Problem Child

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.

You knelt beside him with your kit spread out. "Hold still," you murmured, your voice a soothing barrier to the ship's low rumble. Echo's eyes met yours, a mix of frustration and fondness flickering there.

"It's just a glitch," he protested, though he didn't pull away as you gently detached the lower panel on his leg. Your fingers brushed against the cool metal, tracing wires that intertwined with what remained of his organic flesh. You'd learned his systems inside out over the months, not just as a medic but as his partner.

"A glitch that could turn into a full shutdown if we ignore it," you replied, scanning the damage with your device. The readouts blinked green mostly, but a red warning pulsed for the servo. You reached for a tool, your other hand resting on his thigh for stability. Echo's breath hitched slightly; not from pain, but from the warmth of your touch cutting through.

He watched you work, smiling lightly at the way your brow furrowed in concentration. "You know, before you joined, Tech sometimes just would slap some tape on it and keep going." His voice was light, but there was a hint of vulnerability.

You paused, setting the tool down to cup his face. Your thumb tracing along his jaw. "Well im now here to looking after you, Echo. You’re not alone in this." Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

He closed his eyes, leaning into it, the tension easing from his shoulders.

Resuming the repair, you rerouted the wiring. As the servo whirred back to life, Echo flexed his leg experimentally. "Feels good," he admitted, sitting up only to then pull you into his lap.

You smiled, checking his vitals one last time: heart rate steady, systems nominal. "Vitals holding," you whispered, echoing the phrase that had become your shared mantra after tough days. Echo's lips found yours in a grateful kiss, a silent thank you for seeing him whole.

Hunter

word count: 536

The Marauder’s engines idled low as the ship settled into a quiet landing on a forested moon, far from any Imperial patrols.

The mission had been simple reconnaissance but the dense undergrowth and sudden rain had turned it into hard work. Harder than it had to be.

Hunter had pushed through without complaint, as always. The usefulness of his enhanced senses guided the squad but the constant barrage of scents, sounds, and electromagnetic pulses had left him quietly frayed.

Now, he sat on the edge of a bunk, elbows on knees and head bowed. The infamous bandana was off with dark hair falling loose over his face.

With a look of concern, you stepped up to him quietly whilst carrying a damp cloth and a small vial of soothing balm of your own recipe.

“Rough one out there?” you asked softly, kneeling between his legs so you were eye-level with him.

Hunter exhaled through his nose, a sound that was half sigh, half reluctant admission. “Everything was loud. Too loud. The rain on leaves, every insect wingbeat for klicks around…” He rubbed at his temple. “Felt like my skull was vibrating.”

You reached up, fingers brushing his cheek before sliding into his hair. He leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed. Your thumb traced slow circles at his scalp, right where the tension always gathered. “You carried us through it anyway. Like always.”

A faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Had to. Couldn’t let you get lost in the mud again.”

You chuckled quietly, dipping the cloth in cool water and pressing it gently to the back of his neck. He shivered once from relief. You worked in silence for a moment, letting the damp fabric ease the ache.

“Lie back,” you murmured.

He hesitated, the leader in him reluctant to fully let go, but your hand on his chest was steady and grounding. He reclined slowly, stretching out on the bunk. You sat beside him, one hand resting over his heart.

With careful fingers, you massaged the balm into his temples, then down along his jaw, working out the tightness. Hunter’s breathing depened, slowing as the sensory storm inside him began to quiet. Every so often, he’d hum softly, a low sound of contentment that you know he’d never admit to making.

“You don’t have to be on all the time,” you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “Not with me.”

His hand found yours, lacing fingers together. “I know,” he said, voice rough but soft. “Just… takes time to turn it off.”

“Then let me help.” You shifted closer, tucking yourself against his side. He wrapped an arm around you without hesitation, pulling you in until your head rested on his chest. The steady thump-thump beneath your ear.

Hunter’s free hand came up to stroke your hair, mirroring the way you’d soothed him. The ship’s hum faded into background noise; the galaxy outside could wait.

After a long while, he murmured against your temple, “Vitals holding.”

You smiled into his chest. “Vitals holding.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head, the last of the tension melting away in the quiet safety of your arms.

Wrecker

word count: 614

The Marauder’s cargo hold was quieter than usual, the usual clatter of Wrecker’s laughter replaced by a low, frustrated grunt. He sat on an overturned crate, one hand pressed to his lower back.

The mission had wrapped up hours ago but Wrecker had insisted on hauling the last heavy munitions crate aboard himself. “I got it!” he’d boomed, grinning wide. That was until a sharp twinge hit, deep in his back muscles. Now here he was: the strongest clone in the Batch, felled by his own enthusiasm.

You found him like that, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor as if it had personally betrayed him. The embarrassment was written all over his face. Jaw tight and eyes avoiding yours.

“Hey, big guy,” you said gently, stepping into the hold with your medkit slung over one shoulder. “Heard you took on a crate and lost.”

Wrecker huffed, a sound that tried to be a laugh but landed somewhere closer to a groan. “Didn’t lose. Just… reminded it who’s boss. A little too hard.” He shifted, winced, and immediately tried to play it off with a forced grin. “I’m fine. Really. Jus’ need a minute.”

You set the kit down and moved to stand in front of him, close enough that he had to look up at you. “You’re not fine. And it’s okay to not be fine.” Your voice was calm, no judgment, just the steady certainty he always leaned on. “Let me see.”

He hesitated, pride warring with the ache, but eventually he let his hand drop and turned slightly so you could reach his back. You knelt behind him on the crate, fingers gentle as you pressed along his lumbar muscles. The knot was tight, hot and angry from the sudden strain. Wrecker sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Easy,” you murmured, already reaching for the warming salve. “You pulled something good here. Nothing torn, but you’re gonna feel this tomorrow if we don’t loosen it up now.”

He let out a long, defeated sigh. “Hurt by liftin’ a kriffin’ box.” His voice cracked just a little on the last word, the embarrassment giving way. “What kinda soldier does that?”

You paused, hands still on his back, then leaned forward until your forehead rested lightly against the back of his shoulder. “The kind who cares more about getting the job done for his squad than looking invincible.” You kissed the spot between his shoulder blades, right over the scar from an old explosive. “And the kind who’s allowed to hurt sometimes. Even the biggest ones.”

Wrecker went still, then slowly relaxed under your touch. You worked the salve in with slow, firm circles, thumbs digging just enough to ease the spasm without pushing too hard. Every time he tensed, you eased off, waiting for him to breathe through it. Gradually, the knots began to give.

“Better?” you asked after a while.

“Yeah… a lot. Still stings, but not like before.” He turned his head, catching your eye over his shoulder. The grin was smaller this time, but real. “Thanks, mesh’la. Didn’t mean to be a baby about it.”

“You weren’t.” You slid around to sit beside him, tucking yourself under his arm. He wrapped it around you immediately, pulling you against his side like you were the most precious cargo he’d ever carried.

You rested your hand over his heart, feeling the steady, powerful beat. “So, are your vitals holding?”

Wrecker chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest into your palm. “Vitals holdin’. Thanks to you.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there, and for once didn’t try to hide how much he needed the quiet comfort.

Tech

word count: 661

The back room of Cid's Parlor smelled like stale smoke and cheap liquor.

As the main cantina buzzed faintly beyond the beaded curtain, Tech sat at Cid’s desk that she had grudgingly given and one leg propped up on a crate from the fracture he had endured form the cargo container collapse.

You pushed through the curtain with your medkit, the beads clacking softly behind you. Cid had cleared out at that point, muttering something about "not running a free clinic", leaving just the two of you.

Yet he was no longer sitting down, instead he was standing awkwardly and looking through the grumpy Trandoshan's collection of random stuff she had collected.

"I told you to stay off it," you said, setting the tray down on the desk with a deliberate clunk.

Tech didn't turn around. "I am off it. Most of my weight is on the good leg. Statistically, this qualifies as minimal load-bearing.”

"You're also standing. On a fractured leg. In a bacta cast that's still setting."

He glanced over his shoulder, goggles catching the low light. "The cast has reached its polymerisation point. I was just… looking at possible useful junk. For later."

"Uh-huh." You stepped closer, "Sit. Before I make you."

He let out a quiet breath, half annoyed and half amused, but he didn't fight it. He eased himself back onto the chair, leg stretched out.

You knelt in front of him, "You're doing that thing again," you say softly, voice warm and teasing. "Talking tech to hide that you're hurting."

"I'm not hiding anything. Pain is just… information. I was only—"

You placed your palm lightly over his chest, right where his heart was beating faster than usual under his armour. "Your heart's telling a different story."

Tech went still. His eyes dropped to your hand, then flicked back to your face. "That is… an elevated heart rate attributable to—"

You tilted your head, fingers trailing up to brush along his jaw, nudging his goggles up just enough to see the heat on his cheeks. "Or maybe because you like when I take care of you?"

He blinked rapidly behind the lenses, processing. "I… find your presence efficacious for recovery. Statistically speaking, positive emotional stimuli can accelerate—"

You leaned in, lips brushing his. Tech froze for a second, then leaned into it, one hand coming up to rest carefully at the back of your neck.

The kiss deepened just enough to make him forget the ache for a moment. You pulled back barely an inch, forehead resting against his. "Better?"

He let out a shaky breath, "Much better. Though I'd like… more proof it's working."

“Behave, Tech.” You playfully roll your eyes, smirking quietly at his disappointment of not getting another kiss just yet.

With steady hands, you adjusted the bacta cast and started the compression wrap carefully. He usually makes a comment on how uneven it is but this time Tech stayed quiet, just watching, breathing steady, his fingers occasionally brushing your arm like he needed the contact.

When you finished, you started to stand, but Tech's hand caught yours gently. "Come here." He tugged lightly, but insistent.

You raised an eyebrow, but let him guide you. With a careful shift of his good leg to make space, he pulled you down onto his lap, settling you sideways across his thighs so your weight didn't press on the injured one. His arm wrapped around your waist immediately, holding you close against his chest. Moments like this with him are rare so you wasted no time in tucking your head under his chin.

With one hand, you rest it over his heart again, feeling it slow to a calm, even rhythm now.

The parlor's distant noise felt miles away. Just the two of you in the cluttered back room, tangled together in the chair. You smiled into his neck. "Vitals holding?"

Tech pressed a soft kiss to your temple, voice low and content. "Vitals holding."

Crosshair

word count: 544

You found him in the refresher to your shared apartment, door half-open, the mirror fogged from a recent shower. He stood shirtless, one hand braced against the sink, the other fumbling with a bloodied cloth pressed to his left side. A shallow but stubborn gash that caught on jagged durasteel ran along his ribs.

It was not life-threatening, but it wept fresh blood every time he tried to clean or close it one handed. The angle was impossible now; his missing hand left him reaching awkwardly.

Crosshair never asked for help. Not ever. So when you stepped in quietly, he didn’t look up, just kept trying, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped.

“Out,” he muttered.

You didn’t move. Instead you stepped fully inside. “You’re making it worse. Sit.”

“I said—”

“Crosshair.” Your tone was quiet and firm. You reached past him for a clean towel from the rack, then guided him to perch on the edge of the low tub. He resisted for half a second but let himself be moved.

You knelt in front of him and you peeled the soaked cloth away. The wound was angry but clean enough to stitch. You exhaled slowly through your nose, fighting the urge to scold him for being reckless with his own body.

“Why do you do this?” you asked, voice softer now as you reached for the bactaspray. “You know I’m right here.”

He stared at a point over your shoulder, refusing to meet your eyes. “Habit. Fix it myself. Always have.”

“Not anymore.” You dabbed the wound clean, careful around the inflamed edges. He hissed once, barely audible, but didn’t pull away.

When the first stitch went in, his remaining hand twitched toward yours like he might stop you. Instead, his fingers curled loosely around your wrist. Just… holding.

You paused, needle hovering. “Talk to me.”

Crosshair’s gaze finally dropped. “Can’t reach it anymore,” he muttered, so quiet you almost missed it. “Feels… wrong. Needing you for something this basic.”

You resumed stitching, slow and precise. “It’s not wrong. It’s just different.” You explained. “And I’m glad I’m here for the different parts.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched your face as you worked, the tension in his shoulders easing stitch by stitch. When you tied off the last knot and smoothed a fresh bandage over it, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

You stayed kneeling there, hands resting lightly on his thighs. “Better?”

He finally looked at you, really looked. The usual guarded sharpness had cracked, leaving something raw underneath. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn.” You rose enough to lean in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was gentle and unhurried. He froze for a heartbeat, then tilted his head to meet you properly.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. “Vitals holding?”

Crosshair’s lips curved, just the barest hint of a smirk. “Vitals holding.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “Thanks to you.”

You helped him stand, steadying him as the adrenaline crash made his legs unsteady. He didn’t protest when you wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him out of the refresher and toward the bed. For once, the sniper let himself be taken care of quietly, stubbornly, but completely.

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“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.”