NATALIE PORTMAN As PADMÉ AMIDALA STAR WARS: REVENGE OF THE SITH (2005)

Wrecker: I turned out perfectly fine! Echo: Wrecker, this morning you thought a ghost made your toast Wrecker: I DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN! YOU DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN!!!

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Black moonstone-patchouli-chime candle 🖤

Thank you for asking! Let's get this lovely chime candle, and roll it in Patchouli pieces and then melt the bottom and settle it on the black moonstone...

Let's see what kind of spell this creates! 💜

Warnings: Wrecker is adorable, reader is a jedi. Verbal prompt is in blue. This is the one bed trope. Wrecker thinks close contact laying with a jedi (such as cuddles or sleeping next to one) will get them kicked from the order - its Crosshair's fault.

A spell for warmth and protection

Wrecker x reader

You usually didn't go with the batch on missions. Usually, you'd meet the squad of essentric commandos at the location designated for your joint mission then continue from there. Even on the mission you rarely stuck right next to them, opting to camp at the far side of their encircling bedrolls and tents. There was no real reason for it - it was just what you had always done. You'd never though much past such a fact...until tonight-

You stared at the hotel bed before you, pain still shooting through your side from where the blaster bolt had struck you. Beside you, the biggest of the four towered as he too looked at the singular bed

"Ah...I....I can sleep on the floor" he dragged out with a touch of embaressment in his tone

"That's not fair" you sighed

"You're hurt" he insisted

"You're hurt more" you countered, gesturing to the binded bandages across his torso - some peeking from between his armour

Wrecker huffed, a childish looking pout crossing his features as he tried to think of another point to make

"This is nonsense" you shook your head and turned your gaze back to the offending furniture.

It wasn't a nice bed by any means, but would do the job for the night and appeared relatively clean. And it was definitely bigger than you needed - probably bigger than Wrecker was used to as well.

"I can call Hunter, he can fi-"

"We're not exactly on home turf here" you pointed out softly

Wrecker deflated a bit at the reminder.

"Right...getting the staff mad will cause a scene we cant afford..." the commando mumbled with his ever growing pout

"We're both adults..." you sat down on the mattress then patted the other side of the bed "we can sleep in the one bed"

"Together..." Wrecker's tone questioned your idea, though he still did as you non-verbally asked and rounded to the other side

"Yes" you nodded

"It...won't get you in trouble...right?" he asked as he settled himself down, the mattress shifting with his weight

"In trouble..." you mused in confusion "Why would it get me in trouble?"

"Well..." he nervously chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck instinctually but winced as it pulled at tender muscles "C-Cross said that Jedi can't touch clones at bedtime - that's why you never sleep with us"

You couldn't help the silly grin that pulled at your cheeks

"He said that?"

"Yeah!" Wrecker nodded "Said the teachin's why you won't fly with us either...!"

You let out a soft snort at the idea

"...he lied, didn't he...?" the large clone groaned, putting a hand to his face "I knew it sounded like...well not right!"

You swiveled in your spot beside him and began tugging softly at the latches of his armour

"There's no rules against where I sleep, with whom I sleep next to or whom I fly with" you explained as you continued

Wrecker let you undo his armour, piece by piece, glad to have it off him and set to the side.

Your gaze quickly tracked the wounds across his chest whre bacta had been applied - as each location had darkened the bandages.

"So why not?"

"huh?" you blinked, tilting your gaze up to meet his

"Why didn't you?"

You could see the confusion and vague hurt eminating from his form at the idea you willingly wouldn't join him and his brothers.

"I...just didn't" you shrugged, the question leaving you void of an answer for him

"But its dangerous!" he protested "I know you have the saber and the force..." he wiggled his fingers as if that is what made the force work "but!"

You watched as he paused and glanced at his lap, looking sheepish

"But...?"

"Well, I was worried...'bout you" Wrecker confessed softly "Every time..."

Wrecker peeked at you, then grabbed the hem of your robe - not daring to formally grab at you during such a vulnerable exchange but seeking that physical connection as he always did.

"Every time you didn't come with us, i'd worry about you. I'd peek out of my tent just to make sure you were right where i saw you had bene when you went to bed. I tried to stay close as i could...but I didn't want to get you in trouble - or make you uncomfortable"

You could feel your chest grow warm as your heart swelled at his sweet admissions and caring nature.

"Thank you" you whispered as you felt heat gather in your cheeks

"Ahw...it's...it's nothin'" he mumbled looking embaressed

You peeked at his crude bandages then fished out the spare aid kit you kept with you

"Alright, let me take better care of those wounds" you resettled beside him and reached for the first bandage's tie

"Uh...its alright" The sweet commando insisted "Really, I've survived worse"

You gave him a look

"Wrecker, whether you have or not isn't in question. The fact is, I can't just let you stew in barely dressed wounds. I may not be a healer - but I know how to clean and dress injuries..."

Wrecker fussed a bit but inevitably let you take care of him. Let you delicately pry the bandages from his blacks and gingerly over the holes that exposed his skin and clotted wounds. Let you pull his shirt from him and then let you clean each painful location across his torso.

Wrecker hissed as you put the last patch on, it happened to cover the most painful looking one out of the group, but you could tell by how taut his muscles were he was trying his best to stay still for you.

Suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge, you leaned in and kissed next to this particular wound.

"There, now it won't hurt - promise"

Wrecker stared at you wide-eyed and jaw ajar as you pulled back and fished out more patches

"Uh- but..." his voice called your attention to return to his confused face "you got em all"

You stifled a giggle as he gesutred to his new bandages - he thought you were fishing more out for him.

"I need your help" you explained softly as you handed him the sterile patch and the bacta solution.

You then hicked up the side of your robes to expose your upper thigh and hip - where you'd been shot earlier

"I can't see it very well, so...you'll have to help me"

"ah....okay...." he paused looking a bit unsure "I don't usually do this part"

You then walked Wrecker through cleaning and banadging your wound properly - well as proper as you two could manage without being medics.

To his credit, he was very good with his hands and the fine motor abilities needed to do so as painlessly as possible. He didn't mess up placing the banadge nor secured it too tightly - both which you did accidentally to him only a short time ago.

The moment he was done, Wrecker looked at you then at the bandage, then back again as if waiting for something - or perhaps debating something...it was hard to tell

But then he leaned over and pressed a delicate peck against your skin before pulling up quickly and mumbling "so it won't hurt anymore" just as you'd done for him.

Both your faces were hot but with the bandaging complete, you both set to fixing the bed up for the night. Ensuring the door was locked tight and all grimy parts of your attire set to the side until tomorrow, the two of you settled into the bed to go to sleep.

Only sleep wasn't coming to either of you - no matter how hard you tried.

You heard your name whispered as heated breath fanned across your shoulder

"Mmm?"

"I can't sleep" Your bedtime buddy mumbled "uh...can...can I hold you?"

You felt that heat rise back to your cheeks at the ask but remembering your past words on how you both could sleep in bed with one another and have no problems arise...

"Alright" you whispered back

Not even a moment passed before his thick, warm arms wrapped around you and pulled you back into his chest. The heat from his form enveloped you like sheets coming fresh from the dryer and you felt your eyelids droop at the sudden comforting aura.

"This is better" he insisted with a yawn punctuating his words

You nodded, feeling yourself dozing off already.

Wrecker held you a little tighter and pressed his face to your shoulder. Nuzzling against it breifly as he relaxed and felt himself get heavy. As if merely having you in his arms would protect you this night from all that lingered beyond, as if it were a simple spell to keep you safe from all that wished to harm you.

Build-a-spell Masterlist (wip)

Dividers by me

Reblog divider by dystopicjumpsuit 💜

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Absolutely understandable incredible concept 10/10 would also look disrespectfully

I’m the staring type-

[shoutout to @lonewolflupe for the idea prompt <3]

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Oh this is lovely but so sad 😞 I wish we could just hold Wrecker like this. Beautifully written @jordosprout

And With Thunder Comes Rain

Pairing: Wrecker x GN!Reader SFW

Can be read platonically/Mutual Pining

Dividers: @stars-n-spice

Word Count: 3,443

Warnings: Angst, Descriptions of storms, Nightmares, Sleep deprivation, Grief, Wrecker feels guilty

Summary: Wrecker comes to you looking for comfort after the events of Eriadu.

AN: Look at me all punctual when I'm the one making the due date? But nooo when someone else tells me I need to have something done at a certain time, that's just not possible /lh. Please note this is my first time really writing a fic for Wrecker! If need be I might make edits to this. Gender neutral pronouns are used at the end, other than that none are used. Please enjoy!!

It has been a standard week since the events of Eriadu and the capture of Omega that followed. 

There was so much uncertainty that puddled inside you and the squad—every day you spent tense and on edge, not knowing what the future would bring—having little to no sense of familiarity or consistency. You didn’t know how to adapt to the rapid changes around you—how to move around the physical and emotional wounds that persisted you during every task. Everything was going faster than you could process. But eventually, it became clear that you couldn’t just do nothing.

That was when the obsessive need to become a better pilot for the Batch started. It was the only thing you could think of that would make you useful right now. Flying like your life depended on it was the only thing that distracted you from the turmoil of such a detrimental loss. 

You started one of your runs after Hunter’s briefing, notifying you and Wrecker that Echo would be leaving with Rex later that day cycle. It must have been 3, no, 4 hours before you were commed by Hunter “Havoc 6, it’s time to come down. You’ve been at it long enough.”

You shook your head despite knowing he couldn’t see you, “No can do Sarge, I need to get this down.” you explained, using the nickname you started calling him when you first joined his squad. He wasn’t ever technically your sergeant, and you found it fun to pull his leg with that fact.

He said your name in a warning tone, “That’s an order.”

You groaned, you hated when he pulled that card. No, he wasn’t your sergeant, but you still followed and respected him as the leader, and he knew that. You probably shouldn’t continue to test him.

Turning the Marauder you made your return to the cliff you stationed yourselves at, camping out in a large cave on the side of it. You completed your landing sequence, exiting the shuttle begrudgingly with a displeased Hunter to greet you, a hand on his hip; Echo was beside him shaking his head. You simply responded putting both of your hands on your hips and childishly poking out your tongue at Hunter. You looked behind him, finding Wrecker sitting on an old crate. He had been more open about the hurt caused by the last mission. Often quiet, saying little to nothing. You felt your eyebrows press together in worry.

You moved past Hunter taking a seat beside Wrecker on a separate crate. You looked down at his hand resting next to his leg. You wanted nothing more than to hold it.

But instead, you rubbed his shoulder attempting to soothe the hurting giant next to you.

Echo’s departure wasn’t making the changes any easier for anybody. You all knew it was coming, that he wouldn’t be able to stay long. That his heart was in the fight. But you hoped all of you would have a few more days before Rex took him back. You enjoyed his presence, and even if they didn’t outright say it, so did the rest of the squad.

You stayed with Wrecker whilst Echo and Hunter awaited Rex’s arrival beside the Marauder. Wrecker had kept his gaze on the floor, his eyes carrying a sad gleam.

Once Rex’s shuttle arrived, Echo approached you and placed his hand on one of your shoulders.

“Make sure they stay outta trouble.” 

You nod, trying desperately to not let your emotions get to you.

“And quit drinking so much karking caf, it’s not good for you,” he said light-heartedly as he gave you a squeeze on your shoulder.

You gave a playful scoff, “No promises,” you responded causing him to roll his eyes.

“Just try, yeah?”

You look away from him and rub your head, mumbling, “Yeah yeah, I’ll work on it.”

Moving over to Wrecker, Echo gave him a reassuring squeeze on the bicep, “Everything will be fine, don’t worry.”

Wrecker only gives a faint nod in response, his eyes slightly wincing at the pain from moving his neck.

Echo gave you both one more nod goodbye before he turned around to head to Rex’s ship. Rex wrapped an arm around his shoulder and walked him up the ramp. Echo turned his head and gave you all a wave of his scomp before the doors closed, and the ship took him with it.

You all stood there, watching as Rex and Echo left the atmosphere. Even Wrecker lifted his head to watch the man he had come to care for leave. You couldn’t help the pang in your heart. You wanted nothing more than to keep your boys with you, so you could know they were safe. But you knew that what Echo was doing was important work that he needed to do for himself—for his brothers.

Once Rex’s shuttle was no longer visible, Wrecker stood, heading inside the Marauder, leaving only you and Hunter outside.

“What do we do now, Sarge?” you asked, unable to hide the waver of doubt in your voice. You hoped your leader would give you a plan you could hold yourself to.

Hunter sighed, you couldn’t ignore how tired he looked. “We keep searching. We… don’t let Tech’s sacrifice go to waste. That’s what we do.”

“But how?”

He turned to face you, “I don't know,

but we’ll figure it out. We always do. We have to, for all our sakes.”

It’s been only three days since Echo left, and Wrecker became that of a ghost. Spending the past few days in the gunner’s mount. The silence that came made the Marauder feel foreign; as if you walked onto the wrong ship. You wished he’d talk to you, to Hunter. You just wanted him to say something. You hated it when everything was so quiet. At least when he and Omega were making a ruckus, you knew they were okay. A loud crew was an alive one.

You had spent the entirety of the day helping Hunter take count of inventory. And with your final numbers, the pit in your stomach deepened. There were only two days worth of rations to split between the crew. And when you told Hunter he was, expectantly, just as concerned. You saw his heart sink, and the bags under his sleep-deprived eyes deepen. 

“I need to comm Rex,” he mumbled, running a hand down his face before heading to the cockpit and immediately attempting to make contact with Rex. He only patched through after his second attempt. The conversation wasn’t long, as Rex and Echo had a mission to pick up a clone wanting to leave the empire. But miraculously, they had someone in mind to help.

As soon as Rex gave him the information he needed, Hunter moved to the Navicomps and began mapping out the route you were to take. You offered to give him a hand, but he insisted he had it covered. So instead you left him with a cup of caf before you went to the cockpit.

You hoped Rex’s contact would be able to help as he said. That once you had a full inventory, everyone’s minds would be able to settle. That you’d be able to get on your feet to start searching for answers. 

The cloudy day transitioned into a stormy night on the planet you and the boys managed to station yourselves on; the drumming of rain becoming a hypnotic lullaby. You have a hot cup of caf in your hands. It makes sense to stay awake instead of disrupting your sleep later since you’d need to be awake in three standard hours to meet Rex’s contact. However, you couldn't help the calm, empty daze coming over you. It was pleasant to have an empty mind, to say the least, even if it was only for a moment—even if it was hard to maintain when the ship's silence matched that of your head.

It felt wrong trying to enjoy the calm after losing so much—after losing everything. As if, you weren't allowed to have it.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing yourself for not enjoying the moment. Who knew when you’d have one like this again?

You grumbled inaudibly to yourself, finishing the last of your caf as you stared out the transparisteel. When you were about to get up to refill your cup, you could almost feel Echo’s disapproving gaze. 

So you decided that maybe one would be enough.

You rubbed your hands together, it was freezing in the Marauder. You wanted nothing more than to turn on the heating systems, but Hunter told you against it earlier; he wanted to conserve energy when possible. You tucked the old Republic-issued blanket on your lap, the thin fabric doing little to keep you warm.

“When have we ever followed orders?”

“No!”

“Tech!”

Wrecker’s body shoots up, banging his head, thunder challenging him as it crashes loudly in the distance. His body is ridden with shivers, unable to regain control as he takes in his surroundings—frantically looking for Lula. A relieved sigh escapes him once he sees her arm poking out from behind him. Wrecker immediately went to lift her to his face. The soft and familiar fabric was a nice contrast to his sweat-covered skin. He moved to sit crisscrossed, resting the tooka doll in his lap. Tears fell as he fiddled with the ears of the doll Tech had made him when they were cadets.

Nightmares have been pursuing Wrecker as their prey since they got back from their failed mission. And while Lula used to chase them away, she wasn’t able to this time. Because the nightmares were real.

They happened, they weren’t a reality he could run from.

He had always thought that he would have been the one to call out Plan 99—to go down for his vods. But here he was. Still here, still alive, while one of them wasn’t. Because he wasn’t able to reach him fast enough. 

Because he failed.

Wrecker wiped away the tears before they fell, his lip pulling to a frown as he refrained from letting out a sob. 

He was convinced that this was supposed to be easier. The Kaminoans made it seem like it would be. They all went through so much conditioning in case a vod was lost. Yet, despite that. Despite what he was told, he sat there, unable to grasp the idea of losing one of them, for as much as he knew, forever. 

He gulped hard, he needed to be around someone. He shifted in the gunner’s mount and made his way down, beloved Lula still in hand.

He looked to his side at the Navicomps, finding Hunter asleep. He hesitated in waking up his vod and decided to see if someone else was awake instead.

The silence was suddenly broken when footsteps began to thud throughout the shuttle, and you immediately recognized them as Wrecker. There was a momentary quiet before the door to the cockpit wooshed open. Wrecker, or who you assumed to be Wrecker, stood quietly at the entrance.

“Y’ up?” He finally asked, attempting to be quiet in case you weren't. His voice was more graveled than usual from the lack of use. 

“Yeah, I'm awake.” You responded, turning your seat to face him. He still had his neck brace, and had Lula in one of his hands. 

He stayed where he stood, shifting his weight again with a hand on the back of his head while the other continued to hold Lula.

“S’ okay uh… if I sit in here?”

You nodded, offering a gentle smile. He made his way to the copilot seat before easing himself down. He leaned back into the chair, eyes fixed on the sky in front of you.

“What’s Hunter up to?” you asked casually, attempting to make light conversation.

“He fell asleep at the Navi. I didn’t wanna wake 'em up.” He told you, rubbing one of Lula's arms between his pointer and thumb. 

You hummed, not surprised. You’ve found Hunter like that a few times yourself recently; only sleeping in short bursts before he was working again. And while you’ve insisted on him simply sleeping on a rack instead, he couldn’t bring himself to. The idea of not doing anything made him restless. That was clear. But some sleep is always better than no sleep.

You both stared up at the water droplets coming and going. Lightning expertly streaked the clouds like they were a canvas and it was a master painter; thunder shaking the sky above not long after. Wrecker was almost completely silent beside you. After a few moments of shared quiet, you glanced at him, his form silhouetted in darkness, the glow of navigation screens illuminating the edges of his face. You cleared your throat.

“So…How’re ya holdin’ up?” you finally prompted. You already knew that answer. But you wanted him to know you were here for him. 

Wrecker continued to face the windshield as he glanced at you with glassy eyes. He cleared his throat before he looked back to the glass as his lips tightened into a line. Only then did you notice the shake in his hands. How long have they been doing that?

“Wreck?” you called for him softly, but he didn’t give you a response. He merely put his head into his right hand, the flesh of his thumb and pointer finger covering his eyes. You shifted in your seat and leaned in, grabbing his left hand into yours. It continued to shake as his shoulders began to follow suit; Lula being left in his lap. You squeezed, and his calloused hand squeezed back. “Wrecker…” you gently pleaded.

He breathed in through his nose sharply before the thoughts that plagued him fell like an avalanche.

“I miss em’. I miss Omega I miss Crosshair- I-” he swallowed hard, before trembling out, “I miss Tech. I should’ve been able to reach him- he was right there but I couldn’t,” his lips tightened “I’m sorry I couldn’t-” was all he could get out before a sob interrupted him

You grabbed his cheek, “Wrecker, look at me…” you asked, silently begging him to oblige.

He lifted his head from his hand, looking at you with guilt-ridden eyes. You tilted your head to get a better look at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Wrecker you need to understand that it’s not your fault. There was nothing you or anyone could have done. Tech… did what he knew would give us the best chance to get out. If there was another solution, he would have seen it,” you explained, tears pricking your own eyes. “There was no time left.”

He leaned into the palm of your hand as it became wet with his tears.

“What if- what if he’s still out there? And we just left him behind?” Wrecker questioned, causing you to stiffen at the suggestion. You paused to think about what to say as he searched your eyes for answers. You haven't been able to accept such a permanent loss yourself. Instead, you had convinced yourself that he was out there. That you wouldn't allow yourself to admit to him being dead unless you had unshakeable proof. That's what kept you going. At Least for now. 

“Tech is a smart and strong man Wrecker. If he survived that fall… he’d find a way to get back to us- to contact us. But we can’t risk going back, Wrecker. Not yet. Not when we have so few hands. Not when we're so low on everything. But… if he’s out there… we’ll find him.” 

Wrecker nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He had a hand on top of yours now, inaudibly pleading for touch. You leaned forward to press your forehead against his.

“M’ so scared. I don't know what I'd do- you, Hunter, and Echo are all I have left I-” 

“We know Omega and Crosshair are still out there Wrecker. We’ll find them, we’ll bring them home,” you assured, wiping away his stray tears as you spoke.

“What if-” he choked, not needing to finish his unspoken suggestion. You moved your hand from his cheek to the back of his head, holding it to your own.

“No ifs, Wrecker. There are a lot of unknowns right now, and honestly, I’m scared too. But we can’t lose hope. We will search the ends of every galaxy if we have to. If it means our family will be together again. No matter how long that takes, we'll do it together,” you promised.

He gave you a quiet ‘okay’, tears continuing to fall down his cheeks. Not a moment later you felt him leaning his body forward before pulling you into a desperate hug. You didn’t hesitate to hug him back. His body racked with bone-deep shivers as he held onto you. As if you'd vanish if he didn't anchor you down. 

You stayed there like that for a few moments. And part of it was admittedly for yourself just as much as it was for him. The hardships you've all experienced in just the past two weeks alone weighed on the depths of your soul. And now you felt you could finally permit yourself to feel them. You both needed to take a moment to cry it out. And that was easiest to do when you had Wrecker wrapped around you like this. The weight of his grip reminds you that he's real and that he's here. That you're here. 

“I’m… happy you’re with us,” he said, his voice muffled against your shoulder as he gave you another squeeze. 

You sniffled and gave a small lighthearted laugh in an attempt to ease him, “‘Course I’m still here. Who else’ll keep you boys outta trouble when Echo’s away?”

He sniffled before giving you a short chuckle at the comment. You grinned to yourself, happy that you were able to get something out of him with that.

“But in all seriousness, everything will be okay. We’ll get em’ back. Nonna’ us are giving up on them, I promise.” 

He pulled away to look at you before wiping his eyes and smiling at you, wiping your tears off your cheeks when he saw them. “Yeah…you’re probably right,” he agreed sheepishly.

You shivered when the front of your body met the cold air, earning a concerned look from Wrecker.

“You okay?”

You looked up at him confused until you realized what he was referring to.

“Oh- yeah I’m just cold,” you explained, leaning back in your seat, wishing you had a nice hot cup of caf in your hands.

Wrecker stared at the floor of the cockpit in thought before having an idea.

“C’mere,” he offered, patting his lap.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Ya sure?”

He nodded, placing his arms on the rests to give you more room to get onto his lap. You hesitantly accepted his offer, climbing onto him and disregarding your blanket. Immediately you were met with his warmth, it only increasing when he wrapped his arms around your middle. Lula ended up between you and his arms. Wrecker placed his head on top of yours, ignoring the momentary pain in his neck.

The clouds dissipated over the next hour, the rain softening in turn. You remained with him, both of you sinking into the co-pilot seat. You found yourselves admiring the constellations of this planet together, attempting to lock away the image of them into your memory. You don't remember the moments that came before sleep cradled you both. All you could remember was the feathery kiss that was placed on your head.

Hunter awoke with a crick in his neck from the odd position he had slept in. He attempted to rub out the discomfort with a groan before giving up and meekly accepting it to be his companion for the day. He could feel the rising sun, his senses easily picking up on the wavelengths it emitted. 

He knew that if the sun was rising, that meant the time to leave and meet their contact was approaching. He stood up, rolling his shoulders before heading to the cockpit. He figured that was where you and Wrecker would be, picking up on your distinct scents.

And he was right. There you both were, sharing the copilot seat as you both slept; your hearts beating in time with one another. Wrecker held onto you like you were his Tooka doll, and you slept there comfortably. Though to Hunter's surprise, Wrecker moved his head to face him.

“Shh, they’re sleepin’,” he scolded in a loud whisper.

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If it’s not too much trouble may I submit a potion with the following? Zoisite (Echo, my beloved), Ginger (Come here let’s get you out of those wet clothes), and Bells (one didn't want to feel this way, but no matter how hard they fought - their feelings only grew) 🫣

You’re lovely and I hope you’re having a good day!! 💛💛💛

Hello, you certainly can! And thank you so much 🥰 other than being sick, I had a pretty awesome day!

I hope you also have a great day 💜💜💜

For this spell, I shall create it by making a circle of powdered ginger...place Zoisite in the middle and ring this beautiful bell above it! Which creates-

Warnings: reader is an ex-jedi, reader is hinted at being female but no pronouns are used. Kinda on the sad side, I'm so sorry 😅 But I promise it ends very soft and sweet. Takes place some point in TBB during a time where Echo is working with Rex - otherwise, your choice of timeline. Mentions of held back feelings due to worries of station and positions of power - as well as worrying of taking advantage. I hope Echo came off as relieved as I intended😅

A Spell for Joining Hearts That Never Meant to Part

Echo x Reader (TBB)

Echo stared down at you for a moment, as you continued to curl further into yourself and tried to disappear into the dirty lower Courascant alleyway. He was surprised to see you'd somehow escaped the purge and survived this long, let alone on Courascant. Your clothes were drenched, tattered, splattered in who-knows-what, and your person was absolutely filthy, looked sickly and barely looked as if you contained a shred of life.

Echo thought you had died, that you'd been in the temple with the rest of them. That you were forever lost and he'd never see you again. He had wrestled with his tender feelings for you for so long, that he almost felt like it was wrong for him to act upon them now. And he'd tried to bury them, tried to cope with those wretched feelings just like he'd tried to cope with his trauma - of what had been done to him. While he'd worked through the latter to a point of acceptance and strength...the former had been left in loose threads that would always lead back to you. Back to a life he thought he'd never be blessed to see again.

He glanced around briefly, making sure nobody was around before he crouched before you and held out his hands - er his hand and scomp.

Your gaze was downcast and far away, undoubtedly you'd disassociated into a far cormer of your mind, where you felt safe. Where you could pretend nothing bad was happening.

Echo sighed softly and gently took your hands, his thumb rubbing against the back of your right hand. He ignored the slight jolt that occurred under your skin but it did not escape his notice.

He'd called to you softly, let your name tumble sweetly from his pale lips and the sound dance to your eardrums in a way that used to give you a jolt of giddy delight. But this time, there was nothing...no response to his calling - not even a twitch of the lip

"Come here," he urged softly "I'll take you somewhere safe"

your gaze grew a bit focused as your eyes settled on his hand, on the gentle rubbing his thumb did, on the comforting feel it provided

He tried to give you a half-baked smile, situation weighing heavily but still wanting to reassure you, before he dropped your name again.

"Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes..." he whispered "Let me take care of you"

He reached forward with his scomp and used it to tilt your chin up, delicately forcing your eyes to meet his. Those orbs of liquid gold that were so sincere and so heartbroken for you.

Tears welled in your eyes, the very eyes you though had run dry long ago

"E-echo" you blubbered out with a creaky voice

"Shhhh" he hushed, feeling his heart break further for you.

He leaned in and gathered you in his arms, guided your own around his neck and hefted you up by your thighs. Then, he held you in a tight embrace for a few moments, pressing his face against the side of your head and relishing the feel of finally having you in his arms. And as you clung tightly to him, as if he were a life preserver in an endless ocean, and buried your face against his neck...Echo couldn't help but a small bundle of pride bloom in his chest that you had deemed him safe...even after everything that'd occured and all your time spent apart.

"I'm taking you with me, no more being apart...okay?" he whispered to you

You didn't answer formally, just clung tighter and cried harder.

Echo hugged you tighter then peeked out of the small alleyway and upon seeing the coast was clear, quickly departed with you.

You heard the door slide open and turned your gaze to meet golden orbs full of surprise and relief.

Your bleary gaze drifted from the sheet gathered at your hips to the grey walls, the articfical lighting and then settled onto the door. You didn't recognize the location but you felt warm...you could sense calmness, confusion, unease...restlessness... you carefully stood from the cot and noticed the loose dress-like cloth covering your form, your jedi robs nowhere to be seen.

You pulled your hands up. Bandages and clean skin greeted you, and upon moving to the mirror on the wall, your visage, clean and clear of wounds, met you. Someone had taken care of your wounds and cleaned you up. You supposed you should be a bit upset, having been in such a vulnerable state and not remembering it very well...but you couldn't find it in your heart to feel such a way.

"Echo" his name escaped your lips far before a thought had developed in your mind

A smile formed at his lips as he quickly made his way to you and began glancing you over

"Well, you seem better now...how do you feel?" he asked softly, his hand gently grasping your bicep and his scomp settled at your side

"Did you...?" you asked in confusion, searching his gaze for answers

embaressment flushed across his face before he let out a soft, almost nervous chuckle.

"Ah...no...I didn't" he said in complete and utter seriousness

You nodded and glanced past him to the door before returning your gaze to him

"Where am I...?"

"Rex, he uh...has been gathering brothers. Helpin' them get away from the Empire. This place is owned by some friends - two sisters. They were the ones that cleaned you up. Figured you'd be more comfortable if they were the ones..."

Your mind worked through the information like trudging through muck. But you nodded softly, aggreeing with his point of view and reasoning.

"You...you didnt kill me" you mumbled with confusion

Echo's gaze grew sad, yet soft. He knew what you were talking about and clearly had seen his fair share of unsightly things since that dreaded order had been given

"No..." he whispered, gently cupping your cheek "I had my chip, what made the troopers act, removed. It didn't work to begin with...but we felt it best to remove it"

He watched you for a moment before his thumb rubbed against your cheek

"I...never thought I'd see you again. I thought my...my brothers - that they-"

You put a finger to his lips, hushing his words. They were difficult for him to say, but just as difficult for you to hear. Instead you leaned in and hugged him tightly.

Echo breathed out your name, as if it were a prayer to the forces that lay beyond...

"Shhhh" he hushed, feeling his chest squeeze with emotion.

And you let you a shakey breath, tears pooling in your eyes.

"I'm...I'm so happy...happy you're okay..." you blubbered out as the tears ran off with you "I...I never had the chanc-"

"I...I don't know what to do" you whispered

The two of you stayed like that, your form snugly cradled in Echo's safe embrace as he rocked back and forth gently, hushing you while you cried and clung to him tightly. But soon enough, your tears ran dry and you continued to hold on as he continued to sway you both.

"Then stay here...stay with us" he whispered "Help us keep my brothers safe"

"I...I dont know if I can fight anymore. I lost my saber..." you sniffled

"You don't need to fight" your dear arc urged gently "You can stay here and help us in other ways. You can stay with me"

You paused for a moment and in that moment that he'd let his feelings slip out, he was worried he'd overstepped.

But you suddenly leaned forward and pressed your lips to his cheek.

Echo's eyes searched your own, for confirmation of your own feelings - ones he suspected laid within you since the two of you met in that awful war.

"I...I couldn't before" you whispered "I didn't want you to feel taken advantage of..."

Echo pressed his forehead to yours gently, closing his eyes and just relishing in the closeness

"I didn't want to, if I'm being honest. I didn't want to put you in a position...but...I just want you to know. I will always be there to take care of you. Until I am ripped from you, and not before. Regardless of where I stand in your heart."

"Echo, I..." you smiled softly and leaned more.into his touch "You are my heart"

Echo smiled brightly and tightened his hold around you. The gentle sway returning but this time it wasnt to soothe.but a small almost celebratory sway - something a kin to a dance but leisure and slow.

The details would be worked out later, you'd meet Rex and the rest of the clones later, you'd both learn to grow together later. Right now, though, you'd just relish in the closeness and the certainty of one anothers feelings.

Build-a-spell event

Build-a-spell Masterlist

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Reblog divider by dystopicjumpsuit 💜

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The Bad Batch, deleted scene ep 107

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Good lord this man. If anyone needs me I’m going to be incoherently flailing after reading this. The build up is exquisite (I wanna read what messages he sends so badly). Love love love the brotherly banter. I’m sorry I can’t be more coherent but this is wonderful- thank you so much @jetii

By Your Name

Part One

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,998/19,226

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, good-natured brotherly teasing, smut, this is mostly just smut actually, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), size kink, aftercare, dirty talk, Wrecker being a sweetheart that is a given

Summary: You and Wrecker are still figuring out exactly what your relationship means, and a month apart hasn't helped. Now that you're reunited again, nothing is going to stand in the way of the two of you getting what you want.

A/N: Greetings from horny jail! I didn't proofread this one that much so if you see any mistakes no you didn't.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Keeping your relationship with Wrecker a secret is easier said than done. There's no denying the spark between the two of you, and it only seemed to grow stronger in the days following your confession. To you, Wrecker is the sun, and you're a planet caught in his orbit, drawn in by his warmth and light. 

It's become increasingly difficult to keep things professional when all you want to do is pull him into a kiss, or spend every waking moment touching him in some way. Every time his fingers brush yours, or his hand finds the small of your back, the desire to kiss him, to hold him, to simply be with him is nearly overwhelming. And it's a feeling that only grows stronger the longer you're away from him.

Saying goodbye to Wrecker at the end of your tour with the Batch had been almost unbearable, and the distance has been agonizing. The weeks apart had dragged on, and the only solace you had was in the late-night calls and the occasional text. The longing had been a constant companion, and it had left you irritable and on edge.

But now, finally, the two of you will be reunited, and the excitement building in your chest is impossible to ignore. Even though it's been weeks since the two of you were last together, it feels like a lifetime, and you can't wait to be near him again. To feel his arms around you, his hands on your skin, his lips on yours.

The two of you had barely had enough time to figure out what exactly you are to each other before you left, and with the others around, there was little else you could do beyond a few stolen moments. But now, after weeks of anticipation and separation, you're finally getting the chance to explore things further.

And you know Wrecker is intent on making the most of the opportunity.

It was no secret that the man is incredibly tactile, and the fact that he'd been unable to touch you the way he wanted to, the way you both needed him to, had clearly taken a toll. His texts had grown progressively bolder, and the calls had lasted well into the night, and you'd spent hours on the comm with him, trying to keep your voice down while he told you everything he planned on doing to you once you were alone.

And now, you're on the same planet, finally, and the thought is enough to drive you crazy. You're already waiting in the hangar bay when the Marauder arrives, and the sight of it, the sight of him, sends a thrill of anticipation through you. The moment the ship touches down, the ramp lowers, and Wrecker comes barreling down, his arms outstretched.

"Hey, General!" he shouts. "Get ready, 'cause I'm gonna—"

You don't wait for him to finish. Instead, you throw yourself into his arms, and he catches you with ease, his arms wrapping around you, lifting you up off the ground. He spins you around, the two of you laughing and grinning like fools, and you're so happy you can barely breathe.

"Miss me?" you ask, breathless, your arms around his neck.

"Kriff, yeah," he says. "Wasn't the same without you."

"It wasn't the same for me, either," you murmur. "I didn't realize how much I would miss having you around."

"Me, neither," he replies.

He sets you down, but his arms stay locked around your waist, holding you close. The urge to kiss him is a physical ache, and the closeness is almost unbearable. But you can't, not here, not now, and so you settle for the feel of his arms around you, his hands stroking your back.

"I'm glad to see you," he says, his voice soft.

"I missed you, too," you reply, smiling up at him.

"I can't wait to show you how much I missed you," he whispers. The look in his eyes, the heat in his voice, sends a rush of desire through you, and you shiver. "Been thinkin' about it every day."

"Have you?"

"Yeah," he breathes. "And I've got a few ideas."

"Oh?" you ask, unable to keep the smile off your face. He's practically radiating energy, the excitement rolling off him in waves, and it's infectious.

Before he can respond, the sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you back to reality. The two of you turn, and you spot the others standing a short distance away at the end of the ramp. Crosshair and Tech look mildly amused, while Hunter looks vaguely uncomfortable, and Echo's expression is one of long-suffering annoyance.

"Uh, Wrecker," Hunter says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You mind putting her down so we can go?"

"What?" Wrecker asks. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He lets go of you, his hands trailing over your waist as he steps back. You brush your hands across your tunic, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach, and Wrecker grins down at you.

"Sorry," you say, unable to keep the smile off your face. "It's been a while."

"Just save it for the ship,” Crosshair drawls as he passes by.

"Don’t worry, we will," Wrecker fires back, throwing an entirely unnecessary wink in his direction. Crosshair rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. Tech follows, shaking his head with a small smile.

"I am glad that the two of you have reconciled your differences," he says, his eyes flicking to yours. "But please keep such displays of affection to a minimum in our presence.”

"Sorry, Tech.”

"We'll behave," Wrecker adds, but his tone is teasing.

"I doubt that," Echo mutters, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. You flush, but can't help but return the smile. He's not wrong, after all.

"We'll try," you amend, and the others chuckle as they follow Crosshair out of the hangar toward the barracks. You and Wrecker walk a short distance behind them, keeping pace, and the silence is comfortable, the two of you walking shoulder to shoulder. He leans over and nudges your arm, and you glance up at him, catching the grin on his face.

You smile back, unable to hide your excitement, and the look in his eyes is almost enough to make your knees give out. You have no idea how you're going to get through the rest of the day, knowing that he's within arm's reach. Knowing that tonight, when the others have gone to sleep, the two of you will have the ship to yourselves. And the thoughts running through your mind are enough to have you squirming in place, eager for the day to end.

"Welcome back, by the way," you say, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

"Glad to be back," Wrecker says. "And ready to start celebrating."

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" you tease.

"Mhm," he replies, his voice low and rough. "Gonna celebrate the kriff outta you."

You bite back a gasp, and your face heats up. You'd known Wrecker was forward, but the way he talks about wanting you, the way he openly stares at you, is still startling. No one has ever been so open with their feelings before, and while you're still getting used to the idea, it's nice. Reassuring. It's a reminder that this is real, that he wants you, and it's all you can do not to melt on the spot.

"Sounds like a good plan," you reply, your voice hoarse, and you resist the urge to fan yourself.

"Knew you'd see it my way," he says, and the look he gives you is enough to send a jolt of heat straight to your core.

The two of you continue on in comfortable silence, and you can't help but glance at him, taking in the sight of Wrecker finally back by your side. You can't deny that the past few weeks have been...frustrating. Being unable to be near him, or touch him, or even speak openly about how you feel has been agonizing. And the constant teasing and flirting via holo hasn't helped.

There are so many things you've wanted to say, to do, but haven't had the chance. Now, with the privacy and space, the temptation is nearly overwhelming. And the look on Wrecker's face tells you that he's thinking the same thing. You just need to get through the next couple hours without drawing too much attention, and then...

As expected, the celebration is a simple affair, a meal and a round or two of drinks at 79s. You've gotten used to the squad's traditions over the past year, and it's a relief to know that the evening won't drag on for hours. As it is, your patience is wearing thin, and you can tell that Wrecker feels the same.

"So," Hunter starts, his eyes fixed on the two of you. "Did you have a chance to talk about things while we were away?"

"Yeah, a bit," Wrecker says, shifting in his seat. His leg brushes against yours, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. "Still workin' things out."

"I see," Hunter says. He takes a sip of his drink, his gaze flicking between the two of you, and he raises an eyebrow. "Just try not to make it too obvious, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises," Wrecker smirks, and the words are directed at his brother, but the way his eyes burn into you is unmistakable. You bite your lip, the heat on your cheeks nearly unbearable. The fact that he's so brazen, so shameless, is doing nothing to help your growing desire, and it's all you can do to keep a straight face.

"Wrecker, please," Echo groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Sorry, sorry," Wrecker chuckles, and his hand finds your thigh beneath the table, his fingers squeezing gently. You resist the urge to jump, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your pants. You can tell he's teasing, testing the boundaries, and the look on his face is almost smug. "I'll behave."

"No, you won't," Tech says, his eyes locked on his datapad. "But I suppose we will simply have to accept that this is your current reality."

"Guess so," Wrecker says, and the smile he gives you is blinding.

The rest of the meal is relatively uneventful, and the conversation is light, mostly centered around the mission, and what's to come. The Republic is preparing for another offensive, and you and the Batch have been assigned to gather intel on a possible Separatist stronghold in the Outer Rim. It's not an ideal mission, but it's better than sitting around doing nothing. And with Wrecker by your side, it will certainly be more bearable.

You listen as the others share stories, laughing and talking like they always do. Wrecker's hand stays on your thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your leg, and it's enough to keep you distracted, the anticipation growing with every passing minute. By the time the meal is finished, you're all but squirming in your seat, and you're desperate to get out of the crowded room.

"What about you?" Crosshair asks, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to the present. "Did you sit around doing nothing this whole time?"

"No," you reply. "I was training, mostly."

"Boring," Crosshair sneers, but his eyes are soft, and the look he gives you is teasing.

"I did manage to get a new scar, if that counts," you say, pointing to the healing cut above your eyebrow. "Had a run-in with a particularly unpleasant bounty hunter. She was faster than she looked."

"Ooh, lemme see," Wrecker says, and his hand finds your chin, tilting your face up. The gesture is casual, but the way his fingers stroke your cheek is not, and you shiver at the touch. He turns your face, his thumb brushing the healing skin, and the heat of his palm sears into your cheek. "Pretty nasty. You gonna live?"

"I think so," you manage, and his eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Good," he says. "Don't want anything happenin' to that pretty face of yours."

Someone makes a noise of protest, but you're too busy trying not to melt under Wrecker's gaze to notice who it was. His eyes flick over your features, his expression intense, and his fingers trail down the line of your jaw, coming to rest on your shoulder.

"Alright," Hunter cuts in. He slaps his hands on the table and stands, giving the two of you a pointed look. "Let's call it a night."

"But—"

"No buts," he says. "I can't watch this any longer."

Wrecker grumbles something under his breath, but he pulls his hand away, and the absence is nearly enough to make you whine.

"Fine," he huffs, rising from his seat. "See you all tomorrow."

You stand as well, your legs shaking. You're not sure how you're going to make it back to the ship, and the smirk on Wrecker's face tells you that he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Later," Crosshair says, his tone bored.

"Have a good night," Echo calls after you, his voice tight with discomfort. You glance back at him and offer an apologetic shrug, but he just waves you off. Tech is still buried in his datapad, oblivious, and Hunter gives you a long-suffering sigh as the two of you leave.

The walk back to the ship is agony. The sun has long since set, and the streets are dark, but the lights of the city are bright enough that it's not difficult to navigate. Still, the journey feels like an eternity, and every step sends a thrill of anticipation through your veins. You can feel Wrecker's presence behind you, his hand occasionally brushing against your back, his body close enough to touch.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you ask as the two of you round the corner, putting some distance between yourselves and the others.

"Enjoying what?" he asks innocently.

"Teasing me," you reply, elbowing him in the side.

"Maybe a little," he grins, and the heat in his gaze makes you blush. "You know, it's hard not to be when you react like that."

"React like what?

"Like this," he murmurs, his hand sliding down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. His palm is hot and heavy, and the pressure is enough to make you gasp.

"I can't help it," you mutter, trying to ignore the desire that's pooling in your core.

"I know," he says, and his fingers squeeze, pulling you into his side. "And it's kriffing adorable."

"Shut up," you say, pushing against him. He laughs, the sound low and husky, and the way his eyes gleam in the dim light is more than a little distracting.

"Make me," he says, and his voice is teasing, but there's a note of challenge in it, and the implication sends a shiver down your spine. 

You turn to face him, and before you can second guess yourself, you reach out, taking hold of his armor and pulling him towards you.

Wrecker's lips meet yours in a searing kiss, and the force of it knocks the wind out of you. He backs you up against the wall, caging you in with his body, and his hands find your hips, lifting you up onto the tips of your toes. You moan against his mouth, and his tongue slips past your lips, his fingers digging into your flesh. The kiss is bruising, full of heat and want, and the way he moves against you, his body hard and solid, leaves you gasping for air.

He breaks the kiss, and his teeth nip at your lower lip, his hands wandering down, squeezing the swell of your ass. His breath is hot on your skin, his chest heaving, and the desire in his eyes is all-consuming.

"That shut you up," you whisper as his lips move down the column of your throat.

"Mhm," he mumbles. His tongue drags over the delicate skin, and you tilt your head back, giving him better access. "Keep doin' that, and I'll be quiet the rest of the night."

You laugh, the sound turning into a groan as his teeth sink into your flesh, biting down. His hands slide around to your back, pulling you flush against him, and his knee slips between your legs. The pressure against your core is enough to make you moan, and he chuckles against your skin.

"That's a dangerous game you're playing," you whisper, trying to catch your breath.

"Not the only one," he murmurs, his eyes finding yours. The hunger in his gaze makes your blood sing, and you swallow, trying to steady your pulse.

"True," you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. "But I'm not sure we should keep playing it. At least not until we get back to the ship."

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth. You open for him, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, holding you steady.

"Good point," he whispers as he pulls away, his nose brushing against yours.

"Come on," you say, and you nudge him backwards. Wrecker goes willingly, stumbling back a step, his eyes never leaving yours. "Let's go."

The two of you pick up the pace, and it's not long before you're making your way through the hangar bay towards the Marauder. There are a few people milling about the hangar, and a group of technicians working on a nearby ship, but none of them pay the two of you any attention as you approach the ramp.

The moment the door closes behind you, Wrecker pounces, pinning you against the wall, his mouth finding yours in a hungry kiss. You pull him closer, and he wraps his arms around you, lifting you up with ease. Your legs lock around his waist, and his hands slide down to grip the underside of your thighs, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin.

You break the kiss, your lungs screaming, and he moves down, pressing hot, wet kisses to the line of your throat. His mouth is warm and slick, his tongue leaving a burning trail along your collarbone. His hands find the hem of your shirt, and he pushes the fabric up, exposing your stomach.

"You really gonna keep quiet the rest of the night?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

"Do you want me to?" he murmurs, his nose brushing against the skin beneath your ear.

"Not particularly," you reply.

"Didn't think so," he says, and his teeth scrape against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You wanna know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you like it," he growls. His hands slip beneath your shirt, his palms sliding up the curve of your waist. "I think you like it when I tell you how pretty you are, or how much I want you."

"Maybe," you whisper.

"It's okay," he murmurs, his fingers dancing across your skin. "I like it, too."

You moan, the sound soft and needy, and he laughs, the vibrations tickling the sensitive spot below your ear. Wrecker's mouth finds yours again, his tongue plunging past your lips. He tastes like the liquor the two of you were drinking earlier, and the heady mixture is enough to make your head spin.

He breaks the kiss, and the next thing you know, he's carrying you down the hall, his pace hurried. Within a few steps, the two of you are falling onto the bunk, a tangle of limbs.

You land on top of him, straddling his waist, and Wrecker groans, his hands coming to rest on your hips. You grind down against him, the movement sending a rush of heat through your body. The contact is dizzying, and you do it again, relishing the way his eyes flutter closed.

"Kriff, cyare," he breathes.

"I thought I was cyar'ika," you murmur.

"Both. Either. Doesn't matter," he says, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

"I think it matters" you say, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"You really wanna talk about Mando'a right now?" he asks, and the amusement in his voice makes you laugh. You pull back enough to let him pull the shirt up and over your head, leaving you bare save for your breast band.

"I guess not. I'd rather do something else," you whisper, and Wrecker's eyes darken, his pupils dilating. His gaze trails over your chest, and his hands follow suit, tracing the line of your ribs.

"Me too," he murmurs. His fingers ghost across the band of fabric covering your breasts, teasing the edges. You give a slight nod, and he hooks a finger underneath the material, pulling it up and over your head.

Your breasts bounce free, and his eyes lock on them, his gaze burning. His hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of flesh, his palms hot and rough.

"Mesh'la," he murmurs. He leans forward, his lips finding the slope of your shoulder. "So kriffing beautiful."

The praise makes you blush, and he kisses his way down the length of your chest, his lips trailing over the curve of your breast. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as he licks a circle around your nipple, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail.

"Wrecker," you whimper, and the sound seems to spur him on. His mouth finds your breast, his lips closing around the tight bud, his tongue swirling. You moan, the feeling electric, and he hums in response, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

He sucks and bites at the stiff peak, his fingers rolling the other, and the twin sensations send a rush of heat through your body. It's almost too much, and you can't help but squirm, the desire pooling in your core. Wrecker’s armor presses against your thighs, the pressure almost painful, and the need to feel his skin on yours is overwhelming.

"Take it off," you pant, tugging at the shoulder plates.

"Bossy," he chuckles, and the sound sends a jolt of excitement through you.

"I think you like it," you say, throwing his own words back at him, and the wicked grin he gives you is all the answer you need.

"You're right," he replies. He reaches behind him, unclipping the pieces of his armor and setting them aside. The process is painstakingly slow, and you can't help but pout. But when you try to move his hands out of the way, he lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the mattress.

"Hey!"

"I'm going," he says, a grin on his face. "Don't worry."

Wrecker stands, and the sight of him towering above you, his broad frame blocking out the light, is enough to make you tremble. He strips off the pieces of armor with practiced efficiency, revealing the black undersuit beneath. You stare at him, your eyes roaming over the thickly corded muscles of his arms and chest, the taut fabric stretched across his abdomen.

"See somethin' you like?" he teases, and the sound of his voice draws you back to reality.

"Yes," you say, clearing your throat.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you repeat with a smile.

"Good," he says. He kneels before you, his fingers finding the hem of your pants. He undoes the button, and you lift your hips, letting him slide the fabric down.

He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes trailing over the curves of your body. He hums in approval, his hand sliding up your leg, his fingers stroking the inside of your thigh.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

You watch as his hand slips lower, and his thumb finds the edge of your underwear, the touch light and teasing. The sensation is enough to make you gasp, and he does it again, tracing a line along the seam. Your legs part instinctively, and his hand cups the apex of your thighs, his palm pressing against the damp fabric.

"You want more?" he asks, and the huskiness of his voice is enough to make you ache.

"Yes," you breathe.

He pulls the underwear off, and you lie back, spreading your legs, giving him a clear view of the most intimate parts of you. He groans at the sight, his eyes raking over the soft flesh, and his hands grip your knees, pushing them further apart. You feel exposed, but the look on his face is nothing short of reverent, and the desire in his eyes is enough to take your breath away.

"Mesh'la," he whispers, and then his head is between your legs, his tongue finding the sensitive flesh. The contact is electric, and you moan, the sound muffled by your fist. Wrecker chuckles, his eyes locking on yours as his mouth continues its work. His lips and tongue are soft and warm, and his fingers grip your hips, pulling you closer.

"Stars, Wrecker," you whimper, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a jolt through your body. You gasp, and he smiles, his mouth never leaving the apex of your thighs. His tongue traces circles around the stiff bud, his fingers stroking the delicate skin.

You squirm under his ministrations, the sensation nearly overwhelming, and he holds you steady, his hands like steel. You grip the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but it's a futile effort. Wrecker is relentless, his mouth devouring every inch of flesh, his tongue probing, his teeth scraping, and the heat pooling in your belly threatens to consume you.

"Wrecker, I can't—"

He stops, pulling away with a wet smack. His face is glistening, his eyes burning, and the sight of him is enough to steal the words from your lips.

"Tell me," he growls, his hands tightening on your thighs.

"I can't—"

"Can't what, cyar’ika?" he murmurs, leaning in, his breath warm on the skin of your neck.

"Can't wait," you manage. "Please."

He laughs, his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh of your thighs. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding the apex of your folds. You groan, the contact almost too much to bear, and his fingers tease the edge, sliding along the slick skin.

"I'm gonna take my time with you," he says, his voice rough. "Gonna learn every inch of your body, every place that makes you feel good. And I'm gonna do it until you're a kriffing mess."

The words send a rush of heat through your body, and you can't help but arch into his touch, your hips rising off the bed. He grins, his fingers parting the slick folds, and you bite back a moan as he slides the digits along the length of the slit.

"So wet," he says, and the pride in his voice is obvious. "Mesh'la."

He leans down, his tongue darting out, tracing the same path his fingers had just followed. Wrecker takes his time, his mouth exploring every inch of the exposed flesh. By the time his tongue reaches the sensitive bud, you're trembling, the pleasure almost unbearable. His fingers press against your entrance, and you nod, giving him the go-ahead.

He slips a finger inside, and you clench around him, the feeling almost foreign. It’s been so long since you've done anything like this, and the stretch is unfamiliar, the sensation a strange combination of pleasure and discomfort. He moves slowly, his lips and tongue distracting you from the intrusion, and the discomfort fades, the pressure turning into a delicious fullness.

"You okay?" he asks, looking up at you, his lips still pressed against the apex of your thighs.

"Mhm," you reply, and you roll your hips, letting him know you're ready for more. He grins, and he presses another finger in, his tongue swirling around the stiff bud. The stretch is almost too much, and you gasp, the pleasure making your head spin.

Wrecker moves slowly, his fingers curling, probing, searching for that spot inside you. When he finds it, he rubs the tips against it, and the jolt of pleasure is enough to take your breath away.

"Fuck," you gasp.

"Yeah?" he asks, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Yes," you whimper.

"More?"

"Yes, please," you beg. "Please."

He complies, his fingers pressing deeper, and you groan, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Your thighs shake, and he hooks his free arm around one of them, pulling you closer, his lips closing around the bud.

It doesn't take long before the heat coiling in your belly becomes too much to bear, and you can't hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Wrecker keeps up the pace, his fingers pumping, his mouth devouring, and it's only a few moments before the tension snaps.

You cry out, the sound swallowed by the bulkhead, and your thighs clamp around his head, trapping him. The air seems to ripple around you, the Force flowing through you, and the room fades, replaced by blinding white light. You're weightless, drifting in the current, the pleasure rippling through your body.

When you finally come down, the room has returned to normal, and the pressure of Wrecker's mouth is nearly too much. You push him away, and he looks up at you, a smirk on his face. His lips are wet and swollen, and his eyes are bright with lust.

"That was somethin' else," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

"What did I do?" you ask, your voice shaking.

"Not sure," he replies. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out, licking away the remnants of your climax. "But I liked it."

"Oh," you manage.

"You good?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "Really good. Stars, Wrecker, that was...”

"Just the beginning," he says, his hands finding your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. He pulls you up onto your knees, and the next thing you know, his tongue is on your folds again, the sensation making your legs tremble.

"Wrecker, what—"

"Told you I'd take my time," he murmurs, and his fingers slip inside you again, the pace agonizing. You groan, burying your face in the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds spilling from your lips. His hand slides up your spine, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back. "I wanna hear you."

"I can't," you whimper.

"I'll stop if you don't," he threatens. "Wanna hear how good I'm makin' you feel."

"Fine," you groan. "Don't stop. Please."

"Good girl," he says, and the words send a rush of heat straight to your core. You feel yourself clamp down around his fingers, and his other hand grips the curve of your ass, squeezing hard. "Fuck, that's hot."

You moan, the sound loud and needy, and he rewards you by sliding another finger inside. The stretch is almost painful, but the pleasure is worth it, and the thought of him inside you, filling you, sends a thrill of excitement through your body. You can't help but push back against him, grinding your hips against his face.

"Look at you," he says, and the awe in his voice is enough to bring tears to your eyes. "Fuck, you're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

His mouth returns to its work, his tongue licking and sucking and teasing. Your legs tremble, and his arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as his fingers plunge deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming, and the room seems to fade around you, the only thing remaining the feeling of his mouth on your sex.

You can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything except take whatever he gives you. And the thought, the knowledge that you're completely at his mercy, is intoxicating. You surrender to the feeling, allowing yourself to let go, and the release is almost instantaneous.

You cry out, the sound torn from your throat, and the force of it threatens to knock you over. But Wrecker is there, his arms steadying you, his mouth coaxing every last ounce of pleasure from you. When the waves of bliss finally subside, you slump forward, the mattress soft against your cheek.

"Holy shit," you mutter, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah," Wrecker says, his hand stroking the length of your spine. He leans over you, his mouth finding the soft skin behind your ear. His tongue darts out, licking the shell, and his breath is hot on your neck. "Still with me?"

"Barely," you whisper, and the sound of his laugh sends a shiver through you. You roll over slowly to find his face inches from yours, his smile wide and wicked. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and the softness in his eyes is enough to melt your heart.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hey."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. The tenderness is unexpected, and the taste of yourself on his mouth is more arousing than it has any right to be.

"I'm glad we're finally alone," he whispers, his nose brushing against yours. "Was about to explode."

"Mm," you reply. "Well, let's fix that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, pushing him back. He sits up, and you move with him, swinging your leg over his waist. He watches you with hungry eyes, and the desire in his expression is enough to stoke the embers of your own. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his suit, the thickness hard and insistent, and the realization of just how badly he wants you is almost too much to bear.

You lean in, your mouth finding the side of his neck, and he groans, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. You nip and bite at the exposed flesh as your hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt, and you peel the fabric up, revealing his chest. He lifts his arms, and the two of you work together to pull the garment over his head, tossing it aside.

You run your hands over his broad chest, your fingers tracing the line of his muscles, his scars, his tattoos. The expanse of his skin is a map, a landscape, and you want to explore every inch. He sighs, his eyes closing, and the contentment in his expression is beautiful. You kiss him again, and he groans, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your head.

"I could kiss you forever," he murmurs.

"That would be nice," you reply, your lips moving down his throat.

"Mhm," he hums. "But right now, I really, really wanna fuck you."

The words send a shiver of desire through you, and you pull back, giving him a smirk. You slide back, and his hands move to the closure of his suit, undoing the catches with ease. The fabric parts, revealing the thick shaft beneath. The head is dark and swollen, and a drop of precome glistens at the tip.

"Kriff," you breathe. "You're—"

"Big?" he says, grinning.

You swallow, nodding. You've felt him through his clothes, the evidence of his desire more than clear, but the reality is something else entirely. He's larger than any partner you've ever had, and the thought of taking him, of feeling him inside you, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

"That's putting it mildly."

"We can wait," he offers, his hands finding your hips, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin. "Or take things slow. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"I appreciate that," you say. "But I really, really want this."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

He smiles, and his hand slips between your thighs, his fingers finding the slick skin. You gasp at the touch, rising up on your knees to pull his blacks down further. His cock springs free, the length curving up against his belly. He helps you pull the rest of the suit off, leaving the two of you bare before each other.

He sits up, his eyes raking over the planes of your body, his gaze hungry and possessive. He pulls you towards him, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, his mouth finding yours. His hands slide down your spine, cupping the swell of your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his lips moving against yours.

"Very," you reply. You reach between the two of you, your fingers wrapping around his length. He groans, his head falling back, and his hips twitch, pushing into your grasp. Your fingers don't quite meet, the thickness impossible to fully encircle, and the size of him is daunting.

"You can change your mind," he says, and the words are choked, strained. "Just say the word."

"I won't," you say. "Trust me."

"Okay," he breathes, and the faith in his voice is enough to take your breath away. He leans back, and you raise yourself up on your knees, positioning him at your entrance. You take a deep breath, and then begin to lower yourself onto him. The head presses against the tight ring of muscle the sensation almost foreign. You press down, and the tip slips inside, the thickness stretching you.

"Shit," he mutters, his fingers gripping your hips. "Fuck, cyar'ika, you're so—"

The words turn into a loud, unrestrained groan as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. It takes time, the fullness overwhelming, but you persevere, the feeling of him inside you more intense than anything you've ever felt. The way his length fills you, stretching and stretching, the slight pain, the ache, the feeling of being whole, it's enough to drive all thoughts from your mind.

By the time Wrecker is nearly fully seated inside you, the both of you are trembling. He's panting, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. You watch him, the sight of his reaction sending a rush of excitement through your body. It's the first time you've seen him lose control, and the knowledge that it's you, that you're the cause, is exhilarating.

You shift in his lap, grinding down on his cock, and he hisses, his teeth clenched. The pressure against the walls of your cunt is almost too much to bear, and it takes everything you have not to collapse. You lift yourself up slightly, testing the limits, and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Stay still,” he growls, and the command in his voice sends a thrill through you. “Don’t move.”

"Or what?" you ask.

Wrecker opens his eyes, his gaze burning into you. There's a dangerous glint there, and the promise in his expression is almost too much to take. You swallow, unable to look away. He smirks, and his hand comes up, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck, holding you steady.

"Or I'm gonna have to fuck you into the kriffing mattress," he says, his voice rough. "You think you can handle that?"

"Maybe," you reply, and the confidence in your voice is surprising.

"Really?" he says. He shifts, his hips lifting off the mattress, and the movement pushes him deeper. The stretch is almost too much, but the sensation is exquisite, and the moan that escapes your lips is unabashedly desperate. "Sounds like you can't."

"I'm not convinced," you say, and the words come out more as a whine than a statement. Wrecker laughs, his lips curling into a smug smile. The expression should annoy you, but instead, it only adds to the heat pooling in your core. You like seeing him like this, confident and commanding, and the thought of letting him have his way with you is more than a little arousing.

"You're adorable," he says, and he tilts his head forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. You wrap your arms around him, and he pulls you closer, his other hand sliding down to the small of your back. The pressure is intoxicating, and you can't help but squirm, trying to find purchase. But he holds you steady, his mouth devouring yours.

He lifts you up, his hands gripping the curve of your ass, and his cock nearly slips out, the sudden emptiness jarring. But before you can complain, he's lowering you back down, sheathing himself inside you again.

"Oh," you whimper.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "You feel so good."

He lifts you again, and his pace is achingly slow, the movement careful, controlled. He's clearly holding back, and the knowledge that he's doing it for your benefit sends a rush of affection through you. You cup his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Wrecker," you say. "Please."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you hiss, your head tilting back as he slides home. "Please, I want—"

"Tell me what you want," he growls.

"You," you say, and the confession is more difficult than it should be. "All of you. Hard and fast and— Fuck!"

The breath leaves your lungs as he flips the two of you, his weight pinning you against the mattress. He slides a hand beneath your hips, tilting them up, and his lips find the curve of your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," he growls, and then his hips snap, driving him into you. The movement is quick and powerful, and the impact reverberates through your entire body. The thrust is accompanied by a wave of pleasure, the feeling intense and all-consuming, and it takes everything you have to hold on.

"Holy shit," you mutter, your eyes squeezing shut.

"You good?" he murmurs, his hands finding yours, his fingers intertwining with your own.

"So good," you whimper. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to anchor yourself, but the motion seems to have the opposite effect. The slight shift in position is all the invitation he needs, and he drives into you again, the force enough to push you up the bed. The pleasure is almost blinding, and the room blurs, the edges of your vision darkening.

"More," you beg, the word torn from your throat.

"Anything," he breathes, and then his mouth finds yours, swallowing the moan that spills from your lips. His hips set a relentless rhythm, his cock pounding into you, the friction delicious. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, and his mouth never leaves yours, his tongue plunging past your teeth. The taste of him, the smell of him, it's enough to send you reeling, and the world around you fades, replaced by a single, searing point of pleasure.

You lose yourself in the moment, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the warmth and strength and power of him. He surrounds you, engulfs you, consumes you, and the intimacy of the act, the connection between the two of you, it's unlike anything you've ever felt. The sensation is overwhelming, and you're powerless to do anything except take whatever he gives you. You let go, surrendering yourself completely, and the feeling is almost euphoric.

"You feel so fuckin' good," Wrecker pants, and the words seem to echo, his voice distant. "Can't believe you're—fuck, cyar'ika, you're perfect."

The praise spurs you on, and the next thing you know, Wrecker is kneeling before you, pulling you towards him. His hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh, and his cock plunges deeper. You cry out, the sound echoing around the room, and he groans in response, his movements becoming erratic.

"Fuck," he grunts. His hands slide down, cupping the curve of your ass, and he lifts you off the mattress, impaling you on his cock. The angle is intense, and you can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pressure threatening to burst.

"I'm close," you gasp, and he nods, his face twisted with pleasure. He's lost control, the steady rhythm giving way to desperate, frantic thrusts, and the knowledge that he's close to coming undone is intoxicating.

"Touch yourself," he manages. "Come on, cyar'ika, wanna feel you come on my cock."

You do as he says, reaching down and sliding your fingers through the wetness between your legs. The contact is enough to push you over the edge, and you come hard, the orgasm tearing through you. The room goes dark, the pleasure nearly blinding, and the air seems to vibrate, the Force surging through you. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except let it wash over you.

You feel yourself clamp down around Wrecker's cock, the walls of your cunt spasming, and he gasps, the sound raw and primal. He thrusts once, twice, and then his hips stutter, and he drives himself deep, the force of his climax making the bed shake. You feel his cock pulse inside you, filling you, and the warmth of his seed sends another wave of pleasure rippling through your body.

It seems to go on forever, the two of you riding out the aftershocks. You're trembling, and tears are spilling down your cheeks, but you can't bring yourself to care. You pull him close, your mouth finding his, and the kiss is sloppy, needy, the two of you too far gone to do anything except cling to each other.

When it's over, Wrecker rolls the two of you over, pulling you into his arms. His chest is rising and falling in rapid breaths, and his heart is pounding, the beat so loud you can hear it. You rest your head on his shoulder, your arm draped across his chest, and he pulls you closer, his nose buried in the top of your head.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

"That good, huh?"

"Good doesn't even cover it," he says. "Stars, that was...fuck, cyar'ika, that was somethin' else."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," he murmurs. "Fuck."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his skin. He chuckles in response, and his hand strokes your back, his fingers tracing circles on your spine. You sigh, the touch soothing, and you close your eyes, letting the tension leave your body. You're exhausted, and the thought of moving is nearly unbearable. You’re more content than you can remember being in a long, long time.

"Don't fall asleep," he says. "Not yet."

"Too late," you murmur, the words slurred.

"Hey," he says, and his tone is gentle, teasing. "At least let me get a towel or something."

"Fine," you grumble.

He laughs, and the bed shifts as he gets up, the loss of his body heat jarring. You shiver, curling into yourself, and the next thing you know, he's pressing a damp cloth between your legs. The contact is enough to wake you up, and the realization of what's happening is both embarrassing and endearing.

"Wrecker," you say, pushing his hand away. "I can do that."

"Sorry," he mutters. "Should've asked."

"It's okay," you say, and the sincerity in your voice seems to reassure him. "I just don't want you doing all the work."

"I don't mind," he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I like takin' care of you."

"And I like taking care of you," you reply. "Which is why I want you to come back to bed."

"Okay, okay," he says, smiling. He tosses the towel aside, and the bed dips as he climbs in next to you, his body pressed flush against yours. The feel of his skin on yours is soothing, and you can't help but melt into his touch. He's solid and warm and real, and the knowledge that he's here, that he wants you, is more comforting than anything else.

"Mesh'la," he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

You turn, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you, his body enveloping yours, and the words come easily.

"I love you, too."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

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@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino @silly-starfish

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@808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper @sensitive-shark

@kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees

---

Thanks to the amazing encouragement of, and inspiration from @moonlightwarriorqueen I present my first fanfic in clone wars fandom. This is a Pride and Prejudice inspired Wolffe x Reader fluffy romp, with added appearances from my favourite Marshall Commander Fox, the Wolf Pack, Plo Koon and as many characters as I can shoehorn in appropriately lol.

P.S. If you haven’t read the amazingly gorgeous work of @moonlightwarriorqueen please can I suggest you do so forthwith. Their work is like a warm hug on a frosty day.

A truth acknowledged universally (part 1)

Wolffe x fem!Reader

Rating G

Trigger warnings: anti clone/adoptee discrimination in future chapters, discussions of money and food insecurity.

Wolffe scowled as the party reeled around him. The patch covering his eye itched something fierce, as the musket wound was still healing beneath it. .He had been dragged from his enforced solitude by the rambunctious pleas of his younger brothers, affectionately dubbed the “Wolf Pack” by those who had the misfortune to know them at their most exuberant.

To his left his father, Plo, dozed lightly despite the loud music played aggressively on the pianoforte which guided the dancers around the room. Wolffe moved gracefully to ensure that the blanket upon his father’s lap didn’t slip away under the weight of the abandoned book within his lap. His father had spent too long this afternoon expending his energy and had refused Wolffe’s gruff requests to rest. Despite being ostensibly retired, Doctor Koon spent many hours teaching the younger children in the village to read, saving their parents the schooling fees, so that they may more easily feed their families with the money saved. Wolffe could not be cross with his father, but he was concerned with the personal toll the unrelenting kindness took on his father as he entered his twilight years.

With a bone weary exhale, Wolffe watched as his younger brothers, Sinker and Boost, spun their latest objects of affection around the ballroom, both of them possessed with a giddiness and breathless joy he himself had not been party to in years. Wolffe didn’t begrudge them that joy, far from it, he wished he could bottle and preserve it for all his brothers so that they would never be without, but as the eldest sibling, the responsibility for his family's fortunes weighed heavily. The burden had become harder to shoulder since his injury at the hands of a French assassin had forced him home to recuperate. Wolffe could only afford a few more weeks before returning to the front line would be necessary for all of his family to remain solvent. Internally, Wolffe began to calculate the amount of time he had to remain before it would be deemed socially acceptable to leave.

With a crunch of strained wood, the ballroom doors swung open with an unbecoming lack of decorum. Wolffe’s gaze snapped to the entryway, assuming his other brothers, Comet and Wildfire, the irrepressible twins, had either escaped or joined the party without permission. Instead, he was surprised to see new faces. Arrivals were hard to keep under wraps in a village this small. Everyone knew each other's business faster than the carrier pigeons could arrive.

Wolffe studied the group who had interrupted the festivities. A bearded gentleman in naval uniform maybe a decade older than Wolffe led the way, his natural leadership and presence evident in his stride. He was flanked by a sandy haired young man with intense eyes, clad in a junior officers uniform, who was escorting a younger girl, whose dazzling blue eyes and scandalously matching coloured hair suggested trouble.

With a short whisper to the host, they were announced as First Sea Lord Benjamin Kenobi, and his young charges Officer Anakin and Ahsoka Kenobi. Behind them both, trying her best to blend into the wallpaper, was a young woman, unannounced and unnamed, she followed the trio indoors, eyes cast downwards.

Wolffe watched as the Lord and his family worked the room, intriguing all around them. There was an unseemly amount of fawning over the new arrivals which caused more than one exasperated eye roll from Wolffe as both Sinker and Boost, abandoning their dates for the evening, fell over themselves to pester Lord Benjamin for tales of maritime warfare and adventure.

Beside him, Doctor Koon stirred, awoken by the change in background ambience. He looked to Wolffe for support as he tried to rise to his feet, which his son provided dutifully and automatically without glancing downwards. Rubbing the unexpected sleep from his eyes, he felt his joints ache from the position in which he had taken his impromptu nap. No doubt he would be subject to a light scolding from his eldest son, who worried for everyone but himself. Plo looked to see what had taken Wolffe’s attention.

Wolffe seemed enraptured by a young lady who had entered behind the newcomers. Whilst they held court, this lady had sought out the serving staff and it looked as though she had asked, to their bafflement, to be put to work.

Plo supposed that this ask for employment was a diversionary tactic to avoid participation in the pantomime currently underway from her companions. Whilst Lord Ben and his young family enjoyed every moment of attention, this girl was determined to avoid it, and when her offer of assistance was politely declined, she took herself to the chairs at the furthest, and most empty corner of the room. She looked for all the world as though she wished to blend into the wallpaper. Dr Koon was surprised she hadn’t acknowledged Wolffe’s stern and probing gaze so far, but what was even more unexpected was the small jolt which travelled through his son as she did finally return his stare.

Icy blue gray eyes met the Wolffe’s remaining amber eye and a silent conversation took place.

Koon knowingly chuckled as he patted Wolffe’s arm, drawing his attention downwards, to support more of his weight. However, the brandy he had had after dinner sought to rush to his head and he swayed heavily, his heart fluttering too fast and too unevenly. As his vision narrowed, and the familiar blackness of unconsciousness encroached, all Koon could think was how much this would further worry Wolffe. He hoped the arms of oblivion would let him return. He had much to do.

---

This is perfection - I can feel Gregor’s presence and energy through the screen. I need to know what dark magic I need to do to live inside this fic please and be the object of his adoration. Please and thank you.

All Lost Time

Pairing: Gregor x fem!Reader

Words: 9,547

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! established relationship, fluff, a little hurt/comfort, smut, oral (f recieving), fingering, face sitting, unprotected sex, pinv, nipple play, multiple orgasms, edging, overstimulation, oral fixation?, marriage and kids talk but no pregnancy kink, Gregor is very chatty during sex but I think we all knew that, and he is head over heels obsessed with reader as he should be

Summary: After months away, Gregor is finally coming home to you. And he's made it his mission to make up for every second you've been apart.

A/N: I blame @cyaretra for this!! This is my first time writing Gregor so be nice to me okay thanks

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It’s silly, you think, that Gregor still makes you feel this way. 

You’ve been together for nearly a year now, but every time you see him, the flutter in your stomach and the way your heart starts pounding are as strong as the first time he smiled at you and asked if you wanted to get dinner.

It was an instant attraction. And at first, you couldn’t understand why. You were a communications officer embedded in the Republic Navy, hopping ships month to month, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t been surrounded by clones day in and day out since the war began. You thought yourself immune to their good looks, their charming smiles, and their boyish humor.

But there was something different about Gregor. His eyes lit up when he talked. He had a sense of humor. He had a story. And when the stolen frigate he was on showed up out of the blue in the middle of a battle and fired a full salvo at the Separatist flagship, well...you were smitten. You couldn’t help but find his antics amusing, endearing, and downright attractive.

He asked you out the second time you saw him. The third time, you kissed him.

The fourth, well, things got a little out of control.

Now, standing here in your apartment, counting down the seconds until he arrives, you can hardly believe how quickly the last year has gone by. How, in spite of the constant threat of danger, and the never-ending war, and the fact that you rarely have the time to see each other, he’s still the person you want to spend your time with.

The one who makes you laugh, even in the darkest hours. The one who makes you want to fight just a little bit harder. The one you can call, no matter how late it is, just to hear the sound of his voice.

And the one who can make you feel this excited, this giddy, this happy, just by walking through the door.

The second you hear the soft beep that means someone has punched in the code to your apartment, your heart leaps. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. It doesn't work.

Your heart jumps again when the door slides open.

Gregor steps inside, carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder and looking a bit sheepish. He gives you a shy grin.

You stand there, just staring at him, unsure what to do, afraid that the moment you move, he'll vanish like a mirage.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi."

There's a pause. A long one.

And then a huge grin spreads across his face, and a second later, the bag hits the floor with a thud. Gregor crosses the room in two quick strides, sweeping you into his arms. You let out a little yelp of surprise, and he laughs as he peppers your neck and face with kisses.

You can't help but laugh along with him, even as you tell him to stop. You try to wriggle free, but his hold on you is firm. Your squirming only makes him squeeze you tighter, his arms around your waist, his lips traveling up your neck and making you shudder.

"Stop, stop," you say, still laughing.

"Why?" he asks, his mouth pressed against your jaw. "I missed you."

"I can tell," you reply, and you tilt your head to give him better access. "Missed you too"

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair. It's longer than the last time you saw him, and he groans appreciatively as you gently scratch his scalp. His kisses turn softer, more reverent, and a warm feeling spreads throughout your entire body.

"Welcome home," you whisper, and his hands move to your hips, pulling you closer.

"I could get used to hearing that," he murmurs.

He moves down to your neck again, and the warm feeling intensifies, turning into heat, burning hotter and hotter with each passing second. His fingers trail up the side of your ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They come to rest on the bare skin of your lower back, and when his thumb begins tracing gentle circles, a soft moan escapes your throat.

You know that if you let this continue, you'll never get out of this entryway, but right now, you're not sure you care. All you know is that his hands and his lips are setting your skin on fire, and all you want is to feel him everywhere.

"Did you... have a good trip?" you ask, gasping a little as his teeth scrape over your skin.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbles. His lips find the spot under your ear and stay there. You squirm in his arms, but only because it's ticklish, not because you want him to stop.

"How was Felucia?" you ask, breathless.

"Fine." He sucks at the pulse point on your neck, and you whimper, tightening your grip on him. "I got to fire a few blasters, kick a few droids, save the day. The usual."

"So... you're... all in one piece?"

He pauses, pulls back a little, and looks down at you. His grin turns mischievous.

"What do you think?"

You bite your lip. Your hand trails down his chest and stomach, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. You look back up at him, batting your lashes innocently before your hand slips lower. He catches his breath as you cup him through his pants, stroking lightly.

"You feel like one piece to me."

Gregor's mouth covers yours, and he kisses you deeply, his tongue teasing your bottom lip until you open your mouth and let him in. You're barely aware of him steering you toward the wall. It isn't until your back hits the cold, smooth metal that you realize how dizzy you are, how hot and needy you've gotten from nothing more than a few touches and his kisses.

He pins your hands above your head, and you feel the pressure of his thigh between your legs. You moan, arching up, and he moves against you, grinding slowly. His mouth leaves yours and moves to your throat, and you tilt your head back and close your eyes, letting him have his way with you.

"I've thought about doing this the entire trip home," he murmurs, his hands leaving yours. One of them finds your waist, holding you steady as he moves his leg back and forth. The other slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across the skin of your stomach. He pushes the fabric up, baring your chest. You gasp, shuddering, as the air cools your hot skin.

"You have?"

"Oh yeah." His mouth moves down, his lips closing around the tip of one breast, his tongue flicking out. "Had plenty of time to think."

You thread your fingers through his hair and hold him to you. He sucks and bites at you, sending sharp pangs of pleasure and pain through your body. Your hips rock against him, searching for relief.

"You don't think that's a little... unhealthy?" you ask. He chuckles, and the sound vibrates against your sensitive flesh. He lets go with a wet pop, and his lips ghost across the valley of your breasts and onto the other one. You shiver and press into him.

"Not at all."

You moan as his tongue slides along your skin, lapping and circling. He sucks, harder and harder, until the pressure is almost too much to bear. You cry out, and he stops, pressing a gentle kiss over the bruise that's already forming. He looks up at you, his pupils blown, his smile wicked.

"You know what I miss most when I'm away?" he asks, his words a whisper against your skin. His thumb circles your nipple, and you suck in a breath, squirming. 

"What?"

"This," Gregor says. He presses a kiss to the top of your breast before his hand moves south, cupping you through your pants. "And this." He slips his fingers inside your waistband, finding the edge of your underwear. "And definitely this." 

His thick fingers push under the thin cotton fabric and stroke through the slickness. He finds your clit and rubs, slowly and gently, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart right there.

"Mmmm," you moan. "That's a lot to miss."

He teases you a little, his fingers sliding lower, finding your opening and thrusting once, shallowly. You whimper, your legs trembling.

"Well," he replies, sliding one finger inside you, "it's a good thing I've got plenty of time to make up for it."

Your breath catches in your throat as his finger strokes the place deep inside you that makes you shudder and shake. He's got the perfect rhythm, and just the right amount of pressure. You close your eyes and tip your head back, arching against the wall as your mouth parts and little, high-pitched noises of pleasure escape.

"So beautiful," Gregor murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "So soft and warm. Like a little ray of sunshine in my otherwise miserable existence."

"Stop," you whisper, though it's the last thing you want him to do.

"Stop what?" he asks. "Stop calling you beautiful? I don't think so."

"But—"

"Oh, yes you are," he cuts you off. 

Gregor takes a step back, removing his hand. You whimper at the loss, and he gives you a smile before dropping to his knees in front of you, looking up at you with an expression that can only be described as worshipful.

"In fact," he says, pulling your pants down, "let me show you how beautiful I think you are."

You have to bite your lip to keep from moaning. Gregor has a way of making you feel things that no one ever has before, and his words alone are enough to bring you to the edge. But when he looks at you like that, and when he speaks to you the way he does, all husky and low, it's hard not to let go.

As if he knows this, his eyes lock with yours, and his mouth curls into a smirk.

"I think I'd better take a closer look," he says, and his tongue slips out, tracing along his lower lip.

He grabs hold of your waistband and pulls, and your pants and underwear slide down your legs. You lift one foot, and then the other, stepping out of them, and he tosses them aside. He kisses the inside of your knee, and then slowly moves up, kissing his way along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your legs tremble. Your hands shake.

He reaches the top of your leg, and then stops.

"Gregor?"

"I could stay here forever, you know," he says, pressing another kiss to the inside of your thigh. "It's my favorite place in the entire galaxy. So soft. So perfect."

You're about to protest, but before you can, he spreads your folds with his fingers. Your words come out as a cry, and your hands fly to his hair, clutching his head and pulling him closer.

“And this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through you. Your knees buckle. Gregor steadies you, his laugh hot against your skin. "You know, it's really unfair that I don't get to do this nearly often enough."

"You do just fine," you breathe, "when you're here."

"Just fine isn't good enough," he replies. He leans in again, flicking his tongue over your clit. You gasp and arch toward him, and his arms slide around your waist, holding you tight against his face. "You deserve more than just fine.”

You have a feeling he's talking about more than just this, but before you can ask him, his mouth covers you, and any words that were going to come out turn into a long, drawn-out moan.

You close your eyes and tilt your head back, getting lost in the sensation of his tongue moving against you, licking, sucking, teasing. One of his hands finds yours and laces your fingers together, holding tight, grounding you, and reminding you that no matter where you are, no matter what else is going on in the galaxy, this is real. This is where you are. This is the only thing that matters.

Gregor's free hand moves to your thigh. He urges you to part your legs further, and you oblige, leaning back against the wall and sinking lower, letting him lift your leg and place it over his shoulder. His tongue laps at your entrance, teasing, and then moves higher, circling your clit again and again.

You gasp. Your toes curl. Heat builds between your legs, and every movement of his tongue makes you shiver and tremble. Gregor knows exactly how to play your body. He's mapped every inch of you. He knows the right amount of pressure, the exact movement that will send you careening over the edge.

And it makes it all the more frustrating that he seems determined to keep you hanging on, never quite pushing you over the cliff.

"Gregor, please," you moan.

"Please what, sunshine?" he asks with a laugh, and you whimper as his lips brush your clit.

"Don't make me say it," you whisper, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks.

"Oh, no, no, no," he replies, shaking his head. "You're not getting off that easy. I want to hear it."

You groan and drop your head forward, looking down at him. His eyes are bright, his smile is wicked, and his fingers are teasing your slit, not quite going in, but just enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you.

"I want you," you whisper, trying not to whine. "I want you to make me come. Please."

"Your wish," Gregor murmurs, his voice low and rough, "is my command."

His tongue finds your clit and stays there, stroking, teasing, flicking. His fingers slip inside you, first one, then two, and curl, stroking the spot deep inside that makes you scream.

The heat between your legs builds and builds until it becomes unbearable, until your thighs are shaking and your vision is blurring. You can't breathe, can't speak, all you can do is clutch his hand and moan, louder and louder as the pleasure swells.

"Yes," he whispers, his lips and his breath and his voice sending a cascade of shudders through your body.

Finally, his mouth covers your clit, and he sucks hard, his fingers thrusting deeper.

You come apart. Your body goes taut, your head tilts back, and a cry escapes from deep in your throat. Your orgasm rips through you, wave after wave, and you cling to Gregor's hand as if he's the only thing keeping you from being swept away.

He keeps going even after the spasms stop, and soon, you're building up to another peak. The intensity is too much, and you try to pull his head away, gasping his name. He doesn't stop. He holds you tighter and doubles his efforts, his tongue lapping and his fingers pumping.

"Oh, no," he says, holding fast. "I'm not done yet. I still have plenty more to make up for."

"Please," you moan, though whether it's because you can't stand any more or because you don't want him to stop is anyone's guess.

"I think..." Gregor murmurs, his fingers curling inside you. You buck against his hand, moaning loudly. "I think I might have to do this a few more times. Maybe all night."

His mouth covers you again, and you close your eyes, giving in to the sensations. Your whole body is trembling, every nerve is singing, and the pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming, that it almost hurts.

He takes you higher and higher until the heat and the need are unbearable. Little moans and noises escape him, and the way his tongue and lips move faster and faster against you let you know that he's just as excited by this as you are. He's just as aroused by giving you pleasure as you are by receiving it. And the thought that he gets so much enjoyment from this, and from knowing that he can make you feel this way, is what finally pushes you over the edge.

You scream, and your entire body shakes and spasms. Your nails dig into his hand, and he holds tight, letting you ride out the pleasure until the tremors finally subside and you collapse, boneless, against the wall.

Gregor's fingers slip out of you, and his mouth goes slack, letting go of your clit. He gently lowers your leg and stands, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close as the aftershocks make your body shudder and twitch.

"There," he murmurs, planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Much better."

You giggle, breathless.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Definitely," he says. He pulls back, just a bit, and cups your chin in his hand. His thumb runs along your lower lip, and you open your mouth, letting it slide in. He groans as your tongue flicks across his skin, his forehead falling forward and resting against yours. "That's one night's worth of missed opportunities. And there are... a lot of nights to make up for."

You grin, letting go of his thumb.

"Well, then, I suppose we'd better get started," you reply. Your hands move to his belt, fingers dancing across the cold metal. You look up at him through lowered lashes, biting your lip. "My turn?"

Gregor grabs your wrists, pulling them away. You whimper.

"No," he replies. He gathers your wrists in one hand, and the other lifts to stroke your cheek, his eyes darkening. "Tonight, I want to make love to my girlfriend. The way I've been wanting to the entire trip home. And that means I get to be the one taking care of you."

"Oh, come on, Gregor," you say, pouting. "Let me make you feel good too."

"Nope," he says. He steps back and starts pulling off his shirt. "This is a night of self-indulgence, and that means I'm going to take my time and do everything I've been fantasizing about doing since the last time I saw you."

"Is that right?" you hum, raising an eyebrow. You start to push off the wall, but his hand stops you, his palm flat against your chest. He shakes his head.

"Nuh-uh," he replies.

You groan. "Gregor, that's not fair."

He laughs and tosses his shirt aside, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

"It's plenty fair. I've been on Felucia for months, fighting hordes of vicious battle droids and trying not to die." He pulls the belt from his pants and tosses it aside. "It's been a stressful couple of weeks, and I think I've earned the chance to do whatever the hell I want."

"And what is it that you want?" you ask, crossing your arms.

He pauses, and his expression changes. His eyes darken, the black of his pupils swallowing the brown, and his grin fades. He looks at you like he wants nothing more than to devour you, and it sends a wave of heat over you so powerful you feel your knees weaken.

"Go get on the bed," he growls, "and I'll show you."

And oh, there's the tone that makes your heart beat faster and your stomach do flips. The tone that lets you know that, tonight, it's not just about the physical, but something so much deeper, and a thousand times more intimate.

You hesitate, and he takes a step forward, his eyes narrowing.

"I said..."

"Yes, sir."

Gregor grins, and his eyes light up.

"There's my girl," he murmurs.

You can't help the smile that comes to your face, or the way you blush and bite your lip, and Gregor's grin grows wider. He grabs your cheek, squishing them slightly as he pulls you in for a kiss, soft and gentle and sweet.

"Go," he says when he pulls away.

You nod.

He kisses you again, and then lets go. Gregor's hands find your hips, and he gives you a little shove forward, making you yelp and giggle. You hurry down the hall toward your bedroom, stripping off the rest of your clothes as you walk. Every step feels like you're walking through a haze, a dream, something surreal and wonderful.

By the time you reach the bed, you're naked. You throw yourself down and bounce a little on the mattress, feeling giddy. The bed is made, as always, but you grab the blankets and fling them back, creating a messy, rumpled mess that would ordinarily drive you crazy.

It's a few minutes before Gregor comes into the room, but when he does, the sight of him makes your heart leap.

He's still wearing his pants, but his feet are bare, and his shirt is gone, leaving his muscular torso completely exposed. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, clinging to the thick lines of muscle and dark hairs that cover him. You can see the lines of a few fresh scars, and some older ones, but the thing that really gets you is the look on his face. He's trying to keep himself in check, to remain calm and controlled, but there's something behind his eyes that makes it obvious he's fighting to keep from jumping on top of you.

"So, how do you want me?" you ask, trying to keep the tremble from your voice.

Gregor walks slowly toward the bed, his hands behind his back. His eyes roam over your body, and his gaze burns hotter than a solar flare. His lips are parted, and his breathing is a little uneven, and the fact that this man, who has seen so many terrible things, and experienced so much death and destruction, has no trouble being completely undone by you, is intoxicating.

"Gregor?"

He takes a deep breath. His gaze meets yours, and his lips curl into a grin.

"Perfect," he says, smiling softly. "Exactly like that."

You're blushing furiously now, and the desire burning in his eyes is making it hard for you to catch your breath.

Gregor approaches the bed, his gaze never leaving yours. You can see the outline of his erection through his pants, and your fingers itch to grab hold of him, to stroke and tease and make him feel the way he made you feel. But as soon as you sit up and reach for him, he pushes your hands away and straddles you, pinning your arms at your sides. He leans down and kisses you, his tongue slipping past your lips and exploring your mouth.

"Tonight," he whispers, pulling back, "it's my turn to do all the work."

"I don't mind working," you say, arching your hips against his. He gasps and then chuckles.

"Next time," he replies. He plants a soft kiss to the end of your nose and presses his forehead to yours. "Next time, I'll let you do whatever you want. Tonight, it's just about me taking care of my girl."

"What if I don't want to be taken care of?"

"Hm..." Gregor hums, pretending to think. "Tough."

His lips meet yours again, and his kiss is hard, demanding. Your hands struggle against his grip, wanting to touch him, and when he finally lets go, they fly to his face, cupping his cheeks and pulling him closer. Your mouths open and tongues tangle, and he shifts, settling himself between your legs. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and arch up, trying to press your body against his. But he resists, keeping himself hovering over you, denying you the friction and pressure you desperately want. You can feel him through his pants, so close, but it's not enough, and you squirm, whimpering into his mouth.

"Not so fast, beautiful," Gregor says.

"You're teasing me."

"Yes," he replies, sliding a hand down between your legs. "Yes, I am."

"Gregor—"

He shushes you, slipping two fingers inside your entrance, and all other thoughts leave your mind.

His fingers curl and stroke, and you buck against his hand, whimpering. He knows your body almost as well as you do. He can bring you to the edge faster and with more intensity than you can yourself. And the fact that he's doing it without even touching your clit is driving you insane.

"How are we doing, sunshine?" Gregor asks, and the smugness in his voice making it obvious he already knows the answer.

"So... so good," you manage, biting your lip.

"Just good?" he teases, slowing his pace. You squirm, trying to get his fingers deeper, but he holds back. "Are you sure there isn't something more I can do to improve the experience?"

"Oh, stars, please, Gregor, please."

"That's what I thought."

His thumb brushes your clit, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through you. Your eyes fly open as you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. He resists, and you moan in frustration.

"Gregor, please," you say again.

"Please what?"

"Touch me," you reply. "Kiss me. Make me come. Just, please, don't make me wait any longer."

"All in good time, my love," he murmurs. He kisses the base of your throat, sucking lightly at the spot just above your collarbone that makes you shiver and moan. "All in good time."

You bite your lip and hold on to his shoulders, waiting for him to continue. He kisses his way down your neck, pausing every so often to suck and bite and lick. Each touch sends little jolts of electricity through your body, making you hot and needy.

By the time he reaches the valley between your breasts, his fingers are moving deeper inside you, and the slow, steady strokes of his thumb against your clit are nudging you closer to the edge again. You arch your back, pressing your breasts closer to him, begging him to move his mouth lower. But instead of doing what you want, he turns his head and bites your nipple, sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through your body.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers. He presses a kiss to the top of your breast, his tongue swirling over to soothe the sting. You cry out, arching up, and he laughs. "Every part of you."

His fingers curl inside you, stroking the spot deep inside, and your head tilts back. The pressure and the heat building between your legs are almost unbearable, and the only thing keeping you grounded is his free hand, stroking your hip and the crease where your thigh meets your body. He moves his thumb from your clit, and you whine in frustration.

"Look at me," he says, and when you glance down, his eyes lock with yours. They're dark and serious, the same way they were when he ordered you onto the bed. But now, the look on his face is full of affection and adoration, and it makes your heart melt.

"Do you know what I think about when I'm out there?" Gregor asks, his fingers still moving, and it takes everything in you to stay focused. "When I'm fighting those droids, and the shooting stops, and everything goes quiet?"

"W-what?"

"I think about this," he replies. "I think about coming home. About getting to be with you. About getting to make love to you. About getting to hold you, and kiss you, and taste you, and touch you."

"Oh, stars," you whisper, his words sending a fresh wave of heat over your skin. You arch up again, trying to press closer, and he chuckles.

"I think about how lucky I am," he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against yours. His hand fists in the sheets beside your head while the other continues to move, slow and steady, deep and intense. "I think about how much I love you."

"Gregor..."

You feel the tears stinging the backs of your eyes, and you pull him closer, kissing him deeply, your tongue sliding past his lips and meeting his. His thumb brushes your clit, and you let out a high-pitched whimper, your whole body going stiff.

"I love you," he murmurs against your lips. "And I will never get tired of showing you how much."

You cling to him, unable to speak, and he kisses you again, long and slow and sweet. He kisses his way down your chest, stopping to lavish attention on your breasts, sucking and nipping and swirling his tongue. He moves lower, and lower, kissing his way across your stomach and down your thigh.

"So beautiful," he whispers, pressing his lips to the spot right above your knee.

He lifts your leg, hooking it over his shoulder, and turns his head, kissing the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh.

"I used to be afraid I'd forget," he says, his voice low and hoarse. His fingers curl inside you, and he kisses higher, closer, and closer. "You know. That my memory would go again, and I wouldn't remember you. Or us. Or the way it felt to be here with you."

You swallow hard. "Oh, Gregor, please, don't..."

"But it didn't," he says. He's still moving his fingers, slowly, almost lazily, and the sensation is driving you crazy. You rock your hips against him, trying to get him to go faster, but he stays in control, keeping his movements steady. "It didn't go. Because no matter what, no matter where I am, no matter how bad things get, you're the one thing that never left me."

"Good," you say, gasping. "Because I never want to leave."

Gregor kisses the inside of your thigh again, and then presses his face to the place where it meets your hip.

"I wish I could keep you with me," he murmurs, nuzzling and nipping and licking. "Everywhere I go, everywhere I am, all I want is you."

You feel the heat building between your legs, and the pleasure coiling deep inside. It's slow and intense, and the longer he goes on, the more desperate you get. You want to reach for him, to clutch at him, to pull him closer, but you're afraid of breaking his spell. He seems to be in a trance, his mouth moving over your skin as if he can't stop.

And if it means being this close, having him this near, having him this intimate, this passionate, this whole, then you will gladly let him do whatever he wants.

"I don't ever want to lose this," he says, kissing his way up the opposite thigh.

"You won't," you promise. "Never."

Gregor moves back to the spot on the inside of your thigh, biting down harder, sucking, licking. Your breath hitches as you feel the delicate veins burst, the skin bruising under his teeth. A few days, and it will fade, but for now, it will be a mark of his love, a reminder that you belong to him. That he belongs to you.

He pulls his mouth away and presses his face to your hip again. He's still stroking his fingers, slow and deep, and it's starting to become too much. It's becoming hard to think. Hard to breathe. You arch against him, but he keeps his rhythm, holding you down with the weight of his body.

“I want to stay like this forever," he says, kissing the space right below your navel. “Stars, sunshine, I want to devour every inch of you. Want to spend a week, a month, a year with my face between your legs, because that's the only place in the universe where I'm actually happy."

"Gregor—“

"I could live there, you know," he cuts you off. "Forever. Wouldn't even mind. Just you and me and a big bed and nothing else."

"But no food," you reply breathlessly, unable to resist the joke, your eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't need it."

"You'd get hungry."

"For you." He kisses his way back down the other thigh, leaving a trail of tiny bruises behind. "Nothing but you."

"Fuck, Gregor," you gasp as he sucks at the crease of your leg and your pelvis, his fingers still stroking, his other hand tightening its grip on the sheets.

"I love it here," he murmurs, his breath hot and humid against your skin. "Love the way you smell, and taste, and the noises you make when I kiss you here..." He trails off, and his tongue finds your slit.

You cry out, arching against him, and he pushes his face between your legs, lapping at the wetness.

"Oh, Gregor," you moan, grabbing his hair, pulling him closer. You can feel him grinning against you, and his laughter makes your toes curl.

His tongue moves in long, lazy strokes, and his fingers are still going, in and out, curling and twisting. You're panting, writhing beneath him, the heat creeping up your legs toward your core, and he holds firm, his mouth and his hands continuing their work.

"Gregor, please," you whisper, and he lifts his head.

"Please what?"

"Let me touch you."

"No."

He presses his lips to the place above your clit, sucking gently, and you whimper.

"Please."

"No," he says. "You don't need to touch me."

"But I want to," you protest.

"And I want to touch you."

You groan and let your head fall back, and he goes back to his task, his tongue finding your clit, licking and lapping, and his fingers speeding up, thrusting deep.

Your orgasm is building slowly, the heat and the tension growing more and more, and your entire body is trembling. Tears build in the corner of your eyes, your legs are shaking, and your toes are curling. You feel as if you're standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. All you need is one more push, one more movement, and the wave will crest and the pleasure will spill over.

"Gregor, please, I can't," you whimper, your hand fisting tighter in his hair. He moans against you, and the sound reverberates through your body, sending a new wave of shudders over your skin. "Don't stop, please, don't stop, please..."

He doesn't say a word, but his hand grips your thigh tighter, and his fingers keep their steady pace, in and out, curving and stroking. His tongue dances along the length of your slit, teasing and licking, and finally, when you're sure you can't take any more, his lips cover your clit, and his tongue presses against it, circling slowly.

You break.

Your back arches, your toes curl, and a cry rips from your throat. White-hot pleasure floods your senses, and you grab the sheets, gripping them tight. The spasms spread from between your legs up your thighs, through your stomach, to your chest, and down your arms. Your thighs clamp down hard around his head, and he laughs, his breath warm against your wet skin.

"Yes," Gregor murmurs, his voice hoarse, and he grunts as you squeeze his head tighter. His hand grips your leg, holding fast. He continues his movements, slower now, letting the pleasure build and then fall, and his free hand slides up, finding your own and lacing his fingers through yours. Your hips rock, following his pace, and he doesn't stop until the aftershocks fade and you lie there, boneless, panting, and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You lie there, unable to move, unable to think. Your thighs fall open, releasing their grip on him, and Gregor kisses the inside of one leg and then the other, letting his lips linger before sitting up and stretching. You watch him through hooded eyes, a lazy smile playing across your lips.

"Wow," Gregor says, licking his lips. “That was a good one."

"Mmm," is all you can manage. You try to sit up, but your arms are still shaking, so you let yourself flop back down. Your hands reach blindly for him, and he laughs, catching one and pressing a kiss to the palm.

"Oh, no," he says. "Not yet."

"But you didn't—"

"Not yet," he repeats, his smile turning wicked. 

He leans down, kissing you softly, and then moves off the bed. His hands find the waistband of his pants and slides them down, revealing the bulge of his cock, thick and heavy, straining against the fabric of his briefs. The sight of his erection makes your mouth water, and you reach for him again, but he shakes his head.

"Not. Yet."

You groan, frustrated, but Gregor just laughs. He drops his pants and steps out of them, his thumbs hooking in his underwear, pushing them down, and his erection springs free. His cock bobs, hard and red and dripping, and you bite your lip, waiting.

“How many more do you have in you?” he asks as his hand closes around his length and strokes slowly. He groans, his head tilting back, and your stomach tightens at the sound.

You blink hard, your brow furrowing. "How many what?"

"Orgasms," he replies, his hand still moving. Your eyes follow the movement, mesmerized by the way his palm and fingers wrap around his girth, the head appearing and disappearing through the ring of his thumb and forefinger. "How many more can you handle?"

"Um... I..."

You can't form words. Your brain feels fuzzy, and all you can focus on is the desire that's burning through your veins. Gregor's cock twitches, and a bead of pre-cum drips down the shaft. Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and his grin grows wider.

"Come on," he says. "Give me an answer. Four? Five? More?"

"Maybe three," you reply, still distracted by the movement of his hand.

"Three sounds good," he says, and the way his voice drops, low and rough, sends a shiver down your spine. "I can do three. Now..."

He lets go of his cock and crawls back onto the bed. You grab for him, but he bats your hand away, shaking his head.

"No, not like that," he says.

"Then... how?"

Gregor lies down, stretching his arms above his head, and you frown.

"What are you—"

"Come sit on my face."

Your jaw drops. Your eyes go wide.

"You're kidding."

"Nope," he replies. He grins, his gaze dropping lower, to where you're still wet and throbbing. He pats his shoulder. "Hop on."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not an answer."

"Because I want you to ride my face until I've made up for the last three months," he replies, and his voice is low and thick, sending another shudder through you. "Now get over here."

You stare at him for a moment, stunned, and then slowly move, straddling him. You hover over him, your knees on either side of his shoulders, and his arms wrap around your thighs, holding you fast as you position yourself over his face. You feel a little ridiculous, but Gregor doesn't seem to mind. He simply grins up at you, and then, without any warning, his mouth covers you.

You cry out at the feeling of his mouth on your oversensitive flesh. It's almost too much, and the first swipe of his tongue has your legs trembling. But he's insistent, his hands tightening around your thighs, holding you in place as his mouth and tongue go to work.

"Gregor—"

He moans, and the vibrations travel through you, making your thighs tremble. You lean forward, bracing yourself on the wall, and his tongue darts out, swirling and swirling.

You let out a whimper. You're still sensitive, still coming down from the four orgasms he's already given you, and your body feels boneless and limp. But the way he's working, the way his mouth and tongue are moving against you, makes it hard to keep your thoughts straight.

You lean forward, resting your head against the wall, and your breathing becomes heavier and heavier. Your hips roll against him, and his hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer, keeping his face buried between your legs. You glance down to see his eyes are closed, his brows drawn together as he works, and the sight of him so focused, so intent, so hungry, sends a new wave of heat through you.

It's too much, but not enough. It's overwhelming, and yet, somehow, you want more. You need more. The heat is building in your belly, and you know it won't be long before you're right back where you were before, and yet, the intensity is a little frightening. He's not even touching you, not really, and the thought of what might happen if he does has you terrified.

"Gregor, please," you moan, reaching for him, but he shakes his head, not breaking his stride. His tongue swirls around and around, and the heat coils, tight and hot and unbearable. "I can't. I can't. Please, stop, it's too much."

He pulls back, and you gasp in relief.

"Do you really want me to stop?" he asks, panting. His lips are slick with your juices, and his chin is shining. His pupils are blown, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is mussed. He's a complete wreck, and you've never seen anything sexier in your life. "Do you really want me to let you go?"

"No," you gasp, swallowing hard.

"Do you really want me to stop making up for all the nights I've been gone?"

"No."

"Good."

He grabs your hips and pulls you back down, his mouth covering you once again. You moan and squirm, your hand flying to the back of his head, fingers fisting in his hair. He hums his approval, and the vibrations make you gasp and buck against him.

"Oh, yes," you whimper, rolling your hips. You can feel his stubble rasping against the soft skin of your inner thighs, and his nose nudges the place just above your clit, making you squirm. "Please, don't stop."

He doesn't respond, but his hands slide up to cup your ass, squeezing gently as his tongue moves faster. You brace yourself on the wall and the headboard, grinding your hips against him, and he groans. You can hear him panting, can feel his chest rising and falling beneath your knees, and his eyes are squeezed shut, his brows drawn together.

The heat and the tension build, and soon, you're right on the edge again. He doesn’t keep you there this time, though. Instead, he takes you higher and higher, pushing you closer and closer, until you feel like you might explode. And when you think it can't get any better, he reaches up and slides his fingers inside you, pumping and curling.

Your entire body goes rigid, and a loud, long moan escapes your lips.

"Stars, yes," Gregor groans.

He keeps going, faster and harder, and you come, gasping and shuddering. He doesn't stop, just keeps moving, his tongue and his fingers bringing you to another peak before you've even finished the first. You're screaming, begging, and the world starts to go fuzzy. All you can feel is the pressure, the heat, the intensity, and all you can see is his face, buried between your legs.

By the time you peel yourself off him, Gregor is a mess. His face is covered in your slick, and his lips are red and swollen, his hair sticking to his forehead. He's breathing hard, and his chest is heaving, and when you manage to lift your head and meet his gaze, you can't help the giggle that escapes your throat.

"You look like a mess," you say.

"I'm not the only one," he replies, and the huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

"I don't think I can do any more," you tell him.

"Sure you can," Gregor says, and he slides his hand up to rest on the small of your back. His fingers stroke the damp skin, and the heat and the electricity are still there, just below the surface. "Just give me a minute, and we'll try again."

"We will?" you ask, biting your lip.

He nods, grinning, and reaches up to wipe his face. His fingers find their way into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean. The sight of his lips wrapped around his fingers makes you shiver, and when he finishes, he lets out a satisfied sigh.

"Yeah," he replies. "We will."

"And what if I can't?"

"I think you can," he says. His hand moves lower, grabbing the base of your ass, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading.

"Oh," you breathe. "Okay. Um... how?"

"Just relax," Gregor replies. His hand squeezes tighter, and his thumb strokes the soft skin, sending a tingle through you. "Relax, and let me take care of you."

You nod and close your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you. He continues to rub, his movements slow and soothing, and you can feel the tension leaving your body. You’re boneless and liquid, and every time he touches you, a little shockwave travels up your spine, making you shudder.

He maneuvers you easily, flipping you over onto your back and pushing your legs apart. He settles between them, and his mouth finds yours, kissing you deeply.

You can taste yourself on him, and the sensation is enough to make you gasp and writhe. You're still sensitive and overstimulated, and every touch of his skin against yours is almost unbearable. You clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer, and his lips leave yours, trailing kisses across your jaw and down your neck.

"Still alive?" Gregor asks, pulling back just enough to look at you.

"Barely."

He grins and kisses you again. His cock is pressed between your legs, hot and throbbing, and he grinds against you, moaning softly. The feeling of his shaft rubbing against your slick skin is intoxicating, and the desire begins to build again.

He's moving slower this time, his hands stroking and teasing, and he seems intent on touching every inch of you, making sure not a single part of you is neglected. He's everywhere, kissing and nipping, his fingers exploring and massaging. You cling to him, your hands roaming over his broad, muscular shoulders, his chest, and the thick muscles of his arms. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving scratches and welts, and the noises he makes send a wave of heat over you.

Gregor shifts, and the tip of his cock finds your entrance.

"You want more?" he asks. "Or are you done?"

"More," you whisper, clutching his shoulders, pulling him closer. "Please, I want to feel you."

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, though it's obvious that's what he wants, too.

"Positive."

He captures your lips in another heated kiss before he pushes your hand away and positions himself at your entrance. He teases a little, rubbing the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

"Because I can keep doing this," he says, "and just come like this. On you."

"Gregor, please," you groan, frustrated, and he laughs.

"Okay, okay," he says, and he shifts his hips, pressing forward, and he enters you.

The sensation of him stretching and filling you is exquisite, and you let out a long, low moan, wrapping your legs around his waist. He groans and pushes deeper, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin, and his teeth find the place where your neck and shoulder meet, sucking hard as he starts to move.

His pace is slow and steady, and his lips and teeth are on your neck, leaving bruises, marking you, claiming you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling him closer, deeper, and he groans, his hand fisting in your hair.

"Stars, I've missed you," Gregor murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin.

"I've missed you, too," you reply, arching up, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"Never going this long again," he continues, his voice ragged. "Can't stand it."

"Me neither."

He kisses his way up your neck and along your jaw, finally finding your mouth. You kiss him, long and deep, and his hand leaves your hair, moving to the side of your face, cupping your cheek. He's being gentle now, the urgency and desperation replaced by tenderness and love. You kiss him harder, clinging to him, and he moans, thrusting deep until his pelvis is flush against yours.

"I love you," you whisper, and Gregor lets out a soft sigh.

"Love you, too, sunshine," he replies. "Love you more than anything."

You close your eyes and hold him close, relishing the feeling of his body on top of yours. You're hot and sticky, and you can taste the sweat on his skin. You're tired, and spent, and a little sore. But it feels so good to have him here, inside you, with nothing between you. Nothing except love. And that's enough.

"Tell me again," Gregor whispers, his hand slipping between your bodies. His thumb finds your clit and strokes slowly, and you arch, whimpering. "Tell me again."

"I love you."

He groans, burying his face in your neck again, and his pace picks up, his fingers circling your clit faster. You wrap your arms around him, clinging tight. The pleasure builds slowly, but it's there, and it's getting stronger with every thrust.

"Again."

"I love you, Gregor."

A tiny gasp escapes him, and he pulls back, looking down at you. His eyes are bright, and he's smiling, his hair damp with sweat. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and he turns his head, kissing the center of your palm.

"Good?” you ask.

"So good," he murmurs. "Too good."

"Too good?"

"Yeah," Gregor says, his laugh shaky, and his head drops down, his forehead touching yours. "If I had known it would be this good, I'd have run away from the GAR as soon as I found you and never looked back."

"You wouldn't," you reply, smiling and running a hand over his hair.

"For you?" he asks. "Absolutely. Just ask. I'd walk across the galaxy if you wanted. Take on the whole kriffing Separatist army. Slay a dragon. Whatever you want."

"You don't need to slay a dragon for me, Gregor," you say with a laugh.

"Fine. A dragon, a rancor, a Dathomirian devil-bat. Whatever. You name it, and I'll do it."

"Gregor."

"I'm serious, sunshine." His pace is speeding up, his thrusts getting deeper, and the pressure of his thumb is getting harder. You moan and arch, and he grins, nuzzling his nose against yours. "Whatever you want, whenever you want it. Just say the word."

"Gregor," you breathe, gasping as his hand slips down, finding the spot behind your knee and urging your leg up. "I don't need anything but you."

He smiles, the look on his face one of pure adoration, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

"Oh, sunshine," he says, leaning down and kissing you softly. "I am going to marry the hell out of you."

The words surprise you. It's not the first time he's said it, but each time feels like a little thrill. A reminder that, even though your life is full of uncertainty and danger, you have someone who loves you, and would do anything to keep you safe, and would never leave you. It's a promise that, someday, all of this will be over, and you'll have a home and a family and a place in the world, together.

"Is that a promise?" you ask, unable to keep from smiling.

"Damn right it is."

He kisses you again, deeper, harder, and his hand finds yours, lacing his fingers through yours and pressing your palms together. You clutch his hand and close your eyes, lost in the moment, the heat and the desire and the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

Gregor's breath is coming faster now, his thrusts a little rougher, and the way his hand is moving between your legs is sending sparks of electricity through you. He's so close, and you can feel him starting to lose control. You cling to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him and holding tight, and he buries his face in your neck. His hips start to move erratically, the sounds he's making driving you wild.

"We'll get married. As soon as the war's over. Or before, if you want,” he mutters into your skin. "Have a whole bunch of kids. Be a real family."

"Yes," you agree, gasping, the pressure between your legs building to an almost unbearable point. "A huge family. Enough kids to start our own squad."

"Stars, yes," he murmurs, his teeth nipping at the base of your throat. “Lots of kids. And lots of grandkids. And I'll be there for all of it. And we'll be happy and safe. And... oh, fuck, sunshine, I'm not gonna last much longer."

"Neither am I."

He groans, and his hand moves faster, stroking you harder, and the spasms are so close. You're right on the edge, and when Gregor pulls back, looking down at you and giving you that soft smile, it sends you careening over.

You come with a scream, clutching his hand and pulling him closer. The tremors rip through you, and he follows, crying out your name as his body goes rigid and his hips jerk and stutter. His release spills into you, hot and thick, and you shudder, riding out the waves of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut as you feel him grind deeper, his hips pressing hard against yours, and he lets out a low moan as his cock twitches and pulses inside you.

Finally, the spasms stop, and the two of you collapse, breathing hard, clinging to each other. You lie like that for a long time, holding him close, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the aftershocks making you tremble and shake.

The muscles in your stomach and thighs are burning, and Gregor's weight on top of you is a little uncomfortable, but it feels good, and you don't want him to go anywhere. You never do. You wish you could stay like this forever. Just the two of you, safe and sound and far, far away from the rest of the galaxy.

"Wow," you murmur.

"Yeah," he agrees with a sigh.

You're quiet for a moment, and then, Gregor lifts his head.

"One more?" he asks, his eyes hopeful.

You laugh and shake your head, pushing his hair back off his forehead. He grins, and you cup his cheeks, pulling him down and kissing him gently.

“Maybe after dinner,” you say, and Gregor laughs.

"Fair enough."

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the space between your breasts, and then rolls onto his side, pulling you against him and kissing the top of your head. You snuggle against him, resting your head on his chest and listening to the sound of his heart beating. The feeling of being in his arms, safe and loved, is better than any orgasm, and you feel yourself relaxing, drifting toward sleep.

You're nearly there when he speaks again.

"What do you think? Is a spring wedding okay with you?"

"Hmm?" you hum, forcing your eyes open and looking up at him.

"For our wedding. It's my favorite time of year,” he replies, tracing his fingers lightly across your back. "When everything comes back to life. And I think you'd look really good in a flower crown."

You chuckle and press a kiss to his shoulder. Your lips trail across the scar there, and his arms tighten around you, squeezing a little.

"Sure, Gregor. A spring wedding sounds wonderful."

"Oh, good," he says. "And maybe, if we can talk Cody into taking a few days off, we can have him marry us."

“Does he have the authority to do that?”

"I think so. I've never asked him, but it doesn't hurt to check. If not, I bet General Kenobi would do it. He likes you. Plus, it would be a nice gesture to show him that we appreciate all he's done for us."

"Okay, yeah," you grin. "We can ask them."

"Perfect," he says, his hand traveling up your back and over your neck, and his fingers tangle in your hair. He tilts your head back, and kisses you softly. "I can't wait."

"Neither can I."

Gregor grins, and he pulls back, resting his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. You settle in next to him, and a wave of peace washes over you. For the first time in three months, you're completely at ease.

All the fear, the worry, the anxiety that's been weighing on your shoulders is gone, and in its place is a sense of rightness and contentment. It's like everything has clicked into place. Like you've been floating, lost in a storm, and the anchor has finally hit the ground, holding fast.

It's not the perfect ending. But it's close. And it's what you've needed.

"I love you, Gregor," you whisper.

He doesn't answer. His chest is rising and falling steadily, and his face is relaxed. You smile and press a kiss to his chest.

It's just as well. There will be plenty of time to tell him.

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Playing Pretend

Pairing: Wrecker x Twi'Lek fem!Reader

Words: 16,373

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fake married, (not) unrequited feelings, Wrecker yearning x1000, some negative self talk, big "get your hands off my wife!" energy, some minor jealousy, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink obviously, light dom!Reader

Summary: The mission is simple: infiltrate a lavish party, plant a bug, and get out. The only problem: Wrecker has to pretend to be married to you, and he's not so sure he can hide how much he likes it.

A/N: Happy Wrecker Wednesday! This is definitely the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written, down to the nonhuman reader bc I'm getting a little bored with humans. With this, we've officially reached the end of the fics I wrote before creating this account, and we're going out with a bang (literally).

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This mission is going to be a disaster.

It's not that Wrecker doesn’t trust you, quite the opposite. You’re quiet, quick, and resourceful, and you’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. You're built for infiltration, for gathering intel, and as far as the Batch is concerned, you have yet to fail a mission. So no, there’s no doubt in his mind you're the perfect spy.

It’s his own ability that gives him pause.

Hunter, Echo, hell, even Tech would’ve been a better pick for any sort of espionage mission over him. When Hunter informed them Wrecker was the one that was going with you, Wrecker laughed. A full belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes and left his face aching, because the very idea of him sneaking around, being stealthy, well, it was ridiculous.

It was so ridiculous he was sure Hunter had meant it as a joke, but when he saw the serious look on his face, the one that told him his brother meant business, Wrecker began to sweat. He hasn’t really stopped since. 

Lying and pretending are two things he’s truly terrible at, coupled with the fact that he’ll be alone with you, playing pretend with you, and he‘s been on edge ever since.

It doesn't help that Cid insisted the only way you could get close to the target is by posing as a married couple. One that are newlyweds, at that. 

Wrecker knows this is a job, just a job, but it's still you. 

He's still going to be touching you, and not because you need him to, or you want him to, but because the job requires it. And the whole thing just has him feeling weird. He knows you can fake being a couple, but he's not sure if he can.

As much as Wrecker hates lying and pretending, he really doesn't hate you. If he's being honest, he probably likes you too much. So that's why, when Hunter told him about the mission, and then later asked if he was alright with the details, Wrecker had said yes.

The look Hunter gave him told him that he didn't quite believe him, and Wrecker wasn't even sure he believed himself. After all, it's no secret he doesn't have the greatest poker face. He doesn't like lying, especially to his brothers. But he also doesn't like disappointing them, or disappointing you, and he's willing to do just about anything to make sure you're safe.

The rest of the night before the mission was spent planning and strategizing, which meant he didn't see much of you. He wanted to check in and make sure you were feeling good about the plan, but he never got the chance. 

Now, here he is, in a small, nondescript hotel room with you, the rest of the squad holed up in the Marauder and waiting on your signal. The room itself is nice, but small, and there's only one bed. He’d felt his nerves spike when he first saw it, but he forced himself to relax. If everything goes according to plan, you won't be sleeping in it.

There are other things he's more worried about, anyway. Like how he's going to pull this off, and how he's going to manage not to fuck up, and most importantly, how he's going to manage spending the entire mission trying not to get too wrapped up in you.

That last part is the hardest.

He's sitting on the bed, the holomap spread out on the small table beside it. Your target is a small-time gangster, and he’s having a party at his penthouse tonight, so it's the perfect opportunity to sneak in. All you have to do is go through the party, find the main office, plant a few bugs, and then get out. 

Easy peasy.

At least, that's what Tech said.

Well, he said a lot more than that, but Wrecker had kind of zoned out around the time Tech started talking about security cameras and frequencies. 

What he does know is the bugs need to be placed somewhere in the office, and the two of you will have to blend in and seem as natural as possible until you can make your way there. Easy for you, but Wrecker knows he'll stick out like a sore thumb, even if he isn't in his armor.

“You alright, big guy?” 

Wrecker nearly jumps at the sound of your voice, heart in his throat as he feels your hand gently grab his arm. He tenses underneath your touch. 

He can’t remember the last time you touched him, or even the last time the two of you were alone together. Probably because it hasn’t happened. He thinks he would remember if it had, because it feels electrifying. Your manicured hand, complete with a wedding ring, slides against the fabric of his suit. It takes everything in him not to shiver.

Then he turns to face you fully, and his eyes nearly fall out of his head. 

No, he’s not alright.

You look absolutely stunning.

It's not like you don't look stunning every day, you do, and even when you're in armor, or covered in dirt and grime, Wrecker thinks you're beautiful. But this...this is something else. It's not fair.

You’ve shared a bit about Ryloth during your time together, and you’d mentioned that ever since you left the hot planet, you felt cold. He’s never seen you without a jacket except that one time you’d been shot in your shoulder, and even then, he was more focused on keeping pressure on the wound and getting you to safety than on what you were wearing.

But right now, he can't focus on anything else.

He, embarrassingly, tends to ogle whenever any inch of your vibrant skin is on display. He walked straight into a wall the time you stretched in front of him, and your shirt rode up to reveal a hint of the curve of your stomach. When he saw your legs in a dress at 79s, he shattered his glass. He couldn’t help it. That was one of the first times he realized he had a problem, but it certainly wasn't the last.

You're just...so much, all the time, and you don't even realize it. He's gotten better at being discrete, or at least, he's better at hiding his reactions.

But this is so, so much.

Made of some fancy shimmering black fabric, the top of the dress left nearly your entire chest exposed along with your arms. With two thin straps to hold it up, he doesn't know how it's staying in place, but he's sure if he looks hard enough, he'll find out.

A deep cut runs down the middle of the dress, starting right under your clavicle and ending in a point just below your stomach. It's long, coming all the way down to your feet and flaring out, and there are two slits up either side of the dress, exposing your thighs as you move.

There's no denying it, the dress is tight, and Wrecker is trying so hard not to look, honestly, but it's like his eyes are glued to your body.

You mentioned you would have a weapon on you just in case, but looking over you now — admiring the way the expensive fabric clung to every curve of you — he struggles to imagine where it could be.

He swallows. Hard.

The hand on his arm lets go to reach up and hold one of your lek, shifting it so both were draped over one shoulder. You’d gone all out with decorating them as well. Sparkling straps of black crisscrossed up to a velvet headpiece that takes the place of your usual bandana, all coming to a point high on your forehead, where a deep blue jewel sits at your crown. It shifts slightly with the raise of your eyebrows, and he realizes he's been staring, and he’s still not saying anything.

Wrecker forces out the first words on his mind.

“Wow! You look—wow..."

You give him a small smile, a hint of color darkening your cheeks, and his heart thuds in his chest. He wants to make you blush all the time.

He reaches out and grabs your hand, lifting it above your head with ease. Wrecker turns you into a spin, and he’s rewarded with your cute laugh and the sound of the dress swishing as you spin. And then he sees your back, entirely exposed all the way down to the dimples at the base of your spine, just above the curve of your ass.

Holy shit.

He has to look away, letting go of your hand to rub the back of his neck, feeling a little light-headed. This is already not going well.

“You clean up well yourself, handsome,” you say between a laugh, and he blushes more than he already is.

Wrecker doesn't consider himself all that good-looking, especially compared to his brothers, but you've told him once or twice he's not hard on the eyes. You've also told him he has a nice smile, which had him grinning like an idiot for a solid day. He's still smiling now, because hearing you call him handsome makes his heart pound in his chest.

Still, he's not used to all the compliments. It's a lot, especially when they come from you.

"Tech and Echo did the best they could, I guess," Wrecker shrugs. The motion stretches the threads of his dark suit, and he grimaces. It's itchy, and too tight, and he hates it. He doesn't get how people wear these things all the time. "Not really used to the fancy stuff."

You tilt your head, looking him over. He resists the urge to squirm.

“C’mere," you tell him, beckoning him with your hand.

Wrecker does as he's told, and your hands grab his tie. The feeling of you tugging him closer by the silk sends a rush of heat through his veins, and he can’t help but grin down at you as he watches you adjust it for him. 

Your mouth is pursed, nose wrinkling slightly as you concentrate on getting it just right, even though you both know he'll likely mess it up in a matter of minutes anyway. You’re so cute, and you're so close, and it would be so easy for him to lean in and kiss you.

He's thought about it a lot, and he's almost done it once or twice, but then you'd pull back, or one of his brothers or Omega would come into the room, and the moment would be gone. It was probably for the best, considering he doesn't even know how you feel about him.

“Thanks," he mumbles.

You're still standing close, your chest practically touching his.

"Of course." The words are soft, and they leave him feeling hotter than ever. 

He looks away from you, and catches sight of the two of you in the mirror. Wrecker has always been a bit of a sucker for a good romance, and this? This is right out of one of his favorite holovids. You're both dressed in the finest clothes, him in a suit, you in a gorgeous dress, and it's just the two of you against the world.

Except, this isn't real.

There isn't any grand romance, and the feelings that threaten to burst from his chest are his and his alone.

“You really do look beautiful," he says, his voice a little rough, but honest.

You meet his eyes in the mirror. He watches as the corner of your lips quirk up, and you look almost shy. It's adorable, and a little confusing, because usually, you're not so modest. He wonders what changed.

"I—thank you, Wrecker."

"And I'll keep sayin' it till you believe me," he adds, because it's true.

"Oh, I believe you," you laugh, and the sound warms him to the core.

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

"Good. 'Cause you really do. You look—" Wrecker swallows, and then shakes his head. He's getting distracted, and it's not good, not when the two of you have a job to do.

"So do you."

You give his tie one last tug, and then take a step back. Your hands smooth down the front of your dress as you look down at your shoes. He can't tell, but he swears you look almost bashful. It's so unlike you that he wonders if you're actually okay.

"You sure you're good?" he asks, concerned.

You hum an affirmative, and then you mutter, “Just already looking forward to taking this off."

The words are mumbled, barely audible, and he doesn't think you intended for him to hear. Wrecker blinks, and his gaze travels down the length of your body, and his mouth goes dry. His mind can't help but wander. It would be so easy for him to reach out, hook his fingers in the thin straps holding your dress up, and just...

"Yeah, me too," Wrecker admits quietly, the words falling from his mouth without thought.

A second passes. Two.

Wrecker's brain catches up to his mouth. He sees the shift of your jaw and the bob of your throat, and he wishes the ground would swallow him up.

"Uh, yeah, I mean," Wrecker starts, trying to backtrack and failing, "because I hate this thing, and it's not very comfortable."

It's not the worst lie he's told, but it's pretty far up there. Still, the look of relief that crosses your face tells him you believe it. Your arms are crossed over your chest, holding yourself in a way that suggests you feel vulnerable, and the realization makes his gut twist.

Wrecker doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, and he feels terrible that he has. He didn't even realize that the dress, and the mission, could bother you. You always seemed so put together, and confident, and not bothered by much, that he just assumed you would be okay. But, you're not, and now he feels bad, and stupid.

"We don't have to do this," Wrecker offers, rubbing the back of his neck.

You shake your head, and he can see you forcing yourself to relax. "I can handle a few hours."

Wrecker isn't sure what to say. He knows you're capable, and he doesn't think you would offer if you didn't think you could do it, but the way you're standing makes him wonder.

"But you know if you don't wanna, that's fine too," he adds, because it is.

Hunter would probably give him an earful later, but you were the priority, and Wrecker would deal with whatever punishment was necessary to make sure you were safe and comfortable. He doubted Hunter would be mad, anyway. They're family, and family looked out for each other, and you were part of the team, too.

You look at him, and then down at the floor, and then back up at him.

"It's fine."

Wrecker bites his tongue, but only barely.

You're not fine, and he can tell, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why. There's a reason you've always been the one chosen for missions like this, even back when you were still an intelligence officer and he was barely more than a shiny. It's not just because of your training and experience, but also because of the way you look.

The thought makes him angry. It isn't right, and he hates that you've been forced into this position. Until tonight, he'd held out some misguided hope that you wouldn't ever have to be put in a situation like this again.

He knows you can handle a lot more than most, but you shouldn't have to.

"Really, Wrecker, I'm fine," you say again, and it's only then that he realizes he's been staring at you.

"Are you sure? ‘Cause if—"

You step forward, putting a hand on his chest and looking up at him. His eyes catch on the shine of your lips, and the warmth of your hand against his chest makes his heart race.

"If you keep asking me, I'm gonna start to think you don't want to be my husband," you tease.

"I'd love to be your husband," Wrecker replies without missing a beat, and he means it.

The words are true, even if the context isn't. It's the closest thing he'll get to a wedding with you, and that thought makes him want to scream. Instead, he settles on smiling, even as his heart races and his palms sweat.

"I'm sorry, I just don't wanna make you feel—"

"I'm kidding, ma sareen," you say, shaking your head, "I know. But really, it's okay."

He gives a slow nod, not sure how to respond. You've called him that before, and while he doesn't speak Ryl, he does know it's a term of endearment. One that he's overhead Suu say to Cut a few times, and one that you've used with him, and only him.

Every time, it makes him smile. But it's one thing for you to say it casually, and another entirely to say it in front of strangers, pretending to be married to him. He doesn't know why the thought makes his heart pound in his chest, or his ears grow warm.

"And hey, at least I have someone who can protect me, right?"

He grins proudly, and nods. That, he can do.

"You got that right."

"Then what's there to worry about?" you ask, a smile on your face.

That I might embarrass you, is what Wrecker wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, he follows you towards the door. You pause just before stepping through, looking up at him expectantly. He doesn't quite understand until you reach out and hold your hand palm up.

"Well?"

"What?"

"Give me your hand, Wrecker," you laugh.

"Oh, right," Wrecker stutters, slipping his hand into yours.

His hands are rough and calloused from years of fighting, but your hand is soft and gentle, and he tries his best not to squeeze too hard. You lead him out of the room and to the lift. You lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Relax, big guy, you've got this," you whisper, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Wrecker hopes you're right.

He's not sure how long the two of you have been here. An hour? Maybe two?

Whatever it is, it's long enough that his face hurts from fake smiling. His shoulders are tense, and he keeps a steady hand on your lower back, not willing to let go.

As soon as the two of you had walked through the door, the guards had taken your weapons, and it had been the first time Wrecker had felt truly unsettled since leaving the ship. Not only was he unarmed, but now, you were as well, and he was responsible for keeping you safe. They'd even taken the knife you'd tucked into the holster on your thigh.

They'd also frisked you, and while it wasn't the first time, or even the first time for him, it was the first time he'd seen it done like that. The guard had run his hands up the inside of your thigh, his thumb dangerously close to places he never should've been touching, and Wrecker had seen red.

The man was lucky all Wrecker did was grab his wrist and pull it away, his grip tight enough to bruise. The guard had stumbled, his face red as he tried and failed to apologize. It didn't matter to him. The bastard wouldn't be able to use that hand for a while, and Wrecker hadn't felt bad at all.

After, he'd wrapped his arm around your waist and held you close. He knows he probably shouldn't have, but he needed the reminder that you were safe. He could pretend it was just for show, but really, it was to comfort himself.

It doesn't help that every eye in the room has been on the two of you since you arrived, and while the stares are likely directed at you, Wrecker still doesn't like it. It makes his blood boil, and his skin crawl, and all he wants to do is get out of here. He hates how uncomfortable and vulnerable it makes him feel, and the fact that it's affecting him at all is embarrassing.

You seem to be doing just fine, chatting with various people, laughing and smiling and, unfortunately, flirting.

Not with him, no. With all the men and women around you.

It's the nature of the job, he knows that, but it still sucks.

You're doing your best to blend in, and it's working. He just tries his best to keep up with you. He doesn't trust any of these people, not even for a second, and the tension in his shoulders doesn't ease, no matter how hard he tries.

This is the first time he's been in a party like this, and he doesn't think he likes it.

When Tech had said the target was having a party, he'd expected loud music, maybe some dancing. What he got was an old-fashioned cocktail party, the type he's only ever seen in holovids, and the kind where the rich and powerful mingle and talk about politics and money.

It's boring, and the people are rude, and the lights of the chandelier make his eye twitch. But worst of all, no one can take their eyes off you, and he can't blame them. Even after the initial shock of seeing you dressed like that has passed, his eyes can't help but trail down the length of your body. And while you're definitely the most beautiful person in the room, he thinks there's a part of him that doesn't want anyone else to see you.

At least there's good food. And drink. And while he would never dare touch you without permission, it's nice to know he can do so now.

So he's taken every opportunity to do just that, to let everyone around know that you're his. He's kept his hand on the small of your back, the curve of your hip, the bend of your waist, and he's made sure to be close to you at all times. You don't seem to mind, which is the best part, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Your arm is tucked around his, your fingers laced with his own, and he loves the way you lean into him, like you need him, like he's a safe place for you. He doesn't know if you do, but it doesn't stop him from wishing.

Wrecker looks at the ring on his finger. It's a simple gold band, nothing fancy, and it reminds him that this isn't real. It's just for the job, and he has to keep reminding himself of that. Because if he doesn't, it'll be easy for him to lose sight of that. And if he loses sight, he might do something stupid, like kiss you, and he's not sure if he'd be able to stop.

"So, where did you two meet?"

Wrecker tears his gaze away from you and to the Twi'lek across from him, her blue lekku adorned with jewels. He has no idea who she is, but the two of you are getting along so well he doesn't want to interrupt. You're the only Twi'leks in the room, and he thinks that might be the only reason the two of you are talking at all.

"Oh, it's a little embarrassing, actually," you answer, a shy smile on your face.

You squeeze his hand and glance up at him, and his stomach flutters.

"Not really," he mumbles, cheeks warm.

"You don't think so, but I might," you giggle, and Wrecker can't help the way his mouth quirks up in a smile. He wants to kiss your forehead, or your cheek, or your lips, but he doesn't.

The Twi'lek woman laughs and sips her drink, leaning in close to listen.

"C'mon, tell me, I'm dying to know."

Wrecker's not sure what story you've told everyone else, so he's not sure if this is part of it, but the way you look up at him makes his heart skip a beat. You squeeze his hand again, and he wonders if it's supposed to be a sign. It's a little distracting.

"Well, um, we met when he saved my life."

Wrecker nearly chokes on his drink.

The Twi'lek raises a brow, glancing between the two of you. "Really?"

"Mhm."

"That's not embarrassing."

"Yes, it is. Because he saved my life, and instead of being grateful, I called him an idiot," you tell her, a blush rising to your cheeks.

It's the truth. When you were still an officer, your unit was under fire. You'd been separated from your squad, pinned down, and Wrecker had found you. He'd pulled you from your hiding spot and out of the way, and the two of you had barely escaped unscathed. But the first words you'd said to him were, 'You idiot, you almost shot me.'

In his defense, he was a little distracted at the time.

"What did you say to that?"

Wrecker shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. "Not much."

You look up at him, your eyes shining. "I mean, he did save my life, so I apologized, obviously."

"Obviously," the woman nods.

"And, um, well," you stumble, and Wrecker wonders what's making you so nervous. It's not like you to be caught off guard, but you seem almost embarrassed. "He's the kindest man I've ever met, and I was immediately charmed by him."

Wrecker can't hide the surprise that crosses his face, but he does his best.

"It was hard not to fall for him," you admit, a softness in your voice that wasn't there before, "and, well, here we are."

Your gaze meets his, and the tenderness in your eyes takes his breath away.

"So romantic," the woman sighs, and you nod in agreement.

"Yeah, it's...it's somethin'," Wrecker says quietly, his chest tight.

He doesn't think anyone's ever talked about him like that, let alone in front of a bunch of strangers.

You lean into him, a soft smile on your face. Wrecker's hand slides from your waist to rest on the small of your back, and his eyes linger on the curve of your lip, the slight shimmer on your cheek. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes drop down to watch the motion, and his heart thuds against his ribcage.

He can't help but wonder if maybe there's some truth to what you're saying. It's not like you've been lying the entire time, and Wrecker isn't naïve. He knows this is all part of the act, but the way you're looking at him makes him feel like you might mean it.

Wrecker can't help the way his mind wanders, or the way his stomach flutters when your lips brush his ear as you whisper, "You alright, darling?"

His breath hitches in his throat, and it's hard not to shudder as you trail a finger up his arm.

"Yeah, m'fine," he manages, the words shaky.

Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and he has to fight the urge to groan.

"We've got company," you whisper.

Wrecker tenses, scanning the room. It takes a moment for him to realize you mean the target. He's making his way through the crowd, and it's only a matter of moments before he's approaching.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kasta," he greets, an air of confidence in his voice, "welcome."

Wrecker nods at him, keeping his mouth shut. He doesn't trust himself not to say something stupid. He's already fucked up a few times tonight, and he doesn't want to embarrass himself. Besides, you're already taking the lead, smiling brightly at the man.

"Thank you for having us, Mr. Dralig," you tell him, giving a slight bow.

"Please, call me Bohme," he insists, returning the gesture. "Always a pleasure to meet such an esteemed couple as yourselves. You look ravishing, Mrs. Kasta."

You blush, and Wrecker fights the urge to roll his eyes. You are the most stunning woman in the room, and he can't imagine how this asshole could think otherwise, but the compliment still makes him bristle. He can't understand why you don't seem more annoyed.

"Well, thank you," you say, a hint of laughter in your voice.

"I do hope you're enjoying yourselves," Bohme continues, "the food, the music, the view."

The man's eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and Wrecker doesn't have to be a genius to figure out what he means.

"Oh, yes, very much so," you reply easily, ignoring the implication, "thank you."

Bohme nods, and then turns his attention to Wrecker, giving him a quick once-over. Wrecker tenses. The man is short and thin, his features pinched and pale, but his eyes are sharp, and his mouth is curved up in a smile that's almost predatory.

"I must say, I was a little surprised when I learned the Kastas would be joining us tonight. I was told they were unable to make it."

Wrecker narrows his eyes, watching the man carefully.

"Yes, well, our schedules opened up, and my husband was able to move some things around. It's rare we get a night off, so I jumped at the chance," you tell him, reaching out to grab Wrecker's arm and squeeze it.

He's glad you're playing the part so well. It's definitely not something he's capable of, and he can't help but feel a little useless. But he can at least make sure you're not alone, and that this guy keeps his hands off you.

"Well, I'm glad you could make it."

"We're glad we could too. The party's been wonderful."

"Glad to hear it."

Wrecker shifts slightly, feeling the weight of the man's gaze. There's something unsettling about him, and Wrecker's never been able to hide his disdain for the people they're forced to work for. But Bohme's the mark, and so he tries his best not to stare, but he's never been good at playing nice.

"If I'm being honest, I thought the rumors were exaggerated."

Wrecker frowns, and you look a little surprised.

"Oh?"

"I see the scars aren't," Bohme adds, gesturing to Wrecker's face.

Wrecker doesn't reply, only glares. The scars have never bothered him, not really. Sure, sometimes people stare, or ask him about them, and sometimes that's more than a little awkward. But he doesn't hate them. He mostly just forgets they're there until he gets one of the phantom pains, or someone points them out.

This man, though, he's staring, and not with curiosity, but with judgement, and it makes Wrecker’s skin crawl. He clenches his jaw, looking for the words to tell him off that won’t make the entire operation fail, but thankfully, you're quicker than him.

"No, but I quite like them," you say, reaching up and brushing a hand over his scarred cheek.

Wrecker swallows, his head tilting down to meet your gaze. Your touch is gentle, your thumb brushing under his eye, and he watches as your eyes shift from cold fury to something warmer, kinder.

"They remind me of just how brave and selfless my husband is," you tell him, the words soft, almost as if they're just for him.

Wrecker blinks, his lips parting. He wants to respond, but his throat is dry, and he's not sure what he would say even if he could.

"And I would be lost without him," you add, your fingers sliding across his jaw.

He knows this isn't real, that it's just for show, and he's just a means to an end, but he can't help the way his heart races in his chest. Because the way you're looking at him isn't fake, and neither are your words. He doesn't know how he's so sure, but he is.

He can't find his voice, and he doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead, he takes your hand and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist. You gasp, and your mouth parts, and he's so focused on the warmth of your skin and the way you blush that he barely registers the sound of Bohme's laughter.

"Oh, to be young and in love."

Wrecker doesn't pay attention to the rest of the conversation. He doesn't care. All he can focus on is you. The way you look up at him, and the softness in your eyes. The way you're pressed against him, and the way his arm is wrapped around you, and the way it feels like you belong there.

You've always felt right in his arms, like you fit perfectly, and every time you touch him, he wonders if it's the last. That's how it is now. Like it could end at any moment. So, he's memorizing everything, every detail, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice, the scent of your perfume.

Because when this is all over, he'll never be close to you like this again, and he'll never forget it.

"Ma sareen." 

He snaps out of his trance at the sound of your voice. "Hmm?"

"Could you be a dear and get me a drink?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

Wrecker leans in, pressing his lips to your temple, and he relishes the way your cheeks turn red and the sound of your breath hitching in your throat. He doesn't know what he's doing. All he knows is that it's worth it to see the look on your face, and the way Bohme looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

He gives your waist a gentle squeeze and turns, making his way through the crowd to the bar. It's the furthest place from the door, and the longest walk of his life, because his head is swimming, and his heart is pounding, and it’s giving him too much time to think.

And when he does, all he can think about is you. He's not blind. He can see the way you've been looking at him tonight, and the way you're touching him. It's driving him crazy, and the more time he spends here with you, the harder it is to convince himself that you don't feel the same.

Maybe you do feel the same, and he's just been missing the signs, too afraid to see them. Maybe he should do something about it.

The thought is scary. What if he does, and he's wrong?

But then he remembers the way your fingers slid across his cheek, the way you leaned into his side,  and the way you blush whenever he calls you sweetheart. It's enough to give him hope.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asks.

Wrecker blinks, glancing down at him. He'd forgotten why he was here, and his cheeks warm as he fumbles for an answer. Champagne seems like the right call for you. You'd both had a few glasses earlier, and it was fine, but he needed something much stronger if he was going to have a chance at getting through the rest of the night.

"Whiskey, neat.”

He doesn't pay attention as the bartender pours his drink. He turns around toward where couples are dancing, scanning the room for you. When he finally finds you, his stomach twists, and he has to force himself to breathe.

Bohme has his hands on your hips, and your hand is on his chest, and the way his head dips toward yours sends a flash of anger through him. The two of you are dancing, swaying back and forth, and while Wrecker knows it's a mission, and that you're just playing a part, it still makes his stomach churn.

Because even from here, he can see the look in the man's eyes, and it's not one of someone who's just playing a part.

"Is that all?" the bartender asks.

"What—no, no. Give me another," Wrecker mutters, grabbing the first glass and downing it in a single gulp.

It burns his throat, but it's the distraction he needs, because the two of you are getting closer. He's not sure if Bohme is going in for a kiss, but he knows he's not going to be able to watch it happen.

The second glass goes down just as quickly, and Wrecker winces, slamming the glass back on the bar and turning around. He doesn't know what's come over him. He's not a jealous person. Never has been, not even a little. He's been on plenty of missions with you, and seen you get close with other men, and while he didn't like it, he's never felt this.

Wrecker pushes past the dancing couples and walks toward the two of you. As soon as Bohme's hand slides lower on your back, Wrecker knows it's too much. You've gone along with the plan, but Wrecker's not going to stand here and watch you be taken advantage of, not by him, or anyone.

He storms up to the two of you, ignoring the startled looks on your faces and those around you. Before he can even think about what he's doing, Wrecker wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close. His hand settles on your lower back, your skin warm and soft against his palm.

"Can I cut in?" he growls, his voice low and gruff.

"Uh—"

"I was talking to my wife," Wrecker snaps, his eyes narrowed.

The man's face pales, and his mouth drops open. He glances down at you, and then back up at Wrecker, and then steps back, holding his hands up in surrender.

You press your hand to his chest, and the motion is so familiar and comforting that his shoulders relax. He looks down at you, and his breath catches in his throat. There's a hint of a smile on your face, and you look happy, and his stomach flutters.

"Of course, darling," you murmur, your fingers curling into his shirt, "we were just having a nice chat, weren't we, Bohme?"

Wrecker glares at the man.

"Yeah, sure, we were," the man replies, taking a step back.

Wrecker knows he should leave it alone, and let you take care of it, but the whiskey has loosened his tongue, and the man's wandering hands have left him feeling more than a little possessive.

"Don't get any ideas, pal. She's married," Wrecker tells him, his voice a deep growl.

He's being harsh, but he doesn't care. You've had to deal with this asshole enough for one night, and Wrecker's tired of watching him touch you, and talk to you, and look at you.

"Of course, I would never," Bohme says, shaking his head.

Wrecker's not convinced, but he's not going to start a fight over it. As much as he'd like to knock the guy's teeth in, he doesn't. For your sake. And for the mission's, though he's caring less and less about that as the night goes on.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Wrecker asks, his tone gentler, more concerned, as he leads you away.

"I'm fine, darling," you answer, giving his arm a squeeze.

He's not sure if he's imagining it, but he swears you sound a little breathy. Wrecker's not surprised. If his heart is racing from the adrenaline of pulling you away from Bohme, then yours probably is, too.

"Sorry I forgot your drink," he mutters as he picks up his pace, "that guy just rubs me the wrong way."

"It's okay," you say, looking up at him with a small smile. As the two of you get further and further away, you add, "I was kind of hoping you would."

He stops walking, his brow furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing, ma sareen."

"Wait, were you—" Wrecker glances over his shoulder, and the realization hits him. You'd known the whole time, and were counting on him to notice, and he had. He's not sure if he should be mad, or embarrassed, or something else entirely. "Oh."

You tilt your head, looking up at him with an amused expression. "Yeah, oh."

"That's why you wanted a drink, wasn't it?"

You bite your lip, a blush rising to your cheeks. "Well, I was thirsty."

"I—"

"I knew you wouldn't leave me alone with him."

"I wouldn't," he says, shaking his head, "not in a million years."

You look down, and his grip on you tightens. He doesn't mean to, but he's still shaken up, and your nearness is a comfort, even if it shouldn't be.

You lean into him, and he takes a step forward, pulling you close. His other hand comes up, his fingers brushing your cheek, and his eyes drop to your lips. He doesn't mean to touch you like this, but now that he has, he doesn't want to stop.

"I know," you say softly, your breath warm against his palm.

"Good," he murmurs.

Your hand slips down his chest, and Wrecker shudders. You're standing so close, and your face is only inches from his, and your eyes are shining. The words leave him before he stop them, his voice a low rumble.

"And I don't want anyone else touching you, either.”

The sound that leaves your mouth sends a rush of heat through his veins, and he has to fight the urge to kiss you.

"Good," you whisper, the word nearly lost to the music.

"Really?"

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes, and his heart skips a beat. "Mhm."

Wrecker lets out a shaky breath, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek. His lips are only inches from yours, and he's not sure if it's the alcohol or the dress, but he feels bold. Too bold.

"Then, is it okay if I—"

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Yes," you tell him, leaning closer, "but not here."

Wrecker freezes. Did he hear that right? Or is he imagining things?

"Why not?"

"Because," you start slowly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "if you kiss me, I'm not going to want you to stop. And we're in the middle of a party, and the mission's not over."

Wrecker doesn't even realize his mouth has fallen open until you reach up and close it for him. Your touch is gentle, and his cheeks are warm, and the softness in your eyes makes him melt. 

Your hand drags down to adjust his lapel before you slip something into his pocket.

"Got his keycard," you whisper, patting his chest.

Wrecker doesn't care. You could've told him you'd stolen the man's starship, and it still wouldn't have mattered. Not with the way you're looking at him.

"You're really somethin', y'know that?" he asks, and if he sounds a little breathless, he doesn't care about that either.

"So are you, ma sareen," you answer, smiling softly, "so are you."

"Almost done," you say, your voice soft, but urgent.

Wrecker is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked on you. He's careful not to touch anything in Bohme's office as you make your way around. His eyes are on the sway of your hips, and the soft curves of your body, and it's all he can do not to reach out and pull you against him.

You'd managed to slip away, and while Wrecker is a little disappointed the two of you had to leave, he knows the sooner you're finished, the sooner you can be alone.

"Anythin' you need help with, sweetheart?"

"No," you answer, "I got it."

You're bent over, looking for something, and the view gives him a perfect view of the curve of your ass. It's a bit distracting, and his mind is wandering. He's thinking about how nice it would be to hold you in his arms, and kiss you, and the things he would like to do if he had the opportunity.

The list is getting longer by the minute.

"Just need a few more seconds."

"I'm not in a rush," he answers with a shrug. His eyes are locked on your ass, and the way it moves as you work. You'd asked him to keep watch, and that's what he's doing, just keeping watch.

"Yes, you are," you say, a teasing lilt in your voice.

"Maybe," he admits, not bothering to deny it.

He doesn't care if it's a little pathetic, or desperate. He doesn't want to hide his feelings anymore. Not from you, and not from himself. He wants you to know, and to understand.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his. You're wearing a smile that makes his stomach flutter.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, a sultry note to your voice that makes his head spin. You walk over to the lamp on the wall and unscrew the glass. One of the bugs Tech had given you slips into the empty socket before you replace the bulb.

Wrecker blinks, his mind foggy.

"You."

You look surprised, and for a moment, he wonders if he's gone too far. But then, you smile, and he knows he's made the right choice. "Yeah? What about me?"

"Just how lucky I am," he tells you, the words sincere.

"Lucky?" you ask, raising a brow.

"Mhm."

You shake your head, letting out a soft laugh. "I think I'm the lucky one."

"I dunno. Pretty sure I'm the one who gets to take you home," Wrecker points out, a grin on his face.

Your eyes widen, and your lips part, and for a moment, you just stare at him, stunned. You let out a shaky breath, your face falling, and it's then that Wrecker realizes his mistake. You’re worth more to him than a quick roll in the sheets, and while he wants you, and the thought of it makes him hot and bothered, he's not interested in a one-night stand.

"I, uh, I didn't mean it like that," he stutters, his cheeks growing warm. “I—“

"Don't worry, darling, I know what you meant," you say, a hint of disappointment in your voice.

"It's not like—"

"We should go, Wrecker. The others are waiting."

"Right," Wrecker says quietly.

He doesn't like the tension in your shoulders, or the way you won't look at him. He's not sure what to say to fix this. All he knows is that the moment is over, and his heart is pounding.

When the two of you step out of the office, the door slides shut behind you, and he grabs your wrist. You don't stop, and you don't turn around. But you don't pull away, either.

"Hey, c'mon, just wait a sec, please."

You stop, letting out a quiet sigh. "It's okay, Wrecker, you don't have to—"

"But I want to."

You look up at him, your jaw set, and there's something in your eyes that tells him you don't believe him. It breaks his heart a little. Because it's true. He's been wanting you for a long time, and even if you don't feel the same, he's not going to let you leave without knowing it.

Wrecker takes a step toward you, and another, and another, until he's pressed against you. He lets go of your wrist, and his hand settles on your waist.

"Wrecker, what are you doing?"

"Trying not to be an idiot."

"You're not an—"

"Yeah, I am," he interrupts, a soft smile on his face. "I'm not good with words, and I don't always know the right thing to say. But I'm gonna try."

"Wrecker," you whisper, your eyes wide, "you don't have to."

"But I want to. I wanna tell you the truth."

"The truth?"

He nods.

"And what's that?"

"That I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever met," he tells you, his voice soft. "I think you're the bravest, and the kindest, and the smartest. I think you're the best, and I wish I was half the person you are."

"Wrecker, you're—"

He squeezes your waist gently. "Not done yet."

You smile up at him, a fondness in your eyes that makes his heart race, and you nod.

"And I know I don't deserve you, and I know you're probably just being nice, and that maybe, I'm reading into this too much, but I don't think so."

You look like you want to interrupt him again, but you don't. He's grateful.

"I think there's something here. Between us,” he says. “And I've never been good at keeping my feelings to myself. I think about you all the time, and I can't help it.”

"Wrecker, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I dunno.” He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably."

You shake your head, laughing. "Wrecker, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to tell me you have feelings for me."

"Well, that's because I do."

"What?" you ask, sounding almost as surprised as he felt earlier.

"Have feelings for you. I have a lot of 'em," he tells you, a smile on his face. It feels good to finally admit it. "I've had them for a while."

"How long?"

"Pretty much since I met you."

"Really?"

He nods. "Really."

"That's...a long time," you murmur.

"Mhm. So, that's the truth," Wrecker says. "And if you don't feel the same, or if I'm wrong, or if I'm misreading things, then just tell me, and I'll never bring it up again."

"I don't think I could," you answer, "not now, after all that."

"So, then, maybe—"

"Wrecker," you whisper, his tie and pulling him closer. Your lips brush his, and he has to fight the urge to groan. "I have a lot of feelings, too. I just didn't know you did."

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," you breathe, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't bother fighting the groan this time. He can't. Not when you're this close. Not when he can feel your breath against his skin. Not when your lips are ghosting over his, and the scent of your perfume is filling his nose, and the warmth of your body is pressed against him.

"Then, does this mean—"

"You can kiss me," you murmur.

Wrecker doesn't hesitate.

His mouth crashes against yours, his hands slipping down to your hips and pulling you against him. You let out a whimper, and it's all he can do not to moan.

He doesn't want to push too far, or scare you away, so he holds back. He kisses you with restraint, with tenderness, with love. Your lips are soft, and pliant, and your fingers tighten in his shirt as he deepens the kiss. It's even better than he imagined, and he's spent hours imagining it.

He doesn't care that anyone could see you. He doesn't care about the mission, or the bugs, or the fact that the others are waiting for you. He only cares about you, and the way you feel in his arms.

"Wrecker," you mumble, breaking the kiss.

"Hm?"

"We should go," you remind him, your voice soft.

"Right," he says, "just one more."

"One more," you agree.

Your lips are on his again, and it's just as good as the first time. Wrecker doesn't want to stop, and he doesn't, not until his comm buzzes, and his brother's voice rings out in his ear.

"Wrecker, status report. We need an update."

Wrecker groans, pulling away from you. "Tech, not a good time."

"Now is precisely the time," his brother replies, sounding exasperated. "What is the status of the mission?"

Wrecker glances at you, and you look back up at him with a soft smile on your swollen lips. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and the feeling is so comforting and sweet that his chest aches.

"It's good," Wrecker answers, smiling. "The mission is going really good."

"Good?" he hears Hunter repeat. He's not sure if it's confusion or disbelief in his voice. Maybe a little bit of both.

"Great," he corrects, leaning down to kiss you again. "Really, really great."

"Oh," Tech mutters, and Wrecker can hear the gears turning in his head. "I…did not expect that."

Wrecker smiles down at you. "Yeah, well, neither did I."

“I see.” There's a pause, and the sound of shuffling, some muffled voices, and then Tech adds, "In that case, we will let you get back to your, ah, mission."

"Thanks, Tech."

"Mhm," his brother hums, sounding a little awkward. "You’re welcome. We'll see you both when you return.”

The comm clicks off, and Wrecker sighs. "Guess we should get back to the ship."

"Yeah, we probably should," you agree, though neither of you move. "Or..."

He perks up. "Or?"

"Or, we could go back to the hotel," you suggest, a playful note in your voice. "We did pay for the night, after all. It would be a shame to waste it."

"A real shame," he nods, his voice grave.

"Besides," you add, your hand sliding down his chest, "we could use the extra time to...discuss the details of the mission. Make sure we're on the same page, and everything."

Wrecker bites back a moan. The feeling of your hand on his chest, and the sound of your voice, and the suggestion in your words, and the glint in your eyes. It's enough to make his knees weak.

"What do you think, ma sareen?"

"I think," he murmurs, kissing your neck, "that's the best idea I've ever heard."

The two of you barely make it through the door.

As soon as it slides shut behind you, Wrecker’s lips are on yours. His hands haven’t left your hips since you entered the elevator. He guides you backwards, his hands roaming across your back and sides. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and the sound you make sends a rush of heat straight to his cock.

Your back hits the wall next to the door, and Wrecker lifts you up, wedging a thigh between your legs. The dress is riding up, and his hand slips under it, and he's never been more grateful for Tech's insistence on getting a hotel room.

His tongue slides across the roof of your mouth, and he swallows the gasp that leaves your lips. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and you roll your hips, grinding against his thigh. The sound that leaves his mouth is embarrassingly needy as his hand moves higher, squeezing the soft flesh. Your knife has been safely returned to its holster, and his fingers run along the strap.

He wants to take his time with you, to make sure you know how he feels, but he can't stop touching you. You’re so soft, and he's been wanting to do this for so long, and the dress makes it so easy to find new places to explore.

"Wrecker," you whimper, arching against him.

He nips at your neck, and the soft whine that escapes your throat makes his knees weak. His hand squeezes the back of your leg, and his mouth travels lower, his teeth dragging across your collarbone.

"You look so fuckin' good in this," he tells you, his lips brushing the swell of your breasts. "Drivin' me crazy."

"Yeah?" you ask, reaching up to loosen his tie.

"Yeah," he grunts. He leans down, pressing his mouth to the tops of your breasts. You make a soft noise, and he smiles, his hand slipping up your thigh and pushing the hem of the dress higher. "Been thinkin' about taking it off all night.”

"Well, why don't you, then?"

Wrecker pulls away, and you look up at him, your eyes half-lidded and dark. Your cheeks are flushed, and your chest is rising and falling, and you look so fucking gorgeous, he can't stand it.

He doesn't respond. His lips find yours again, and he pushes your skirt up higher, his hands bunching the smooth fabric. He tries his best to be gentle, but it's hard. The thought of ripping the dress from your body, tearing it off and tossing it to the side is appealing, but he won't. It's not his to ruin, and he doesn't want to make you mad.

"This okay?" he asks, breaking the kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, nodding. Your hands join his, and together you pull the dress over your head, and toss it aside.

He nearly drops you.

He doesn't, but it's a close thing.

"You—oh, fuck," he groans, his head falling to the crook of your neck, "you weren't wearin' anythin' underneath?"

You let out a breathless laugh, and the feeling of it makes his head spin.

"Surprised?"

"Uh, yeah."

He's not sure what to say, or what to do.

The only thing he can think about is the way your bare pussy is pressed against his thigh. Your nails drag across his scalp, and he shudders. He’s pretty sure his brain is short-circuiting, because all he can do is stare at you.

Your makeup is messy, your headpiece a little crooked, and your chest is rising and falling in short, shallow breaths, and you're looking up at him with a smirk that makes him want to drop to his knees and worship you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, tilting his chin up. "You can't talk now?"

Wrecker grunts. You're teasing him, and he can't even pretend he doesn't like it. He likes it too much.

"You're not playin' fair," he complains, his voice gruff.

"No?"

"Nope."

"Well, neither are you," you say, rolling your hips. The motion drags your pussy across his thigh, and the dampness on his skin has him groaning. You lean forward, your mouth next to his ear. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"

He growls, and you gasp as his hands slide down, grabbing your ass. He hoists you up, putting your chest level with his face.

"Gonna show you," he rasps, "just how much you drive me crazy."

He's never seen anything hotter than the way you're looking at him right now, and he's not sure he ever will. He doesn’t want to close his eyes, doesn’t want to blink, but he can’t help it when his tongue darts out and his lips close around one of your nipples.

The soft sound that escapes your mouth makes his cock throb, and he presses your back against the wall, holding you up with ease with one hand as the other comes up to fondle your other breast. His tongue is hot and insistent against your skin, and your breath catches in your throat when he drags his teeth across the sensitive flesh.

"Fuck," you hiss, arching into him.

"Told ya you look good," he mumbles. He nips at the swell of your breast, and a moan escapes your lips. "Good enough to eat."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," he hums. "Can I?"

"Please."

You let out a squeak as he hikes you up further, his lips ghosting over your ribs, and then your sternum, and then the soft swell of your stomach. Your thighs are draped over his shoulders, and his hands are on the backs of your legs, holding them up and apart, and the sight of you above him is almost too much.

"You smell so fuckin' good," he growls, burying his face between your thighs.

You're already wet, and his nose bumps against your clit as he presses his mouth to your pussy. You're so warm, and soft, and when his tongue slides against you, you moan, the sound desperate and needy.

"Shit, Wrecker," you gasp, your hands coming down to grab his head.

"Just relax," he tells you, his tone a little patronizing. "I gotcha, sweetheart."

He dives in, his mouth eager and unrelenting. He licks and sucks and nips at the sensitive skin, and when his tongue pushes inside, you arch your back, rolling your hips. Your thighs squeeze around his head, and the noises that are leaving your lips are sending sparks down his spine.

He does it again, and again, and again, trying to coax more of those sounds from your mouth. He wants to see what he can get you to do, wants to know what makes you cry out, and moan, and scream.

You're trembling above him, and your pussy is so wet, he can feel it running down his chin.  

"Oh, fuck," you curse, and he can't help but grin.

Your hips buck against his face, and he grabs your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. His fingers sink into the plush skin, and he spreads you apart, his tongue circling your clit. You shudder, and your thighs tighten around his head. He can tell you're getting close, and he can't wait to feel you fall apart, to see your face twist in pleasure, and hear his name on your lips.

He's never been good at this. He's always felt a little out of his depth, a little awkward, a little clumsy. But he's learning. He's watching your reactions, listening to the sounds you make, feeling the way your body responds. And he's paying attention, because he wants to be the only person who can make you feel like this.

He knows it's possessive. He knows it's a lot, especially since the two of you haven't talked about what this means. But he doesn't care. Not right now. He just wants you, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that's what happens.

You're writhing above him, and he can feel the muscles in your thighs tensing as his lips close around your clit. He makes sure he's got a good grip on you with one hand before sliding the other in between your thighs, and he pushes one finger inside you, and then another.

"Wrecker!"

He's pretty sure that's the hottest thing he's ever heard.

He doubles his efforts, his fingers pushing deeper and deeper. He's not even sure if he's hitting the right spot, but from the way you're writhing, and moaning, and cursing, it seems like he's doing something right. Your walls are squeezing his fingers, and he curls them, trying to find the spot that will make you scream.

You do.

Your whole body tenses, your thighs clamping hard around his head, and you throw your head back, crying out. He watches in awe, his eyes wide, and his mouth slack as you come apart above him. He can feel it, can feel your walls tightening, and the rush of heat as you climax, and he can’t resist the urge to press a kiss to the soft, swollen flesh.

"Wrecker," you choke out, your voice cracking, and he knows he's never going to get enough of this. 

He keeps his fingers buried inside of you as he pulls away from the wall. You cling to him, and he carries you over to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress. His fingers slip out of you, and he watches in fascination as you clench around nothing, your body still trembling.

"Fuck," he groans, dropping to his knees and burying his head between your legs again.

You let out a noise of surprise, and his hands push your thighs open, keeping them spread wide.

"You did so good, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen lips. He licks you clean, his tongue swiping through your folds. You squirm, and his grip on you tightens. "Gonna make you come again."

"Oh," you whimper, letting out a shaky breath.

"Just breathe, cyar'ika," he tells you, his lips trailing up your inner thigh. He can't get enough of the taste of you, or the way your body is reacting. You're still shaking, and the knowledge that it's because of him is making him delirious. He's pretty sure this is the best night of his life.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," he says, his voice soft and low. "I promise."

"You always make me feel good, Wrecker," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "Always."

Wrecker grins and leans back, shoving his suit jacket off his shoulders. He's not sure where you want him, or how far you want to take things, but he's happy to follow your lead. He’s happy to do this all night, every night, for the rest of his life, if you asked.

He unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls up the sleeves, his eyes never leaving you. You're looking up at him, your cheeks flushed, your chest rising and falling. He can't believe he gets to see you like this, so vulnerable and trusting.

"What is it?" you ask with a tilt of your head. The motion moves your lekku, and Wrecker's gaze follows. He's fascinated by the way they shift, and sway, and twitch. He wonders what they feel like, if you’ll let him touch them, if they're as sensitive as he's heard.

"Nothin'," he answers, shrugging.

"Liar."

"No, really," he says. Then, a grin spreads across his face, and he can't help himself, "I just like lookin' at ya."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"What about me do you like looking at, ma sareen?"

"Everything," he tells you, and the sincerity in his voice seems to catch you off guard. "Everythin' about you. You're gorgeous, and I'm lucky as hell."

"Wrecker, you're not just saying that, are you?"

"Never," he promises, "not when it comes to you."

You bite your lip, and the way your teeth sink into the plump flesh sends a rush of heat through him.

"You're too good to me," you mumble, a fondness in your eyes that makes his heart swell.

"Could never be too good to you," he replies quickly, shaking his head. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and leans back down, kissing the curve of your stomach.

"Wrecker," you sigh, your hands settling on his shoulders, "you're such a gentleman."

"A gentleman?" He laughs, his forehead resting against your hip.

"Mhm," you hum.

He glances up at you, his brows raised. "Sweetheart, I've had my face between your legs for the past fifteen minutes, and you're tellin' me I'm a gentleman?"

"Maybe I like a man who knows how to treat me," you suggest.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Wrecker chuckles, and then he kisses the top of your mound, and then the crease of your thigh, and then your knee. You make a soft noise, and his eyes flick back to your face.

"So, do you still want me to keep treatin' you?" he asks, and if the words come out a little nervous, he can't help it.

"Of course," you say, a hint of surprise in your voice, as if you can't believe he would think otherwise. You smile sweetly, and the weight in his chest lifts. "I want everything with you, Wrecker. Always."

"Good," he sighs, the tension leaving his body. "Because I want everythin', too."

Your head falls back against the pillows, your hands slipping from his shoulders to his head. You pull him closer, and he's more than happy to follow your lead.

"Then, come on, darling," you murmur, lifting your hips and spreading your legs wider, "give me everything."

Wrecker swallows thickly.

"Yes, ma'am."

His mouth is on you again, and you don't hesitate to let him know how good he's doing. You're not shy, and you're not quiet, and you're not afraid to take what you want.

And, gods, does Wrecker like that.

He's still a little in awe, a little dumbstruck by the fact that this is happening, and that it's not just some fantasy he's making up in his head. This is real, and you're here, and you're enjoying yourself, and the sound of your voice, the way you move, the softness of your body is so fucking overwhelming, it's making him delirious.

He wants to do this every night, for the rest of his life.

Your scent fills his nose, and your taste coats his tongue, and the slick, wet noises his mouth makes as he eats you out are driving him crazy. You're shaking beneath him, and your legs are draped over his shoulders, and your nails are scraping against his scalp. Your heels dig into his back, and his hands move down, holding you steady. He's not stopping until you tell him to, and from the way you're moaning, he doesn't think that's going to be anytime soon.

"You're so fucking hot," he groans, his teeth scraping against your folds. "Gonna make you come again. Gonna get you nice and ready for me."

You whimper, and he knows he's made the right choice.

"Sound good?" he asks, voice muffled by your cunt.

"Mhm," you nod.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you moan, "yes, please, please, I want you to fuck me."

"Oh, I'm gonna," he growls, his lips brushing against your clit, "but first, I'm gonna make you scream."

He's not sure where he found the confidence, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even notice. He's too busy trying to get you to come for him again. He's licking, and sucking, and kissing, and nibbling, and it's only when you're begging him to fuck you that he finally pulls away for air.

"Not yet," he says, pressing a kiss to the crease of your thigh.

"Please," you whimper, "please, Wrecker, I need it. Need you."

He chuckles, his stubble scratching against the inside of your thigh. "I know, sweetheart, I know. Not yet, though. Just a little more."

He slips two fingers inside you, curling them, and your whole body jolts.

"Wrecker, please, I'm so fucking wet, just—"

"I know," he grins, pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your pussy is soaked, and the sound of him fingering you is obscene. It makes him want to shove his cock into you, to feel how tight and warm you are. "Gettin' you nice and wet for me."

"Don't—don't tease me," you huff, and Wrecker laughs, kissing your clit.

"I'm not," he insists. "Just tryin' to make sure you're ready."

"Ready?"

"Mhm." He pushes his fingers deeper, and he can feel the way your walls are already fluttering, the way your muscles are twitching. You're close, and he can't wait to see what you look like when you fall apart. "Wanna make sure you can take me."

"I can," you assure him, "please, I can."

"I'm gonna make you come again," he says, his voice soft. "And then, when you're all nice and relaxed, and you're beggin' for my cock, that's when I'm gonna fuck you."

"I'm begging now," you whine.

"I know, baby," he murmurs, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. "Be patient. It'll be worth it, I promise."

"Okay," you say, and the sound comes out strangled, like it's hard for you to talk. The way your voice breaks, and your chest rises and falls has him grinning, and he leans down again, his mouth eager and insistent.

"Fuck," you gasp, "oh, fuck, Wrecker, I'm—I'm gonna—"

"Go ahead," he encourages, his voice husky, "lemme see.”

Your head falls back, your whole body trembling as you come for the second time that night. It's even more beautiful than the first, and the way you pull his fingers deeper has him moaning against you. He doesn't stop until you're pushing him away, and even then, he doesn't go far.

Wrecker pulls back, slowly, his eyes on yours. You're breathing heavily, and your cheeks are flushed. Somewhere along the way the headpiece you were wearing had come loose, and it's resting on the pillow next to you. Your eyes are hooded, a dazed look on your face, and you look absolutely gorgeous.

"That was so fucking hot," he tells you, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Wrecker, that was..." you trail off, letting out a quiet sigh. "I've never come twice that fast before."

"Really?"

You shake your head, laughing breathlessly. "Nope."

"So, I guess I did a good job?"

"Good?" you repeat, looking almost offended. "Darling, it was incredible."

He grins wide and presses a kiss to your stomach. You cup his cheek, and your thumb brushes his lip. It's damp with your arousal, and the realization sends a wave of heat through him.

"I'm just glad I made you feel good," he says.

"Trust me, you did," you assure him, and the earnestness in your voice has his cheeks flushing.

"Glad to hear it," he murmurs. He nips at the underside of your breast, and you whimper.

"Wrecker," you mumble.

"Mhm?"

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Because," you answer, sitting up and grabbing his tie, "I want to kiss you."

He lets out a laugh. "Is that all?"

"No," you say, and the honesty in your tone makes him shiver. You tug on the tie, pulling him towards you until your lips meet in a messy kiss. He's careful not to put his weight on you, keeping most of it on his forearms as he presses closer. Your tongue is hot and insistent against his, and when your teeth scrape his bottom lip, a groan escapes his throat.

"Please," you mumble against his lips. "Please, Wrecker, fuck me."

“Was hoping you’d say that,” he grunts, a smirk on his face.

He kisses you again, and it's rough and needy and a little clumsy. Your hands are roaming across his back, and when they tug on his shirt, he reaches around, pulling the hem out of his pants and working the buttons open.

He doesn't have the patience to undo them all, so he tears the shirt and tie off and tosses them aside. He breathes a sigh of relief at finally being free from the restrictive fabric, only to suck in a sharp breath as your nails scrape his sides. The sensation sends a shiver through him, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck, panting.

You don't let up, your hands exploring the planes and divots of his bare chest. His skin is on fire, and his muscles are flexing beneath your touch. Your mouth finds his neck as your fingers move to undo his belt, and his whole body jolts.

You hum, pleased, and Wrecker knows he's in trouble.

Your teeth sink into his shoulder, and your tongue swipes over the marks, and when you press a kiss to his pulse point, he has to remind himself not to get carried away. He's not even inside you yet, and he's already on the verge of losing control.

"Wrecker, I'm tired of waiting," you whine, your hand sliding under his pants and squeezing his ass. "I need you."

"Shit," he curses, his cock twitching in his boxers. "I need you, too."

"Then, what are you waiting for?"

"Nothin'," he says, sitting up. "Absolutely nothin'."

He gets to his feet, pulling off his shoes and socks faster than he's ever undressed in his life. He shoves his pants and boxers down, and his cock springs free. You let out a quiet noise, and he feels a surge of pride as your eyes move down his body, and widen.

"Oh, Wrecker," you breathe, and the awe in your voice is so fucking satisfying. "You're..."

"Yeah?"

"It's so big," you murmur.

He feels the tips of his ears burn. He knows he's big. He's bigger than most, and he's always been worried about scaring people off.

"Do you think you can handle it?"

"Yeah," you say quickly, nodding.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

He's not convinced. "It's okay if you can't, y'know."

"I know, Wrecker," you answer, sounding amused. "I can handle it."

"I just don't want to hurt you."

"I know. And it's sweet. But if you don't come here and fuck me right now, I'm going to go crazy."

"Well, we can't have that," he mutters, a smile playing on his lips.

He climbs back onto the bed, and you move to meet him halfway, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you kneel together. Your chest presses against his, and you're so warm and soft, and he feels like he's going to melt.

He kisses the tip of your lek, and you let out a squeak, and the sound is so cute, he has to kiss the other one, too. He wants to kiss every part of you, and he plans to, someday. Right now, though, he's got something more important to take care of.

His mouth finds yours, and he cups the back of your neck, holding you still. You're pressed together, skin to skin, and he can feel the heat radiating from your body. Your hands are moving over his shoulders, down his chest, across his stomach, and when your fingers wrap around his cock, his hips buck.

"Fuck," he groans.

You give him a slow, languid stroke, and his eyes nearly roll back.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, your hand moving up and down, spreading precum along his length. You press a kiss to his shoulder, and then his collarbone, and his jaw, and his chin, and his mouth.

"I—ah," he grunts, his forehead falling to rest on yours, "You're kiddin', right?"

"Why would I be kidding?"

"You've got a lot more goin' for ya than me," he replies, his cheeks flushing. "A hell of a lot more."

"Nonsense," you say, shaking your head. Your grip tightens, and his breath catches in his throat. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen, and the things I want to do to you are..."

"Are what?"

"I'd rather show you," you admit, and there's something in your voice that makes his heart skip a beat.

"Well, go ahead, then," he encourages, giving you a toothy grin. "Show me."

Wrecker lets out a surprised yelp when you grab his shoulders and push him back, his back hitting the mattress. He laughs, and then you're on top of him, and his laughter dies, his breath coming out in short, shallow gasps.

You're straddling his waist, and the sight of your naked body above him is the most incredible thing he's ever seen. His hands move on their own, running across your thighs, your hips, and your ribs.

"This is a good look for you," you say, smirking.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

You lean down and kiss him, and he can't help the way his hands wander, one moving up to squeeze your ass, and the other finding your breast. He can't get enough of you, and he doesn't know if he ever will. He squeezes, and rolls, and fondles, and when his thumb brushes your nipple, you break the kiss with a soft moan. You pull away, and he chases after you, his lips pressing against yours.

"Wrecker, stop," you giggle, swatting his hand away.

"I can't help it," he tells you, leaning up and pressing a kiss to your neck. "You're too kriffin' sexy."

"I need you inside me," you say, pushing his shoulders back. "And I'm not going to be able to get there if you keep distracting me."

"Alright," he sighs, falling back against the mattress. "Go ahead, I'll be patient."

"Good boy."

His eyes go wide, and his cock throbs at the words. He knows he likes being praised, and he's not ashamed to admit that, but the way it makes him react is almost embarrassing.

"Oh," you grin, and the mischief in your eyes has his heart racing. "You like that?"

"Yeah," he nods, his cheeks flushing.

"What else do you like?" you ask, leaning forward and grinding against him.

He swallows thickly. "Um."

"Wrecker," you say softly, and his eyes dart up to yours.

"I—" he stammers, his gaze flicking back down to your cunt. "I, uh—you know, I've never really had anyone ask me that before."

"Well, consider this the first time," you tell him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Tell me."

"Uh."

"Come on," you urge, kissing the other side, "tell me what you like."

"I like makin' you feel good," he blurts out. "I like it rough, I like bein' told what to do. I like knowin' I'm doin' a good job. And I like you, so—so just...tell me how you feel, or somethin', and I'll be happy."

"I can work with that."

You sit up, and the motion brings your pussy closer to his cock. He watches with wide eyes as you raise yourself up and guide his cock between your folds, the tip brushing against your entrance. His hips twitch, and his hands come up to grip your waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

"Kriff, you're gorgeous," he breathes, his eyes on the place where his cock is just barely penetrating you. "You're amazing."

"So are you," you reply.

He's not sure he agrees, but he doesn't have time to argue, because you're sinking down onto him, and his brain stops working.

You let out a quiet sigh, and Wrecker tries his best to keep his composure, but the wet, hot, tightness is too much. His hands tighten, his fingers digging into your sides before he realizes what he's doing. He relaxes his grip, his palms sliding across your skin, his eyes still on where your bodies are joined.

"Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I just—"

"Don't apologize," you interrupt, your hips shifting, and his cock pushes a little deeper.

"I can't help it," he huffs, "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You're not hurting me," you promise, one hand settling on his chest. The other takes his hand, and you lift it up to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I'll tell you if you are, alright? So, don't worry. Just relax."

"Okay," he nods, taking a deep breath. "I can do that."

"Good boy," you praise, and Wrecker feels a wave of heat crash through him.

Your hips shift, and you sink down another inch. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into a fist. Your mouth is hot and insistent against his knuckles, your tongue swiping over the sensitive skin. You kiss his fingertips, and then his palm, and then the back of his hand. You nip at the fleshy part beneath his thumb, and he hisses, the sensation sending sparks up his arm.

"Fuck," he groans, and his hips buck, and his cock slides a little further inside.

"You're so big," you murmur, your hand sliding up his arm and over his chest. Your nails scrape his skin, and he trembles. "So fucking big, Wrecker."

"Yeah?"

You nod, your mouth open, and your cheeks flushed. Your eyes are a little glassy, and your breathing is shallow, and he can't believe how lucky he is to be here, with you, in this moment.

"I'm gonna—gonna make you feel good," he promises, and you laugh, your walls fluttering around him.

"Oh, darling," you sigh, lifting your hips and sinking back down, taking him a little deeper, "you already are."

His eyes squeeze shut, and his grip on you tightens. He tries to remember to breathe, and not to buck his hips, and not to pull you down and bury himself to the hilt. You're still kissing his hand, and the softness of your lips has him melting, his shoulders falling back against the bed.

"Look at me, ma sareen," you murmur.

Wrecker does.

The sight that greets him nearly sends him over the edge. You're hovering above him, his cock buried inside you, your lekku dangling in the space between your bodies. The lights in the room are dim, but the glow is bright enough to highlight the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips, and the way your skin seems to shimmer.

You're breathtaking.

"You're amazin'," he says again, because he doesn't have anything better to say.

"You're so sweet," you chuckle, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I love that about you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

You kiss him again, and his mouth opens under yours. He groans when you bite his bottom lip, his hands moving to your hips, guiding your movements. You roll your hips, and his cock slips out of you, before sliding back in. You do it again, and again, and again, until the tip of his cock nudges against the end of your channel.

"Oh, shit," you gasp, sitting up, and bracing your hands against his stomach. "Oh, gods, Wrecker, you're—you're so fucking deep."

"Does it feel good?"

"So fucking good," you whimper.

He sits up and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. He can feel the tips of your lekku resting on his chest, and they're even softer than he imagined. He presses a kiss to the base of one, and then the other, and then he's kissing your neck, his stubble scratching against your skin.

"Ah," you sigh, your hips rocking. "Wrecker, fuck, it feels so good."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Good," he growls, and then he grabs your ass and pulls you down onto his cock.

You let out a surprised cry, and then you're moving faster, grinding down on his length. He thrusts up, his hips meeting yours. Your hands are everywhere, roaming across his back, his shoulders, and his chest. You're not shy about it, and you don't hold back. You squeeze, and stroke, and touch every part of him, and it's making him dizzy.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you moan, and Wrecker grunts, his teeth scraping the base of your lekku. "So fucking good, Wrecker."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, and then you're pulling away, and his chest aches at the loss. You push him back against the pillows, and he stares up at you, his lips parted as you ride him, bouncing up and down. Your hands are planted on his chest, and your nails are digging into his skin.

He watches in awe as you take him, his cock disappearing between your legs. No one's ever taken him like this, no one's ever been able to handle him the way you are. You're not afraid, and you're not shy, and you're not afraid to get what you want.

"You're kriffin' perfect," he says, and then he's reaching for you, his hands cupping your face.

Wrecker kisses you, and the sound that leaves your throat is so needy, and desperate, that he can't help but thrust up into you, harder and faster. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you suck on it, drawing a groan from his chest. He's trying to hold on, to last as long as he can, but it's not easy. Not when you're riding him like this, and making him feel like this.

You pull away with a gasp and bury your face in his neck, and the warmth of your breath makes him shiver. He can't see your face, but he can feel the way you're shaking, can hear the quiet noises you're making.

"You like that?" he asks, his voice rough.

"So much," you whine.

"Gonna come for me?"

"Yes, please, yes," you whimper.

"Gonna scream for me?"

"Oh, Wrecker," you moan, your teeth sinking into his shoulder, and the pain goes straight to his cock. "Wrecker, you're making me—I'm so close, please, harder."

He doesn't hesitate to follow your orders.

He lifts his legs, spreading them wider, and you slide a little further down his length. His hips snap up, and your whole body jolts. The first slap of skin against skin has him groaning, and the second has him cursing, and by the time his balls are slapping against your ass, you're begging him not to stop.

He's not sure he could, even if he wanted to. He thrusts again, and again, his pace building. Your cunt is dripping, the wetness seeping from your entrance, and the lewd squelching sound fills the room.

His hand cups the back of your head, holding you close. You nuzzle against his shoulder, your lips pressed to his collarbone, and the sensation is so fucking intimate, so sweet, he's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to hold out.

"Sweetheart," he grunts, and he doesn't have the words to continue, doesn't know how to tell you he's going to come, doesn't want this to end.

"You're so good," you whisper, and he can feel his balls tightening, "so fucking good, Wrecker."

"Can I—I'm gonna come," he warns.

"Oh, fuck, me, too."

"Where—where do you want me?"

"Inside," you whine, and Wrecker has to grit his teeth to keep from coming on the spot. "Wrecker, inside, please, fill me up, I want it, want you."

"Shit," he groans, "fuck, fuck, sweetheart, you're—oh, shit, I'm—"

Your body goes stiff, your walls fluttering around his cock, and his mouth falls open. He's not prepared for the feeling of your pussy gripping his length, or the sound of your breathy moans. He's not prepared for the way your thighs tremble, or the way your back arches, or the way his name spills from your lips.

He's not prepared for the orgasm that crashes over him, the heat and the pleasure that rushes through his veins, and the way his whole body shudders as he comes inside you.

He can't remember the last time he came this hard, the last time he lost control like this. The feeling of your cunt around him is too much, and his head falls back, his eyes squeezing shut. The only thing that keeps him tethered to reality is the sound of your voice in his ear, a string of words in a language he doesn’t understand falling from your lips.

Wrecker holds you, his arms wrapping around you, and his hips buck, his cock twitching. He can't get enough, can't stop coming, can't stop fucking up into you. Your moans are soft, and gentle, and it's not until his own climax has subsided that he realizes you’re slumped against him, your breathing heavy, your face pressed to his neck.

"Shit, sorry, cyar'ika," he mutters as he realizes his grip has tightened. He moves to pull his hands away, but you reach out, taking his wrists and placing his hands back on your waist.

"No," you whimper, "please."

"Sweetheart, I'm hurtin' you."

"Just a little longer," you tell him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the base of his throat.

He's not sure why, but the request brings tears to his eyes. You want him. You want him to hold you, and touch you, and the realization makes his heart swell.

"Alright," he agrees, and you sigh and nestle closer.

He lays there, his softening cock still buried inside you, his arms around you, and his fingers find their way to your lekku. He strokes them gently, and you shiver, your body trembling.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yes," you answer, your voice barely above a whisper. "It feels nice."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I like touchin' you."

"I can tell," you laugh and press a kiss to his chest.

He continues, his fingertips tracing a path down the side of one, and then the other. He doesn't know how much time passes. He's lost in the feeling of you, in the warmth of your body, in the softness of your skin. He doesn't even realize his eyes are closed until he hears you laughing.

"What?" Wrecker asks, opening his eyes and looking down at you.

"Are you asleep?"

"No," he answers, shaking his head, though the blush on his face gives him away. "I was just restin' my eyes."

"You sure?" you ask, and there's a teasing tone in your voice.

"I'm sure," he says, and then you're pulling away. His arms drop, and his cock slips out of your cunt, and his mouth falls open. Your combined release is leaking out of you, dripping down his cock and onto his stomach.

"Wow," he breathes.

"Is it a bad 'wow' or a good 'wow'?" you ask, your teeth sinking into your lower lip.

"The good kind," he answers, his eyes roaming over your body before returning to your face. His brows furrow. "Can I kiss you?"

"Wrecker, you don't have to ask," you tell him.

"Well, um," he starts, his cheeks turning pink. "It's just, I'm not really good at this part."

"What part?"

"The after part," he tells you. "I mean, it's always been, you know, in the dark, or quick, and I don't know how you feel about kissing and cuddlin' after, and I just...I dunno, I just like you, and I want to do it right."

"Oh, Wrecker," you laugh, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I like kissing and cuddling."

"You do?"

"I do," you nod, a smile on your face. "There's nothing more I'd rather do than kiss you, and cuddle with you, and hold you, and fall asleep with you. That is, if you'll have me."

"Oh.” He blinks. "Yeah, um, I'd like that a lot."

"Then, by all means, darling," you tell him, "kiss me."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you nod, grinning. "Please."

Wrecker leans forward, his hand cupping your cheek, and he presses his lips to yours. He licks into your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours, and the soft moan that leaves your lips makes his heart soar.

"You're incredible," he breathes, and the smile on your face is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You are too," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I hope that was everything you were hoping for."

"It was even better," he says, his hand moving down and resting on your hip. "Can we do it again?"

"Right now?" you ask, and he can't help but laugh.

"I was thinkin' tomorrow, maybe," he tells you, his thumb stroking your skin. "I'm gonna be honest, sweetheart, I don't think I'm gonna be able to go again for a while."

"Me either," you reply, laughing.

"But," he starts, his grip on your waist tightening, "when I am, you want to?”

"Of course," you tell him, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his neck. "I have some other ideas I'd like to run by you, if you're interested."

"I'm very interested." He grins. "Lets get cleaned up, and then you can tell me all about ‘em.”

"Mm," you whine, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “But I don’t want to move.”

“Not a problem,” he replies, and before you can say anything, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against him. You squeal, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he slides off the bed, holding you against him.

"Wrecker, put me down," you giggle.

"You're the one who didn't want to move," he reminds you.

"Put me down," you say, but your voice is full of laughter, and you’re smiling.

"No," he teases, shaking his head.

"Wrecker," you sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Sweetheart," he replies, mimicking your tone. “I’m a gentleman, remember? And a gentleman always carries his girl to the shower."

"In that case," you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face against his throat, "thank you, sir."

He walks toward the refresher, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, and his chest is bursting with pride. You're smiling, and laughing, and holding onto him, and it feels like a dream.

Wrecker sits you on the edge of the counter, and you wince, a soft hiss leaving your lips.

"You okay?"

"Just a little sore," you admit.

"Shit," he curses. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, no," you shake your head, your hand finding his wrist and squeezing. "It's a good sore, I promise. You were wonderful."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm," you nod, biting your lip. "Best I've ever had."

He laughs. "That can't be true."

"Well, it is," you tell him, and he can see the sincerity in your eyes. "I mean, I've never felt anything like it."

He smiles, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. You reach up, your fingertips brushing against his cheek, and he turns, kissing the palm of your hand.

"You're not just sayin' that, are ya?" he asks.

"Why would I?"

"I dunno," he admits.

"Wrecker," you sigh, your thumb brushing across his lower lip, "it's been a long time since I've felt anything for anyone. The truth is, I've had a crush on you for months. You're sweet, and kind, and funny, and the things you did tonight...the way you made me feel, the way you treated me...I've never felt so safe. Or special.”

"It was nothin'," he says, his cheeks flushing.

"It wasn't nothing," you insist, and he knows the look in your eyes means you're not going to let it go. "You made me feel beautiful, and wanted, and cared for, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for that. And it's going to take a lot more than a rough fuck to get rid of me."

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Yes," you say, pressing a kiss to his chin.

"Okay," he nods. "So, we're gonna try this, huh?"

"Do you want to?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I do," he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. "I just didn't want to push."

"Well, consider this your official invitation," you tell him, your hands sliding down and squeezing his biceps. "I'm all yours."

"All mine, huh?"

"Yep."

"Good," he nods, and then he's scooping you back up and carrying you toward the shower. "Because I'm all yours, too."

"Even better," you laugh, and the sound is like music to his ears.

Wrecker kisses you again, his hands gripping your thighs, and your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. You smile against his lips, and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face. He's not sure how this happened. He's not sure why you picked him. But he doesn't care.

All he cares about is the feeling of your lips against his, and the sound of your laughter filling the room. All he cares about is the taste of your mouth, and the warmth of your skin, and the way his chest swells every time you look at him.

He doesn't know where this is going, or how far it will go, but he knows one thing.

He wants it. All of it. With you.

Translation: ma sareen = Ryl for "my sweet"

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