth before Sam shifted, pressing down just slightly. The added pressure sent sparks dancing up Joaquin’s spine, especially when his knee dug harder into Joaquin’s thigh, his arm pressing firmer against his chest, keeping him right there.

"And?" Sam asked.

His brain short-circuited. "And—what do you mean and?! That’s—"

"You didn’t notice?" Sam asked, tilting his head just slightly.

Joaquin’s stomach tightened. "Notice what?"

And then Sam abruptly rolled off him with a chuckle, climbing to his feet like nothing had just happened.

Joaquin laid there, staring at the ceiling, struggling to piece himself back together.

What the hell—

"I’ve been flirting with you, too," Sam teased, shaking his head as he grabbed his water bottle. He took a slow sip, watching with a way too amused smile for someone who’d just flipped his entire world upside down. “You like my boyfriend better than me or something?” He teased. 

Joaquin scrambled to his feet, chest still heaving, and started pacing— because what the hell was he supposed to do with this?

"I—"

Sam leaned in just slightly. "Let me spell it out for you," his voice lowered. "We all have a thing for you."

Joaquin stopped breathing.

"You’re—You’re telling me… a-all three of you—?"

Sam nodded, nonchalant. "We’ve been talking about it for a while now. Realised we all wanted to do something about it."

Joaquin stared blankly. You, who he had always had a crush on, and Sam and Bucky…. "What the fuck?"

Sam laughed, as if he was expecting this. "That’s one reaction."

Joaquin dragged a hand through his hair. This was—this was too much. He had barely wrapped his head around last week, and now— Sam was still watching him. Still gauging him.

Joaquin swallowed hard.

"Did you like it?" Sam asked, more empathetic now, more curious than flirty. "When Bucky flirted with you?"

Joaquin’s stomach dropped. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then— "Maybe."

The word slipped out before he could stop it.

Sam hummed almost in approval. He wiped his face with a towel like this was just another normal conversation. Like they weren’t standing here, balancing on the edge of something Joaquin did not know how to handle.

"You don’t have to figure it out alone," Sam offered. "We can help. Talk it out."

Joaquin shook his head, frantic. "No. No, I’m—" He clenched his jaw. "I’m straight." He insisted.

Sam just shrugged. "Okay." He didn’t believe that for a second.

Then, just like that, he turned and walked away, like they’d been talking about the weather.

Joaquin made the mistake of watching him go.

The way his back muscles flexed beneath his shirt. The way his arms shifted as he tossed the towel over his shoulder. The way he moved, so effortless, powerful, commanding.

And it hit him.

Sam was hot.

Sam was really fucking hot.

Wait.

Joaquin panicked.

"Help me." The words came out before he could stop them, barely more than a breathless plea.

Sam paused. He turned back with the gentle smile he’d seen him use in counseling. "You sure?"

Joaquin swallowed. He wasn’t sure of anything right now. But his pulse was racing, his skin felt too hot, and the look in Sam’s eyes— 

Yeah. He was looking at Sam in a very different way than he had ever before.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I need it."

"Alright," Sam nodded. "Come to dinner."

—

That night, Sam brought Joaquin over.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just the four of you at home, sharing a meal at the table. But from the moment Joaquin stepped inside, he felt it in the air: anticipation. It made his skin prickle, his heart pound a little too hard against his ribs. This wasn’t just dinner.

And he wasn’t wrong.

As soon as you set the plates down and took your seat between Bucky and Sam, your eyes flickered to Joaquin— curious, knowing, but kind. “So,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice, “Sam says you had a bit of a crisis today.”

Joaquin stiffened. His stomach plummeted. “He told you already?”

Bucky shrugged, reaching for the bread. “Of course.”

Across the table, Sam grinned like he was enjoying every second of Joaquin’s slow-motion humiliation. “What, you thought I wouldn’t tell my partners that our favorite bird boy is questioning his entire life?”

Joaquin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Kill me.”

Bucky’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm and steady. A grounding weight. “Relax.”

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table. “Wanna talk about it?”

Joaquin swallowed, forcing himself to sit up straighter. He should’ve felt more nervous, more exposed, but there was something about the way the three of you watched him—open, expectant, but without pressure—that made his shoulders ease.

So, he exhaled and forced the words out.

“I, uh—I don’t know what the hell’s happening to me.” He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging anxiously at the strands. “I thought I was straight. Always have been. But then last week, Bucky was… I don’t know, Bucky-ing me, and I liked it? And then today, Sam said things and—” He gestured wildly at Sam, like that explained everything. “—look at him! He’s stupidly hot! And now I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Sam wiggled his eyebrows. “So you do think I’m hot.”

Joaquin gulped.

Bucky chuckled, finally withdrawing his hand from Joaquin’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine.”

You nodded. “Questioning your sexuality can be confusing, but it doesn’t have to be scary.” A glance at Sam, then at Bucky. “We’ve all been there.”

Joaquin’s brows furrowed. He looked between the three of you. “Yeah?”

Sam leaned back in his chair, smirking. “I thought I was straight for way too long, too. Then I met Bucky, and it was like—” He snapped his fingers. “That.”

Bucky snorted. “You took your time getting there.”

Sam shot him a look. “Excuse me for needing a minute to process wanting to jump my best friend.”

Joaquin blinked. “Oh my god.”

You laughed, shaking your head before your expression softened. “I’m bi, too. But the people who matter most to me are all sitting at this table, and they just happen to be men.” You gestured between Sam and Bucky. “Labels help some people, but you don’t have to have everything figured out tonight. You just have to let yourself feel what you feel, and see where it leads.”

Joaquin sat with that.

For a moment, no one spoke. The air weighted, but not in a suffocating way. More like a weighted blanket, warm and comforting. He wasn’t sure he had an answer yet—wasn’t sure he was ready for an answer—but sitting here, surrounded by the three of you, he was in the right place.

He swallowed hard, glancing between you, Sam, and Bucky. 

Joaquin exhaled sharply. “So… what now?”

Sam shrugged. “Now? We eat. We talk. You figure things out at your own pace.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, expression calm and certain. “No pressure at all. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You nodded, voice gentle. “Sam didn’t bring you here to sleep with us.” There was something steady in the way you spoke, something that made Joaquin’s pulse slow, just a little. “We just wanted to give you space to talk through it. No expectations. No rush.”

Joaquin felt the tension in his chest loosen.

This wasn’t what he expected. He’d spent all day wrapped up in his own head, spiraling through worst-case scenarios, second-guessing every reaction, every what-if and holy shit and am I losing my mind—

But here, with the three of you, it didn’t feel scary.

It just felt… possible.

Joaquin let out a breath and shook his head, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed, the sound bright and warm, and something in his chest unclenched.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to name this yet. Maybe he didn’t have to.

Maybe—for the first time—he was okay letting himself try to feel it.

—

The next month or so was when the process of dissecting Joaquin’s emotions began.

Sam, Bucky, and you had always been affectionate with each other. He always noticed the lingering touches, the casual cuddles, kisses pressed to temples and knuckles. Joaquin had been on the outskirts of that at first, watching, absorbing, trying to understand where he fit in, if he could fit in.

But when you all agreed for him to trial this relationship, everyone made space for him.

You invited him more often than you already did— movie nights on the couch where he ended up wedged between you and Sam, long walks where Bucky would sling an arm around his shoulders when no one was looking, brunches where Sam would pass him coffee with a wink. None of it felt forced. None of it felt like he was being pushed into something before he was ready.

It was just… there.

He didn’t realise how much he wanted it until it was.

None of it ever crossed a line. None of it ever felt like too much.

And yet, every time, it made his heart trip over itself.

He was still figuring out this thing he felt, this fondness when he looked at the three of you. The first few weeks were spent carefully cataloging every reaction, every flutter in his chest, every flip in his stomach, trying to determine what was what.

Slowly, he found himself initiating the affection— leaning into Sam on the couch, knocking Bucky’s knees under the dinner table, brushing his fingers against your wrist in passing.

You three were pleasantly surprised, but still patient. You let him sit with his feelings, let him test the waters at his own pace.

And then one night, he decided he was ready to wade in just a little deeper.

You were all at home, relaxing on the carpeted floor around table after a competitive game of Monopoly. The lights were dim, the air smelling of whatever candle you had burning. Joaquin was tucked between Bucky and Sam, you curled against Bucky’s other side, and it should have felt overwhelming. It should have.

He swallowed hard, and before he could think better of it, he blurted out, “Can I—”

Three heads turned toward him.

He cleared his throat, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Can I—uh.” He exhaled hard through his nose. “Can I kiss you? I just want to see how it feels.”

Then Sam sat up fully. “Yeah,” he said simply. “C’mere.”

Joaquin hesitated, pulse hammering, but then Sam leaned in first, closing the space patiently. The kiss was brief. Just a press of lips.

But something flipped in Joaquin’s stomach anyway.

When he pulled back, his breath was uneven. Sam watched him carefully, waiting. Giving him space to pull away completely if he needed to.

But Joaquin didn’t.

Instead, he turned to Bucky next.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head fondly before tilting his chin up, meeting Joaquin halfway. His lips were warm, just the barest brush, but it made something in Joaquin’s chest go tight.

Then, finally, he turned to you. 

“You don’t have to,” you assured him.

“I want to,” Joaquin said, and he meant it.

So he kissed you, just as softly as the others. When he pulled back, he let out a shaky breath.

He glanced between the three of you. His heart was racing, and everything felt so unfamiliar, yet so good.

“It’s nice,” he admitted.

For the first time, he didn’t feel the need to overanalyse it. Didn’t feel the urge to pick it apart, to categorize, to define.

It was just…nice. 

—

A week later, he found himself at your place again.

This time, it was for a movie night—nothing fancy, just the four of you curled up on the couch, like it had always been this way. 

Over the week, he had shared more chaste kisses with you, Bucky, and Sam, but it was never more than that. It was just a peck— the lips, on the nose, on the cheeks, on their brows. It was… innocent.

But in the last couple of days, he found himself drowning in more sinful thoughts, because fuck, once he started coming to terms with his emotions, he realised he was so down bad for all three of you.

It was pathetic, really. He blushed when he caught himself staring at Bucky’s hands when he passed him the popcorn, when Sam leaned in close to whisper a joke in his ear, when you stretched out beside him, your crop top riding up high. 

Joaquin felt like he was vibrating out of his skin. He didn’t even know what the movie  was about— he was too busy being hyper-aware of everything else.

Then, you stretched again with a sigh, turning to him with an amused smile. “You better head out, Joaquin,” you said. “We’ve got plans.”

Plans.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what you meant.

And yet, none of you had ever extended that invitation to him—not because you didn’t want to, but because you refused to push him before he was ready. Because none of you wanted him to feel like he had to take that step. Because you trusted him to tell you when he was ready.

Maybe…

Joaquin swallowed, his heartbeat a little too loud in his ears. 

He should go. 

That was the whole point of tonight—just another trial run. He should say goodnight and walk out that door.

But instead he said, “What if I want to stay?” 

Bucky’s head tilted slightly as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And watch?”

Joaquin’s throat went dry. He could feel all three pairs of eyes on him, the tension building up in his spine.

He forced himself to meet his eyes. “And try,” he corrected. 

There was just a skip of silence. 

Then Sam grinned. “Yeah?”

Joaquin nodded, head spinning. “Yeah.”

Bucky’s smile deepened. You bit your lip, excitement sparking in your eyes.

You smiled at him, shifting closer until your knees were on either side of his thighs. Joaquin swallowed hard, his hands hovering above your waist. His breath hitched when you leaned in, lips just barely brushing against his.

"You want me first, baby?" you asked. "Ease you into it?"

Joaquin let out a tiny moan at the sight of you on top of him, nodding. Yes.

Because as much as he wanted all of you equally, you were the one he'd been fighting feelings for the longest. 

So when you kissed him– differently this time, not chaste, not short, but with fire in your lungs— it was like something inside him finally clicked into place.

Your lips were soft, comforting and he groaned against your mouth as his hands finally gripped your hips. You kissed him deeply, guiding him through it, giving him time to adjust, to feel. And god, did he feel. 

The texture of your skin, the taste of your lips, the way you sighed into him— he was already dizzy, already overwhelmed in the best way possible.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement.

Joaquin broke the kiss, breathless, just in time to see them.

Bucky and Sam, lips pressing together like they’d done this a million times before. And maybe they had, but he hadn’t seen it— not like this, not up close, knowing where it would eventually lead.

Joaquin’s heart was begging to be let out of his ribcage.

He barely had time to process before Bucky pulled away from Sam, glancing at him. "Enjoying the view?"

Joaquin huffed out a breathless laugh. "Mmmhmm,” he said.

You grinned, brushing your lips over his again. "Good," you murmured. "You're gonna love it even more when you're in it."

Joaquin wasn’t sure if he had it in him to survive this. But damn, was he gonna try.

Joaquin barely had a second to catch his breath before you nudged him gently, guiding him toward Sam. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure they could all hear it, but he didn't even resist.

And then—oh.

Sam's lips were on his, confident and insistent, tasting like whatever wine he'd sipped on earlier. Joaquin gasped against his mouth, how naturally different it was with lust than it was when he was just trying it out. 

Then, just as he was starting to melt into it, he felt you shift towards Bucky. 

Bucky’s hands were suddenly on your waist, dragging you closer, his mouth finding the weak spot on the curve of your neck. Joaquin heard you sigh as Bucky’s lips moved on you, teeth grazing skin.

And then Bucky's hand was slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing the warm skin of your stomach.

Joaquin groaned into Sam’s mouth, overwhelmed, overstimulated, unsure of what to focus on— Sam’s kiss, your soft sounds, the way Bucky’s hands mapped out your body like he already knew every inch of you by heart.

He just wanted more.

Joaquin barely had time to process the words—"My turn," it came from Bucky’s mouth—before he was being pulled in.

Bucky's hand was at the back of his neck, fingers curling just enough to send a shiver down his spine. Joaquin barely had a second to think before Bucky kissed him.

And—fuck.

It was different from Sam, different from you. Where you had been gentle and Sam had been playfully confident, Bucky was sure, he was deep. His lips moved against Joaquin’s like he already knew exactly how he liked to be kissed, how to make him part his lips just enough for Bucky to lick into his mouth.

Joaquin groaned, gripping Bucky’s shoulders to keep himself steady.

Your body was still there, pressing on his side. He didn’t even realise Sam had taken off your shirt. But then he felt you move, your lips ghosting along his jaw as if to encourage him: this is good, let go. Feel it. Feel us.

And he did.

Then Sam’s hands were on him too, sliding up his chest, fingers teasing along the hem of his shirt. Joaquin barely had time to react before Sam’s lips added yours, brushing along the other side of his jaw, down the column of his throat.

It was too much and not enough all at once.

Joaquin gasped into Bucky’s mouth, overwhelmed, hands grasping at something—Bucky’s shirt, Sam’s wrist, the curve of your waist—desperate to ground himself.

Bucky pulled back just enough to smirk against his lips. 

“Good?” He heard Sam ask, thumb brushing the nape of his neck. 

Joaquin breathed out shakily, “Yeah.”

You giggled and tugged Bucky’s shirt off as he lifted you effortlessly, just enough to shift your position before laying you back down between Joaquin’s thighs. 

The new position sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation growing low in your torso.

Joaquin's hands hesitated for a brief moment while he was taking the sight of you in, before settling around your waist, fingers splayed. Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “Comfortable, doll?”

A contented sigh escaped you as you tilted your head, nuzzling against his beard. “Always, darling.”

Sam, watching from beside Joaquin, made quick work of his own shirt, muscles flexing as he helped Joaquin tug his off as well. Joaquin was still getting used to all of this, still figuring things out the logistics of it, but judging by the hungry look in his eyes and the way his breath hitched when Sam gripped your thigh and pulled you flush against him, told you he was very much here for it.

“Honey,” you pouted at Sam, expecting something from him. He only chuckled and kissed you as his hand slid higher up your leg. Joaquin could only watch, mesmerised as his own hands tightened around you like he was torn between staying still and pulling you impossibly closer.

Bucky, now kneeling at the edge of the couch, traced his hands up yours and Joaquin’s calves, pressing soft kisses to the inside of his clothed knee before dragging his lips higher. His voice was low, filled with want. “Still good, babe?” The question was meant for Joaquin.

“Mmhm,” Joaquin hummed, his voice raspier than before, a little more breathless. 

You leaned back into Joaquin, sighing as Sam’s lips trailed down your chin. You felt worshipped, the three of them surrounding you, touch seeping into your skin like they wanted to consume you.

And then Bucky and Sam were stripping the rest of your clothes away, their hands reverent, their mouths pressing open-mouthed kisses along newly bared skin. Before he knew it, they were also eagerly discarded whatever was left on them. Joaquin followed their lead— he was eager now, fumbling with the button of his trousers, desperate to shed the last layers keeping him from all of you.

The night had barely begun, and already, it felt magical. 

And it was only going to get more interesting.

—

Joaquin woke up before anyone else.

Or maybe he hadn't really slept at all—just drifted in and out of consciousness.

He was too comfortable, too wrapped up in everything that had happened the night before. Every time he stirred, someone was there— your arm draped over his stomach, Bucky’s chest at his back, Sam’s leg thrown carelessly over all three of you like he owned the bed.

It was… nice. Scary, but nice.

So, naturally, when the first light of dusk came, he ran.

Not literally, but his nerves had him slipping out of bed, tugging on the first pair of sweats he could find (Sam’s) and making his way to the kitchen. He needed something to do, something to keep his hands busy, something to keep him from getting overwhelmed.

Which was how he ended up standing at the counter, aggressively mixing muffin batter like his life depended on it.

Because— what the hell now?

Last night had been—fuck, there wasn’t even a word that could possibly describe what he experienced last night. It had been overwhelming in the best way and hot and kind and so good, so much. Joaquin had felt wanted, pulled apart in the best of ways, held and cherished and utterly wrecked. He had been greedy—so fucking greedy— needy, desperate, and the three of you had given it to him. 

Fuck, he had asked and asked and asked, and you, Sam, and Bucky had answered with hands, with mouths, with bodies. And in return, he had given everything he had. He was so eager to please, eager to prove he belonged there. 

And he felt like he did. 

But now, in the light of day, reality settled in. 

Was he part of this now? Was this a thing? Or had it just been sex?

He wouldn’t be mad if that’s all it was—but the thought of going back to just being a friend made his chest ache, his heart break, just a little.

Joaquin had been testing boundaries for a while now, pushing to see how far he could go without falling. But this was a line he couldn’t uncross.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear anyone come out of the bedroom until a deep voice rumbled behind him.

“You stress-baking, babe?”

He turned to find Bucky leaning against the doorway. His hair was a mess, all soft waves from sleep, and he hadn’t bothered with a shirt, which was unfair.

Joaquin scrambled to collect himself. “Wha—no,” he said quickly. Then, “…Maybe.”

Bucky padded over, peering into the bowl. “What are we working with?”

“Muffins.”

“Muffins.”

Joaquin nodded. “To say thanks.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow. “For what?”

Joaquin blinked. “Uh. Y’know. Last night.”

Bucky hummed, leaning an elbow on the counter. “You think you need to thank us?”

Joaquin hesitated. “I mean… don’t I?”

Before Bucky could answer, another voice chimed in.

“If anything, we should be thanking you.”

Joaquin turned to find Sam walking in. He was smiling that gorgeous smile of his. 

Bucky chuckled, nudging him lightly. “You think too much.”

Joaquin found himself overwhelmed. Again. “Yeah, I know—but I just—” He gestured vaguely between the three of them. “What is this? Was last night just—was it casual? Or am I, like…” He swallowed hard. “Am I in this now?”

Silence stretched for a beat. Joaquin’s heart pounded.

“You wanna be?” Sam asked.

Joaquin exhaled shakily. “I— …yes,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You finally stumbled out of the bedroom, still half-asleep, wearing Joaquin’s shirt and Bucky’s boxers, and one of Sam’s ridiculously oversized pairs of slippers—because apparently, you’d given up on matching anything. You blinked blearily at the scene in front of you: Joaquin standing at the kitchen counter, looking somewhere between nervous and overwhelmed, Bucky beside him, and Sam trying to sneakily steal muffin batter.

“What’s going on?” you mumbled, cursing to yourself. Why did you have to fall in love with not one, not two, but three early risers?

“Morning, doll,” Bucky greeted, “We’re just talking. Joaquin wants in.”

You squinted. “Hmm??”

Joaquin turned bright red.

Sam, ever the enabler, wrapped an arm around Joaquin’s waist. “Figured we should talk about it.”

You yawned, padding over and stealing a piece of muffin batter for yourself. “Yeah, okay. Let’s talk about it. After coffee.”

—

You made all three of your boys coffee while the muffins baked. You’d been doing this for Bucky for years and Sam for more than a year—but now there was Joaquin, and that was new. He had never stayed the night before, so you didn’t know his habits in the morning, yet. 

Bucky’s was black, no sugar. Sam pretended he liked it that way too, but you knew he secretly enjoyed a little cream when no one was looking. Joaquin was an unknown variable, but you had a hunch he was a sugar-and-cream kind of guy.

So when you set their mugs down—one black, one pretending to be, and one lightly sweetened—you watched Joaquin.

He blinked down at the cup, took a tentative sip, and then made a pleased noise before looking up at you, eyes round with wonder.

“You—how’d you know?”

You grinned. “Lucky guess.”

Sam pulled you in and kissed your knuckles, “She’s just great at this.”

You hopped onto the counter. “Alright. Let’s talk about it.”

Joaquin’s grip tightened around the mug. “I—um.” He licked his lips, eyes flicking between the three of you. “I don’t—I mean, I do know what I’m trying to say, I just—”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Joaquin swallowed hard. Then, almost too quietly, he whispered, “I think I’m in love with you. All of you.”

Your heart flipped, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Joaquin,” you called, and when he finally looked at you, you gave him the softest of smiles. “I think I’m in love with you too.”

Bucky hummed with a satisfied grin. “Hm.”

Joaquin turned his startled eyes toward him. “H-Hm?”

Sam exhaled through his nose, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah. Hm.”

Joaquin blinked rapidly, like his brain was still trying to process what that meant.

Bucky chuckled, kissing his temple. “Means I love you too.”

Joaquin made the smallest, most overwhelmed little noise, like the words had stunned him.

“We do. We’ve been talking about it for a while now,” Sam said, “and… I do. I love you.” Then, unable to help himself, reached out and ran a finger through his hair to ruffle. “God, you’re cute.”

Bucky nodded, resting his elbows on the counter. “But let’s be clear about what ‘this’ is.”

Joaquin glanced down at his coffee. “I—I know this isn’t an open thing.”

“Right,” Bucky said. “This is a closed polycule. We’re not dating outside of this unless everyone agrees.” His kind eyes were on him again. “Are you sure you’re committing to that?”

Joaquin’s eyes only widened like Bucky had just offered him the world.

“I—yeah,” he said, almost breathless. “I want to.”

Bucky hummed approvingly. “Good answer.”

—

The muffins were finally done, and by then, the tension had melted into the thrilling feeling of a new relationship. 

Music played softly from the record player —something old and slow—and before you even realized what was happening, Bucky was pulling you away from the counter, swaying you gently in the kitchen.

You laughed, looping your arms around his neck. “What’re you doing?”

Bucky smirked. “Dancing with my wife.”

Sam huffed jokingly from where he was still lounging with Joaquin. “Excuse me, why am I not being danced with?”

Bucky grinned and reached out a hand. “Then get over here, Captain.”

Sam stepped up beside Bucky, his hands easily finding his hip. You, completely unbothered, just adjusted to make room for him, and suddenly you were swaying together, the three of you moving in the kitchen like you’d been doing this forever.

Joaquin watched, eyes wide with something like wonder.

You caught him staring and smiled. “C’mon, babe. You’re part of this now.”

Joaquin hesitated—just for a second—before stepping forward and joining you. 

You giggled, reaching up to caress his cheeks. “You’re gonna fit in just fine.”

Joaquin made a happy noise and melted into it, and then, suddenly, he was surrounded—Bucky behind him, Sam in front, you right beside him, arms tangling, feeling comfort all around.

And when you all leaned in—pressing little kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his nose—he just laughed, happy, because he really was exactly where he was meant to be.

—

Only a couple months later, you four were invited to your first public event together. And while you, Sam and Bucky were practiced in sneaking around events, it was Joaquin’s first real test of avoiding cameras.

Bucky and you were the congressman and wife. Sam was here as Captain America, Joaquin as his second-in-command. No one questioned why you were all near each other, why you gravitated into the same orbit. It made sense for the four of you to be close.

They just didn’t really know how close. 

The state gala was polished and grand, as expected. It was full of the kind of bullshit small talk that meant nothing but looked good on camera. 

Bucky was ever the charming congressman, his hand always lingering on your back. This was the image everyone knew.

But the real thrill of the night was in the details.

You felt it once every in a while Sam’s fingers skimmed over your hip when no one was looking. Then Joaquin’s eyes would find yours every time your hand brushed his. Still, Bucky squeezed your hip possessively when some young hotshot got a little too interested in you. Anyone that wasn’t him, Sam, or Joaquin wasn’t allowed to so much as look at you. 

And of course, you weren’t necessarily the center of attention. 

Sam’s hand lingered just a little too long on the small of Joaquin’s back when he guided him through the crowd. Joaquin’s eyes locked onto Bucky’s mouth every time he took a sip of his drink. And Bucky, ever the composed public figure, let his fingers trail down his arm.

This was exhilarating.

—

The first time someone was pulled aside, it was you.

Sam found you mid-conversation with some diplomat’s wife. He leaned in, all smiles and charm. “’Scuse me, Mrs. Barnes,” he said, “your presence is required elsewhere.”

A thrill shot down your spine, but you only smiled, excusing yourself as Sam’s hand found your elbow, guiding you away.

“You’re enjoying this,” you whispered once you were out of earshot.

Sam shrugged. “A little.”

He pulled you out into the secluded garden, his body pressing you against the wall.

“Gotta say,” he said, voice dropping almost an octave, “you look real good tonight, sweetheart.”

You grinned, fingers curling into his tie, tugging him down. “So do you, captain.”

So he kissed you. It was long enough to feel your mouth moving against his, but not nearly as long as you usually had. Still, it was enough to leave Sam chuckling against your lips before pulling away.

“I’ll be coming back for more later,” he promised.

—

The second time, it was Joaquin.

You had barely made it back to Bucky’s side when you felt someone hovering behind you.

You turned—and found Joaquin looking down at you with his dark eyes, nervous but wanting. He was still getting used to this, after all. 

“Can—” He licked his lips, glancing around as if someone might notice him talking to you. “Can we—just for a second?”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, refilling his drink. “Go ahead.”

Joaquin swallowed hard before tugging at your wrist and leading you away.

You didn’t make it far. The moment you were tucked behind a towering column, Joaquin’s hands landed on your waist.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he whispered, breathless.

You smiled, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “How’s it feel?”

Joaquin chuckled, eyes flickering down to your lips. “Like… the best kind of secret.”

Then his mouth was on yours, unsure at first, but the moment you melted into him, he made a quiet, needy little noise and pulled you closer.

Your lips started trailing down his jaw when the sound of laughter from nearby forced you apart, and Joaquin buried his face in your shoulder, flustered beyond belief.

“You're is gonna be the death of me, cariño,” he mumbled.

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple. “We’ll take care of you later, babe.”

—

The third time, it wasn’t you. 

You had returned to the party, sitting beside Bucky, watching the room with mild amusement—until your eyes landed on them.

Joaquin had been fidgeting all night, glancing at Bucky, glancing at you, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Apparently, Sam had decided to fix that.

You saw it happen. Sam leaned in at the bar, muttering something (probably dirty) into his ear. Joaquin’s mouth parted slightly, eyes wide.

Then Sam touched him, a guiding hand at the small of his back. Joaquin practically melted as Sam whisked him off away to find some empty conference room.

When they made it, the door had barely clicked shut before Sam had Joaquin pressed against it.

“You've been looking at me all night like you wanted something,” Sam’s lips were grazing the shell of Joaquin’s ear. “So what is it, Lieutenant?”

Joaquin swallowed hard, fingers curling into Sam’s biceps. “You.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of Joaquin’s neck. Sam’s hands were teasing at the hem of Joaquin’s jacket, hooking in his belt loops, when they heard a knock at the door.

They broke apart instantly. 

“You in there, Cap?” came a voice from the other side. It sounded like one of the other congressmen Sam was friendly enough with. 

Sam smoothed his hands down Joaquin’s chest like he was fixing his uniform—but really, it was just an excuse to touch him.

“Yeah,” Sam called, voice perfectly steady. “Me and Torres were just going over some mission details.”

Joaquin swallowed a laugh, tugging his jacket back into place as Sam adjusted his tie.

—

The fourth time, it was Sam.

Bucky wasn’t as subtle about it as he should be. One moment, Sam was chatting with some government official, and the next, Bucky was on his side. 

“Excuse me,” Bucky said gruffly, “need to talk to him.”

Sam smiled politely but followed Bucky anyway. It was amusing, really. How everyone thought their relationship was purely platonic.

“You know, usually when someone steals me away, they at least try to be sneaky.”

Bucky ignored him, finally arriving in the deserted hallway he was looking for. 

“You been teasin’ them both all night, honey,” Bucky placed his metal hand on his hip, “but not me.”

Sam raised a brow. “You jealous, darlin’?”

Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, he pressed in closer, his breath warm against Sam’s lips. “Just wanted my turn,” he admitted, fingers curling into the lapels of Sam’s jacket.

Sam grinned, tilting his chin up slightly. “Then take it.”

Bucky did.

He kissed Sam slowly, savouring the way Sam’s fingers curled around his bicep. When Bucky finally pulled back, Sam looked annoyingly smug.

—

The fifth time, it was Joaquin.

He had been lingering close to you and Bucky all night, like he was waiting for something but didn’t quite know how to ask for it. 

Even after a couple of months, he still found Bucky the most intimidating.

Bucky knew that.

So when he caught Joaquin’s eye from across the room and noticed no one was paying attention, he held out his hand. Joaquin blinked, setting his drink down and slipping his fingers into Bucky’s palm.

You noticed that they were being a little too obvious, so you took matters into your own hands. You “accidentally” bumped into one of the smug politicians who kept voting against every bill Bucky proposed, sending a glass of red wine spilling down the front of his white suit.

The man shouted in outrage and you offered a saccharine apology, distracting the crowd just long enough for Bucky to slip outside with Joaquin.

Before disappearing onto the balcony, Bucky mouthed, thank you.

Joaquin let out a deep breath as soon as they were alone. “Did I look that desperate?”

“Not desperate,” Bucky corrected, “Just… waiting.”

Joaquin swallowed, glancing at him. “And now?”

Bucky brushed a hand along his skin, tilting his chin up just a little. “Now I’m done making you wait.”

Joaquin barely had time to take a breath before Bucky kissed him gently like he was making a promise.

When they finally pulled apart, Joaquin was breathless and a little dazed. “That was worth the wait.”

—

The last time, it was Bucky.

You had just finished a conversation with some senator when Bucky, who just got back from the balcony, leaned in. “Bathroom. Now.”

You gulped, a wicked grin tugging at your lips. “Bossy,” you joked.

He huffed, faking being annoyed at your resistance. “Go.”

You didn’t even think twice.

You slipped away, barely making it to the lavish bathroom before he spun you around and pressed you against the cool marble countertop.

“Can’t resist anymore, doll,” Bucky murmured against your skin.

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. It was hot, desperate, he stole your breath away.

Then the door opened.

Joaquin gasped. Sam laughed.

“Knew we’d find you in here.”

Bucky shrugged. “Took you long enough.”

Joaquin looked like he finally understood what was happening. “Are we—are we—?”

Sam sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders. “Well, I was gonna be patient, but…”

Then he stepped forward, grabbing Bucky by the tie, kissing him. 

After he pulled away, Bucky, the smug bastard, reached out and yanked Joaquin right into it.

Joaquin let out the softest little gasp against Bucky’s lips, going pliant in an instant.

You bit your lip, watching, heat pooling low in your stomach. “I should leave you three alone.”

Sam turned, “Don’t you dare.”

And then you were in it, pressed between them, with stolen kisses, limbs tangling, the thrill of secrecy making it all the more addicting.

No one knew. No one had any idea.

This was just yours. 

—

While sneaking around in public was fun, where you all truly loved was behind closed doors. It was the private moments—the ones that made your love feel intimate.

Joaquin had settled into it well over the past three months. It still caught him off guard sometimes, how easy it was to belong to all of you.

But he still had no idea what was happening today. 

He had just finished a long morning shift at base, expecting to come home, maybe shower, maybe crash on his couch for a while before heading to yours and Bucky’s place—because, let’s be honest, that’s where he and Sam always ended up anyway.

But the moment he unlocked his front door, something smelled rich and buttery.

His house smelled good. 

Joaquin frowned. He knew for a fact he hadn’t left anything in the oven. He hadn’t even used his oven in days (since you had a better one that didn’t have a wonky thermostat). 

“Uh… hello?” he called, stepping inside with caution,

Then he saw you standing in his kitchen, pulling a tray of muffins out of the oven.

He saw Sam, leaning against the counter and preparing drinks dimples deep as he smiled at him.

He saw Bucky, setting the table—his table, in his home— with little decorations. 

Joaquin’s brain almost completely went into shut down.

“What—?” He blinked, still standing in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

You laughed, setting the muffins down with a gentle clatter. “Celebrating.”

Joaquin’s mouth opened, then closed. He knew he wasn’t missing a birthday. Was he missing a holiday? It wasn’t Valentine’s Day, right? “Uh… celebrating what?”

Sam chuckled. “Three months, babe.”

Joaquin stared. Oh.

Bucky smiled at him, arms crossing over his chest. “Three months of putting up with our bullshit.”

Joaquin’s cheeks flushed instantly, ears burning.

He looked at the table— at the little spread you’d put together. It was nothing too fancy, just muffins, coffee, a candle that was probably stolen from your kitchen, along with some little recycled decorations you kept in your top drawer. 

He loved this, looking at you three, standing there in his space, in his home, looking at him like he mattered.

“You—” His voice wobbled, so he cleared his throat, “You guys didn’t have to do all this.”

“We wanted to,” you said, stepping closer. “Because you’re ours.”

Sam, unable to resist, reached over and tugged Joaquin forward, pressing a firm kiss to his temple.

Joaquin relaxed into the touch.

Bucky chuckled, wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his other temple.

Joaquin let out something close to a whine, face burning, but he didn’t pull away.

And then you kissed the tip of his nose, and—god help him—he actually giggled.

Bucky chuckled. “You feelin’ celebrated yet?”

Joaquin let out a helpless laugh, tucking his face against Sam’s chest. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

And when all three of you pulled him in tighter with love wrapped around him like something vast and endless, he knew—

This was the closest to heaven he had ever been.

–end.

General Bucky Taglist :

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

Poe was always, and had always, been chatty, but today he seemed to have turned all his dials up to maximum. He'd talked non stop, made unfunny jokes, inappropriate innuendos that with anyone else you suspect he wouldn't have gotten away with, and done just about anything he could to make himself the most annoying person this side of the galaxy.

For what reason, you had no idea. You had started to suspect perhaps he had realised your warm feelings towards him, and maybe this was his way of making you hate him so he didn't have to let you down, and honestly, you might think it was starting to work.

Trudging into the room, your boots squelching with each step, you place your bags down, resigned to your probably sleepless fate.

"You want the bathroom first?" The pilot offers, despite the fact he's worse off than you, having given you his jacket to hold above your head the moment the downpour started. It hadn't helped much after the first few minutes, but you had been grateful for the shelter anyway.

You don't really register his question, your thoughts lost as you finger the worn leather coat remembering the way his scent clung to it, invading your senses as you splashed through the flooded streets.

"Hey," you look up to find the pilot watching you, his brow furrowed. "You okay?"

You drop the jacket onto the dresser, giving him a smile and a nod.

"Just sick of listening to you."

Poe snorts with laughter, grabbing the hem of his shirt and peeling it up over his head. You purposely busy yourself pulling out some dry clothes from your pack , not allowing yourself to peek, although it's a difficult battle.

"There's nobody you love listening to more than me," Poe states, thankfully not seeming to notice your internal fight of keeping your eyes off him.

You sigh, somewhat thankful his annoying cockyness is a distraction from his semi-nakedness. Picking up your sleepwear and wash bag you head towards the bathroom, trying to ignore him. Poe however gives you no quarter, trailing along behind you.

"So what exactly are the sleeping arrangements going to be?" He asks.

Frowning you turn around, your eyes deciding to flicker over his bared torso before meeting his gaze. Even the smallest glance is enough to get blood rushing through your veins, and you can feel heat blossoming across your cheeks.

Ignoring the feeling you gesture to the bed with a raise of your eyebrow.

"But what if you snore?" The pilot asks, clearly not noticing your desire to leave the room until he's decided to put some clothes on.

You pull a face, not quite understanding his issue when he's half deaf from the war anyway. The explosion that had damaged most of the resistance ships had permanently damaged his eardrums, which Poe liked to use to his advantage when he decided he wasn't going to listen to someone, although you think he hears far more than he lets on.

"Poe, you can hardly hear out of one ear as it is! Just sleep on your good ear and you probably won't hear a thing out of the other one."

He folds his arms stubbornly. "I'll hear if you're right next to my head."

"Then you are more than welcome to sleep in the bathroom once I'm done," you offer, stepping into the tiny fresher.

"Nah, I'd rather sleep in the bed. But what if you steal the covers?"

"Then you can take them back."

"What if you cuddle me in your sleep?" He fires quickly.

You give him a withering look, trying not to think about pressing your body against his, keeping your eyes trained on his face.

"Oh trust me Poe, I won't." In fact you will do everything possible not to touch him, just for your own sanity.

"But you might. I'm very into consent and if I'm asleep-" he pauses mid sentence, opening his mouth and then closing it again before leaning against the door frame. "Actually scratch all of that. I absolutely give you consent to do whatever you like to me."

The pilot grins at you and you feel a familiar surge of heat through your body, collecting and coiling in your abdomen. Combined with your patience finally snapping, it's the last straw. You slam the bathroom door in his handsome smug face.

The lukewarm shower really tops off the day.

~

"I've been thinking" Poe starts the moment he exits the bathroom, after loudly complaining through the door about you using up all the hot water.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with a sigh, the hope that he would have calmed down and go straight to sleep evaporating. You are grateful however that he's at least finally put a shirt on.

"That must hurt."

"Oi!" He protests with a shocked expression, that at least brings a little smile to your lips. He grins at you, letting you know he took no offence at your words.

"As I was saying," he continues while you lay out his clothes to dry, the ones he dumped in a wet pile in the middle of the floor. "I've been thinking, and I know what's wrong with you. I want you to know it's okay."

The way his voice suddenly goes so gentle makes you look around. The pilot holds out his hand, wrapping his fingers around yours as he pulls you closer, holding your gaze steadily. You hope he doesn't notice the way your breath catches, or the heat blazing through you that makes your hands clammy.

"It's okay to be nervous," he continues, while your mouth goes dry. "I know spending the night with me is a lot, and it's going to be so difficult for you to keep your hands to yourself, but we are going to get through this together, and you'll be able to tell everyone about it when we get home."

You snatch your hand angrily out of his while the pilot bursts into laughter.

"Grow up and get in the damn bed!" You growl, climbing into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin and turning over away from him, your heart thundering in your chest. How, even when he was joking, did he manage to get so damn close to the truth?

"Why do you want me in bed so badly, huh? Thinking about late night cuddles?" You hear the pilot ask, feeling the mattress sink with his weight.

"No. When you're asleep, you're not talking," you bite out, still stinging from the embarrassment of your reaction when he was just being his usual annoying self.

Poe ignores your hostility and you feel him shrug.

"Listen, all I'm trying to do is tell you that we could eliminate some of this sexual tension. Well, if you wanted to."

Sexual tension wasn't exactly what you would say was between you, but there was always certainly something, although with Poe you imagine he had that with everyone. With you though, your feelings for the pilot ran a little deeper, not that you'd ever dare speak those aloud. The last thing you needed was the "it's not you, it's me" speech, especially if his behaviour was to drive you away. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

You run a hand down your face with an exasperated sigh. "There is absolutely no sexual tension, Poe. What there is, is murderous tension."

Poe lets out an exclamation of excitement.

"Oh my favourite kind!"

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop a smile, lest you encourage him to continue.

"Please Poe, go to damn sleep," you whine, pulling the pillow from under your head and pressing it against your ear, trying to block out his incessant rambling.

"I will if you admit it."

"Admit what?" You groan, frustrated. Why can't he just shut the hell up and let you get through this?

"That you've thought about us."

"Poe I swear-" you take a deep breath, grabbing the cushion with one hand, rolling over with the intent on smothering him into silence. You're surprised to find the pilot on his side, almost nose to nose with you in the small bed.

"You've seriously never thought about us kissing?" Poe interrupts.

"I…I…" you’re thrown by his closeness, by his long lashes and soft smile, by the damn doe eyed look he's giving you.

You know there's no shutting him up until you tell him what he wants to hear so you take a breath. It wouldn't exactly be news to him, Poe knew just about everyone had considered kissing him at some point or another. The man did come with a reputation for having a rather skillful mouth after all.

"Fine! Maybe once or twice. Now go to damn sleep!" You growl, annoyed at him, and yourself.

The shit eating grin he gives you is enough to make you turn back over, tucking the pillow under your head and shutting your eyes tightly, as though that alone might drown him out.

"I knew it," he gloats with a happy sigh, clicking off the bedside lamp.

You grip the pillow, considering the option you still have of smothering him.

Thankfully he's quiet from that point and infuriatingly asleep in less than five minutes. You can feel the mattress move with his slow steady breaths.

Glancing over your shoulder he's laid out on his back, one arm tucked under his head, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he dreams, his full lips open with a soft sigh.

Turning around again you punch the lumpy pillow, trying to get more comfortable.

You will not think about kissing him. That was a one time thing. Okay, maybe three or four. Well maybe more… a lot more. You're determined tonight for once, you will not fall asleep thinking about his mouth on yours, you will absolutely not think about his lips on your skin, or his fingers caressing your breasts…

Someone suddenly shakes you and you open your eyes groggily, the room swimming and blurred as you blink sleep from your vision.

"What the hell?" You grumble, looking up at the pilot with his sleep tousled curls, still half asleep himself, one eye still shut and the other half open, bathed in the soft moonlight glow that sneaks through the blinds.

"You said my name," he mumbles, voice still sleep gravelled. "You alright?"

Flashes of his mouth sealed over your nipple, his tongue darting out to lick a path down to your navel, your hand gripping his hair, his mouth between your thighs.

Oh no. You absolutely did not have a sex dream about him. Not now, not here. Please no!

"You must have dreamt it," you swallow, desperately trying to play it cool. If Poe heard you while he was dead asleep, then you must have been loud. You feel the heat prickling the back of your neck.

"No, I definitely heard you say Poe," he insists.

"Well even if I did I'm fine so you can go back to sleep," you insist, shifting your legs restlessly. You're too warm. Well not just warm, burning hot, sweat cooling on your skin, an uncomfortable ache between your legs that screams of unsatisfied desire.

"You sure? You sounded a bit…breathless?" The pilot asks again, genuine concern in his tone. Although you can barely see him in the dim lighting you can still see the frown pulling his brows together, both eyes now open and studying you. You really don't want him to press any further. Even his voice brings back flashes of the dream, sultry whispers in your ear, his tongue lapping at your folds, the cry of his name from your mouth.

You swallow again, pushing the thoughts away.

"Really, I'm fine. Must have been a nightmare if it involved you anyway."

"Ouch." He holds his hands over his chest, collapsing back onto the mattress as though you wounded him, giving a long drawn out dramatic death rattle.

Pulling up the covers you throw them over his head with a laugh.

"Go back to sleep, Flyboy."

Laying back you shuffle as close to the edge as you can, putting as much distance as possible between you and the pilot. You wonder if it would be better for you to stay awake, just in case your dreams come back to haunt you. You absolutely wouldn't get away with saying his name a second time.

"It's okay you know," Poe speaks suddenly into the darkness as you lay rigid beside him. "If you were dreaming about me. I wouldn't mind."

You can't help but snort with laughter at that.

"You wouldn't mind if anyone dreams about you."

"True," Poe admits. You feel him shift and even though you can't see him, your eyes staring up at the ceiling, his gaze burns you.

"Let me rephrase. I'd like it if you dreamt about me." He continues.

When you don't turn to face him or grace him with an answer, you feel the shift of the mattress again as he lays back.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, and for once it sounds genuine, not a hint of playfulness in his tone. "I thought this would cheer you up. It's been a long week and you've just seemed so… I don't know. Not yourself, like you're bottling everything up. I figured maybe if you were thinking about how annoying I was, or making you laugh and fight with me, it would give you a bit of a distraction and an outlet, but I get it, maybe I took it too far, even if it is the truth."

It had been a long week, the longest in fact. While the mission itself had been a success, you had seen a lot of the First Order's destruction in the process, and it was worse than either of you had realised. You'd felt melancholy for days, the sights you've witnessed replaying in your mind. You hadn't noticed it much at the time, too lost in your own thoughts and angry that he was so loud that it was impossible to hear yourself think, but the more you think about it, the more you realise what he's been doing — trying to make you smile, keeping you distracted, making you focus on anything but what's happened. All you've done is complain to him about it.

Guilt twists hard in your stomach.

How typical of Poe to try and be helpful in the most unconventional way.

Part of you wants to reach for him, to cuddle him tight against you and thank him, to tell him you're here for him too if he needs someone. The other part keeps you rigidly pinned to the mattress, afraid to move in case so much as a finger brushes up against him, unsure if you can hold yourself back with the lingering memory of the dream.

"You mean the truth is that you really are worried I snore?" You ask, trying to break the unbearable tension.

His answer is the most serious he's sounded all day. There isn't a trace of humour, of teasing, just a tiredness, the kind that comes from pretending to smile all day, the kind that signals a surrender.

"No, I could live with that. I mean the dreaming part. I'd like it if you dreamt about me."

"Oh." You can't find anything else to say to that, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest you're sure even through his damaged ear he can hear it.

The ongoing silence suddenly feels heavy, like a crushing weight on your chest, the truth feels like lead in your belly. Poe hasn't made a single noise in a while but you get the distinct feeling he isn't asleep. You wonder if he's laying still too, muddling through his thoughts.

You can't take back your behaviour towards him but you can at least give him something in return.

"Poe?"

The response is instant, "Yeah?"

You take a breath, swallowing hard, your fingers twisting into the sheet at the edge of the bed, nervously gripping them.

"Every day," you whisper quietly.

"Huh?"

You feel a slight shift as he must turn to look at you.

You clear your throat, staring hard enough at the ceiling that your eyes start to burn, repeating yourself louder.

"I said every day. I lied earlier. It's not once or twice. I think about kissing you every day. I have for a while," you admit.

A sudden blinding light obscures your vision, making you cry out in surprise and squeeze your eyes shut against the sudden intrusion. Coloured lights flash behind your eyelids and you have to blink a few times in order to see anything.

When the room comes back into focus Poe is sitting bolt upright in the bed, staring down at you, the bedside lamp illuminating his head like a synthetic halo.

"You were dreaming about me!"

With a groan you grab the pillow and hold it over your own face, deciding if you can't smother him you could just smother yourself instead, which seems like the better option than actually having this conversation.

You feel the pillow tug back gently, but you hold fast, refusing to give it up.

"Come on, let go and talk to me. You've said it now." A grunt of effort and a hard tug on the pillow before Poe sighs. "I'm not going away so you're either going to suffocate or talk."

"Then I'll suffocate," you mumble into the pillow, already regretting saying anything.

"You know I can't hear you right? Come on." This time he tucks his fingers under yours and peels them off the pillow cover until it falls halfway off your face.

"Better," he smiles, letting go of your hands to remove it entirely. "Why are you hiding from me?"

"I don't want to see your smug smile about how right you are," you glare, trying to hide your embarrassment that you've blurted out exactly what you've been trying to conceal from him. Once more, Poe takes your attitude in his stride.

"I've thought about kissing you too, you know? In fact I've thought about kissing you at least four times since you woke me up." He gives a shrug, like you should know that, like it's completely utterly normal for someone to think about kissing you that many times in the space of ten minutes.

You bite your lip, familiar tendrils of desire reigniting in your belly. Your body, still clearly on edge from your illicit dream, thrums with tension.

"So why haven't you done it yet?"

Poe rolls his eyes, as though the answer is obvious. "Clearly I'm building up the sexual tension for it!"

You're done letting him have the upper hand in this. In a surge of confidence, and to stop the smug look on his face, you wrap your hand around the back of the pilot's neck, before you pull his lips to yours. You feel Poe's brief smile, probably of victory, against your mouth before he kisses you back.

It's soft at first, almost sweet tender kisses, short and playful, getting to know each other. He kisses your top and bottom lip, he gives you tiny pecks of affection, he licks playfully at your bottom lip.

Effortlessly he shifts his weight over you, slotting himself between your thighs as though you were made to fit together. His tongue licks into your mouth, slick and hot, sliding against your own as he presses his body against yours, your kisses descending into something much more passionate.

Maker, the rumours weren't wrong. He is good at this, better than good actually, infuriatingly good. You can't even find any fault to tease him about.

You tangle your fingers in his curls, tugging gently and causing the pilot to moan into your mouth. You give a shiver of desire at the sound, your mind filled with thoughts of how you can draw it from him in other ways. Poe's mind seems to be on a similar track, his hips grinding against yours, pressing himself against your core and causing you to let out a gasp of surprise at the jolt of pleasure.

Perhaps there was a little sexual tension after all.

The pilot pulls away, his chest heaving, eyes dark and lips kiss swollen, his curls messy and tousled from your fingers.

"Fuck, sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away so quickly," he apologises, swallowing hard as he clearly tries to get a handle on himself, holding his body off yours, allowing a brief respite for you both to collect yourselves.

"I don't mind getting carried away," you admit, still feeling feverish with his closeness, your mind filled with the fantasy of your dreams. You raise your hips, pressing up against his clothed length, making the pilot let out a choked moan of surprise before his eyes darken.

"Well in that case," he grins, recovering all too quickly. Desire coils in your belly and before you can drag his mouth back to yours, in true Poe fashion, he continues talking. "Why don't you tell me what I was doing in this dream of yours?"

You give him a coy smile. As if he's going to get it out of you that easily.

"Fulfilling my deepest fantasy," you answer as Poe licks his lips, eagerly leaning forward to listen.

"Oh yeah? What fantasy might that be?"

"You were quiet for a whole five minutes," you sigh dreamily. It takes a second to register with him before he leans back bursting out laughing. You can't help but start to giggle yourself.

"Okay, I deserved that!" He laughs. "My methods may be unorthodox, but they work!"

He was entirely correct in that him being his usual annoying self was exactly what you had needed as a distraction, although you're sure there were less annoying ways to achieve the same means.

"I don't know. I actually considered murdering you at least a few times. Maybe I still will, when you're fast asleep and least expecting it," you warn, running a finger along your throat in a playful threat.

Poe hums, leaning back down over you, caging you to the bed with his arms.

"What exactly makes you think either of us will be going back to sleep?"

Oh.

There's another rush of heat that tingles against your skin, shooting straight down to your aching core. It's not at all helped by the fact Poe leans down to capture your lips, his tongue slipping between your teeth as he moves one hand to grip your hip, sliding it slowly up your body and under your shirt to trail his fingers across your breast.

You moan into his mouth as he rolls your peaked nipple between his fingers, grinding yourself up against him, uncaring of whatever commentary he wants to make as long as you can deal with this rapidly intensifying desire.

When he finally pulls away once more it's hard to get your breath, especially as he continues to steal little kisses from you, his fingers still resting against your skin.

Bracing himself on one arm above you, the other slides down to tiptoe over your hip.

"Do I have your consent to remove these ugly pants?" He grins teasingly, pulling at the waistband of your shorts. They had seen better days in all fairness but you hadn't really considered anyone else seeing them.

"Hey, they aren't that bad! Not like you're the pinnacle of fashion." In retaliation you poke your finger through a hole in the leg of his threadbare sleep pants, making the pilot laugh.

"These are my lucky pants."

You can't help but snort with a roll of your eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard."

Poe raises one eyebrow, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

"They got you into my bed didn't they?"

You scoff, "The hotel management got me into this bed."

"You know what, you're right. Maybe I should go thank them now," Poe muses, his grin turning into a laugh as you wrap your arms around him, preventing him from leaving.

"Will you please just stop talking?" You laugh, wondering how much of the night is even left. You swear if the sun rises and you haven't resolved this, you will combust of need, and you will take the pilot out with you.

Poe raises his eyebrows.

"Well, I would, but you still haven't answered my original question."

You stare at him, trying to figure out what exactly he's talking about before you realise.

"For the love of… Yes Poe, I give you consent to do whatever you want to me as long as you stop dragging this out like a massive tease!"

The pilot lets out a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, a soft gesture in a stark contrast to what leaves his mouth, "dangerous words, sweetheart."

You almost shudder with the flash of desire that bolts through you, making sharp heat rush across your skin and your pussy clench.

"I need you to make me a promise first though," his fingers slip across your abdomen, resting just above the waistband of your pants. The feverish desire at his touch is overshadowed by annoyance that he's still talking. Maker, you swear he won't survive till sunrise.

"Po-

"I'm going to need you to be loud," he purrs in your ear, cutting you off as his hand slips under your waistband. "I don't want to miss a single noise you make."

Even if you wanted to be quiet, the pad of his finger slipping across your clit causes your body to react in a primal way, letting out an embarrassing loud moan for such a little touch.

Poe chuckles.

"Just like that." He praises, sliding his finger down further to dip into your entrance, letting out a soft groan of his own at how wet you are, before he drags it back up, spreading your slick over your aching clit and making you whine again. "Can you do that for me? Can you be loud enough?"

The best you can muster is a whimper as he slowly thrusts his finger knuckle deep into you.

"Nu-huh," Poe chides, "loud."

A second finger quickly joins the first, stretching your walls and filling you more than your own ever could. This time you arch your back off the bed, chasing the blissful feeling as a much louder groan tears itself from your throat.

"Better," Poe grins. "I heard that one."

You want to smother him, you want to kiss him, but most of all, despite his annoying little smug smile, you still desperately want to fuck him.

You decide on option two, at least for the moment, pulling his lips down to yours.

His tongue licks into your mouth as he thrusts his fingers inside you at a leisurely pace, swallowing each whine and moan you give at the pleasure skittering and coiling in you.

Poe curls his fingers, pressing up against that spot inside you, making you pull away from his kiss to throw your head back in pleasure, a loud groan of his name escaping. You're half expecting him to make some sort of cocky comment, but Poe seems as lost in this as you are. He drops his head to press open mouthed kisses across your neck, biting and sucking, marking and claiming you as his.

When he works a third finger into you, his thumb brushing against your clit, you come undone. Normally you would feel embarrassed about how loud you are, the way your body shudders and heaves, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers, but the shaky little fuck Poe groans in your ear, obliterates any notion of embarrassment.

As you come down from your high, your body still trembling from the aftershock, whining as he slips his fingers from you, you realise he's breathing almost as heavily as you are, his breath coming out in short pants as he looks you over.

"I need to fuck you," he growls, clearly struggling with his own needs.

You're already nodding before he gets halfway through his request. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants, you'll give it to him without hesitation.

He all but tears your pyjamas from you, making short work of removing them and throwing them across the room, before his join the unceremonious pile on the floor.

This time you allow yourself to look, you allow yourself to take in his broad chest, the little scars crisscrossed with a larger one, old and new, your gaze trailing down across his abdomen to the line of hair that guides your eyes down to -

"Are you done admiring?" Poe's amused tone makes your eyes snap back up to his, your face growing warm with embarrassment that you've been caught staring, although you know he has probably done exactly the same to you.

"I don't know about admiring," you shrug as though your pussy isn't pulsing at the thought of him burying his cock deep inside you. "Think the resistance needs to re-evaluate their best looking pilot status."

Poe simply grins at you, seeing through your nonchalance all too clearly.

"Good to know you like what you see. Tell me, how wet did it make you to see me earlier, all soaked and shirtless?"

"Didn't," is all you are able to punch out as he leans down, pressing his body against yours, rolling his hips just slightly so his hard cock brushes against your slick folds, holding himself at your entrance like the tease he is.

"Really?" He smirks, "Somehow I think you are lying. But alright, I'll get the truth out of you, one way or another." The threat gives you a rush of excitement, wondering exactly how he's going to do that. Not that you're going to let him know that so easily.

"Are you going to keep talking or are we going to-" your question cuts off into a gasp of pleasure as he presses himself inside you, slowly, so you can feel every vein and ridge as he stretches your walls.

"Are we going to what?" He grins.

You slap his arm in reply but there's no power behind it, you're too busy concentrating on the wet noise as he pulls out of you before slowly pressing back in, making you whimper in need. The first time your pussy clenches around him it's involuntary, the second time it's just to enjoy the little groan the action draws from the pilot.

"Stop," he warns, his head dropping to your shoulder, clearly trying to steady his breathing as you clench around him a third time, just for fun. "Taking it slow."

"You don't have to take it slow," you assure him. For a moment you think it's sweet he's considering your comfort but you're more than ready for this.

"I want to," he grits as you clench around him again. The tone of his voice lets you know he's digging his stubborn heels in and nothing will change his mind. Even so you need more than he's offering. This has gone on too long, the tension is too much, the need drumming through your veins screams to be sated.

You whine, you beg, you plead, you drag your nails along his back and arch your hips against him, but he doesn't give. He rocks into you slowly, achingly slowly, maddeningly slowly, and for all your initial protests you enjoy every second of it.

The pleasure builds just as slow, each roll of his hips winding the cord tighter and tighter until you're sure you can't take any more, and then it pulls further. You can't do anything but surrender to the bliss it offers, raising your hips to meet his in the hopes his resolve will eventually break.

"You're incredible you know?" He pants against your mouth, sweat beading at his hairline, his curls sticking to his forehead, his eyes hooded and glazed. "Not just at this, but this too."

All you can do is stare at him, somewhat dazed, wondering how he's even thinking in coherent sentences right now, let alone speaking them. Somewhere your subconscious registers his words and it accompanies a host of butterflies in your belly.

"Just you, exactly as you are. You are incredible," he repeats, only this time it comes with a much harder thrust. You arch against him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your head drops back against the pillows.

"Poe, please," you beg, unsure if you are able to take much more. Clearly neither can he, his name on your lips undoing his patience. He wraps his fingers around your thigh, hoisting your leg up over his hip as he sinks deeper into you, picking up the pace.

His hips slam into yours, filling the room with the sound of flesh on flesh, accompanied only by his curses and praises that fall freely and loudly. For all his requests for you to be loud the pilot's own moans are enough to drown yours out.

Working a hand between your bodies you press a finger to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the hardened nub as Poe angles his hips, pressing up against the blissful spot inside you. Your whole body almost arches up off the bed with the combined pleasure catapulting through you, an almost screamed curse fighting its way out of your throat.

Poe groans low and shakily, barely holding his own climax back, his thrusts becoming messy and mistimed.

"That's it baby. Fuck wanna feel you cum, wanna hear you," he groans, completely wrecked.

That's all it takes. Your orgasm hits suddenly and brightly, your whole body writhing and stiffening as the pleasure overtakes you, coursing through your veins like lava, making your vision go white as you tremble through it. Poe had wanted to hear you, but the purely feral noise you let out, you wouldn't be surprised if the whole damn hotel heard you. You're sure Poe would probably enjoy it if they did.

It's almost too much for your oversensitive body to feel Poe thrusting into you faster and harder, chasing his own end, babbled curses and praises falling from his lips. You shake with overstimulation when his hips stutter, emptying himself deep inside you, your nails leaving crescent moons on his shoulders as you cling desperately to him, your thighs trembling, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Poe half collapses on you, letting your leg down slowly as he presses soft kisses to your neck, against every love bite he's given you in the heat of the moment. You suspect there may be quite a few questions when you get back to the base tomorrow. Turning your head you press a soft kiss to his cheek, making him lean up to look at you.

"Better than you dreamt?" He grins, still flushed and panting.

"I didn't dream about that," you giggle breathlessly, shaking limbs melting into the mattress, sated and tired. Poe raises his eyebrows, letting out a thoughtful hum before he suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper and immediately miss the feeling of him inside you.

Shuffling down your body he presses a soft kiss between your breasts. You frown at him, confused by his sudden movement and how he still has so much energy. How is it you're a wrecked mess and he's still acting like he can go another ten rounds? Why can't he just be still for one second?

Another kiss to your ribs, first the right side, then the left, moving slowly down, before he pauses, looking up through his lashes at you.

"You didn't dream about us making love?"

You go to make fun of his choice of language but before you have a chance he licks a hot stripe down to your naval, making your breath catch with the sudden rush of pleasure. You're starting to question if he's able to read your thoughts, if he knows the truth of your dream already. Perhaps you had said more than just his name in your sleep?

"Nope, not about us," you breathe unsteadily, trying to hold yourself back from begging anything from him again. You suspect you know what's coming next and honestly, you're not sure if your body is able to handle it, barely over your first two climaxes. Still you weren't about to give in to his questions, he'd never shut up if you admit it. "Told you, I wasn't dreaming about you."

"You are a terrible liar," Poe states, his hands gripping your thighs, pushing them apart. The rush of cold air against your heated flesh makes you gasp and the pilot smirks, his eyes flickering down to your swollen cunt, leaking with your combined climax before coming back to you, a devilish grin taking over his face.

"'Whatever I want to do to you' still stand?" He asks.

All you can do is nod mutely, a fresh wave of need building despite your exhaustion.

"Good," Poe grins, pinning your thighs to the mattress, preventing you from moving. "Because I'm going to get the truth out of you my way."

He does exactly that. He drags the truth out of you to every question he wants answered and more, twice with his mouth, then again with his cock, reducing you to a babbling trembling mess, willing to tell him whatever he wanted to know, and he's infuriatingly smug about it.

~

Poe had been surprisingly tender afterwards. He'd carefully cleaned you up, brought you a glass of water, massaged your sore muscles, before he'd finally pulled you into his arms, holding you close against him.

Of course you had known Poe was kind, of course you knew he took care of the people he was close to, even those who only spent the night with him. There were enough stories around the base to give you a general idea of that, but for some reason you can't place this felt different, it felt intimate.

What surprised you more than anything was how quiet he was now. Appart from a few murmured words about how good you had been for him, and to check you were alright, he hadn't said much at all. It was almost unnerving after his behaviour all day. Really if you had known this would have shut him up you might have jumped on him hours ago. But now, the silence seems worrying.

"You okay?" You ask, your head still against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as his fingers draw mindless patterns against your back.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I was just thinking…maybe we can do this again? Sometime soon? Be in the same bed I mean." The pilot asks. He doesn't sound like the cocky confident Flyboy you're expecting. If anything he sounds a little unsure of his own question.

You won't give him the satisfaction of the enthusiastic yes that tries to escape. The last thing you want out of this night is to become some regular casual hook-up. Poe wasn't exactly known for keeping long term relationships, citing the fact it was too difficult during the middle of a war, which you suppose you could understand. He was at least always very clear about that with whoever he got involved with.

Equally you don't want to say no. You want this, him. You want the moments of passion and quiet, you want the teasing and fights, you want more in whatever way you can.

In the end you go for the middle ground, giving him an option of more, while closely guarding yourself against this being a casual fuck.

"Hmm, suppose if you buy me dinner first then I might consider it. I don't make a habit of sleeping with people without dates."

It's disarmingly sweet when he presses a soft kiss to your head, tightening his arm around you. Your chest aches all the more for moments like this.

"Alright. A date it is." You can hear the smile in his voice, sleepy and happy.

You didn't exactly expect him to agree to that so easily, and while it gives you a flutter of hope, you don't quite trust he catches your meaning.

"I said I'd consider, I didn't say I'd agree. I might have other options," you warn, trying to get him to consider what he wants you to be to him.

Poe lets out a soft chuckle.

"You say that like your pretending it wasn't the best fuck of your life, and you're desperate to do it again."

You lean up on your arm to look at him, raising an eyebrow and fixing him with an unimpressed look at his cockyness.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenges confidently, "because if I am, then I'm just going to have to keep trying. The aim is to make you fall hopelessly in love with me eventually."

"Through sex?" You laugh, ignoring the now familiar butterflies that tell you he might be closer to his aim than he knows.

Poe shrugs, "through whatever necessary means, as long as I get to keep you as mine."

It's almost a knee jerk reaction to open your mouth and tell him you aren't a pet or property to be owned, but as you meet his gaze you realise you are once more judging him a little too quickly and all too harshly. It's clear he means more than that, his gaze open and vulnerable.

A warm feeling of familiarity, of safety, of something bigger, spreads through your very bones, something that shows there is much more than lust and affection, perhaps for both of you.

Your response is much softer than your initial reaction might have been, had you not taken a moment.

"Take me to dinner tomorrow then?"

"I think tomorrow might be today," Poe smiles, nodding towards the window where the faint pink light of dawn is starting to peek through the drawn blinds. You groan knowing sunrise both means you really should untangle yourself from the pilot and head back to base.

"Well honestly I think I've had enough of you for one day." You tease, pushing yourself off him and sitting up, debating if you can handle another cold shower. In all honesty a cold shower is probably exactly what you need after you make the mistake of glancing down at Poe, still naked, the sheet barely covering his more private parts, his curls messy from your fingers, peering up at you with a half smile.

"We both know you can never get enough of me," Poe states, before he wraps his arms around you and drags you back down onto the bed. He throws one leg over yours, effectively trapping you next to him as he snuggles up close to you.

You don't bother fighting, too tired from the night's activity to argue your way out of his grip. Sighing you sink into the bed, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

"I knew this would work," Poe hums happily in your ear. You mumble enough of a sound to make him realise you're asking what he means.

"Getting you in a hotel room with me would make you admit you wanted me."

You give another tired hum in acknowledgement before his words finally hit you, and you sit up to stare at him, suddenly wide awake. Poe grins back at you, knowing exactly what you are thinking.

"Tell me this was not some plan to get me into bed!"

Poe feigns a comedic shocked expression, holding one hand to his chest as he stares open mouthed at you.

"Of course not! What do you think of me? Why is your opinion of me is so low that you think I'd go as far to break the ship engine, so we'd be stuck here alone, find the busiest hotel on this planet, specifically book one room knowing the others would be booked already by the time we got here, ask for the smallest bed-"

He doesn't get to continue. Picking up the pillow you repeatedly hit him hard with it while Poe laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I'm joking. I'm joking, I swear," he laughs, grabbing his own pillow and hitting you back. "I'd never purposely break a ship."

"You manipulative little shit,"

Neither of you surrender until the bed is covered with feathers, the pillowcases empty and discarded, your limbs tangled together, lips pressed against sweat salted skin. This time it's you who pries the truth from him, your way.

"My methods may be unorthodox but -" he gets no further before you smack him in the face with your pillow, causing him to dissolve into laughter once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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The other side of the bed’s cold, your hand swipes across the empty space in search of the warmth that is normally there. Your sleep-addled mind pauses to think—had your boyfriend even come to bed? What time was it? Is that noise in your head? Slowly, you pull yourself up from the warm cocoon of the duvet and your hands rub at your face in an attempt to erase the sleep that still clings to you. Blinking a few times you try to adjust your eyes to being open again as your hands fall into your lap. You can just make out some light in between the gaps in the bookshelf that separates the bed from the rest of the room. Your tired eyes look to his side of the bed again, still empty and the alarm clock shines the time a little too brightly, 6:22am. Reluctantly you move your stiff legs, pushing the warm duvet off of them and whining a little as the cold air in the flat hits them. You pull yourself out of the bed, immediately grabbing the blanket from the end of the mattress to wrap around yourself. The noise you’d heard becomes clearer now, it sounds like someone talking but it’s fast and all mushes together in your head. You take steps toward it, rounding the bookshelf to find exactly what you were missing.

“Hey,” Marc’s voice comes out in a whisper and he sits up the second his eyes clock you, his hand reaching for the tv remote immediately. The volume goes down with each push of the button, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You keep taking slow steps towards him, passing in front of the tv and going around the coffee table until you reach the couch.

“Are you okay?” You completely disregard his question in favour of asking your own as you sit next to him, he nods whispering out a yeah and so you move your body to lay down, placing your head in his lap.

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” you look up at him as he speaks. One of his hands comes to rest on top of your head, “plus there’s a race on.” He looks back to the tv and you follow his gaze, twisting until you lie completely on your side.

“What’s a red flag?” Your head turns so you can look at him again briefly, a little smile graces his face and then you go back to staring at the screen, trying to understand why in the middle of a race none of the cars are moving.

“One of the drivers went into the barrier and they have to stop the race to clean it up before they continue. It just means it’s not safe for anyone to be on the track,” Marc explains it so gently, no annoyance or condescension crosses his tone for your lack of knowing.

“Are they okay?” There’s a slight hint of worry and you almost sound like a scared child.

“Yeah sweetheart, look, that's Albon there.” He points towards the screen and you watch as it briefly shows a young-looking guy speaking with someone else, “it was his car that hit the barrier but he got out of it straight away.”

For a minute it’s quiet, you both just watch the screen as it shows different people. Marc had turned the volume up a bit and you could make out what the commentators were saying now they’d slowed down their talking. Without any prompting, Marc starts to quietly tell you who everyone is every time the picture changes to someone new. He shares little pieces of knowledge with every name and you find listening to him soothing. You knew he sometimes watched these races but you’d never really taken the time to sit down and watch one with him. You’re starting to regret never doing it before, you’d been missing out on this beautiful opportunity to get to know his interests better.

Ultimately, though that tiredness still clings to your mind and the way his voice is quietly lulling you makes you think of the times when Steven reads you to sleep. Just as the race starts up again, your eyes begin to feel heavy, the blinks start getting slower and longer. You’re unsure if Marc’s noticed because he keeps calmly explaining what’s happening as it happens. His fingers had absentmindedly started rubbing circles into your scalp which was not helping the way you were quickly slipping back into your sleeping state. The tv eventually disappears, and your eyes are finally sealed shut again but some conscious part of your brain can still make out the race commentary in the background alongside Marc’s soothing voice.

The next thing you know it’s daylight, the sun shines brightly through the uncovered windows. It hurts your eyes when they open and instinctively you turn your body away from it, glad when you’re met with darkness. You comfortably bury your face into the warmth of Marc’s stomach while trying your best to stretch your stiff limbs without really putting much effort into it. You take in a deep breath before just relaxing for a moment. Your mind slowly wakes as you lay there, coherent thoughts begin to form and you start to feel more awake with each passing second. You could’ve sworn you’d only been asleep for a few minutes. The tv is still making quiet noise in the background and you can feel Marc taking slow deep breaths.

Once your brain has managed to come back to some semblance of consciousness, you slowly pull yourself to sit up on the couch. The sight you’re met with makes your heart melt it doesn’t matter how many times you wake up next to him, each time feels like the first. He looks so peaceful, his head propped on his fist that leans on the arm of the couch. Eyes closed, hair sticking around every which way and lips slightly parted. You admire him for a minute before you think about how much his neck is going to hurt after sleeping in this position. As slowly as you can you twist yourself around again and stand, taking a second for your brain to catch up with your body’s movements. Then gently you tuck your hands under his knees, pulling on the deadweight and turning them to rest on the couch. All the movement rouses Marc from his sleep, the top half of his body reluctantly following the bottom with a grumble.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep.” Quietly you shush him as he continues to wiggle around until he’s settled down on the couch where you were just laying. The crease in his eyebrow slowly relaxes as your fingers comb through his hair, you’re crouched next to him trying to push him back into his little slumber. A long sigh comes from deep within his chest and you just know he’s back in dreamland. With a gentle kiss to his temple, you stand again, grabbing the blanket that had fallen to the floor at some point and draping it over his body. Satisfied with how much more comfortable he looks now you go to pull yourself away to shower and maybe start on breakfast—or maybe brunch at this point, but a hand grazes your leg.

“Stay,” the mumble of a plea falls past his lips as his hand blindly searches for yours. Without a second thought, you give in, encouraging him to lift his head so you can slip back onto the couch. Thoughts of how good a shower would be right now or of what to cook to rid the rumble in your stomach disappear completely. Now you sit with Marc’s head in your lap, mirroring the exact position you’d both been in just moments prior. You take a long moment to just watch him, the way he nuzzles his head into your thighs and how relaxed he looks for a change. Then you’re thinking about how happy he makes you. How lucky you feel to be a part of this moment and how you only ever want to be right here with him, always.

You’re only an hour into the flight but you’re already so uncomfortable. You’ve been squirming around in your seat for like 20 minutes now, unable to find a comfortable position in the narrow plane seat. You’ve tried everything and the combination of being uncomfortable and over tired is not a good one. 

A slightly grumpy Jake sits next to you, unhappy about having the middle seat and especially unhappy with the way the guy sitting next to him had been eyeing you up as you got into your seat. He sat with his arms crossed, earphones in to try and distract him from the screaming child a few rows back. Flying was definitely not his favourite activity and he’s growing more annoyed by the second. The morning had not gone as smoothly as planned, what with the long airport lines and the stressful environment causing more switches between the alters, Jake was absolutely exhausted. He just wanted to be at your destination already and the more he wants that, the longer it seems to take. 

Jake’s annoyance especially grows when you keep accidentally nudging him each time you move around. He knows he shouldn’t be frustrated with you, that you’re probably just as uncomfortable as he is. So, he lets his grumpiness falter for a moment, pulling up the armrest between you and he mutters your name quietly. Instantly, you look at him with apologetic eyes thinking you’ve nudged him one too many times and he’s going to scold you like a child but to your surprise, he doesn’t. Jake simply lifts his arm, motioning for you to come closer and you do, cuddling into his side immediately and finding some slim form of comfort you had been craving. His arm rests around your shoulders, firmly holding you close to him while the other reaches for one of his earphones. He offers you the earphone even though it now means he can clearly hear the child crying while its mother tries her hardest to soothe it and you gladly accept it, slipping it into your ear and resting your head back against Jake’s shoulder. 

Gently you reach for his free arm, slipping his hand into yours and absentmindedly tracing the lines on his hand. Jake actually manages to crack a smile, even though he’s partly given up his own comforts he’s happy that he’s the one that’s able to make you comfortable. 

You jump out of your skin as your phone rings out loudly in the kitchen, your heart thumps in your chest and your body tingles all over. It rings once, then twice before you pick it up to answer. “Hello?” You receive no response but there’s a quiet electric hum coming through the speaker so you repeat yourself. Just as you consider hanging up a voice sounds, a hello followed by your name. The voice is unrecognisable, it’s croaky and robotic and it only adds to the drumming in your chest. “Um, hello. Who is this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You roll your eyes, sitting yourself in one of the dining chairs.

“Well, you know my name so I think it’s only fair I know yours.” You counter, tilting your head to the side as if the mystery caller could see you.

“What’s not fair is a pretty girl like you being home all alone.” Your heart drops at those words, eyes instantly darting around to the back door to your yard and then to the kitchen window above the sink. A maniacal chuckle comes through the speaker and you can feel your body tremble. “Did you think I would just knock?” You don’t even get a chance to respond because suddenly, there’s a blaring sound coming from the living room. You drop the phone on the table, hands coming up to cover your ears and you run toward the deafening noise. The tv plays some old news clip about a group of teenagers who were mysteriously found murdered. You fumble around throwing pillows and blankets off of the couch until you find the remote, shutting off the television immediately. You let out a deep breath, feeling disoriented by the loud noise and fast-moving.

“Very funny Rio. The plan wasn’t to burst my eardrums.” You call out into the room then you hear your phone ring loudly again and your whole body jumps and the remote goes clattering to the floor. With quick steps you move back to the kitchen, grab the device and answer.

“Do you like scary movies?”

“No. Now, who is this?” You continue to play along with Rio’s little game. A silly idea she’d proposed to you after a spooky movie night. A night that you spent curled into her side jumping at every little scare.

“Oh, why not? Are you scared?”

“No.”

A door slams and a short scream escapes you. It’s just the wind you tell yourself as your heart continues to race. The voice on the phone laughs again and you think for a second that you hear the laugh coming from upstairs.

“I thought you weren’t scared.”

“Why are you doing this?” You’re met with silence and then the line goes dead. You look at your phone confirming that the call is no more and then there it is, the sound of slow deliberate footsteps coming from directly above you. Everything in you tells you to run but your feet seem to have a mind of their own as your body moves toward the stairs. You stand at the bottom peering up into the darkness and that’s when you hear a slow call of your name but you can’t tell where it’s coming from. It seems to bounce around the house, not revealing the place of origin. A sound almost like nails on a chalkboard pierces your ears sending ripples down your spine. Then suddenly, there’s a pounding coming from your front door and a muffled raised voice slips through the cracks. Perplexed, you rush to the door and swing it open to reveal your neighbour, Agatha. Her face splattered with what looked like blood and a tinge of fear washes over you. She shoves you aside and slams the door shut, bolting it and leaning her head against the wood while she huffs and pants.

“Agatha?! What happened to you? Is that blood? Are you okay?” Your chest feels like it’s going to explode from the thumping of your heart.

“She’s gone crazy. She tried to kill me so I had to…” Agatha turns to you, a crazed look in her eyes, “You’ve got to believe me. It was self-defence!”

“A-Agatha, what happened?” Agatha’s movements are frantic, her hands smearing blood across her face. Fear washes over you and before Agatha can utter another word you both hear a door creak, it’s the familiar creak of your back door and your head immediately snaps around to the source of the sound. But you can’t see the door and suddenly there's a hand over your mouth, muffling a surprised yelp.

“Uh oh, looks like I didn’t finish the job.” Agatha whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, “Better run and hide bunny.” Her hand drops from your mouth and slowly you turn to face her, a sinister smile etched on her face. You’re moving before you can even register, had Rio brought Agatha in on her little game to really sell it? Haphazardly you climb the stairs, tripping on a couple of steps in the process. You can’t hear any movement behind you but you don’t stop moving. Your mind races trying to think of a good hiding place but your feet carry you to the one place you feel the safest, your bedroom. Your eyes search for a place to hide and you pick the only reasonable option even if it is the obvious one. You rip open the closet doors and practically throw yourself into the corner, you’re hugging your knees and trying your best to calm your racing heart and mind. There’s a tiny crack where the doors meet and you can just make out the bedroom door. The only sound you can hear is the blood pumping in your ears, no footsteps or doors opening. The wait is agonizing, it feels like you’ve been there too long for nothing to have happened by now so you pluck up the courage to get up. Maybe Rio wanted more of a chase? You try to be quiet, opening the closet just slightly and peeking into the bedroom. Nothing, it’s empty. So, you emerge from the closet and slowly you take steps toward the bedroom door. Your hand just rests on the doorknob but you’re jolted away from it when two hands are suddenly grabbing you. You scream as you're dragged backwards before a hand is slapped over your mouth to muffle the noise. The unknown strength uncaringly throws you onto the bed like a rag doll and your eyes go wide when you see the dark cloaked figure with that ghost white mask. Then they’re on you before you can get away but you struggle against their iron grip, wriggling as the masked figure pins your hands above your head. You cry out, not stopping until you feel cold metal press against your neck and you finally stare into the black eyes of the mask. Their head tilts as if they’re scanning your face, watching your expression as the knife presses harder and causes a searing hot pain to develop on your skin. Your eyes shut tightly and sting with tears, and then the blade is suddenly gone and your eyes shoot open to see the knife raised in the air and without warning it begins coming toward you. There’s a genuine fear coursing through your veins as you expect a sharp pain but instead, the knife is buried in the pillow right by your head. You flinch, your head turning to see a familiar green dimpled handle.

“That wasn’t funny Rio.” Your eyes are watery and you move your body in an effort to push her off but she doesn’t budge. “How did you get in here without me seeing you?” Your head tilts a fraction but still you get no audible reply. “Did you cheat? We said no magic.” Your chest still rises and falls quickly and the lack of response is startling you. The black voids of the mask stare back at you, your eyes move to watch as their free hand reveals a small bundle of rope. You don’t resist it when the cloaked figure loops the rope around your wrists, pulling tightly on purpose to ensure there will be marks tomorrow. You wince as they pull and tug at your limbs until they’re wound together and secured to the headboard.

“Oh no, please don’t kill me.” You whine, hoping that playing along with Rio’s fantasy will elicit a response. It’s not the response you hoped for but you watch as she wraps her gloved fingers around the blade once again. Your eyes flutter closed when she places the tip on your cheek and you feel it graze down your skin, nipping at the collar of your shirt and trailing down further. Once it reaches your waist she pauses and your eyes open to see why. In an instant, the knife expertly slips under your pants and you take in a sharp breath as the blade slices through the material like butter. Your eyes flicker between the cut in the fabric and the mask. It’s almost like you can feel the grin that burns through the mask. The knife is suddenly thrust back into the pillow by your head and you flinch again, letting out a shaky breath. Her hands are back on you; first starting by cupping your face, their head tilting to study you. Then her hands move down, trailing along your neck and slowing to brush over your breasts which you instinctively push up into. She momentarily halts her movements when you do that, then her hands press harder making sure her fingers fan across your covered nipples. Your mouth falls open with a sharp inhale and your hips buck upward. Her hands fall away from your breasts and move down your stomach, this time her fingers dig into your flesh until she reaches the tear in your pants. She makes sure to ghost a finger down the newly exposed skin where the fabric falls away. Then she’s tearing at the material, wanting to expose more of you. It doesn’t take long for there to be nothing but tatters left on your legs. Your skin is left red and sore from the yanking and rubbing of the fabric. You squirm as you try to reposition yourself into a more comfortable position and use it as a way to hide your now bare pussy but it’s impossible as your cloaked figure kneels between your legs forcing them open. You keep pushing against their grip but when one of their hands disappears under their cloak you grow curious. She pulls her cloak up to expose a thick purple strap secured tightly around her waist and you swear you begin to drool at the sight. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea if it meant Rio bought you such a nice new toy to play with. You seem to back down and become relaxed as her grip on your thigh grows, her nails digging in to add a sharp sting. Your breathing picks up when slowly she towers over you again, your eyes locking back onto the mask. She hovers above you, one hand now at the side of your head to hold her up and the other moves the tip of her strap through your folds. Your body shudders at the touch and you fight to keep your eyes open. Then with no further warning, she pushes into you and a scream escapes you as the stretch stings and your hands tug against your confides repeatedly. Your eyes prickle with tears but it only seems to spur her on. She straightens up so she can thrust rapidly until your screams turn into gasps and moans that seem to build more when her covered thumb presses down on your clit. The jilting of your bodies causes enough friction that she doesn’t even need to move the digit. Your eyes seem to roll back as she continues on her rough pursuit, her palm pushing down on the bulge she creates while driving her cock into your abused hole over and over until you're on the edge of cumming. 

“Well one of us is going to have to change.” Your eyes shoot open at the sound of your girlfriend's voice, it sounds further away than you think it should be and you’re confused by the sentence. But the pounding continues and you’re still panting when you see Rio standing by the bedroom door dressed in a black cloak and holding an identical white ghost mask. You’re completely disoriented at this point, if Rio is standing there then who is towering above you still thrusting their cock into you as your girlfriend watches.

“You couldn’t have let the sweet girl cum before you interrupted?” A muffled voice grunts from under the mask, then their hand raises to pull off the mask. “Hi sugar,” that sweet neighbourly voice rings in your ears as she grins down at you.

“A-Agatha?” Your question draws out as a string of moans tumbles out of your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut again as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Both of Agatha’s hands had shifted to your hips, aggressively tugging them to meet her thrusts as she watched your orgasm overtake your body. Your back is arched and your toes curled as she forced her strap into you again and again until you were over-sensitive and crying out. Her thrusts eventually come to a stop, her cock still buried deep inside you as you clench and squirm. You flinch when a gentle hand touches your face, your eyes open to see Rio standing by the bed now. She smiles down at you, a hint of pride in her expression.

“Angel,” the sweet pet name rolls off her tongue like honey but then she’s squeezing your face between her fingers and a dark look washes over her face, “you can’t be making all that noise.” You blink up at her, still keenly aware of Agatha’s presence between your thighs. “What if the neighbours complain?” A wicked grin breaks out on Rio’s face as she looks up at Agatha who mirrors her expression. “We’ll just have to find a way to keep you quiet huh?”

“I can think of one.” Agatha remarks quickly and Rio’s fingers release their grip on your face. Rio hums as if in thought, trying to play off like they haven’t already orchestrated this whole thing to go a certain way.

“I like your thinking, Aggie. Why don’t I sit on that pretty little face while you have your way with her again and again until she just can’t take it.” You seem at a loss for words as you just watch your beautiful girlfriend climb onto the bed. She kneels beside you for a moment to share in an exchange with Agatha, the pair holding one another’s face for just a brief moment before Rio moves again. She straddles your chest and you wriggle slightly, momentarily forgetting that Agatha’s strap is still stretching your sensitive hole. A whine falls from your lips and Rio tuts. “You’re such a pretty girl, it’s a shame you just can’t keep quiet.” Her condescending tone floats through the air as she hikes up the black fabric that drapes her body to reveal her bare pussy just inches from your face. She slips a hand into your hair as she pulls herself forward. She tugs your head up and sinks her wet folds down onto your face, your mouth instinctively opens and your tongue gathers her familiar taste. Immediately she begins rocking her hips back and forth and your eyes fall closed as she uses you for her own pleasure. A sharp moan vibrates against her core as Agatha begins to move inside of you again and Rio’s grip on your hair tightens. “Do that again.” You’re not sure if she’s growling at you or Agatha at that point but you both seem to respond as Agatha fluidly starts thrusting into you again and a flurry of moans vibrates against Rio’s clit. “Fuck!” She cries out, now arguably she is becoming louder than you were but no one is sitting on her face. Your tongue continues to lick and prod at her, trying your hardest to make her cum. Your eyes open to see her head thrown back as her hips move in time with Agatha’s and you’re not sure whether it’s the lack of oxygen or the second orgasm washing over you that prickles your vision. You look up at Rio’s blissed-out face, seeing black spots as your hips thrash around while Agatha relentlessly continues to hammer into you. Wave after wave of pleasure hits you again and again until your mind is completely gone.

“Oh now you’ve gone and killed the poor sweet thing.” Agatha’s echoey voice whirls around your head.

“Don’t worry, she’ll come around.” You can feel a soft hand holding your face and an arm secured around your shoulders. “Look there she is,” Rio’s voice seems to pull you back as your eyes slowly blink open, “hi sweetheart.” A weak smile stretches out on your face as you curl your tired body inward, snuggling closer into Rio’s arms.

Your hands had somehow been freed and now you were curled up in the bed with Rio next to you and another presence close by.

“What-what happened?” Your weak, croaky voice comes out and your throat feels dry.

“Don’t worry angel. Why don’t we just get you cleaned up and in bed huh?” Your mind is fuzzy and your entire body aches but you feel a buzz running through your veins.

“Did I do a good job?” Your question comes out small and you hear a duet of giggles before Agatha closes in to press a kiss to your temple and she softly speaks.

“A good job? Baby, you’re gonna be in the sequel.”