MoonageDaydream

You worked quickly: fetching clean linens, holding the leg steady as the maester set the bone with a sickening grind that drew a choked cry from the Ser.

You murmured soothing words, pressing a damp cloth to his brow and offering what comfort you could. "The Seven will see you through this, Ser. Breathe slow." Your voice was calm, though your heart pounded with anger at the prince who'd caused this cruelty.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across the tent flap. You looked up and froze.

Prince Baelor Targaryen stood there, his olive skin gleamed in the lantern light, dark eyes shadowed with concern. He'd watched the tilt from the royal stand; everyone had seen his jaw tighten at Aerion's dishonour. Now he stepped inside, broad shoulders filling the space,

"How fares Ser Humfrey?" he asked the maester,

his presence commanding yet gentle.

"Badly broken, my prince. He'll live, but the leg... it may never bear him fully again."

Baelor's gaze shifted to you then, lingering. Recognition flickered. Perhaps it was from the feast nights before, when your laughter had caught his ear across the hall. "My lady of Willum," he starts, "You lend your hands where others turn away."

Heat rose to your cheeks. "It is no more than duty, my prince. House Willum has always aided where we may. And this..." You glanced at the suffering knight. "This should not have happened."

He nodded, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Aerion's lance found the wrong target. I saw it plainly." He knelt beside the pallet, placing a hand on Ser Humfrey's shoulder. "You fought honorably, ser. Rest now. The crown will see to your care."

Ser Humfrey only managed a weak nod.

Baelor rose, offering you his hand to help you stand from where you’d knelt in the dirt. His palm was warm and steady. “Walk with me a moment, my lady? The air outsid is fresher.”

You accepted, letting him guide you from the tent into the cooling evening. Stars began to prick the sky as you walked in silence for a few paces, the grass whispering against your skirts.

“I wanted to thank you properly,” he said, voice low. “For what you did in there. Ser Humfrey was in agony, and most would have averted their eyes or offered empty platitudes from a safe distance. That kind of mercy… it is not common,” he looks at you, fondness in his eyes, “even among the highborn.”

“It was nothing more than what anyone with a heart would do,” you murmured. “He suffered needlessly. Cruelty like that—”

You broke off, the words turning bitter on your tongue before you could stop them.

“Like Aerion’s,” you finished, the name slipping out sharp. “He struck the horse on purpose. I saw it. Everyone saw it. He laughed while a good man screamed beneath a dying beast. How can anyone call that knighthood? How can—”

You caught yourself, cheeks burning now with embarrassment as much as anger. You looked away, toward the darkening horizon as you quickly realise who yoh were standing with.

“Forgive me, my prince,” you say quickly, “I spoke out of turn. Aerion is your nephew. Your brother’s son. I should not have said anything.”

Baelor stopped walking.

He turned to face you fully and he did not look offended. If anything, his expression was one of weary understanding. “No apology is needed,” he hums quietly. “You spoke the truth. I saw the same thing you did and I felt the same disgust rise in me.” He picks a wildflower close by, twirling it between his fingers.

“He is my nephew, yes. But blood does not absolve dishonour, and it does not blind me to it.” He exhaled slowly, as though the admission cost him a great deal of coin. “I have spent years trying to guide him, to show him what our house should stand for rather than what it could destroy. Some days I wonder if the fire in him will ever bend to reason.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. “Here…” he speaks soft, taking your hand and pressing the flower into your palm. His thumb brushed once, almost absently, across the back of your hand.

“My lady, would you accompany me for a drink? Alone. Somewhere quiet, away from the noise and the eyes.”

Your heart gave an unsteady thud but you met his eyes. “Yes. I would like that very much, my prince.”

A small, genuine smile curved Baelor’s lips.. He offered his arm again, and you took it gracefully. You suppress a surprise gasp as you feel that his forearm was solid beneath the linen sleeve.

Together you left the clamour of the tourney grounds behind, slipping past the last row of pavilions and into the open meadow that bordered Ashford’s lists. The grass was already damp with evening dew and beautifully silvered by the rising moon. For a while neither of you spoke, content simply to walk side by side.

Eventually Baelor broke it. “Aerion has always preferred spectacle to honour. I fear he will never understand the difference.”

You walked on a few paces before answering. “My father used to say that true strength is measured not by how hard a man can strike, but by how gently he can hold back when he could destroy.”

Baelor looked at you then, really looked. “Your father sounds like a wise man.”

“He was,” you begin softly. “He died three winters past. Fever took him quickly. After that, it fell to me to look after Willowbrook’s people as best I could. The river floods some years, the harvests fail others.”

You look up to the moon, smiling to yourself. “You learn quickly that a lord or lady cannot sit above suffering and still call themselves worthy.”

He nodded slowly. “I envy you that clarity. The throne room is far removed from such truths. One forgets, sometimes, what the realm truly needs.” There’s a small frown on his face so you offer him a smile and an ever so light nudge.

“And yet here you are, walking in a meadow instead of feasting with the highborn.”

“Feasts grow tiresome when the conversation is all flattery and veiled threats.” He gave a quiet laugh. “Besides, the company is better out here.”

Heat crept into your cheeks again “You flatter me, my prince.”

“No,” he said simply. “I speak plainly. You are kind in a way that costs you nothing and everything at once. That is rare.”

The meadow sloped gently downward toward a small copse of willows and alders.

A low fire already burned in a shallow pit. It was clear that it was someone’s forgotten camp. A wineskin and two battered tin cups had been left beside the flames, along with a folded cloak. Baelor paused, glancing at you.

“Shall we?”

You nodded, and he led you to the fireside. He spread the cloak on the grass for you to sit, then settled beside you.

Your eyes open wide as he sits close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. He doesn’t seem to mind however as he he uncorked the wineskin, poured dark red into both cups, and handed one to you.

You clinked your cup lightly against his. “To kinder days,” you smile.

“To kinder days,” he echoed.

The first sips were quiet, warming. The fire crackled softly, sending sparks spiraling upward into the night. Gradually the conversation drifted. You both spoke about the tilts from today and about which knight had ridden the finest that day. He would comment about how the Reach’s golden fields would look amazing from dragonback (he wished desperately that the dragons didn’t die out before his time).

Then he asked about Willowbrook. It surprised you that he wanted to know about your humble life but he listened as though every detail mattered, asking gentle questions that showed he truly wanted to know.

At length the fire had burned lower, the wine warmer in your veins. You shifted closer without quite meaning to, drawn by his warmth against the night chill. Fortunately, he did not move away.

You looked into the flames for a moment, gathering courage, then turned to him.

“I have never met a Targaryen like you,” you told him truthfully. “The stories speak of fire and blood, of ambition that burns kingdoms down. But you…” You searched his face, the sharp lines softened by firelight. “You are kind.”

Baelor regarded you for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he set his cup aside and reached out, brushing the backs of his fingers lightly along your cheek. The touch was feather-soft, almost hesitant.

“Kindness is not the legacy my house is known for,” he murmured. Your eyes softly close as his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip. “Most days I feel the weight of what we are supposed to be more than what I wish to be.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth, “It has been… a long while since I allowed myself anything like this,” he admitted quietly, the confession sounding almost surprised, as though he had not meant to speak it aloud. “Since I let anyone close enough. Since I let myself want.”

The admission hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt your own breath catch.

“Then let yourself want now,” you whispered.

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

You met him halfway.

The first press of his lips was careful, tasting of Arbor red and woodsmoke. You sighed into it, parting for him, and he deepened the kiss with a quiet groan that vibrated against your mouth. His hand slid to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair; the other found your waist, drawing you closer across the folded cloak until you were half in his lap.

He kissed like a man who had forgotten how good it could feel; like every brush of tongue, every soft nip at your lower lip, was something he had denied himself for years. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the steady thunder of his heart beneath. When you tugged lightly at the laces of his tunic, he helped you without breaking the kiss, shrugging the garment off.

You broke apart only long enough to breathe, foreheads resting together.

“You tremble,” he murmured against your lips, one hand smoothing down your back in a soothing stroke.

“So do you,” you answered, smiling a little.

He huffed a soft laugh, the sound almost disbelieving. “I suppose I do.”

His mouth found your neck then with open kisses and gentle scrapes of teeth that made you arch against him. You felt him harden beneath you, the evidence of his want pressing insistently against your thigh through his breeches. Your own body answered with a rush of heat, a slick ache building low in your belly.

“Baelor…” His name came out half plea, half wonder.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes searching. “Tell me to stop if it is too much,” he said, voice thick. “Or tell me what you want.”

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the faint stubble along his jaw. “I want you,” you reply simply. “All of you. Here... Now.”

Something fierce and tender flashed across his features. He kissed you again with hunger and began to work the ties of your gown. Layer by layer the fabric fell away until you knelt bare before him in the firelight, skin prickling with both chill and anticipation.

He looked at you like you were something holy.

“Gods,” he breathed. “You are…”

He did not finish the sentence. Instead he pulled you down with him onto the cloak, rolling so you straddled his hips. His hands roamed over your breasts, your waist, your thighs… he was learning you with slow, worshipful touches.

When you reached between you to free him from his breeches, he groaned low in his throat at the first stroke of your hand along his length.

You pump his cock slowly before you guide him to your entrance, slick and ready, and sink down slowly and stretch around him.

You both stilled for a moment when he was fully sheathed, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together again.

He whimpered, utterly undone and the sound sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

You began to move with a slow roll of your hips, grinding down in languid circles that made him gasp against your mouth. His hands gripped your thighs as though you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. Every downward motion drew another quiet, helpless sound from him; his head tipped back, throat working, dark eyes half-lidded and gleaming with pleasure.

“You feel…” he managed, voice wrecked. “So perfect… so good…”

You leaned down to kiss him again, swallowing the next soft whimper as you circled your hips just right. His hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples in time with your rhythm, sending sparks straight to where you were joined.

The pace stayed slow, torturously intimate. He wanted you to feel every inch of him, and wanted him to feel every flutter and clench around him.

Sweat gleamed on his skin in the firelight. He looked up at you with something like awe, lips parted on ragged breaths, utterly lost in the sensation of you moving above him.

After a while, the need shifted.

“Lie back,” he whispered. “Let me feel you like this.”

With a low groan he rolled you both until you lay beneath him on the cloak, legs parting to cradle his hips. He settled between your thighs, bracing on his forearms so his weight rested mostly on his elbows, keeping you sheltered from the cool air. His eyes never left yours as he guided himself back inside you in one slow, smooth glide.

You both moaned at the new deeper angle, every inch of his cock pressing against places that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

He began to move in long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a planned slowness. Each stroke dragged against your walls, building heat in lazy, rolling waves. His forehead pressed to yours; his breath fanned hot across your lips.

“So beautiful,” he whispered between thrusts. “So warm and tight around me… my lady…”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to bury him deeper. Your hands roamed his shoulders, his back, feeling the flex of muscle with every slow roll of his hips. Soft whimpers escaped you each time he bottomed out.

As the pace built ever so slightly, he slides one hand down to grip your thigh, fingers splaying wide and firm to hold you open, pinning your leg back against the cloak. The angle opened you further, letting him sink even deeper, his cock dragging perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. The new position made the sounds louder. Wet, filthy slaps echoing in the quiet night as he fucked into your pussy with, each one hitting harder and better, drawing keening cries from your throat.

“Like that,” he rasped, eyes locked on yours, watching every flutter of pleasure across your face. “Take me… gods, the way you sound… moaning for me…”

His mouth found yours again in messy, open-mouthed kisses; then across your breasts until your back arched and you cried out softly.

When the pleasure coiled unbearably tight, you clutched at him, nails pressing marks into his shoulders.

“Baelor…please…”

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, thrusts growing just a fraction deeper and a fraction harder. “Come for me… let me feel you…”

The words tipped you over. You shattered around him with a broken cry, walls fluttering and clenching tight. He groaned your name, hips stuttering as your release pulled him along.

At the last moment he pulled out, hand wrapping around his slick length. Hot pulses spilled across your belly in thick, warm streaks, painting your skin as he shuddered through it, head bowed, breath harsh and uneven.

For a long moment he simply rested above you, weight carefully braced, chest heaving. Then he shifted to the side, lying beside you and drawing you into his arms. One hand reached for the edge of the cloak, using a clean corner to wipe you clean with tender strokes.

He kissed your temple, your cheek and then the corner of your mouth. “You’re shivering,” he murmured, pulling the cloak fully over both of you and tucking you against his chest.

“Only a little,” you whispered, curling into his warmth. He held you tighter, fingers tracing lazy circles along your spine. “Rest now,” he said softly, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I’ve got you. All night if you’ll let me.”

You smiled against his skin, already drifting in the cocoon of his arms and the quiet crackle of the dying fire.

“Not getting involved,” Crosshair muttered, already lining up the next shot.

The blaster cracked again and the fruit vanished in a puff of pulp. He stared at his empty hand, then sighed. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

“At what?” Crosshair asked dryly.

“Sayin’ things. Feelings.” Wrecker swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “This time it’s… different.”

Crosshair finally looked at him with a long, assessing expression. “I know.”

Wrecker blinked. “You do?”

“I’m not stupid.”

Across the dock, you moved between the stalls, a woven basket tucked against your hip. 

Barefoot as always, the warmth grounded you to the island the way shoes never could. You looked peacefu, mauve tone catching the sunlight in soft, shifting gleams. White markings curved across your cheeks and brow like elegant strokes; your montrals rose tall and striped, lekku swaying gently with each step, one draping over the curve of your teal crop top, the patterned hip sash brushing your thigh. 

You were done shopping for the day, ready to head back home when your foot caught a slick patch of spilled water.

Before you could lose your balance, a huge hand steadied you instantly. “You need any help?”

Your heart gave a quick thump at the familiar voice. “Wrecker—!” The basket tipped, weight shifting.

“I’ll take that as a maybe,” he teased, already lifting it from your hands with that big, easy grin.

Heat bloomed under your skin. “Thanks, muscles.” If he’d been any less strong, the basket might’ve slipped. Instead, he swallowed hard and smiled like you’d just handed him a medal.

Curious, he peeked inside the basket. “You cookin’ a feast?”

“Trying to,” you said. “Used to do it a lot back home. Figured I’d pick it back up.”

“Smells good already.” His gaze dropped to your bare feet, then flicked back up. “Hey, don’t your feet hurt? Walkin’ around like that all day?”

You smiled softly. “The ground and I are friends. Shoes just get in the way.”

Wrecker stared for a second, then nodded like that made perfect sense in his world.

An impulse bubbled up before you could second-guess it. “Actually… maybe you’d like to have dinner with me tonight?”

He froze. “Like…me and the guys?”

You stepped a little closer, hands folding behind your back as the sun warmed your skin. “I was thinking just us. If that’s okay?”

Wrecker’s knees nearly gave out. “Yeah,” he quickly.. “Yeah, absolutely.”

You paced your small kitchen, flustered heat prickling your skin as you stirred the pot. “Okay, think, Grandmother always said a pinch of that spice first, then the herbs… or was it the other way around?” You muttered to yourself, tasting a spoonful and grimacing, “No, that’s not right.”  

Your stomach twitched with nerves, as you rummaged for ingredients. 

“Get it together. It’s just dinner. With him.” A soft trill escaped your throat as you wiped your brow, hoping it would all turn out okay.

Once the food was simmering safely, you slipped away to change. The outfit decision had been circling in your mind all afternoon as each option felt too much or not enough.

Eventually, you settled on something that felt like home and something that honored Shili without being overly formal. You stared at yourself in the mirror, fingers smoothing out your robe, wondering if Wrecker would like something more or something less. 

The knock came sooner than expected, jolting you from your thoughts.

Wrecker filled the doorway, clutching a small bundle of wildflowers. He’d cleaned up nicely; a smart button-up shirt tucked into his trousers, top button undone for a relaxed look (his expression said otherwise), sleeves rolled to his elbows showing his muscular forearms.

“For you,” he spoke, suddenly shy.

Your smile bloomed immediately. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

He couldn’t look away. The lantern light of your apartment caught your eyes. Soft, opalescent, swirling lavender into pale pink and cool blue. It stopped him cold. “You look… really pretty,” he breathed quietly.

You ducked your head, pleased. “Thank you. Uh, come in, watch the step, it’s a bit uneven.”

He ducked under the frame carefully, then stood there like he was afraid to move shoulders hunched a little, hands clasped in front. His size made the cozy space feel even smaller, but he was trying so hard not to loom.

You noticed right away. “Hey, relax. You’re not going to break anything. Make yourself at home. Sit, or help me stir if you want.”

Wrecker rubbed his neck, chuckling nervously. “Yeah? I don’t wanna mess up your place. I’m kinda… big.”

You laughed softly. “So? I like that about you. Besides, my home’s meant for company. No point in a pack mentality if everything’s too fragile, right?”

He eased a bit at that, shoulders dropping as he followed you in.

Once seated for food, dinner passed in easy warmth with conversation flowing like the ocean outside. You raised your cup first. “To good company?”

“And good cookin’,” Wrecker added, clinking his cup to yours.

He asked about Pabu first, but soon circled back to you. “So, Shili, right? Tell me more. What was it like growin’ up there? All those stories about packs and feasts sound kinda nice.”

You leaned in, eyes lighting up that he seemed interested. “It was everything. Warm all the time, like Pabu. Endless fields, hunts at dawn. My family was close; we cooked together for the whole pack. These recipes?” You gestured to the plates. “From my grandmother. She’d gather us kids around the fire, teaching us to season by feel. I fumbled through it earlier, talking to myself like a fool, trying to remember stuff.”

Wrecker grinned, taking another bite. “Well, you nailed it. Bet you miss that, the family thing. Being alone here must feel… off.”

You nodded. “It does, sometimes. Togruta aren’t made for isolation; we thrive on closeness, sharing space. Pabu’s welcoming and everything, but it’s not the same.” you shrugged, taking another forkful of food. “I’ve adapted, though. What about you? Clones, squads… that sounds like a pack too.”

He chuckled, setting his fork down. “Yeah, kinda. Me and the boys have been through everything. Missions, explosions, you name it. But it’s different now, settlin’ down. I like it, but… I dunno, sometimes I feel like the big guy who sticks out.”

“You don’t stick out,” you say gently. “You fit. Right here, at least.”

When you served dessert, there was a shift. Knees brushed beneath the table, fingers lingered when passing plates. He fed you a bite of fruit, watching your reaction like it was the most important thing in the galaxy.

“You’ve got really pretty eyes,” he blurted out softly. “Hard not to get lost in ’em.” You hid your smile behind your hand, bashful and giddy.

“Would you like a drink on the balcony?” you asked, voice a little lighter than you felt. “The sunset view is to die for.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

He stood to help clear the plates whilst you poured two glasses of rum and carried them out together. The balcony chairs were low and wide, cushioned with woven mats that smelled faintly of salt and sun. You settled side by side, close enough that your bare arm brushed his sleeve.

You were right, the view was beautiful. The sky had gone molten gold at the edges, bleeding into deep rose and violet over the water. Waves rolled in slow, steady breaths below, and the air carried the warm scent of blooming night flowers. 

For a while neither of you spoke and Wrecker kept glancing over at you.

The first time you pretended not to notice, sipping your drink and letting the rum warm your throat.

The second time you felt the shift of his gaze like a brush of heat along your cheek, but you kept your eyes on the horizon, lips curving just a fraction.

The third time you turned your head slowly, catching him mid-stare. You raised one brow, playful. “Like what you see?”

Without missing a beat, he answered, voice low and sure. “Absolutely.”

Your cheeks heated instantly, skin deepening to a richer shade under the sunset glow. You ducked your head with a soft giggle, lifting your hand to cover your mouth again out of habit.

Wrecker moved before you could hide completely. His large hand caught your wrist gently, “Don’t,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t hide your smile. It’s pretty.”

The words landed soft but heavy, stealing your breath for a second. You lowered your hand, letting him see the full curve of your lips, the way your delciate sharp canines peeked just a little when you smiled for real.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. Then, because it felt only fair, “Yours too. Your smile, I mean. It lights up everything.”

He looked almost surprised, like no one had ever said it back to him. His thumb kept tracing lazy circles on your wrist.

Next thing you knew, his fingers slid down, threading through yours. His hand dwarfed yours completely - calloused, scarred, strong—but the way he held you was careful, like he was afraid of holding too tight. You squeezed back, and for a long stretch of minutes you just sat like that: hands linked, watching the sky bleed into dusk.

Eventually Wrecker spoke, “Why’d you ask just me tonight?”

You shifted slightly, fingers curling over one of your lekku and holding it closer to your shoulder as if for comfort. You took a slow breath before answering, “I… thought it was obvious,” you admitted, staring at where your fingers laced with his. “That I like you. A lot.” 

You risked a glance up at him; his eyes were fixed on you, soft and wide. “I thought maybe I read the situation right. That you… liked me too.”

The words hung there, vulnerable in the quiet.

Wrecker didn’t look away. His thumb resumed its slow stroke along the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” he said after a second, rough around the edges but honest. “You read it right. Been tryin’ to figure out how to say it for weeks. Didn’t wanna mess it up.”

It was like music to your ears.

“You’re different. Special. Not just pretty—though kriff, you are—but the way you are with people, with the island, with everything. Makes me feel like I could just…be me.”

Your heart gave a hard thump and you leaned a fraction closer.

“I feel the same,” you whispered. “With you, I… I just want to be near you. I don’t want to be alone tonight, Wrecker. Maybe not ever, if that’s okay.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. “More than okay.”

The sunset had faded to deep indigo now, stars beginning to prick through. You tilted your head, meeting his gaze fully, your eyes swirling with soft colour in the dim light. “So,” you begin, voice barely audible, “what happens next?”

Wrecker’s free hand lifted slowly, hesitating before he cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed the white marking along your jaw with reverence.

“Whatever you want,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”

Wrecker’s thumb traced one last slow circle over the back of your hand before he let go lift his other palm to your cheek again, cradling it like something priceless. “Can Ikiss you?”

You didn’t trust your voice right then. You only nodded, eyes locked on his as you leaned across the small space between the chairs.

The first press of his lips was tentative. Just a soft peck, warm and brief, like he was testing if this was real. You felt the faint tremor in his breath against your mouth.

Then another. Longer this time, lingering.

And another.

Until the pecks melted together into something deeper. Your lips moved in gentle rhythm, tasting the faint sweetness of rum and fruit still on his mouth. His left hand slid from your cheek to cup your jaw fully.

Your own hand found his knee, steadying yourself as much as him.

His free hand drifted higher, fingertips grazing the striped length of your lekku where it draped over your shoulder.

You shuddered with a sharp, involuntary breath. Wrecker pulled back instantly, eyes wide with worry. “You okay? Did I—?”

You shook your head quickly, cheeks hot. “I’m okay,” you whispered, voice a little breathless. “They’re… sensitive. In a good way.”

He searched your face for a long second, then exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders. His fingers stroked the base of your lekku now in deliberate yet feather-light touches. “Like that?” he murmured.

You nodded, biting your lip around a small, pleased sound.

For another minute you stayed like that. Kissing slow and unhurried, hands exploring in gentle arcs. His fingers learned the texture of your lekku, stroking from base to tip in long, soothing passes that sent warm sparks down your spine. Your palm slid a little higher on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense under your touch.

Eventually you drew back just enough to speak, lips brushing his as you did.

“Wrecker…Do you want to take this inside?”

His breath hitched. He tried to play it cool, but the ache was already there, straining against his pants and impossible to hide completely.

“Yeah,” he rasped, nodding once, then again like he needed to convince himself. “Yeah. Please.”

You rose first, fingers still tangled with his, and guided him back through the open doorway into the warmth of your home. The lighting had dimmed to a soft amber glow, casting long shadows across the room. You paused near the sturdy dining table and leaned back against its edge.

Your fingers drifted to the ties of your flowing robes, brushing the fabric in a slow, deliberate slide. Not pulling exactly, just tracing the neckline, letting it slip a fraction lower to reveal more lavender skin and the delicate curve where your collarbone met shoulder. A silent invitation. Just for him.

Wrecker crossed the room in two strides, towering over you. His chest rose and fell faster than before; you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the clean salt-and-sun scent that clung to his skin. He stopped close enough that his breath fanned across your face.

His hand came up slowly, knuckles grazing the soft fabric at your shoulder you just touched. He hooked two fingers under the edge and tugged ever so gently, easing it down one arm, then the other. The robe loosened, pooling at your elbows, baring the smooth expanse of your torso to the lamplight. Your skin glowing warm, white markings curving elegantly over your ribs and hips.

You looked up at him through your lashes, voice a husky murmur. “I’ve been feeling so hot all evening…”

Wrecker’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. A low rumble vibrated in his chest—half laugh, half groan. “Then I should help you out of these,” he answers, voice thick. “Can’t have you uncomfortable, mesh’la.”

His lips found your neck as his hands worked. 

He kissed the sensitive spot just below your jaw first, open-mouthed and warm, then trailed lower along the column of your throat. Each press of his mouth sent little jolts through you and your head tipped back on instinct. 

He sucked lightly, just enough to make you gasp, and his fingers slipped beneath the remaining ties of your robe, loosening them until the fabric whispered to the floor in a soft heap.

Cool air kissed your bare skin, but his body heat chased it away instantly. His palms slid up your sides. His huge, tough hands spanning almost your entire waist. His thumbs brush the undersides of your breasts in a slow, almost worshipful sweep. He groaned against your neck when he felt how hard your nipples had already peaked.

“Kriff… you’re beautiful,” he breathed, “So soft. So perfect.”

One hand stayed at your waist while the other cupped the back of your head, fingers placed gently into the base of your montrals. The touchdrew a needy whimper from you. Your hips rocked forward without thought, pressing against the hard ridge of him through his pants.

He hissed softly, hips jerking once before he reined himself in. “Easy,” he murmured, though his own voice shook. “Wanna take my time with you.”

But his mouth was already moving again; kissing down the slope of your shoulder, then lower, lips brushing the swell of your breast. He paused there, breath hot against your skin, waiting for permission.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

Soft pen-mouthed presses along the curve, tasting the warmth of your lavender skin like he was memorising every inch. Then, his mouth closed over one nipple, slow and careful, tongue circling once, twice, before he sucked softly. So softly you felt the pull all the way down your spine. A sound escaped you, high and trembling, something between a gasp and a sob. It was tender, almost too tender. 

Worshipped rather than claimed.

Your head arched back, montrals brushing the wood as your neck stretched long. One of your legs lifted on instinct, hooking around his lower back, heel pressing in to draw him impossibly closer. The movement made your sex grind lightly against the hard line of him through his pants, and he groaned low into your skin, the vibration traveling straight through you.

Wrecker eased you down fully onto the table, the wood was cool beneath your back. He straightened just long enough to look at you as you spread out beneath him, lekku fanned across the surface, lavender skin flushed deeper at your cheeks and chest, opalescent eyes half-lidded and glowing softly. Hunger flickered in his gaze 

But as promised, he didn’t rush.

His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. One by one they came undone, revealing the broad, scarred expanse of his chest. The fabric slid off his shoulders and then he was back over you, caging you gently with his arms braced on either side of your head.

His mouth returned to your breasts like he couldn’t stay away. This time he wasn’t quite so careful. His tongue hungrily flicked over one peaked nipple and then sucked harder, drawing it deep into the wet heat of his mouth. 

He rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger, a gentle pinch that made your hips jerk. You whimpered, hand flying to his shoulder to anchor yourself. Your nails dug lightly into the muscle there—not to hurt, just to hold on as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly.

You moaned his name and he answered with a rough exhale against your skin.

“Mesh’la…” His voice cracked on the word. He kissed a slow path back up your chest, your throat, until his forehead rested against yours. “You feel so good. Too good. Tell me if it’s too much.”

Your leg tightened around him, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

“Not too much,” you whispered, voice trembling with want. “More. Please.”

His hips rolled against you deliberately, grinding hard enough that you both gasped. One of his hands slid down your side, palm flattening over your hip. The other stayed at your breast, kneading softly while his mouth found yours again. The kiss was deeper now, tongues sliding together in lazy, heated strokes.

Wrecker broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against your lips, “Gonna take care of you. Promise. Just… let me feel you like this a little longer.”

Wrecker’s mouth crashed back to yours with a new edge but still gentle in its care. You met him eagerly, tongues tangling in wet, languid strokes, tasting each other like you’d both been starving for it. His hand cradled the back of your head again, fingers splayed wide through the base of your montrals. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss.

He broke away just long enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked. “Need you closer.”

Before you could answer, his arms hooked under your thighs and back, lifting you like you were made of air.

He cradled you against his broad chest as he carried you through the open doorway to your bedroom. Your legs wrapped loosely around his waist, lekku draping over his shoulders like warm silk. You buried your face in the crook of his neck for a moment, inhaling the scent of him, heart hammering.

He eased you down to sit on the edge of the low bed, mattress dipping under your weight meanwhile Wrecker stood between your knees.

Your hands moved on instinct, flying to the waistband of his pants, fingers fumbling with the clasp. You looked up at him through your lashes, opalescent eyes swirling with heat. The look you gave him was pure want and adoration.

He watched you, throat working on a swallow.  You tugged the fabric down, freeing him in one careful pull. His cock sprang free. Heavy, thick, already flushed dark and throbbing hard in your palm. The size of him made your breath catch; no surprise, really, but seeing it and feeling the velvet heat sent a fresh pang of arousal straight to your core.

You gasped softly, thumb brushing over the slick tip. “Wrecker… you’re huge.”

He let out a shaky laugh, hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Yeah… sorry if–"

“Don’t apologise,” you whispered, stroking him slowly from base to head, feeling every ridge, every vein. “ You’re wondeful. And I want it. I want all of you.”

His hips jerked once into your grip. “Kriff… you’re gonna kill me sayin’ things like that.”

You smiled sharp canines glinting and then gave his cock a playful little slap against  your breast. The smack made you both groan. You did it again, lighter this time, watching his eyes darken as the head left a faint glistening trail across your lavender skin.

“Like that?” you teased, voice husky.

“‘Like everything you do,” he rasped. “But if you keep that up, I’m not gonna last long enough to make you feel good.”

You tilted your head, pressing your breasts together around his length. “Then use them. Fuck my tits, Wrecker. I want to feel you.”

He exhaled roughly, hands coming to cup the sides of your breasts gently at first, then firmer as he guided himself between them. The heat of him as well as the drag of his cock sliding through the soft valley made you whimper. He rocked forward with slow controlled thrusts, watching himself disappear between your breasts, the head bumping your chin on every upstroke.

“Maker, look at you,” he murmured, voice thick. “So soft around me.”

You leaned forward just enough to flick your tongue over the tip when it crested, tasting salt and heat. He shuddered, hips stuttering.

“Careful,” he warned, half-laughing and half-pleading. “You’re too good at this.”

After a few more slow slides he pulled back, breathing hard. His hands slid to your hips, urging you to lie back. You did, scooting up the bed until your head rested on the pillows, legs parting instinctively.

Wrecker crawled over you, clearly being careful not to crush you with his weight which made you smile lovingly at him. He chuckles softly, relaxing before bracing on his forearms so he hovered just above. His cock dragged a hot, wet line up your body as he moved: over your stomach, leaving a slick trail. 

he settled between your thighs, thick length resting heavy against your folds, not pushing in yet—just grinding slow and deliberate, coating himself in your wetness.

His lips began to move lower, mapping the white markings along your ribs, the dip of your waist, the sensitive curve of your hip. When he reached the apex of your thighs he paused, looking up at you with dark, reverent eyes.

“Can I taste you?” he asked, voice rough. “I just wanna make you feel so good.”

Your breath hitched. You nodded quick and eager as your legs fell open wider. “Please.”

Wrecker settled between your thighs like he belonged there. His big hands slid under your hips, lifting you gently so he could drape your legs over his broad shoulders. The first brush of his tongue was slow, flat and warm, lapping slowly along your slit from bottom to top. You gasped, hips twitching up toward his mouth.

He groaned at the taste, low and hungry. “So sweet… been thinkin’ about this for so long.”

“Wrecker…”

Then he dove in properly. His tongue circled your clit in slow, firm strokes, sucking lightly, then harder when your fingers tightened in the sheets beneath you. He alternated from long licks to quick flicks, then sealing his lips around the sensitive bud and sucking with gentle pulses that made your back arch off the bed.

Soft trills and whimpers spilled from your throat as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. “Wrecker! Oh stars, right there-.”

He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks through your core. One thick finger pressed at your entrance before sliding in to the first knuckle, then deeper when you rocked down to meet it. He curled it just right, stroking that spot inside while his tongue worked relentless circles on your clit.

Your thighs trembled around his head. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He added a second finger, stretching you gently, pumping in time with his mouth until your whole body tensed, breath coming in short, desperate pants.

You came with a broken cry. Back bowing, core pulsing hard around his fingers as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Wrecker worked you through it, slowing his tongue but not stopping, lapping softly until you were trembling, oversensitive and practically boneless beneath him.

When he finally lifted his head, lips shiny and chin wet, his eyes were dark with awe.

“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he whispered, crawling back up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue but his fingers still very much in your pussy.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down until his weight settled over you, comforting and solid.

“Need you inside me,” you breathed against his mouth. “Now.”

Wrecker kissed you through the aftershocks, swallowing the last soft whimpers that spilled from your lips. His fingers stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, curling gently until your thighs stopped trembling around his wrist. Only then did he ease them free, bringing them to his mouth to taste you one last time with a low, appreciative groan.

He shifted, rolling to lie beside you on the bed. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he pulled you against him with your back to his chest. One thick arm bands around your waist to hold you close and you could feel his heart against your spine, the hard length of his cock resting heavy along the curve of your arse.

He nuzzled into the crook of your neck,“You’re so beautiful and make so many pretty noises,” he murmured, voice rough with want as you purr in pleasure.

You arched back into him instinctively, “I need you inside,” you whispered again, reaching back to guide his hand down between your thighs. “Please, Wrecker… want to feel you stretch me.”

He exhaled shakily against you, the sound almost pained with how badly he wanted it. His free hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he lined himself up carefully at your entrance as you raised your leg. The broad head nudged your folds, parting them slowly, teasing the sensitive rim without pushing in yet.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, serious even through the haze of lust. “I’ll go slow.”

You nodded, breath hitching. “I trust you.”

He pressed forward. Inch by careful inch.

The stretch was immediate and intense. Your walls fluttered around him, trying to accommodate his girth as he sank deeper. A soft, broken moan tore from your throat; your head fell back against his shoulder, montrals brushing his cheek. Wrecker froze the second he felt you tense, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple in soothing strokes.

“Easy, mesh’la,” he breathed, “You’re takin’ me so good. Look at you… so tight around me. Feels like everything.”

He rocked gently once he was halfway in, letting you adjust and letting your body soften around him. Each shallow thrust pushed him a little deeper until finally, he was seated to the hilt, hips flush against your arse and cock throbbing deep inside you.

You both groaned in unison.

He started moving then. Long, languid strokes that dragged every thick inch along your walls, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in with a wet, filthy sound. The slap of skin on skin filled the quiet room. His pelvis met your arse with each measured thrust, the lewd squelch of your arousal coating him unmistakable.

“Stars, listen to that,” he rasped against your ear, voice needy. “Hear how wet you are for me? So perfect. So wet and hot and mine.”

His hand stayed at your breast, kneading softly, rolling your nipple between his fingers in time with his thrusts. The other arm kept you locked against his chest. Possessive but gentle; holding you like he never wanted to let go. 

You moaned louder, hips rocking back to meet him, chasing the deep grind of his cock against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.

Your hand slipped down between your legs, fingers finding where you were joined. You felt him sliding in and out, stretching you wide on every inward stroke. The sensation was obscene and intoxicating. You traced the base of him as he pulled out, feeling how soaked he was, how your lips clung to him like they didn’t want to let go.

Then your fingertips found your swollen clit, and you started rubbing slow circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. 

Wrecker felt it immediately. The way your walls clenched harder around him when you touched yourself. “Kriff—yeah, touch yourself, sweetheart,” he groaned, hips stuttering for a second before he found the pace again. “Love feelin’ you squeeze me like that. Show me how good it feels.”

Each deep thrust punched a soft cry from your throat. His hand left your breast to join yours between your legs. He didn’t take over, just resting there and feeling you work your clit while he filled you over and over.

“Could love you like this all night,” he moans after a few minutes. He had shifted just slightly, angling himself enough to lean over and kiss your lips. “My perfect girl. So good for me. Gonna make ya come again… wanna feel ya pulse around my cock.”

Your fingers sped up, slick and frantic now, chasing the edge while he rocked into you steadily, kissing and moaning against his lips. 

“Wrecker… I’m close…”

“I’ve got ya,” he murmured, against your mouth. “Let go for me, mesh’la. Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

With one more deep thrust, harder this time and grinding against that spot, you shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a wave walls clamping down hard around him in pulsing waves. You cried out his name, fingers still circling your clit through the aftershocks, milking every last tremor.

Wrecker groaned low and broken, hips stuttering as your release dragged him right to the edge with you.

“Gonna…fuck. Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” you cried, voice breaking with need. “Come inside me, please, Wrecker—I want to feel you fill me.”

He groaned deep in his chest, the sound raw and desperate. “Mesh’la…” He eased out of you slowly. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, but he was already moving, strong arms guiding you with tender strength.

“C’mere,” he murmured, sitting up against the headboard and pulling you into his lap. “Wanna see your face.”

You straddled him face-to-face now, knees bracketing his hips on the crumpled sheets. His hands settled at your waist as you sank down onto him, the stretch even more intimate this way. Feeling every ridge as he filled yu completely. Your arms wrapped around his neck; his came around your back, holding you flush to his chest.

“Like this,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Just like this. You’re so perfect… takin’ me so sweet.”

You rocked together slowly, the gentle rolls of your hips meeting his careful upward thrusts. The rhythm was unhurried, loving, each slide drawing soft gasps from you both. Your breasts pressed to his scarred chest, nipples brushing his skin with every movement.

“Wrecker…” You moaned his name like a plea, nails grazing his back lightly.

He kissed you then. Slow tongues sliding in lazy tandem with your bodies. “I’ve got ya,” he breathed into your mouth. “Gonna fill you… gonna give you everything.”

The words sent fresh heat pooling in your core. You clenched around him, hips circling tighter, chasing the building pressure. His hands guided you, lifting you just enough to sink back down over and over but never rough. Just always reverent. 

Your whole body melted into him, the intimacy overwhelming from the skin on skin, your hearts pounding in sync and his massive frame enveloping you like safety.

“I’m close—” he gasped, sweaty forehead pressing to yours.

“Cum for me baby,” you beg quietly.

Your soft command was all he needed as he came with a shuddering groan. Hot spurts filled you, thick and warm, spilling deep until you felt every twitch. He held you through it, arms locked around you, whispering praises into your ear: “So good… my perfect girl… love feelin’ you like this…”

You stayed wrapped together as the aftershocks faded—his cock softening slowly inside you, cum dripping lazily where you were joined. Eventually he slipped free, but he didn’t let go. He eased you down beside him, pulling you half onto his chest, one leg tangled with yours.

“That was…”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice soft and soothing now. “You did so good for me.”

He pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your neck, the base of your lekku. “You okay?” he whispered, nuzzling into your body. “Need anything?”

You shook your head weakly, turning just enough to tuck your face into the crook of his neck. “Just… stay. Hold me.”

“Always,” he promised, arms tightening around you. “Never lettin’ go.”

Instead, you lean back in your seat and sigh, trying and failing to tear your eyes away when he adjusts the panel and the muscles in his back shift beneath the armor.

He glances over his shoulder. “You are unusually quiet.”

You blink, caught. “Am I?”

“Yes.” He turns back to his console. “Normally you ask at least six questions while I perform maintenance.”

“I do not ask six—”

“You average nine,” he corrects without looking up. “Sometimes eleven.”

You flush. Then again, you couldn’t be surprised that he took note of your behavioural patterns. “I’m just… giving you space.”

He pauses again, just long enough that you know he’s assessing something. Then he resumes tinkering with a small component, the movement drawing your eyes downward to the way his gloves flex around the tool.

“What are you doing right now?” he asks mildly, though there’s an edge in his tone that makes your chest tighten.

“Watching you work,” you admit.

“Indeed,” he says. “I noticed.”

“What—” you hesitate, embarrassed, “—what gave it away?”

“You have not blinked in approximately twenty one seconds.”

You snap your eyes shut, mortified. “Well, maybe I was thinking.”

“Thinking,” Tech repeats. He sets the tool down and slowly, deliberately stands up straight. “Would you like to specify about what?”

His voice isn’t teasing or accusing, just gentle and intrigued. Tone warm enough to almost liquefy your spine and turn your legs into jelly.

You swallow as you shift in your seat, crossing your legs over one another… tightly. “About you.”

He steps away from the console and faces you fully. He looks so composed. So steady. And so impossibly confident in all that gear.

Maker, you’re in trouble.

“What about me?” he asks softly.

“You look…” you trail off, fighting the burn rising to your ears, “…really good in your gear today.”

Something flickers behind his tinted lenses. “Good?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” you answer, throat tight. “It’s just… there’s something about it today. I don’t know. You look…Put together.” You laugh nervously. “It’s stupid.”

Tech tilts his head slightly, studying you quietly. “It is not stupid,” he starts. “It is arousal.”

Your breath catches. “Tech—”

“It is,” he continues matter-of-factly. “Your voice has lowered in pitch. Your pupils are dilated. You are shifting your weight in a way that suggests warm fervour.”

You nearly choke. “Warm fer— Tech!” You sit up straighter than before and look around in case someone, anyone could hear or see you both.

He steps closer, “Don’t worry, we’re alone.” He then leans over you, tilting his bucket. “I’ve seen the way you look at me in my gear, just like today. You are having a physiological reaction to my armour.” His tone changes in a way that sends heat straight through your belly. “Are you aware of that?”

His words made you swallow hard. “I… wasn’t. Not until now.” A gear kink? This was news to you and honestly, you were not mad about it.

“And now?” His hands move to your hips, gloved fingers tightening in your shirt.

“Now I’m very aware of it.”

Tech inhales sharply, a sound that slides right beneath your skin. “I would like,” he says quietly, “to explore this new information.”

Your heart leaps. “Explore how?”

He gestures toward the cockpit behind him. “If you will follow me.”

You follow, heart thumping with every step you take. He lifts his hand to tell you to halt and you do with a small stagger and watch him in curiosity as he detaches the whole steering stick from the pilot's seat. “What are you doing?”

“Ensuring you are comfortable for what is about to happen. Also, this area demonstrates the best area for this activity.” He explains but you don’t quite follow.

Tech notices your confusion and with a flourish, you are lifted into his arms and placed exactly where the steering once was, practically sitting on the control board. “Woah-” you say breathlessly, eyes widening as Tech flushes up against you.

But instead of touching you, he reaches up to the side of his helmet and ever so Tech, says: “I cannot perform oral stimulation with this on,” he says simply. “And my intention is quite clear.”

Your breath leaves you entirely. “You want to— here?” you whisper.

Tech’s voice drops to a low heat. “I want to pleasure you. Thoroughly. Immediately.”

He then adds, almost shyly, “And repeatedly, if you are willing.”

Your stomach plummets in the best possible way. “Yes,” you breathe. “Take it off.”

He removes the helmet with practiced ease. The moment it’s off, he pushes his goggles up, revealing warm brown eyes already darkened with desire.

He sets the helmet aside before returning his attention to you. His mouth parts and your sex burns as you watch him inadvertently lick his lips. “Spread your legs for me,” he murmurs. “I would like to see all of you.”

Your breath stutters, but you obey. Your legs spread, but your whole being feels excitement as his hands gently guide your legs further apart, gloved palms warm against your thighs even through the fabric.

His voice softens. “You’re trembling.”

“Because you’re looking at me like that,” you whisper.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re starving.”

His jaw tightens. “I am.”

Then he takes a seat directly in front of you, lowers himself until he’s between your legs. The sight of him alone is enough to make your core clench. He glides his hands up your thighs and pauses at your waistband. “May I?”

“Yes,” you say instantly, voice meek.

Tech pulls your clothes down with carefully, panties included, setting them aside neatly before settling back between your thighs. The shift of his armour and the way it frames him sends a bolt of heat straight through you.

He exhales shakily, leaning in until his breath brushes sensitive skin. “You are already so warm,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I wonder if you taste as good as I imagine.”

“Tech—”

You don’t get to but in another word as his mouth covers you with a single, devastating stroke.

Heat explodes through you so fast your body jerks against the console, hands flying back to brace yourself but you barely manage to stay upright when Tech groans softly against you. The vibration shoots straight through your core.

You gasp, “T-Tech—”

He’s already looking up at you from between your legs, eyes molten, goggles fogging at the edges.

“This,” he breathes against you, lips brushing your swollen clit, “is far better than I predicted.”

You whimper, thighs trembling around his head. “You predicted this?”

“Of course.” He drags his tongue up the length of your sex, slow but deliberate, like he’s savouring data. “But the reality is significantly more intoxicating.”

Your fingers curl into his hair, and he groans at the pull before burying his mouth back against you. Maker, he’s thorough and hungry. It’s like he’s been waiting for permission to do this since the moment you started dating.

And maybe he has.

Your relationship is still new. Sweet and careful with kissing and nights curled into each other’s arms.

But nothing like this. The pair of you hadn’t gotten this far yet. And you definitely hadn’t imagined your first time with his mouth on you would happen on the Marauder’s cockpit console while he’s still half in armour because it was your kink.

He pulls back just enough to speak, voice ruined with want. “I have wanted to do this for weeks.”

Your breath catches. “Weeks?”

“I did not want to… assume your comfort level.” His thumb strokes your inner thigh gently. “But today, when you looked at me in my gear, I was left with no doubt.”

You let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh only to be cut off immediately by a sharp gasp as he licks your pussy again, firmer this time.

“You taste,” he murmurs in reverence, “extraordinary. Such a sweet pussy.”

You’re about to melt into the console just by his words alone.

Then, his gloved hand slides up your thigh, higher this time and pauses right between your legs.

“Tech,” you whisper, hips lifting instinctively at the loss of his mouth.

He raises his head a little. “I would like to use my fingers,” he says. “But these—” he wiggles his gloved fingers “—are hardly ideal.”

You blink down at him, dizzy. “Then take them off.”

He hums. “My hands are occupied.”

Before you can ask what he means, he brings two gloved fingers to your lips.

“Remove it for me.”

Your stomach drops yet your mouth opens before you can think. Most likely the heat, instinct, and want of this. So you bite down gently on the fingertip seam. He pulls back slowly, letting you drag the glove off with your teeth, sliding it free.

The way he watches you through it with an expression so focused, aroused and with breath uneven… nearly sets you on fire.

He repeats the process with the second glove, your mouth tugging it off while his gaze burns into you like he’s memorising the moment.

When both gloves are discarded, he leans in again, this time cupping you with bare, warm hands.

You shudder violently at the difference.

“Oh,” Tech whispers, voice tight with awe. “You react even more strongly to direct contact. Fascinating.”

Then one slow finger slides through your slick, just once, collecting you.

“And you are…” He breathes hard, pupils blown huge. “Stars above, you are exceedingly wet.”

You make a broken sound and he moans in response, actually moans, the sound vibrating against the inside of your thighs.

He brings his glistening finger to his mouth and tastes you.

And that’s what undoes you.

His lips part, his lashes flutter, and a shiver runs down his spine so obvious you feel it. “I need more,” he whispers.

You barely have time to inhale before he’s on you again. His mouth hungry and eager, tongue stroking deep, hands spreading you open so he can press in closer to devour you properly.

He licks like he’s noting down every single reaction, every twitch of your hips, every gasp that tumbles out of you. His fingers slide against you again, this time circling your entrance in sync with his mouth, building heat with devastating efficiency.

You’re already shaking. “Fuck- you’re so...”

“Let me,” he murmurs into you, voice thick before placing a sweet kiss to your clit, “please let me.”

Then he pushes two fingers inside you.

Your head slams back against the bulkhead, a sharp cry leaving your throat.

He gasps at the sensation, at the way you clench around him, his rhythm faltering for half a second as he processes the reaction of you wrapped around him for the first time.

“Oh,” he says, breathless delight spilling into his tone, “you are… perfect.”

Then he moves.

Slow, deliberate thrusts of his fingers paired with long drags of his tongue over your clit, down your folds, sucking, circling, mapping you with ruthless rigour.

Your thighs clamp around his head and he groans like that’s exactly what he wanted.

“T-Tech— I’m gonna—” you pant, one hand still holding the back of his head as if to guide him, the other one palming your breast just for that extra touch.

One of his hands tightens on your hips, anchoring you against the console as he looks up briefly, lips shiny, and voice ragged. “Then come for me,” his tone almost pleading. “Please. I want to feel you cum on my fingers.”

That does it.

The orgasm hits you like a blaster round—fast and overwhelming—your cry echoing off the cockpit walls as your back arches and your fingers clutch harder in his hair. Tech moans into you as you ride his mouth, pinned beneath your shaking thighs, eating every shudder like he can’t get enough.

You don’t realise tears have formed until you blink them away.

He doesn’t stop, even after you are done seeing stars when you close your eyes. He keeps going with soft, slow licks until the last tremor leaves your body and you sag helplessly against the console. His fingers twist and pulse slowly and leave you devastatingly empty when he pulls them out.

Only then does he finally lift his head. His lips are wet, cheeks are flushed and his goggles have slipped down his nose.

He looks wrecked.

And proud.

He rises slowly, placing both palms on either side of your hips, leaning in until his forehead nearly touches yours.

“You,” he breathes, voice shaking with controlled hunger, “are extraordinary.”

You reach for him, pulling him close until his mouth brushes yours.

“Tech,” you whisper, still panting, “can we do… more?”

He smiles softly like he was utterly in love and leans in. “With pleasure.”

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HUNTER

Oh, waking up next to Hunter is always a special moment.

Everyday, you'd hear his steady breathing—a quiet, comforting rhythm behind you—and you'd feel his arm tightening around your waist the moment you stir awake.

Normally, you'd find him still asleep when you turn over to check. But you know he'd wake up immediately once you pressed your lips against his. A little morning routine of yours that never fails to make him smile.

However, today feels different. It seems Hunter was the first one to wake, and you could feel why.

It must be one of those rarer days where he'll rouse himself from sleep with a kind of need only you can fill. A kind of need you can feel pressing up against your lower back, his hips flush on yours, and his ragged breaths hot in your ear.

You'd feel his hands, rough and large, grip your hips firmly. You'd feel his lips ghost your nape. And you'd immediately wake up the moment you hear him say, “Need you right now, mesh'la.”

These kinds of mornings with Hunter always had you skipping breakfast, because the moment he braces himself above you with that hungry look in his eyes, you knew you didn't need to eat in order to be satiated.

He'll take you slowly at first, with a kind of rawness that has your back arching off of the mattress. You'd feel him kiss your neck, growl dark praises against your skin, as he enters you in one slow push—making sure you'd feel every inch through the torturous drag.

He'll start off with a gentle roll, not creating much distance, just grinding himself back into you. Eventually, he'll get impatient. Hungrier. Then, he starts moving faster. Deeper. Rougher. The kind that makes you call his name louder, two syllables broken between choked gasps, but it also means the neighbours can probably hear you.

His strokes become longer, farther, until all that was left inside you was his tip before he's thrusting himself back in. His hands would never leave your hips, and after you've come, he'll turn your lax body over until your spine is arched and his hands are back on your hips.

Then, he'll start again. The first round was for breakfast, the second is for lunch.

Hunter takes you apart in a way you'd forget your duties for the day. Because you knew, you won't leave your room until the sheets are in need of a wash and the room smells like the sin you've just committed. He doesn't stop until you're sobbing into your pillow, hushing you in that smoky rasp of his.

“One more, mesh'la. Just one more for me.”

After the last round—blankets low on his hips, scratchmarks on his shoulders and back—he's watching you try to walk out of bed with that smug grin on his face.

“Need any help, mesh'la?” You'd hear him ask, but his only response was a weak glare you threw at his direction.

“Your fault,” You'd tell him, and watch as his gaze darkens at the way you stumbled again. Something flickers in his eyes, something that shook your legs even more than they already do.

“My fault, huh?” He'll quip, before he's rising from the bed and walking towards you with that predatory gait. “Let me apologize for that.”

Mornings with Hunter will stretch into afternoons if you're strong enough to keep up.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

ECHO

With Echo, your mornings with him are always gentle. The kind that lingers in bed, too lazy to get up yet, just basking in each other's warmth even after the sun has long risen.

Sometimes, you'll be the one hugging him from behind. An occasional shift in your sleeping position, he'd be the big spoon on night night and you'll be the next on another. Right now, your front was pressed against his back, and you could feel his body rise and fall.

You kiss the area between his shoulder blades and feel him tense from the contact. Right after his time in Skako Minor, there are areas in his body that are still sensitive upon touching. That included his spine, so you made sure you're always careful with your touches.

You kiss him there again, softer his time, and he relaxes immediately.

“Morning, cyar'ika.” You hear his voice, low and raspy from sleep, then he takes your hand over his chest and places a tender kiss on your knuckles.

You mumble the same greeting into his back, trailing your kisses up to his nape where you knew he was most sensitive. Most of the time, he’d laugh—claims he’s ticklish there—but right now, his breathing starts to get heavier.

The hand he was holding gets dragged down from his chest, slipping beneath the covers where he places your palm over him—half-hard and throbbing.

You smile, proud of him for expressing his needs. It took him a while to get there, afraid to make you uncomfortable and he was still hesitant for any kind of intimacy. But now, he starts to be more open with his desire and encourages you to be the same.

So, you covered him with your palm and set a languid yet firm stroke through his pants. It immediately makes his hips buck forward, grunting your name quietly, while he strains those two words, “Please, cyar'ika.”

And that was your cue to turn him over. You throw a leg over his hips, straddling him down on the mattress, as you steal his sounds away in a deep kiss.

His hand and scomp are on your thighs, he's leaning up to chase more of your lips, while you start to grind down against him. To hear him groan brokenly, to feel him throb beneath you, to see those lovely eyes of his flutter open—half-lidded and pleading—until you begin to undress yourselves.

Making love with Echo always changes depending on who wants to take the lead. Some days he'll be the one in charge, pleasuring you in more ways than one. And on other days, like this one, he's perfectly content laying back and watching you pleasure yourself above him.

But that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying himself. You could tell the way his pupils expanded, the way he thrusts up into you to match your movements, and the way he praises you through breathless groans.

When he feels you getting tired from how your rhythm falters, he won't waste a second to take charge and roll you over until he's the one above you.

Then, he’ll push himself back inside. Praising you even more for your efforts, kissing you lovingly while he picks up the pace, until the gentleness from the early morning melts away into desperation.

He always makes sure you come first before him. He tells you it's the right way to do it, but you know deep down he loves the way you feel around him when you come undone, because when you do, he releases this strangled noise from the back of his throat before he's following right after you.

When the two of you descend from your high, you'll gaze into each other's eyes and share another kiss. Slow, deep, and full. Like you're pouring your heart into every tilt and sigh.

Then, he'll ask you to stay in bed while he goes up to make the both of you breakfast. When he returns, it's a whole breakfast in bed moment with him by your side, flushed smiles on your faces as the two of you eat.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

TECH

You'd always expect Tech to be up before the sun is awake. You'd wake up to find him leaning against the headboard, datapad in hand, reading current news all across the galaxy.

And you're right, you roll over to find him reading something in his datapad. Thoroughly engrossed as well, as he always was. But there’s something different today. He seems too transfixed with whatever's on his screen.

When you murmur his name, curious and soft, his eyes snap towards you. And you’re mildly surprised at the intensity behind those fogged lenses.

“Oh, good. You are awake. I discovered something quite fascinating, and I wish to test it.”

Without another word, he tosses his datapad aside, slips beneath the covers, and places himself between your thighs—you’re already wide awake and gaping at his sudden action.

Acts of intimacy are a rarity for Tech. Due to his different functionality and processing, he often struggles picking up cues. Especially when it comes to sexual advances. But now, something in him switches, and whatever it was he found on his datapad must be the cause of it.

You were about to ask him what he discovered, when his fingers hook inside your waistband and he was pulling your bottoms off with an indecipherable glint behind his goggles.

“Trust me, my dear. It will be very enlightening for the both of us.”

So, here you were, struggling to breathe properly while Tech expertly pleasured you with his mouth despite being his first time. But the way he did it made you wonder if it truly was.

Every lap of his tongue was thorough. Every harsh suck made you see stars behind closed eyelids. Every time he pushed himself deeper into you, you swore he was going to kill you from his mouth alone.

All it took was his tongue, talented despite his lack of experience, to get you over the edge and chant his name like a prayer. When you finally open your eyes, you're again surprised to see him now hovering above you. And he has the audacity to ask, “Was that adequate?” Even after sending you to another dimension without any prior experience.

The only response you gave him was a smile, before you pushed him aside and placed yourself between his legs as well. The shock on his face quickly vanished the moment you decided to return the favor and took him down your mouth—the sweet breathy exhale of your name was both a reward and fuel for you to continue.

You made sure to give him the same thorough treatment, not stopping until one of his hands was pulling off of him by your hair and he was tugging you upwards until you were seated right above his lap and he was leaning against the headboard once more.

“I do not wish to finish yet,” He states, gaze darkening as he lines up into you. “At least, not in your mouth.”

Chests pressed close, lips molded together, while your hips moved up and down on his hard length. You support yourself with your hands on his shoulders, and he uses this opportunity to grasp your neck in one hand and grip your thigh with the other.

And oh, Tech becomes very vocal when he's close. He doesn't even realize he's babbling nonsense, speaking both praises and pleas. Until his sounds turn needy, half-formed sentences fading into strangled gasps.

When you both fall apart, he pushes you down completely on his lap—letting you take every spend he can release inside—with his face buried in your neck and his arms around your waist.

“That was–” He panted, grunting softly. “An enlightening experience.”

You smiled, kissing his temple and agreeing. “I know more enlightening experiences we can test. If you want to learn more, that is.”

He was already twitching back to life inside you, sealing your fate of a late breakfast.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

CROSSHAIR

Crosshair rarely sleeps for long hours, always the first one to wake and start the day before you, but this morning seems to be one of those rare moments.

But this morning, you stirred awake to him still in bed. You assumed he was still sleeping, except you’re wrong. He's already awake, his breathing isn't steady, his hands are hard on your hips, and his teeth are tugging the shell of your ear.

And oh, the realization startled you awake. You hear his voice, dark and serpentine, trailing after his teeth in a fervent hiss.

“Had a nice dream? I hope so. You were saying my name in your sleep.”

Then, you'd recognize the hard pressure behind you. The unmistakable length of him pressing against your back. You feel him take his rake along your nape, him tugging you flush to his front.

You didn't even realize him slipping your bottoms down, until the cool air hit you and the undeniable arousal between your thighs told you he was telling the truth about your dream. Whatever you were dreaming of, it must've been that good to have you this aroused.

And whatever he heard you say in your sleep must've been the reason why he's growling harshly beside your ear and he's freeing himself from his confines in that instant.

He lifts your leg in one hand, and you shiver at the dangerous drawl of his voice next to your ear. “Don't worry. I plan to make it come true.”

Then, he's sliding himself into you. Inch by inch. You both sigh shakily, and you clutch the sheets in a weak grip. Crosshair pushes himself further until he is flush behind you. You expect him to start moving immediately, but he didn't.

He caresses your hip instead, humming against your neck. “Maybe I should just stay like this. Doesn't it feel nice?” But you don't want nice. You want him to move, but he stays still. Of course, Crosshair would pull something like this.

In retaliation, you simply shrugged. “Yeah, it does. I could fall asleep like this.” You ignore his growl, settling back to sleep again wearing a small smirk. But then, he pulls out of you and slides in deep in a single thrust.

“Don't think you could sleep again,” He continues moving now, and you’re back to clutching the sheets. “Maybe you could. After we're done.”

And so, Crosshair turns your body over completely. Shifts your hips up, slides a pillow underneath, and leans over you with his forearms beside your shoulders.

He enters you again and sets a pace that has you clenching around him immediately. One of his hands covers your mouth, suppressing every high-pitch moan and choked gasp you make.

But he didn't seem to mind his own sounds. Panting harshly besides your ear, cursing through gritted teeth, and biting your shoulder when he gets too loud himself.

These kinds of mornings with Crosshair always leaves you voiceless for the entire day. Being a sniper, he knows damn well which areas to hit in order to neutralize the enemies. In bed, he's no different.

The way he takes you is sharp, precise, and swift. Hitting that same spot again and again, rhythm never faltering, and making sure to change his angle every now and then to bring you closer to the edge.

He doesn't stop to give you a break even after you came the first time. He knows perfectly well how to get you to a second, bringing your hips up and straightening himself to take you faster—one hand on your hip, the other between your shoulder blades.

Right after you come the second time, he turns you over so he can face you and take you again. And only after the third time, Crosshair lets your body melt into the mattress and melts along with you.

“I’ll start lunch,” You hear his voice—raw and hoarse—pressing a tender kiss against your temple. “I promised you sleep. So, sleep. I'll wake you up when it's ready.”

────────────── ★ ───────────────

WRECKER

Oh, mornings with Wrecker always means waking up first to loud snoring, a wall of hard yet warm muscle cuddling up against you, and the occasional mumbling in his sleep.

The space in the bed barely fits you both, but it's perfect since you can hug him closer and feel his warmth radiate from his body.

But this time, Wrecker awakens first and he knows the reason why. He sees you still fast asleep, laying peacefully on top of him, arm and leg thrown over his front. But that isn't the reason why he woke up.

The reason is the big problem under the covers, and how your leg keeps on brushing against him every time you shift. He grits his teeth, cursing quietly so as to not wake up, and wills himself back to sleep replaying mantras in his head.

You move again, mumbling something in your sleep, and your leg presses against his problem which makes him clench his jaw. He's half-tempted to wake you, but decided not after seeing your serene state. After all, he did tire you out after last night.

But it seems like his body is not yet done, aching for you once more. He knows he should let you sleep, so he sighs and closes his eyes to focus on something else.

What he didn't know is that you're awake. You've been awake since you felt him twitch against your leg. You assume it was him flinching in his sleep, a habit he still hasn't gotten over yet since his time as a soldier, but you felt it again.

And now you're just listening to him mutter “don't move, you'll wake her” over and over again. Sweet, strong, and lovable Wrecker. Too pure for his own good.

“Too late for that,” You feel him flinch now and you quickly make a move to straddle him. “You hungry yet?”

Wrecker's eyes widen comically, and you barely suppress your laugh. “Uh, not yet. I mean, kinda, but– How about you?”

You give him an impish grin, tracing a finger from his chest down to his stomach. “I could eat.”

He didn't stop you when you slipped underneath the covers. He didn't make any complaints when you freed him from his confines. He didn't do anything but watch you taste him, touch him, and take him into your mouth. And he didn't contain the groans and curses spilling from his lips the moment you moan around him.

“Stop,” You immediately obey, and freeze when you see the hungry look on his face. “Get up here.”

You haven't even more yet when he hauls you upwards, settling you over him with your legs besides his face. You brace yourself on the headboard, breath hitching as you stare down at him. The last thing you see is his predatory grin, before his mouth connects with you and your eyes fall shut.

Wrecker loves to eat, being the biggest foodie out of all of his brothers, he could finish an entire feast by himself. That isn't any indifferent when it comes to you. The way he does makes your thighs shake terribly, makes your lungs hurt from panting, and makes stars appear behind your eyelids each ravenous lap of his tongue and pleased growl from his throat.

He doesn't stop even when your hands barely have any strength to hold onto the headboard, drawing out your climax after you come hard on his mouth.

Wrecker catches you just in time, dazed and lightheaded, before you fall over the bed. He switches positions, bracing himself above you with his large hands holding your thighs apart.

Still shaking from the intense release, you feel his warm breath kiss your neck and a blunt sensation teases your entrance.

“Hope you're not hungry yet,” Wrecker grunts, sliding himself into you slowly, pinning your legs to the mattress. “Cuz we're gonna be skipping breakfast.”

Halfway through the infiltration, you had leaned over a table to scan a data chip. Unfortunatley, the angle forces your skirt upward just a bit but also just enough.

You hear Hunter curse under his breath. Quiet, harsh and something reverent.

Before you can ask, he steps forward abruptly, planting himself between you and the rest of the club. His chest nearly brushes your back, and his hand subtly goes to your hip, steadying you.

“Hunter?” you breathe, startled by his sudden presence as you look over your shoulder at him.

“I can… see your panties.”

Heat floods your cheeks. You stand up straighter, skirt falling back into place, feeling a little flustered. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no. Don’t apologise.” He clears his throat, voice tight. “I shouldn’t have been looking. I just… didn’t want anyone else to.”

Your heart thuds and this time, not from embarrassment. Instead from the way he says it; possessive without meaning to be.

You speak before thinking: “I don’t mind you looking.”

Hunter stills, pupils wide in the dark. “…You don’t?”

You shake your head, smiling softly as if to ease him. “I trust you. You’re not gonna make it weird.”

He breathes out like you just knocked the wind out of him. His hand is still on your hip to which you’re both fully aware. Yet, neither of you mentions it.

Then, because you’re feeling bold and because his fluster is ridiculously attractive, you tilt your head and tease:

“So… be honest with me. Does black suit me?”

For the first time tonight, Hunter looks genuinely lost. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“Stars—” he mutters, voice dropping even lower. “…You’re gonna kill me.”

And he absolutely cannot stop imagining that glimpse of lace now.

Echo - 551 words

The Marauder was a mess. As always.

He mutters to himself as he digs around for the medkit, brushing aside tangled wires, ration wrappers, datapads, and whatever else the others have tossed around.

Then he spots it: a thin, white strap looped over the edge of your bunk curtain. “Finally,” he sighs, grabbing it.

He gives it a tug and it resists but after one more tug, it slides free and Echo freezes immediately.

Because what he’s holding is not a medkit strap. Not at all.

It’s your underwear.

White, delicate, very intricate and unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

Ribbons, straps, soft textured fabric, the kind that looks expensive and meant to sit high on the hips. The little garter-style attachments confuse him even more. He turns it in his hand, brow furrowing.

“What—? How does this even work?” he whispers.

He runs his thumb over the soft detailing. Not only does it look expensive, it feels expensive. Soft and pretty. Too pretty.

His cheeks heat. You wear things like this?

He can’t help imagining— No. Stop. Maker, stop.

He’s still staring down at it, eyes wide and body going hot, when a soft throat-clear cuts through the room.

Echo’s head whips up.

You’re standing there. You look from the underwear in his hand …back up to his face.

Your expression? Amused. Curious. A little blushy with embarrassment. But very much not upset.

Echo, however, looks like he’s about to overheat.

“I— I— stars— I’m sorry, I thought it was part of the medkit and I grabbed it and—” He still hasn’t let go.

You step closer slowly. Your eyes are bright with barely hidden laughter.

“Echo,” you say gently, “it’s alright.”

“I shouldn’t be holding this,” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to see anything.”

“But I don’t mind you seeing,” you say with a small laugh, tilting your head at him in a sweet, almost innocent way that makes his stomach burn. “I shouldn’t have left them out.”

His eyes widen slightly. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say warmly.

Echo glances down again at the complex tangle of straps and lace in his hand.

“Why do you have a pair like this?” he blurts, instantly regretting it. “I— I mean— not that you can’t— I just… it’s very… elaborate.”

You smile, a little shy, and reach out to gently take the lingerie from his hand. “Sometimes,” you murmur, “I like to feel sexy. Even if no one else sees.”

Echo goes absolutely still.

“And,” you add with a teasing lift of your brow, “you never know. I could get lucky one day.”

The words hit him like a blaster bolt. His mouth opens. No sound comes out.

You bring the lingerie up between you both, letting the white straps cascade over your fingers.

“You attach this part to stockings,” you explain sweetly, “and this lace sits high on the waist. It’s actually not as complicated as it looks.”

The only thing he could do was stare at this point.

“Echo,” you say softly, “if you want… I can show you.”

His breath catches. “…Show me?” he repeats, voice low and shaky.

You step even closer, close enough that your breath brushes his cheek. “Uh-huh. Only if you want to,” you whisper.

And he definitely, unmistakably wants to.

Wrecker - 422 words

The training room hums with the low echo of footsteps and equipment, bright lights reflecting off Kamino's silver floors. You’re on your mat with Wrecker, doing stretches before sparring. Your workout gear is snug and overly flattering.

Wrecker lifts one of the heaviest bars like it weighs nothing, curling it while watching you from the corner of his eye. After all, he finds it’s impossible not to watch you. You stretch forward, bending deep into a hamstring stretch, and—

There they are.

A flash of hot pink poking above your workout pants. Bright, bold (especially for just going to the gym) and Completely unexpected.

Wrecker’s grip falters. “Woah,” he blurts under his breath, eyes going wide.

Then he drops the entire heavy bar with a thunderous metallic CLANG.

You jerk upright, startled. “Wrecker?!” you rush toward him. “Are you okay?”

He’s standing stiffly, hands half raised like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His cheeks are on fire. “Yeah, uh… I’m fine!” he sputters. “Just… dropped it.”

But even as he tries to play it cool, his gaze flicks down again. He can’t help it. The hot pink waistband is still poking out at him like it’s screaming for attention.

You follow his eyes and then you realise. “Oh,” you breathe out, a little laugh bubbling from your lips to hide your embarrassment. You tug the waistband of your workout pants up to fix it. “Oops. Guess they slipped.”

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.“Uh… yeah. I didn’t mean to look,” he says honestly. “It just… sorta happened.”

You smile softly, stepping closer, gentle reassurance in your touch as you brush his arm.

“It’s okay, Wrecker,” you say warmly. “Really. I don’t mind you looking.”

“...Really?” he asks, voice cracking adorably.

You nod. “Really.”

He wipes his brow dramatically, like he’s about to faint from relief.

“Kriff, sweetheart,” he huffs out, giving a breathless laugh, “you nearly made me pass out.”

You tilt your head. “Because of my panties?” You ask innocently, hips swaying a little.

“Because of you,” he says without hesitation, grin going crooked and a little bold. “Pink looks real good on you. ’Specially when it’s peekin’ out like that.”

His eyes flick down once more, this time on purpose, and he bites his lip in a way that tells you he’s absolutely imagining it again. “And, uh…” he adds, lowering his voice as he steps a little closer, “If you ever wanna… stretch like that again, maybe warn me first. Or don’t.”

Tech - 635 words

You smooth your dress one last time. A black, floaty, knee-length, dress that sways beautifully when you move. It was enough to give you confidence for your date.

You’re halfway down the ramp when Tech’s voice echoes from somewhere inside the cockpit, calling your name.

“Do you have a moment to lend a hand?”

You hesitate about keeping your date waiting but it was Tech and you enjoyed his company even if it’s for a minute or two.

“Of course. What do you need?”

He’s on his back beneath the flight console, only his boots and the legs visible. “There is a circuit panel that requires manual activation. I need you to flip the second and fourth switches while I observe the internal response.”

“Easy,” you say, stepping into the cockpit.

You move to the controls, leaning slightly forward to reach the panel and followed his instructions. Just out of reach of a spanner, he slides further out from underneath to grab it but then, he looks up.

And immediately goes still.

Because from his position underneath you… he gets a perfect, accidental view directly beneath your dress.

Your legs are right there and so were your panties. a lacy, elegant, emerald shade of green are revealed.

Tech inhales sharply and wrenches his gaze away instantly, cheeks flaming, eyes squeezing shut like that’ll erase the image. (It doesn’t)

“Tech? Is that working?” you call out cheerfully unaware.

His voice comes out strangled. “Yes, yes, that is— ah— that is sufficient, actually—”

Then he jerks too fast and cracks his head on the panel.

“Tech?!”

He slides out from beneath the console, rubbing his head and trying to pretend he’s not so burning so hot he’s practically overheating the ship.

“I am fine. Perfectly fine. Thank you for your assistance.” He says as he stands up.

You smile warmly. “Anytime. Now, I should go—”

And that’s when something curls hot and unwelcome in Tech’s chest.

A strange, sharp emotion he doesn’t like acknowledging:

Jealousy.

Because someone else, someone who isn’t him, gets to see you this way.

It bursts out before he can stop it. “Emerald suits you.”

You stop mid-step. “Huh?”

Tech blinks at you, realises what he said, panics internally, and tries to clarify which naturally makes everything worse.

“I mean your undergarments— your panties—”

He winces as your eyes widen at his words.

“I saw them while you were adjusting the switches. I apologise. The angle was… unfortunate.”

You stare at him, face hot as your hands fly up to cover your cheeks.

“Oh shit… Tech—”

He immediately shakes his head, hands raised.

“There is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. I should not have been looking in that direction. The fault lies entirely with the geometry of my position.”

“Tech,” you say through your hands, half mortified, half laughing, “it was an accident.”

“Yes,” he agrees quickly. “Entirely unintentional. Though - aesthetically speaking - emerald is a highly flattering colour on you.”

You drop your hands and blink at him. He’s serious.

Your eyes drop shyly for a second, then lift again with soft boldness. “…I don’t think I would have minded if you saw a little more.”

Tech malfunctions. Visibly. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

You step toward him and lean in just slightly, voice warm and teasing:

“You know, if you’d worked up the nerve to ask me out yourself… today’s view could’ve been intentional.”

He swallows so hard it felt like swallowing a marble. “Intentional,” he repeats in a whisper, like the concept itself is short-circuiting him.

“Ask me when I get back,” you murmur. “My date might not be a good one, after all)

And then you walk out of the cockpit, leaving Tech standing there.

He’s frozen in place and absolutely determined that he will ask you the moment you return.

Crosshair - 496 words

Your house on Pabu is quiet, warm, filled with the sound of ocean wind through the open balcony doors. You’re in your bedroom trying on new underwear. Teal lace, a little racy, matching bra, the kind of set you bought “just because.”

You’re adjusting the straps, turning to the side in the mirror, when the door suddenly swings open.

Crosshair steps in and stops dead.

You freeze too, body burning under his stare.

He blinks once, jaw tightening just a fraction.

“You could’ve locked the damn door.” he snaps, voice sharp as a knife.

Automatically, you throw your arms over yourself, scrambling for your clothes.

“Crosshair! Knock! What are you—”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. “I was looking for you. Didn’t know you’d be… putting on a fashion show.”

You yank on a shirt and shorts as fast as you can, pulse hammering. “You could’ve knocked,” you fire back, pushing past him toward the hall.

He’s leaning against the wall now, arms folded, jaw tight.

But something’s off.

He won’t look at you.

You stop, chest still tight with embarrassment. “…Crosshair?”

He doesn’t answer, making you sigh quietly.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. You just startled me.”

His fingers toy with the toothpick behind his ear, but his voice is steady, low.

“Don’t apologise.”

You step out onto your balcony, trying to cool off. The breeze hits your skin, calming you. You rest your elbows on the railing, staring at the ocean.

You hear Crosshair shift behind you.

You glance back and catch his eyes very blatantly, unmistakably, glued to your rear.

You raise a brow. “Really?”

He curses under his breath, jams the toothpick between his lips, and finally meets your eyes.

“Not… my intention,” he mutters.

“You sure?” you tease, heat rising to your cheeks.

He narrows his eyes, irritated at being caught but the flush on his neck betrays him.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he says coolly.

“Oh?” You fold your arms. “Then what was that little freak-out about?”

He exhales slowly, gaze dragging over your face with a rawness you rarely see from him.

“I just…” A pause, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “…would’ve preferred seeing you like that with your permission.”

Crosshair stares at you, expression unreadable, but his pupils blown just a little.

Something bold rises up in you: heat, bravery, curiosity.

“Well,” you murmur, pushing off the balcony railing and taking slow steps toward your bedroom door.

“…maybe I give my permission now.”

You almost chokes on his toothpick, his brows lifting in surprise

Your hand touches the doorframe and you hold his gaze. He watches you like a man trying very hard not to lunge.

“…You’re inviting me to look?” he asks, voice low and disbelieving.

You smile daringly. “If you want to.”

The toothpick nearly slips from his mouth.

You turn and walk back inside your room.

And behind you, you hear the soft, controlled footsteps of Crosshair following.

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